#double bogey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starvine · 1 year

Text

☾ ⋆* kiss it better

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!omaticaya reader

genre: fluff, angst

synopsis: all you wanted to do was serve your people. however, when you get injured, your mission is cut short. neteyam insists upon patching you up and decides to explain his concerns for your well-being and future together.

warnings: battle stuff, guns, blood, battle injuries, medical jargon, stitches, minor swearing (?), allusions to mating/sex ig, aged-up neteyam

word count: 7.9k

notes: IT’S HERE! i’m very excited to have started writing again, and although i’m very casual about when i write, i hope to be somewhat consistent lol. enjoy this for now, i have more planned for the future! i hope you all enjoy, pls reblog/comment/etc if you feel so inclined <33

The air was tense today, thick with disciplined focus as you keep your ears alert for any incoming airships. Reeking of smoke and burning metal, a scent that is foreign and unpleasant to your nose, you remain aware of everything and anything. Gray clouds billowing and a pungent smell that cling to the back of your throat like a hand with a vice grip—nothing was natural.

Tilting your forehead forward, you hope your visor, decorated with teeth and interwoven pieces, will shield your eyes from the wind. You hold your bow tightly, the wood smooth against your fingers as you use your other hand to guide your ikran swiftly through the air.

“Calm, calm,” you soothe her, tapping your fingers along her strong neck.

You’re anxious today. Not because of the imminent arrival of the Sky People, their ships ready to fire metal bullets at you at any second; you’ve dealt with that many times before. No, the reason you’re nervous is because of Neteyam.

Today is Neteyam’s first day participating in the raid—well, his first raid on the ground with his father’s permission—rather than being a part of the aerial surveillance team. You tried to insist that you should accompany him, but, due to his wishes, you remained in the air beside his mother.

“Do you see anything yet?” Neytiri’s voice asks over the intercom.

Bringing your fingers to your throat to press the responding button, you reply, “Nothing yet.”

“I’m going to fly down to help gather some of the gear. You stay here,” she orders, raising her bow to signal that she and her ikran were descending.

“Let us know if you spot any bogeys. We’ve got some heavy-duty gear and need as much time as possible,” Jake informs you over the intercom.

“Roger that, sir,” you say, steering your ikran closer to where the enemy would most likely be approaching.

Ears twitching back and forth, you attempt to pick up the whir of an aircraft amongst the orders commanded, the creaks and minor explosions occurring from the Meg-Lev train your people have intercepted, and the wind blowing past you. You hope that maybe you could track a scent, sniffing the air a couple of times to no avail. It’s all smoke and metal. The skies were calm, except for your ikran’s screeching, however, they couldn’t be for long. There was no way those demons would allow your people to escape that easily.

“Hey,” Neteyam breathes over the intercom, a slight huff of your name. You could hear the smile on his face. “How’re things looking up there?”

“What happened to using my code name?” you question, peering over your ikran in an attempt to find him along the ground. “I’ll tell you if I see anything. I know how to do my job, you know.”

“Just double checking,”

You scoff, guiding your ikran to the right. “Maybe you should focus on gathering all of the gear instead,”

“Oh, really? Maybe you should-”

Suddenly, your ears flex forward, focused on the faint whirring of something mechanical and man-made; something that was not naturally occurring within your world.

“Airships spotted! Everyone, move!” you shout over the intercom. You yelp out into the open air, pumping your bow in tandem with the three shouts you release to alert your fellow brothers and sisters in battle.

Just as people begin clambering for their ikrans and direhorses, the two Scorpions start firing. The relentless pop of military guns fills your ears, causing your tail to swish frantically and your ears to perk forward.

Using a high pitch, you signal for your ikran to dive, swooping up and under the two fighter pilots.

“Do not engage! I repeat, do not engage! I want minimal casualties today,” Jake commands over the intercom, the background full of shouts and grunts.

“Jake, I’ve got to take out these two airships. They’re already taking down ikrans,” you spoke, peering up at the airships as you stealthily soar below.

Just then, Neteyam responds.

“No! Listen to my father, do not engage. I can lead the people to safety,”

“There won’t be any people to lead if I don’t take these airships down.”

Neteyam groans your name in warning, the sound of shouts heard from all around. “Would you listen for once?”

Jake barks your name, frustrated and frantic. “Get out of there! Get back to the High Camp!” he orders. You begin mapping out the plan of your attack. “That is a direct order!”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you respond, ignoring all that comes after.

Your ikran shoots straight up into the air, coming close to the tail-end of the Scorpion gunship. You arch over the top of the gunship, upside down and looping over to the front side. The sun high in the sky and its beams creating a glare on the glass makes it difficult for you to spot the pilot. Upon finding his location, you draw the string of your bow taught, ready to fire.

“Incoming! Enemy on-”

You shriek upon release. The arrow flies straight through the glass, nailing your target right in the chest.

The gunship begins to tilt forward, preparing for its decline. As a hunter and warrior, it was your duty to pay respects to the creatures you killed in order to sustain the way of life. Kneeling over them, declaring your thanks, and wishing for their safe return to rest amongst the Great Mother was a sacred practice. However, as the gunship crashed and blew up in flames, hot and angry, you felt no thanks or remorse. They did not deserve to rest peacefully, and they didn’t even deserve to die on the Great Mother’s sacred soil. Their spirits deserved to walk alone, isolated and cold from the warm glow of the afterlife.

“You skxawng! What the hell are you doing?” Neteyam screams.

Looking around, you see the green back of his ikran, its rider perched on top with no visible concerns except for the fury etched on his face.

“I got this! It’s just one more,” you insist, positioning an arrow on your bow, eyeing the last gunship.

“May the Great Mother help you when I knock-” and with that, he’s easily ignored.

The wind whips past you, high and soft, almost like a whisper from Eywa that she too felt the tensions of battle. You would do anything to soothe her pain. She could not endure the suffering of this war much longer.

Tightening your grip on your ikran, her blues providing a stark contrast to the grayness of the military equipment, you attack from the rear yet again. Guns firing, you duck, placing yourself as flat as you can get against her back. However, once you approach the opening of the ship, where all of the massive guns were placed, you sit up, firing quickly.

The scream and weak grunt you heard confirms that it was a successful hit. Loading your bow with another arrow, you soar underneath the aircraft, looping around until you have the high ground. Securing your aim, your fingers release the string until the arrow flies straight into one of the Scorpion's propellers. A small explosion soon turned into a large one, the ship dipping to its left and falling from its dominant space in the sky to the dirt.

However, so were you.

You must’ve underestimated how close you were to the ship, your eagerness to protect your people and the Great Mother clouded your judgment.

The sound and burst of light, as well as the force, must’ve spooked your companion as she, too, seemed to have lost her place in the sky. She tumbles towards the ground, shrieks and roars released into the open air. Jaw clenched, you tried to convince her to gain control to no avail.

“Come on!” you shout, knuckles turning a pale blue with the tight grip you had.

As you neared the ground, panic began to set in. Your ears lay flat against your head in an attempt to not become overwhelmed by the wind, you tried to think quickly.

You could stay with your ikran, but you would both get injured; you could also disconnect from her and leap from the group, in hopes of only injuring yourself.

Deciding on the latter, you had one plea for the Great Mother:

“Please don’t let Neteyam kill me.”

Disconnecting your kuru, you leap the rest of the way to the ground, the shock of the force of your fall causing you to fall instead of landing perfectly on your feet. The ship crashes a couple of yards in front of you, the force of the blast propelling you forward.

Rolling and skidding along the dirt, pieces of gravel and discarded glass and metal tear at your skin. Red begins to bubble up along the surface, the violent opposite of your blue skin.

Tumbling down a hill, you lose your grip on your bow, the wood being left behind in your trail. The burning sensation of your flesh being scraped away keeps you alert, blindly clutching at anything to break your fall.

Eventually, you slow to a stop, landing on your stomach with a mouthful of dirt. Spitting and coughing up the soil, you take a minute to catch your breath. With a slight raise of your head, you look at the ship as the flames crackle and cause a film of sweat to break out on your skin. That hunk of metal was truly ugly against the backdrop of the forest.

You begin to slowly sit up, a sharp pain coming from your side. A cut, not deep enough to need stitches, slowly oozes blood down your left rib, crimson staining the skin. It looks swollen, screaming to be disinfected immediately. Reaching behind you to check for any more severe wounds, you arch away from your nimble fingers just upon a light graze. The heat from the explosion must’ve irritated the skin, causing soreness and slight bubbling in some places.

Minor scrapes along your knees and elbows from what you could see and feel, makes you thank Eywa for her protection and the benign wounds. Stumbling onto your feet, you catch sight of something unnatural.

A small piece of metal protrudes from the side of your thigh, embedded into the flesh. Staring at the shrapnel, you’re reminded that your world doesn’t just belong to you anymore. Even if the Sky People were to disappear and return back to their planet, the scientists would remain here. Their clunky gear and massive structures would continue to reside amongst the nature of Pandora.

Something about that notion makes your heart sink.

You lightly touch the silvery metal, trying to gauge how deep the foreign object must be. It felt stiff and unwilling to relent to your touch, confirming that it was not something you could brush off. Taking a step forward, a broad, aching pain festers throughout your leg. It hurt less if you put less pressure on the limb, however, that would be hard to do on your journey back to the High Camp.

Picking up your bow from the ground, arrows broken and scattered around, you slowly mount your ikran, muttering expletives to yourself at the pain that dwelled throughout your entire body.

Neteyam was surely going to kill you.

Upon your arrival, after an arduous flight back home, you slowly slid off your companion onto the uneven rock. Blood oozed out from around the metal, the object having dug deeper into the surface the more you moved. With one hand clutching your rib and another trying to steady the object, you hoped to stumble into a healing area before you were noticed by a Sully.

Turns out, you’re not as stealthy as you thought.

“She’s back! She’s back!” a high-pitched cheer sounded, a small girl bouncing towards you. Tuk’s big grin slowly faded into a look of concern and worry as she sized up your injuries. “Mom! Kiri! She’s hurt!”

The younger girl prances over to you, lifting your arms and examining your body from front to back. You feel the small girl brush against your tail, which was agitatedly flicking back and forth.

With a sigh of your name, you see Tuk’s mother and elder sister approach you, war paint still decorating Neytiri’s face in vibrant greens and yellows. She gasps upon spotting the dirt, blood, and bruising that has blossomed across your skin, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as her eyes fill with worry.

“We must get her to grandmother,” Kiri announces to her mother, clutching your upper arm as softly as she could without hurting you.

“There’s no need. I can do it myself,” you try to assure her, taking a fumbling limp forward.

“There is a piece of metal sticking out of your leg.”

You glance down, almost as if you hadn’t noticed it at all before. It was a futile attempt, especially as you used your fingers to brace the object, preventing it from moving too much. “There is?”

“Damn, bro!” Lo’ak exclaims, waltzing up beside you and trying his best to not laugh at your given failure. “Looks like someone got their ass handed to them by some Sky People,”

Hissing at him, you weakly push at his chest to show him that you weren’t interested in his jokes right now.

“Lo’ak!” his mother scolds, hitting him upside the head.

“What?! What I’d do?!”

Then, the two people you desperately wanted to avoid came into view: Neteyam and his father. Jake had a stern, militant look on his face—a facade that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Neteyam’s face was set into a deep frown, a look that was a delicate cross between his mother’s and father’s disappointed faces.

“Well, would you look at the time? Looks like I better start tending to-” you attempt to walk away, only to be kept in place by Neytiri’s firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not like you’d be able to escape them as quickly or swiftly as you would typically be able to. You–apparently–had a piece of metal sticking out of your leg.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Jake scolds still dressed head to toe in his fusion of Omaticaya and Sky military gear. “Disobeying direct orders? That isn’t something I expected from you.”

Casting your eyes downwards, you hope your flat ears and limp tail would get you out of this scolding quicker than it would’ve if he was scolding Neteyam or Lo’ak. Typically, avoiding his gaze would show that you felt regret—which, in this case, you didn’t really—and he’d let you move on. However, it’s hard to keep your eyes fixed on the ground when someone gets into your line of view.

Neteyam crouches down, face coming into view as if he’s trying to catch your fake performance. Instead, he places two hands, worn and calloused from all of the years of fighting and defending his people, onto your cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he can view you from his natural height, allowing him to view each scrape and bruise in proper lighting. His lips twitch into a grimace, thumbs grazing over a small cut that must be on your cheek because, although there’s a faint sting, there’s no leaking blood.

Now, everyone knew about you and Neteyam. It’s not like it was kept a secret. Wherever you went, he followed; whatever he was doing, you were right there beside him. In the years to come, you would become his mate and that was an unspoken decision between you and him. Well, there was also an unspoken rule between Neteyam and the rest of the boys his age to not even glance at you, or else he’d have their tails. However, no matter how much people smiled softly whenever you’d exchange fond glances or spare looks when you two ran off alone, it wasn’t like you publicly displayed much physical affection. Nonetheless in front of his parents.

He unloops your visor from behind your ears, handing it to his brother without his gaze leaving your face. As soon as his hands leave you, they return just as quickly. His fingers smooth over your face, confirming that you’re breathing and here in front of him—something he’s very grateful for. Your stupidity—not so much.

“You’re such a skxawng,” he chides, tilting your face towards his.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s not like I’m the one who took down—not one—but two whole- ow!” you yelp, stumbling forward towards the young man.

Tuk looks at you guiltily, one finger outstretched as if she was prodding at something.

Kiri steps forward, pushing Tuktirey out of the way in order to re-examine your back.

“We should take her to grandmother,” she insists, “now.”

You roll your eyes, trying to continue with your act of not being nearly as injured as you appear, but the longer you stand, the more it becomes not true. As the adrenaline wears off, the soreness and incessant throbbing grow throughout your muscles and bones. Your rib and leg are still oozing blood, warm and tacky against your skin. Neteyam loops an arm around you, careful to avoid the blisters and welts that decorate various places on your back.

His free hand reaches for the hand that hangs limply over his shoulder, intertwining your fingers and giving them a light squeeze. “It’ll all be okay,”

“Yeah, I know. Just ‘cause I’m walking a bit funny doesn’t mean I’m dying,”

You could say that then, but you sure as hell can’t say that now.

If there was one thing about Mo’at, it was that she couldn’t care less if her remedies stung like a bitch as long as they cured you thoroughly. So now, as she smears a paste along your back—the sensation as bitter and frigid as the Northernmost part of any mountain—that bites at your skin, you kind of wish you were dead. Or at least knocked out.

This isn’t even the worst of it.

Once the stinging fades more into a relaxing cool, Mo’at instructs you to lean backward so she can assess your torso. The older woman crouches next to you, hands hovering over the wound as if Eywa was sending her a direct message on the best way to heal you. Neteyam sits on the other side of you, clutching your hand with a grip that seems more like it’s to reassure him than you, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face.

Neytiri stays close to her mother, observing or advising what she believes to be the next course of action—just as a tsakarem should do. Kiri stays by your feet, grinding and mashing up various plants and syrups that could be used to aid with disinfecting your wounds. Lo’ak and his father stay near the door, ready to leave if someone else should need assistance with anything to do with the war effort. However, as everyone stays well within their place, performing their necessary task, Tuk couldn’t seem to sit still.

“Is she going to need stitches?” Tuk asks, peering over her eldest brother.

Neteyam removes his hand from your hair, slightly readjusting the younger’s weight so she doesn’t put too much pressure on him, in turn, putting pressure on you.

The Tsahìk doesn’t look up from your wound, eyes brightening as if Eywa had finally delivered her guidance to the woman. “No, she will just need to rest. I would advise very minimal movement for at least seven days,” the woman says, being handed a bowl of yellowish sap.

“Seven days? But I need to be out there, it’s my duty to fight,” you plead, growing restless and inching upwards.

Neteyam pushes you back down, delicate but firm fingers pressing against your sternum. “Down,” he murmurs.

“It is not my fault you did not listen to orders,” the older woman retorts, using a brush-like leaf to observe the consistency of the paste before lowering it toward your injury.

“Yeah, well it’s not my fault that I just happened to save- oh, Great Mother! Holy sh-” you yelp upon Mo’at contact.

Neteyam presses a hand over your mouth, sending you a stern glare. “Not in front of the Tsahìk,” he hushes, palm warm against your lips.

You groan against his hand, face twisting and back arching in pain. Unlike the gel thinly spread across your back, there was no relief from this paste. Mo’at continued to slather it all across your skin, insisting that the more you move, the more it will hurt. You squeeze Neteyam’s hand, feeling the bones shift with how strong your grip is. If you’re hurting him, you can’t tell. The look of pain on his face seems to be linked to his feelings about your injuries, your pain. Always the doting lover.

Once Mo’at wraps the injury, using both Na’vi and human medical wraps, she places a palm over the injury, thanking the Great Mother. Then, she looks at your leg.

Your leg was held down by Kiri throughout the excursion, as she didn’t want the shrapnel to lodge itself deeper into the skin and muscle. At the base of your leg, a piece of twine is firmly wrapped around the skin to lightly restrict blood flow. The skin was not pinched, nor did you lose feeling in your leg as you would’ve if the twine was used as a makeshift tourniquet, however, your thigh still resisted against the band.

You haven’t cried yet, however, just with her eyes boring into your leg you feel as if you’re about to sob.

“Please don’t take it out. I don’t- I don’t want to have to do this anymore,” you begin to blubber, looking at Neteyam as you try to sit up.

“Shh, shh,” he placates, stroking your cheek. “It’s okay. I’m here, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I’ve been hurting this whole time,” you groan, “what the hell have you been-”

Then, the last two people you want to see walk into the room: Norm and Max.

“I grabbed them as soon as I heard,” says Spider, following close behind.

“No. No, no, no. Get the hell away from me,” you say, instantly shooting up and trying your best to scoot away, even as Kiri still holds down your leg.

Neteyam says your name so sweetly, so full of fondness that a chill is sent up your spine—a chill that isn’t caused by the cooling medicine or a shock of pain. “He’s here to help.”

“I don’t want him here,” you spit, speaking Na’vi to the boy sitting beside you.

“We have no choice,” he reasons, his voice dropping an octave. “They will be much quicker with their equipment than with ours. I promise that my grandmother will heal and treat you, but we need their help to make sure that there’s no extra damage that is beyond what the eye can see.”

You shake your head, refusing to listen to him and averting your gaze.

His lithe fingers reach for your chin, turning you back towards him. There he goes again; always making you feel like the blushing fool, especially in front of his family.

“I will not let them hurt you.”

What a fucking liar.

Taking a team of three women plus Norm to hold your leg down, Max begins to lower his tweezers toward the piece of metal. With the first tug, you begin screaming. The pressure and the resistance between Max’s tweezers and the artificial shard against your tender skin and muscle caused your free leg to kick, hands tightening at your sides and clinging onto Neteyam. The fact that your whole body was tense, each muscle spasming, probably didn’t help what was already a difficult procedure.

“Damn, she’s strong,” Norm comments, adding more pressure in an attempt to hold your leg down. “Spider, help us out.”

You continue to sob, reaching for Neteyam to claw at his shoulder. If you’re hurting him or breaking skin, he doesn’t tell you. Instead, he cradles you as you cry against his leg. Ripping your hand from his, you squeeze his leg, nose pressed against his thigh to hide your face. There’s no guarantee that half of the clan hasn’t heard you by now, nor that a few people have poked their heads in to see who the hell was screaming so damn loud. You were well known. There’s no way anybody wouldn’t recognize that it was you who was being surgically tortured. However, if you could save some dignity by hiding yourself against Neteyam, you would do just that.

“I’m never letting them near my body again,” you weep, gripping tight to the blue skin beneath you.

Neteyam rakes his fingers through your hair, hands petting any inch of skin that has brought you comfort over the years. He knows you like the back of his hands. Playing with your hair puts you to sleep, rubbing his thumb across your cheek makes you keen, following the slope of your nose makes you smile, and touching your ear makes you quiet. Using this knowledge, Neteyam’s hands roam to any expanse of skin that he can reach. He must look mad, with busy fingers and frantic eyes, but he can’t help himself. His chest hurts when he sees you like this, and if he needs to kill someone to make you feel better, he’d gladly do that.

“It’s almost out. We’re almost done,” he assures you in a soft tone, getting close to your ear.

Your ears, which have been laying flat and folding over periodically finally perk up and away from your skull—a sense of relief. It’s quick-lived before they fall back against your hair, but he sees it as a small win.

“Can you dress it for me?” you plea, voice breaking painfully.

Who is he to deny you?

“All done!” Max cheers, placing the flat piece of shrapnel into an emesis basin.

The clang of the metal against metal causes you to abruptly sit up. Neteyam’s hand is on your shoulder, but for the first time, it’s not to push you back down. He lets you take your time viewing the sizable gash in your leg, an injury that without a doubt needs extra aid. You whimper at the sight, not necessarily at the pain, but because you knew what this means: you would be under strict supervision at the battle scene. You couldn’t be trusted to be alone, especially as you were a great friend of the Sully’s and Neteyam’s prospective mate.

Falling back into Neteyam, the cries you let out are softer but still cause your body to shake. Neteyam rubs his cheek against yours when you hide your face in his neck, tears causing the blue skin to become slick and tacky. He readjusts your top which has moved around during all of your painful squirming, protecting your modesty. The beads land softly against your shoulder, arms holding you snuggly against him. He tucks your hair behind your ear, giving him a view of the ear that is decorated with various pieces of Omaticaya jewelry. An orange bead, delicately dangling from your lobe, was a gift from him.

“It makes me feel wiser during battle,” you told him once before sending an arrow straight through the eye of a fish that swam around in the pond.

He touches it lightly, reminding you that everything is alright.

“No! She’s going to need stitches!” Tuk whimpers, a frown deeply set on her face. Even through your crying, Neteyam catches the faintest hint of a smile.

Mo’at begins to drip water over the wound, clearing away any blood that may have leaked down your leg despite the twine restricting your blood flow.

It’s silent besides Max, Norm, and Jake’s mumbling outside of the tent as Mo’at preps a needle and thread. Kiri, Neytiri, and Spider have since released your leg, observing you and the Tsahìk. Just as Mo’at blesses the needle and thread, Neteyam speaks up.

“I’ll do it.”

Mo’at looks at her grandson, her gaze strong but understanding. The white bone needle stays pinched between her two fingers, amber eyes unwavering.

“Neteyam, let your grandmother-“

“I said I’ll do it.” he hushes, lip curling in order to hide a scowl.

His mother looks at her own, a non-verbal communication occurring between their stares. Eventually, Neytiri acquiesces, standing up and taking a step away from you.

Mo’at hands him the needle, placing a worn but beautiful hand on your leg.

“Return here tomorrow so I can check on the wound,” she orders. You nod, eyes still teary before the older woman stands with her daughter, ready to move on to the other warriors who need their assistance.

Once his mother and grandmother leave, Neteyam grows restless.

“Everyone out, please.”

Kiri scoffs at him, still seated by your feet. “You can‘t be serious,”

“Out! Get out!” he hisses, fangs bared at his sister and the human boy beside her. “You have done nothing!”

“I wouldn’t call holding down her leg for nothing. I’ll have bruises for the next week,” Spider dismisses, standing up with Lo’ak, who is already headed towards the exit.

“Out!” he shouts one final time, his siblings leaving as his tail flicks back and forth with irritation.

It isn’t until they’re gone, that Neteyam leaves your right side, scrambling and pouncing over you in order to come in contact with your left leg.

The tent is silent as he begins his work. The process doesn’t hurt much, a gentle prick or pinch here and there; you’re not sure whether it’s because your nerves are shot and can’t detect pain anymore or because Neteyam is good at his work. It could be both. Before you know it, the wound is closed and a row of sutures stares back at you in a familiar Na’vi sewing pattern. The skin is even, nothing too uncomfortable, and although there’s bruising, it appears to be that everything will be okay.

You reach out to touch the stitches with a shaky hand, only to be slapped away. “Uh uh, don’t touch,” he tuts, eyes focused and mouth slightly ajar in concentration.

He grabs under your knee, bending it at the joint in order to prop it up so he can place a bandage over the sutures.

“To protect them,” he informs you, wrapping the gauze around your thigh.

He’s very quiet throughout, a reaction you were not expecting. Neteyam has always been logical, methodical; he never steps out of line or does something rash unless it’s for the means of protecting those he loves. Always quick to action, he’s usually the first to help and the first to reprimand someone (usually Lo’ak) for their stupidity. That would be the typical reaction. However, now he looked almost forlorn.

Once he’s done, he fully stands for the first time since you entered the tent. He begins to rummage through his grandmother’s remedies that sit in wooden jars and crystal vials, concoctions she’s mastered after years and years of being the Tsahìk. After selecting a small wooden bowl filled with clear oil, he grabs another bowl of water and a rag and sits down in front of you. Dabbing the rag in the bowl of water, he lifts the dripping cloth toward your face.

“What are you doing?”

He looks at you, eyes narrowing briefly before they return to their normal, large position.

“Your face is filthy.”

He gently holds your chin, tilting it up towards him so he can begin wiping your face. His hold is steady but his eyes look nerved, almost as if he has too much on his mind to bear. His breathing matches yours, and he dodges your gaze although his entire being crowds your line of sight. There’s no way for him to avoid you, really.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he dips the rag and wrings out all of the water, approaching your face yet again.

“Nothing is wrong,” he replies curtly, his ears twitching quickly before returning to their previous state—a telltale sign that he’s lying.

“Oh, so you’re just going to pretend like I know nothing about you now?” you try to joke, smile falling when you notice how he doesn’t reciprocate your humor. “Talk to me,” you urge, grabbing his wrist so he can’t try to distract you or himself by caring for your wounds.

He sighs, looking away before he slowly looks back at you. Holding your gaze, eyes squinting and lips pursing slightly. Neteyam looks at you like you’re supposed to understand him–and you do–but it’s as if he’s expecting you to know what’s bothering him. However, the problem is that you don’t. Once he comes to that realization, he sighs, still looking into your eyes.

“I’m upset with you.”

And there it is. Your tail swishes uneasily, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Neteyam, but he can’t bring himself to quell his emotions for your sake. He almost lost you.

“Why are you upset with me?”

He shrugs, almost as if he’s embarrassed or too shy to explain his feelings. Being the eldest son and the next heir, Neteyam often felt as if he had to hide his own inhibitions or concerns in order to be a good son, a good brother, a good leader. When it was just the two of you, you would often have to do a little extra prying in order to get him to reveal what was truly occupying that pretty little head of his. Even once he admitted it, it was even harder to get him to elaborate.

“Just drop it. You should be healing,” he dismisses, trying to distract himself by wiping your face again.

Pushing his wrist away with your fingers, you take the cloth and throw it into the bowl of water. Holding his hands on your lap, his tail swishing timidly behind him, you make him look at you by following his gaze. “I can talk and heal. The two aren’t mutually exclusive,”

“I wish they were,” he mutters, a braid swinging in front of his face.

“Hey,” you tuck the strand behind his ear. He leans towards your touch, almost as if he craves it, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. “This isn’t how this works. You need to talk to me.”

“You’ve already been in enough pain today. I don’t want to cause anymore,”

“Quit the bullshit. I’m better now. I’ll feel worse if you don’t tell me.”

“That’s not the way it works.”

“Um, yes, it is.”

“It’s not.”

“How would you know? I can already feel my leg hurting ten times more now that you won’t communicate with me.”

“You’re not in any more pain because of me,” he scoffs, trying to escape your grasp.

“Ow, my leg! My leg!” you feign a whimper. He cracks a small smile, your cheeks spreading as smoothly as the war paint that still dons his face.

Neteyam looks so beautiful when he smiles. It’s a special smile, reserved only for you; it drips of sticky honey, so sugary that sometimes you feel as if you could fall ill from its adoration. He’s soft as he looks at you, coy and all things delightful. The hands that once tried to flee your own, now reach for your wrists, petting the skin in a pattern that speaks a million languages at once. And yet, somehow, not one of those languages can truly resemble how much he loves you. He loves you a lot.

“Please,” you whisper, “tell me what’s wrong?”

He sighs, assenting to your pleas. With one final sweep over your face, he finally indulges you.

“I’m not happy that you took down those ships.”

“Well, duh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I know that, but I want to know why.”

“You weren’t careful.”

This causes a richer scoff to form at the back of your throat, a sound that makes his ears press against his braids. “I thought we agreed to take down the enemy at any and all costs?”

“I know, and we did—we did make that agreement. I just,” he groans, trying to find the right words. Neteyam never had the right words when it came to expressing himself. “I was scared.”

“Okay,” you reply softly, shuffling closer to him. “Why were you scared?”

“Why wouldn’t I be scared?” he answers, tone mimicking the same quiet tone you used. “You’re mine—my girl, and- and they almost took what’s mine away from me.”

“God, I just got so scared that something bad would happen to you. And when I saw you hurt, how badly you were in pain, and I couldn’t do anything about it I just…” his eyes are frantic, searching all across the hut for something—anything—to provide him an answer. His hands start to tremor in your hold. “I felt helpless and so stupid. I should’ve been tougher on you, or—I don’t know—had Lo’ak or even Kiri stay with you so you didn’t have to be alone. And it’s not that I don’t think you’re incapable or anything—” he excuses, causing you to smile lightly, “—but I don’t trust them. I don‘t trust them with you.”

Smile turning watery, you reach for his shoulder, soon deciding to hold his face instead. He leans into your palm yet again, seeking the warmth that can only emanate from your hands alone. It’s the only warmth that can rid him of any chill.

Neteyam kisses your palm, soon rolling your hand over in his, placing his lips on each knuckle as if it provides him comfort. And it does. It provides him more comfort than he could care to admit. Placing your head in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet, you place a kiss on his collarbone, lowering your lips to place another on his pec, right above his heart. The young man draws in a deep breath, holding you close to him, savoring each second, each touch. Skin against skin; heart against heart.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you apologize, your soft lips grazing his blue skin. He loves the feeling. “I just wanted to protect our people.”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your forehead, a light kiss placed there. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t even yell,” you forgive, cheeks pillowing against his chest. When you lift yourself away from him, he tilts his head in confusion at your smirk. “Also, we both know Kiri would be awful on the battlefield.”

He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “True. She can’t even shoot an arrow in a straight line.”

“Exactly! I don’t know what you were thinking when you said that. Lo’ak? Sure, whatever. But Kiri?”

“I know, I know,” he agrees, voice growing softer as if his quietness will preserve this moment between you.

His eyes become velvet—smooth and warm—the longer he looks at you and it instantly makes you melt. His lips look saccharine, a buttery spread of a light smile decorating his face which is just the absolute cherry on top. If Eywa hadn’t taken you during battle, she sure as hell was going to take you now with how crazy Neteyam makes your heartbeat.

He tucks your hair behind your ear, his smile growing more and more with each expanse of skin he navigates. Dancing his fingertips over your jaw and across your cheekbones, he eventually cups your cheek and you just watch. If you breathe too hard, if you shift your weight, this moment could crumble. He’s looked at you like this many times before but it’s usually in the dark, under the bioluminescent blue and purple lights of the forest, where all you can see are the shadows of his face and the warmth of his tongue and the breeze of his breath. Now, you can see everything in pure, golden hues. The way his mouth relaxes, the way his eyes absorb all they can with each quick glance, the way the corner of his mouth tugs upwards unconsciously. You love it.

“May I kiss you?” he asks quietly, thumb swiping along a stripe on your cheek.

“Why do you ask now? You’ve done it many times before,” you wonder, eyes transfixed on the way his own mouth moves with each word he’s about to form.

He chuckles, a sweet, melodic sound, “Just wanted to make sure you’re still down even when the sun is out.”

This earns a loud laugh from you, a laugh that makes Neteyam’s heart squeeze and his lower stomach burn. He loves you. One day, he’ll say it.

Once your giggles have fizzled into a content sigh, you bite your lip lightly before you release it and it returns to its normal place. Neteyam follows the movement.

“I’m always down if it’s you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles, breathy and lips plush.

“Yeah.”

With that, he seals the deal. His kiss is soft, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your mouth right before the initial contact. It makes you feel hot all over. He’s gentle—he always is at first—and he’s so, so kind. He pulls away briefly, returning not long after as if he needs to be connected to you or else he would suffer. In a way, he would.

Neteyam is sweet. He still tastes like the fruit you shared before the raid and also a little bit like blood—whether it’s from him or you, you don’t care; you’ll devour it desperately just like you want him to devour you. He traces that stripe on your cheek again, his new best friend, and follows it down the nape of your neck. His other hand trails up from the small of your back to the divot in between your shoulder blades. He uses his hand to pull you closer, seeking any contact from you that he can get.

Your hands are a barrier, shielding your chest from his, and in a way, it upsets you but also pleases you. Nobody knows what would happen if you could feel his chest pressed against yours at this moment—not even you know. Your hands glide across his chest, lighting scraping and molding against the fine muscle that hides under his smooth skin. When a lithe finger accidentally catches against a nipple, his mouth drops open pliantly, his tongue searching for yours.

“‘S scared they took my girl away from me,” he murmurs against your lips, his own following after yours after each word.

“Never,” you promise, kissing him firmly, one hand gripping his shoulder to ground yourself. All of this kissing was beginning to make you feel as if you could float away. “I’m yours. They could never take me or have me. You know that,”

“Mhm,” he hums, voice lilting towards the end as he presses his mouth to yours. It makes your back arch forward, seeking more of his skin, his touch.

His hands are growing desperate now. Neteyam knows he has to be gentle, avoiding the damaged skin on your back and remaining weary of the injuries on your rib and leg, but he so badly just wants to pull you close to him and never let go. He wants to hold you, to feel you, to be with you in every single way he can imagine so passionately. But he can’t. He will have to wait for another time.

You, on the other hand, may roam freely. Your hands travel down his chest, exploring the taught skin of his stomach. It seems he subconsciously flexes underneath your touch, something that is rather enticing. Reaching the plusher skin of his lower stomach, although there still isn’t much give, you trace the muscle gingerly, bordering right above the hem of his loincloth. The delicate touch of your fingers causes him to lightly moan into your mouth, a sound you gladly drink down just to feel its warmth in your stomach.

Neteyam pulls away suddenly, a loss you’re greatly upset about until he relocates his lips under your ear, traveling down your neck. He hums against the skin, tongue swiping against it as if he’s trying to taste as much of you as he can, as much as he’s allowed.

“You can’t touch me like that,” he says, using a hand to bring both of yours back toward his chest. You cradle his head instead, tracing a finger along his ear. It twitches.

“Why not?” you question, voice airy. Neteyam nearly preens at the sound, tail wild. “You seem to like it.”

“I do like it,” he insists, “I love it, even.”

“Then why can’t I touch you there?”

He places a wet, fervent kiss against the crook of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat, a moan threatening to escape past your lips.

“Because,” another kiss, “You are not promised to me yet.”

“I just told you that I’m yours,” you reminded him.

“Yes,” he nods, trailing his kisses back toward your jaw. “However, you’re still not mine.”

Oh.

“I could be yours. All you have to do is ask,” you say as if it’s not something he already knows. You hold his head in place, halting his journey upwards so you can whisper in his ear: “Ask me, Neteyam.”

His tail swishes excitedly, something that makes you smile. Great Mother, you could eat him up.

“No,” he responds, pulling away and facing you head-on. He has a lovesick smile on his face, a grin that nobody could wipe off as long as you’re around. “I want to do it right.”

“Yeah?” you counter. “How would you do it?”

“Well,” he hums, kissing your lips. “First, I’d get all of your favorite foods. All of those fruits you like, season everything all nice,” he begins to slowly kiss your cheeks, “and get it all ready just for you to eat.”

“What else?”

“Then,” his kisses travel towards your ear, “Once you’re full and comfortable, we’ll go for a walk.” He bites your ear lobe and you press yourself against him. “We’ll go to our favorite spots: we’ll look at those flowers you like, go to the river, maybe swim a little. I like the way your hair looks while wet, you look so pretty,” he sighs. “You listening?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Go on.”

“Then I’d bring you to our sacred tree, just so Eywa can see us and I can see you under her light. I want to see you when I ask you. I want to see you if you smile or cry or decide that I’m not the one, I don’t care, I just want to see you,” he smiles, no longer kissing you but nudging your nose with his.

“And if you say yes—Great Mother, I hope you say yes—I promise, I’ll treat you so well. I’ll hold you the way you ask to be held, kiss you in all of the places I already know you love to be kissed, and learn all of the new places I can’t reach yet too. I want to feel you, and see the way you react. I want you to feel me, too. I want you to see me, and I want to see you,” he whispers, voicing each wish.

You nod, slowly and then desperately. “I want to see you, too,” you promise. He smiles that big, toothy smile. “Tell me when you’ll ask me? I can’t wait for much longer. I need you.”

His eyelids grow heavy, skin heating underneath your palm. “I need you, too,” he gasps, leaning forward to kiss you again. “It’ll be soon, just want you to heal for now.”

“Yeah?” you smile. “Soon?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Soon.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x female reader #avatar #avatar: twow #avatar: the way of water #neteyam sully fluff #neteyam sully angst #neteyam sully x reader #atwow #atwow headcanons #atwow imagines #neteyam suli x reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan x reader

2K notes · View notes

sebastianstangirl01 · 1 year

Note

Hey I was just asking if you could write a Pete Mitchell x daughter reader??

Like the reader looses her wingman in the same way her dad did and when it happens she attempts to close everyone out in the same Mitchell fashion. But Maverick isn’t buying it so he pushes her to the breaking point in order to get her falls to crumble and he is there to help her and lend a pair of arms for her to cuddle and seek comfort in.

Thank you

150 your choice

I Think I’ve Seen This Film Before

Title: I Think I’ve Seen This Film Before

Pairing: Mitchell!Pilot Reader x Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, Implied Rooster x Reader

Summary: History repeats itself and the reader does her best to put up a wall to hide her true feelings, but Maverick refuses to let his daughter make the same mistake he did.

Warnings: angst, character death (Falcon, readers WSO), depression, self blame, guilt, Maverick comforting his daughter.

A/N: Readers callsign is MJ (Maverick Junior)

After the uranium plant mission the dagger squad became permanently assigned to top gun, either to train new pilots or to fly high risk missions. You and you’re WSO Falcon we’re picked as the 2nd bravo team alongside Phoenix and Bob, it was your job to fly with your father Maverick while Phoenix and Bob were with your honorary brother Rooster.

It had been 6 months since the mission and now there is a new group of Top Gun students coming through the program. All week you had all been taking turns doing flight trainings and now it is you and Falcon who are going to be leading this dogfighting exercise.

You and Falcon were walking side by side with his arm slung over your shoulder as he showed you a new picture he was adding to his cockpit.

“Kate’s 20 weeks, can you believe that? Me? I’m going to be a father.” Falcon chuckled shaking his head in disbelief making you smile

“That’s going to be the luckiest kid in the world, because they have me as godmother. Obviously.” You smiled making Falcon laugh and squeeze your shoulder

“Obviously. Not because they have the funniest and sexiest guy in the world as their dad. It’s definitely because of you.” Falcon said and you nodded

“Exactly.” You said before looking back down at the ultrasound picture. “But seriously. I’m happy for you, you’ll make the best dad.”

“Thanks MJ. That means a lot coming from you.” Falcon smiled

The two of you climbed up into your F-18 and got situated in, clipping your helmets on and double checking all your systems were in tiptop shape. Before you knew it you were taking off and souring across the sky.

“Alright Aviators, today MJ and Falcon will be leading you in dogfight maneuvers. You will have to evade MJ and if she gets a lock on you then you are out, report back to the tarmac for 200 push-ups. Good luck.” Maverick spoke over the radio as he flew a little ways behind you

“Talk to me Fal.” You said as you glanced around your surroundings looking for the other planes

“Looks like we’ve got 2 bogeys, about half a mile southeast.” Falcon said and you nodded before immediately flying that direction

“Gotcha, I’m in pursuit.” You said said as the two other planes came into view

“Shit! MJ’s on our tail!” One of the TopGun recruits, the WSO Flame spoke

“Damn right. Better make a move.” You smirked getting ready to perform a radar lock, you could have easily already taken them out but you wanted to give them the chance to make a move

“Break right, Dutch!” Flame instructed her pilot, Dutch

“Copy! Breaking right!” Dutch replied and did as he was told

You were already 1 step ahead though, anticipating the turn you got ahead and were able to get a lock on them making them groan in defeat, while Falcon laughed.

“You can’t beat the best.” Falcon chuckled shaking his head and you just shook your head fondly

“Nice try Dutch. Good communication Flame. Both of you head back to base.” You instructed as you flew behind them

“Copy.” Dutch spoke before increasing his speed

You followed behind them increasing your speed when suddenly your jet shook and alarms started blaring.

“What the fuck!” You exclaimed having no idea why this was happening or what this even was

“Shit! We flew into their jet wash!” Falcon exclaimed from the back as your jet shook

“I can’t control it Fal! Something wrong with the control system!” You exclaimed jerking the controls but nothing happened, it was like your jet was on autopilot and there was nothing you could do about it

“Left engine failure! Right engine failure! We’ve lost both engines MJ!” Falcon exclaimed as your jet suddenly began to spin

“Mayday! Mayday! MJ and Falcon are in trouble! They’re in a flat spin heading out to sea!” Dutch exclaimed over the radio

“The engines won’t restart! I can’t control this thing!” You exclaimed while you and Falcon both groaned as your jet kept spinning

“Altitude 8,000. 7,000. 6! We’re at 6, MJ!” Falcon exclaimed, his voice strained

“MJ! Falcon! Eject! Eject! You can’t save the plane! Eject damn it!” Mavericks voice suddenly exclaimed over the radio

“Fuck! Falcon, I can’t reach the ejection handle! You need to punch us out!” You exclaimed feeling yourself pinned forward against the controls because of the G force

“I’ve got it!” Falcon exclaimed reaching up for the ejection handle

“Watch the canopy!” You warned before you were ejected from the plane, everything from that moment happened in slow motion

Your head flipped backwards from the force of the ejection making you groan, you caught sight of Falcon as he ejected and your heart dropped and a bile raised in the back of your throat as he smacked right into the canopy. It was exactly how your father explained how Goose died all those years ago, you never knew the full extent of how your dad felt until this very second.

Falcons parachute deployed first lowering him down into the water and then yours did immediately after, you hit the water with a start the cold water shocking you momentarily. You felt your arms hit some of the debris that already fell from your plane, cutting your skin but none of that mattered.

“Falcon!” You exclaimed swimming towards his limp body. “Oh! Oh no! Falcon!”

You got to him and pulled him into your arms, his helmet was busted open and blood was leaking from a deep head laceration, his head bobbed around limply and you could feel the deep sense of dread bubbling to the surface.

“No! You can’t die! You can’t die! Please! Please! Goose! Goose please don’t take him! Please!” You screamed hysterically, feeling your emotions bubble up knowing what you feared was true. “Oh god!”

There was nothing you could do for Falcon. He was dead, just like that. No warning. No preparation. He was just gone. You held him tight and let your head rest against his as the tears flowed.

The rescue helicopter appeared and it took everything in you to get yourself together and shove your emotions down, Falcon was dead and he may have been your best friend but you weren’t the one who would miss him most. His pregnant wife and their unborn child will miss him most. He’ll never get to be the great dad you know he would have been.

And it was all your fault.

When the rescue helicopter landed at base the first person you caught sight of was your father. Maverick looked like a mess, his eyes were rimmed red and his hair was all out of place like he had continuously ran his fingers through it.

The medical team rushed towards the helicopter and unloaded Falcon onto a stretcher and rushed him into the infirmary. You numbly accepted the hand of another medic and felt Maverick wrap his arms around you tugging you to his chest. He held you against him, one hand on the back of your head while his other rested on your upper back. You could feel your resolve slipping and quickly pulled away, spotting your dads frown as your helmet clattered to the tarmac before you rushed into the building feeling that bile rise in your throat.

You busted into the bathroom and dropped to your knees in front of the toilet before throwing up everything that had been on your stomach, which wasn’t a lot but it was enough to have you heaving into the toilet bowl. After you were done you flushed the toilet then flopped back against the wall. Your adrenaline was wearing off and you could feel the ache in your limbs and around your stomach.

You pulled yourself up off the ground and stood in front of the mirror, your skin was blotchy and red and you could see a bruise starting to form around your eye from the force of hitting the water. You splashed some water on your face before unzipping your flight suit leaving you in a sports bra and a pair of spandex shorts as you kicked your flight suit over to the side along with your boots.

You looked at your reflection and saw a bruise forming around your ribcage more than likely from the force of your parachute deploying. You had cuts along your arms so you filled the sink with warm water before grabbing some of the disinfectant soap and a wash cloth, you dipped the wash cloth in the water and squirted some of the soap onto the washcloth before dabbing your wounds. All while blankly looking into the mirror watching yourself.

You looked away as someone knocked on the doorframe, Warlock was standing there giving you a sympathetic look that made you immediately look away from him. He sighed and stepped towards you settling beside you and leaning against the sink.

“Falcon is dead.” Warlock informed you and you just blankly nodded

“Yeah. I figured. It didn’t look good.” You said pausing to look up and catch his eyes before going back to what you were doing

“Your father went to inform Falcon’s wife about the accident. He said she might take it better from a familiar face.” Warlock said and you scoffed shaking her head

“It doesn’t matter who breaks the news. In the end her husband and the father of her unborn child is dead. This is going to be the worst day of her life regardless of who tells her.” You snapped before sighing and resting your head against your crossed arms on the sink. “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“I understand MJ. These next couple of weeks are going to be tough on you and I want to let you know that there are people you can talk to. At least one person knows what your going through. One is a lot closer than the others.” Warlock said giving you a knowing look before patting your back and leaving.

You sighed and finished cleaning your wounds before grabbing your discarded flight suit and boots before leaving, you walked into the locker room and spotted Rooster waiting for you leaning against his locker. He sighed in relief when he saw you and got up to pull you into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re ok.” Rooster said kissing your forehead

“Yeah.” You mumbled tightening your hold around his waist

“I heard about Falcon. I’m so sorry baby.” Rooster said cupping your cheeks and you nodded

“Yeah me too. He was a great WSO.” You replied before pulling away and moving to your locker, you dropped your flight suit into the hamper beside it before grabbing your clothes you brought to change into and changing ignoring the look of worry Rooster was giving you. “I just want to go home.”

“Ok. Yeah. Let’s go home.” Rooster nodded and wrapped his arm around your waist leading you out of the locker room.

“Y/N.” Maverick said as he jogged up to you and Rooster. “Can we have a second Rooster?”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll go start the car.” Rooster said kissing you on the forehead before leaving allowing you to turn back to your father

“I know what your thinking right now. But this wasn’t your fault, it’s impossible to recover from a spin like that. Trust me I’d know.” Maverick said making you sigh

“I am the pilot. It’s my job to keep my WSO safe and I didn’t do that. So yes it is my fault. I guess I really am Maverick Junior. Killing our WSO’s is just a Mitchell thing I guess.” You said shaking your head as you felt tears form in your eyes before rushing away, not noticing the heartbroken expression on Mavericks face.

The next few days have been the longest of your entire life, there was a hearing about the accident and it was ruled that there was nothing you could have done to avoid or recover from what happened and were put back on full duty. You were immediately told by Cyclone that you would be flying today and you just wanted to get it over with and go back to normal.

You were flying solo today in a F-4 instead of your normal F-18, they thought it might be a good idea to try something different instead of jumping right back into a F-18.

You had just taken off and were flying in formation with another one of the TopGun pilots when you felt it. Your chest was so tight it hurt to take a breath, your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest, you were shaking and sweating. You didn’t know what was happening but you knew you couldn’t focus.

“MJ, you alright?” You vaguely heard one of the pilots ask you but you couldn’t respond

“I think somethings wrong with MJ.”

“MJ?”

“MJ report.”

You could hear everything everyone was saying but couldn’t bring yourself to respond, all that was going through your head was flashes of the accident.

“Altitude 8,000. 7,000. 6! We’re at 6, MJ!” Falcon exclaimed, his voice strained

“MJ! Falcon! Eject! Eject! You can’t save the plane! Eject damn it!” Mavericks voice suddenly exclaimed over the radio

“Fuck! Falcon, I can’t reach the ejection handle! You need to punch us out!” You exclaimed feeling yourself pinned forward against the controls because of the G force

“I’ve got it!” Falcon exclaimed reaching up for the ejection handle

“Watch the canopy!” You warned before you were ejected from the plane, everything from that moment happened in slow motion

“Falcon!” You exclaimed swimming towards his limp body. “Oh! Oh no! Falcon!”

There was nothing you could do for Falcon. He was dead, just like that. No warning. No preparation. He was just gone. You held him tight and let your head rest against his as the tears flowed.

“MJ! Hey snap out of it. Y/N! Honey look at me!” Maverick exclaimed and you managed to look over and saw your fathers jet right next to yours. “You’re ok. Everything’s going to be ok, follow me back to base. I’ll be with you the whole way.”

You somehow managed to land your plane and immediately jumped down onto the tarmac ripping your helmet off and gasping for air as you lowered yourself to your knees. Arms wrapped around your body and you were met with the smell of cedar wood and jet fuel, your dads scent.

“I’ve got you honey. I’ve got you.” Maverick soothed rocking you back and forth like he did to calm you from a nightmare when you were a child.

“I don’t think I’m ok.” You shakily admitted and Maverick gave you a understanding smile

“I know. You won’t be for a little while, but eventually it will get easier. Not much easier but it will be more bearable. I’ll be with you the whole way.” Maverick promised kissing your forehead

“I love you dad. I’m sorry about what I said.” You guiltily spoke, remembering the comment you made about Mitchell’s killing their backseaters

“I love you too. It’s ok.” Maverick assured you. “I’m going to help you get through this. I promise.”

Taglist

@daughterofthereaper02

@luckyladycreator2

@calpurniatypes

@littlebadariell

@qnfluvr

@raefoxiegirl

@maverick-wingman

@avada-kedrava-bitch

#top gun maverick #top gun #pete mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #rooster x reader #pete mitchell x daughter reader

309 notes · View notes

alienssstufff · 1 year

Text

Thinking about Life Series alternatives, interesting changes to the rules that could spice up each season:

-LAST LIFE: (Bogeyman Curse -> Hitmans Curse) instead of killing just anyone, the session curses +1player with the curse to kill someone targeted. Smth that can make failing bogey a tad more likely, raises stakes depending on who gets who.

-DOUBLE LIFE: (Joint Bank Account) A player and their soulmate share lives and damages together but don’t have to have the same Number of lives at all times via gifting lives between soulmates, essentially sharing 6 lives between one another. The soulbound like Grian says “Once you reach red, all social ties are broken.” is taken literally and the shared health between soulmates breaks. This could be taken as a danger or even an incentive to go to red.

-LIMITED LIFE: (Bounty) Essentially a Reverse-Boogeyman. Each session one person has a bounty put on them and if they are killed by another player they are worth a LOT of time and it is everyone’s job to get them killed. Penalty being everyone except the Bounty losing time in exchange for the bounty gaining a lot of time as survival reward. Idk if everyone knowing instantly who the bounty is or if only the bounty knows they are the bounty but whichever yields funnier results.

#trafficblr #life series #stufff rambles #3RD Life is not mentioned here bc those are the BASE rules- every sequel after #if I were to ‘spice up 3L’ that’d just be the sequels as they are just extra rules -w-

114 notes · View notes

fizzyginfizz · 1 year

Text

Hobby

For @hinnymicrofic - Prompt 24 - "Hobby"

Ankles crossed in front of him, Harry leaned with deceptive informality against the exposed brick wall. Though the steam from his piping cup of coffee fogged his glasses, his professional gaze remained focused on the prisoner as he took a measured sip.

“Depriving me of caffeine is cruel and unusual.” The prisoner eyed his beverage, her hands curling around the bars separating them. “You going to share that?”

"Against the rules,” he drawled. Enjoying the view more than the crappy coffee, his eyes drifted over her firm arms, down to the toned legs dappled with golden freckles.

“You,” she purred, “have never struck me as a rule-follower. What happened to you?”

He hid his smile in his coffee. “Twenty-odd years in law enforcement.”

She rattled the barred jail door, the clang echoing through the pen. “Is this really necessary, Harry?”

“You Bat Bogey hexed the Minister of Magic.”

“No,” Ginny objected, jabbing a finger at him through the bars. “I Bat Bogey hexed our best friend.”

“Who is the Minister of Magic.”

“She wasn’t involved in any Ministering at the time!” Ginny protested. “It was her day off!”

“Oddly enough, her security detail does not recognize days off.”

The slap of feet on the stairs cut their conversation short as one of the department’s junior aurors barreled into the room, juggling a stack of photos piled in his arms. “Another batch, sir! May… um… can she, um… she’s really popular.”

Harry nodded. With a nervous smile, the auror handed Ginny the photos and a quill through the bars. “The list of names is on the top, ma’am-“

Ginny glanced up from the photos with a raised brow. “Ma’am?”

“Um… uh, not ma’am. I didn’t mean ‘ma’am.’” The auror blushed. “Mrs. Potter, uh, when I was a kid-“

“You’re still a kid,” she drawled, with just enough glint that he blushed harder.

He gulped. “Big fan of the Harpies. Me. I was.”

Harry cleared his throat in warning. She was about to make the kid hyperventilate and Harry didn’t need any more paperwork.

With a snort of amusement, Ginny began signing the photographs, making sure she addressed them and wrote a little message to each name on the list. “Where the hell are all these old Quidditch photos coming from, anyway?”

“Your son is upstairs selling them in the lobby.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry’s composure slipped a fraction. “Wasn’t he on duty?”

“He traded for Jones’s double-shift tomorrow, sir. Didn’t want to miss the commerce opportunity – they’re going for a galleon apiece right now.”

“Wonderful,” Harry muttered.

Despite the less-than-desirable setting, Ginny’s husky snicker managed to invoke the same reaction it always did in Harry’s abdomen. His body shifted into a heightened state of alertness, tightening far more than his muscles as blood flowed straight to his cock.

Ginny knew exactly what she was doing to him. She shot him a knowing look that wasn’t discrete at all as it flickered down to his trousers, her mouth quirking into a wicked grin.

However, the young auror was oblivious to the undercurrents. “The minister,” he explained. “While well-respected for her policies, has uh, gone through assistants and undersecretaries with a brisk kind of turnover. Also, she scares people. So, um, Mrs. Potter, is er, sort of a legend right now with people who have ever, at any point in their careers, felt maybetheymighthavewantedtohextheminister. Just a little bit.”

“You don’t say,” Ginny smirked, though her eyes were back on Harry. As if she weren’t going to languish in a holding cell for who knew how long, Ginny blithely scribbled her name on several photos, as the twenty-year-old version of her winked from the glossy sheet.

They weren’t twenty anymore, Harry knew. Didn’t seem to matter, though. Ginny Potter was far more devastating in her forties than she’d been at twenty. She still blazed, she still stunned, but in the last five years she had cultivated what she referred to as a prime “been-there, done-that” look.

A stupid man might assume been-there, done-that meant jaded and tired. Given the nature of the glances she received on a regular basis, Harry was discovering the wizarding world had far fewer stupid men than he thought. Ginny’s been-there done-that air held an “I’d do it again in a heartbeat” subtext. It made other men wonder just what the hell “that” had been to put the smirk on her face and devilish twinkle in her eyes.

His cock twitched again, because he had been there - most enthusiastically - for most of her thats.

Though, incarceration was a first. An unexamined life might not be worth living, but there weren’t enough fucking galleons in England to make him analyze why the sight of his wife behind bars was doing it for him.

Like most everything, he’d chalk it up to “middle age.” Sometimes, a person just had to go with it and not question the hows, whys, or what-the-hell-does-that-say-about-hims.

Speaking of which, that damned blushing infant who thought he was an auror was beginning to irritate him. “Is this stack the last of them?” Harry asked, in a professional tone that nonetheless made Ginny snicker again.

“Oh, no sir,” the auror gulped. “The, uh, line for them stretched past the fountain halfway to the floo rows, sir.”

“See? “ Ginny’s eyes danced in merriment. “People appreciate other people who speak truth to power.”

“You didn’t speak truth to power. You Bat Bogey-ed it,” Harry pointed out.

“Well,” Ginny’s wicked grin returned, full force. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Soooooo... this was another one that resisted being a microfic at first - if you're wondering why Ginny hexed Hermione, the 2000 word version is up on Ao3

Hobby - Director's Cut on Ao3

#hinny #hinny microfic #they age like wine #pregnancy glow is a lie #but hot flirty forties are real

137 notes · View notes

haggishlyhagging · 4 months

Text

The rape of the Goddess in all of her aspects is an almost universal theme in patriarchal myth. Zeus, for example, was a habitual rapist. Graves points out that Zeus's rapes apparently refer to Hellenic conquests of the Goddess's ancient shrines. The early patriarchal rapes of the Goddess, in her various manifestations, symbolized the vanquishing of woman-identified society. In the early mythic rapes, the god often assumed a variety of animal forms; the sense of violence/ violation is almost tangible. In christianity, this theme is refined—disguised almost beyond recognition.

The rape of the rarefied remains of the Goddess in the christian myth is mind/spirit rape. In the charming story of "the Annunciation" the angel Gabriel appears to the terrified young girl, announcing that she has been chosen to become the mother of god. Her response to this sudden proposal from the godfather is totaled nonresistance: "Let it be done unto me according to thy word." Physical rape is not necessary when the mind/will/spirit has already been invaded. In refined religious rapism, the victim is impregnated with the Supreme Seminal Idea, who becomes "the Word made flesh."

Within the rapist christian myth of the Virgin Birth the role of Mary is utterly minimal; yet she is "there." She gives her unqualified "consent." She bears the Son who pre-existed her and then she adores him. According to catholic theology, she was even "saved" by him in advance of her own birth. This is the meaning of the "Immaculate Conception" of Mary— the dogma that Mary was herself conceived free of "original sin" through the grace of the "savior" who would be born of her. This grace received in advance, described by theologians as "grace of prevention or preservation," is something like a supernatural credit card issued to a very special patron (matron). Mary's credit line was crossed before she was even conceived. Double crossed by the divine Master Charge system, she was in a state of perpetual indebtedness. Still, as I have explained elsewhere, despite all the theological minimizing of Mary's "role," the mythic presence of the Goddess was perceivable in this faded and reversed mirror image.*

* In order to understand the Background of Mary, Hags should recall that she was known as "the new Eve." This leads us to look into the Background of Eve who, in hebrew myth, was a dulled-out replacement for Lilith, Adam's first wife. Patai writes of Lilith as portrayed in the Talmudic period: "When Adam wished to lie with her, Lilith demurred: 'Why should I lie beneath you,' she asked, 'when I am your equal since both of us were created from dust?'" (See Raphael Patai, The Hebrew Goddess, p. 210.) Any Crone-ographer, of course, can recognize this as a watered-down version of what Lilith really might have said, which would hardly have been an argument for mere "equal rights." As for Eve, constructed from Adam's rib—Peggy Holland has pointed out that this is an interesting mythic model: the first male-to-constructed-female transsexual. Patai affirms that it was Lilith who persuaded Eve to eat of the Tree of Knowledge and he acknowledges that Lilith was a Hag (pp. 210-13). According to Cirlot, Lilith, in the Israelite tradition, corresponds to the Greek and Roman Lamia. (See J. E. Cirlot, A Dictionary of Symbols, trans. by Jack Sage [New York: Philosophical Library, 1962], p. 180.) Graves puts more of the pieces together, indicating that Lamia was the Libyan Neith, also named Anatha and Athene. (See Robert Graves, The Greek Myths, I, 61, 1. Graves adds that "she ended as a nursery bogey" (which is, of course, the fate of all Hags/ Crones/ Witches in patriarchal myth). Lilith is also identified with Hecate, the lunar goddess and "accursed huntress." After pointing this out, Cirlot remarks: "The overcoming of the threat which Lilith constitutes finds its symbolic expression in the trial of Hercules in which he triumphs over the Amazons" (Ibid., p. 180). Since Hecate was associated with hares, this suggests that rabbits are in the Virgin Mary's Background. Given the parthenogenetic propensities of rabbits and given the reversal mechanisms of patriarchal myth, this association makes sense. We are also led to think about the identity of the familiar "Easter Bunny" (and about the reversal involved in the image of "Playboy Bunnies"). Finally, when considering Lilith, Hags should note that this name is said to be derived from the Babylonian-Assyrian word lilitu, meaning a "female demon, or wind-spirit." (See Robert Graves and Raphael Patai, Hebrew Myths: The Book of Genesis [Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1964], p. 68.) This is interesting in view of the fact that the name of the "Holy Spirit," who is believed to have impregnated the Virgin Mary, is derived from the Latin spiritus. Is the holy spirit trying to copy Lilith? Also fascinating is the thought that since, as we have seen, Yahweh is a derivative and reversal of the Goddess, one of whose primary names is Lilith, he is exposed as an imposter, a female impersonator, and a transsexed caricature of that Great Hag herself.

-Mary Daly, Gyn/Ecology

#mary daly #patriarchal mythology #christian mythology #great goddess #lilith #Eve #virgin mary

37 notes · View notes

mean-scarlet-deceiver · 8 months

Text

This Shouldn't Be as Relatable as It Is

"With the bogey of Sunday rates of pay, the LMS Northern Division ran those Sunday services on a veritable shoestring. Only Glasgow Central station was used, and one locomotive depot, Polmadie. Signal boxes were switched out wherever possible. From Paisley to Kilwinning, there was no box open except Glengarnock No 2, which was kept open for the ironworks. Staffs at stations were the minimum.

In June 1927 the LMS took a really daring decision, advertising a Sunday Excursion from Glasgow to Portpatrick on 18 June from Central station. The G&SW men had been complaining that they were getting no share of the Sunday jobs, so authority said to Corkerhill, 'Here you are. Run this excursion to Portpatrick. Put on two of the heaviest engines which are permitted, and give the job to your two senior passenger men.' So Corkerhill chose two big-boilered Manson 4-4-0s, Nos 14374 (ex-346, ex-157) and 14261 (ex-389, ex-259), of the 18 and 240 classes respectively. They gave them to the two oldest drivers, Sanny Rowan and Dick Gaw, who had been leading a quiet life on the 'old men's jobs'. They did not know the road into Central, but they were told to proceed to West Street and they would get a conductor from there. So they set off from Corkerhill tender-first, and with a big of juggling got to West Street. No conductor there. 'Go on. He's at Larkfield,' said the signalman, 'It's not far.' So they got down to Larkfield, and of course landed in Central nose first! They had to come back out to Eglintgon Street to turn. They got back in to find a train of eleven corridors and a Pullman diner, Helen Macgregor, 366 tons tare and filling rapidly.

They got away eight minutes late and sat for 15 minutes at Paisley waiting on the Largs train clearing Glengarnock. By the time the train left Paisley it was estimated that there were 950 passengers aboard. They called at Irvine, Troon and Prestwick, with a draw-up at each to let all the train get to the platforms. At Ayr, both engines took water. By this time the train was packed. There was an extra stop to pick up a party from Kilkerran. At Girvan both locomotives took water again. Webster was guard and he came forward at Girvan grumbling about the delay. Dick Gaw, flourishing his oil can, chased him up the platform, threatening to knock the bluidy heid off him.

Now came the problem. The scheduled top load for each of those engines, Girvan to Pinmore, was 140 tons, and they had 366! No assistance was available. How they got up, I shall never know. I think the regulators must have been twice round. Stop at Pinmore — another party to lift — missed the tablet at New Luce and had to stop and run back for it, arriving 80 minutes late Stranraer. They then took the whole train down to Portpatrick, rounded it (on a loop which held, I think, eight coaches) and hauled the whole lot back up to Stranraer, tender-first. At Stranraer there was no one on duty except a signalman. They had to turn, water and coal both engines; two big fires to clean. Then they had to turn to and fill finer tanks and lavatory tanks, and by buckets, for the hoses were either locked up or could not be found. Then back down to Portpatrick, with a 40-minute late start on the return journey. They had a special stop at Dunragit, parties at Pinmore and Kilkerran, and had double stops at all stations except Ayr, finally arriving 148 minutes late in Glasgow Central. The engine crews booked off at Corkerhill after eighteen hours on duty!

'Splendid!' said Head Office, examining the passenger returns on Monday morning, and it promptly arranged for another similar excursion [next] Sunday."

p. 31-33, Legends of the Glasgow & South Western (David L. Smith)

#elder abuse for fun and profit #real true railway stuff #british engines #scottish engines #glasgow and south western engines #david l. smith #when this man can follow the thread of his own damn stories for longer than a paragraph the results are invariably great

39 notes · View notes

cattimeswithjellie · 1 year

Text

The Ultimate Comprehensive Guide to the Forty-Six Deaths of Limited Life Session Seven

Well, that session was quite a ride, wasn't it? Between TNT minecarts, rocket crossbows, glass-lined traps and a general devil-may-care attitude towards gravity, the Life Series Players managed to rack up an astonishing forty-six deaths during the three hours of play this week! For those keeping score at home, that is more than double the entire total of kills from the six weeks of Double Life, all in one day.

It's no wonder that the action is hard to follow, especially if you're only watching a few POVs. With that in mind, here is my comprehensive guide to the whos, whats, wheres and whys of all the Session Seven deaths, in order. If you notice anything wrong, or if I missed any deaths in all the excitement, please reply and let me know!

The Bad Boys ascend the ladder to their skybridge, M-Rye-5. Joel misclicks while turning around on the ladder and falls to his death.

Grian, distracted by Joel’s sudden departure, wanders off the side of the ladder and falls to his death seconds later.

The Bad Boys regroup at the bottom of the ladder, where Jimmy accuses his teammates of playing a prank and using /me commands to make it look like they died. He’s really mad about it and shoots the others with a crossbow as they ascend again, knocking both Joel and Grian off the ladder. Joel nails an MLG bucket clutch and saves himself, but Grian falls to his death again.

Irritated with Jimmy, Joel and Grian use fishing pole and crossbow to bring Jimmy down from the ladder. Grian hits Jimmy with his sword, apparently intending to knock him off the platform and into the water, but Jimmy’s health is low enough that it becomes a PVP kill instead.

Scott realizes that he is being pursued by half of the server because he is the yellow with the most time still on his clock. To take some of the heat off, he allows Scar to kill him so long as he does it before the Bogeyman is assigned. Scar shoots him several times with a bow.

Scott is chased off of Skynet by Etho and TIES, but enderpearls safely to the ground. They follow him and Etho and Impulse shoot him with rocket crossbows. Etho tries for a Bogey kill but Impulse accidentally kill-snipes him.

Etho returns to Skynet with TIES and attempts to Bogey-kill Grian with a rocket crossbow, but Grian kills him in self-defense.

Scott enters a temporary alliance with TIES and follows them up onto Skynet. He fires into the TIES-Bad Boys melee and kills Grian, who was very injured from fighting Etho.

Scott also manages to kill Jimmy with a bow shot into the same combat, kill-sniping Tango.

TIES and Scott celebrate their victory over the Bad Boys while all clustered together on Skybridge. Grian drops a TNT minecart on them from M-Rye-5 and kills Scott.

He also kills Impulse.

He also kills Tango.

He also kills Etho.

Joel and Jimmy go to spawn for a bit of lighthearted mockery of the respawning TIES. They are shot at with bows, which don’t do much damage until Scott’s arrow knocks Joel off the single-wide bridge between Clockers Tower and the remains of Bread Bridge, sending him falling to his death.

With Joel gone and Jimmy undefended, Etho chases Jimmy up onto the flooded remains of Bread Bridge and finally scores a Bogey kill by way of crossbow rocket. It is unclear why this did not take Jimmy out of the series. It may have been a clerical error, or could mean that a Bogey kill bonus cannot take someone out of the series.

Impulse and Tango follow Etho onto Bread Bridge but are met by Jimmy and the Clockers, who are desperate to get a kill for Jimmy before his last seven minutes run out. Impulse tries to dodge by enderpearling off the bridge (despite multiple nearby water streams off the bridge) but misjudges somehow, bounces off a mushroom and falls to his death.

Jimmy begins frantically messaging Scott to come and give him the thirty minutes he promised. In the meantime, Bdubs demands that Jimmy kill him in order to save his life. Jimmy shoots him with a bow and gets 30 minutes.

Jimmy and Scott meet up in the wheat fields on M-Rye-5, along with the other Bad Boys. Jimmy escorts Scott a little ways away and then pushes him off the bridge, sealing the promise Scott made to give him time as Scott falls to his death.

Grian and the other Bad Boys return to M-Rye-5 for more TNT minecart fun. A very fortunate accident of timing lets him drop a TNT minecart right onto Tango, who blows up.

The Bad Boys realize that it is difficult to get ground kills from M-Rye-5 and descend to Skynet, where they can at least see the ground. Joel runs to the Clockers base and pushes out a TNT minecart, which kills Cleo.

It also kills Martyn.

Flushed with success, the Bad Boys attempt to reset their minecart push when they realize that Martyn is once again standing under the Skynet bridge. Grian encourages Joel to let Jimmy push the cart because Jimmy is still badly in need of extra time. Joel lets him push the cart but Jimmy gets a bit too enthusiastic and falls off the bridge after the minecart. The minecart detonates harmlessly, but Jimmy falls to his final death and is out of the series.

Skizz pursues Martyn off of Skynet and into the ruins of Bread Bridge, hoping to get a kill. Martyn jumps off the side of the manor and into the water, but when Skizz tries to follow, he bounces off a lower roof for half damage and dies when he hits the treeline. Martyn gets credit because they were in combat.

With Jimmy dead, Joel and Grian split up and Joel returns to the now-moldy Sub Sandwich. He finds Tango there and chases him out onto the platflorm, where he tries to jump-crit him with a sword. The knockback from his own jump attack sends Joel off the platform and falling into the water, which Martyn has laced with panes of blue glass. Joel falls onto glass and dies.

Joel sees that people are congregating around the Frog Tower and approaches it on Skynet with some TNT minecarts. He cannot actually see the ground but blind-pushes two minecarts where he thinks people are likely to be. The Nosy Neighbors see and avoid the first minecart, but the second one blows up BigB.

Team TIES invades the Clock Tower and engages in a shooting battle with the Clockers. Impulse is injured during the shooting and then dies from fall damage when someone (Scott takes credit) shoots him off the ledge he is standing on.

During the shooting battle, Skizz pushes four or five TNT minecarts out of the Clock Tower, all in the same place. Scott gets distracted enough by attempting to shoot Impulse that he wanders straight into the blast path and gets blown up.

The shooting battle continues outside the tower as the Clockers fend off TIES. Scar tags Etho with a weakness potion and gets in several good hits but is hampered by Bdubs, who does not want Etho dead despite his general murderousness. Scott snipes the kill on Etho while Scar is distracted.

During the fight, Skizzleman jumps into the melee and begins fighting Scar as well. Scar scores several hits, as does Cleo. Both of them also hit Bdubs as well as a cow who happens to be in the waterlogged hole where the battle I taking place. Scar kills Skizz with his sword.

Meanwhile, Martyn finds himself treed in Frog Tower and pursued by Joel, Pearl and Grian. He escapes into the woods and attempts to set a minecart trap to kill the others, but it blows up in his face and kills him. Pearl gets credit because she got the last hit in on him.

Skizz respawns and notices he was not carrying his totem in his offhand. He equips it and dives straight back into melee combat agains Cleo, apparently maddened by bloodlust. He jumps off the bridge after her and takes significant damage. Scar follows them and hits Skizz with a sword in defense of his Mom, popping Skizz’s totem.

Skizz chooses not to take the opportunity the totem provides to retreat, instead attempting to kill Scott when he joins the fray. He is quickly killed again by Scar.

Joel is pursued across the server by Scott and Scar, who is determined to introduce Joel to Mrs. Puffy the pufferfish in retaliation for Joel’s kill on Cleo. Joel is unable to escape and is eventually worn down by the pair of them and Martyn. Scott snipes the final kill off Scar, but all is forgiven when he gives Scar another Mrs. Puffy to replace the one that perished.

Scar returns to the Clock Tower, where he and Bdubs are surprised when Etho MLG buckets out of the sky near them. Scar moves in to attack, but Bdubs says he cannot possibly kill their dad. He does not get in the way this time, though. Scar takes Etho to very low health, but the kill is sniped when Etho dies to fall damage with a skeleton nearby to take credit.

Etho respawns and the fight is back on, this time with Martyn trying to kill Etho as well. Etho gets the upper hand against Scar but Scar accidentally shoots one of his own wolves, aggroing it. The wolf snipes the kill on Scar and gets the credit.

Skizz assembles TIES at Windsor base one last time. He distributes his valuable possessions, explaining that he has been unable to score the kills he needs to survive and he refuses to give their enemies the last of his time. He orders his teammates to help him sacrifice himself in the hopes that someone in TIES will make it to the end of the game. Etho, being the TIES member with the least time remaining, kills Skizz with his own axe, taking him out of the game.

The newly-reduced Team TIE faces off against the Clockers on Skynet. Impulse leads the way because he has the most life remaining, and after a long-distance battle kills Bdubs with a bow.

Injured from the fight, Impulse bricks himself up long enough to eat, then tries to get off Skynet when it’s clear he’s still under fire. He uses an ender pearl that puts him on the ground with half a heart remaining and flees, then dies to the fall damage from a two-block drop.

Scar climbs up onto M-Rye-5 where Grian and Joel are hiding in the irrigation holes of the wheat field. Grian gets the drop on Scar and after a pitched two-on-one PVP battle, Scar attempts to jump to safety but is killed by Grian at the last moment with exquisite comedic timing.

Joel and Grian travel on M-Rye-5 looking for targets on Skynet. They choose to ignore Pearl and focus instead on Martyn, Cleo and Scar on the platform above the Clock Tower. Grian pushes a minecart onto them which obliterates the platform. Martyn and Cleo blow up, but Scar merely falls off and is saved by a timely bucket clutch.

Joel encounters Scott and Scar in the ruins of the Bad Boy base, after almost dying several times to forgetting about the glass in the water. Scott is annoyed about Joel griefing his base, and Scar would like to show Joel the new and improved Mrs. Puffy. They fight in the flooded remnants of the Bread Bridge and Scott gets in the final hit.

The kill from Scott takes Joel to seven minutes on his timer, leaving him desperate for more time. He tries unsuccessfully to kill Scott with a crossbow, then engages with Scar at the base of the Clock Tower. They do a lot of damage to each other, but Grian intervenes and insists that Joel kill him rather than risk dying to Scar. Joel kills Grian and gets thirty minutes back.

Moments later, Joel also finishes Scar off for another thirty minute gain.

Moments after that, Scott catches up and kills Joel with a bow, taking Joel back down to five minutes remaining.

Grian and Joel reunite at the Sub Sandwich where they’ve both respawned and decide they can’t afford for Grian to give Joel more time. Grian gives Joel TNT instead and they head for the Clock Tower where the Clockers and Scott are grouped up and waiting. Joel is desperate for a kill despite the odds stacked against him and tries to speed-build a platform to push a TNT minecart from. Joel is unsuccessful and ultimately falls to a bow attack from Scott, taking him out of the series.

#limited life #limited life smp #limited life spoilers #trafficblr #i have eight different POVs in tabs right now and have been combing through all of them #i hope i didn't miss anybody

67 notes · View notes