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stevie-petey · 4 days

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episode three: the monster and the superhero

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.” You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?” Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?” “You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Summary: you and steve can never have a normal conversation, dustin threatens nasa, eddie sadly eats his cereal because youre mean to him, youre once again nancys biggest fan, dustin and steve have an awkward heart to heart, and you and max become felons together and trauma bond (again) !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of blood, trauma lol

Words: 13.5k

Before you swing in: hi hi hi !! so so so sorry for the wait. this chapter was a pain to write and i was so busy with school and work :( promise updates will become more regular soon. i was just simply in the trenches for a hot few weeks. things in the story are heatin up, so get ready gamers. anyways, enjoy !!

–

It’s quiet in Steve’s car.

Streetlights glow faintly, lighting the way home. The windows are down; the thick late spring air fills the car with the bittersweet scent of honeysuckles in bloom. In the dim of the car lies Steve’s faint outline as he drives. His hands rest against the steering wheel, his chest rises slowly as he inhales all the fear that settles inside the car.

No one speaks. The tension is suffocating you.

In the backseat resides Robin with Dustin and Max. The oldest sits in the middle, her fingers drum nervously against the head of your seat. Dustin stares out the window, he hasn’t looked at you ever since promising Eddie you’d be back for him tomorrow. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, he begged you to let him stay in the boathouse, but you wouldn’t let him.

Max stares out the other window. Her eyes are closed, she’s pretending to be asleep. You’ve come to learn what she looks like when she pretends. Her nose pinches slightly, her eyes can never stay still enough to convince you she’s asleep. It’s what she does whenever she doesn’t want to face your questions, your concerns and your fears.

Tension builds in the back of your skull, a dull throb rings within your ears. Exhaustion washes over you, fear pierces her nails into your skin. You can’t get Eddie’s terrified eyes out of your head. The way his voice trembled, the sticky blood on his fingernails from the skin he picked at.

If they’re back again, we need to know.

Vecna’s curse.

The static Eddie felt, Chrissy’s trance-like state. Her bones, the morbid angles they snapped. Barbara Holland, daughter and best friend. Bob Newby, superhero. Billy Hargrove, dearly missed son. Jim Hopper, renown chief and beloved father.

You’re the best of them, kid.

If the gate really has opened once again… Thick molasses grief coats your tongue and fills your mouth with remorse. There has been so much loss, so many funerals you’ve had to attend. Too many bodies buried without answers, without closure.

Over and over again.

“We’re here, Robin.” The gravel of Steve’s voice cuts through the endless dread. He parks the car in front of her driveway, the lights are off inside and you know that Robin is afraid of the dark.

“Need me to walk you in?” You ask her, quiet, but unyielding with all the love you have for her.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m brave, aren't I always brave?”

“The bravest,” Steve smiles at her, soft and unbroken. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

“I’ll… I’ll try.” Her facade slips, the fear that grips everyone tightens its hold. How could anyone sleep at a time like this? She shakes her head again, her smile returns, albeit forced, tired. Then she messily crawls over Dustin to exit the car, ignoring his cries of annoyance and pain when her elbow catches his ribs. “Sorry, little Henderson!”

“I don’t even let Steve call me that–”

“Too late, I’ve already decided to call you little Henderson,” Robin climbs out the car, lands with a soft thud on the pavement. She shuts the door with a glint in her eyes before poking her head through your passenger window. “Hey, uh. Y/N?” Her voice drops low, her eyes skirt to Steve, whose cool gaze meets her weary one. Robin clears her throat, you nod your head at her with slight concern. You know that she knows about your argument with Steve. He adores her, what he doesn’t confide in you, he confides in her. Knowing that Robin means well, you soften your voice. “Yeah?”

Robin hesitates, caught between her two favorite people in the entire world. Steve sees her hesitancy and sighs, turning away to provide some semblance of privacy. Relieved, Robin ducks her head down and whispers into your ear, “Talk to him.”

She’s gone before you can exhale.

Steve starts the car again after Robin has safely made it inside her home. Max and Dustin are quiet in the backseat. As Steve drives, his fingers absentmindedly play with the frayed edges of his leather bracelet. It had been a gift from you, the word constants etched into the material.

Constants. You were Steve’s constant, he was yours. Through everything you’ve been through together, all the heartbreak suffered in order to fall into one another, he’s the constant within your life.

Now you’re afraid that you’re losing him.

There’s still so much Steve doesn’t know. There are stories about your father that you still need to tell him about. Words Jonathan told you last night, the dangerous what if he brought into your life. You’re terrified of how Steve will react, he’s always been so trusting of you and Jonathan even after knowing the history you share.

And yet Steve also doesn’t know that the future you see involves him, that he’s in it with as much certainty as the sky is blue; you just don’t know how to tell him this, how to articulate the abandonment that sits heavy within your chest that prohibits you from getting what you want in the end.

You have to talk to him. Steve deserves to know everything, all he’s ever asked of you is to be honest with him.

The broken lamppost in front of Max’s trailer greets you. Steve slows the car, puts it into park. His eyes find hers in the rearview mirror. “This is you, Mayfield.”

“Thanks,” Max responds quietly. She goes to open the car door, but you turn in your seat and stop her.

“Hey, look at me.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments. She listens, her blue eyes meeting your gaze. For a moment you see Billy’s eyes reflecting within hers. It’s only for a brief second, it ends before you can even realize what’s happened. Startled, you momentarily choke on your words. “I–”

Max raises an eyebrow at you. You’ve been acting strange all night, she doesn’t understand why. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her words couldn’t be more ironic, more painful to hear. “I-I’m sorry.” Billy is dead, he’s gone. You shake your head, try to get his eyes out of your head. “Just… promise me you’ll call if anything happens, please?”

You know that Max isn’t in any danger, she’s safe at home with her mother, but across the street resides yellow caution tape and boarded up windows. Eddie’s trailer is across from Max’s, the proximity makes you uncomfortable. It’s an eerie feeling, Chrissy died here last night.

Max seems to understand your concern, and she allows herself to nod. She doesn’t want to fight you, not tonight. “I will, promise.”

Squeezing her hand, you leave Max with a soft reminder to get some sleep. She smiles, a hidden joke between the two of you. Both of you know that there will be no sleeping tonight.

Once she’s gone, it’s just you, Steve, and Dustin remaining in the car. Tension creeps slowly upon the three of you. Dustin’s never ending annoyance towards you clashes with all the unspoken words left floating between you and Steve.

Dustin coughs awkwardly. Steve’s fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. You keep your head down, your fingers pick at the skin between your nails. The ten minute drive from Max’s house to yours is unbearably long. Stuck at one of Hawkins’ only stop lights, Dustin can’t take the silence any longer.

“Well, this is awkward.” He says to no one in particular. “Lots of tension tonight, huh?”

Neither you nor Steve laugh, and Dustin rests his head against the seat in defeat. He understands why you and him aren’t talking, he’s still angry with you for holding a knife to Eddie’s neck. What he doesn’t understand, however, is why there seems to be so much distance between you and Steve tonight.

Normally you’d be all over one another by now. The two of you can never keep your hands off of each other. As much as Dustin hates it, he’s grown used to the way your hands are always intertwined with Steve’s. Whenever he’s in the car with you guys, your hand always rests against Steve’s arm as he drives. At red lights Steve will always turn to you, pulled in by your smile.

Except tonight Dustin doesn’t think he’s seen Steve look at you once during the drive home. Your hand rests softly at your side, balled into a small fist. There’s a coldness between the two of you, one Dustin is ashamed to admit that he hadn’t noticed before.

Then he remembers last night. He’d been too lost in his anger towards you to recognize the tears in your voice. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that you wanted a code blue for any other reason besides lecturing him. His stomach twists with guilt at his own selfish actions.

Something happened between you and Steve, and you had needed your brother last night. But he had abandoned you, denied the code blue you’d needed so desperately.

When Steve’s car pulls into your driveway, Dustin runs out as soon as the vehicle stops. He’s frantic to escape his guilt, to escape the chasm that surrounds you and Steve. Slamming the door, he shouts, “Talk to each other!” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Good luck, Steve!”

The slam of the door echoes into the night.

It’s just you and Steve, now.

The air stills between you, reminiscent of the night you drove him home from the Halloween party. A year has passed since then, it’s been so long since Steve’s presence made you feel anything other than peace. The strings that have always followed you constrict against your throat.

“We need to talk,” Steve says, but at the same time you say, “We need to talk about Jonathan.”

The words come tumbling out of your mouth, slipping through the grooves of your teeth before you can stop them. They’d been building within you all day, fizzling to the surface. And now they spill out into the silence of Steve’s car.

His head turns to you, the street lights illuminate the shock and confusion on his handsome face. It pinches with bewilderment, he doesn’t understand. He had been ready to apologize to you, despite still not being able to comprehend how you don’t see a future with him. Steve doesn’t want to fight with you anymore, he was ready to just forgive and forget and hold your hand without the weight of guilt behind it.

Steve had been ready to salvage your relationship, and now you want to talk about Jonathan?

“Jonathan?” Shamefully, his voice cracks. He feels like a helpless little kid again, his stomach twists with the foreboding nausea that something bad is about to happen. “Why… why do you want to talk about him?”

The raw frailty on Steve’s face almost kills you. He’s drawing into himself again, preparing for the final blow that will decimate him and everything he knows.

You take a deep breath. This won’t be easy, nothing you’ve ever had to do has been easy. But Steve deserves to know. To hide something from him feels foreign, to lie to him feels like a betrayal.

“Jonathan, he–” Your voice shakes almost as violently as your hands do. Steve is looking at you but you can’t bear to face him just yet. “He called me last night, after our… after our fight.”

“What did he say, Y/N?” Steve knows, even before you tell him, where this is going. The light in your eyes whenever you talk about Jonathan is gone. His name doesn’t grace your face with a smile. Instead, the grimace of guilt replaces it. Steve’s stomach twists into tighter knots. It’s happening again.

Inhaling, you close your eyes and try to commit to memory the before. How Steve looked at you with such adoration before tonight. How his soft hands, laced with trust, felt against your skin before tonight. His open gaze, one filled with vulnerability, stared into you before tonight.

Opening your eyes, you exhale. Nothing will ever be the same again. “Jonathan asked me if I ever wondered if… if we made a mistake. Him and I.”

“A mistake?” Steve’s jaw tightens.

“I think-I think he was asking me if I ever… thought about what could’ve happened between us. If somehow,” you swallow, the words cement in your mouth. “If-if somehow we made a mistake, choosing you and Nancy.”

Steve is quiet. The muscles in his body pull tightly together. He fills with venom, anger and jealousy and hurt; so much hurt. “And you think he’s right.”

It isn’t phrased as a question.

Immediately your body turns to his. “No! God, no,” your hands search for any expanse of his skin you can find. Steve doesn’t lean into you, he doesn’t react to your touch. Panic overwhelms you, suddenly all you can do is talk and plead and beg. “Steve, I don’t think Jonathan even knew what he was saying, okay? H-he was high, and he’s been so lonely and-and he kept saying things were easy between me and him but-but that’s not how love is supposed to work and I know he’s just scared. He’s scared and he’s never been so alone before and I think-he’s just lost, okay? He’s lost and–”

“Why are you telling me this, Y/N?” The hardness in Steve’s voice cuts into you, stings your skin. He isn’t screaming, not like he did last night, but you almost wish he were. The way his voice is leveled, cold and hard, scares you even more.

“Would you rather I didn’t?” You’re helpless against his anger, you know he has every right to be, but you don’t know how to fix this.

Steve laughs bitterly. “I’d rather you not make shitty excuses for the asshole.”

“I’m not making excuses for him, I just wanted you to understand–”

“You are!” His voice raises slightly, almost imperceptibly so, but you hear it anyways. Steve’s chest rises and falls quickly. His hands fly wildly everywhere, he doesn’t know what to do, either. Then, almost as quickly as the anger surfaced, insecurity replaces it. “Is… Jonathan why you don’t see a future with me?”

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, almost as if you’re afraid he’ll slip between your fingers any second now. “I do see a future with you–”

“Pretty fucking hard to believe when you’re wearing the goddamn necklace he got you.” The words drip with acid. They’re hissed out with a jaw clenched so tightly you’re afraid he’ll somehow hurt himself.

The words startle you, catch you off guard. Your hand slips from Steve’s wrist. He’s never once insinuated any jealousy regarding you and Jonathan. He’s always been so trusting of you two together, he’s always been kind towards him. He always knew that he could never touch what you guys have, and yet his gaze now flickers cruelly to the bee pendant that rests against your neck.

What Steve has said hurts you, deeper than he ever intended to. He knows how you love, how deeply you care for others. It’s who you are. Regardless of the hurt he may be feeling right now, it doesn’t give him the right to throw this crucial part of you back in your face.

“I’m made of pieces of everyone I’ve ever loved, Steve. You know this.” The bee pendant rests against your skin as heavily as the charm bracelet does.

And Steve does know that you’re made of pieces of everyone in your life. It’s what he loves the most about you. His eyes follow where your fingers reside, skimming the silver chain that encases your wrist. He hadn’t meant to say what he did, the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

“Y/N…” Your name is spoken as an apology, it’s all Steve can manage in his shame.

But the moment is ruined, you’re exhausted and all you want to do is go home.

You shake your head at Steve, try to hide the tears in your eyes. He sees them anyways. “Can I leave, please?”

The way you ask so delicately to escape breaks Steve. Something in his chest shatters, his mouth fills with the taste of a broken promise. You don’t need his permission, he hates that you feel that you do.

“Yeah,” his voice is softer than it’s been all night, but it’s too late. He knows this. Swallowing, all Steve can do is be gentle with you. “Yeah, of course you can leave, angel.”

Angel.

You nod at him; if you try to speak you’re afraid you’ll break before him.

No other words are spoken between you. Steve watches as you leave.

–

The next morning you sit hunched over a mug of coffee, more exhausted than ever before. You haven’t slept properly in days now. Dustin finds you with dark circles under your eyes and a pathetic bowl of cereal before you. From the dazed look in your eyes, he knows you haven’t noticed his arrival, and he awkwardly clears his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, your eyes are slow to look up at him. Pointing to your coffee, Dustin raises his eyebrows. “Rough night, I take it?”

You nod, too tired to say anything else. The cereal goes uneaten. Dustin doesn’t think your coffee is even warm anymore, he hadn’t heard you wake up this morning. He’s worried that you never even went to bed last night. You’re pale, sickly so, and Dustin hates that he hadn’t noticed the signs sooner.

“Hey,” he pulls a chair beside you, sits down with a playful shove to your shoulder. He’s your brother, it’s his job to take care of you just as much as it’s yours to take care of him. It’s how the two of you have always been.

For Dustin’s entire life you’ve looked after him, kissing his scraped knees and warding off monsters hidden underneath his bed. When your father left, the depression your mother fell into afterwards left Dustin clinging onto you. You were all he had left.

Dustin leans against you, he used to do this when he was a little kid and could still fit between your arms. Resting his head against yours, shoulders pressed together, the angle is awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s safe. “Is it too late to have that code blue?”

It’s a peace offering, an extension of an apology, and you can’t help but smile at your brother. Hand finding his mess of curls, you ruffle his hair and laugh softly. “Yeah, guess we can have a code blue now.”

“Good, you know I always love to shit talk Steve.” Dustin says with humor. You both know he admires the boy.

“Language,” you remind him as you always do. Dustin knocks his head against yours in response and the two of you break into laughter; laughing with your brother again feels good.

In between sips of cold coffee and bites of soggy cereal, you tell Dustin about Steve. You explain the original argument a few nights ago, how he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want him to follow you to New York.

“It’s what mom did with dad,” Dustin says, looking down at the table.

You nod at him, you knew he’d understand better than anyone. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Does he know what happened with dad?”

“No, and I know I should explain what he did, but there’s–” You cut yourself off. Dustin would kill Jonathan with his bare hands if he found out about the phone call. Even though it technically goes against the rules of a code blue, you can’t tell Dustin about Jonathan. Not yet, at least. Clearing your throat, you continue. “There’s… other things that have prevented me from explaining dad to Steve.”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “Other things?”

“Other things,” you look pointedly at him, standing your ground about not elaborating. He denied your original code blue. You’re allowed to lie this one time. “And now Steve thinks that I don’t see a future with him.”

“Well then he’s an idiot.” Your brother scoffs. Anyone with eyes can see how much you fawn over Steve. Dustin has watched you fall for him for years now. “You’re practically ready to marry the guy.”

Taking a bite of cereal, you grimace slightly. “Okay, marriage is a little much–”

“Tell that to mom, she’s already started planning the wedding.”

Of course she has. She wouldn’t be Claudia Henderson if she wasn’t already planning the names of her grandchildren from Steve.

The bite of cereal turns into cement, your heartbeat pounds against your throat. With everything going on with Steve, the hurt the two of you have brought down upon the other, you’re not even sure there will be a wedding at the rate things are going.

As the days go on, you can feel Steve slipping away from you more and more.

Dustin must sense that the subject is hurting you, so he stands from his seat and claps his hands together. “Alright, I feel like we’ve covered our bases for a code blue. Checked all the boxes, felt the feelings needed to be felt.”

“I don’t like the feelings being felt,” you mumble, shoving your bowl away. You’re still drawn into yourself, pale and frail and unlike the lively girl your brother has come to miss. He knows things have been difficult between the two of you, a strain that can’t quite be loosened.

Dustin falters, his bravado fades. He sighs again and his hand settles against your shoulder. He looks at you with sincerity, his expression softens. “Look, you and Steve will figure things out. You guys always do.”

And he truly believes this. Steve loves you with such a ferocity that rivals your love for him. Dustin can’t imagine a world in which you’re no longer with Steve, where he’s let go of you and allowed you to walk away.

Except Dustin doesn’t know how to express this to you, but you can understand him anyways. Placing your hand over his, you squeeze it. “Thanks, Dustin.”

He smiles back at you and the code blue is over. The moment lingers for only a second longer before he frowns and sits back down next to you. “Do you think Eddie will be okay?”

And there it is. Eddie fucking Munson again.

Shoving down your annoyance, you force yourself to focus on the situation from last night. As hurt as you are that Dustin wants to talk about Eddie right now, you can understand why he would. Chrissy died in front of him, he’s being accused of murder.

You’re just being childish, easily irritated from lack of sleep and the stress of it all.

“I don’t know, I mean…the cops will be looking for him.” With ease you fall back into strategizing, putting the situation above your own thoughts and feelings. Your mind spins with everything you need to do, trying to come up with whatever you can do to help. “If we have any shot of protecting him, we need to figure out what they know.”

Dustin nods, following along. “Cerebro can tap into the Hawkins PD system, we can easily get intel from there.”

“It terrifies me that Cerebro can hack into our town’s police system.”

“Be grateful I stopped there, Suzie wouldn’t let me use it to tap into NASA.”

You learn two things after using Cerebro to gather information.

One, the radio is far too powerful to reside in your fourteen year old brother’s hands. He’s able to access the PD system with incredible ease, almost as if he’s done so before. It’d be impressive if you didn’t know the horrors that went on inside the kid’s head.

Two, Eddie is well and truly fucked.

He’s the main suspect. They think he’s killed Chrissy and have every man in the force scouring Hawkins to find him. Her death was gruesome, you understand the manhunt that unfolds. Dustin, however, nearly loses his mind when he hears chief Powell instructing his men to search Eddie’s neighborhood for the teen.

“We have to go warn him,” Dustin scrambles to his feet, the chair almost toppling over in his haste. “We need to leave, now.”

There isn’t time to argue, Dustin is already ringing Steve’s number. Either he’s already forgotten about your argument with the teen, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Regardless, the thought of seeing Steve again so soon after last night makes your stomach churn. You want to stop Dustin, make up some excuse to him about why you can’t help Eddie, but you know it wouldn’t matter. Your brother would only beg you to come, your worry for him would force you to listen.

All you can do is drop your head into your hands and sigh.

–

It was your idea to stop and get Eddie food.

Steve had arrived at your house within minutes. Dustin immediately went for the passenger seat, which was more than okay with you, and Steve had mumbled a soft “hello” to the two of you. His greeting went ignored by you, still trying to find your breath around him, and Dustin, who promptly demanded that Steve pick up Robin and Max before returning to the boathouse.

Halfway to Max’s, the silence in the car was thickening rapidly, so you offhandedly suggested stopping at the local grocery store to get Eddie some food and water. You figured he would appreciate the small act of kindness, especially considering the grime news you’d be delivering to him soon. That, and it’d give you an excuse to leave Steve’s car for a few moments and steady your breathing.

The boathouse isn’t nearly as creepy in the daylight, but still you make sure your knives are in your pocket before approaching it. Robin walks beside you, helping you and Dustin carry the groceries, while Max and Steve walk silently behind.

“Think we got him enough?” Robin asks, holding up one of the grocery bags. “I mean, don’t stoners eat a lot? Munchies or whatever?”

Rolling your eyes, you undo one of the buttons on your sweater, allowing the crisp spring air to soak your body. The sun is too warm to be worrying about whatever stoners eat. “If he complains, then he can starve.”

“Cat’s got claws today,” Robin nudges you with her arm. Turning to make sure Steve is far enough away so he doesn’t overhear, she lowers her voice. “Guessing the talk didn’t go well last night?”

“Oh, it was just peachy,” you grit out through a forced smile. “But we have to focus on harboring a murder suspect right now.” Because nothing in your life can ever be simple. If you aren’t hunting monsters, you’re protecting the town. If you aren’t protecting the town, you’re fighting alternate dimensions.

Robin opens her mouth to say something, but Dustin shoulders past her and bursts through the boathouse doors, ending your conversation. “Delivery service!”

Eddie nearly has a heart attack at the abrupt entrance. He jumps out of his skin and clutches at his chest after letting out a very unmanly yelp. The reaction is almost enough to brighten your foul mood, momentarily forgetting that Steve stands behind you.

“Someone’s jumpy,” you sidestep your brother and walk over towards the table. Setting the groceries down, you begin to unload them. “We got you some food, but please don’t eat it all at once. I really don’t want to spend any more money on you.”

“Thanks…?” Eddie slowly approaches you, both relieved for the food and offended you seem so begrudged to have gotten it for him in the first place. From his few interactions with you since last night, he’s coming to learn that you’re far from the girl who showed him such selfless kindness all those years ago.

Eddie doesn’t think you even remember what you did for him. He had been at such a low point in his life, one failed exam away from dropping out of high school and disappointing his uncle, until you appeared. It’d been your sophomore year, Eddie’s failed one, and you had given him your pencil.

The action had been small, meniscal, yet it saved Eddie’s life. He hadn’t brought his own pencil for some stupid English exam. He’d been too nervous for it that he had forgotten his, and Mrs. Greer, the teacher who couldn’t have cared less whether or not Eddie died, threatened to fail him.

The threat sank deep into his bones, freezing his intestines with dread. Eddie had promised his uncle he’d try harder in school, that he’d graduate, and yet he couldn't do something as simple as bringing a pencil to an exam. Close to tears, embarrassed and overwhelmed, Eddie almost hadn’t registered your softly whispered voice.

“Here,” you tapped his shoulder. Eddie remembers turning around, surprised you were even talking to him, and he remembers the immediate relief that sagged his bones when he saw the pencil extended in offering. He had nodded curtly at you before frantically rushing to begin the exam. He’d already wasted five minutes, he couldn’t afford any more.

It would only be later that Eddie learned you willingly failed the exam because you’d given him your only pencil, just so he wouldn’t fail. In the end, he passed. It was the first exam Eddie had passed in a long, long time; his uncle had been so proud of him that he bought him his electric guitar.

Eddie never thanked you for that.

And now you stand in front of him, once again extending your arm out to him with yet another offering, but your eyes are cold. Your body is tense around Eddie’s, he doesn’t miss the wide berth you seem to always give him.

“Thanks,” he says to you again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He accepts the box of cereal you offer him and he wills himself to smile. “I, uh. Appreciate it. I’d offer to pay you back, but…”

“You’re wanted for murder.” You finish for Eddie.

He drops his head. “Yeah, it kinda ruins a person’s life, ya know?”

“I don’t, actually. Never been accused of killing someone.”

Eddie blinks at you. He doesn’t know what to do with the disdain you display towards him. “Right.” He looks at Dustin for help, silently begging the kid to step in before you gut him with your knives.

“Okay, why don’t you crack open that box of honey combs while we all gather around for a fun story time!” Dustin sets down the remaining groceries and ushers everyone to spread around the boathouse.

“‘Storytime’?” Eddie asks him, looking around in confusion.

“Y/N and Dustin did some detective work,” Robin offers him, trying to make her voice sound as cheery as possible. “They-uh. Well they found-I mean,” she doesn’t know how to break the news to Eddie, she feels awful for the guy. Deflating, she mumbles, “They’re definitely good detectives.”

Eddie only looks more confused by this, and Dustin sits down awkwardly on a stool next to you. “So, we got, uh. Some good news and some bad news.”

You snort at your brother. Steve stands next to you, his body angled away from you so that your skin doesn’t touch. The distance is small enough to go unnoticed by anyone, yet it’s a chasm that your stomach drops into. “That’s really how you’re gonna break it to him?”

“What are you guys breaking to me?” Eddie asks, eyes wide.

Dustin hits your leg and gets the teen’s attention. “Ignore her, look at me, alright? Now, how do you prefer it? Good or bad first?”

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie doesn’t even think about his answer, he responds immediately while shoving cereal into his mouth.

“The bad news is that you’re pretty fucked.” You inform him, arms crossed over your chest. There’s no easy way to lessen the blow of what you overhead from Hawkins PD. The news is bad, it’s all bad.

Dustin snaps his head towards you, “Y/N!”

“I’m not going to lie to the guy or sugarcoat things!”

“Would you just let me handle it–”

“Dustin,” Eddie hasn’t moved from his seat. His hand remains in the cereal box, his voice jagged and defeated. He’s tired. He just wants to go home. “Just say it.”

Your brother’s shoulders drop, the anger in his eyes extinguished. “We… We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you.”

“Chief Powell thinks you killed Chrissy.” Unable to look at Eddie, your eyes trace the ground. As much as you hate him, you can’t help but feel awful for the hand he’s been dealt. No one will possibly believe he’s innocent. “He ordered all his men to track you down before word gets out that you’re the prime suspect.”

“Which leads us to the good news: your name hasn’t gone public yet.” Robin continues for you, her own expression pitying. “But if Y/N and Dustin could find out about you during breakfast, then it’s a matter of time before others do, too.”

“And once that gets out,” you shake your head, you know how cruel a small town like Hawkins can be. “There’s going to be a lot of angry people who know your name.”

Eddie clenches his jaw. You can see tears forming in his eyes; you’re not sure if they’re from frustration or fear. He inhales sharply, licks his lips in disdain. “Hunt the freak, right?”

It’s the way he says it, with so much despair and venom in his voice. The look of resignation on Eddie’s face breaks your heart. He knows his odds, he’s been tormented and abused his entire life by the people in Hawkins. You’ve heard all the stories. The exile he faced because of how he looked, who he would hang out with, the music he listened to and the drugs he smoked.

Eddie Munson, the freak. The moment the town finds out he’s wanted for murder, you’re afraid he’ll never come out of it alive.

The ice-hot contempt you feel for him begins to melt. He’s only a year or two older than you, still just a scared kid with no place to call home anymore. Despite the protests of your body, you step towards Eddie and place a hand on his shoulder. Your hand is tense, your fingers scratch on the rough material of his denim jacket, but he seems to calm at the touch.

“Hey, we’ll protect the freak, alright?” You mean what you tell him, your hand warms his skin. Whatever history you have with Eddie, good or bad, it doesn’t matter right now. He needs you, he’s lost and alone.

Eddie looks up at you, your kindness startles him slightly, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his eyes find yours. They’re brown, almost doe-eyed, with a vulnerability within them so intense that it leaves a lump in your throat.

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Eddie.” Dustin’s voice cuts through, reminding you of where you are. Stumbling slightly, you remove your hand and walk back over to Steve, who gives you an odd, confused look. You ignore him. “We have to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.”

“That’s all, Dustin?” Eddie mocks, he doesn’t stand a chance and he knows it.

Dustin draws into himself, uncertain, before letting out a feeble response. You allow yourself to smile, enjoying his wallowing. You understand where Eddie is coming from. “It is a lot that we have to do in order to clear his name.”

“Okay, I know that everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we’ve actually been through this before.” Robin tries to reassure him. She’s leaning against a doorframe, she’s trying her best not to let her own uncertainty show.

“We’ve been here before,” you say with slight bitterness. “You’d be surprised how many times we’ve almost died.”

Robin laughs nervously. “Well, mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related. I didn’t necessarily almost die, but Y/N has some pretty sick scars on her body and Steve has been concussed more times than he’s had girlfriends–”

“Get to the point, Robin.” Steve finally speaks up, no hint of amusement in his voice. His hand rests besides yours, his fingers ache to curl against your skin. You’re wearing a soft blue sweater, tucked into your skirt, and your eyes shine against the spring cold. He doesn’t want to be here right now.

“Right. The bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

Unable to bear the itch in his skin to touch you, Steve brings his hand to his face and rubs at his jaw to distract himself. “Except we usually rely on this girl who has superpowers, but-uh. Those went bye-bye, so–”

“And she’s in California, hundreds of miles from here.” You add on, picking at your nails. The topic makes you uncomfortable. With California comes the reminder of Jonathan.

Robin points at you and Steve. “Both good points, so I guess you could say we’re more in the-in the…?”

“Brainstorming phase.” Max supplies, which Steve snaps his fingers in agreement and Dustin hums thoughtfully.

“There’s-uh. There’s nothing to worry about!” Your brother says unconvincingly, voice high pitched and full of lies.

Eddie stares at everyone around him, studying the collective mess that he somehow must place all his trust in. None of you can give him a straight answer about what will happen next, and as you listen to Steve and Dustin try again to make sense of what’s going on, you recognize how hopeless it all sounds.

“We may not sound like much,” you interrupt the boys, trying again to ease the hopelessness Eddie must be feeling. “But we’re kind of your only option right now–”

The distant wailing of sirens drown out your words, loud and piercing. The sound sets everyone into a panic. Robin instructs Dustin to cover Eddie with a tarp while you, Max, and Steve run towards the window. Squished together, you watch as multiple cop cars fly down the street with an ambulance following them; your breath catches.

The last time you saw this many cop cars speeding through Hawkins, they had been a dead body in the quarry. It had been Will’s body, lifeless and pale. You had watched as his body was pulled from the water, you held Lucas and Dustin as they cried.

Only this time Will is in California, far away from danger. The onslaught of cars can only mean one thing.

“I think…” Your mouth fills with syrupy dread, coating your tongue with grief. Breathing becomes difficult. You hope, more than anything, that you’re wrong. “I think someone else died.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Steve grabs his keys and instructs everyone to get into his car. He doesn't ask any questions, he doesn’t question how you know. Dustin quickly tells Eddie to stay in the boathouse while you leave.

Your eyes squeeze shut as Steve drives, your hand clutches the seat in terror. Every second that passes, your body becomes heavier and heavier from dread. Steve’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. Robin can’t look at you, Max and Dustin don’t say a word.

The white blanket draped over a body is what you see first. A horde of police surround it, there are lights flashing everywhere. People crowd behind a barricade, necks straining to get a look at the body on the ground.

Then you see who the cops are talking to, and your heart drops.

“Nancy,” you breathe out, already opening Steve’s door before he can even park the car. Something terrible has happened. Nancy stands in front of the officers, her arms crossed against her chest as if to calm herself down. She’s never looked so weak, she needs you.

Standing outside the car, the others join you. Steve has parked as close as he can to the crime scene, no one moves. Nancy releases a shaky breath when her eyes find yours. Raising her hand, she waves at you, unsure, and you wave back. She smiles, timid but genuine, and a pit forms in your stomach.

You haven’t told Nancy about Jonathan.

Steve looks away from her, gaze turning towards you, and he’s thinking the same thing.

–

Nancy guides everyone to a park bench at the trailer park. She doesn’t say anything as you all walk, her eyes are exhausted. The police hadn’t wanted her to leave just yet, they had more questions for her, but you’d quickly spoke with the men to let her go.

Sitting around the table, a bitter cold creeps into the air. The sun is out yet winter still lingers. Nancy sits across from you with Robin and Max next to her. You’re with the boys, Steve pushes his weight against you while Dustin sits stiffly beside you.

Seeing Nancy’s sunken cheeks and glass eyes, you reach across the table and grab her hand. “What happened, Nance?”

Tears well in her eyes and for once she doesn’t wipe them away. Nancy’s hand twitches in yours, she doesn’t hold onto you like you do her. She’s grieving, you’ve come to learn all the signs of someone who has lost a friend. “It-it’s Fred.”

She explains what they’d been doing, investigating Chrissy’s death at the trailer park. Guilt laces her words, she didn’t think anything would happen to Fred. He’s always been sweet to her, his crush obvious to you but unknown to her. A shiver runs through you; Fred was smart, he was nice to you whenever you spent your days in the yearbook room.

He didn’t deserve to die. Neither did Chrissy.

“That makes two deaths in two days,” you say out loud, voicing what everyone else is thinking. Death is common in Hawkins, an inevitability of what lies underneath it, but there’s never been such gruesome deaths so close together. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s happening again?” Nancy shakes her head. “I-I don’t understand, you guys already know what’s causing all of this?”

“We have a working theory, but it’s… not great.” Dustin slouches down, he isn’t sure how much he can explain to the girl with all that he still doesn’t know. “We think it’s connected to Chrissy’s death, something killed her in Eddie’s trailer. He told us she had gone into some sort of trance before her bones snapped and her eyes exploded..”

Nancy grimaces at the gory imagery and you squeeze her hand again. “I’m sorry about Fred.”

She gives you a tight smile before turning to your brother. “A trance? Like El? You aren’t… do you really think this has something to do with–”

“The Upside Down.” You and Max say at the same time.

“‘It’s happening again’,” Nancy echoes your words from moments ago. She understands, now. “So this-this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy is from the Upside Down?”

Steve nods at her and Dustin sighs heavily. “We think he attacks with a spell, or maybe even a curse.”

“But we don’t know if he’s under the Mind Flayer’s control,” you point out. “For all we know, he could just be someone with El’s powers. We know the lab tested on other kids, right?”

Max looks up at you and her face twists with apprehension. “I don’t know, something feels different about this, it’s almost like it’s something new. I don’t think it’s anyone like El.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Nancy mumbles.

“No, I think Max is right. Something feels off about all of this.” Your arms draw together, it’s impossibly cold for late March. The chill has set into your bones.

Nancy nods at you, but there’s something else on her mind. “But Fred and Chrissy also don’t make sense. I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place? They were both at the game.” Dustin offers, and you shiver again.

Billy had been in the wrong place, too. It’s how the Mind Flayer got him. He’d just been unlucky and alone.

“And the trailer park,” Max adds.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly, he shifts against you and unconsciously moves you closer to him. “We’re at the trailer park, should we… maybe not be here?”

The wind picks up and a crow cries overhead. The barren grass rustles as shadows fall against it. Your spine prickles with nerves. Steve is right to be worried. There’s something eerie about the trailer park, the caution tape that guards Eddie’s door is still too fresh.

You wrap your sweater tighter to your body, cold with unease. Nancy’s eyes flicker around the park as the wind rustles the leaves. “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

Robin asks what she means, and when Nancy begins to explain how scared and on edge Fred had been, a dull throb slowly creeps up the base of your neck. The sensation builds until it’s a roar of nerve endings exploding against your temple, and you wince in pain.

Steve’s fingers skim the crest of your wrist. “Hey,” he’s lowered his voice so the others can’t hear, he knows you never like to worry others. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” the concern in Steve’s eyes burns you. He hasn’t spoken to you all day, but still his skin warms yours and he wants to make sure you’re safe. Comfortable. Okay. Even with the anger between you and all the unspoken half-truths, he still cares about you.

You want to tell him that you haven’t slept in days, that the nightmares are back and that they’re worse than ever before. You want to rest your head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s the only way you’ve been able to keep the migraines at bay.

But you don’t tell Steve any of this. Instead, you lie through your teeth. “I’m fine,” you reassure him again. There isn’t time for you not to be okay. Two people have died already, your migraines can wait.

Steve doesn’t look convinced. He knows you, he knows how you are and how much you push down for the sake of others, but before he can press you further, Robin interrupts. “Hey, lovebirds, we’re trying to solve a murder case here.”

“I’m listening,” you roll your eyes at her, skin flushing a bit with embarrassment. “Anyways, what if Fred and Chrissy saw something that made them go catatonic? I think we should be focusing on the trace-like state more, it’s a trauma response.”

“What, so they’re insane asylum patients?” Dustin asks with slight displeasure. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. But Vecna can cast spells, at least in DnD. I don’t think they just ‘saw’ something.”

Steve scratches his nose. “If I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.”

“Would you, though?” You don’t mean for the question to come off as condescending, and you quickly try to alleviate the offended look on the teen’s face. “What I mean is, who would you go to about something like that?”

“I… I think I know who they’d go to.” Max stares down at the table, her eyebrows furrowed together. She’s deep in thought, remembering something. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelly’s office. If you saw a monster, you wouldn’t go to the police.”

“They’d never believe you,” you bear your weight against the table. Nostalgia wraps around you at the memory of how scared you’d been to tell Hopper about El, the years it took for you to trust him. “That’s why I never went to Hopper when I first found El.”

Max nods, she’s relieved you get where she’s going with this. “Exactly, but you might go to your–”

“Shrink.” Robin finishes, sending you an apologetic smile for the offensive language against the profession you hope to one day go into. “No offense, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, feeling defensive. “Again with calling Ms. Kelly a shrink. She’s not a shrink, she’s actually really nice.”

“You sound like you know her personally.” Dustin narrows his eyes at you. Nothing goes unnoticed by him.

All eyes turn to you, and you sink down in embarrassment. “I’ve… had a few meetings with her.”

Simultaneously both Steve and Dustin widen their eyes. They hadn’t known you were seeing Ms. Kelly. Nancy looks at you curiously, Robin bites her lip, and Max nods solemnly. It’s a large range of reactions, one that makes you anxious to deal with. “Can everyone stop staring at me, please?”

Steve lets out a quick breath and runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing the school’s guidance counselor, Y/N.”

“She didn’t tell me, either.” Dustin mumbles bitterly. You’ve never hidden anything from him before. He wonders, distantly, when you started to.

“I didn’t want to worry you guys, it really isn’t a big deal.” When both boys bristle at this, you hold your hand up to silence them. “No, I don’t want to hear it. It’s not like I was seeing Ms. Kelly for anything serious, okay? She’s the guidance counselor, so I just. You know. Needed some guidance.”

It’s a horrible lie, you know that no one believes you, but they take pity on you and move on. Originally you really were seeing Ms. Kelly for college admissions help, but after a few sessions you slowly started opening up to her about the sleepless nights. The image of Billy’s lifeless body. Max’s screams.

Nancy clears her throat and changes the topic. She comes up with what to do next, creating a plan to ask Ms. Kelly what she knows, and you sit silently. You’re relieved the attention is finally off of you. Within minutes a plan is formed: you and Max will talk to Ms. Kelly to try and get more information.

Steve agrees to drive to the house. As you’re walking to his passenger side door, he notices that Nancy isn’t following. Instead, she’s going to her own car. “Hey, Nance. Where’re you going?”

Nancy turns around, a guilty but determined look on her face. Her eyes land on you, knowing you’ll be the hardest to convince of her plan. “There’s just-there’s something I want to check on first.”

Predictably, your shoulders tense and your eyes ignite with worry. “Please don’t make me remind you that there are people dying right now. You can’t seriously think it’s safe to be on your own.”

“I can protect myself, Y/N.” Nancy reminds you gently, understanding your concern but knowing it isn’t needed.

“You care to share with the rest of us?” Dustin calls over to the two of you.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” Nancy shoves her hands into her jean jacket. “It’s… a real shot in the dark.”

You frown at this. “If it’s something you think is worth looking into, then it isn’t a shot in the dark. You’ve always been right.”

Nancy blushes at your words, but Steve silently fumes beside you. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you guys out of your mind? No way is Nancy flying solo with Vecna on the loose.”

“I never said that she should fly solo,” you say slowly, not at all liking how he’s twisting your words. You had been complimenting Nancy’s intelligence, restoring her faith back into her work. You don’t understand where this protectiveness from Steve is coming from. “I know it’s too dangerous, that’s why I was going to suggest–”

“You’re right. It’s too dangerous. Bottom line. She needs someone to-Christ.” Steve isn’t listening. He’s too caught up in his head as tosses his keys to Robin, who only barely manages to catch them. “Here, Y/N and I will stick with Nance.”

You cross your arms and glare at him. “I’m sorry?”

Steve doesn’t look at you, he’s too busy staring at Nancy, and for a brief second you truly believe that there’s something soft in his gaze when he looks at her. They’re friends, you know this. There’s a history between them that rivals your history with Jonathan. Nancy was Steve’s first love, and now he loves you, and you try desperately to shake the insecurity that you feel.

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not even sure why you’re suddenly thinking all of this. You’ve never been insecure, at least not in your relationship with Steve. During the almost year you’ve been with him, there’ve been times girls have flirted with him or old flings that have tried to vie for his attention. But through it all your trust in him never wavered, you knew that at the end of the day it was your bed he was crawling into.

And yet there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you that the way Steve is looking at Nancy right now is different; it’s how he looks at you. The voice is darker, more cruel. It’s one you don’t recognize, and yet you do.

Steve seems to come back to himself and turns to you. “Robin can go with the kids to the shrink. Max can talk to her alone, it’s no big deal.”

Robin holds the keys away from her as if they’re poisoned. “I don’t think you want me driving your car.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.”

Steve shakes his head with impatience. “Why don’t you have a license?”

“I’m poor,” Robin shrugs, and you laugh slightly.

Max raises her hand. “I can drive.”

“No!” You and Steve exclaim at the same time, both of you getting war flashbacks to when Max had driven you after Billy had knocked you guys unconscious. It’d been a rough night and waking up to a thirteen year old driving a sports car definitely hadn't helped.

“Please,” you look at Max with genuine longing. “Never, ever drive me ever again.”

“Literally anyone but you–” Steve sees Dustin make a face, offering himself to drive, and the older teen snaps his fingers at him in annoyance. “No chance.”

You shake your head as well. No way in hell are you allowing the kid to drive either. “Absolutely not, Dustin. You couldn’t even drive a golf cart properly.”

“I did a decent job!”

“I still think you’re the one who gave Steve his third concussion with your horrible braking.”

“We were being chased by evil Russians!”

Robin steps between you and your brother, holding her hands up. “Alright, this is stupid.” She grabs Dustin’s walkie from his backpack and marches to Nancy while handing Steve his keys. “Us ladies, sans Y/N, will stick together. Unless Steve thinks we need him to protect us?”

She raises her eyebrows, challenging the teen, and you watch him. He shuffles nervously, ducks his head down. Steve is guilty and ashamed and embarrassed. Your stomach clenches.

“He knows better than to doubt you guys,” you step in for him, saving him. “Right, Steve?”

Nancy laughs at the look of fear on his face and Robin smirks. Satisfied, they turn around and start to head towards Nancy’s car. You wish them luck as they leave, tell them to be safe. They wave back at you, and although you wish you could join them, you know that Max will want you by her side while she talks to Ms. Kelly.

Once the girls are gone, you hit Steve’s chest. “Nice one, buddy.”

He lets out a pained huff, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows he had it coming. With a sigh he follows you back to his car and gets into the driver’s seat. Dustin stares at him through the rearview mirror with a shit eating grin on his face. Tired, Steve glares at him. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Dustin defends himself.

“No, but you were going to, and-hey,” Steve turns in his seat and glares even more at your brother. “Did you make sure to wipe your feet?”

“Yes,” Dustin says at the same time as you and Max say, “No.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and starts the car angrily. His movements are jerky and uncontrolled. “Always the goddamn babysitter!” He exclaims, resentment marring his face.

You jump slightly at his raised voice. He hates being sidelined, you know this. Similar to you, all Steve ever wants to do is help. He does whatever he can, he tries harder than anyone. It’s what you first fell for, back when Steve originally crashed into your life.

It’s because of his kindness and devotion to others that you reach for Steve’s hand. His skin is cold, goosebumps raise at your touch, but you interlock your fingers through his and slowly, piece by piece, Steve relaxes.

He’s missed your touch. You’ve missed his, too.

–

Ms. Kelly, to her credit, tries to mask her surprise when she sees you and Max standing at her door. “Oh, hello, girls.”

“Hi,” you smile kindly at the woman. “We really hate to bother you over spring break, but do you possibly have a minute to talk?”

“With the two of you?” Ms. Kelly knew that you and Max were both grieving Billy, but she hadn’t known that you knew each other. “Y/N, I’m sure you’re aware that this is highly unusual to request.”

You wince. “Yeah, I’m definitely aware that this is a pretty strange thing to ask. It’s just that I was the one who convinced Max to start seeing you in the first place, and now that I’m also seeing you, we figured we could… talk to you together?”

It’s a horrible excuse. The lie is vague and too transparent to believe. Neither you or Max had a lot of time to come up with a convincing cover story during the drive here.

“I don’t know,” Ms. Kelly’s face strains with contemplation.

Max softens her eyes and does her best to look small, pleading. “Please?”

You try to appear troubled as well, though it isn’t hard. Your headache hasn’t left. The pounding in your head has only intensified since leaving the trailer park. Ms. Kelly’s gaze flits between you and Max, reading for any signs of lying or ill-will, before her resolve crumbles.

“Oh, alright.” She opens her door wider, ushers the two of you inside. “Come in.”

Steve and Dustin watch as you disappear inside the house. They’ve parked across the street, opting to be the lookout in case anything happens. You spare one last glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting Steve’s, before Ms. Kelly closes the door.

“Okay, they’re in.” Steve states the obvious, slightly unsettled to be stuck in the car while you’re inside.

“I’m missing collarbones, not eyes.” Dustin snorts. He expects Steve to say something snarky in response, but then he notices that the teen is still staring longly out the window, tracing Ms. Kelly’s door. He looks pathetic, waiting for you, and Dustin sighs. “So… we gonna talk about it?”

Steve’s eyes linger on the doorway, a far off look on his face. When he realizes that Dustin has spoken, he turns to him slowly. “Huh? Sorry, talk about what?”

“Your temporary insanity earlier today when you basically threw yourself at Nance? In front of my sister?”

“Okay, first of all, that’s not what happened.”

Dustin glares at Steve, defensive over you. “Oh, really? I’m pretty sure it did, there were a lot of witnesses. Y/N included.”

“What are you implying, little Henderson?” Steve rubs his face, too tired for the kid’s mind games. He knows he was being weird earlier with Nancy, but he would never do that to you. Ever. He had simply been overwhelmed and confused and feeling a multitude of things that he still isn’t ready to face.

“I’m not implying anything,” Dustin puts his hands up. “All I’m saying is that I know you and Y/N have been fighting lately and that for some stupid reason, you’re doubting your relationship.”

Steve throws his head back against the seat. Of course you told Dustin about last night. “Look, I’m not-I’m not doubting our relationship, alright? I mean, I love her, man. So, so much. We just… things have been hard, lately. Really fucking hard.”

He isn’t sure how much you’ve told your brother. He doesn’t think you’d tell him about Jonathan, at least not until you know yourself whatever the hell he’d been trying to tell you the other night.

Dustin doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He stares past Steve, his eyes almost seem to glaze over. “It’s because she’s leaving, isn’t it?”

All the air in Steve’s lungs gets knocked out of him. “Yes,” he breathes out. His mouth is dry. He swallows, his tongue feels too thick for his mouth. “Sometimes it feels like she’s, I don’t know, like she’s outgrown me? I-I know it’s stupid, but she’s going so far for college and I’m stuck in Hawkins like some fucking moron and she-she didn’t want me going with her.”

“Did you know that I cried when she got into NYU?” Dustin asks him, a hurt smile on his face. When Steve shakes his head, the boy inhales deeply. “Yeah, cried like a baby the whole night. I mean, I knew she applied, I knew she’d get in, but… you’re right. She is going pretty far. I’ve never,” he wipes at his eyes quickly, embarrassed that he’s crying. “I’ve never had to spend a single day without my sister.”

Steve stares at your brother, finally beginning to understand the distance between the two of you. For weeks now it’s all you’ve complained about to Steve. How much you resented Eddie for being Dustin’s new favorite person, how much you miss singing with him in the kitchen while you baked. But now here Dustin is, teary eyed, explaining to Steve just how scared he is to be without his sister. “It feels like she’s leaving you, too.”

“Yeah,” Dustin wipes his eyes again, nodding. “Yeah, sometimes it feels like she can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Even though we’ll still be here,” Steve says solemnly.

It’s quiet again. A few birds sing in the tree above them. You and Max haven’t returned, yet. After a while, Dustin turns to Steve. “She doesn’t mean it, you know.”

“Who?”

“Y/N,” the boy clarifies, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “She doesn’t mean it when she says she doesn’t want you going with her to New York. She’s just… she’s scared, and she knows that it isn’t what you really want. Nothing gets past her, it’s really annoying.”

Steve scoffs a bit, fondness running through him. Dustin’s right. Nothing ever gets past you, you notice and see everything. But then he thinks about what your brother has said, the fear he hadn’t known about. “Why would she be scared?”

Dustin stiffens in his seat, his gaze once again blurs. He twists his hands anxiously, fixes his hat. The atmosphere shifts, Steve can see that he’s uncomfortable now. He’s about to tell Dustin that he doesn’t have to answer, but the kid does anyways. “Our parents, they-um. Met in college.”

Steve sits up as well. You and Dustin never talk about your parents, at least not about your father. Steve can’t remember the last time you’ve even mentioned him. He thinks maybe the man had called you once, during Christmas.

“They got married right before graduation. Our mom had been pregnant with Y/N, they got hitched and in their marital bliss, our dad somehow convinced our mom to leave Indiana. She grew up here, but our dad was from Virginia and he insisted that she move there.”

Bitter. Dustin is bitter.

“Everything was fine, I guess. I liked Virginia. Y/N did, too. But our mom was lonely, anyone could see that. We lived in a pretty small town, our dad was basically a goddamn Kennedy there. Everyone adored him, but our mom… things were different for her. She was always in his shadow, but Y/N and I were too young to notice for a long time.”

Steve swallows. “And then… the divorce?”

“The stupid fucking divorce.” Dustin spits out. “It wasn’t a surprise, but somehow we still felt blindsided. One day our dad was charming, cracking jokes with everyone and playing the guitar with us, then the next he just-he snapped. Became bitter, mean. Y/N idolized him, but when our parents started fighting every night and our mom cried over some woman named Carry… I lost my sister, for a while.”

“She told me,” Steve whispers, remembering the rawness in your voice the night you confessed to him that you were once cruel. “I had to remind her that she came back, in the end.”

The corners of Dustin’s mouth turn upwards slightly. “Yeah, she came back.” But then his expression darkens, his mood sours. “Our mother almost didn’t, though. After having to move back to Hawkins with barely any money to support us, it basically destroyed her. She had lost all her friends by that point, her own parents died while we lived in Virginia.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve’s throat constricts. He hadn’t known any of this. He feels like such an asshole now for assuming the worst in you. For allowing his own insecurities to blind him. “I-I didn’t know about any of that.”

“Yeah, well.” Dustin shrugs. “Now you do. And you need to know that Y/N is being her usual selfless self because of our mom and what happened to her. She doesn't want that happening to you, dipshit.”

Steve exhales through his nose, his head is swimming with so many more questions, so many apologies he wishes he could say. Instead, he stares out the window, waiting for you to return.

–

“So, what would you girls like to discuss with me?” The clock on Ms. Kelly’s walk ticks ominously behind her. She’s seated you and Max in her basement den. You can tell by the stack of books and messy desk that she uses the area as her makeshift office.

Max slouches against her seat. “Oh, it’s nothing too serious, we were just–”

“I’m worried about Max.” You interrupt the girl, not daring to look at her.

Ms. Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I think with all the murders happening, it might be affecting her.” It isn’t necessarily a lie. You have been worried about Max and her behavior. Especially these last few weeks. “It might be resurfacing some… memories.”

Max tries to argue, but Ms. Kelly holds her hand up. “You’ve both experienced trauma, Y/N. She lost her brother while you held his dying body.”

A lump forms in your throat, your lungs feel cold.

The woman turns to Max, now. “And when you keep your feelings in, your pain, bottled up the way you do, it doesn’t take much to trigger them again. I can see why Y/N may be worried.”

Max doesn’t meet Ms. Kelly’s eyes. She swallows heavily and looks down at her hands. “Yeah, I know.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Max.” You say softly, wanting desperately to reach out to her. But you’re afraid it’ll only drive her further away.

She frowns at you. “Like how you talk to Dustin, or even to Steve?”

Her accusation cuts deeply. You hadn’t known that she was paying attention to you. That your disguised “I’m fine’s” weren’t convincing her. Max must know this, because she lowers her eyes again and mumbles a quiet apology.

Ms. Kelly notices the tension and leans between the two of you. “Do you think you’re ready to talk more about that night?”

Max’s eyes gloss over briefly, her face distorts with discomfort. An onslaught of memories overtakes her, just as they overtake you. The echoes of her screams for her brother replay in your mind over and over again. The squelch of Billy’s blood trickles down your spine. You were right next to her when it happened. The blood still stains your clothes from that night at Starcourt.

“I live next door to where it happened.” Max changes the subject, her voice returning. When Ms. Kelly asks for more clarification, she continues. “Next to where Chrissy was murdered. The cops asked me a bunch of questions. Did they talk to you?”

The woman sits up, apprehensive. She hadn’t been expecting to talk about this. You sit there quietly, head still pounding from earlier as Max takes over. She interrogates Ms. Kelly, who does her best to dodge every question, and suddenly the warmth in the room becomes unbearable.

“Excuse me,” you stand up, hand clutching your stomach. Nausea swirls within you. You feel faint, the pounding has increased and sweat trickles down your neck. Both Max and Ms. Kelly look at you in concern, but you ignore them.

Blindly you stumble towards the kitchen you remember seeing when you arrived. Too nauseous and overwhelmed to care about niceties, you dig through Ms. Kelly’s cupboards until you find a cup. After filling it with water, the icey coolness of the liquid settles uneasily in your stomach. You lean over the sink, hands clutching the edge. Everything in your body feels unsteady.

Max comes up the stairs and finds you breathing heavily. “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

“Trying really hard not to right now,” you breathe through your nose, out through your mouth. “Thanks for the concern.”

No response comes. Instead, footsteps walk up behind you. You hear metal clanking against glass, and when you turn around, you find Max holding up a pair of keys. She smirks, flashing you the white keyring attached to them labeled, “office”.

Your eyes bulge out of your head. “No, we are not stealing–”

Except Max grabs your arm and practically flings you out the front door. She shoves you, urging you to start running towards Steve’s car, and all you can do is stumble over your feet and follow after her. When you make it back to the car, panting from the exertion and thrill, Steve and Dustin turn to you with wide eyes.

“What’d she say?” Your brother asks, noting your frazzled appearance.

“Nothing, just drive.” Max dismisses.

“I just became a felon.”

The girl rolls her eyes at you. “Personal property theft isn’t a felony.”

“Jesus,” Steve does a double take, baffled by this entire conversation. “What the hell did you guys do in there?”

“Steve, drive!” Max shouts at him.

The tires of the car squeal against the pavement as Steve steps on the gas. He steadies the car, a wild look in his eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“The school,” Max holds up the keys she stole.

Dustin looks at her incredulously. “Are those–”

“The keys to Ms. Kelly’s office? Yeah.” You nod grimly. “I told you, I’m now a felon.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic–”

A voice comes through Cerebro, cutting Max off. “Dustin? It’s Lucas. Do you copy?”

Relief washes over you hearing Lucas’ voice. Between tracking down Eddie and dealing with interrogating school guidance counselors, you’d also been slowly worrying yourself to death over the boy. It’s unusual for him to be quiet for so long, and with all the murders now occurring… You’d been terrified.

“Lucas? Where the hell have you been?” Demands Dustin.

“Just listen, are you guys looking for Eddie?”

You and Steve share an uncertain look. Why would Lucas be radioing about him? How much does he know?

Your brother tells Lucas that you’ve found Eddie and tells him where he is, that he’s safe. Immediately, the boy responds, “You guys know he killed Chrissy, right?”

Predictably, Dustin doesn’t take this very well. “That’s bullshit, Eddie tried to save Chrissy.”

Lucas presses further, not believing what he’s hearing. Max snatches the radio from Dustin, tired of all the vague responses. “Lucas, you’re so behind it’s ridiculous, okay?”

“Technically we still haven’t elaborated on the whole Eddie thing,” you point out, which she glares at you for.

“Y/N?” Lucas asks, surprised to hear you’re with them.

You grab the walkie. “Hey, how’s your day been?”

“Awful,” he responds bluntly while Steve snorts at your question. “Why are you guys so sure Eddie didn’t–”

“Just meet us at school. We’ll explain later.” Max instructs, leaning over the car’s console.

“I can’t,” fear leaks through Lucas’ voice. You sit up now, looking at Steve again. He hears it, too. “I think some real bad shit’s about to go down.”

You feel your heartbeat pick up. “Lucas, what does that mean? Are you okay, where are you?”

“Sinclair!” A voice shouts, before the radio cuts into static.

“Lucas? Lucas!” Max shouts into the walkie, but he doesn’t respond. She sounds scared, it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in her voice in months.

You’re no better. You sit in the passenger seat, numb. The voice, you recognized it. You’d know Jason Carver’s voice anywhere. Everything clicks; you remember how Lucas was supposed to go to the party after the basketball game. Chrissy had been Jason’s girlfriend before she was brutally killed. The cops would’ve questioned him, they would’ve told him how her body had been found in Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie Munson, the town freak everyone hates.

“What shit could Lucas get into?” Dustin questions, annoyance twinged with worry for his friend.

You try to steady your breathing, nausea returning. You almost don’t recognize the sound of your own voice. “It’s Jason. He’s-he’s angry.”

The words settle in the car, linger in the air, before they crash heavily upon the four of you. The realization dawns on everyone, the inevitability of what will happen next is an unbearable weight.

Steve steps even harder on the gas. He knows the basketball team, how cruel teen boys can be.

–

Every time you’ve snuck into one of Hawkins’ schools, it’s never led to anything good. The first two times had been in the middle school for Will. Neither time involved very pleasant memories. This year you’re sneaking into the high school in order to violate your classmates’ privacy and read their deepest, darkest secrets.

“This feels wrong,” you huff under your breath, barely keeping up with Steve and the others as they run through the hallway. “I’d hate it if anyone read my file.”

“Would you rather risk anyone else dying?” Max responds, giving you a pointed look.

You frown but don’t say anything, figuring she’s right. As much as you hate to do this, it’s objectively the lesser of two evils. You’ll apologize to the students after this is done. If they question why you’ve baked them brownies, you’ll simply lie and say you had extra laying around.

“Dustin, do you copy?” Robin’s voice carries over the radio. Your heart skips a beat hearing her, you’ve missed her today. After your brother responds, she starts to explain what she and Nancy found. “So, Nancy’s a genius.”

“What else is new?” You say, and Robin laughs.

“My thoughts exactly, pretty girl.” She clears her throat. “Anyways, Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bull’s-eye.”

The new information startles you. Vecna first started killing in 1959? Why didn’t you hear anything about it until now, and why didn’t El sense him before?

Dustin looks equally unsettled by the news. “Okay, that’s totally bonkers, but we can’t really talk right now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking and entering into the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files.”

You wince. It’s as bad as it sounds. Tapping Dustin’s shoulder, you break him away from the walkie. “Wait, we won’t need my files, right?”

Steve eyes you up and down, shrugging indifferently. “Well–” Hitting his chest, he sputters at you. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“You’re not reading my files, Harrington.”

Meanwhile, Dustin urges Robin and Nancy to meet you guys at the school. By the time their conversation wraps up, Max has unlocked the office door. She heads straight towards the drawers, long familiar with the layout; you follow after her.

Steve and Dustin look around while you and Max dig through the files. They mumble something about Watergate, but you can barely hear them over the rush of blood in your eardrums. Max’s fingers rest on a specific file. The name printed on it makes you feel sick.

Fred Benson.

“Holy shit,” she exhales, grabbing it.

“Found it?” Dustin stands next to you now, neck peering down.

You struggle to breathe. “We didn’t just find Chrissy’s file.”

Dustin tilts his head, he doesn’t understand, and Max holds the file up. “Fred was seeing Ms. Kelly too.”

Steve and Dustin freeze. You can practically see their heartbeats still. The air in the room goes stale. Their eyes linger on you, they wish they couldn’t piece it together. Chrissy and Fred were seeing Ms. Kelly up until their deaths. You and Max have been seeing her, too. It’s one hell of a coincidence.

But that’s all this is. A horrible, awful coincidence.

“Y/N…” Steve breathes out, but you shake your head at him.

“Please,” your lip trembles. Not here, not now. He can’t look away from you, but you can’t bear to look at him. Instead, you grab the remaining files and hand them to Max. “We need to go through them. All of them.”

Dustin sits at the desk, Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back as you lean over Max to read the files. He shines a flashlight for the two of you, Chrissy’s file is the first one you read. The image of her once vibrant and alive smile stares back at you. There’s a column of writing to the left of her photo, the handwriting is neat, orderly, and it catches your attention.

“Are those…?”

“Symptoms.” Max softly answers, eyes skimming down the list.

Past trauma.

Terrible migraines.

Difficulty sleeping.

Headaches.

Max’s entire body tenses, her muscles pull taut against you. Your own body shakes, the tremors misalign your bones. Slowly, she looks up at you. Her eyes silently beg you to tell her that you’ve gotten it all wrong. Max’s blue eyes plead with you to tell her that none of this is real.

“Steve,” your voice catches, unable to inhale. “Can we see Fred’s file?”

He softly agrees, handing you the file immediately. You take it from him. The paper trembles in your unsteady grasp. Laying them down, you open the file and Fred’s photo burns you. Next to it is a list of symptoms.

They’re the same as Chrissy’s.

They’re the same as yours.

The headaches. Sleepless nights. The trauma you’ve been through, the nightmares that will never truly go away. Everything you’ve experienced within the last week.

Nosebleeds is starred, and for a moment your heartbeat settles. You haven’t had a nosebleed since you were five. It isn’t one of your symptoms; it can all still be a coincidence.

“This-this can’t be right.” You don’t know if you say this to reassure Max or yourself, but when you look down at her, you know. She has a far off look in her eyes. She doesn’t react to what you’ve just said.

It’s only then that you remember her nosebleed from earlier this week; it hadn’t been a coincidence.

“Max?” You shake her shoulders, tears already in your eyes. You know better than to be so naive, so blindly ignorant. You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that something was wrong.

Dustin and Steve try to wake Max, but she’s already left her body. She’s unresponsive, lost in whatever trance she’s in.

“Y/N, what’s happening?” Steve demands, fear in his own voice.

You’re hysterical, screaming and sobbing for Max to wake up. Her body is so small against yours, she’s frail and weak and her skin has never looked so translucent. Over and over you shake her, your palms rest against her cheeks and you cry.

You’ve come to know what fear is. How it can blind a person, leave them stricken with such raw anguish. Fear takes whatever air is left inside you and it poisons it with sulfur and leaves you choking.

The day Will went missing, the only air left in your body had been blood.

When inside the tunnels defending your little brother from monsters, the air in your body had been carbon.

Starcourt mall and the fireworks that exploded over Billy’s dangling and bloodied body left only just enough air in your lungs to scream.

But this fear, seeing Max unresponsive to your pleas, this fear doesn’t spare you any air.

Gasping and choking, you’re a wreck. “Max!”

Faintly you can feel Steve’s hands on you, or maybe they’re Dustin’s. Someone grabs you, pulls you away, but all you can do is scream.

It all makes sense now, Nancy’s question from earlier rings in your ears. You know why Chrissy and Fred were targeted. Why Ms. Kelly was somehow the center of it all.

The symptoms they experienced prior, the same ones that plague you and Max. You know what it is.

Venca’s curse.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ i am no longer doing a taglist, my apologies ! however, please feel free to like, reblog, and comment instead :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #bdyr #m's writing #oh dear this chapter has so much. like wow #all the conversations .....#whew

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heavencanbeaprisontoo · 6 months

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Hi I hope you’re well 😊 I’m here to request your thoughts on Tommy Shelby as a father. Like how many kids you’d think he would have had if he only had one love interest (no falling in love with Grace or marrying Lizzie). Or if you think he’d be a girl or boy dad (personally i’d like to think he’d be a girl dad and have a big family haha). You can make this headcanon or just simply respond to this ask however you’d like! Thank you for taking the time to read and answer 🥰

Thomas Shelby as a Father

Tommy x Fem!Reader

Trope: Wait till your father gets home Warnings: Angst, spoilers for most of the series, period-typical sexism, references to past ab-se.

What we see of Tommy as a father is that he's distant and seemingly detached. This, I feel, is because of his trauma in losing Grace and his growing obsession with obtaining power.

We do see that Tommy is aware of his children's emotional state but seems unable to comfort his son. He goes as far as to have Arthur be the one to talk to his son about why he had to shoot his horse.

Tommy clearly cares about his children. He runs through a field of landmines to save his son, when he had almost stepped on one to purposely end his own life. Tommy goes nearly mad when he finds out Alfie Solomons was involved with the enemy that kidnapped his son. He shot Alfie for that betrayal with the intent to kill.

When Ruby became ill and he thought was all due to a curse, Tommy hunted the woman down. He went on a bloody rampage because he thought it would save her. With all of this, we know he is a loving father. But without Grace, he doesn't seem to know how to show that love.

Let's say that there is no Grace, only you, and that no sapphire is ever put around your neck.

That Thomas might be different than the one we saw parenting Charles and Ruby. I think he would want more than two children. I think he would be the sort of man who would say "one is enough," but really he wants four.

He would never raise his voice in his home without good reason. Tommy knows what its like to have a father that rules through fear and honey. He won't be kind only when he wants something. He won't make his children afraid of him.

Personally, I do see him as prime girl-dad material. Like he would have one son and three girls. Regardless of the birthing order, he calls the boy his "heir," but spoils the girls. They each have their own horse, a wardrobe of beautiful clothing, and freedom to do literally whatever they want. He has opened his briefcase to find dollies and teacups from your youngest girl's tea set before. She thought he would be lonely at work.

His girls would be the sort to follow around staff and ask them intrusive questions. Tommy would not be immune. His daughters would probably ask him questions like: "Do you not grow hair on the back of your hand daddy? Is that why it's only on top?" At least one of his daughters would have a "I'm totally a witch," phase where she's flinging curses just like he used to. Only with her, it's cute because she's only nine.

The only son of Thomas Shelby would be safely tucked under his wing. At your imploring, he would take your boy on long car rides or out into town without his sisters to bond. The boy has a lot of pressure on him to succeed, Tommy doesn't always sympathize with that.

All four of his children would be little hellions. He would be dragged to see their school's headmaster on a near weekly basis. To the point where he isn't always sure which of his kids is in trouble sometimes. He just drops a donation to the school and the problem goes away. That's not to say your children are bratty or terribly spoiled. Well, they are, but not unbearably so...

Tommy makes sure his children understand where he came from. He brings them all to the Cut to watch the ships come through. Loves to leave them at Charlie's yard for an afternoon of mischief and bonding time with "Grandpa Charlie." They also get dropped off at Aunt Polly's home for weekends every now and again. The girls always come back with a new swear word.

They are new money, not old money. There are those who will look down upon them based on this alone. He makes sure his children are educated and well-rounded individuals. Tommy often worries about the state of the Shelby Empire after he dies. You remind him that he "isn't allowed to die," before you say so.

Tommy is still more distant than you would like him to be. He's so focused on his goals, it's like he forgets all about Arrow House and the family that lives there. The oldest two girls have said as much to his face once before. He took the family on holiday after that. You knew he would go right back to long nights in the office, but it was still sweet.

Life with him is hardly perfect, but it's closer to it than you could have with anybody else. And that's enough.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby headcanon #thomas shelby x you

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dirchristophernolan · 1 year

Text

rewatching pacific rim (2013, dir. guillermo del toro) for the nth time and it really is a cinematic masterpiece. the idea that the only way for us humans to defeat monsters is through effective global collaboration but more specifically, through people that are drift compatible, meaning SOULMATES who can be romantic partners or siblings or father and son or best friends or complete strangers with very similar experiences/traumas, and that the stronger their bond the stronger the jaeger and the better it fights, is just

#please this movie has lived in my mind rent free for the past 10 years. everything about it is beyond perfect #hence why i can't believe that there's not a maxcharles pacrim!au yet #like those two fuckers literally made the same lap time!!!#the things writes itself!!!#anyway #pacific rim #guillermo del toro

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jasonswh0rre · 6 months

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The Psychological Analysis of Jason Todd

I am a psych major, and my professor is allowing us to make an analysis of any character of our choice, so I figured who better to write then Jason Todd. This was very fun to write and I very much enjoyed rewatching Batman: Arkham Knight. Please enjoy. ☁️ Warning(s): Trigger Warning for Trauma, Mental Health Content, Violence, Graphic Imagery, Spoiler(s)☁️ Word Count: 2.6k ☁️: Authors Note: I am working on fanfics, more headcanons for Arkham Jason, unfortunately I am busy with classes, assignments and deadlines. I will try to be punctual but it may take time. Thank you for your understanding.

Introduction

Jason Todd is the secondary villain in Batman: Arkham Knight, which has the same moniker. He is the second Robin and Bruce Wayne's adoptive son.

Jason Peter Todd was born in the slums of Gotham City to two drug-addicted parents, who would eventually try to settle a debt they had by giving Jason away when he was a baby. Jason received no parental figure to help guide him, leading him to petty crimes such as theft to nourish his survival. Jason is a character who takes what he needs if it means prolonging his survival; his lack of a parental figure leads him to an identity crisis between longing for a parental figure and convincing himself he is better off without one. When the simple truth is that every human needs a mother and a father, we respond positively to a nurturing environment, and through early adolescence, our brains crave the structure needed to build us into well-rounded adults.

At fifteen, Jason inadvertently met Batman while committing robbery when Batman was fighting Gotham's notorious supervillain, The Joker. Believing Batman is in trouble, Jason jumps between pushing the hero from harm's way. Despite life's misfortunes, Jason possesses a remarkable code of morality enough to want to save someone. Jason, attempting to rid Joker of his breath, aims a pistol at the clown and, before firing, is knocked out of his hands by Batman's batarang. Unfortunately for him, Joker would leave Jason with a cryptic message, one for the young man to head.

Jason would later be apprehended and taken into custody in the back of a police car by Batman after Batman retrieved his gun and stolen money. However, rather than being charged, Jason receives a blessing through a Wayne Industries project that helped troubled teens; through the program, Jason was able to turn his life around. All attract the man who helped Jason find a new purpose: Bruce Wayne. Months after being released, Batman appeared in Jason's dorm, again offering Jason another opportunity.

2nd Robin and Kidnapping

Taking Jason in as his ward as well as dubbing him Robin after Dick Grayson, Jason sought justice and enjoyed being a hero. Like the previous Robin, he showed a keen aptitude for it; unlike his predecessor, he possessed a fiery temper and willingness for more lethal force. While Jason's temper is directed towards the criminals that harm the innocents, Batman views this as inexcusable, fearing the day that Jason will kill instead of reprimanding.

In the most twisted sense of irony, Jason's morality inevitably becomes his downfall. The Joker has blown up a school with kindergarteners; this leads to Jason's resolve that Joker needs to die. Knowing that Bruce would try to stop him, Jason abandons his comms and tracker so he can kill Joker. However, it is a trap, and Joker ambushes Jason. Jason was kept in a wheelchair, bonded by barbed wire that kept Jason leaning hunched over in excruciating pain. Throughout his pain, Jason's mind remained still; he was confident that Batman would find him; his sheer will at the beginning of his torture is, with all honesty, remarkable as Joker has been known for his mental abuse and mind games he plays with his victims including his sidekick, Harley Quinn.

In the six months of his torture, Jason's unwavering mental resolve was slowly crippling as Joker had wanted; throughout the game, Jason's voice mixed with crippling fear and small doubts about Batman coming. The Joker feeds into his doubts by showing him a photo of Batman with his replacement, Tim Drake. This leaves Jason troubled as he slowly loses hope for Batman.

The last act of Jason's torture involved a video sent to Batman via The Joker of Jason, who has undergone all his brainwashing; in the video, Jason is sitting down in a chair; he is not chained, barbed, handcuffed, or kept sitting still in any way by all means Jason could easily walk away. This is a significant and crucial part of Jason's torture as it symbolizes just how much mental anguish and emotional exhaustion Jason went through to the point that he no longer had a yearning for freedom—making him downright timid and submissive towards Joker enough to out Batman's identity when asked by the latter. This results in Joker shooting Jason point-blank in the chest, as Joker "never could stand a tattletale." However, this was only a ploy to make Batman believe Jason is genuinely dead.

On the contrary, Jason was kept alive for another year, endeavoring more torture, mistreatment, and malnourishment. Harley Quinn did the final touches of Jason's emotional and mental brainwashing; a former psychiatrist who manipulated Jason into believing that Batman was the cause of his anguish and his pain was his doing; she did this long enough, even punishing Jason by waterboarding him and electrocuting him when he refused to say Batman, indicating he still had some level of awareness of who was torturing him.

However, once Harley could get Jason to say Batman's name, Jason was drugged and beaten by two prisoners dressed like Batman; he was given a gun by The Joker and was ordered to kill them. Jason's resolve and humanity were a cord, still entrenched in him before Harley convinced him further, snapping his humanity and getting him to shoot the two dressed-up prisoners dead.

During the riots of Arkham Asylum, The Joker paid mercenary Deathstroke to keep Jason there and shoot him if he escaped. However, Jason convinces Deathstroke that Joker will not keep his promise and that if he helps, Jason will triple whatever Joker plans to pay. Accepting the offer, Deathstroke assists Jason in escaping, stealing a helicopter, and flying to Wayne Industries. Jason steals millions of dollars from his former guardian. Ironically, crossing paths with Tim Drake, who assumes Todd to be Deathstroke's sidekick, when Jason's ankle is caught between Tim's grappling hook, Jason cuts the cord, allowing Tim to fall when suggested by Deathstroke that killing Robin would bode well for them with the Dark Knight. Jason Coldy says that if he dies in a fall like that, Batman needs to pick his sidekicks better.

Jason's psyche has been torn and scattered, leaving him a hollowed carving with a mocking J branding etched onto his face, from birth his eyes were already met with darkness, born to parents who never showed him recognition, let alone love, and through the Wayne Industries Project and his adoption by Bruce his eyes were wide, and remarkably hopeful, to be free of the weight of Gotham's misfortunes finally; those eyes that looked with gleam forced shut until he saw nothing but blackness.

Arkham Knight's Birth

Jason adopts a new persona built on the pain and suffering in the wake of his escape from Joker. He feels betrayed by the one person he only had in the world and wants vengeance. Jason works alongside Scarecrow, one of Batman's enemies. The two begin a plan on Halloween to take Gotham and Batman's legacy along with it. Jason gathers all Batman's enemies to join, assembling a militia with Deathstroke. While working with each other, Scarecrow "tests" his fear toxin on the young man, sending him on a psychological spiral. One of his more apparent fears is the Joker, who can be found near, in the background, or standing right in front of him laughing and mocking him, but beyond the clown prince of crime's appearance, Jason also sees his replacement, Tim Drake, and "fights" him.

The fight has Jason severely outnumbered in the beginning, with Tim succeeding, even using his staff to choke Jason, forcing him to the ground as the Jokers around him laugh. Further into the fear toxin, Jason appears in front of Wayne Manor, where he throws down his helmet and says the following: "Someplace warm, someplace safe, someplace where I'm needed, someplace where I'm loved," Joker once again appears in front of him laughing and mocking him on whether he even deserves it, this is Jason's internal struggle in a manifested form of the person who caused him harm, of the person who convinced him from the start that he was alone and would not be saved. Jason is mischaracterized as always being angry or standoffish, but anger has more truth than any lie detector can scoop. Jason feels this anger is not just because of some personality trait; anger is his cry out, and he's shouting to be seen and loved. This is most likely due to being tortured at 15 or so, which, despite the fact that at the time of Arkham Knight, he was in his early 20s, his mental age was regressed to the age when he was captured. This makes Jason appear at first glance as someone emotional, cocky, and arrogant. He values safety and love; he doesn't want to be on his guard 24/7, but he's grown up in an environment where letting your guard down gets you killed. He follows Joker into Wayne Manor, where he sees Bruce; suddenly, several versions of Batman appear in the room. They beat him and told him they never wanted a partner or even a son. This is a conflict that has always waged war in Jason's mind. Jason's biological father attempted to give him up and then belittled him when he explained that Jason's worth was so low that he couldn't even leave him; he has low self-esteem that he internalizes into rage in the way that he fights to prove his strength.

This is why Jason has a strong attachment to Bruce/Batman it maybe due to an underlying desire to seek his approval especially by the time when he adopts him. Bruce gives him everything he could ask for and anything he could think of, and Batman gives him a purpose. Ironically, this is still the case despite Bruce himself having an avoidant attachment style.

Conclusion and Diagnosis

Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" exhibits a complex interplay of psychological factors that align with the diagnostic criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). One prominent feature of BPD is emotional dysregulation, characterized by intense and rapidly shifting emotions. Jason displays various emotions throughout the game, from anger and hostility to vulnerability and despair. His reactions often appear exaggerated or disproportionate to the situation, indicating difficulty regulating his emotional responses.

Furthermore, Jason's sense of identity is notably unstable, which is another hallmark feature of BPD. Having grown up in a dysfunctional environment with absent parents, Jason lacks a stable sense of self and struggles to define his identity. This is evident in his adoption of various personas, including Robin, the Arkham Knight, and, later, the Red Hood. His shifting identities reflect a profound inner conflict and a desperate search for validation and purpose. Jason's interpersonal relationships also reflect the interpersonal instability characteristic of BPD. He forms intense and unstable attachments to figures such as Batman, vacillating between admiration and resentment. His interactions with other characters are marked by rapid shifts in perception, alternating between idealization and devaluation. For example, while Jason initially idolizes Batman as a mentor and father figure, his feelings of betrayal and abandonment lead to resentment and hostility towards him.

Moreover, Jason exhibits self-destructive behaviors as a coping mechanism for his emotional pain, another hallmark of BPD. He engages in reckless actions, disregarding his safety to seek vengeance against those he perceives as enemies. His confrontations with adversaries are often fueled by a desire for self-assertion and control, masking more profound feelings of emptiness and despair.

Underlying Jason's behaviors is a pervasive fear of abandonment, stemming from his traumatic upbringing and experiences of betrayal. This fear drives his desperate attempts to maintain connections with others, even as he pushes them away with his volatile and unpredictable behavior. Jason's fear of abandonment manifests in his interactions with Batman and the Bat family, where he oscillates between seeking their approval and rejecting their authority.

Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" embodies many of the core features of Borderline Personality Disorder, including emotional dysregulation, identity disturbance, interpersonal instability, self-destructive behaviors, and a fear of abandonment. By analyzing his actions, relationships, and psychological struggles within the context of the game's narrative, it becomes apparent that Jason's character aligns closely with the diagnostic criteria for BPD, providing a compelling framework for understanding his complex and multifaceted personality.

Besides indicating various symptoms of BPD, I would also consider diagnosing Jason with Complex Post post-traumatic stress Disorder (C-PTSD). Given Jason's background of severe trauma, including childhood abuse, neglect, and prolonged torture at the hands of the Joker, it's worth considering Complex PTSD. C-PTSD typically develops in response to chronic trauma and is characterized by symptoms such as emotional dysregulation, disturbed self-concept, difficulties in relationships, and a persistent sense of threat. I would include diagnosing Jason with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD): Jason's experiences of profound loss, trauma, and betrayal may contribute to symptoms of depression, such as feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness, and a loss of interest in activities. His struggles with emotional regulation and chronic feelings of emptiness could also align with depressive symptoms. Following my diagnosis, I am also inclined to believe he suffers from attachment disorders; given Jason's tumultuous upbringing and experiences and a multitude of parental figures involving neglect and abandonment, it's possible that he may have developed attachment-related difficulties. This could manifest in insecure attachment styles, fear of abandonment, and challenges in forming and maintaining healthy relationships.

Furthermore, I would consider Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD): While Jason displays empathy and compassion at times, his willingness to engage in morally questionable or violent behavior, as well as his disregard for societal norms and rules, may align with some features of ASPD. However, his capacity for genuine care and loyalty makes this disorder out of sorts with his character.

Lastly, Post-Traumatic Embitterment Disorder (PTED): PTED is a proposed diagnostic category characterized by intense feelings of injustice, betrayal, and embitterment following a traumatic event or series of events. Jason's experiences of betrayal and abandonment, particularly by Batman and the Joker, may resonate with the symptoms of PTED.

In conclusion, the character of Jason Todd in "Batman: Arkham Knight" presents a compelling portrayal of psychological complexity shaped by a tumultuous history of trauma, betrayal, and profound loss. Through a comprehensive analysis of his experiences and behaviors throughout the game, it becomes evident that Jason embodies many psychological struggles, warranting consideration for various diagnostic possibilities. Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) emerges as a primary candidate, given Jason's emotional volatility, identity disturbances, and interpersonal difficulties. His tumultuous relationships, intense fear of abandonment, and self-destructive tendencies align closely with the diagnostic criteria for BPD. Furthermore, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) offers another lens through which to understand Jason's psychological profile, considering his history of chronic trauma and its pervasive impact on his functioning.

Additionally, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) may contribute to Jason's experiences of profound despair, hopelessness, and emotional emptiness. His struggles with attachment-related difficulties suggest the possibility of underlying attachment disorders stemming from his early experiences of neglect and abandonment.

While Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) and Post-Traumatic Embitterment Disorder (PTED) offer alternative perspectives, they may not fully capture the complexity of Jason's character, given his capacity for empathy and genuine care, despite his propensity for morally questionable behavior.

In essence, Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" is a poignant exploration of the human psyche's intricacies, illustrating the profound impact of trauma on identity, relationships, and emotional well-being. By delving into his psychological struggles within the context of the game's narrative, we gain valuable insights into the complexities of mental health and the enduring resilience of the human spirit.

#arkham knight #jason todd #red hood #headcanon #positive thoughts #psychology #psych student #arkham batman #psychological analysis #psyche student analyzes #jasonswh0rre

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yanderestevenuniversewriting · 7 months

Note

Could you do Steven headcannons?

I can't believe I'm just now getting to this- Sorry, anon, I know you sent this is like over a year ago-

You were childhood friends, so great for you- You have a trauma bond with him and Connie

He tells you stuff he would never tell Connie, because he doesn't think Connie would understand

He feels like he can talk to you without judgement

When he develops romantic feelings, he doesn't think they're different than his friendship feeling

But god, he loves when you smile and laugh

It warms something so sweet in him

When he does realize he likes you more than a friend and accepts the feelings, he's to scared to tell you

His fear of rejection overcomes his love for you

When his trauma really starts to get to him, he finds it hard to be around you

He shuts you out, because he doesn't want you to see him like that

"I feel like you're shutting me out," You exaggerate your hands, before point at him and then yourself, "And I don't even know why"

"It's nothing personal, Y/n"

It breaks your heart and you don't know how to get through to him

You'll try and talk to Connie [Bad idea] and she tells you you just need to give him time. [Yeah, you didn't want to do that, so you ignored her advice, even though technically that would have been the best thing to do]

You think about going to Pearl, but you know she'll probably say the same thing as Connie- So, you go to Garnet, because she can see the future

Expect, Garnet tells you that the best thing to do is let him come to you and you groan, which causes Garnet to laugh

"Not the answer you wanted?"

"Of course not. Thank you though, Garnet."

Garnet knows you're not going to take her advice, but maybe Steven needs someone to care enough about him to pull him back into reality

You try talking to Steven's dad, but that doesn't go well either. Steven's father is so out of touch with his son. You should of known better- Even though Mr. Universe is a good dad in his love, he's never there. You supposed it was complicated.

So, you go to the last choice- The one you were trying to avoid

Amythest

She's more than happy to help you. She doesn't give you words of comfort or anything, she's all about movement and action

You start to think you should of gone to her first, but this was a bad idea

You end up making Steven so angry, he yells at you

You're a little taken a back, but you finally back off

You give it a few days and he comes to you to apologize

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I shouldn't have yelled at you," He runs his hand through his hair, "It's just... Ugh, I don't know..." He looks over at you, a frown overtaking his face, "Difficult. I didn't mean it"

"I know. I shouldn't have tried to push you. I should have known better."

Thankfully you make up, but he still doesn't let you into what's going on

"You know, Steven, you can tell me anything"

"I know"

#yandere #yandere steven universe #yandere steven #yandere steven universe x reader #yandere steven x reader #steven universe #steven universe x reader #steven x reader #steven #yandere steven headcanons #steven universe future

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 8 months

Text

Pretty like the sun

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n This is pretty like the wind series spin offs. This can be read as standalone all you need to know is that Azriel has two adoptive kids with OC - Zofie and Axel. Future stories related to them might include stories specifically decided to Azriel hence why I am taging it as Azriel story too. Don't come at me please. ✨

It’s been a hot minute so idk if any of you are still here with me🫣 we do have an Azriel pov here.

warning: nothing major, past trauma.

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Zofie’s pov:

She sat at the top of the steps for hours. Long given up on running towards the door with every scratch or creek that she heard. With her head resting against the railing, Zofie couldn’t help but let her mind consume her. Nit-picking at all of her choices. She had done the opposite of being a good daughter. And she too had promised to love Azriel forever, so what was shifting?

Her thoughts slithered towards Nyx, who had been claiming most of her mind now. She could see why Azriel wouldn’t want her with him. And maybe it wasn’t even him trying to protect her; maybe it was him trying to keep the high-fea bloodline clean. What did she have to do with the high lords? Nothing. She saw the high lord and lady from time to time, but she was way closer to Uncle Cassian.

Then her thoughts drifted to the fact that she didn’t know all that much about Nyx either. Zofie didn’t even know his other friends. How many were they? What if all he was doing was just being friendly? He could very well have a lover. A mate. Preppy parents in desperate need to marry off their children to form bonds between courts, Nyx’s voice ran in her ears. Of course, Rhys was no doubt looking for a match for his son. And what was she thinking? Letting herself dream that maybe one day…

The sound of the door clicking open made Zofie shoot up. Just with her lack of focus, the girl ended up hitting her head against the side of the railing. Whining in pain, Zofie quickly reached to press her palms against the aching spot, only to lose her footing as her ankle buckled and the center of gravity shifted. She managed to let out a yelp, but the hard fall never came. Instead, the endlessly soothing smell of night filled her senses.

"Zofie," her father’s worried voice made her look up quickly. “Look at me, hey, did you hit your head hard?" Azriel’s worried golden eyes tore through the last bits of her self-control. Without a second thought, Zofie scrambled to get closer. Hands messily tangling with Azriel’s leathers as she wrapped herself around him. “I’m so sorry," she whimpered, “So sorry." Azriel’s arms wrapped around Zofie’s frame with ease in an instant. “Breathe for me, Zofie; you will make yourself faint, baby girl." The calmness of his voice strangely unsettled her. He was supposed to be mad. Was supposed to be frustrated with her. Angry. “Why aren’t you upset? You should yell," Zofie muttered, pulling back, her black eyes filling up with tears. Azriel frowned for the first time since he walked through the door. “Have I ever raised my voice at you?" the spymaster questioned before sighing, “Well, besides earlier today, it wasn’t even at you. I wasn’t angry with you." He softly wiped the tears from beneath Zofie’s eyes. “I will never do it again. I will never see him, I promise”, she said, feeling her own body start to swirl with emotions flooding from all over the house. Fruition, confusion, pain, sadness, and dread. Gasping for air, Zofie looked back at Azriel, whose shadows quickly drowned out any distractions. Closing the two of them in the safety of cool darkness. “Breathe, little star," Azriel muttered against Zofie’s hair, “Remember how we do it?" His firm gaze met her frantically blinking eyes. One of the shadows settled at the back of her neck; the other two wrapped around her hands, cooling the main point of her anxious spell.

“You’re safe." Azriel slowly ran his hand up and down her back, trying to comfort her the best he could. “I can't," her pained breaths ripped at Azriel, but he knew that now any excess emotions had to be suppressed, “We’re in your safe bubble." With a fluster of his wings, Azriel wrapped them around the two of them. “Press your palms against me; let it out," and she would have, but suddenly it made her stomach twist. Because this man. Man who didn’t have to take her in. Would know that she had all of these thoughts. From hate. To frustration. All directed at him. All because she was being naive. “I can't," she said, pulling back and hitting her father’s leathery wings. “Of course you can; you’ll burn out otherwise," Azriel urged her, “Come on, baby." She knew that he was desperate for a reason. Zofie had sent herself into overdrive once, and it wasn’t pretty. She could barely stand for weeks. No speech. She could barely get food down. That had been the first time she had seen Azriel with a full stubble. He had refused to leave her, even for a minute. He had been there. Always been there looking out for her. Another painful cry slipped past her lips, and everything went black.

Azriel pov:

Azriel’s eyes lingered on Zofie’s limp body lying in bed. He had been fixing the throw covering Zofie for the past hour. One moment it seemed too high up, and so she no doubt had to be too warm, but then the other he feared that she wasn’t warm enough. Azriel knew there was no way to measure the impact of the outburst until morning. Till Zifie opened her eyes. And she would open her eyes because...

“You should get some sleep”, your soft voice made Azriel turn from the bed. Some of the tension eased. It always did when you were around. His beautiful mate. Mother of his children. “I’m not tired," he muttered, fingers lazily running up and down Zofie’s arm. "Azriel, you can’t fool me." The moment your hands touched Azriel’s shoulders, he instantly felt warmth seeping through his aching bones. “How are you doing?", Azriel knew what that question implied because he had a feeling that you were aware of where the roots of all of this were.

“How can she think that I don’t love her?", Azriel shook his head, “Had I seriously been so... shortsighted?” You cupped his face tenderly. “She knows, she’s simply confused. Emotions are running high…”, “That was days of amped-up frustration that I’ve caused, YN”, his tone was much higher, and the moment that hit Azriel, his hand instantly came to clasp his mouth.

“It’s okay. You’re okay," you gently reached for both of his hands, giving them a little squeeze. “She’s growing up, Azriel. Things are strange and new”, leaning in, pressing your forehead against his, “She was scared that your yellow was fading," you admitted. “My love for her hasn’t changed," Azriel muttered. “I know, love, but your heart is now making room for Novie, and I think insecurities are running high." Azriel glanced back at Zofie. He never looked at her differently. Never treated her like a dainty porcelain doll. Yes, he protected her. Was ready to go to war for her. Because he had always seen her as his. He understood what having inner demons meant. To this day, Azriel had days when battling them got way too much. Hence, he had always craved to protect them so much. That desire to chase any doubt away fueled him because they deserved better. They deserve to know life in vibrant colors, not dim grays and blacks.

Azriel’s eyes fell on Zofie again. The girl had shifted slightly, curling deeper into herself. “Will you be good up there alone tonight?" Azriel gazed up at his mate. The raw instinct beat at him to go up to his bedroom and guard the new mother of his child, to be devoted to tending to them only. But it wasn’t Zofie’s nor Axel’s fault that the same blood didn’t bond them all. And Azriel had promised to protect them like his own, so as hard as it was, now he knew that he had to step down on the primal instinct and put his first children into the equation too. You smiled lovingly up at him and said, “I won’t be alone. Your mother is here, and Axel should be coming home soon." Stepping forward, you let yourself snuggle into Azriel’s chest for a heartbeat. Pouring as much love and reassurance into the embrace as you could. Azriel’s lips lingered on your forehead. “If you need me..." he muttered, but you instantly shook your head. “Stay with her, Azriel. She needs you," and that was all it took for Azriel to nod. His shadows carefully blew out a handful of candles lighting up the room. Leaving a bare minimum of light that wouldn’t bother anyone’s slumber, and if by any chance Zofie was to wake up during the night, he didn’t want her to open her eyes to darkness. As carefully as he possibly could, Azriel scooped Zofie’s tiny frame into his arms before climbing into her bed. Out of shared instinct, the spymaster started to hum the melody he used to hum to the two kids when they were younger, and nights of settling down were harder. His scared fingers carefully brushed her ink-black hair away from her face. Lips turning upwards as he let her way more mature features sink in. Never had he thought that he would be wishing the time would go slower. But it also filled him with endless pride that he too had played a role in making sure this tiny girl would slowly grow into a strong-minded young woman. With a deep sigh, Azriel pressed a loving kiss onto Zofie’s forehead, making the girl snuggle deeper into her father’s chest. “I’ll always love you, little star. As overbearing as I can be, I will always love you the most because you taught me what it was like to be a father”, he muttered, settling in to watch over her for the night.

Nyx’s pov:

Nyx had been looking through the window of his mother’s gallery for the past couple of hours. He rubbed his chest at times when the feeling of anxiety threatened to choke him out. His mind was running so fast that there were moments when he lost hold of it. Thought after thought, angrily beating at his consciousness.

“Are you antsy about going back?", Feyre’s voice made him grip the window sill tighter. He had forgotten that his mother had even been here with him for a moment. "No," he said bluntly. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling if he was being honest. He haven't been able to keep up with any of the emotions for some time now. They all seemed so tangled up that he didn’t know where one started and the other ended. Or it was so chaotic that he was sure that he felt all of it at once, and the feeling sure wasn’t pretty. It was different with Zofie, though. For some reason, his inner chaos always subsided when she was close. It felt calmer. It was as if she was there, sorting through his mess for him.

“Really?", Feyre’s amused voice filled the room. Nyx loved his mother. She was an example of hope to him. Every time he lost faith in the future, he would look for her memory books, ones she had sat down with Rhys to write while she had been pregnant with him. Nyx just wished they would understand that now he wasn’t sure if his own story linked with his parents.

“It’s what we do as soldiers; we need to earn our rank," he answered sharply with an exhale. He didn’t want to fight with his mother. Nor did he want to make her upset. He just didn’t want to talk about anything regarding this court. “And if you didn’t give me a textbook answer?" Feyre dunked her brushes into the water, turning to face her sun. Nyx knew that while he could hide his inner battles from his father with anger. His mother was way harder to fool. Nyx simply shrugged, not knowing what exactly she was trying to get out of him.

“It’s okay to have things that you miss back home," her delicate hands inked with marriage vows cupped Nyx’s face as she gazed up at him. “You treat her well?" At those words, Nyx had gone ridged. “What?", he muttered, stepping away. “Do you treat Zofie well?", Feyre smiled at him. Nyx wasn’t surprised that she knew about their little adventure last night, but this seemed like a lot more of an intentional question. One that implied way more.

“Of course, I treat her well," Nyx grumbled with a frown. “What kind of question is that?" he asked, shaking his head in frustration. Why was everyone constantly assuming that he was out there, like some old creep following her around? It wasn’t intentional that their paths crossed so often. They just did...

“Do you love her?", That question had sent all the oxygen out of Nyx’s lungs. Making him gape at his mother as if she had grown a third eye on her forehead. “No, Mom, what even… We grew up together!", Nyx threw his arms up in the air in frustration, which suddenly washed over him. “And that’s supposed to be an issue?", Feyre simply smiled up at him. That kind of smile implied that she was up for a chance to change his mind. Nyx turned away, moving to glance out of the window once more. “Whatever. I’m not even going to entertain this conversation." His mother let out a knowing laugh, returning to her painting once more.

Nyx gazed out into the night. His eyes narrowed out on a figure that slipped out of the library’s back door. Leaning forward, he tried to identify the figure. He knew that whoever it was had to have a pass from his parents. “Is that…?", Nyx trilled off. It couldn’t be because they had separated and... “Axel? Yes”, Nyx gazed back at his mother, who hadn’t even lifted her eyes to look out the window. That fucking lying bastard. I’ll be heading home my ass. “Have you hired him to work in the library?", Nyx had frowned in confusion. But Feyre shook her head. “Gwyn is helping new girls settle into quarters. Axel kindly offered to carry boxes”, the high lady said as if there wasn’t anything else.

“Carry boxes, mhm." Nyx watched as Axel stopped in his tracks before waving up at someone. The princeling’s eyes followed the gesture, finding another figure, barely visible in the sixth-floor window, waving right back. Why was he always on the sidelines with everyone? Why hadn’t Axel said anything about this to him yet?

“He’s a sweetheart," his mother hummed in approval. “There was a girl who hadn’t left her room in over a week. Axel managed to coax her out in a day," no doubt a girl Nyx had seen slipping back into the library when he had bumped into Axel earlier on. “A charming young man," Feyre hummed, making Nyx shake his head. “I’ll give him your praise”, after a proper interrogation, of course.

Unfortunately, Axel’s adventures brought him little satisfaction. And quite honestly, Nyx had given up on trying to snoop around his best friend’s business. Because he knew Axel and knew that the deepest and most heartfelt conversation always struck out when they were up in camps. Nyx had been restless for the days to come. Hanging around all the places he and Zofie usually went to. He was waiting for an inkling of any deeper emotions that would drag him towards her.

They had gotten the call that tomorrow morning they would be going back. And he knew one thing—he couldn’t go back without seeing her one more time. The image of her teared up face had haunted Nyx ever since. He hated it when she cried. He hated it when she was upset. But it seemed as if she had just disappeared into thin air. Nyx had hoped to see her at dinner in the lake house last night, but Y/N had simply said that Zofie wasn’t feeling well. Had something happened afterward? Had her magic flared up once more? But twice in two days. That would be way too much. Or maybe she was just avoiding him?

Stomping through the high grass, Nyx let his mind consume him once more. He knew that Rhys had called a meeting that afternoon. Meaning that Azriel and Cassian were both in the office now. If he was lucky, the females would also be there, meaning that only Zofie’s grandma would be at the house. Nyx rounded the back of the house. He hadn’t made any plans. Hadn't thought of what he was going to say. He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous to see her. They knew each other like the backs of their heads. Nyx’s movements halted when he reached the back garden, and his ears picked up on a light rustling.

But it took him a peek from behind the hedges to glimpse at the only source of light that he had for as long as he could remember. Zofie was humming quietly as she hung the wet clothes on the lining. Gently smoothing down the fabric. Hair messily done up. He frowned at the lack of warmer clothes on her body. The sun was way warmer today, but the yellow dress with a thick knit sweater still felt too little to keep her delicate frame warm.

She was hanging the last piece of baby clothes when Nyx stepped right behind her, making Zofie’s hands freeze in the air. Shoulders stiffening. "Zo...", Nyx didn’t even have enough time to finish calling out to her when she finally turned to face him. “What are you doing here?" A slight frown creased her brows. “I wanted to... We go back tomorrow”, he muttered under his breath, her slightly dismissive tone hurting him way more than he thought it would.

"Okay," Zofie muttered, turning to pick up the basket. “Okay? That’s all?", Nyx reached for her hand, but Zofie pulled it back instantly. "What…", Nyx breathed out, his heart racing in his chest. Making his throat feel tight. “Look me in the eyes," he demanded, way harsher than he intended, but this wasn’t them. She wasn’t cold with him. She…

"Go," Zofie said simply. “No, not until you tell me what’s going on," Nyx pushed. “It’s best if we don’t meet up for a bit," Zofie said, wrapping her arms around herself as the colder breeze picked up. Clouds covered up the rays of sun peaking out moments ago. Nyx instantly felt the urge to pull her closer and shield her from the icy wind. “Is Azriel...", “Don’t drag my father into this. You have no right to drag him into this and to speak for me," she said, pointing a warning finger at him. He knew that he had stepped on the line with his last interaction with his uncle, but... "Go, Nyx, have a safe trip," Zofie said, pushing the loose strands of her hair beneath her ears.

"Sunny," his words were barely a whisper, but she simply shook her head and said, “We are no longer children. It’s time we grow up." Zofie rested the basket on her hip. “My world and your world... they’re different," Zofie muttered, and Nyx swore he saw the way her lower lip quivered. “You fit perfectly in my world... You’re my best friend," Nyx called out to her as she turned to walk away, his feet carrying him straight to her without hesitation. His palms reached out to her, cupping her face, and a slight shiver ran through her at his touch. They were inches away. She was a breath away. Nyx’s purple eyes desperately searching for any clues as to why she was shutting him out. Zofie’s free hand pushed against Nyx’s chest as she pulled free of his embrace. “Have a safe trip," she muttered, her hesitant fingers reaching up to touch Nyx’s cheeks, but the moment he leaned into the touch, Zofie turned back, rushing towards the patio stairs. "Sunny," Nyx called out, but she was already at the door. So he stood there. He stood there until the sky started weeping alongside him. Taking to the skies with an angry cry.

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Taglist: @sirenpearldust @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @naturakaashi @stressed-reader @woodland-mist @goldenmagnolias @nocasdatsgay @lees-chaotic-brain

#acotar x reader #acotar x oc #acotar imagine #acotar x you #nyx acotar x reader #nyx acotar x oc #nyx acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel acotar imagine #azriel acotar x reader #azriel imagine

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humanpurposes · 7 months

Text

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #modern!au #aemond targaryen smut #it will come back #hozier coded #my fics

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professorcalculusstanaccount · 1 year

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"when strangers mistake me for his father i don't correct them" just break my goddamn heart why don't you. i love this and the rest of your art so so SO much and i'm dying to hear more of your thoughts on tintin and haddock's father-son/chaotic uncle-nephew dynamic, because it's one thing i wish had been developed further in canon, especially with tintin's move to marlinspike hall

Haddock and Tintin invented the found family trope! Their dynamic means so much to me, while my post canon series seems to be about Tintin and Chang's relationship it's actually more about Tintin and Haddock's found family bond and how it changes as Tintin grows older.

My thoughts on their dynamic are under the cut. It's Fathers' Day in the UK this Sunday, so happy Fathers' Day!

Haddock had a terrible childhood and has low self esteem, but values his ability as a sailor. Even that is shaken when his crew mutinies and kidnaps a teenager. As a result Haddock feels an enormous sense of guilt and responsibility for Tintin

He looks up to Tintin a lot, he inspires Haddock to always strive to be better!

He doesn't understand what Tintin sees in him but Tintin's positivity easily outshines any doubts about their friendship. Tintin brings that childlike wonder Haddock missed out on in his own childhood. Haddock goes out of his way to do stuff with Tintin he never got to do with his father, like going to the theatre or trips to the seaside.

Initially Tintin tolerates Haddock, but he proves himself with his sailing prowess in The Shooting Star. While Tintin is brave and proactive he's very introverted and closed off from people, having gained dangerous enemies at such a young age.

At first he's not used to having someone look out for him but grows to deeply appreciate Haddock. A colleague at work said Haddock is like that one middle aged guy you befriend at a job you got as a teenager and you become ride or die with through trauma bonding and I think he's exactly right!

Even though he's his best friend Tintin still keeps him at a distance. Haddock doesn't know his legal name or anything about his past. Tintin rarely opens up about personal problems out of fear of worrying him.

As Haddock has pinned so much of his self worth on Tintin, in my post canon series Haddock is forced to re-examine his friendship with him.

Haddock gets into a secret romantic relationship with Ramo Nash and gets some well earned down time from adventures, taking up painting as a hobby. It's the first time he's had time to find himself outside of being Tintin's adventuring companion, and realises he may have to make the painful decision between his best friend or staying true to himself. It's a decision he knew he had to make for a long time.

Haddock invites Chang to live in Marlinspike during his year as an exchange student in hopes he'll keep Tintin out of trouble. When Chang ends up joining in on the adventures instead Haddock is taken aback by how competent he is, and how seemingly effortlessly he is able to keep up with Tintin. Watching a younger fitter person does bring up some insecurities in him, but he later appreciates that this means he could sometimes take a break and let Chang go get shot at instead!

Tintin's tendency to keep his personal problems to himself drives a rift between them as he desperately tries to navigate coming to terms with being gay. Even though homosexuality was legal in Belgium at the time there's still a stigma, and Haddock and Tintin are terrified of losing each other's respect.

When Haddock finds out Tintin is also gay he is overjoyed, he vows to look out and to always be a safe haven for him. He grew up in fear and in the closet, so is determined to be the father figure he never had himself.

Haddock is very supportive of Tintin and Chang, but as Tintin grows closer to Chang and spends more time with him Haddock can't help but feel a little insecure. It's normal for parental figures to feel that way.

As Haddock grows older and less physically able to travel, Tintin worries if his deteriorating health is his fault. Haddock makes sure to nip this fear in the bud, and lets him know how proud he is of what they were able to do. As Haddock settles into retirement with Ramo, Tintin and Chang visit frequently to help take care of them.

Haddock never officially adopts Tintin despite everything, just in case the Haddock family curse still persists. Also "Tintin Haddock" is an absolutely awful sounding name.

Neither Haddock or Tintin can stand spiders. They get Nestor or Calculus to deal with that

imagine All of Tintin's Father Figures in a group chat in a modern AU, Haddock, Calculus, Skut, Mr Wang, Ramo Nash... The Council of Dads (Castafiore is in it too, she counts)

#tintin #captain haddock #archibald haddock #asks #animation #2d animation #gifset #adventures of tintin #every time i try to keep things short i cant lol #please do not tag this as the ship #people have made weird comments on older posts where i explicitly portray them as a father son sort of thing #normally i dont go out of my way to do much because hey its just silly fanart #but please dont do that on this post #man i have so many Ideas and asks but will i find time to do anything with them #reverse artists block #i have too much in my head rn

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sinvilles · 2 months

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Thoughts on Arthur, Angela and Clay: Oedipus Complex or just touch starvation?

You know the drill: I'm unconcerned about redemption because I'm not a fuckin lutheran. I'm a writer and I like sociological stories and seeing characters achieve wholeness within narrative. moral orel is a unique case because the story was cut short halfway through, and all character arcs were arrested at their lowest point in the narrative, except for some characters on the side who were just kind of beginning to shine.

Mother, child and the father laid to the wayside. The dynamic in that family is cursed by something we often disregard in analysis: Clay's 10 dead siblings who never saw light outside the womb.

Their ghosts are present, haunting Angela every time she looks at her son and thinks of the fragility of his little life. Their ghosts haunt Arthur when he sees his wife overcoddling their son. And when Clay is told the truth, their ghosts surround him as well.

CLAY

Think about that moment. He is 12, sheltered, the apple of his mother's eye, and probably didn't even know miscarriages were a thing- his mother won't even say the word "dead".

Then suddenly, his mother's body- once his source of comfort, associated with life, nourishment, love- is a graveyard. Her body is no longer safe, secure and homelike. His mother is now a stranger, and deeply suspect.

Not only has she had children pass inside her- she put every one of them behind her, choosing to move on and focus her love on the next child, and the next one and the next one... But even that makes her suspect- if Clay dies will she just move on and have another baby?

So he tests her. Like a little kid would. Maybe it's a prank he thought of earlier in the episode when he saw the bullets lined up in his father's study. He expected to be let off easy, because his mommy always laughs at his jokes and pranks- it's part of what makes their relationship special. But he didn't expect to kill her.

Of course the loss of his mother impacts him forever. I don't think that, as an adult, he's actually IN LOVE with her, or that he lusts after her. He comes off as wanting to crawl back into the womb for comfort. Every woman's body is now his mother's, and he can't really engage with women without being reminded of all of the baggage attached, the womb simultaneously a warm cradle and a grave. Of course he has to drink to do it. That and he's gay.

It seems to really freak him out when he visualizes those thoughts- when he thinks about his mother he literally imagines lubing his entire body up and crawling back up into her womb. He tries to drown it instead of examining those emotions because it's WEIRD lmao. But I doubt it's a sexual thing for him.

also, speaking of 10 dead siblings, I'm going to drop this Wikipedia article on the fraternal birth order effect. Read this and get back to me.

ANGELA AND ARTHUR

We see them progress in family photos from a very lively, happy couple, with interests and hobbies, to a pair who can barely recognize one another. The trauma of miscarriage can do a number on a couples love life- I have no doubt it was Angela who wanted to continue trying for a baby. I wonder if Arthur was so used to the disappointment that he actively kept himself from getting attached to his first living son before he was born.

He seemed to be trying to bond with him in the episode- though Angela may have taken his aloofness to heart and hoarded little Clay to her bosom. So not only is he denied the love of his wife, but the bond with his son as well. It's like an Oedipus complex in reverse, where the father is jealous and (SUBCONCIOUSLY!!!) seeks to destroy the son for competing with him for the mothers affections. Whereas Clay didn't seem to bear any ill will towards his father prior to his mother's death and his rejection of him.

Lets reflect on the use of the word leftovers: this can also mean something secondhand or second best. When Clay is done eating, Angela doesn't even bother preparing a plate for her husband, but pushes a plate of Clay's leftovers in his direction. When Clay tries reaching for his father after just having lost his mother- needing the physical comfort and safety he is so used to receiving- he is pushed away, and Arthur angrily says: "I don't want your LEFTOVERS!"

Arthur was always aware that Clay's love for him was secondary to his love for his mother. Clay, in his stupidity (it's a very natural thing) was content to sell him out, prank him, humiliate him. And a lot of resentment had festered for years to get to that point- Arthur didn't have the maturity in him to set it aside and just be there for the child that needed him. Hell, he expected the kid to die before his wife did. He does come to regret how he treated Clay in the future, but only because he saw how it affected his grandson.

Arthur didn't just deny Clay his physical affection, leaving him starved for any kind of touch (even being hit), he straight up ignored him. You can't ignore a kid.

Arthur and Clay's situation is one that I'm actually stumped about plot-wise. I don't think Clay would even be willing to accept an apology from Arthur- the damage he did so deeply affected Clay's formative years. Does Clay have to forgive him? Alternatively, does Orel have to forgive Clay? It really is a vicious cycle; I do think it will hurt Arthur not to be forgiven by his son, but he might possibly accept it. But Clay, unable to forgive his father, in turn cannot forgive himself. And when Arthur dies and its too late, it will definitely break him.

#thoughts of feelings

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randxmthxughts · 2 years

Text

All For You - Neteyam x Ta'unui ! reader (enemies to lovers) - pt. 2

*Ta'unui is the Eastern Sea water clan that was attacked by Quaritch

part 1

summary: When Quaritch attacks the Ta’unui water clan looking for Jake Sully, the clan’s Tsahik forces her younger sister, Y/N, to escape and seek refuge from the Metkayina clan. As Y/N deals with the trauma of losing her home, she discovers that she isn’t the only outlander in the village. She develops conflicted feelings for Neteyam but the tensions grow when Y/N finds out that Neteyam is the son of Jake Sully - the man she hates.

genres/tropes: angst, romance, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, slowburn

other pairings: Loak x Tsireya, Kiri x Ao’nung, platonic relationships (Y/N x Kiri x Tsireya, Y/N x Jake, Y/N x Neytiri)

warnings: war, mentions of blood, PTSD, trauma, survivor guilt, character near-death experience, slightly aged up neteyam, dialogues are supposed to be in na'vi, not english, lots of side eyes, braids swaying, and neteyam appearing out of nowhere like the batman lol

word count: 30,2k (ik this is insane)

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The next morning you try to occupy yourself with whatever tasks to avoid running into Neteyam. You think that both of you need some time before returning back to your usual selves. What if he starts hating you?

Tsireya silently works along you, as you’re gathering berries. She doesn’t ask you anything about last night but you’re convinced that she suspects something happened.

“Y/N,” you hear someone call out your name.

Neytiri waves you over. You notice her wearing a different belt with two small knives hanging from each side, and a bow in her hands. Oh shit.

“Are you going to fly with Neytiri?” Tsireya asks, curiously. You nod.

“Come,” Neytiri shouts again.

When you join Neytiri, you feel nervous. And it’s not because of her anymore, but because Neteyam promised to join you too, and you’re scared you might run into him any minute now. But as you walk with her to your marui to retrieve your weapons, and head into the trees, there is no sign of Neteyam.

“This is my ikran,” Neytiri pats the greenish-yellow creature on its head with a smile.

The sound the ikran makes terrifies you, but she only laughs at your reaction. You've heard stories about the forest clans riding ikrans, but you've never seen one up close, let alone flown on one. You also knew of the special bond that exists between the forest Na’vi and their ikrans; they could only choose one for the rest of their lives, and in return, the ikran had to choose and remain loyal to them. This bond was unbreakable, for life.

“You will fly with me,” Neytiri explains, as she checks the armor on her companion. You watch her attentively. “We will hunt later, so you can try shooting in the air.”

You nod your head, taking a step closer. The ikran lets out another sound but Neytiri quickly calms it down, encouraging you to keep closing the distance. A few moments of patience pay off when the ikran lets you pat its head. Overwhelmed, you let out a breathy laugh.

“Now, let’s go,” Neytiri jumps on the back of the ikran, helping you up.

“Is Neteyam going to join us?”

“He is with his father,” Neytiri says, as she pushes the straps of the armor into your hands, “Grab on these. Neteyam will come if they finish early.”

You take a deep breath, as you feel the ikran jerk under you. A big wave of air hits you in the face, and you grab harder onto the handles not to fall. When you gaze down at the view below, you feel your heart race. You never even dreamt of flying but this seems like something you were waiting for your whole life.

As you fly higher and higher, you notice how confident Neytiri is in her movements. She controls the ikran with ease, guiding it smoothly around curves of the cliffs, between trees and small nooks. You grip the armor of the ikran tightly, fear and adrenaline rushing through your blood.

Neytiri takes a dip, and as you feel exhilarated by the sensation of the wind running through your hair, you let out a laugh. She looks back at you with a toothy grin.

“Tie your feet,” she shouts, slowing down the ikran.

You obey, tying the straps around your feet to the armor.

“Done,” you shout back.

Neytiri makes a slow turn. She circles around a small lake, hidden between the green of the island. Just above the water, you can see a small flock of tetrapterons, graciously soaring.

“Take out your arrow and bow,” Neytiri orders, “We will take them by surprise. Some birds will fly away but some will fly right at us. That is your best chance.”

“I’m ready,” you reply with a newly gained confidence.

You ready your bow, adjusting in your seat, and praying to Eywa that you won’t fall off. As Neytiri’s ikran circles closer, you feel alert at the sheer number of them. Neytiri navigates the ikran around the flock, and immediately, loud screeches strike your ears, as the birds disperse.

Focused, you take one look to find your prey. You take an aim, and feel a rush of adrenaline, as you release the arrow and watch it hit its target. You shriek in excitement, marking your victory.

“Well done!”

“This is great!” you shout, raising your hands over your head, and feeling the wind.

After some more flying, you get to see Neytiri in action. She’s graceful and fast, her arrows shooting through the target every single time perfectly, while she’s still flying her ikran. You hunt for a bit more, diving to collect your prey before returning back. You jump off to the ground, adrenaline rushing through your veins, as you watch Neytiri feed the ikran with one of the birds you caught.

“Oh, that was incredible!” you grin ear to ear, earning a smile from Neytiri.

“You are a skilled hunter, Y/N,” she compliments you, “And you have never flown before.”

“I can’t even imagine how exciting it is when you have a connection with the ikran,” you come closer, petting the creature that has already grown used to you.

“It is. It’s a connection for life,” Neytiri confirms, “You feel everything they feel. The freedom, the wind.”

You watch her with admiration, recalling the way she hunts. You don’t think you have ever even come close to being as graceful as she is. Not even in the water.

The two of you sit on the grass, the ikran stretching not too far away from you, closing its eyes. Neytiri lets you catch your breath before giving you the task of removing the arrows from the birds you caught.

“You turned down Neteyam last night,” she suddenly says, and you feel your heart picking up on a faster rhythm, “Did he do something stupid?”

“Not at all,” you shake your head, avoiding her eyes.

“Then why? Have you chosen somebody else?” while her voice remains soft, you feel pressured.

“That is not the reason,” you sigh, “I… I like Neteyam. I think he is kind.”

“And you?” she nudges you with a small smile.

“And I am not worth him,” you shrug your shoulders, hoping that your answer would satisfy her.

“Nonsense,” Neytiri shakes her head, “Tell me the truth.”

You fall silent, biting down on your lip. You didn’t even have the guts to explain it properly to Neteyam, let alone to his mother. Hell, you didn’t know what to say to yourself. She doesn’t know that the thoughts of Neteyam have been driving you crazy. You feel guilty and frustrated because you can’t go back home but you also feel like you don’t deserve to live a new happy life here. You won’t be able to make him happy.

“Y/N,” Neytiri says, putting her hand on your shoulder, “Whatever is holding you back can be fought. The Great Mother guided you through the water, she helped you survive for a reason. Nothing should stop you now.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you whisper, “Now is not the time.”

“I used to think that when I met Jake. But it’s never going to be the right time.”

You look back at her, searching for more answers. You recall the stories Neteyam told you about his parents the night you spent together. When you first heard them, you thought they were brave to choose each other. Maybe even a little selfish.

“Mom,” your ears perk up at Neteyam’s shout, as he jumps off his ikran.

Neytiri waves her son over, and as Neteyam walks up to you, you notice blood on his forehead.

“Y/N,” he greets you with a forced smile. You awkwardly greet him back.

“What happened to you?” Neytiri stands up to examine his forehead, then circles him, looking at his back, and arms.

You jump to your feet too, following her expressions, in case she finds something.

“I’m alright, you should see dad,” Neteyam chuckles, then winces, as Neytiri slaps his arm.

“What did you two do? I told you not to be careless!” she gets angry.

“Nothing,” Neteyam pulls away, “We were flying around the cliffs of another island but there was a thick fog. Dad couldn’t see anything, so he hit a cliff. I was just behind him…I didn’t hit anything but when he fell, he took me down with him.”

“Stupid!” she scolds him, “Where is he?”

“At Tsahik’s,” Neteyam winces again, shaking off his arm. He must have hurt it, you think.

“Come,” Neytiri orders.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Jake looks exhausted and in pain, his forehead creased with a frown. Neytiri sits next to him, peppering him with questions while Ronal tends to his wounds. You and Neteyam sit back, the awkward silence between you palpable. He avoids your gaze, and you can’t really blame him for that.

“No, that wasn’t fog," Jake’s voice catches your attention.

"What then, Ma'Jake?" Neytiri leans forward, her expression curious.

"It was smoke," Jake replies, his breath ragged. "I could smell it. And it was too thick. I couldn't see a thing."

You cover your mouth in shock, as a realization hits you. If the smoke was caused by the sky people, it means the trouble is closer. Ronal throws a quick glance at Neteyam, before shoving one of the balms she just used into your hands. When you look at her, confused, she points to Neteyam’s forehead, covered in blood.

You curse Tsireya for abandoning you to assist Tsahik. She never leaves her mother alone, she is the tsakarem! You know that it was exactly her intention to leave you with Neteyam.

“No need, I can do it myself,” Neteyam raises his palms to stop you, but Ronal only tsks at him.

He can’t even see his wounds, let alone treat them, you think. With your breath shaky, you walk to Neteyam, taking in the damages on his arms and forehead. You hope that by the time you get to it, Ronal will take over, so you don’t have to stare at his face. Neteyam looks at you from underneath his lashes.

“Sorry, I wasn’t there today,” he mumbles, “I know I promised but…”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say quietly, “It was fun.”

“I told you,” Neteyam gives you a small smile.

Knowing him, he can’t stay mad at you forever. He knows it’s wrong to be petty. Still, it hurts.

You gently shove him to turn around to examine the multiple cuts on his back. He’s not bleeding but they look nasty. You take a breath before applying some of the balm onto his wounds, and you see his muscles clench.

“Shit,” you hear Neteyam wince.

You remember the same balm used on you when you first arrived, and the burning pain that followed. Hesitantly, you lean closer to blow cold air on his wounds. Neteyam's back muscles slowly relax under the feeling. It is not enough to stop the pain, but it's still a small relief. You blow a few more times before the burning dies down.

“Turn around,” you order quietly, and he complies.

You feel blood rushing to your cheeks, as you take one of his arms, to tend to the wounds you saw earlier. Neteyam watches you carefully, wincing as you start applying the balm. Instinctively, he tries to jerk his arm away but you hold him in place.

“Mawey,” you whisper. He clenches his jaw but stops moving.

After you finish applying the balm to his other arm, you realize that the adults have slipped away. You heard Ronal being rushed to treat an injured Na’vi, but not Neytiri and Jake leaving.

“Almost done. Now, the nasty one,” you breathe out, pointing to Neteyam’s forehead.

He closes his eyes, preparing for the pain, but instead of the balm, you take a damp cloth to his forehead. He flinches in surprise underneath the soft touch and opens his eyes.

“It’s a big cut,” you explain, “I need to clean it first.”

“Y/N,” Neteyam’s voice is low, “About last night.”

You gulp down, nervously, not meeting his eyes, instead focusing all of your concentration on cleaning his wound. But he’s so close, you can feel his breath on your skin.

“You didn’t have to explain anything to me. I-I,” he takes a shaky breath, "A mature Na'vi must face rejection because you can't force your heart to feel something it doesn't. And if you don't feel the same for me as I do for you, then I must accept that without question."

He is too noble for his own good, you think. You stop, and lower your hand to look at his face.

“Neteyam, you got it wrong,” you let out a deep sigh, “I didn’t reject you because I don’t have feelings for you. I turned you down because I’m scared that it could ruin us and jeopardize you as the future of your family.”

Neteyam frowns, trying to process your words. This whole time he had been so certain that you simply didn't reciprocate his feelings, that he had almost grown used to that idea.

“Why are you scared?” Neteyam takes your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “You know I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

“‘Teyam,” you whisper, too overwhelmed to meet his gaze.

He releases your hand and cups your cheek tenderly, bringing your foreheads together. Though you're standing, towering slightly over him, it doesn't distract from the moment.

“Please, just for a moment, let me be honest with you,” Neteyam says, nuzzling your face, “Will you?”

“I will,” you agree. All he has to do is ask, you’ll always agree.

“I see you, Y/N,” Neteyam whispers.

You feel your breath catch in your throat. You knew he was going to say it but it still felt unexpected. Neteyam's fingers caress your cheeks with love, waiting for your response. With anything. As long as he gets a response. You lean in and touch his lips with yours, and both your hearts start racing.

There is a small pause before Neteyam kisses you back softly and slowly. You close your eyes and give in to him, as he pulls you closer and closer, until there's no more space left between you.

Overwhelmed, you eventually pull away, catching your breath. A toothy grin appears on Neteyam's face, making your heart ache with love. You wish you could always make him smile like this.

“Now is not the time, Neteyam,” you try to discipline him but instead his smile grows even bigger. Is he mocking you?

Your cheeks flush with heat as you try to calm down your racing heart, but Neteyam only seems to find your reaction funny. He reaches his arm to touch yours.

“I feel the happiest,” he says.

“It’s not the time,” you repeat again, trying to sound stern this time, “You’re bleeding.”

You notice red running from his wound, and sigh, as you take the cloth, and start cleaning it. Neteyam follows your movement with a smile resting on his lips but he lets you work.

You can’t really believe that you kissed Neteyam. You tried resisting before getting sucked into the fantasy of being his, but the thoughts of returning home continue to nag at you.

He doesn’t know that it’s been days since you thought about it. Going home. The nightmare you had about your sister has left you feeling like Eywa was trying to send you a message. So you desperately wanted to check for yourself. What if she’s been alive this whole time waiting for you to come home? What if she’s with Eywa now, and you've neglected to send your prayers, instead living a new life? Just the thought of it makes you feel sick. You know that you can't wait any longer.

Neteyam lets out a soft gasp, bringing you back to reality. You blow on the balm you've just applied to his forehead to ease his pain.

“Thank you,” he places his palm on your waist.

“You’re welcome.”

“Now nothing will hold me back from being yours,” he says, taking your hand and placing it over his heart.

“Neteyam -”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts you, “You think this is not the right time, but what matters to me is that you reciprocated.”

“Of course I did,” you decide to tease him, switching the topic, “I couldn’t break your heart, when you had blood all over you.”

“Is that so?” he quirks his eyebrow, eyes twinkling,“If I had known that it takes me getting hurt to be treated so nicely, I would have got hurt a long time ago.”

“That’s not funny,” you slap his chest, earning him a laugh.

For a second, you’re reminded of the plan you had. You hang your head low before speaking.

“I can’t promise you anything right now, ‘Teyam. Not until I am sure.”

“Sure about what?” he looks at you confused.

“There’s just something that...I need to be certain of before I give in to this,” you say, gesturing between you. You feel terrible for getting his hopes high. Why did you have to kiss him?

“I’ll wait,” he says. You look up at him in surprise, “However long it takes.”

You had everything planned out. It was so simple before he had to come in and mess up your head. You would sneak away in the dark, hoping to get to the Eastern shore by the morning. With a healthy young ilu, the journey would take less time now, and you were confident that your instincts would lead you by the same route you took when you escaped before. You had to see your home.

Neteyam is a distraction. He would come in, trying to save you, hold you back. He will fight you, and push your buttons, telling you that it is a bad idea. Make it harder for you to leave.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The following week seems to drag on even slower than before, with no news of new attacks. While it seemed like something good, in reality, you were scared that the sky demons were planning a bigger strike. Lo’ak has a theory that they were tracking you down with their fancy weapons, instead of wasting resources on other villages. Neteyam discredits his brother to make the rest of you feel better, but, judging by his eyes, you think he believes it too.

During these days, it’s hard for you to keep your distance with Neteyam, especially when you’re not alone. Despite his promise to wait for you, there is this new spark in him that makes him act carelessly. He can’t hide it around the others, staring at you and touching you at every opportunity he gets. Overwhelmed, in return, you overcompensate by ignoring him. You can’t let anyone find out. Because once it’s out in the open, you’ll feel pressured to become mates. And you were not ready.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“What the hell, Neteyam? I almost had it!” you shout at him in anger.

“It was going to swim away if I hadn’t shot,” he responds with a self-assured tone, like he is talking to a child.

It was early in the morning, when you decided to head out for some hunting near the caves at the back of the island. And just as you were about to feel the sweet satisfaction of catching a srakat that you’ve been preying on, an arrow whizzed past you and struck the fish.

Neteyam found your expression amusing, not knowing the effort and patience you had put into finding those damned srakat caves, nor did he understand how much it annoyed you when someone interrupted your hunt.

“You should have minded your own business!” you hiss at him.

Neteyam rubs his eyes, and you can’t believe his audacity. He ruined your hunt and now he’s the one rubbing his eyes like he’s about to get a headache?

“Did I ask you to help me?” you ask him, feeling your blood boil.

"Do you ever ask?" Neteyam huffs in annoyance. You have a feeling this is something deeper.

“Oh forgive me, Neteyam, my savior,” you mock him, “What was it you called yourself? The mighty warrior? Well, can a mighty warrior return to being his mighty self and leave the real hunters to actually hunt?”

“When it comes to swimming, I get it!” he throws his hands in the air, exasperated “I always listen to you because you grew up in the water. I know you know better, so I listen to you -”

“Exactly!” you interrupt him, feeling a surge of irritation.

“Let me finish,” Neteyam rolls his eyes. “But when it comes to hunting, why can’t you trust someone who has been holding a bow and arrow in his hands before he started walking?”

“Do you think you’re the only one that hunts?” you ask him, confused. “Catch up, forest boy. We know how to use bows and arrows, but spears are easier when hunting down bigger prey. Especially srakat.”

“A good hunter works with precision and a small window of time, your method was doomed from the beginning,” he argues.

“It’s not about precision, it’s about patience and force! You can’t possibly shoot a srakat from a distance. If it spots you, you’re never going to see it again. You were just lucky that we were so close to it, otherwise your arrow wouldn’t even poke its armor.”

“Yet, who’s the one holding the trophy?” he raises his eyebrow at you, expectantly.

“Now you’re just pissing me off on purpose,” you hiss at him.

His ears flutter in response. Neteyam attempts to cover them with his hands but it is too late. Is this what you think it is? Did seeing you this angry suddenly bring him pleasure?

“You, skxawng. Are you seriously this excited seeing me angry?” you can’t believe him.

“No,” he denies, “On the contrary, I’m frustrated with your stupidity!”

“You’re the stupid one!” you poke his chest with your finger.

It takes you by surprise when he wraps his fingers around your wrist. You’re standing too close to each other, your breaths catching. Neither of you looks away, trying to read each other's thoughts. It's been a while since he's been this close to you since your kiss in the marui, and you’re suddenly reminded why. Your gaze falls to his lips, sending him a sign. Neteyam kisses you, and this time you can’t pull yourself away.

Your bodies embrace, holding each other tight, and as you kiss, it feels like the two of you are fighting over who gets to taste more. You pull him closer by the nape of his neck, and a soft moan escapes his lips. He kneels, and you follow suit, the kiss unbroken.

Kissing him is overwhelming, greedy. You sit on him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Neteyam places your hand on his chest, and you can feel his heart beating rapidly. He reaches for your queue, and you don't resist.

“Y/N,” he gasps, pulling back, “Stop.”

“What is it?” you ask offended.

“Eywa,” he says. You notice he's holding your queue between his fingers. He lets it slip away.

“She hasn’t blessed us,” you voice his concern out loud, “Not as mates anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Neteyam’s ears perk up in surprise, “Did she give you a sign about me?”

“Kind of.”

“Tell me,” he is eager, it amuses you.

“No, I think it might go to your head,” you tease him, with a playful smile.

“Y/N,” his voice is so serious, you crack.

“Alright,” you roll your eyes, letting your fingers wander over his broad shoulders, “The other day, when we were at the Spirit Tree, and it was windy, a seed floated around me, and then around you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Neteyam looks at you offended. You find it amusing.

“Because you were really getting on my nerves back then,” you admit, “And honestly, you’re still kind of annoying me now.”

“I’m the annoying one?” Neteyam’s face lightens up with a sleazy smile.

Before you know it, he pins you to the ground, hanging above you. He seems to like this position a little too much. His fingers tickle your stomach and neck, forcing giggles and squeals from you, as you try to escape.

“Neteyam, stop!”

“Say you’re sorry!” he demands, pausing for a moment to give you a chance to save yourself.

"I'm not going to lie," you reply, your voice catching in your throat as he continues to tickle you, "FIne! I'm sorry! I give up!"

“Sorry for what?”

“Not telling you sooner!”

“And who am I?” he quirks his eyebrow.

“Neteyam,” you whimper, but he shakes his head, “‘Teyam!”

“Hm,” he pretends to think about it, “Not bad but you have to try harder if you want to get out of here still alive.”

You feel out of breath, smiling like a fool. You know exactly what he wants to hear.

“The mighty warrior,” you let out. His face immediately lightens up.

“Smart girl,” Neteyam leans in, nuzzling his forehead against yours.

“You called me stupid two seconds ago,” you huff but he shuts you up with a gentle kiss.

Words can’t describe how giddy you feel. It's unbelievable. You’re kissing him! Neteyam. Just a few weeks ago, you despised him with every fiber of your being. Your grandmother used to say that hate is a form of love, and you're starting to believe that now. Because at this moment, it feels like there's no one in the world except him. With his lips on yours, and his hand gently cupping your cheek while you play with his braids, you feel all the negative thoughts being pushed out of your mind.

“Oh, sweet Eywa,” you pull away from him, suddenly realizing.

“What?”

“Is that why you’re annoying me? Because I was ignoring you,” you accuse him.

“What, no way,” he denies, yet it’s so easy to spot his lies.

“You’re lying, you skxawng!” you wrap your arms around his neck, “Look at that sleazy grin on your face. And your ears! They were fluttering when I was yelling at you!”

Neteyam cracks under your gaze, and starts laughing. You take a second to admire this sound. It’s so genuine, so warm. Oh Eywa, you wish to hear that laughter every day. You gaze into his golden eyes with so much love, you feel like your heart is going to burst.

“What are you thinking about?” Neteyam asks softly, noticing how quiet you got.

“I see you, Neteyam.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Like on the schedule, the storm doesn’t take long to arrive. Tears blur your vision as you witness a Tulkun floating on the surface with its eyes closed. There are blurs of bright orange at her sides that confirm she’s been killed by the sky demons. Devastation fills the air, with Ronal trying to revive her soul sister, praying to Eywa. But everyone knows it's too late. When she finally gives up, a painful shriek breaks the silence. You sob quietly, as you feel Neteyam’s hands wrap around you in comfort. You can’t imagine what it feels like to lose a soul sister.

When Tonowari calls for a meeting, there is a mixture of anger and sorrow in the air. The Metkayina hunters wear their armors, holding weapons in their hands, ready to fight. Tonowari orders everyone to prepare to avenge the death of Tulkun.

Jake jumps into the circle, pleading with him to stop. He thinks that it is a trap set by the sky demons to lure them out, that they’re planning something worse. When the others try to silence his father, Neteyam intervenes, asking them to listen. His desperation weighs heavy on your heart. Jake raises a piece of metal retrieved from the Tulkun's side, causing everyone to fall silent.

“You tell the Tulkun, if they are hit by one of these, they are marked for death,” he says.

Tonowari seems to listen. He orders the clan to pass the message to their soul-brothers and soul-sisters, and tell them to leave before it’s too late.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“I’m sorry, ‘Teyam, but you gotta move out of the way,” you sigh, tired of arguing with him.

“I’m not letting you go there, it is too dangerous,” his accent becomes more evident with the anger building up inside, “Let’s wait. I will talk to dad, we will think of something safer.”

“I don’t need you to talk to your dad!” you grow frustrated with him, “I don’t need you involving anybody else. I have thought about this. I know what to do.”

“It’s risky, Y/N, you know it is.”

“I do. But they’ve sent us a clear sign,” you point at the water, reminding him of the dead Tulkun, “They know exactly where to shoot now. Exactly where to hurt. And I can’t keep going on like this… I need to know what happened before I lose my sanity, sitting here and waiting for death,” you’re so tired, you’re ready to break down right here. Just to feel him wrap his arms around you and comfort you.

“Y/N,” Neteyam’s gaze softens at the tremble in your voice, “I can’t lose you.”

“This is why I didn’t want you to -” you stop yourself before you say something hurtful. It’s really not his fault that you gave in to this fantasy of being his, “Please. Move.”

It’s only a second of hesitation on his side but it’s just enough to give you an opening. You charge past him into the water, your ilu already waiting. The cool water rushes over you, as you swim ahead, determined to get as far from him as you can. You hear his voice call out to you.

“I’m not letting you go there alone!”

The death of Tulkun has only added to your fears of the sky demons targeting the Metkayina. Your nightmares have become more frequent. It’s the same one, every night, and you just can't wait anymore for another sign from Eywa. You need to figure out for yourself what happened to your home, and to your sister.

When Neteyam caught you sneaking at night, it wasn’t hard to guess that you were trying to leave the perimeters of the village. Of course, he is worried about your safety. You'll be alone in the open water, with the sky demons lurking nearby, looking for their next prey. What if they spot you before you can hide? What if they catch you? He’s not going to lose you right after he spilled his heart out to you. It’s not fair.

It’s still dark out, as you swim ahead, following your instincts. You can sense that Neteyam is close behind but you don’t acknowledge him. You're determined to see this through.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

As the sun rises, you and Neteyam arrive at the village. You can feel your heart sink at the sight of what remains of it. It’s hardly recognizable: everything you knew and loved has disappeared into smoldering ruins.

You unlink from your ilu, taking a few steps further. Even the sand underneath your feet seems to be dark gray from the fire. Your eyes roam over the burnt structures of the old maruis and the pieces of clothes and weapons scattered on the ground, showing how little regard the sky demons had for your Na'vi.

You feel the weight of guilt and anger welling up inside and crushing down on you, as you continue walking. You stop when you step closer to the remains of a marui where your sister and her mate used to stay. It was easy to tell apart from the others: as the leaders of the clan, they used to have a big home. You were always jealous of all the space they had, which from the very beginning was destined for the children they were going to have. Streams of tears rush down your face, and you can’t help the sobs threatening to close up your throat.

Neteyam, who was right behind you all this time, gently rests his hand on your shoulder. You turn around, desperately burying your face in his chest. He holds you tightly, with his hands on your back, running them up and down in a comforting motion. He feels his own heart breaking at the sound of your crying.

It takes you a long time before you can pull away from his arms, ready to face the reality again. Neteyam asks if you want to go back but you can only shake your head. Not until you know the fate of the Tree of Souls. It was the sacred place where your clan used to go to pray, hidden away in an underwater cave, on the far edge of the island. The Tree was still small, still growing, but it was the only source of light in the darkness. You pray that its secrecy has kept it safe from destruction.

You pull Neteyam by the hand, leading him towards the cave. The once bright and lively colors of the plants now seem dull. As you dive in, a faint light catches your eyes. The Tree of Souls. Quickly, you swim to it, desperate to feel its warmth and connection to Eywa. But the light the Tree radiates is too weak, barely breaking the darkness around it. You cover your mouth with your hands, in shock. Behind you, Neteyam squeezes your shoulder, as you bring out your queue to the Tree, ready to cling to it. You close your eyes, focusing on your bond, and ask the Great Mother for guidance.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When your eyes flutter open, you find yourself back on the familiar beach. Your village looks just as it did in the past, with all of the maruis standing in place, untouched.

“Y/N?” you hear your sister’s voice, as she appears in front of you with a warm smile. This can’t be real.

You shake your head in denial, as tears fill up your eyes. With the signs you received from Eywa, deep down you had hoped that she wouldn’t be here. That somehow she had survived and just ran away to live somewhere else. That she hadn’t died for you.

But there she was. Gracing you with the warmest smile and wrapping you in the tightest hug. Wearing the headpiece that you helped her decorate, when she was first pronounced the Tsahik of Ta'unui. It was the happiest day.

“Why are you crying?” she asks, pulling away to look at you.

“I missed you,” you sniff.

“I missed you too,” she cups your face lovingly.

Although your nightmare threatens to repeat itself, you allow her to guide you towards the water without objection. It’s crystal clear and the sky is cloudless. You’re not scared that she may let go of your hand anymore. Together you swim, holding hands, and admiring the depths of the sea. As you both dive deeper, you come across a cluster of yellow plants that glow, breathing in and out.

“I want to lay here someday,” she gestures, and the realization hits you. This is how the water takes, claims the dead.

Heavy-hearted, you get back to the beach with her, stretching out on the sand. You wish you could stay with her. Just the two of you.

“Are you happy?” she asks you, “It seems like you’re letting the bad thoughts consume you.”

“You know me too well, sister,” you smile, “I don’t know how to start again after losing everything.”

“You just have to accept that you can never bring the past back,” she responds thoughtfully, “What scares you?”

“I’ve met someone… And I’m scared to promise myself to him. I don’t think I can make him happy.”

“Well, why?” she urges you to open up. You can only shake your head, feeling the weight of guilt crushing you. “Is he kind?” she prompts.

“He is, he has the kindest heart.”

“Is he patient?”

“Too much for his own good,” you chuckle.

“Does he love you?”

“He does,” you wince.

“I don’t see what scares you, Y/N,” she smiles proudly, “You deserve happiness. Leave the past behind you.”

“But what about you?” you frown, feeling like she is slipping away from you.

“I will be the happiest when you are too, tsmuke.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you swim back up, you spot Neteyam sitting on the flat rocks, inside the cave. You catch his attention right away.

“Are you alright?” he leans in, helping you out of the water, “You were in there for a long time.”

“I am… the nightmare was a sign from Eywa,” you breathe out, taking a seat by him, “I think there was a burial ceremony the night when I first saw it. The Ta'unui who lived gave their final prayers to the fallen before leaving here.”

“Is she with Eywa now?” he asks carefully, and you nod, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s alright,” you sigh with a small smile, “I’m just happy I saw her.”

Neteyam embraces you tightly. You’re not sure if it’s meant to comfort you or himself but you’re pleased, feeling him so close to you. You tug at his queue lightly, signaling him to pull away.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I want to ask Eywa for a blessing,” you smile at him, nuzzling his face, “I want to be promised to you forever.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

As you make your way back home, you and Neteyam exchange giddy laughs, when he occasionally circles around your ilu, playfully teasing you. This newfound feeling of Neteyam being yours makes you overwhelmed with your love for him. Though you both agreed to wait, you were blessed by the Great Mother and that was all that mattered.

Suddenly, Neteyam stops and puts his fingers to his ear, listening in. Annoyance flickers across his face before he touches his necklace.

“Get away from there, as fast as you can Lo’ak,” he growls, “We’ll be there soon. I don’t care, tell father right now.”

You watch with concern, as Neteyam takes off at lightning speed. You barely manage to keep up with him, urging your ilu to swim faster.

“It’s Lo’ak,” Neteyam shouts, unwilling to slow down, “He went to warn Payakan about the Tulkun’s death, but Payakan has been marked.”

“Is he okay?” you ask worried.

“He’s trying to get it out. But the skxwang brought everyone with him. Kiri, Tsireya, Ao’nung, and even Tuk followed them,” Neteyam shakes his head in frustration.

You swim faster and faster, when finally, you can spot Payakan, with the silhouettes of your friends, standing on its back. Neteyam takes off and helps them right away but you fall back, when another movement catches your eyes. A large ship is approaching and quickly coming into view.

“”Teyam,” you shout, swimming to them, “They’re here!”

Everyone's heads turn in the direction you point. As the ship gets closer, it seems to grow in size, and your voice catches in your throat. Neteyam quickly takes charge, rushing everyone back to their ilus.

“We’re swimming back now, sir,” he presses on his necklace, “Roger that.”

“Is that your dad? What is he saying?” you ask him.

“They’re getting ready to attack. But we have to leave now.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Y/N, help!” you hear Lo’ak’s voice, as you catch a sight of him on the ilu, with Neteyam laid over his knees.

It seems like just a moment ago, you were helping free Tuk and Tsireya, urging them to retreat to the shore with you, as the Metkayina battled the sky demons. Despite your pleas, Lo'ak picked up a weapon and charged into the explosions. Neteyam shook his head before picking up a weapon himself.

“Neteyam, please,” you pulled him by his hand, “Don’t go there.”

“Don’t worry, just get Tuk to safety,” Neteyam squeezed your hand in his, “I’ll be right behind you, you won’t even notice.”

“But Neteyam -” he shutted you with a kiss, before pulling away with a smile.

“Go, now,” he rushed at you, disappearing into the battle.

You shouldn’t have let him go. Panic and fear overwhelm you, as you try to help Lo’ak and his human friend get Neteyam to the land. Your heart drops when you see red running out of his chest.

"Y/N, he’s been shot!” Lo'ak's voice breaks through your thoughts.

Immediately, you kneel down, Tsireya joining you to examine him. Neteyam barely keeps his eyes open, as you take in a deep wound on his chest, blood gushing out of it. You can’t see the bullet.

“‘Teyam! You’re fine,” you touch his face.

“What do we do?” Lo’ak asks panicked.

“I’m going to get my mom,” Tsireya stands up but Lo’ak pulls her back by her hand.

“Ronal is out there fighting.”

“You’re the tsakarem, you must help him,” you almost hiss at Tsireya.

Neteyam lets out a weak cough, clearly hurting. You press your fingers onto his wound, trying to apply more pressure. You can feel the warmth of the blood seeping through your fingers, and press down harder, almost trying to force it back. You can’t lose him now. Not right after you found him.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” you beg him, tears filling up your eyes, “Tsireya, help me.”

Tsireya complies right away, helping you apply pressure down on Neteyam’s chest.

“Go to Tsahik’s room and find the blue balm she keeps by the wall. And bring back as many bandages as you can,” she tells Lo’ak, then turns to you with a whisper, “I don’t want to scare Tuk, but we must get the bullet out.”

You take a quick look at Tuk, wrapped up in her own arms, crying. You have forgotten she was here with you, watching her big brother suffer in pain. Your heart aches for her.

“Ma‘Teyam, are you with me?”

“Y/N,” Neteyam breathes out, a weak smile on his face. His hand cups your cheek, and you immediately cover his with yours, smearing the blood all over you, “I want to go home.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me anymore, you hear that?” you force yourself to smile through your tears.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Lo’ak and his friend returning back, and Tsireya rushes to him to take the supplies. They flee, as she takes a seat by you again, then brings out her knife. She starts speaking to you, as if she wants you to do something but you can’t really hear her. And your mind takes you to a bad place.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Y/N,” Tsireya’s voice sounds far away, “I need you to help”

Everything unraveling around you seems to pass in a blur. One moment, you see little Tuk by Neteyam’s unconscious body, with her small hands pressing over his chest. Your eyes take in a knife, covered in blood, with its sharp tip poking through the blood with quick careful motions. Then, Tsireya throws the knife away, as her fingers dig into the wound. Your eyes widen as she pulls out a bullet, covered in thick blood.

“I got it, Y/N,” Tsireya’s voice snaps you back into reality, “But I think he’s doing worse.”

You only nod and lean in to check Neteyam's breathing, but there's no sign of life. Frantically, you search for his pulse, but again, nothing. When you press your ear to his chest, straining to hear any sound, your heart races. It's like searching for a glimmer of light in the dark depths of the ocean, but at last, you hear the faintest heartbeat.

This weak, fragile beat is all that matters to you. Like a drug, it floods your veins with a surge of adrenaline, tuning out every bad thought and emotion. You quickly spring into action, now overtaking Tuk’s responsibility, as you tear a piece of your cloth to start cleaning his wound.

“Y/N, his lungs are giving out,” Tsireya voices her concern, as she thoroughly applies a thick scoop of the blue balm to the wound. “If he doesn’t start breathing on his own soon, this is pointless.”

“I know… I know what to do,” you mumble, thinking back on the chest compressions Neteyam performed on Kiri when she was struggling to breathe, “But we need to wrap this very tightly.”

Doubts flood your mind as you begin the compressions, questioning whether you are counting correctly or making the injury worse. Tsireya checks his pulse but shakes her head every time, and you feel a sense of disappointment overwhelming you. You refuse to give up. He just needs a push.

“Neteyam!” you shout, pressing on his chest in an already familiar rhythm, “Don’t leave me!”

Tears stream down your face as you press your mouth to his, willing him to take in more air. Suddenly, you feel a slight movement underneath you, and when you pull away, Neteyam coughs weakly and takes a small breath through his mouth.

As you notice his chest slowly rising and falling, you let out a cry of happiness, thanking the Great Mother for helping you. You repeat your prayers over and over again, as if in a trance, while holding his hand. Eventually the chaos around you dies down, and everything turns dark.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

It takes you a few seconds to adjust your eyes to the bright light. As memories of the previous night appear to you, you jolt up looking for Neteyam, and realize that you had fallen asleep by his side.

His eyes are closed, face peaceful, bandage tightly wrapping his chest. Your heart picks up a beat, as you carefully lean in to check his breathing. When you feel a weak breeze on your skin, you pull away with relief. Your eyes roam around the big marui, finding the rest of his family scattered around, asleep. Even Tsireya’s here, her head resting on Lo’ak’s shoulder. When your gaze meets Neytiri's, you notice the dark circles under her eyes indicating sleeplessness or tears, or both.

Quietly, she walks over to you and kneels down beside her son, cradling his cheek lovingly. You see her eyes glisten, as she then leans in to wrap you in her motherly embrace. A small sob escapes your lips, feeling consumed by her warmth.

“Shh, my child,” she whispers, gently wiping away your tears, “Neteyam is strong. Eywa has heard you.”

Your heart fills with gratitude for her words. Despite seeing her son like this, she finds enough strength for the both of you. Together you stay by Neteyam’s side, watching his chest rise and fall with each weak breath.

Eventually, the rest of the family wakes up, one by one checking on Neteyam.

“He will be awake soon,” Ronal confirms her prior reading, earning a grateful look from Jake.

You catch a proud smile settle on her face, as she watches Tsireya carefully switching the old bandages, consumed in her work. You feel infinitely thankful to have Tsireya by your side.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The dynamics between the Sully family changed overnight. You notice how Jake and Neytiri suddenly seem even warmer, holding each other and their kids lovingly, afraid to lose them. Despite guilt eating away at Lo’ak, he feels accepted once embraced by his father. Kiri and Neytiri seem to understand each other without exchanging a word. While you find Tuk clinging herself to you and Tsireya, her newfound admiration for you evident in the way she sought your attention.

When Neytiri and Jake send the kids off to eat and bring something for them too, you protest to stay at the marui with them. The thought of leaving Neteyam’s side even for a moment makes you shudder.

Instead, as advised by Ronal, you start praying to Eywa again.

“Y/N, Eywa has heard you already,” Jake says, putting his hand on your shoulder in comfort, “Take a break, kid.”

“But what if she hasn’t? Ronal said he would be awake soon but he isn’t waking up,” your voice is desperate, “I am scared.”

“This is his battle to fight,” Neytiri adds, her voice low, “He is the first son of Toruk Makto, born to lead clans, to protect. Neteyam was destined to be strong, you have to trust him.”

“He’ll be alright,” Jake pats your back, offering comfort.

You nod, quietly agreeing. There really wasn’t a reason for you to behave like this, with his parents in the room. And they are right. Neteyam always does his best, you just have to be patient.

“Were you with Neteyam yesterday?” Neytiri suddenly asks, curiously observing your face.

“What?” you’re caught off guard. Is she implying the morning of?

“Yesterday, Neteyam disappeared. And when Lo’ak was with Payakan, he told us that you and Neteyam were coming from the East,” she slowly elaborates, as she pieces the bits together.

“Why were you coming from the East?” Jakes fixes his eyes on you, waiting for an explanation.

You avoid looking at any of them, hesitant to respond. You knew for sure that if Neteyam hadn't been lying with a wound in his chest right now, Jake would be already scolding him for venturing outside the village perimeters at night. You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling pressured to tell them. Yikes.

“We went back to my village,” you blurt out, “I didn’t want anyone to know where I was going, but Neteyam caught me sneaking out. He couldn’t convince me to stay, so he just came with me to make sure I was safe.”

The two of them listen to you quietly but you can already see disappointment covering Jake’s face. Neytiri’s expression is unreadable, and you wonder if they’re angry at you for putting their son in danger.

“Look, I know it was risky and stupid but I had to see what remained of my home,” your voice breaks, as you continue to justify yourself, “And the two of us were very cautious. Seriously, we were completely fine -”

“It’s alright, kid,” Jake interrupts you, his gaze softening, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

You nod affirmatively, noticing a small spreading across Neytiri's face. She regards you with approval, as if what you told them has impressed her. It's the same look she gave you when you went hunting together.

“You’re not going to get mad at Neteyam, right?” you ask Jake, knowing how upset Neteyam gets when scolded by his father.

“I couldn’t think of anyone braver and kinder than Neteyam to go with you,” Jake smiles, and you feel relieved.

“Something is different about you. Your spirit,” Neytiri points out.

“I got the answers to my questions from the Great Mother. I feel content,” you nod your head, confirming her words. She hums.

“Y/N, we are very grateful to both you and Tsireya,” Jake’s thanks you sincerely, “You saved my son.”

“Really, like I said, it was mostly her -” you try to oppose but another voice interrupts you.

“Your voice was the thing that kept me alive, Y/N,” it’s so low and husky, weak. Neteyam.

Your heart skips a beat when your eyes catch his golden ones, looking back at you with the already familiar, already addictive warmth. All three of you are suddenly overwhelmed with joy, as you lean in and begin to examine him, holding his face, his hands, his thighs, whatever you can get your hands on.

“You’re awake,” you let out, already feeling tears dwelling in your eyes.

Neytiri beams at her son, squeezing his hand in hers, as if his life depends on it. You give some space for Jake to sit closer to Neteyam.

“I am feeling better, don’t worry about me,” Neteyam forces a smile to calm their unsettling reactions.

“Thank you, Great Mother,” Neytiri says, looking up, and you can hear Jake repeating after her quietly.

Neteyam catches your eye, his own crinkling in the corners. But there’s something playful about his expression, like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

“You scared the hell out of me, Neteyam,” you nag him, and earn back a weak chuckle.

Your blood boils at how angry you suddenly feel. Angry at how careless he was. At how he didn’t listen to you, didn’t trust your instincts. At how now he’s treating his poor parents’ reactions as something funny.

“You think it’s funny?”

“It’s not funny, I’m sorry,” Neteyam shakes his head, as he reaches his hand to you, offering peace, “Mother, father, forgive me please.”

“Glad to see you, son,” Jake pats his head, approvingly.

You can’t remain angry, as you look at his hand outstretched, waiting for yours. Slowly, you move close to him, giving him your hand. He squeezes it with a soft smile. You can’t help but smile back.

“Neteyam!” Tuk’s excited shriek interrupts you, as she runs up to her brother, almost falling onto him.

You laugh at her reaction, as Neteyam struggles to hug her back, and her hands almost choke him around the neck. Lo’ak and Kiri step into the room next, their eyes widening when they see their older brother. Deciding to give them a moment, you step out of the marui with a relieved smile.

When you take a seat by the wall, you feel somebody sit down next to you. You don’t have to check to know that it’s Jake.

“You know, I owe you for the rest of my life for saving Neteyam,” he pauses, then tries to joke, “How many of mine have you saved already? Two?”

“Exactly, two,” giddy, you play along by holding up two fingers, “Came really close to three with Lo’ak a few times but then Neteyam took over.”

“Wow. Either you’re really great, or my children just desperately want to give me a heart attack.”

“You should be happy that I hang around them so often,” you earn a throaty laugh from Jake, before his expression turns serious again.

“But really, Y/N…”

“I know, you don’t have to,” you interrupt him, “I care for your family too. Even if it sounds strange, given my past opinions.”

“Past?” Jake quirks his eyebrow at you, “That trip to your village really turned things around for you, huh?”

“It did,” you nod.

“And I’m guessing that he finally confessed to you?” he catches you off guard with his question.

“Neteyam told you?” you ask. Jake hums, “What did you think?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Well,” Jake looks into the distance, “I thought it would be great if you returned his feelings.”

“But why? I wasn’t exactly nice to you,” you’re really confused.

“You were okay,” he smirks, finding your reaction amusing, “And kind of made a great point about me.”

“I don’t get it,” you chuckle in disbelief, “So you think I was right to put the blame on you?”

“I do,” he nods his head, “You were just the first one to say it to my face. Even I couldn't do that.”

“But I was wrong,” you shake your head, hoping that he’s only teasing you. Nothing about his expressions hints at that, “You know that the demons would invade our islands sooner or later, right? I heard about what happened with Vitraya Ramunong.”

“Yet, I was the one to lure them here,” he adds.

“I don’t understand. You were protecting your family.”

“I know. But it’s not over.”

You pause, confused, examining his face. Jake looks almost defeated, like he has accepted it, and has been living with it for a long time. You feel your stomach turn, as you recognize the nagging feeling of guilt. Feeling of being at fault. Like you didn’t deserve this life, while others suffered for you.

“You think they will come back for you?” you ask quietly, dreading his answer.

“I know they will,” he meets your eyes, his eyebrows tied inwards, “But I won’t let them hurt anybody else again.”

“What are you going to do?”

Jake doesn’t answer, instead staring off into the distance, deep in his thoughts. You think you know the answer already, everything alludes to your first conversation with him. But you don’t want to say it. Don’t really want to think about it either.

“Y/N, can you come in?” Neytiri interrupts your moment, as she leans against the entrance, “Neteyam wants to see you.”

“Sure,” you stand up. You exchange a knowing look with Jake, and try to push the bad thoughts away before walking in.

As Neytiri rushes her children out of the marui to give you some space, you catch a hushed exchange between Lo’ak and Kiri.

“You’re delusional, Lo’ak.”

“They came for us together, you idiot.”

Neteyam lies in a sit-up position, his back leaning against the wall. He smiles, as you sit next to him, his hand immediately taking yours.

“Missed me?” you tease him. Neteyam rolls his eyes before his lips stretch into a smile.

“Of course I did.”

He pulls you gently towards him, bringing his other hand to your face. You stop breathing in anticipation for his lips to touch yours. Instead, he nuzzles your cheek with his nose.

“What if your family sees?” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Let them.”

You pull away to read his face. He looks tired but his eyes are brighter than ever. A playful smile sneaks onto his face, before he speaks.

“They must know by now anyway. Tuk likes to blabber.”

“Oh, right,” you recall the kiss he gave you on the ship. Both Tsireya and Tuk saw you.

You lean in again, cupping his cheek. Your thumb slowly traces the dark blue stripe on his cheekbone, disappearing into his braids. Neteyam closes his eyes under your touch, and it makes your heart flutter. You kiss him softly, gently. Afraid that if you press your lips against his any harder, he will break into pieces. It doesn’t take long for him to reciprocate, his arms sneaking around your waist and pulling you closer.

Smitten by the taste of his lips, you feel the urge to hold him. You rest your palms on his chest, feeling the bandage touch your skin, and before you can’t register, you involuntarily press against him. Neteyam moans into your lips with a mix of pain and pleasure. Immediately, you pull away, examining the damage. He looks fine.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out.

“It’s alright, come here,” he opens his arm, encouraging you to sit by his side.

Carefully you nuzzle against his side, his arm draping over your shoulder. The tiredness from your sleepless night and the lack of food, makes you a little dizzy, and as you close your eyes, you eventually doze off.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You shift slightly in your position, hearing hushed whispers next to you. You recognize Jake and Neteyam but it takes you some time to start making out their words. You don’t open your eyes, pretending to be asleep.

“Lo’ak said we won?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Jake’s voice is hesitant.

“So, that man is dead?”

“He is.”

There is a small pause before Jake speaks.

“I’m very proud of you, son.”

“Thank you, dad,” Neteyam’s tone is shy.

“And I think you chose very well,” you can’t see it but you can feel Jake’s eyes pointing at you. Neteyam shakes slightly underneath you, letting out a low chuckle.

“I know, Eywa blessed us.”

“Eywa?” Jake asks, “Oh, that’s good. That’s good.”

Another pause.

“Son, I knew that I would have to talk to you about this one day, yet I am caught off guard,” Jake admits, a hint of fear evident in his voice. You wonder where he's taking this. Maybe you should pretend to wake up to give them privacy?

“Why?”

“Well…” Jake breathes out loudly, “You know that even after getting Eywa’s blessing, you two can still take your time. I mean, there are other things you can do to… give each other pleasure.”

“Dad, please don’t -” you can feel the blood rushing to Neteyam’s face in embarrassment. You hold yourself back from cringing.

“I’m just saying. You don’t have to feel pressured to mate right away. Having kids this young can be too much,” Jake lowers his voice, “I want you to know about the -”

“I know, I know, dad, please stop explaining,” Neteyam pleads, as you silently pray for this conversation to end.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, the guys talk. Like a lot,” Neteyam’s tone turns even more embarrassed, as he admits.

“Alright then,” you hear Jake stand up, “I guess this went better than I imagined.”

“You mean it was supposed to be worse?” Neteyam mumbles underneath his breath. You try your best to force down the giggle forming in your chest.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

As you look down on the water, soaring high in the sky, you feel heavy-hearted. You hold tighter to Neteyam, looking around at the rest of the Sully’s, each on their ikrans, maintaining similar speed. Your eyes intuitively search for Lo’ak, feeling the most saddened for him to part ways with Tsireya and his soul-brother, Payakan. Even if temporarily.

“Don’t worry, Lo’ak, we will be back until they even get to miss you,” Jake raises his voice for him to hear. Lo’ak doesn’t react.

“Come on, brother, you know she’ll wait for you,” Kiri adds, her voice filled with empathy.

Sully's human friend, Spider, is seated behind Kiri, his small hands tight around her middle. You haven’t particularly taken a liking to him but Neteyam says he is a good friend. Besides, he will play a big role in Jake’s plan.

It wasn’t hard to guess what the plan exactly was. From the second you had your conversation with Jake, you knew that whatever he had been planning in the past few months was now a definite decision in his head. Unlike the rest of his family, you were prepared for the day when he announced that he and his family were leaving the Metkayina clan for the time being. And if the possibility presents, and the Sully’s can return safely, without endangering the clan, then Jake hopes to be welcomed back and stay permanently. Kindly, Tonowari agreed, wishing Eywa to accompany the Great Toruk Makto in his pursuit.

There wasn’t much arguing from his family, when they first found out. Of course, they were upset to leave yet another home behind, but they trusted this to be the best solution. Even Lo’ak, who was the most heartbroken by this, eventually gave up on protesting. Wherever the family goes, he has to follow.

Their human friend had a tracker in his mask. And knowing that he now joined the Sully’s, Jake guessed that it wouldn’t be long until he gets attacked again. So his plan was to make a demonstrative exit, flying away from the water, over the uninhabited, wild jungles of Pandora, until somewhere along the way, he would remove and drop the tracker. You would continue your journey, until completely hidden from the sky people, and live for a little while by yourselves. No communications with the human-friends from the labs. No interactions with other clans. Just the family. And, if everything goes according to plan, Jake hopes to return back to Metkayina, where his children felt accepted.

“Just think about it, brother. By the time we return, you will be a man. Even the Olo'eyktan will see you in a different light,” Neteyam turns his face to Lo’ak, “You will make no effort to make Tsireya choose you again.”

Despite the words of encouragement, you feel the heaviness hanging over Lo’ak. It must be hard to be patient, leaving behind not only a soul brother you found but also a girl you love.

Despite the words of encouragement, the heaviness of the moment is palpable. You can feel the sadness emanating from everyone, as they all look back on the water, flying on the backs of your ikrans.

Seated behind Neteyam, you hold onto his middle tighter, reminding yourself of how lucky you were to be taken with him. You nuzzle your face into his back, seeking comfort. Neteyam stretches his arm, patting you on the thigh.

"I see you," he says, loud enough for only you to hear. A rush of warmth spreads through your body, knowing that he truly does see you.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

part 1

wow, can’t believe this is it. also, can’t comprehend how other writers do this, it was a journey… i hope you enjoyed reading this, and please don’t forget to reblog and leave some comments <3

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taglist (also tagging some blogs that i think might enjoy it, and some of the authors, whose works i’ve been reading non-stop to keep myself motivated): @fucksnow ; @heaven1oo4 ; @fanboyluvr ; @ngayawneluoer ; @aquila-de-l-ocean ; @aoteyam ; @moonpetrichors-blog ; @vinnieswife ; @eywascall ; @lxvvvllyy ; @iloveavatar ; @neteyamdarling ; @gloryy-vs ; @girasollake ; @mayhemories ; @suuuupernovaaa ; @love-chx ; @the-demon-soul ; @cosmictheo ; @victoirey ; @your-averagewriter ; @starkeysmoon ; @openpandorabox ; @urlocalfeiner ; @neteyams-tsahik ; @angelltheninth ; @sweetsbfreex ; @forever–darling ; @arachine ; @nyctophicbtch ; @jeojake ; @isabellapaul37 ; @melbee ; @loaksky ; @luvsellie ; @loakism ; @lizziesfirstwife ; @jakesullysbabygirl ; @theseuscmander ; @love13tter

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