#gaining one really close friend in limited life

[lyraofthestarsss]

I hope everyone knows that The Mounders is the only thing keeping Pearl and Joel from going absolutely insane. We’ve seen how they can get when they’re red. Specifically, red with no allies. Or lost allies. Red names with no one to keep them stable or to help calm them down. No one to cheer them up or make them laugh or brighten their day. You’ve seen them. They’re insane, they’re bloodthirsty, they’re violent. They’re Scarlet Pearl and Lone Wolf Joel. And now, they’ve just lost Mumbo. Everyone on Secret Life needs to be careful now because Bdubs has scary dog privileges

[roturo]

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ I FOUND MY BEST FRIEND LITTLE SISTER FINISHING IN HIS BATHROOM WHILE MOANING MY NAME. So... I fucked her.

tags: smut, unprotected sex, dumbification, breeding, overstimulation, a lot of cum, age-gap, gojo is SO obsessed with you, tummy bulge, sadism, breeding, dacryphilia, cunnilingus, reader gets caught masturbating, objectification if you squint, possesive gojo...

A/N: wasn't my last writing of the year lol, wrote this while watching sinjin drowing so npr, happy holidays!!

You’ve known Gojo Satoru almost for your entire life. It was one day your brother Suguru introduced the both of you just so he could enter the house and have dinner to continue playing with Satoru.

Ever since Gojo has been a daily presence in your house. He was known as “Y/N’s big brother hot best friend” well, mostly to the ones who liked Gojo, because that didn’t stop the other girls from crushing into your brother. 

You told your friends you didn’t like Gojo in that way, since he was off limits for you- Not only because he was your brother's best friend but because it also ruined your hopes thanks to the age difference you had between. 

Being a freshman in college wasn’t easy. Not only you had the weird seniors going for the new girls, but being known as the Geto’s Suguru’s hot little sister didn’t feel like a compliment either. At least Gojo treated you as your own person, not like Geto’s other friends.

Geto invited you over at his dorm, having some of his close friends present, which included Gojo. It turned into an usual occurrence ever since you entered college, your brother making it easier for you to adapt into this new environment. 

All of you decided to take it easy tonight and just watch a movie. Nothing wrong with it, right? Well, there's nothing wrong. While watching, Gojo would try to make small talk with you, most likely because he’s just clingy and Geto is hanging with his girlfriend on the other sofa. Nothing wrong with what’s happening. During scary moments he would lean and hug you. Keeping his right hand on your left thigh, playing with the strings of your tiny small pajama shorts. 

That comment is his, obviously. Keeping the blanket covering both of your bodies and his totally not wrong act. And you’re pretty sure if he just moved his hand a little higher he would feel your wetness coating your shorts.

Gojo was trying to gain your attention. It’s pretty obvious he’s been crushing you for years now, and he’s pretty sure Suguru has commented about it. Taking it as a go to continue flirting with you and adorning your pretty face with reddish colors.

But ever since he entered college, he kinda forgot about his crush and got his head (and dick) into other girls. The first time he saw you again, he couldn’t believe it. You looked so beautiful and.. different in a good way. It’s like his caged feelings escaped and flew all across the room.

And he’s sure that happened to you too, because your pretty face didn’t hide those loving reddish colors he adored.

Coming back to the present, it was kinda weird everytime he hugged you or leaned into you. You seemed uncomfortable… Your thighs caging his hand, making his blood run straight into his cock. But he didn’t think anything about it, and assumed it was normal. 

While he was leaning into you, it became difficult and you decided to go to the bathroom to at least fix the problem going on between your legs and left. After a while, Gojo noticed that you were taking a long time, and he really needed to use the bathroom too to also fix his problem between his legs. He got up, commenting about going to the bathroom too. His friends clearly are not caring about it– too busy in their make out session.

He got out and decided to wait for you to get out of the bathroom. He stood in front of the bathroom door for a while until he realized the door was unlocked so he assumed that you already finished and just went somewhere else. 

He opened the door and then, he saw you.

Never in his entire life did he expect to see such a pretty sight. Your pretty fucking face could make him cum alone. Your mouth making an ‘o’ form with your eyebrows scrunched up, just whimpering his name. Legs opened up trying to find balance sitting down in the toilet.

And you might have an exhibitionism kink or maybe you were just at your limit. Because once you realized Gojo was standing there watching you, it brought you to climax. Taking you an embarrassing amount of time to recover from it.

He couldn’t believe his eyes and shut the door in front of you face and went back to the living room with a raging erection, and never mentioned the incident with you from the remaining time.

As soon as he left, you went up running towards him, begging to not tell anyone about it. And Gojo Satoru, being the asshole he is, saw this as an opportunity.

“Okay.”

“Okay?! Oh my god Gojo, thank you so much- I swear I can explain it was-”

“But,”

Fuck. There has to be a ‘but’

“You have to go out with me and do it on my face.”

Silence…

“I- I’ve never done it before…”

Oh fuck. You’re going to be the cause of the death of Gojo Satoru.

He wasted no time taking you to his dorm, stealing small pecks from you which helped you with the anxiety in your tummy turn into desire for him. Feeling confident enough, once the both of you entered his dorm he closed the door and you attacked his lips with no warning. Earning a groan from him, your hole clenching at the feeling of his clear erection making its presence between the both of you.

He picked you up, a moan leaving his lips once he realized the big difference of size between your bodies, thinking how you would be capable of taking his cock. He had to prepare you enough to fit him.

Your back arched from the bed as Satoru's tongue laps up the slick of your soaking hole, his lips around your clit, sucking like his life depended on it. It's been so long since he felt like this for somebody, the feeling that he just wants to bend you over anything and just... shove his cock in your tight little pussy.

It's like, you're created for the sole purpose of pleasuring him. You just have to be, that's what he thinks as he plays with your body. Fat tears fall out of your pretty doe eyes, your hands finding their way onto his scalp and tugging at his hair.

Why can't you just take it? Look at you now, whimpering and crying, but on the inside you know you love it, being a little whore for your brother’s best friend– you sob as he continues his assault on your poor pussy.

Why do you keep screaming at him to stop? You were just screaming his name some hours again. Is it the overstimulation? But you weren’t prepared enough for his cock!

Gojo knows you better than anyone, he knows you even better than your older brother. Why do you think he’s the one taking care of you this whole time in college? Who do you think has been scaring off the guys waiting in line to have a taste of this pussy? It’s so weird you don’t know about it because everyone thinks you’re off limits right now.  Is it because you’re really that naive? Maybe he loved that of you, how you’re so clueless of how crazy you make him. Being known as “Gojo’s Satoru’s hot next and official last real girl” instead of “Geto’s hot little sister”

 Like- That’s why he's giving your sweet little cunt a lot of attention right now.

“Ssatoru! Please, stop! baby… ‘s too much..”  All your whines fall into deaf ears as he continues without a care. Your pussy felt so stimulated as he sucked on your hole, his tongue licking and his throat groaning at the mere taste of your slick.You can barely lift your hands in exhaustion.

For hours, he didn't stop, continuously dragging orgasms out of you without fail.

“Aww, are you tired? But I finally have the girl of my dreams" You nodded, your tummy full of butterflies, making a mental note to talk about your feelings with Satoru tomorrow- your eyes droopy from all the cumming you've been doing for the past hours.

"But, princess, I'm not done yet~ I have to show you how much I desired you this whole time, how much I have waited for you to finally give and and realize." Gojo purred as unclasped the button of his pants, taking off his own clothing. “ But I guess you were just so dumb to get it all those years ago, at least you kept this cute cunt for me. We still have much time left. Fill you up and break you apart baby” You were faced by his raging cock, hard and full- he sits back down between your legs, lifting them up to his shoulders again, he then rests his hand against your clit. And after that, he slapped your pussy so hard that it made you jump and cry of his name. Never in your life did you expect your dream to become true and have your first time with him. Nor Gojo being a sadist and a have an obsession with your pretty little cunt compared to him

"I'm gonna pump your pussy with all the cum I have, girlie. You made a promise after all."

It's like Gojo doesn’t have a stamina limit in his body- able to go round after round in position after position - but at this point it’s been god knows how many times. He’s addicted to the way you feel around him, the sounds you make when he fucks into you a certain way, or just the look of your fucked-out, dazed face that has him needing more of you. 

“hah- made a big mess down there, huh?” Gojo sneers brashly, heavy hips rocking into you faster at just the lewd sight of his cum from previous rounds smothering your skin. the aching twitch in his cock won’t fade, pleasure burgeoning with every press of his cock into the hilt of your pussy. “I think there’s room for some more, yeah? just one more…”

Your little play doll for him to change, shape, and form. A clear bump showing and leaving your tummy, making Gojo’s eyes go crazier and more full of desire than before. He programs you to do things he wants, and you just nod your head at his words though you don't understand them, just giving him a smile on your lips- your delicate fingers already spreading your pussylips for him, ready to take his cock inside of you. Biting your lip, rolling your eyes as he plunges into you. 

You couldn’t count how many times Gojo’s said ‘just one more round’, but from the fatigue glimmering in his eyes and the raggedness lacing his breath - you can tell this is the last one. So naturally, he’ll make sure it’s the best one of the night. 

“g’na fill you up like you deserve, yeah? lemme fuck this pussy full,” Gojo grunts pantingly between a grin, fingers digging into your waist taut as the heavy smacks of his hips against yours get sloppy and quick. it’s with rasped groans and his hips fully bottomed out that he finally cums for the last time, ropes of white seeping out around his shaft and spilling onto the sheets. he can’t help but bargain and promise to clean the bed if you let him do it all over again tomorrow.

[eldritch-spouse]

Sometimes greedy gambits do work out.

Your typical greedy fiend may wax about their insatiable desire for the material, how satisfaction is the death of their nature and never shall they cease stretching their fingers towards the next shining trophy-

But they know limits.

They have that little bit of normalcy that tells them when it's time to drop something, even if it leaves a taste like curdled milk in their mouths.

Not Xiko.

Xiko grabbed onto something and he did not let go.

Not even when death came knocking at his door.

This celebrity of the Greed Ring was known for being the biggest, most successful human/monster trafficker of Hell itself. Xiko, a mere mid-ranker, yet clever and crafty enough to dethrone nearly everyone in his field of vile work.

Wanted humans and monsters worth owning? In mint condition? With some really rare traits? Leave it to him and his boys, you won't be disappointed.

With great skill and talent comes great danger, but Xiko didn't cower when he started to gain many an enemy, when he could no longer count them, when he spent most of his time hunting them down rather than hunting the poor souls he's supposed to sell. With each visit, he'd return home with a few trophies to remember his victory.

Things were going well.

His empire of fifth kept growing, enough so that it garnered the attention of the very Lord Rinx, a client Xiko both reveres and dreads, due to his extravagant tastes. Why, he ever earned himself a juicy deal with this strange, extremely popular establishment on the surface that constantly bulk-orders humans. The Clergy's Eye or something of the sort, he knows the Icons had been there before.

How impressive is that? Enough for prideful folk to eye him wantonly.

Xiko had the opportunity to grow in rank, to sit at Rinx's table and negotiate starting a little jewelry store in the heart of Greed to keep up appearances and branch out. What luxuries.

Unfortunately, all highs lead to lows.

His health starts deteriorating inexplicably. Xiko begins being unable to move properly without chronic bursts of pain debilitating him from doing much of anything other than lie and wait for the wave of torment to pass. He has no idea where it's coming from. The pain is so great he gets blinded and passes out in some episodes.

The best doctors he can find tell Xiko he developed something terminal. Not quite a cancer, similar, something only demonoids can exhibit.

But what did the name of it matter? His own monumental riches wouldn't save him from certain doom.

One might think Xiko would do some soul searching with the time he had left, as laughable as that sounds for a being as rotten as him.

Not even close.

You don't get this far without being stubborn.

Things can't end as they are. Xiko can't die, he has so much to do and so much to oversee, it's simply not an option. He can't.

In the midst of despair and hopeless solution-seeking, Xiko finds a possible answer to his impossible conundrum inscripted in his most favored trophy, a timeless chalice.

Between its jewels and lovely finishes, the instructions for a ritual sat written in one of the oldest tongues in Hell. Having a historian for a friend sure comes in handy, doesn't it?

Said acquaintance is there to witness it when Xiko grows mad enough to try it, at the hands of demons who perpetuate these ancient practices.

A mummification-like ritual.

Except, to avoid death, Xiko must remove the two organs which the soul is most connected to, the brain and heart.

He knew what he was getting into when he laid on that altar.

He knew that he would suffer physical trauma beyond anything he could ever have experienced in life. He knew he would come out of it looking like a completely different being. That he would no longer be a demon.

And he was ready.

He was ready when they started chanting.

He was ready when his jaw was stretched to absurd proportions.

He was ready when his chest was torn open.

When he danced in that barrier between life and death, looking down at himself while his figure withered and contorted.

Those memories are... Scratchy, to say the least.

Xiko recalls screaming at the top of his exposed lungs and feeling his skin rip from several sides all at once, as if rejecting him. He remembers when his skull was crushed and how he could hear it for a moment. He knows he twisted and shriveled like a bug on that marble.

And that he woke up.

Wrapped like a present.

Dead yet amongst the living.

To continue his work. To remain forever at the top.

So what if he was emaciated now? If he'd never get rid of the massive scar where his figure was torn open, if his eyes now reside inside his bizarre gaping maw and his arms are elongated? Xiko had made it.

And while death was unavoidable, it was not the end.

In fact, it was the beginning of something a lot more amusing for Xiko.

He found his new appearance frightened his competition. Rumors of him being an undead diety spread. No longer featuring a core name or even something as simple as a sigil, Xiko was freed of even more weaknesses.

He made no effort to hide what he had become the next time he was present at Greed's Conqueror's Spoils festival. His mangled, infernal undead form on the spotlight.

Some of them were smart enough to understand what he had turned into, knew to stop pursuing him. For when you take something from a mummy, it cannot rest until it retrieves its possession.

Others came to find that out eventually.

Perhaps the person Xiko feels most sorry for is, not one of his enemies, but you.

You poor thing, still trying to escape him, still trying to lockpick your cages and manipulate his men, trying to make it out at all costs.

You never think twice when you set foot outside his territory.

Unaware that he'll always instinctively know where to find his "stolen" possession.

[fallenhunnyapple]

So the Poll said you guys were interested in the Human Priest!Adam AU which was a bit of a surprise honestly. But I'm very happy to talk about it~

I shared this art before for the AU. I gave a very basic description at the time, so let me get more detailed about it!

It hasn't gone unnoticed that Adam has gotten... Rather vice-ful in Heaven. One might even say sinful. And as such a public figure, that's no good. So they come up with a plan. Reincarnate Adam as a Human and let him live out a life and Prove that he's worthy of his place in Heaven. Of course, they'll take his memories and put him in a religious setting so he'll follow the proper path and prove himself.

He's sent to earth as a younger version of himself, old enough to take care of himself but still rather young, with the excuse of having been in an accident for why he has no memories (it removes the hassle of having to fabricate memories) and gets taken in by the church. He becomes the priest for this small town church. He's rather popular, his attitude, though not typical of a priest, being refreshing after their previous priest. He's made a bit uncomfortable about how adamantly homophobic some of his parish is as a closeted gay man, but he plays it off and over all he's doing well enough for himself at his church. Kinda lonely since its his Parish and not real companionship, he doesn't have any other friends or family. Not to mention he's actually been Good about not being sinful or acting on vices. Life is kinda hard.

Lucifer heard about this whole experiment. It doesn't really matter how, but since he knows, of course he needs to interfere. He... Hasn't actually gone to Earth before. He's sort of Shackled to Hell, its part of his punishment. But he finds some sort of Loop hole, using an Asmodean Crystal and some of his own cunning, he manages to make it there. Of course, he finds he still has his limits, he can't really interfere with most Humans, but Adam is a special case because while he is very much Human, he's still holy beyond any other human currently on Earth, and that gives him the chance to get close. His plan is honestly just to get him to Sin, enough to damn his soul so that Heaven would lose him when he died. He wasn't really planning on getting too Directly involved, but more nudging him in viceful and sinful directions.

And then Lucifer entered the church to meet him. Hallowed ground doesn't Actually affect him, he was an Angel once, he still has Angelic Powers and Abilities. The worst would be a vague tingling.

(take rp snippets. I'm Lucifer and Adam is @fallenguitarhero)

The AU as a whole, though it's definitely full of sexual tension and smut, because of course it is, it's also... Weirdly wholesome?

Adam didn't really have a Chance to make real friends or feel like anyone truly cared about him, he lost his 'childhood' and then was raised by the church and no one from his past ever tried to reenter his life. Aside from the setting though, he doesn't have the long hard life he lived in his memories, so he's basically like Eden Adam all over again, childish in a more playful way, not as bitter or vindictive, not as cruel. And Lucifer is there trying to gain his trust, and having this Adam act so much like the one he befriended back in the Garden, well. Lucifer sees him as sort of a friend too. And its the first time Adam's really felt companionship like that in this life. Sure, Lucifer is the Devil, but he acts like he cares more about him on a personal level than anyone else ever has.

Does that make him more susceptible to falling to Sin? Sure. But he doesn't find himself minding when the Devil makes him Feel Things, from romantic and sexual attraction to true fondness and friendship.

And for Lucifer's part, he's decided he no longer wants to tempt Adam to Sin just to fuck with Heaven. No, he wants Adam to join him in Hell because he was Adam To Join Him In Hell.

⚠️🔞 And since I mentioned the sexual tension and smut-

Essentially, as soon as Lucifer noticed that Adam was showing interest in him from their first meeting, he knew he had to have him Carnally. It wouldn't be enough to simply convince him to sin in other ways, no. He wanted to fuck him because there's no quicker way to Damnation than having sex with the Devil himself, right? Especially as a closeted gay priest. And Lucifer has the very specific goal in mind of getting Adam to let him fuck him in the confessional.

Lucifer doesn't start out pushing sex or anything. He wants to build trust with Adam first. But it's really not that hard to get under Adam's skin, he hardly has to do anything! Adam is a sexually frustrated man who has an inexplicable draw to the Devil and it doesn't take him long to start getting off to the very thought of him, of what Lucifer would do to him. And of course, Lucifer knows. And it only takes a little more poking and prodding and nudging before he can get Adam to agree to indulge in his fantasies and make them real!

And then there's just a fun scenario in my head about them being nasty in the confessional (like Lucifer wanted) and someone entering the other side and so Adam has to do his Job while Lucifer has him fully hilted and seated on his lap with a prehensile tentacle dick that's moving around on its own while Adam has to try Really Hard to not let himself make any suspicious sounds while taking confession-

[oatmealuv]

love for love’s sake carefully, and beautifully handled mental health. they didn’t sugar coat the depression myungha and yeowoon were experiencing.

a lot of times in bl we see characters going through hardships, but by the magic of love they’re better again or everything gets fixed. external love definitely plays a huge part in healing and being able to get through hard situations more swiftly, but it’s hardly ever the sole solution.

myungha getting a bf didn’t cure him, gaining friends didn’t cure him. he had two guys wrapped around his finger, his grandma was alive yet he still has low self worth. he’s someone that has been depressed for so long, has had deeply ingrained negative beliefs about himself that have kept him from ever being truly happy. he believes that nobody could ever love him, he can’t bother anybody with his problems because he’s a burden.

this is why depressed people isolate, they believe all of the things the depression is telling them and it is incredibly difficult to change that. it can take years to change the way you percieve yourself and the world, i think the buffs were the blockages in myungha’s perception. when yeowoon said “i love you” to him, there was an error message because deep in his soul he believes that as an impossibility. his buffs were because of his attempts to getting close to yeowoon, he saw it as a danger because getting close would mean that he would burden yeowoon.

myungha’s life was so so sad, poor guy was dealt such bad cards. his mom living happily without him as if he never existed served as proof of the negative things he’s been telling himself. realizing that you’re nothing to no one, that you’re hard to love or you’re too much is such a hard pill to swallow. it might not be objectively true, but if your mind believes it, then that’s all it takes to completely break your spirit. myungha kills himself because he sees no reason for his life, his mom abandoned him, his gf broke up with him, and his grandmother is dead. his reason for life is reliant on other people it isn’t an internal reason.

now when he’s in the game, he’s faced with the choice of who he loves more, yeowoon or his grandma. i think that they decide to make him choose between them because he can’t fathom receiving love from two people at once. it’s overwhelming, and terrifying for someone that has had limited quantities of love his whole life. his love for yeowoon is the truest love he’s ever felt besides his grandmother. yeowoon and myungha are equals, share a lot of similar life experiences, yeowoon opens up his heart and is ready to be there for him unconditionally. even when myungha refuses to share what he’s feeling, when he is actively breaking his heart, he is willing to change whatever it takes just to be around him. having someone show you that unconditional love is both incredible and so scary at the same time. that person is seeing you at your most vulnerable, at your worst and still choosing you.

myungha is used to self-abandonment, it’s all he knows. he felt like choosing yeowoon would mean choosing himself, and in turn would mean he is selfish and leaving is grandmother to die. if he chose his grandmother he would stick to his usual self, but yeowoon would possibly go back to how he was in the beginning and die. to him everything seems like a huge risk because he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. of course in the game that really was the consequence, choose one life over another. but i think this show really did a great job at showing just how impossible choices can be when you’re depressed, how warped your point of view gets. but i couldn’t help to think what would’ve happened if he had chosen himself, maybe that’s what he was supposed to do.

[nagy-bari]

musings on Mrs. Tims - aka Chilchuck's wife

she left Chilchuck after 12 years of being married they brought up the girls together, they were moving for 11 years of their marriage she left after meeting the adventurers Chilchuck was currently working with. this we know.

now the speculations and round up info:

as they grew up together as friends they probably talked about their dreams and hopes.

they were adventurous enough to move out of their home village with 2 toddlers and a baby on the way

they did not settle down for the next 10 years, living a traveling life all the while Chilchuck probably did some adventure on the side. but as professional Chilchuck is now there bound to be some early mistakes. still right until he started up the guild for half-foots his job did not cause too much problem.

from how their daughters are Mrs. Tims does not seem the extreme adventurous type - she probably never went into dungeons as dangerous as Chilchuck, but as we learned from Marcille's memories, natural dungeons can be found all over the place, she might have went to safer waters.

Chil says May is the one most like him - taking up the profession and keeping a level head at all times, while Fuller is the social connection of their family. she's housing her mother at the time, probably keeps tabs on Patty as well and sends gifts and letter to Chilchuck. visually she's the least similar to her father, but she has his eyes (round and youthful, with a bit of a mischief there)

as sharp tongued and bitter Chilchuck can be, he knows how to have fun, he's just way too serous about what is important (making sure he does his part well because the others do depend on him) he probably took his family serous as well (hence the remaining anger at not understanding his wife) because 4 of them depended on him for a while.

even so only the eldest has the usual "eldest sibling responsibility" heaviness at first glance the other two turned out to be bubbly, cheerful little ladies.

is it proof of the parents being easy-going traveling between towns and islands, staying here and there while a job lasted, having fun all the same because they were together?

i've seen some speculation that the wife was the more serious of the two, while Chilchuck was the easy going, easy to talk with guy. for me their dynamic is more on the 'we were so similar for so long, that to see other sides of them with how they act around others reminded me that i might not know who they really are - who am i really...'

if Chilchuck is around the midlife crisis age, maybe the wife is as well. Maybe seeing her husband start up a guild for other half-foots, taking responsibility for them and expanding his serious care for strangers made her feel just a bit left behind. the guild was for adventurers, dungeneers, something she wasn't really a part of - maybe it never interested her, maybe it was always reinforced that since it's always the two of them, they divide the tasks, and the dungeons are just not her world. maybe she wanted to join but realized she'll never be as good with the tools and traps as Chilchuck, and didn't wanted to add on another stress.

if we go with the speculations that she is the kid on the right side of this picture with the little dragon plushie we get an even (bitter)sweeter arc for their life: two little half-foots growing up closely together, always playing together, one dreaming of going on adventures (wife) and the other wanting to go with them no matter where (Chilchuck) slowly growing up and learning their skills and limits (short term advantage and benefits gained by deceit can lead to long term negative consequences / Chilchuck is not a fighting type, neither is the wife, and maybe her sense of adventure never really took the threats seriously enough that came with the task and discovery) only to shift again. You can't go in a dungeon with 3 little kids. One of them have to stay behind and since Chilchuck is the more talented he goes to earn a living, working really hard to get an early retirement so they can live comfortable settled down with him as a locksmith. She's okay with following him around cause they do share their dreams, they have their own way of talking and trusting each other.

but. what did upset her then? that he was enjoying being in an adventure that she wanted to go on years and years ago? that their gap in skill and knowledge will grow only bigger and bigger even if she would to join him now that their kids are all grown up? that no matter how hard she would work, most people would only know her as Chilchuck's wife, you know the guy who set up the guild and all? that even though they were always the same, she became a shadow? that even if he retires early he won't have these lively nights with her because there are no such grand adventures to reminisense about as with the others?

or was it the settling down that was wrong? they were on the move for half their lives, maybe she was a true traveler - but only if they go together. we know she is with Fuller and Fuller herself has simple life-goals - marry a rich dwarf. not exactly the up and about attitude. but Patty sounds just like that, not taking things too seriously, (maybe not understanding the gravity of situations) she sounds like she fell in love with the constant on the move, traveling life she was born into. and maybe their mother really just waits for Chilchuck to once again offer to travel with her, no matter where her wanderlust takes them. but they don't talk.

Chilchuck says he's still angry because he doesn't understand. Or he understands but feels like she's just acting dramatic for drama's sake and he hates that. So he's angry. and because he avoids emotional decisions if possible he does not initiate any reconnection as of yet. above all he respects others, if his wife says this is the end then okay. maybe it is the end. he's not big on romantics anyway

he loves the person not the concept of 'being in love'. he's practical like that. knows his preferences and all, but he cares. deeply. for the person, not the feeling. this is really important.

so he will respect his wife's decision, cause it might just be true - they are no longer in love. or never was, not in a sense Marcille (and the fandom) thinks love works.

being friends first builds up love of practical ways, the intimacy starting with mundane little habits, gradually building up to something more. and how strange could it have been for these two friend from childhood to see their daughters start as well in a set. but that's another topic. so what i'm trying to mumble out - Chilchuck being a practical man first and a cautious one, likes to keep his head calm when making decisions. and he feels he cannot keep calm enough to decide if he wants to go and talk with his wife over this strange misunderstanding or not. he knows when to admit if he's wrong, so he probably is not in the wrong. or is he?

we have this wonderful cover depicting his view on the whole socialization and it's traps mentality with feelings and such. lovely lovely details all around.

we see him hesitating between obvious options, things people usually say and things he knows he has to say. or would like to say. we get an early tease at Patty and the others here, right at his feet.

see how he accepts Izutsumi just as she is (that cursor is searching for the prompt to 'pet' - fight me on this, i dare you)

and see how he usually is with people he's comfortable with

and this right here? that's the wife (me thinks. no evidence, just a hunch)

the little heart meter with each ask box? check them to see how much he cares for the other.

Patty's full - he is a proud dad, knows how to say no but clearly loves his daughters.

Senshi's almost full - and we know they bond well after clearing up the no communication problem. hey even his succubus forms are kinda- look the story is amazingly written, i'm not here to profile the character's sexuality, i'm here to discuss the relationships and motives.

we don't see Izutsumi's but i have a hunch it's similarly up.

Laios's almost full as well, while Falin's is pretty low. the memories are from different times, Falin's is probably the first time he was healed by her (pretty early on in their adventure, he was only joining their group because a friend asked him and the siblings paid up front) Laios's is a memory we saw happen - after about 3 years of adventuring together, he finally admits he cares about them.

there's a little indicator of his mental state (drunk, scared, deadly injured, average) all together a lovely concept that depicts so much so well.

if we take the layers into account as well, they represent how much he thinks about them. the guild, the daughters and the mysterious hands on hips are all in the background, (as is Izutsumi and Senshi), comfortably tucked away but not forgotten.

the chapter starts with him being moody cause Marcille went full on fangirl gossip girl mode and it's a bit too much for him.

when they try to lure in the bicorn with the sins, we see this little interaction. he's setting up a little game here, we see how he's at ease, this is friendly banter for him. so when Marcille reacts the way she does, because he was too mean, we see the 'other route' he thought this could go. just like the cover. a or b.

then he's busted. he started the chapter with snapping at Marcille saying he cheated on his wife but turns out, by the laws of monsters and virtues he's all good.

he's threatened yes, but he also has to face the reality of admitting he doesn't understand this situation. which is hard.

the more speculative Marcille gets, the more dread comes over Chilchuck as she 'unlocks' some secrets about these little games for him. he probably knows his wife better than anyone, yet he can forget just how mean he can sound like. or how aloof. but sadly we'll never know which part did Marcille nail in her rambling, the part about the wife or the part of how the wife saw Chilchuck.

cause she's too eager too, we'll never know WHAT exactly struck the uncanny valley projection for Chilchuck. ah well, pity

BUT

Marcille being a good friend doesn't let him have the existential crisis only, she gives a good advice - and reminder. he might be horrible with words describing feelings so honest and raw as loving someone, but he has his actions and reliable nature. and if they were friends first, she would know that as well.

Chilchuck being his realistic self is catious but this not quite smile/grimace feels timid and genuine. (also once again we see him reach out of the frame, think outside the box, yada yada visual story telling, i'm no expert but it's there, as well as Laios and Izutsumi's face just a tad bit curious and surprised - not just Marcille would love to know more about this man's family)

and once again the whole chapter ending with this. from the thank you letter we know he meets up with the daughters, the wife is still a mystery hence the whole post but i rambled on too long again.

whatever, i cannot help being Marcille with this.

[strawberrygummiess]

forwards, beckon rebound

leona kingscholar x gender neutral! reader 2.1k words cross posted on ao3

As a college student, you always wished you could return to high school.

You’d go back in time with all the wisdom you could possibly have in your early twenties and do it all differently. Try a little harder, be a little wittier, and be a little nicer to your parents… if you could, you would make every right decision. If you laid a solid foundation, maybe you’d be employed with a real job, in a nice apartment. Maybe your post-grad life wouldn’t look so bleak.

And yet, now that you’re presented with the opportunity, this hypothetical has never felt so incredibly stupid.

Since you were transported to Twisted Wonderland, you’ve floated through limbo. Too old to relate to the students you hung around, too young to understand your professors. Not only were you aged out of your peers, but you had no grasp on how this world worked. Everything was foreign, and no one cared to help you. Even your college-grade research skills did nothing to help you understand the rules of this world. It was an isolating experience that no one could have ever foreseen in their stupid “if you could go back to high school with all the knowledge you have now” hypothetical.

Maybe that was why you were glued to Leona as much as he would let you be.

Since helping him through his overblot (in what world would your college experience help you with that scenario?) you couldn’t help but latch on to him. It’s not that you enjoyed the danger of near death, it was that you could finally speak to someone relatively your age. The long conversations you had in the infirmary and in the darkness of his room were quiet and familiar. It felt like you were back in your dorm room, recapping your day to your roommates in hushed whispers. It was a little thing, but it grounded you down more than you cared to admit. And when your life had turned into reliving the worst parts of high school, fighting poverty, and just trying to survive potentially deadly magical scenarios, you could live with the little things. And you didn’t really care if Leona wanted you there or not.

“Back again? Is there no one else for you to bother?”

Leona’s grumble shook you from your thoughts. It was a routine at this point. Once again, you stood over him in the gardens, silently asking for permission to sit next to him while you skipped your potions class (because you just didn’t have it in you to do high school over again, really). He would pretend to be annoyed, tease you for your lack of friends, and settle into a comfortable silence while you sat with him. Sometimes you would attempt a conversation, but most of the time you just sat quietly until the class period ended. Today would be the same as it always was; you, gaining a bit of sanity back before rejoining the freshmen in their classes and feeling lost all over again.

“You already know the answer,” you reply, sitting in the grass next to him. “Besides, I can’t stand potions. Or Grim. Not today.” You lie back in the grass and sigh as the tension in your back dissipates and wait out how today’s hour will go.

Leona hums in response and closes his eyes again. You expect this to be the end of your conversation and get ready to zone out for an hour before he continues.

“Can you stand it any day?”

It’s vague. Purposefully so. Leona tests you. Your intelligence, your boundaries, your limits. In this moment he could be referring to anything. Your class, Grim, your peers, your new life- you could choose to answer to any of these topics, and he would respond accordingly. He was quicker than you, smarter than you could’ve ever hoped to be, all naturally. If you were still in school, you’d be jealous of this kind of wit. Now, you’re just happy to be challenged. Except now, of course, when you didn’t know how to answer his question.

Truthfully, the conversations you had with Leona were rare. You could count them on one hand. Asking for too much will scare him out of talking. You’ve learned the hard way what makes Leona shut down. And usually, it’s you digging too deep too fast. You know gradually chipping away at his shell is the only way to make him vulnerable, but you can’t help but be impatient, and greedy. You want more than he’s willing to give because you’re desperate for something to latch on to. So, of course, when you’re finally presented with the opportunity to learn more, you’re floundering.

“No, not really.”

You match his ambiguity. Admittedly, you can’t decide what deserves a rant from you first. The ridiculous expectations that Crowley has imposed on you, the exhaustion that comes from dealing with Grim, the frustration with your lack of funds (that admittedly, you’re used to after only landing a retail position post-graduation).

“I’m just tired of being older than everyone else.”

It comes out before you realize it. You and Leona are around the same age. You can only imagine the agony of being an adult student around the rest of Night Raven College. To the rest of the students, being a few years their senior feels like nothing. To you, it feels like you’ve stepped out of a nursing home. You’ve never asked Leona his feelings about it. You just hoped it was an unspoken understanding that you two needed each other, if just for this. You knew you needed him, at least.

“Yeah? Join the club.”

He answers, before opening his eyes and looking at you. His face was relaxed but his gaze was focused and sharp. He was the hunter, and you were the prey. He was studying you, preparing for your next step. It was frustrating just how easily he read you. It was like he already knew everything you felt. And yet, you knew nothing about him. Nothing important, anyway. He always knew how to avoid your pressing. Every step forward came at the cost of three steps back. You weren’t privy to much of anything, just bits and pieces of surface-level information that never helped you understand him. That’s how he wanted it. But you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“How do you live like this? This… limbo? I feel like I’m not in my body.” You decided to test the waters. Push him a little further. Beg for more information. Desperately trying to get inside. You sit up and try to gather your thoughts and strategize, but you keep talking before your brain can catch up.

“Everything is monotonous, and yet not at the same time… and I feel like I can’t keep up with anything! Socially, and academically, I’ve never felt so out of place… I feel so old and young in all the wrong ways. And I get this is what your twenties feel like. It’s just never felt so obvious before.”

“Hmm… speak for yourself. I’ve never felt so in with the times” Leona jokes, before sitting up alongside you. Giddiness fills you before you can stop it. Engaging him in a conversation is so rare, you love it when you get it right. You love feeling a bit of normalcy.

“C’mon, you know that’s not what I meant. It’s developmentally y’know? Because… I’ve already been to high school- sorry, college, - graduated, went to university, and then graduated from that too! And now I’m back? It feels weird… I feel weird.”

You wait for him to respond after your outburst, but he doesn’t say anything. In the back of your head, you remind yourself that he doesn’t know your plight. Leona hasn’t graduated from Night Raven yet. This is his first time through high school. And he has the bonus of being from this world. You’re in a unique situation that no one else could ever possibly relate to. But his silence makes you feel uneasy. You feel the need to keep explaining, to word vomit your feelings out until they go away. You hope that eventually, all the circles you’re going in will lead you in a different direction. Or at least lead to Leona saying he understands you. Maybe by the end of it, you can even understand yourself.

“People from my world always ask, ‘What would you do if you could go back to high school with the knowledge you have now?’ and I always had a solid plan. I’d be a better student and a better person, and I wouldn’t work in a grocery store by the end of it. But no one ever thinks about how weird it is to have an adult brain stuck in a system designed for kids. No one talks about how that messes up your plans before they even start.”

Leona huffs again.

“You were after me. You’re the one who had to realize it.”

It was true. You were the traditional, model student. You did everything you were supposed to, on schedule, with perfect timing. Yet you couldn’t help the frustration rise within you. That wasn’t what you meant. He knew that. He was too smart not to know what you meant.

“I never said you didn’t understand. I just want to know how you handle it. It’s eating me alive. I don’t know if I can handle high schoolers anymore.”

You let out a strained chuckle. You hope he won’t notice your annoyance at his flippancy. You needed to remain calm. Otherwise, he’d pull away and you’d have to navigate your feelings alone again.

“I handle it like this, Herbivore. Take it or leave it.”

He moves to lie down again, and you can’t help the desperation that seeps through you. You move to grab his shoulder, to steady him before he’s unavailable again. He looks at you, intrigued by spontaneity, but says nothing else. The ball is in your court. And yet, you can’t find the words to continue.

This is how he handles it. He sleeps away his problems and runs from them until it culminates into a fury of anger that pushes people away. No one knows Leona Kingscholar, they only know the twenty-year-old junior who hides his intelligence in his dreams. You can't help but tighten your grip on his shoulder. You hope if you hold him there, he won’t hide from you.

“Does it help to have someone else?”

You ask sheepishly. You think you know the answer. He doesn’t say anything. His ears twitch as he stares at you, waiting for you to continue. You were hoping for him to say something else, but he waited.

“It helps me at least. Even if you don’t talk much. It’s nice to float through limbo with someone else if we can’t help each other.”

You settle on boosting his ego. Telling him you need him. You’re sure he knows this already. You seek him out every day. Even if he won’t tell you, he needs you too. He would’ve already pushed you away if he didn’t. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Leona, horrifically, says nothing. He just stares at you with his piercing gaze, filling you with unease. He always knows how to make you regret digging too deep. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know how to get you to stay away permanently. Maybe his silent stare will finally scare you away. Maybe, silence was the only appropriate way to respond to your outburst. You decide you sounded crazy, and you overstepped. You open your mouth to do some semblance of damage control before he beats you to it.

“Of course, you need me, who doesn’t?”

He breaks out into a comfortable smirk. His arrogance usually annoyed you, but this time, you were relieved. You haven’t messed up yet. You didn’t move forward, but you were okay with staying where you were if it meant he’d keep you around. He gently removed your hand from his shoulder and began to lean back. You knew your hour was up. You had to find Grim and join the freshmen for their next class. Leona had to sleep his emotions away.

As you left the gardens, you felt yourself entering autopilot. Your brain was away from your body as you joined Ace, Deuce, and Grim. They chattered about their last class, excitedly discussing their plans with one another while you thought about your routine. You will be in the gardens tomorrow, avoiding your classes, and desperately trying to befriend someone who can understand you but doesn’t want to. At least for one hour, you would be grounded again.

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Thoughts on this as a Sterek AU?:

[link to post here, even though the pic has been taken down and the original prompt account has been abandoned]

Okay so at first I was like sterek are the animals but then I remembered that crows and wolves are friends so the crow is Derek’s familiar and the cat is stiles familiar. I’m not good at naming things I’ll call Derek’s familiar crow and stiles’ kitten. Feel free to comment names.

Stiles is a spark who has been taught all his life to hide his magic. To not let people know about it or to not let them how how powerful he is. He summons his familiar after his mother dies, in a bout of rage and sadness.

Derek is obviously part of the renowned hale pack, second born but first son of alpha Talia Hale. Creating a soul tie to a familiar is passed down through the generations of the family. Derek although he had many friends, he personally never felt as close to them so he ends up summoning his familiar young (introvert Derek hale). To the pride of his pack and especially Peter. (I’m keeping the hales alive)

Once night they both get kidnapped but hunters and/or some type of person who can wield magic. They need stiles spark and the blood of a born wolf for an important ritual. Stiles and Derek grow closer after being stuck in confinement together. Gaining each other trust and so.

So cue stiles and Derek familiars having to work together, sure they have felt each other magic’s before but never really interacted. Crow kinda looks down on kitten and kitten thinks crow is stuck up and doesn’t care about finding stiles only Derek.

They end up working with the hale pack and the sheriff to save their soul ties before time runs out. They argue non stop about the best way to save Stiles and Derek, headbutting. But they gain a friendship after kitten saves crow from being shot, and crow saves kitten from being caught by traps. They truly think that they are the top of the top familiars, the best of the best especially after saving Derek and stiles. They also try and commit schemes to get stiles and Derek together.

Also their familiar thinks that the other significant other is amazing. Crow thinks that there is not better choice for Derek once he sees how intelligent and loyal stiles is. Kitten thinks Derek is the only person meant for stiles, they think that Derek is super awesome and they love to make Derek carry them. (Stiles has an album of photos on his phone of just them cuddling)

Now I just can’t picture what au this is in. It could be:

Normal cannon setting

Hale pack is still alive, Scott was never bit.

Highschool au, Derek and stiles thinking that their night was going well until they woke up, kidnapped. Well at least their crush is stuck here with them, so it’s not a total loss. (Jock Derek crushing on nerd stiles)

Prince or knight Derek / magic advisor stiles (annoyances to lovers)

Also I’m just now realizing that I read to prompt wrong so, like whoops Derek and Lydia / Derek and Scott being stiles familiars, who don’t really like each other but combining forces to save stiles.

Or

After season two, Erica and Boyd being kidnapped (they are also alive because I said so) stiles starts looking into magic. During his training he bonds with two familiars. At the beginning they can only talk telepathically to stiles, but as stiles progress, they learn to speak to everyone. But they speak the most to Derek, beside stiles, himself. A crow to represent his place in a pack of werewolves and a cat to represent himself.

The pack never lets him live this down, he gets called kitten for weeks. The pack only stops because Derek calls stiles that one time and immediately feel like their parents are flirting so they stop.

Both familiars are a certain kind of cunning, but the crow acts like a calm guiding mentor and the cat act more mischievous, test your limits friend. They constantly fight over stiles affection, pulling pranks on each other to stop the other once from spending a time with stiles. It gets worse when kitten get comfortable with the pack, crow calls them disloyal and an attention whore.

Stiles familiars fucking love Derek, ^refering to above, they commit schemes to get them together. Kitten runs around stiles feet forcing him to trip into Derek. Crow is a little more subtle, he will play “wingman”. When Derek is being the ‘alpha’, or when stiles is being badass crow will sit on the other shoulder and be like “look he is strong and smart, would be a good mate”. Both familiars think that they way the other is trying to match make is stupid. They have arguments over it.

“I can’t believe you told Derek about the magic accident.”

“He needed to know, and look they talked to each other. At least I’m not constantly tripping stiles into Derek”

“Well atleast I’m doing something”

“Angry crow noises”

But in the end they both think that Derek is perfect for stiles as he compliments and matches him when it comes to his intelligence, loyalty and their fierce protection of those they love. 

They don’t work together until stiles is kidnapped and they need to perform a spell to find him. (It’s been six days, the pack is running on fumes, Derek is slowly going feral, overall not a fun time.) they both have to be on the same wavelength as each other for the spell to work. So they work together to bring their human home.

They also individually claim getting sterek together. They will fight if the other says otherwise.

Anyway sorry for the long rant, this kinda got away from me. Thanks for the ask tho!! It was fun! I hope you enjoyed my many interpretations, my mind basically would stop spitting out ideas and I wrote them all out.

[sch-com]

Specific manifestations of schizoid PD in my life

see similar post for anakastic PD / OCPD

When I first heard of my personality disorders, it was hard for me to notice their role in my life. Part of it was that I was younger, and with less experiences, but part of it was that by nature PDs are so ingrained it's hard to see the full scope of their influence. Particularly I struggled to see the "dysfunction" part - I was thinking that sure, I do experience that, but is it really that bad? And you can't have a PD without the dysfunction, so do I even count? I think that now, after some time and more reflections, I can say I do see the dysfunction, so I thought to share my observations.

Using the DSM V criteria for schizoid PD:

1/ Neither wants nor likes close relationships, counting being part of a family / Has no close friends other than immediate relatives

When I was first moving out for university, I didn't really have any close enough friends I would feel truly comfortable moving with. It limited my choices, and influenced the one I ultimately made (a mistake).

Also, when I was moved out and experienced my first full-blown mental health crisis, I didn't have anyone around me to rely on.

Studying in uni is much harder when I am not talking with people in my class. Normally students support each other, share notes etc I imagine. I have to do everything alone.

Talking to people = opportunities. And support. Real, material support of being physically near. Going to places together, someone having a job opprotunity, hell even having anyone around in case of an emergency.

I suspect at least part of my emotional problems can be attributed to my self-imposed isolation. Occassionaly when I do talk to someone, it's like... an altered mental state, in a good way. When I laugh, I feel physically good. And it's easier to laugh with other people around. It's the little things I think, that are crucial and I am largely missing out on.

2/ Almost constantly picks introverted activities

Sharing what you do can help you progress faster. Sharing your art and getting critique, joining language classes. Sure I can do all of this on my own as well, but it may be sub-optimal. I think it's a matter of balance - and if I consistently choose to opt out of group activities, it could be seen as dysfunctional.

Also again, doing stuff with other people = meeting other people = getting the social connection, vital for even physical health, and gaining access to opportunities and support.

Other people can also motivate you, or keep you accountable for doing something. When I do (almost) everything on my own, I have to well, rely on my motivation / determination, which is often hard (more on that in 4/).

3/ Has little if any, thought in engaging in any sexual experiences

Frankly I am asexual, so I wouldn't say it's causing me any distress. I suppose that lack of sexual life can be viewed as lack of a major life activity, if you want to interpret it that way.

However, somewhat connected to 4/, it's hard for me to say 100% that sex life is something I truly don't want, or if it's just another thing I am opting out of out of the lack of reward. More on that below.

4/ Seldom derives pleasure from any activities

The emotional implications are written into the criterium itself. Lack of pleasure is I think dysfunctional already.

But, adding on the above - lack of pleasure/satisfaction definitely made me lose a lot of motivation for doing anything. I have disengaged from hobbies because of it. I have disengaged from studies, from social activities, from even simple things watching movies, reading, or cooking a good meal because of this. I have to force myself to do pretty much anything. There is not a single thing that I do simply because I truly enjoy it - I need another reason on top, like an obligation.

What I mean by the above, is that... I think I have opted out of things because they don't bring me much emotional reward, not the other way around (so it's NOT that I don't get a lot of joy because I don't do things). I remember when I was younger and more active in life, doing something like travelling, or acomplishing something, and emotionally not getting anything out of it. So I wished I was just in bed and not doing the thing, because at least it's less effort, for the same emotional reward (= lack thereof). And as I became an adult with more control over my day-to-day, I stopped many major life activities because I can. And it's all the same.

5/ Appears apathetic to the admiration or disapproval of others

For me it's largely related to 4/, because I don't get much internal reward from external stimuli, it also manifests in how this criterium describes it.

I've had people believe in me in the past. Try to encourage me, praise me, tell me they see a potential. But I... couldn't believe them. I don't feel this, it's all the same if I am awarded something or not. External rewards don't cause internal reaction, so like why bother? Why bother going after this hard thing, winning a competition, if after I acomplished it it's all the same void? I put the effort into something, only for this to not matter. So I stopped putting so much effort.

I think it may also discourage others from trying to help me, because historically I haven't shown much reaction, or improvement, or gratefulness for their honest efforts. To give up on me, because I seem like this empty shell of a person. But I don't really know, I think it would have to be someone else to confirm this.

6/ Shows emotional coldness, detachment, or flattened affectivity

People told me that I appear flat and so it's hard for them to read me. It's hard to know what I think, and some became afraid that I was judging them, when I... I don't? Overall, this one makes it really hard to connect to others and to be understood. So it makes me feel even more like an alien.

I have also hurt people because of this. Because I detach, I isolate, I forget about people. I am the friend you have to message to get a conversation, or schedule a meetup, because I don't initiate. I know it's a hard position to be in, and I don't want to hurt anyone, so I only disengaged more to not even have any friends that would care about me enough to be hurt by my isolation.

Because I seem all the same (flat and withdrawn) all the time, it's harder to notice when I am struggling. I can be in the throws of depression and actively suicidal, but outward appear pretty much the same. So people don't believe me, not even professionals, and I have been neglected because of this.

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Estrella | RotB Mirage x f!human reader | NSFW 18+

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: Smut ( oral and spike penatration ), robot on human, language, some angst and mentions of abuse. NSFW 18+.

Notes: I've really been wanting to do a story for Mirage for so long. Thanks @lonetile for sending in your request. Hope you enjoy the read and sorry for the delay. Estrella is spanish for star, just thought I'd point that out.

Understand Mirage is already smallish for a robot but decided for him to use mass displacement with reader for this story.

Who would've thought in an attempt to escape your shitty life you would end up falling from your low level apartment level window and would end up falling into the lift of a giant alien robot?

You couldn't take it anymore, the yelling, the abuse, you were losing your mind within the people who were meant to be your family and yet treated you worse than a dog.

In an attempt to escape you somehow get thrown into the new discovery of robots, despite just how hurt you ended up, the blue and silver guy had a much more tender face than anyone you've met before. As crazy as it sounds, you felt safe with him.

Your neighbour, Noah, was in on this secret as well and pretended to own the flash car when it was really an alien robot. Sure, why not? Both Noah and who's name you discover is Mirage both escort you to a hospital where you're treated before being given the all clear. All you were going to do was call someone you knew, not family, but you knew you would be safe with them if you don't piss them off.

Hanging out with a gang wasn't your smartest move but you are limited with options. Although you're surprised to find Mirage waiting for you. Noah has offered you to stay with him and go home to set up a spot for you to sleep. Might be close to your old home but at least they couldn't hurt you anymore.

You settled with Noah and his alien robot friend. Very normal.

Estrella. That's what Mirage keeps calling you. You try to tell him that's not your name but he only responds with a casual 'I know'. A nickname perhaps, but you've never been given a kind nickname before, so you weren't fully sure how to react or feel about it. He always looks out for you, making sure you are well and drives you to wherever you want. At first it felt like your own personal bodyguard, which quickly grew into a friend, and before you knew it you were gaining stronger feelings for Mirage. Probably not wise you thought to yourself.

There's no way you'll confess this to Mirage, convinced he'll think you're weird and that's it, friendship broken. It became harder though the more time you spent with him, how affectionate he was and funny, everything about him was the perfect boyfriend you think to yourself.

But that won't ever happen.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Mirage's voice echoing through the radio as he drives. "Estrella? This handsome guy is talking to you, and you're ignoring him and it kind of hurts?" Mirage sings along with a hint of playfulness.

"Shit. Sorry, Mirage. What were you saying?" You give a sympathetic smile as he now has your full attention.

"Well, firstly, what made you so distracted to not hear me? There better not be anyone more important in your life." More teasing. He always has such a strong effect on you.

"Just thinking about everything, my life before and how I ended up here, with the most badass robot ever." You nudge back through your words.

"Now that's more like it!" Mirage ends up giving a loud toot from his horn making you giggle faintly. "Now, as I was saying, Noah is busy with other things and I'm rather lonely, so I'm taking my favourite lady somewhere nice. Care to give this handsome guy some attention?"

His words always make you warm and fuzzy, an effect no one else has ever made you feel better, and it was so addictive. You craved more.

"You have my full attention now, Mirage. That sounds amazing. Where are we going?" You can't help but feel like he was taking you on a date. You can only imagine that, because surely it wasn't.

"It's a surprise." The rev from his engine sounds like a purr.

"I can't wait."

The drive was peaceful, even more with the soft jazz blues he was playing over the radio for you, the time with him is just what you needed and wanted. Upon arrival he asks you to close your eyes and you do. You hear him transform before gently guiding you forward. The salty smell hits your senses along with the silky feel of sand beneath your toes under your sandals.

"The beach." You give a broad smile while keeping your eyes closed.

"Oh what gave that away? I think you took a peek." He gives a sound like a pout.

"Nah ah. How did you know I love the beach?" You question curiously.

"There's a lot I know about you, y/n, my lovely estrella. Alright, open those beautiful eyes."

You do that. The beach, just as you knew, but you still give a giddy excited jump. You really do love the beach. There's a calming peacefulness in the air whenever you come to the spot, though this spot was new to the locations you already knew. He seemed to read this from you.

"This is our own private spot, no one ever comes here."

"Oh? Are we getting up to mischief?"

"So much mischief. But I have something else for you."

"Mirage, you didn't have to go through the trouble." However you did feel very spoilt.

"It was so troublesome, and I wanted our night to be perfect."

You did wonder what the guy was thinking. He was so fond of you and did so much just to try and keep you happy. Do friends just do that? Yeah, they could. Another gasp leaves you when you see what he has made.

A small sheltered spot just big enough for him, though he was already small for his size, with fairy lights and soft plush blankets covering a large mat above the sand. Your own little cubby house.

"This is incredible! I could just kiss you!" You burst out suddenly causing you to shrink down and try to hide your flushed cheeks. His answer caught her by surprise.

"Oh I wouldn't object to that." Mirage smiles before crawling under the cubby and sitting down with his legs stretched out, waiting for you to join him.

Standing there for a bit you let this process through your mind before giving a nervous smile and following in to sit beside him on the blankets.

"This...this is beautiful, thank you." You find your voice before looking at him. However, you are very surprised to find Mirage was now your size, maybe a little bigger, but human size. "Holy shit."

"You like? All for you, estrella." Mirage looks like a happy child.

"Me? I'm not sure what you mean..." Deep down though, you sort of had a growing feeling about all this tonight.

"Y/n, I really like you." The confession from him was so cute, and almost looks like he's blushing. "-

The silence between them hits, and only the sounds from the ocean can be heard while it adds the calmness between you both. Nibbling your bottom lip a little you ponder over your thoughts and go with what your heart was screaming.

"I would appreciate it, if you would kiss me right now.”

The second the words left you, you feel the warm metal of his servo against your cheek and turn your head to face him. He's so beautiful, like a dazzling star, though he might disagree and say you're the dazzling star.

He leans closer and much to your surprise his lips are warm against your own, slowly moving into your own as you kiss him back with a little hunger. It's you that deepens it as you gently push your tongue between his lips to coil with his own, an odd sweetness hitting your taste buds. Mirage let out a soft sound that might've been a moan but you're not very sure, although you are sure that he likes what you're doing because both his servos are holding you against your waist and roaming up and down your sides.

You find yourself laying on your back with him on top of you but keeping his weight off. Even though he was downsized, he didn't want to hurt you with his weight. Once the kiss breaks it gives you a chance to take a breath and gaze up at him lovingly, his smile shining down on you.

"So, was this a date?" You ask through a whisper curiously.

"Maybe..." Mirage was always so smooth, the dork.

"Well, care to make this the best fucking date ever?"

Mirage doesn't answer with words, but he does through his kisses and touches against you, laying you against against the blush blanket while looming over you. You don't care what others might think. Whatever happens tonight you hoped will happen again, and again, forever and ever.

It's only your clothes that need removing. Mirage tugs at the fabric, curious and wondering just how to get them off without ripping them, so you decide to help and toss them aside. You didn't think you could undress so fast.

"Oh sweet Mami." Mirage lets out a steamy vent as his optics gently rank across your perfect exposed body. He leans over and you watch as his glossa darks out, flickering across your perk nipple making your back arch and a silent gasp to leave you. "Does that feel nice?"

"Y-yeah, very." You manage to answer, voice shaky and full of lust.

Mirage lets out a satisfied hum that vibrates against your skin before he closes his mouth over your nipple and sucks, glossa swirling around the sensitive area. Letting out a moan you hand grip into the metal plating of his shoulders for leverage, toes curling into the blankets as the pooling arousal boils through your body. You're moist between your legs already, but honestly you've been like this since the car ride. It's just how he made you feel, you couldn't help yourself.

"Mirage, holy shit!" Your curses make him smirk against your nipple, his free servo massaging across your other round breast. Never did you imagine a robot to feel so warm and tender. Mirage is able to prove that theory without struggle.

"Y/n, I've always wanted to taste you, can I?" Mirage asks against your skin, optics looking over your breasts and assking a soft baby blue glow against your skin.

"Sure..." Your breath hitches when he suddenly moves down and you feel his heated vents against your thighs.

It happens so fast, and before you know it you feel his thick glossa dive into your core. You cry out, not caring who might hear, and hands grip at his helm as you start to rock yourself against his face, moaning lowly as your legs shake through the burning arousal that continues to build.

His glossa coils against your inner walls and lets out a moan that pulls from your bud up through your quivering body. If he kept doing that, you knew you'd cum very quickly, and you didn't want that just yet. So, you held out as best you could, riding through the burning pleasure he delivers.

Just when you thought you were unable to hold out for too much longer, he stops, causing you to whimper out like a wounded puppy.

"Oh don't worry my pretty estrella, I have something else better for you." He's purring, at least that's what it sounds like to you. He climbs like a snake up over you again, pressing himself between your legs and you hear metal plating shifting. The next you feel is something long, warm and pulsing sliding up against your thigh.

Looking down between you both you're enthralled by the beauty he possessed. You've never seen anything like it before. His length pulse lively, small ridges running along the base and what looks like veins brightly blue coloured made him look incredible. He notices your reaction and giggle softly. "Like what you see?"

"It's beautiful." You say through a heated breath before meeting his optics. "You're beautiful."

"Naw, thank you, but you're more beautiful darling." He gently pressed his tip against you, keeping his stare on your face. Shifting forward he enters you, slowly filling inch by inch and giving you a short time to adjust.

Despite being human size, he was still quite thick as you feel yourself being stretched more than you've ever felt before. It's not your first time, though you wished it was, just so you could've given yourself to Mirage. Opening your legs you give him as much space as possible, watching him move further forward above you before feeling him flushed right up against you. You can feel everything, every pulse and hear every sound coming from him as he keeps still to savour you.

"Oh y/n, so perfect, tight, feels nice." Mirage vents out before lowering himself closer and sharing a kiss with you, slowly withdrawing a little and thrusting back in, setting a slow and gentle pace.

Your head tilts back against the blankets with your neck stretched out, giving him the invitation to kiss and softly nip at the soft skin against your neck as he rolls his hips against you over again. Moving your hands around you place them behind his neck, still moaning as you feel yourself being filled gently over again.

Each ridge tugs at your inner walls as does every pulse shakes through, causing you to clench around him more and tighten your thighs.

"Mirage...oh fuck! You feel so good....fuck!" You chant over again.

"Oh primus, beautiful estrella, I've got you, Mirage has you always." He moans before he starts to pick up his speed, causing you to let out another lingering moan, gasping at each firm thrust he delivers.

This won't last long, you already knew this, because he's just so damn perfect and you are already worked up from before. Your thighs tighten around his waist, fingers digging into his soft metal feeling each thrust and hearing the clapping of his armour hitting against you over again, but it only added to the boiling arousal that's about to overflow any second.

"M-mirage...Mirage!" You chant his name before your body stiffens and you tighten around his thrusting spike buried deep in you, cumming hard and riding out the flooded arousal spilled from you.

Mirage is chanting himself, words you don't understand, and you guess are words from his language which you find quite alluring in your tired and blurry state. His optics shutter close and he's rutting against you, hard, before stilling and letting out a choked yelp that you find kind of cute.

Feeling his sticky warmness filling your core you feel every throb from his spike as he slowly pulls out from you, every bump tugging gently before he is gone, and you feel pretty empty without him. Though you do feel what he left behind pooling in your belly and that's a beautiful satisfaction.

He rolls and gently holds you close against him, planting kisses against your skin as his servos roam softly across your backside.

"I think destiny wants us to be together, and you should never argue with destiny.”

"You know what? I agree with that." There's no way you wanted to refuse this moment with him, or a chance to be his.

"If you be my star, I'll be your sky." Mirage whispers fondly, pressing his face gently into your neck while you caress his warm metal cheek plating under your hand.

"I'll be your star." You declare back softly, loving the idea.

"My beautiful estrella."

[fromtheheavens]

Introducing… the Prophet (˚0˚)!!

I think it’s about time I yap about my self-insert…(including many religious references!!)

Backstory

The Sons of Abraham are one of the most influential families on Earth, often swaying the public opinion. Caelum’s family descend from Abraham (God’s Most Loved Wizard) and every time a Prophet dies a new one is born. This is because God blessed Abraham’s descendants with the Gift of Eden. This gift takes many different forms but it is contained in an ornate hexagonal box with a sundial clock on its lid. The Gift of Eden makes the prophets exceptionally well-gifted and skilled at using their powers. These prophets are often revered and admired because of their physical and spiritual prowess.

Back during Solomon’s reign over Jerusalem, it was common to see a Son of Abraham doing mystic works. In order to gain power, Solomon grew close to the family and was soon able to further his own abilities with their guidance. This made him a close family friend.

Caelum was always quite a bright child. From learning how to speak at a mere 2 months old (not coherently…) and excelling in school Caelum was always full of surprises. The biggest surprise being that he had the power to manipulate energy. Still, this power has its limits. In order to give life, he would need something with an equal amount of energy (Same with healing). For teleporting, he would have to reconstruct his entire body at a molecular level in order to appear in another space. For phasing, he would have to align his own atomic structure with the structure of the object in order to slide through perfectly. Etc. etc. Caelum’s power, though overpowered, would take thousands of years to master, so even though he is quite powerful, it has taken him years of training to get to where he is.

Caelum was born 05/01/2001 in the Dominican Republic. His upbringing was overall great and he was trained to have control over his powers at a young age (Accidents would’ve been detrimental). Caelum’s father always made sure that he was both physically and mentally strong enough to take on the weight of being a prophet. They always went to private events and balls where him and Yorila enjoyed being mischievous. Speaking of Yorila, Caelum was at Abraham’s Daycare when he saw someone fall from the sky. Well, not really the sky. More like five feet. At first, they passed out since they had slammed onto their head (Stupid stork..), but eventually they came to their senses and woke up. Caelum was about five and she was four. Though he nearly named her Heaven, since it seemed she fell from it, he settled on Yorila instead.

Since the Prophets identity can’t be revealed to the public he must always wear a veil. (With embroidered religious iconography which would kill me to render) So anonymous…..

[utapri-translations-uuuu]

Loneliness and Despair - Translation (孤独と絶望)

Please do not repost/retranslate without permission.

I have also made a version which includes the members' notes found in the script.

[Human limitations - Faust’s house, nighttime]

He is sitting in a chair in his dark, dusty room.

Faust bites his nails while clicking his tongue. A habit of his.

Faust: … How cruel life is.

He is overcome with despair.

Faust: It is far too short a time for a person to live…

Faust holds his head between his hands.

Faust: I’ve spent my life's precious time studying. I have gone to great deals to master every possible field from philosophy to jurisprudence, medicine, and theology. I spared no effort, doing anything in my power to achieve this.

He slams on the desk.

Faust: And yet! I couldn’t discover the truth of the world. None of it…

He violently sweeps the books off the desk.

The books fall off the desk with a clatter.

Faust: Professor, Doctor, scholar…? Being called by such titles means nothing. Even if you achieve a certain level of success, it becomes a responsibility and puts pressure on you. I was pushed even further into learning, and I was unable to escape from that cycle…

Looking at his trembling hands.

Faust: Learning left me nothing… As an old and decrepit man, there is nothing left for me to do. My wrinkled hands tremble weakly, and my eyes, which have lost their sparkle, reflect a hazy world.

A longing for death that comes from loneliness.

Faust: How much time do I have left…? Until I cease to exist… There is no escaping death. It comes equally to every human being.

He hugs himself and endures his loneliness.

Faust: Am I going to meet my end in solitude…? With no one to mourn my death, and no one to watch me draw my last breath.

Faust is beset with remorse.

Faust: If I had spent more time on other things, would my life have been different…?

He stares into nothing and mutters as if imagining it.

Faust: Having a warm home and a happy life with a loving partner and our children?

He smiles self-deprecatingly.

Faust: … That would be hoping for too much. I wanted at least someone who I could call a close friend with whom I could share my heart with.

He speaks while thinking back to times gone by.

Faust: Ha… I can’t find an answer to the question of what I should have done. If I had been able to do that, I probably wouldn’t be having regrets now. I keep thinking ridiculous thoughts. It’s pointless, all of it. Just near-death dreams…

His hand finds the vial of poison in the medicine cabinet.

Faust: Let’s end this already… Taking away the pain and going to sleep. Permanently…

[The suffering of successful people - Downtown, daytime]

***

Faust’s recollection

A conversation between Faust and his disciple, Wagner. On the way back from buying chemicals to make poison.

Faust: …

Wagner waves his hand in the air.

Wagner: Doctor! Doctor Faust!

Wagner runs up to Faust, who then turns to face him.

Faust: … It’s you, Wagner.

Speaking with great enthusiasm.

Wagner: Good day! You’re certainly carrying a great load… Those are all chemicals…? … Oh, I see. Are you planning to do some new experiments in pharmaceutical science?

Faust: … Yes, something like that.

Wagner holds out his hands to take the package.

Wagner: Shall I carry it for you…?

Faust smacks Wagner’s hand away.

Faust: Don’t treat me like a senior citizen!

Wagner: P-Pardon me… I apologize for overstepping. However, all of these materials seem to be very expensive. I wouldn’t ever be able to afford them. I’m really envious.

He scratches his head in embarrassment.

Wagner: Well, I still have much to learn, so even if I were able to get them, I would probably be unworthy of them…

Faust: Envious…? Material things are of no value at all.

Looking into Faust’s face.

Wagner: Is that so? With great materials and your knowledge, you are sure to discover something new, Doctor! There absolutely is value to them!

Faust quietly shakes his head.

Faust: … You still don’t get it. The knowledge gained in life is only a small part of it. Rather than mastering it, the more you know, the more desperately you want to learn more.

Wagner: What can you, someone beloved by God, say? You have exceptional talent and have achieved many successes. From my perspective, you seem to have everything you could ever want…

Faust: What really matters in life is not talent, wealth, or fame. All of those things will be of no use at the time of the Last Judgment.

Wagner: Even someone as great as you feels that way… I'm still inexperienced and haven't reached that level yet. I must work even harder!

He clasps his hand tightly, enthusiastic.

Wagner: I will do my very best to follow in your footsteps and continue your work!

Faust seems to have resigned himself.

Faust: Yes… You still have a lot of time left. That’s right, the world is full of possibilities and hope… Go ahead and pursue your dreams as you like.

Wagner: Yes, sir! But I am sure that I, an ordinary person, would not be able to accomplish that alone. However, I have a trusted confidant!

He gazes dreamily into the distance.

Wagner: I have an intimate, close friend who is pursuing the same dream as me. He saves me from despair and getting discouraged…

Faust bites his nails while clicking his tongue. A habit of his.

He’s quite annoyed.

Faust: … Close friend…?

Wagner reports happily, as if talking about his own achievements.

Wagner: Yes! He’s a genius! Not only is he clever, but he's also pure, beautiful, and flawless. He's a talented friend I'm very proud of!

Faust bites his nails while clicking his tongue. A habit of his.

Faust: How cruel life can be.

Envy towards Wagner. A desire for youth and popularity.

Faust: … You're completely different from me. There isn’t anyone who will listen to what this old man has to say, let alone be my close friend. That's just how popular I am. I don't even have anyone who will be by my side.

He gently pats Wagner on the shoulder.

Faust: It's a lonely life. Knowledge has not filled the loneliness. Wagner, don't go astray. Don't lose sight of what is truly important. This is advice from an old man.

He gazes at his clenched fist with regret.

Faust: No amount of wealth or fame can buy you eternal life. And you can't turn back time...

Faust smiles with a look of resignation.

Faust: Do you know what the ultimate dream of the masters is? Immortality… I was never able to fulfill that dream.

Wagner approaches Faust agitatedly.

Wagner: Immortality…? Eternal life…!? What are you talking about!? That means stepping into the realm of the divine!

As if reminding him to be careful not to let anyone hear him.

Wagner: You will incur God’s wrath! How blasphemous… Such dangerous thoughts… are not allowed.

Faust: You'll understand when you're older. Right now, you're young, so you have the luxury of time.

Wagner is shaken. He can’t deny it completely.

Wagner: Is… that so…?

As he expresses his genuine gratitude, he comes up with the idea of leaving him a keepsake.

Faust: Wagner. Thank you for listening to this old man’s rambling. Oh, that’s right… About the documents you wanted, feel free to take as many as you want.

Wagner: Eh! Really? Thank you very much!

Faust: … I don’t need them anymore. Come get them sometime... See you.

Wagner feels a little uncomfortable.

Wagner: Doctor Faust…? Doctor Faust…!

Faust ignores Wagner and walks away.

***

[these-written-reveries]

Broken Pieces

‣ Pairing: Ledger!Joker/Jack Napier x GN!Reader

‣ Summary: You’re burnt-out and overwhelmed and you’ve finally hit a wall. Now, all you can seem to do is fall apart. Good thing you have a special clown who knows just how to put you back together!

‣ Genre: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, soft!J

‣ Warnings: burn-out, overwhelm, emotional breakdown, negative thoughts, feeling like a burden, lots of tears.

‣ Word Count: 3,050

‣A/N: This is dedicated to my lovely friend, @jslittlebirdie! I told ya I’d get around to writing you something eventually! I know you’re overdue for a proper break, and while I wish I could better help you carry the weight of life’s burdens and give you the true rest you deserve, I’m limited to just how much I can do. I hope this helps, even just a little. I love you, Sukie!💜

‣ Have an idea for a fic you’d like me to write? Send a request here. But first, make sure to read my Request Info!

L!Joker/Jack Napier Masterlist

Main Masterlist

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆

Heavy sobs and messy sniffles had long replaced the silence of your bedroom as you sat curled up on the bed with your face buried in J’s pillow. You were sure he wouldn’t appreciate his pillow being soaked with your tears, but it happened to be the first thing you reached for at the start of your breakdown, his scent always helping to calm you down whenever he wasn’t around. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine him there with you. As for the tear-soaked pillowcase, you’d be sure to wash it later before he got home, whenever that would be…

Jack had been gone for a week now, unleashing his newest schemes upon the city of Gotham. This meant you were home alone, which wasn’t really a problem for you. You had a lot of your own things to do during the time of his absence, so you planned on being busy and distracted anyway. The problem was, you were already overwhelmed and burnt out before you had dived into completing these tasks, and after multiple days of trying to push yourself through your to-do list, you finally hit a wall.

Cue you curled up in a ball on your unmade bed, your salty tears staining your beloved’s pillow as you simultaneously worried about all the things you should be doing while also remaining helplessly stuck in your place. You were utterly exhausted. Yet, the cruel voices in your head continued their endless loops of degrading words, telling you that you’re a failure, a disappointment, you should be doing better, you’re never going to get anywhere if you keep sitting on your ass, why can’t you just get up and do it already?

Your hands gripped the pillow harder as you cried, feeling like there was no escape from the overwhelming hell you were experiencing. All you wanted to do was curl up in J’s arms, knowing he was the only one who could quiet your mind and make everything better.

As if some divine force had heard your yearning desire and generously granted your wish, you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by J calling out to you in a singsong voice.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Instead of the usual comfort you’d feel upon hearing his voice, you suddenly felt a wave of anxiety fill your being. You couldn’t let this be the first thing he came home to after working so hard all week. Before you could think of anything else, your legs began bolting it towards the bathroom across the room. You quickly locked the door and leaned against it, closing your eyes as you tried to gain control of your breathing.

Jack had happened to see a flash of you go by as you ran to the bathroom and raised a quizzical brow at the sight.

“Hm…So we’re playing games, are we? I see how it is…”

He dropped his large purple coat and suit jacket on the edge of the bed before walking over to the bathroom door. He tried the handle, only to let out a huff once he discovered it was locked. Swiping his tongue over the edge of his scars, he glared at the wooden door that stood between him and his love. Immediately, he could tell something was wrong. You always ran to him when he got home and practically smothered him in hugs and kisses —that which he always secretly looked forward to. Never had you run away from him upon him getting home. This was enough to set his nerves on edge.

“I don’t think I like this game, doll. Open up.”

Hesitating to speak for fear that you’d give yourself away, you took a shaky breath as you stared at yourself in the mirror, trying hard to suppress the tears that continued to flow from your red and puffy eyes. You had to find a way to pull yourself together, and fast. This is not how you wanted to be reunited with your love after he returned home from such a long trip. You could talk about your problems later. For now, you wanted to welcome him home and hear about all of his latest antics that you’d only briefly heard about from the news. You loved how excited he got whenever he told you about such things. Seeing that alone would surely make you feel loads better. You quickly tried to spit out an answer, hoping he wouldn’t be too suspicious.

“S-Sorry! I’m just…g-going pee! I’ll be out in a minute!”

Jack did not buy your lie, rolling his eyes as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest. He knew you were in there crying. He could hear your muffled sniffles and unsteady breathing. It made him practically vibrate with agitation; protective alarms going off in his head as he tried to ignore the part of himself that suddenly wanted to murder whoever could’ve hurt you and focused his attention instead on getting through the stupid slab of wood in front of him.

“Sweetheart…If you don’t open this door, I’m gonna have no choice but to blow it wide open.”

“You wouldn’t do that. I’m in here…” You mumbled, your voice managing to sound a bit more stable that time. But it wasn’t nearly enough to convince him that you were okay.

Jack snorted in amusement, though his tone remained overall serious. “Don’t tempt me, doll. I will take down this door one way or another.”

You took a deep breath, a final attempt to calm down and get a hold of yourself. While you’d barely managed to stop the tears, your red and puffy eyes, along with your runny nose, were a dead giveaway that you’d been sobbing for the last half hour. Realizing you wouldn’t be able to make this disappear, as well as the fact that Jack’s patience was wearing thin, you decided to try your best to appear like you were fine and opened the door to the bathroom.

Jack remained leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed as you quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek before scurrying across the room, his eyes following your every move with close observation

“Welcome home, baby. I’m sorry; I’m really busy. I have to get this work done before the end of the day. Just give me a minute to sort through some things.” While this was an excuse, it wasn’t technically a lie. You hoped J would believe you and leave you be for just a moment so you could better compose yourself. One wrong move, and you’d be a heaping pile of tears all over again.

As you stood there, pretending to sort through the papers and notes on your desk, you could feel Jack’s footsteps growing nearer. His silence was deafening. Oh, how you hated it when he got so quiet. It always meant he was onto you.

To avoid what was to come, you began rambling about anything that came to mind, trying your best to direct his focus to anything else but you.

“How was your day? Did things go well? I saw you on the news earlier.”

“Doll…”

J was growing increasingly frustrated with the way you were behaving. He knew that you knew just how well he could read you. He had practically become an expert at understanding all of your little emotions and how best to handle them. So why were you still trying to hide from him? Surely you didn’t think he was so stupid as to fall for whatever trick you were attempting to pull on him…

“Oh, I found the tie you were looking for last week! I put it in the-”

Before you could say another word, Jack let out a growl and grabbed your wrist, tugging you to his chest and holding you securely in place. Carefully brushing a strand of hair out of your face with one hand, he examined your features closely. You stood frozen in place as his firm eyes softened a little. He let out a ‘tsk’, followed by a heavy sigh.

"You know I'm not a patient man, doll."

This was true, except when it came to you. Jack had always shown a lot of patience with you —as much as he was capable of giving. It remained one of the many ways he showed you just how much he cared about you. But such patience did not extend to moments like these, where you actively tried to avoid him and hide yourself from him. He hated this. It made him angry, but more than that, it made his heart ache. And he didn't like that one bit.

“M'sorry,” you muttered quietly, looking away as you felt the tears begin to fill your eyes again.

“Uh, uh. Look at me,” J ordered. Your lip quivered as you looked back at him. His eyes were much softer now as he bent down a little to reach your eye-level.

“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong. Can you do that for me, toots? Hm?”

“If I do, I’ll fall apart,” you said, your voice cracking as you desperately held back the lump in your throat.

“I’m here. I’ll put ya back together.”

You whimpered at the soft tone of his voice, paired with his thumb gently grazing over your cheek. So badly did you want to fall apart in his arms, and now he’d given you full permission to. You could no longer resist the one thing you’d been needing during your entire time apart.

The moment you melted into his embrace, the floodgates re-opened in full-force. Jack wrapped his arms around you tightly as you spoke through your sobs, telling him all about your week without him and how much you’d been struggling. When asked why you didn’t tell him sooner, you responded by saying you didn’t want to be a bother. A bother? Jack’s brain glitched as he tried to understand why you would ever feel this way. Despite this, he remained silent as you continued to talk, and felt a twinge of pain in his chest as he realized just how much you’d needed him this last week. He felt guilty for not being there and angry at himself for not recognizing sooner the severity of your burnout and overwhelm. If he had just paid more attention, he never would have left you alone in the first place.

You could argue that you were just good at covering things up, but that wasn’t an excuse for J. He held himself to quite a high standard with you, knowing that someone like you, someone willing to ignore his massive flaws as a person and love him anyway, deserves so much more than the minimum that he could give. Jack knew he wasn’t able to give you a lot of things that he wished he could, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to find every other way he could to please you and make sure you were well taken care of. And whenever he failed to keep you happy, as presented to him in moments like these, it tore him apart inside with anger and guilt. Although he’d never tell you this, you could see the swirling emotions behind his eyes which told you all you needed to know. That he truly did love and care about you more than anything else in the world, even if he didn’t always say it.

When you were done speaking, J let out a soft coo. “Sounds like my dove had a rough week. Good thing I know just what ya need.” He pulled away from the hug with a goofy smile, the same one he always put on whenever he was trying to make you feel better.

“What?” You pouted as you wiped your eyes, playing into whatever he was trying to get at.

“A break.”

His serious response quickly turned your pout into a frown. “What? No. I already spent all day doing basically nothing. I have to-”

“Noo, you don’t. You need a break. A real one.” He took your hand and began pulling you over to the bed.

“But-”

“No buts! Except for this cute little tush parking it right here,” he said as he pointed from your butt to the bed.

You stood silently and unmoving. Jack rolled his eyes with a huff and clapped his hands insistently.

“Ahem, get a move on! Or do I, uh…have to make you?”

Knowing there was no way you could possibly win against J’s demands, you slowly climbed onto the mattress. You sat awkwardly with your legs pulled up to your chest and looked up at him through your eyelashes. J kicked off his shoes and removed his vest, tossing them both to the side. He took a glance at you and shook his head, letting out a light-hearted scoff as he loosened the tie around his neck and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

“Ya know, if you weren’t so dang cute, you’d be annoying. Now scooch!”

You made room for him as he climbed into bed. Once he was positioned with his back and neck supported by pillows, he turned to look at you.

“Well? What are ya looking at? Get over here,” he said, arms opened wide towards you.

Jack felt the air leave his lungs as you immediately dove into his chest, a breathless chuckle passing through his lips as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your hair.

“Alright, listen up, toots. Ya can’t keep chugging along without proper breaks-”

“You do that,” you muttered into his chest.

“Ah, very funny, sassy pants…Well, you should know better than to compare yourself to me. I’m not exactly what one would call a, uh, “good example”,” he said, smirking slightly at your pouty attitude.

“Now, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was gonna say that ya need to take better care of yourself, doll. That pretty noggin can only take so much at once, you know. Same goes for your body. And if everything is too much and ya can’t handle it, you need to tell me. I don’t like this whole “hiding how you’re doing” schtick ya got going on. So it better stop. Oh, and you’re not a burden. Not to me. So, get that out of your head. Got it?”

You nodded and sniffled into his neck. One of his hands ran up and down your back comfortingly while the other cradled the back of your head.

“Good.” There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, this time much softer and less stern. “Ya know…If you told me sooner, I would’ve come home right away…You know that, right?”

“But there’s nothing you can do. And I didn’t want to interfere with your plans,” you spoke, your voice wavering in a way that made J’s chest hurt.

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong, toots. See, I may not be able to take all your problems away, but I can help where I can. Even if it’s just to make sure you get proper breaks. Or to give ya a good squeeze.” He hugged you tighter in that moment, making you giggle. Jack smiled at this, having missed the sound of your laugh up until this point. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, leaving a small trace of red paint in its place.

“You’re more important than any of my plans. You come first, doll.” He pulled you away so he could look into your eyes once more and playfully wagged his finger in your face in a reprimanding manner. “So ya better call next time. Capiche?”

“Capiche…”

“Good…Now, uh, where’s my big smooch? I can’t wait forever, ya know.”

This elicited another giggle out of you as you eagerly leaned forward and pressed a fervent kiss to his lips. When you pulled away, you were smiling. Jack grew even softer at the sight.

“I missed you. Thanks for always putting me back together. I love you so much, J.”

Instead of responding with words, Jack showed you exactly how he felt by cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a loving kiss, followed by a bunch of sloppy kisses all over the rest of your face. You laughed, which only egged him on more. He chuckled as he continued until he felt satisfied with his work. When he finished, you had little marks of red and white paint all over your face and a big smile. Jack held your face between his hands and looked at you like he was admiring a piece of art.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. You almost melted into a puddle with how tenderly he was treating you. Heat quickly rose to your cheeks as you suddenly found yourself shy under the ardent gaze of his eyes.

Burying your face into his neck, you snuggled into him as close as you possibly could. He smelled like a mix of gunpowder, smoke, sweat, and gasoline, but you didn’t care. In fact, by now, you found this smell to be comforting —something you always missed whenever he was gone. It was a unique smell that belonged only to your J.  

You relaxed into him, allowing yourself to let go of your worries and stresses for the time being. As long as J was around, you could trust that everything would be alright. Jack would always watch out for you; he’d always keep you safe and do what was best for you. Above all else, he’d be sure to pick up all the pieces of you and stick them right back where they belonged.

As J shushed you softly while gently running his fingers up and down your spine, you surrendered to his will and drifted off to sleep, knowing that he’d have you and your worries sorted out by the time you awoke. Whatever pieces that remained would be handled together. For now, all that mattered was Jack’s slow breaths and steady beating heart as he held you tight in his arms.

No matter how many times you fell apart, he remained the only true fix, for his love was the glue that the broken pieces of your soul so desperately required.

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆

‣ If you enjoyed this fic, please like, comment, and/or reblog! Doing so not only keeps my blog alive, but also lets me know what you like and how to improve!

‣ If you’d like to join the tag list for L!Joker/Jack Napier, or be tagged in all of my future writings, let me know by sending me an ask/message!

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Howdy! In honor of Let Papyrus Say Fuck Day, I've decided to put together a little collection of fics that should be more Papyrus focused!

What Are Friends For by IchikiWindGryphon (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Undyne and Papyrus are the best of friends. But when Undyne learns Papyrus's greatest secret, it pushes their relationship to the brink. Things only get worse as she learns of the skeleton brothers' traumatic past, and the horrors of Dr. W.D. Gaster.

We Need to Talk by batter_sempai (General Audiences, Incomplete)

Something is bothering Frisk. Because of a deal they made in the past, a familiar voice keeps haunting them, telling them to murder those close to them and threatening to take over their body. For a while, only Flowey knows what is happening to them, but their struggle to keep in control is noticed by Papyrus, who offers to help them. All three of them soon find themselves isolated, as Papyrus attempts to communicate to the Fallen Child possessing Frisk, in order to protect his brother and to prevent another genocide run from occurring.

Flowey Is Not a Good Life Coach by unrestedjade (Mature, Complete)

Flowey gets bored and decides to change up one of his runs. Papyrus presents an interesting project, for the moment.

You Can't Make An Emotionally-Developed Papyrus Omelette Without Breaking A Few Limit-Eggs by KachiggaTHUNDER (Teen And Up, Complete)

Papyrus faces everything with a positive attitude, and never gives up once he's been asked to do something. As nice as that is in theory, it can lead to problems in practice. Problems such as strained friendships, personal doubts and damage to one's personal possessions. Still, no problem can make the Great Papyrus give up! ...Probably.

Two Sides of the Same Coin by AceFace98 (Teen And Up, Complete)

Papyrus lived his whole life in a single room, with only the “Mental Evaluation” days to look forward to (he called them “Long Boring Test” days, which was much more accurate). He never really minded his life, he didn’t know anything else. The doctors were all really nice to him, and he had everything he could possibly want. Expect, maybe, he wished he wasn’t so lonely. But when his wish comes true, everything else comes crashing down around him. Another skeleton child breaks into his room, carrying a backpack full of supplies and plans of escape. Papyrus tags along with him, mostly not to loose the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend, and he finds out quickly that he’s grossly unprepared for the outside world. But friends stick together, especially when they might be...brothers?

The Deep End Yessica (Teen And Up, Complete)

There must have been a mistake. He doesn’t belong here. Life is great. Monsters are free, the surface is wonderful and things couldn’t be better. So the fact that Papyrus still wants to die, isn’t really a problem, is it?

Blue Heart by Rogue_Mutt (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

In the Underfell Universe, Papyrus continues to uphold his duties as a member of the Royal Guard Militia alongside his brother Sans. When he accepts an assignment from Undyne to collect taxes from Snowdin, he is then ambushed before he can make the delivery. After being brutally attacked, he gains the respect from king Asgore Dreemurr himself, who offers Papyrus to become an official member of his grim guard. Papyrus will come to understand the rules of this Kill or be killed world as he comes to question exactly what he is willing to do to keep he and his brother alive and well.

Forgettable by Peepasaurus (Teen And Up, Complete)

After the world went dark, everyone lost a few memories. But some forgot more than others. Papyrus couldn't decipher what was real or an illusion. What was a nightmare or a memory. What it meant to keep hearing the words, 'I am here'.

Oh, Brother by peachyelixer (Teen And Up, Complete)

Papyrus had always seen himself as the stronger brother. Of course - why wouldn’t he when his lazy brother, Sans, spends 90% of the day sleeping in his room and the other 10% doing god-knows-what? But when the secrets of time-lines and what Sans has been keeping on his shoulders are revealed, Papyrus makes a promise both to himself and to his brother that Sans wouldn’t fight this battle on his own anymore. Papyrus was going to help his older brother, no matter what.

How To Be A Big Brother by kaliawai512 (General Audiences, Complete)

Frisk is upset. Papyrus doesn't know why. They're on the surface, everyone is safe and they all have a brand new life together. But Frisk has been sitting in the corner during the day and waking up screaming in the middle of the night. They are very, very upset, and Papyrus wants to help. He just doesn't know how. But he does know how someone helped him when he was young, and maybe, just maybe, he can do the same thing himself. Maybe he can be as great a big brother as his own was to him. (Secret Santa gift for Peanutable - happy holidays!!)

[fatuismooches]

Allow me to feed you more brainrot!!

Hey! I saw that you liked my writing about the ending where the Fragile!reader doesn’t make it in time, so why not give you some thoughts of mine on what sort of habits or tendencies the ill reader has gained? This is supposedly a few centuries into it, though no time is specified really. (Note : Let me see what I can cook in a few days with the ‘broken heart’s ending. Stay tuned!)

1.The desk is [name]’s bed now. As many years have gone by, the duties of the second harbinger has been mostly assigned to you as you are(were?) the lover to II Dottore. The sparrow tended to work on paperwork’s until their hands felt numb, shaky handwriting only stabilized with a use of a machine or primarily writing with a typewriter. The sparrow goes on missions, though internally craving to stay near and only focus on the revival of the fallen crow. The desk is where they tended to spend most of their time at, either for research or paperwork when they were free. Though the sparrow was treated with some sympathy, their unhealthy habits haunting them to the point they passed out on the desk or even harbinger meetings. Their fragile and porcelain like body was beyond pushed to their limit, but they will not stop. Though around their fellow allies such as the dove, they will ease on it to ensure that the sparrow’s allies are not overly concerned. The sparrow does not want anyone to be concerned more than the sparrow had pushed them away. Even by the time when no Fatus under the Fatui Harbingers command no longer recognize the name of the Doctor, only to recognize yours instead, you never take credit for the work you’ve done yourself. You always stated that the work you have done should be credited to II Dottore himself—The research and notes he had left behind was the starting foundation to your own search, afterall.

2.Dragged to rest. By the time the sparrow is remotely close to finding something that would give the first major step to the resurrection to the great II Dottore, they had taken supplements, no matter how bitter, to force back and silence their illness though it only ever managed to be temporarily. The rare nights where one of the harbingers that were your friends were free to check you from their busy nights—wether it be the Damsellette, the Regrator, or Tartaglia, you’d be dragged to your bed even with how much of your mental stubbornness would try and argue back. Your physical stubbornness is not well due to how your fragile body is, already at a melting point with how you are treating your body, the rebellion of yours falls into silence as the harbinger pulls a blanket over you as they give a light threat that they better not see them snooping around to study. Your body agrees even though your mind is exactly the opposite, but you wish them a goodnight’s rest as you close your eyes. That night, you ended up passing out for little more over 12 hours.

13.Flinch at sudden contact, and protectiveness. With your lover dead, the sensation of touch has become almost unbearing. Especially to your now scarred body from your experiments, anyone who dares to even tap your shoulder might become the next test subject to see if they could be resurrected with the next concoction you create for the sake of the unmoving frozen corpse of the Doctor. Your face is the most vulnerable—most possessive of the mask your lover once wore every day, almost every hour of the night. So you keep it close, it is important as your life and you’d defend it till the very end. With the cause of the Crow’s death, the fox-fur wearing Sparrow has taken a distaste to anyone who may pose a threat to the Crow. Especially with the Golden Comet, now you have become the underlying term of ‘overprotective’. Overprotective to someone who wasn’t even breathing anymore, safely encased in permafrost in the hidden depths of the lab. If any word of something or someone that can end up harming your lover ends up getting into the sparrow’s ears, be prepared for the threat to be wiped from existance in record time. Such thing shall not exist anymore under the sparrow’s gaze, and they will not escape it.

4.To ramble to something inanimate. With the death of the segments and Prime himself, [name] had gotten the habits to ramble off in one of the segments’ rooms or snuggle in the bed of Prime’s. How you spoke and rambled away as if they were still with you, perhaps maybe they were. Somewhere, someway, you could even bring the segments back. Though your primarily focus was on Prime, you still mourned for each copy and clone there ever was of Dottore. The Sparrow loved each and every version of the Crow there was to offer, from the small hatchling Zandy to the original Zandik. Omega, Beta just to name a few.. it was not too uncommon for a Fatui Harbinger or Fatus for business just to see the lover of the Doctor ramble against a object that one segment may have owned, or them snuggling into a clothing they may have wore.

(Should I write some ideas if Dottore did eventually get resurrected?? Perhaps your thoughts on it would be great. I also think when Dottore does get resurrected, Dottore might also be frail because your body sort of just weakens from a lack of use and he was dead for a while too.. so now you got Frail!Reader and Frail!Dottore just collapsing together, PFT.)

[cordyce]

(we are written) in the sand and in the stars

Neteyam x Reader

Fic Summary: Sullys stick together. That is something you have heard since the beginning. But when you are forced to uproot and leave your home, it is something you must learn to fully take to heart. You are not technically a Sully, but you fight like one. And that in turn is enough to be shielded like one as well. There is no choice but to openly accept that this family, these Na’vi, are your fortress. It is perhaps harder, though, to accept that Neteyam has seemingly appointed himself as your personal guard.

༄ CHAPTER FOUR: SEA SALT IN OLD WOUNDS

Chapter Summary: Tensions are making themselves known among your family. Between Lo’ak hitting a streak of defiance, Neteyam shifting your world on it’s axis, and Eywa bringing old memories to light—you find yourself grappling for a bit of stability. But will it ever come?

Author’s Note: pls ignore the ugly ass dividers in the middle of the chapter tumblr has an image limit and i’m aware it looks like shit </3 also neteyam may be slightly ooc in this chapter. just squint ur eyes and pretend he isn’t for the sake of my sanity.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Read on AO3

Sick does not even come close to describing the feeling that floods your body as you listen to Ao’nung explain what he and his friends have done. It seeps into your bones; wraps around your spine like a vice that jerks you up off your knees in a split second.

But Neteyam is jolting up even faster. 

Normally, he’s the most level-headed person within a thirty mile radius at all times. Normally, he is good at soaking in information and chewing on it until the solution is soft on the bed of his tongue. Normally, he chooses rationale over impulsivity.

Normally, you wouldn’t see him do such a thing as reach to the base of Ao’nung’s neck to grip onto the braid encasing his neural queue and order him in venomous tone to “ walk ”, but a divergence from normalcy is well acceptable now, you think. 

The sickness doesn’t subside as you trail right behind Neteyam, doing your best to keep your thoughts to yourself as he leads Ao’nung to your family’s home like a mindless dog who’s just been caught chewing up the rug. You can’t read the look on either of their faces, can’t really decipher what is going through either of their minds. Which wouldn’t really bother you in the case of Ao’nung, alone. But it leaves you unsettled when it comes to Neteyam, who you have always been so good at reading; has you feeling like you’ve suddenly gone illiterate in a language you’ve been speaking your whole life. It frustrates you, pushes you even closer to the ledge. 

The sickness doesn’t subside, no, but with each step closer to your home that you take, it gains a new confrère. 

Anger begins to simmer the unease in your bones. It gnaws at the frayed hems of your mind as you recall Ao’nung’s confession over and over again, run it through your head repetitively in a frail attempt at finding reason in it. You knew he was not fond of your family, had a clear disdain for your presence in his home, but this?

Does he really hold such a hatred in his heart that he would abandon your brother in a place he did not know with no real way to defend himself? No route back? No promise of safety?

You’d like to push Neteyam’s hand to the side and do the leading yourself. Maybe it’s ill intent to want to twist Ao’nung’s braid so hard it has him seeing Eywa firsthand, but you couldn't care less. Not now. He has done nothing but terrorize your family since your arrival, what would be the harm in a little retaliation such as that?

After what feels like a walk far too long, you finally reach your family’s hut. Jake’s head snaps up as soon as he sees the three of you walk in, and his eyes are on high alert when he takes notice of Neteyam’s hand securing the chief’s son in such a way. His expression portrays that there better be good reason for his son to be manhandling him as he is; you think the reason is well past good. 

“Tell him what you told me,” Neteyam orders, brisk and demanding. He doesn’t let go of Ao’nung, not yet, and you wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to risk him running off with his tail between his legs.

Because if Neteyam was looking at you like that, that is most certainly what you’d be doing.

You do your best to quell yourself as you listen to Ao’nung recite the same story, near verbatim, that he told you and Neteyam to your father. It’s no easier to hear the second time, and with every minute that passes you can only think about Lo’ak. Alone, cold, scared for his life; praying to the great mother that he is still alive.  

Your ears flutter; a threat to press back against your skull. Fear is so familiar to you that you nearly welcome it like you would an old friend. But this time it is different, like an acquaintance who you do your best to avoid in crowds. It’s different because it is not for you alone, not for your own peace of mind or with your own life on the line. It enrages you, scalds you–burns at you as you yearn for the safety of one you hold dear. 

This fear has you bubbling over, rattling the lid off of the pot you use to vigorously contain all the ugly, unrefined pieces of you. Like stew left unattended on the stove. 

Once Ao’nung is through, Jake doesn’t say a word. He simply stands up and reaches for a flashlight from his bag (which has you hiding the one Neteyam snatched earlier behind your back, as a second thought) along with his sheath, then turns to walk out. It’s only now that Neteyam releases his grip on Ao’nung, gives him one final steely glare before he goes to follow his father. Your body pivots to do the same, but you falter. 

In any other situation, at any other time, you might have been able to bite your tongue. If this had been directed at you, if it was you lost out at sea–even despite your irrational grievances–you think you might have found it within yourself to just brush past it. Forced yourself into the practiced philosophy of out of sight, out of mind, for the greater good of your father’s ataraxis. 

But you were not the target of this, your brother was. And if Jake wants to preach your family’s maxim so much, then maybe you can be so inclined to partake in a bit of malicious compliance in its stead. 

You deem now is the perfect time to do so.

“If they bring him back dead,” you address, turn your head to make direct eye contact with Ao’nung. You want him to know you mean it, that it is direct and equitable. “I will kill you myself. That is pänu.” [ “A promise.” ]

His expression cracks, the mask he’s plastered on slips, in just the slightest way that is noticeable. And you see it, the twinge of emotion that incites a tremor in his cheek, stings at his eyes. He gulps the smallest of lumps down his throat, and you know. He’s scared–for something, anything, you aren’t sure and you don’t care. You just want him to feel a fraction of what you’re feeling in this very moment, just a smidgen of something other than thinly veiled neutrality. 

You take in his reaction and you heed to it before you finally focus your attention back on following the trail your father and Neteyam had taken. Finding where they went is easy; all you have to do is follow the shouts coming from the shoreline, the glow of torches and lanterns burning brighter with each pad of your feet against the netting. A crowd is already formed, people standing on and around the docks speaking among themselves. You catch a glimpse of Neteyam through a break in the sea of people, his sapphire skin sparkling against a backdrop of teal, and you begin pushing your way through.

Just as you reach him, your father and a few Metkayina men are already taking off into the water. They are the search party, you deduce, based on the murmurs of those around you. You try to drown them out, pretend you don’t hear how some of them are already putting the blame onto your brother; as if they even have a clue.

Your fingers brush against Neteyam’s wrist–out of instinct, yen, you aren’t sure it matters–but at the slightest bit of contact he’s already grappling for it. Blindly, before he’s even turned his head. Like he can tell by just the ridges of your fingertips that it is you. His hand molds around yours, the warmth of his palm embedding itself to the lines crafted in your own. And now, only now, does he look to you.

“They are going to the Three Brothers Islands to find him,” Neteyam tells you, and his voice comes out just as level as it always does. Just as composed. “They should all be back soon.”

Any other person would miss it, any other person wouldn’t pick up on such a thing. But you are not them. Neteyam has seemed to have put so much effort into concealing his emotions earlier that he’s caused a misstep, a flux. His voice is level, yes. And his eyes are steadfast, sure. His tone rings true to the promise that he believes his brother will return safe and sound, but –stray doubt has slithered in and soiled the pristine veils of that covenant. 

Yes, any other person would miss it, but you pick up on the slightest quiver in the tip of his tail as it brushes against you. You take note of how his left ear twitches once, twice, three times; a nervous tell he’s had since you were merely children. You lock your gaze on the fang that hooks the edge of his lip, biting down, just barely. You detect it all, and you feel the vex.

He does his best to look strong and put on an unbothered show as the rest of your family runs up, asks what’s going on– Where is Lo’ak? What is happening? –and what the meaning of this is. You simply allow him to do so, let him step into his role as the pillar of the family oh so seamlessly, just like always. Squeezing the hand he has failed to retract as a comfort, a response to the plight, you shudder out a breath.

And the waiting game begins. 

It takes forever–at least, it feels like it does. The time spent waiting for the return of the convoy feels perilous, daunting. Excruciating, in a longing sense. Neytiri spends the time pacing, cursing below her breath at the situation, her son, the distinction isn’t clear. Neteyam is not far off, he gets a lot of his mannerisms from his mother. He nearly drives you crazy with each pass he does beside you, but you find distraction in taking care of Tuk with Kiri. She has always been so empathetic with others, with Lo’ak especially, and her whines for when he will return have you silencing your own anxieties until you finally convince her to just go to bed. 

After some time, though, you hear it. The shouts in the distance as they come within sight. The horns they blow as the search party comes back into view. The sigh that wracks out of you is near violent as you see your brother’s silhouette seated behind one of the Metkayina men. 

You rush to the ledge just as Lo’ak is stepping onto it and you can see it in his eyes. There’s fire behind them, raging, and it’s aimed directly at Ao’nung. But before he gets even more than a step in, Jake is stopping him, holding him in place. Safety precautions, you assume, an attempt to keep things from escalating. 

You for one think that Lo’ak deserves to throw at least one cheap shot at him, maybe even waterboard him for a few minutes. An eye for an eye sort of thing. 

“Let’s have a look at you,” your father says, does a walk around of Lo’ak to look for any real injuries. He won’t find any, you can tell, and you know he knows that too. “He’s fine, he’s fine. Just a few scratches.”

Neytiri brushes past you, now. Jumps down to the lower dock and grabs her son to run her eyes over him herself. But the relief painting her features is fleeting, and you bite the inside of your cheek at the shift in her gaze seconds later. 

“I pray for the strength that I will not pluck the eyeballs out of my youngest son,” she hisses as she claws her hand in front of his face. Lo’ak looks unbothered, unperturbed–would probably be embarrassed at such a sentence in any other circumstance, knowing him. 

“No,” Tonowari speaks up to your left, and your gaze snaps to him. His rebuttal is not something you were expecting, not something you had anticipated. “My son knows better than to take him outside the reef.” And as if his speaking up didn’t catch you off guard enough, he places his hand on Ao’nung’s shoulder and makes him lower into a kneel. “The blame is his.”

Everyone is tense, high strung; not wanting to do anything to tip this boat in either direction and send all of you plunging into an unforgiving sea. You understand that’s the consensus of their thoughts, truly, but the only abstraction playing in your mind is that you think you like Ao’nung better when he’s forced to be on his knees and silent.

“Okay,” Jake mutters out in a breath, grabs at Lo’ak’s arm to pull him along. “Let’s go.”

But it appears that Lo’ak holds a grudge against anything being as easy as this, so true to his fashion he yanks his arm out of his father’s grasp.

“No,” he shakes his head, and you have half a mind to shake him senseless. You wonder what the hell he’s thinking, why he’s doing this. “This is not Ao’nung’s fault. This was my idea, Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it. Really.”

Your father simply regains his grip on his youngest son, Neytiri shoving him along as well as he spews out a quiet apology. Lo’ak’s eyes meet Ao’nung’s just as he’s being drug past him, and you realize in that moment, it was more than just trying to please those he feels the pressure to impress.

Jake shares a hushed understanding with Tonowari as he passes him, tells him he’ll handle this. You hear the chief and his mate begin chastising their son as you fall into line to follow your family further and further away from the dock. 

You’re just out of earshot of the locals when Lo’ak turns to look at his father, already pleading his case. “Dad, you told me to make friends with these kids. That’s all I was trying–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jake cuts him off, tone dripping in disappointment, indignation. He fixes Lo’ak with a stern look. “You brought shame to this family.”

The statement causes a pause, a delay. It was not even directed at you and it has your stomach tightening into knots, nausea blooming in the pits of it. To say such a thing to him when it wasn’t even him who did anything wrong feels malevolent; it doesn’t strike you as fair. 

In fact, nothing seems all that fair lately. 

“Can I go now?” Lo’ak speaks up after the beat of silence.

Jake sighs, haughty. “Any more trouble, I jerk a knot in your tail. You read me?”

“Yes sir,” your brother responds immediately. “Lima Charlie.”

Your father nods his head with a grunt, and Lo’ak wastes no time in turning on his heel and stalking off. Part of you wants to run after him–you still aren’t fully settled from this incident after all, and you’d really like to give your brother a hug and let him know you’re glad he’s alright–but Neytiri is whipping around to face the three of you that remain as soon as Lo’ak is gone. 

“Where were you?” She asks, directed entirely to Neteyam.

“Yeah,” Jake chimes in, and that same tone he was using on Lo’ak is plaguing his voice now. It’s watered down, of course, but even diluted you know that it still tastes like straight poison to swallow. “What happened to keep an eye on your brother?”

Neteyam, not missing a single beat, dips his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

So inculcated with obedience, so willing to drop it all just to fall into line. You’ve always seen it, acknowledged it, but now it shines in a new light for you. Neteyam never strays, never complains, never voices against anything when it comes from a station of command. He’s deemed himself a soldier, a leader, his siblings’ keeper; a patron to service everyone else and admonish himself.

And you just don’t take too well to that right now.

“It’s actually my fault, sir,” you step in, do your best to ignore the heat of the gazes that switch from him to you. “I’m the reason Lo’ak wasn’t looked after.”

There’s a sharp inhale behind you, and out of your peripheral you see Neteyam’s head snap back up. You aren’t sure to which parent you should be looking, so you keep your eyes fixed forward, and wait.

“What were you doing?” Jake questions, and it all feels so unfamiliar. You are not immune to discipline from either of them, it has been administered to you many times over the years, but something about this moment feels heavier. 

Your body tenses up in a weak attempt to control the flinch that it so desperately wants to convey as Neytiri steps into your line of sight. Saying you are scared of the only mother figure you have ever known is not something you’d be open to readily admit, but if you were ever asked if she made you a bit wary when she was angry, you think you’d have to agree to that statement. 

“ Why? ” It’s all she presses, a ghost of a hiss trailing on the end as if to dot the curve of punctuation.

“I was struggling with some things that Tsireya has been teaching us,” is what you settle on saying, and it isn’t particularly a lie, but deep down you still feel the slightest bit culpable for it. “I asked Neteyam for help even though I knew he was busy. I shouldn’t have distracted him, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no place for distractions, ” Neytiri bites, snaps her teeth. This time you do flinch. Not because you’re afraid her actions might harm you, but because her words do. Like the implication that you are a distraction is something she expected; a burden easy to predict. “Do not let this happen again.”

“I won’t,” you whisper, try to focus on the flame of a nearby torch to will the burning behind your eyes to stop. “ I won’t. ”

Nothing else is said before Neytiri turns on her heel to walk away, Jake trailing close behind. A hand brushes against your arm; Kiri offers you a sympathetic, odd tilt of a smile as she steps away too. Which only leaves you and Neteyam, and you can already tell you aren’t going to like what he has to say about all of this, so you do what any person wanting to avoid confrontation would.

You clear your throat and go off in the complete opposite direction. 

“Hey,” he calls after you the very next second, already scrambling to match your fast pace. “Hey, wait!”

But you ignore him, pretend you don’t hear him. Because why should you stick around and listen to what he has to say if you are already well aware of the very words that are going to be leaving his mouth? You think it benign; that he should save his breath. You keep walking, and to your chagrin, Neteyam keeps following. 

“ Agh, Ma (Y/n).” And you know that timbre, know it only wavers as such when he has grown frustrated. Something inside you takes a little pride in that, and in turn you think you need to be checked in the head because of it.

The sand under your feet grows more and more moist, colder on the soles as you keep padding off. You had no intentional path when you started walking–just the goal of getting away from Neteyam–but with a few more strides it seems that you find yourself in the very same spot you and him had been earlier. Perhaps just by tendency, it being one of the only places you are semi-familiar with, or maybe something else. Regardless of which, you do not let it blindside you as you are still on a mission.

“Why are you so stubborn?” Neteyam groans, pinched and drawn out. A smile nearly tempts your lips at that, a laugh just about rolls off your tongue. That is, until you feel it. 

The tug on your tail is swift; has you jutting to a stop in your tracks instantly. It is not playful, or fun spirited–which leaves an odd taste in your mouth. Sand tunnels up in the skid marks your feet leave and you whip around to yank your own tail out of Neteyam’s calloused grasp. Your mouth is propped open, gaping. You wouldn’t be able to conceal your disbelief if you tried because did he really just do that?

“I am not a child,” you reprimand, holding your tail close to you like you’re scared he might try to grab at it again. Then again, there is the chance that he might. “You do not drag me back by my tail like one.”

You expect him to bubble out an apology forthright, but instead he closes the gap between the two of you with a pointed gaze. 

“I am not a child either.” He mirrors your tone, like an echo in a lower octave. “I do not need you to take blame for me.”

A standstill, an impasse. You and Neteyam stare at each other for a few baited moments. His leer is heavy, disparate. Whatever is swirling behind those honeyed irises has you transfixed, but it doesn’t mean you are willing to back down. It’s like you’re backpedaling on a conversation you’ve just had, but then again you suppose you are, aren’t you? 

“You shouldn’t be given blame yourself,” you tell him, unequivocally. Because it is what you believe, what you harbor in your heart. And Neteyam seems to always pull anything he wishes out of your heart. “I know you think you have to be responsible for everyone, but you don’t.”

“That is rich, coming from you.”

That takes you back a moment, has the gears inside your head stuttering in their tread. He’s thrown your own words back in your face twice now, like a rag that’s already been used and soiled. It’s as if he’s dead set on hammering you out, knocking you straight no matter how many blows it takes.

It unnerves you.

“I am the oldest.” A statement, a fact; you say it because you know that one cannot argue with the flat truth. “That is my job.”

It has always been your job. 

“Then you should understand–”

“No, I don’t understand, Neteyam,” you interject, brows furrowing up at him. “You are their older brother, I understand that. You want to stand up for those you care about, I understand that, too. But there is a difference between taking their side and taking their blame. And you don’t seem to get that. ”

“If you are so against such a thing, then why did you do it just now?” He asks, brisk and unfiltered in a way he rarely gets. There’s a cinch between his brows, a dip in the lines of his lips. It isn’t angry, or mean–it’s simply achingly curious. “Why take my blame when you are not the one at fault?”

“Maybe I am just tired of seeing you get in trouble for things you don’t do.”

It comes out quieter than you intended it to, like all the fight seeps out of you with each word that tumbles from your lips. A decrescendo of what was once a building dispute; a come apart. Your eyes flit away from Neteyam’s, your hands ring around your tail that you’ve failed to drop thus far. 

“It just seems like you’re carrying everyone else’s problems around with you constantly. Protecting them nìftxavang,” [ “with all your heart” ] you shrug sheepishly, tip your head as you force yourself to meet his gaze once again. “If I am able to take just a portion of the weight off your shoulders, then all I ask is that you let me.”

He’s quiet, reticent. Each passing beat of locked eyes has you feeling more and more foolish. Perhaps you have crossed a line, said something you should not have. Maybe, this went over the boundaries of whatever the two of you were now, ventured into unmarked territory that you do not have permission to claim just yet.

You’re still so unsure of what this is, at all. 

Neteyam’s eyes cut away from you, dip down to some spot towards your feet. He reaches a hand up to fiddle with the necklace hanging from his neck; the one you made for him just a few hours ago. His thumb presses to the shell on it, his teeth pull his lips in. Then, he nods.

“Only the light weight,” he cracks, lifting his head just enough to look at you through the braids that seem to always have a way of falling into his face. “You are not built to carry anything ku’up.” [ “Heavy.” ]

You shove at his chest as the smile finally carves into his cheeks, roll your eyes at him and grumble under your breath. “I’m stronger than you, you skxawng.”

“Ah, whatever helps you sleep at night,” he chuckles, grabs your hands to pull you with him as he stumbles a few steps back from your faux assault. 

But he drops one, lets the grin lessen a little as he reaches behind you. It’s hard not to jerk when you feel his fingers brush against your tail again (considering it has been pulled on more than twice today already, neither instance with your permission), and yet you control it because this time it’s gentle, loose. His grip is hollow as he skims his fingertips along your tail. A shudder runs through you as he gets to the end of it, in the very same place where he had grabbed onto earlier. Heat pools into your cheeks as he brushes against it with his thumb–tender, demure. 

“I’m sorry. For pulling on your tail. That was.. rude.” It’s devout, vehement. His touch conveys every word he utters in a tenfold manner. It’s nearly overwhelming. “Ngaytxoa, Ma (Y/n)?” [ “Forgive me?” ]

Part of you wants to say no out of spite, make him squirm or tug his tail in retaliation, but the way he’s looking at you now has you tongue tied. As priorly stated, you harbor the ability to read Neteyam like an open book in your native tongue, and more often than not that is a skill you find joy in.

Now, though, you think you’d prefer to be struck dumb, because his gaze is dripping in such potent lovelorn infatuation that the side effects of that apparently include a fluttering in your gut that teeters on frenzied. 

You can’t seem to get any words out so you nod, bite the edge of your lip as you glance down to where Neteyam has taken to playing with the frays of your tail. You wonder if he even realizes what he’s doing, if he knows how all of this is affecting you; or if his gestures just ring true to his presumed inexperience.

You suppose that’s something the two of you have in common when it all comes down to this: inexperience.

A breathy sort of chortle thumps out of him at your mute response. He’s so close you swear you can almost feel the vibrations of it. The question crosses your mind whether it would be odd to request to place your hand over his heart, like you did when he was helping you before. You just want to feel it, become more acquainted with the rhythmic thump. Your mouth parts to ask, but.

“What are you guys doing?” Kiri’s voice carries from a few yards away, startling you into a step back. The action causes Neteyam to lose grip of your tail, the contact and closeness between the two of you waved away like a tepid vapor. 

“Nothing,” you reply straight away, because you think doing so might make you feel a little less awkward about this in the long run. (However after the words leave your mouth, you’re pretty sure they’ve caused the opposite effect). “We were just..”

“Talking over training for tomorrow,” Neteyam chimes in when he sees you struggling, finishing your sentence off like it’s the easiest thing in the world. A culpable air of confidence about him to get away with such things, you think. “We were just setting aside times to fit it all in.”

“Right,” your sister drawls, studying the pair of you for a moment before she continues. “Well, there’s only a few hours of night left. Dad sent me to come find you so that you would get some sleep.”

“Okay. Coming.” And you curse yourself for the hitch in your deliverance as you say it. But it seems she doesn’t catch it, or doesn’t care enough to react, because she’s already turning around to walk back the way she came.

You’re taking steps to follow her without hesitation, fully expecting Neteyam to just fall in line and do the same. However, instead of matching your steps when he skirts his way into your peripheral vision, he’s brushing past you. It’s peculiar, for him to do such a thing. But as you eye him in his parting you notice how his ears are pressed abnormally flat to his skull and you have to fight the urge to giggle. 

Apparently even the strapping former heir gets embarrassed. 

“I’m not blind, you know,” Kiri states after Neteyam has disappeared far enough ahead and you catch up to her languid pace. 

The tips of your ears feel like they’re being lit by a match and you curse yourself for what feels like the near instant karma of internally making fun of Neteyam just a second earlier. 

“I never said you were.”

“Hm.” She hums, sends you a side eye glance. “I see my brother has a new necklace. And since you and I both know how absolutely atrocious his beading skills are, I know he didn’t make it.”

“You noticed?” You don’t understand why you’re so shy now. It’s not like you haven’t made your fair share of jewelry for others in the past. Hell, you’ve made Kiri countless pieces since you first learned how to. 

“Of course I did,” she rolls her eyes. Blunt, curt, the pair of you have always been that way with one another. So you can easily tell she’s getting annoyed with you beating around the bush now. “But I will say that you should’ve made him give you the first courting gift. Would’ve been funny to see him on pins and needles when giving it to you.”

That nearly has you tripping over your own feet, your eyes shooting as wide as saucers. You sputter over her words, tumble through a poor attempt at correction. 

“That wasn’t–The necklace isn’t a courting gift,” you defend, desperation littering itself in your pledge. 

Kiri merely turns to you, pauses in her steps for just a moment, and gives you a look so knowing that it has you questioning everything you thought you were certain of. 

“Isn’t it, though?”

Before you even have the chance to ramble off anything else, she’s continuing into the string of maruis, like she’s well aware you cannot talk past this point for the risk of awakening those sleeping in their homes. You feel choked up, leg locked like you’ve been caught in a slip of netting. Convincing yourself is trivial, pointless, but you try to do so anyway. 

You made the necklace as a thank you, a symbol of gratitude; an offering. It was innocent in nature and two dimensional in creation. There was no chance that this simple necklace could be seen as something as pivotal as a courting gift. Could be interpreted as anything that holds so much weight. 

At least that’s what you keep repeating to yourself, as you do your best not to have another restless night sleeping on a mat that’s laid next to the very man who has single handedly redefined the meaning of family for you. 

———————————————————————————

The next day, eagerness is buzzing in everyone’s chests.

You aren’t sure you’ve ever seen Kiri wake up so early without having to literally be dragged out of bed by the ankles. And it’s even more a surprise to you when Tuk doesn’t whine and cry at being disturbed from her slumber hours before she normally would. Then again, it feels near impossible not to be keyed up–jittery–because there is something you’re all dying to know.

Sitting in a circle on a group of rocks just as the sunrise is peeking over the horizon, each of you listen intently as Lo’ak recalls what happened last night–even Ao’nung has joined you, and you hate to admit it but he’s acting slightly less insufferable than usual as he pays mind to your brother’s story. You’re seated between him and Neteyam, trying to pretend you don’t see how the latter keeps fiddling with the necklace he dons, acting like every time you catch a glimpse of it Kiri’s words aren’t ringing in your ears.

It is harder than one would think.

Lo’ak is just wrapping up his recollection, explaining how he told the tulkun that saved his life to swim away and that was the last he saw of him before he was picked up by the search party. It seems so surreal, a miraculous sort of thing. You’re left stunned by the time he quits talking.  

“I wish I’d been there,” Kiri muses, eyes lit up in awe; wonder. Her smile is so bright that it makes you wish she could have been there, too. Divine occurrences have always been so special to her. “The ocean blessed you with a gift, brother.”

You’re inclined to agree, voice your own opinion on that, but Ao’nung is speaking up before you get the chance.

“The tulkun have not returned yet.” It sounds matter-of-fact when he says it, like he’s bordering on a disputing scoff, but even you can tell he’s merely questioning it because that is what he knows. “And anyway, no tulkun is ever alone.”

“Well, this one was,” Lo’ak counters. His hand waves to his side, over his arm in a sort of vague demonstration. “He had a, uhm–a missing fin. Like a stump on the left side.”

Tuk mumbles an empathetic reply to that and in your heart you hold the same sentiment. A tulkun without a fin sounds so cruel, so pitiable. It strikes the question of how something like that could even happen, how a tulkun could become so mutilated in such a way. You look across from you to Tsireya with full intentions to ask, but her eyes widening has you wavering.

“That’s Payakan,” she whispers, then turns to Ao’nung and Rotxo and raises the volume of her proclamation. “It’s Payakan.”

Kiri tips her head. “Who’s Payakan?” 

“And why do you say his name like that?” You add, not failing to pick up on the ill filter of her tone as she recited it. It has your stomach feeling heavy, your mind alert. 

“He’s a young bull who went rogue,” Rotxo explains, catching your attention. His expression holds nothing but offhand confusion. “He’s outcast. Alone. And he has a missing fin.”

“They say he is a killer,” Tsireya presses, hand reaching out for Lo’ak’s arm like she’s trying to make him feel the seriousness of this implication. 

You lurch at that. “A killer?” Your brother was left alone in the open ocean with a killer?

“No.” Lo’ak shakes his head. “ No. ”

“He killed Na’vi,” Ao’nung expounds. His tone is more sincerely serious than you think you’ve ever heard it, which is doing absolutely nothing to console you. “And other tulkun. Not here, but far to the south.”

“No, he’s no killer!” Lo’ak continues to refuse the idea, push it as far off as he can. Your concerns are in multitude, of course, but he seems so sure about his standpoint on this that it has you questioning which side you should be agreeing with here. 

“Lo’ak,” Tsireya breathes, giving his arm a squeeze. “You are lucky to be alive.”

“I’m telling you guys, he saved my life.” His voice is laced solely in sincerity. It’s like he’s desperate for someone, anyone, to just believe what he’s saying. To just listen to him. “He’s my friend.”

There’s a sliver of silence that follows–a fleeting moment where it is obvious that no one is entirely sure on what to say next–and Neteyam, who has not spoken up yet once during the duration of this, stands up. 

“My baby bro, the mighty warrior,” he smiles, leaning over Lo’ak to grip onto his shoulders and give them a lighthearted, teasing shake. “Who faced the killer tulkun and lived to tell about it.”

You can see the frustration on Lo’ak’s face before he voices it. He shoves Neteyam off with a dry hiss and stands up from the circle. “You guys aren’t listening,” he sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat before he turns to walk away.

“ Lo’ak, ” you drone, an indirect request for him to stop walking away as your sisters do the same. When you realize he isn’t turning around, you smack Neteyam (who still hasn’t sat back down) on the thigh with the back of your hand and glare up at him. “Did you really have to do that?”

“What?” he huffs, showing his own palms like he didn’t do a single thing wrong. 

Ignoring him, you turn your eyes back to your brother, who keeps stalking off until he’s out of sight headed to where the ilu gear is kept. You consider the possibilities of where he’s going, what he’s thinking, but if you’re being truthful with yourself you already know full and well the destination he has in mind.

Worry is something you feel far too often–the threat of blowing a blood vessel is always so damn prevalent in this family–but now you do your best to swallow it whole. Whatever Lo’ak is doing, he’s doing because he thinks it to be right.

And you refuse to be the one who gets in the middle of that.

——————————————————————————

The only regret you have for not chasing after Lo’ak yourself once he stormed off is that you feel a bit bad about what he’s going to be missing. Tsireya and Rotxo are taking you to their direct connection with Eywa today. 

The journey isn’t far, but it is more than just a swim around the reef, so Tuk hitches a ride on the back of Kiri’s ilu instead of riding her own. You’re positioned on the back of Neteyam’s–because even though you have been getting better about the whole being underwater thing, you haven’t quite reached the point of feeling comfortable riding one of your own–but he doesn’t seem to mind your presence there; it’s almost as if he welcomes it.

You find delight in that prospect.

It’s getting late, the time table of the day closing down, when your group breaks out of the water for the final time. Tsireya flashes you all a smile, dimple dipping into her cheek as you glide under a low hanging rock. She announces your arrival, looks over her shoulder to clock all of your reactions once you’re underneath the rock no longer and can really see where it is she has brought you.

The only word you can find to describe it is beautiful, but even that doesn’t feel like it does it any true justice. Your eyes flit all around, taking it all in, letting yourself record mental logs of what will now be your replacement for a physical contact with the great mother. Rocks are floating like they’re laced with helium, arches are carved like they’re meant to hold the sphere of your planet’s entirety in their sheath. Something draws at you, like a string wrapped around your heart chords.

Like a childhood friend, pulling at your hand to come play.  

“This is the Cove of the Ancestors. Our most sacred place. Eclipse is the best time of day to be here,” Tsireya continues as the last sliver of daylight fades out, and you are listening, but you find yourself getting lost in the feeling of it all, too. Then, she stops, and the luminescence below you tells you where you are before she even has the chance to. “This is it. This is the Spirit Tree.” 

If the cove is beautiful, then there must be a word out there that surpasses it that one can only use to describe this. It’s so captivating that it nearly feels like a trance–slipping off Neteyam’s ilu and sucking in a breath easier than it has ever been before. More willing, more inclined; the pressure of the water doesn’t even cross your mind as you follow behind Tsireya to the heart of the tree. 

Something’s tugging.

The Spirit Tree holds such a striking resemblance to the Tree of Souls that you find your hands nearly trembling as you swim. Everything has felt so foreign, so new, since coming here. Having something like this–even if these limbs float upwards towards the surface of the water instead of blowing freely below in the wind–feels like having a piece of home.

Familiarity fabricated in fallace.

You wait until Tsireya gives you the signal, the okay to connect to the tree with a supportive smile, before you swim up to any specific limb. It’s only when you have it directly in front of you, when you reach back and hold your queue in your hand, that it hits you that this will be your first time connecting to Eywa in such an extended period of time.

Anxiety isn’t what you would define it as, but something starts prickling at the back of your neck, scratching at the base of your spine. You curse yourself for having such a feeling right now of all times, when you were just fine a moment before. But it’s only normal, you think, in a time like this. You contemplate opting out, just swimming to the surface to clear your head. 

Then Neteyam swims up to the limb beside you, sends you a bemused quirk of his lips as he holds his own queue in his hand, and it’s like the sight of him alone makes that all go away. So with a practiced sense of composure, you lift your neural queue to the projection–allow the tendrils to spread along the surface–and you connect with the slow flutter shut of your eyelids. 

The Great Mother’s power has always been different for you.

Connecting to a spiritual hub is a unique experience for everyone, granted. It can be a gateway to the past, or serve as a reunion with loved ones young and old who you hold dear. Most see family members that have already gone on to meet the Great Mother, people they have lost along the way of their lives or even before it. For instance, when Kiri shifts through she sees Grace, gets to talk to her biological mother even though they never had the chance to bodily meet in the proper sense. You’ve heard Jake speak of how he talks with Tsu’tey, his brother, and others in his family.

But you– you have no one to really meet. You do not know your birth parents and though you are well aware Eywa must obtain that information, she has yet to share even a glimpse of them with you in all your nineteen years of life. You used to try bargaining, begging, for just one meeting with them; you wouldn’t even need a conversation, just a single glance at their face. But Eywa has never obliged to your request, never given in, so what you settle on reliving is the memories.

Memories are like medicine; they either heal the ailments of your body and soul or turn you into a dependent addict. You think you might be a novice addict half healed. 

It’s foggy at first, as the pictures begin to flash behind your eyelids. Like readjusting your sight to the sun, you have to blink through your mind for the memory to come into focus. (An odd sensation, if you are not used to it). When it does, it’s almost like watching a movie filmed by a camera in your pupil–your perspective alone, like you’re reenacting it in real time.

“ Come on! ” Lo’ak shouts as he runs past you, bumping against you with Spider in tow. His voice nearly resembles an echo, like it isn’t fully clear. Almost as if he’s yelling from the end of a canal.

They’re young, here; giggling as they splash through a creek. They can’t be more than four and six, which would set you as the same. Kiri runs up next to you and smiles, hair stuck to her forehead in wet strings. Childhood exudes well on her, on all of them. Something feels tight on your face as you smile back.

“ Where are we going? ” you ask, voice just as hollow as Lo’ak’s from before even if it’s littered with laughter as you rush to follow after them. Your feet slip on some of the rocks and you hurry to catch yourself. Glancing down you see the moss covering them, coating them in slick tissue. It makes you pause, for just a moment.

But a moment is all you get. You are not granted much leeway here. Your body moves forward before you will it to, like you are not the one operating it. However, you suppose that is partially true. The thing with memories shown to you by Eywa is that you’re only allowed as much variance as she wishes you to have; nothing more and nothing less.

You let yourself be pulled along. 

The creek gets deeper as you race with your siblings, less rocks protruding to step on and more water lapping at your ankles. Before you know it you’re going around a bend, losing sight of Lo’ak and Spider for just a moment as the creek rises all the way up to the middle of your small shins. By the time you make it past the curvature, they’re already climbing up a rocky embankment.

Their hands don’t even grip onto anything solid, just the lush vines that drape over the bluff’s surface. There’s a sinking in your gut, like those moss covered stones have found their way in and decided to weigh you down. You rush towards them, start to climb up yourself to stop them.

“ Get down. Get down! ” You call, desperate, and you just can’t seem to remember why. This is your memory, something you have already lived through, but it’s like you’re seeing it all for the very first time. This is not something you are used to, the unfamiliarity is destabilizing.

They don’t listen to you, don’t obey your request. They simply persist to laugh, continuing climbing up the unsecured vines. Spider even lets go to hold on with just one hand as he turns to look down at you. “ Catch us if you can! ”

And something just doesn’t feel right. It’s like listening to a ghost story knowing the riveting is creeping up right behind you, like it’s breathing down your neck. You’re growing frantic, panicked. You keep climbing.

“ Stop it! ” You shout once more, and this time your voice cracks. “ You’re gonna get in trouble. You’re gonna– ”

Your hand slips, the rock crumbles under your fingertips. Falling backwards like the monster of your bedtime fears has you in its grasp now to drag you down. The weight in your gut turns featherlight as your gravity shifts. You land hard, not fully on your side but tilted just enough that your temple is what ricochets against the riverbed. 

There’s shrill shrieks of your name–from Lo’ak, Spider, Kiri who rushes to your side, screaming for Jake, Neytiri, Neteyam, anyone to come and help–and suddenly you’re gasping. Your young hands fly up to your face, your little palms flash into your vision frantically, and it’s like the sheet of unawareness lifts in an instant.

Because the fingertips that search for your face don’t quite reach it with direct contact, and they are not the shade of dusty blue that they are now. The tightness from before that smushed against your smile was not apprehension, but an O2 mask tightened with protocol security. And each gasp you suck in is not due to the wind being knocked out of you, no. Rather it’s by the crack in the perspex that is not only letting in the toxicities of the Pandoran air but also the water of the creek in which you have fallen. You know this memory all too well, despite how you do your best to pretend it doesn’t exist.

You’re drowning, in every aspect one is able to.

It becomes too much, too real for you to relive, and you fight your hardest to break off the connection with Eywa abruptly. The gasping nearly translates, almost conveying through your body in real time as you jerk your neural queue back from the branch to which you connected it. You can’t even take a breath to calm yourself down, still stuck underwater and meters from the surface. Movements fraught, you reach for anything to root yourself, to catch a single calming moment.

And it’s Neteyam, who you come in contact with first. Your hand grips onto his arm; hold tight and unrelenting. His palm is covering yours in an instant, breaking from his own queue in without a single hesitation. The look on his face is questioning, concerned, as he does his best to silently search for what is wrong. You shudder, try to stop the trembling of your body the best you can with no ounce of succeeding. Why would Eywa show you such a memory? Why now?

Neteyam’s hold on your hand tightens as he pries it off his arm. Unsure of what he is doing, worried he is going to let go, you watch intently (fearfully) as he moves it. But his actions wave that away promptly as he takes your hand and places it to his chest. 

Directly over his heart.

He nods his head at you, reaches forward to put his free palm on your chest too. Like a way of saying you can do this, you’ve done this. Allow yourself to calm down and listen to my heartbeat and we can settle this together . 

Because it’s always together, isn’t it?

Neteyam keeps his palm to your chest until he feels it slow back to its near resting pace. But even then, he does not pull away for a few more moments, a few more steady beats–like he needs to be truly sure that you are alright, now. He’s tentative when he retracts his touch, pulls his hands away to go back to keeping himself afloat in the water, and you let the memory fade from you.

But not before remembering one final detail of it.

You’re about to raise your own hands to gesture him a thank you, mimic a sign that Tsireya taught you when you were first learning–you feel like all you’re conveying to Neteyam lately is some form of appreciation; he better not be getting a big head about it–but before you can, the branches all around you begin flickering. Flashing and blinking in the most erratic way. Your heads whip around for the source, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt the blood drain from your fingers as fast as it does now when you spot it.

Kiri is convulsing, body rigid and tight. You and Neteyam swim to her instantly, Tsireya reaching over and disconnecting her from the Spirit Tree and pushing her body upward. Neteyam takes over once he gets to her, holds her close and swims to the surface as quickly as possible. 

Everything feels like it’s moving too fast and too slow at the same time as you break through the surface and Neteyam drags Kiri over to his ilu. You and Rotxo help him push her up onto it, and feeling her body like this–limp, lifeless–has tears welling in your wet eyes. 

“What is wrong? What is it?” Tuk calls, whines out as you’re doing your best to get Kiri adjusted briskly. 

“It was a seizure,” Neteyam huffs before bending down to give her instant mouth to mouth.

“Watch her head,” you voice, hands shaking as you help hold it in place so he can breathe life into your faint sister again. You pray to Eywa, to anyone , that this will not be where your sister enters eternal sleep. “Kiri, please. ”

“Is she breathing?” Rotxo questions, and he sounds just as concerned as you do, just as rushed even as he repeats himself. 

Then, in a beat that has you shuddering out a ragged sigh, Kiri lets out a puff of a breath. Relief floods your bones but only in fragments. She’s breathing, yes, but for how long? When will another seizure come on? When will this turn awry again? Urgency stays rooted in your chest as you push back from Neteyam’s ilu. 

“Get her to the village,” Tsireya orders, already pulling Tuk onto her ilu with her. “Hurry!”

Neteyam does not need to be told twice. He is sending his ilu forward within the next second, one hand secure on Kiri and the other holding on to his animal. Someone starts to pull at your arm; Rotxo, hauling you to his ilu and advising you to climb on behind him. You do, without question. 

Your tremor plagued hands latch around his midsection as you try to swallow the worry for your sister–an impossible feat. Rotxo senses it, notices it, and places a hand over yours in a gesture you can’t decipher from reassuring or comforting. Though when it all boils down to it, you suppose it doesn’t matter. 

Because you’re indebted to it regardless. 

——————————————————————————

Kiri is brought to your family’s marui the second your convoy reaches the island, and you refuse to leave her side for anything. You sit beside her, holding her hand and watching as her chest rises and falls with every breath she takes. Maybe it’s a bit irrational, but it almost feels like if you look away she’ll stop–like your attention is the only thing keeping the rhythm going. So you stay in place and keep your focus, for Kiri’s sake and your own. 

Jake called in Norm and Max without much thought at all. Perhaps it's the human still in him, but seizures are in a pretty well known territory for the scientists from Earth. You can’t say you blame him for it–you’d call in anyone it takes to figure out what’s wrong with your sister and see her wake up–but it does make the passing thought cross your mind of how it makes the Metkayina people feel to have skypeople on their land. 

Maybe that makes you a hypocrite.

The beeping of machines is becoming melodic, everything they have hooked up to Kiri to check her vitals and look for occurrences scattered around on the floor. Norm and Max have been running scans and tests since they first walked in, and they’ve still found nothing. It’s making you aggravated. 

“There’s no bleed. There’s no fracture. No effects of hypoxia,” Max states as he studies his tablet screen. He shrugs, seemingly dumbfounded. “Brain looks good.”

It’s obviously not good, is what you want to mouth off. Something clearly is wrong for her to have a seizure in the middle of a spiritual connection like that. She has no record of it before, no signs leading to something like this happening. There is something going on with your sister, and if they can’t seem to figure it out then you would prefer them to just leave–family friends trying their hardest or not. 

Ronal’s voice is the first thing that has you even slightly veering your attention away from Kiri beside you for the first time in hours. “I see that I am not needed here,” she grumbles, gripes, and you can’t say you blame her. Your family has brought in people that overstep her role; you think you would feel pushed away too. She goes to walk back out but Neytiri is quick to grab her. 

“You are tsahìk,” she hisses, and you think she’s brave for doing so at Ronal, now of all times. But something flickers across the woman’s face, and she bites her tongue instead of throwing back a hiss to your mother like you expected. 

“Remove these things,” she orders, voice level, but Neytiri does not convey that when she turns to the scientists beside you.

“ Out! ” She snaps, already shoving at them like they should have been out of the way before she even requested it. Then again, maybe they should’ve. “You have done nothing!”

Jake speaks nervously to Max and Norm at the order, rushing to get their things out and gone. Fearing an angry Neytiri seems to be a universal concurrence among your family and those surrounding. Rightfully so, you believe, so you shove the cuffs and plugs off of Kiri as well, tossing them haphazardly to Norm as he scrambles to get all the equipment. 

They are out in less than a minute, their things shoved just outside the entrance of the hut. Jake follows them out, leaving to speak with Max and Norm about what they think the cause is, you’re sure. But you are over paying any mind to them and you are not given the opportunity to listen in anyways because Ronal is handing you an incense-esque bowl a moment later.

You cradle it as she begins her ritual–for cleansing, healing–and do your best to keep steady hands while doing so. She presses the wood along Kiri’s skin in a line, a practiced pattern as she mumbles sacred words to herself. Over and over again this continues. You pass the holder to Tuk when it is time to turn Kiri onto her side, so that you can assist Ronal to hold her there. You’re willing to do everything needed for this to work, willing to offer whatever help you can. 

Kiri’s on her back once again, Tuk cradling her head in her lap as you rub your thumb over her knuckles. Ronal breathes in against her stomach–once, twice–then leans up to funnel the air out. Once more, she repeats this, and just as she leans up to exhale it all again, Kiri’s eyes flutter.

She blinks hazily into consciousness, eyes disoriented as she regrasps reality in the moment. You allow it now, the feeling of relief to blanket you fully. Your sister is breathing and awake; she is okay, even if that means just for this segment of time. 

“Kiri,” Tuk sighs, watery eyes threatening to overflow. “You’re awake.”

It starts with a quiver of her lips, a crinkle of her eyes; a cry wracks out of Kiri’s lips as she fully wakes up. You tighten your grip on her hand, lean forward to cup her face and wipe away the tears that begin to stream down as Neytiri whispers sweet comforts to her. You allow the relief to flow through you, but you find that it does nothing to stop the cracking of your heart at seeing your sister in such a state.

Nevertheless, you turn to Ronal, who is now collecting her things back on the tray she carried them in on. She kneels near you to reach for a certain container and you drop Kiri’s hand for a single moment, just to touch her arm. Her gaze snaps to you instantly, caught off guard, and you offer up a wobbly smile. 

“Thank you.” It’s all you say, all you can get out, before you release your grip and pick up your sister’s hand again. Ronal nods to you, commiserating, and stands to give your family a moment of privacy. 

As your attention falls back onto Kiri, you mumble another string of gratitude under your breath. Just in passing, merely minor. You may be at slight odds with Eywa right now for her own personal showcases towards you, but you find the need to thank her for the protection of your sister despite that. So that is what you do.

——————————————————————————

You can’t sleep. Something that has seemingly become a rather normal occurrence for you within the passing weeks, but especially now. 

Every time you cave into slumber, you’re jolting awake just mere minutes later. Whether it’s from the fear that you need to check and make sure your sister is still breathing next to you, nightmares about whatever the hell could be happening to your brother, or that unfair memory the Great Mother decided to plant in your mind again–any scenario has you unable to get any sufficient means of rest. 

Hence you find yourself where you are now. Sitting on the edge of the netting outside of your family’s marui, legs dangling over the edge as you stare down at the very water which chooses to beset your nightmares. It’s funny how something so crucial to one’s life can cause such a hindrance in yours.

The netting beside you dips and for once it doesn’t cause you to jump. Probably the sleep deprivation making your nerves shot, if you gave a half-assed guess on the matter. Neteyam, is who you expect it to be, though you’re not sure why he’s the first person to surge through your mind as a possibility. You suppose you can add that to the list of things that are keeping you up at night. 

But when you turn to greet who has joined you at this late hour, you find that it is not Neteyam after all; but Jake. He looks at you with a soft expression, a contented sort of diction. You don’t miss the hairline crease between his brows though, even in the dark. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, babygirl?” He queries, and you fight the urge to bubble out a laugh. Because of course he picks up on it and of course he comes right out with it instead of trying to sugar coat his way in. 

Jake is a good father at every baseline margin, even if there are some things he can work on. He’s known to be a little too harsh (with Lo’ak and Neteyam especially), or a tad too overlooking (according to Tuk and Kiri), but it is all done in the name of family preservation; a safety net to catch everyone in case they fall. He has his quirks, like any parent does, but he is doing his finest in the only way he knows how. 

To you, that has always translated more explicitly. 

Truth be told, you think he is so forthcoming with you because your origins are one in the same. His other children are hybrids, so he sincerely tries his hardest to empathize with the trials they face from that. But when it comes to you; he knows. He knows exactly what it feels like, having your soul transferred into a body of an entirely different species. Exactly what it feels like, to now share the same skin but not the same heritage. To face the things you do, the glares you receive, the distrust you are bestowed. 

He believes he understands all too well what it is like to live a life like yours, so he conveys that to you the best he can. And yet he does not truly get it himself, you surmise. 

Because even he–Jake Sully, the great Toruk Macto–was eventually accepted with open arms into the hearts of the Na’vi, and the closest thing you’ve ever received to favorable reception was tight lipped smiles paired with the halfhearted decency to at least not call you a pariah to your face and instead whisper it behind your back. 

But you choose not to worry with formalities such as that. Or at least pretend you don’t, anyways, for the sake of your momentary sanity. 

“Nothing,” you respond with a shrug, a shake of your head. Adding more onto your father’s plate is not in your interest. You’ve already caused enough trouble, you do not wish to stir up alarm along with it. “Just not tired.”

Your body must have a vendetta against you–probably retaliation from depriving it of sleep–because as soon as you say it a yawn is cracking your jaw open. You try to stifle it, but it’s no use. There’s no hiding it and you don’t even really have it in you to attempt such a feat.

“That so?” He’s smiling; even though you aren’t looking at him you can hear the amusement in his voice. But his tone takes a pivotal dip directly afterwards, turns somber in a wink. “Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Is it your brother?” 

Yes , you want to confirm, agree with his assumption–but that’s not really the true root of the problem, is it? Spider is only one of the variables, a singular plot point on the declining graph of your stability, but he isn’t the sole cause of the drop. 

Your fingers fiddle with each other, five to five as you try to stave off the attention. 

“(Y/n), c’mon.” He’s pressing, keen. His heavy hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you cannot help but lean into the comfort of the accustomed touch. “We stick together, remember? How can I help you if you won’t tell me what’s eatin’ you?”

You suppose he has a point. This family is always so driven for solidarity, so determined to do things hand in hand. Maybe, you stave off on that too much. Maybe, you do not live up to your found family’s staple ideal enough. Perhaps you can give in, open up, just ever so slightly. Just this once. 

“I’m.. scared.” 

It’s vague, open-ended enough that you think it to be something easy to pass. But even so, it is the truth. There is no falsity in your statement, no fray in the cords that bind it together. You are scared; and that fact alone should do well enough to quell your father. 

“Alright,” Jake sighs through his nose, squeezes your shoulder in a way only a parental figure does. He pauses for a moment, like he’s contemplating how he wants to go from here. “Is something gettin’ to you specifically, or..?”

You shake your head in response, try not to blow out a cynical chuckle at the implication. Of course there are things getting to you specifically –that much should be blatantly obvious. But you do not feel like adding onto that at this stage, and you think that comfort for generality would do just as well as comfort for specificity, so you are more than willing to settle for the former. 

“Okay,” he nods, shifts over to pull you closer to him, into the warmth of his side. He leans his cheek to the top of your head, turns just enough to press a faint kiss there before settling back against your crown. “You don’t have to be scared of anything. I’ll always be right here. Don’t forget that, babygirl.”

And even if it might seem trivial later on, even if it becomes insignificant, his words hold just enough weight right now that you allow yourself to relax. Eyelids fluttering shut, you rest against your stand-in father as he rubs soothing circles into your shoulder. 

You aren’t sure when it is that you finally drift off to sleep, or how you get back into your cot, but that night is the first night you get more than a blink of rest in a while. 

And you don’t feel the smallest inkling of scared, even if it’s for just one single, peaceful moment. 

——————————————————————————

Kiri has–understandably–not quite been herself since the incident.

Well actually, it isn’t particularly out of character for her to become a little moody or withdrawn every now and again. She has her days (which normally you’re always keyed into right along with her), but it’s different now. The awe sourced light that is usually shining behind her crystal irises has dimmed. Her liveliness has diminished. 

Like she’s becoming a shell of herself, so she doesn’t have to feel anything at all. 

Aching becomes a common sensation, a near habitual feeling the more you stay around her–but you just can’t bring yourself to leave her side. If she is going to close herself off, then you are going to put your foot in the door; create a crack to break the bridge between her and impending isolation.

You’re placed beside her even now, as your family stands around within your marui tidying things up. By the rules, everyone is supposed to deal with their own belongings and if someone wants to help once done with their own, then they can. Those rules seem nugatory; trifling, now.

Kiri has been making work of tying up her sleeping mat for a good five minutes straight now, but in reality she’s only been fiddling with the string tied around it for the past three. Be that as it may, you choose to pick up her slack instead of drawing attention to her lack of productivity. 

Being sloppy is not in your nature when it comes to things like this (perhaps you have a slim case of post traumatic stress from Neytiri’s scolding for doing things messily as a child) so you find it hard to rush through doing double the work. Near stressful, it would be, yet it doesn’t get the chance to progress to such a stage because a hand is reaching down to grab up your mat while you’re focused on regrouping some of Kiri’s belongings. 

Neteyam presses his lips together in a tight smile–a passing of a deliberate glance–and begins rolling your mat up in the exact way you like it to be done. You try to tell yourself that it’s nothing but expected that he’s aware you prefer to double knot the binding instead of single after all these years of knowing one another–it’s not like you aren’t also aware of how he favors the order of his effects in his pack to be–and even still, it has a butterfly hatching in your stomach as you take note of it.

You’re just about through with the remainder of Kiri’s and your’s things when you hear the first one. A horn, being blown out to sound the arrival of.. what? It has all of your heads turning–well, except for Kiri, who doesn’t even offer up a tip of her head, let alone a full turn–to the entrance of your hut.

“What was that?” Tuk pipes up as she drops her mat (very poorly rolled up, you’ll fix it later when she isn’t looking) to go and see what the fuss is about. 

“What’s going on?” Lo’ak builds onto the inquiry as everyone of your family apart from you and your sister venture towards the netted pathway. 

“The tulkun have returned!” It’s Tsireya, you recognize the faint trill of her voice as it passes by in a sweep. She’s probably on her ilu, sent by her parents to make the announcement to everyone if you had to assume. “Everybody, our brothers and sisters have returned!”

One by one, Lo’ak of course making his beeline first, each member of your family dips out of your home and away from sight as they go to investigate further. The tulkun have returned, they have completed a migration cycle and come back home to their Metkayina family, and you want to go see, but..

Your gaze flickers to Kiri, who has yet to move even an inch, despite the fact that you know she heard Tsireya’s bulletin. A few weeks ago, she would have been the first to run out of here, the first to see their grand homecoming. You try to think of something to say, a way to suggest maybe going to look that your sister would actually be inclined to accept.

However, your youngest sister is bouncing back in before you can even come up with one good solution. “Kiri! (Y/n)! Come on, come on!” Tuk bounds, running over to the two of you and grabbing each of your hands in her own. 

“Tuk, leave me alone,” Kiri huffs, tries to pull her hand back from Tuk’s hold but it’s no use. She’s already heaving the pair of you to your feet. Exasperated, a groan drags out of Kiri’s chest. “ What? What do you want?”

“Look!”

As soon as you’re hauled out of your marui and blinking in the sunlit view, you’re hit with a wave of amazement so compelling that you wonder for a second whether you need to sit back down to regain yourself. The tulkun are all banking in, calling for their Na’vi counterparts, like they’re harmonizing a welcome home melody.

It’s nothing short of magnificent.

“Come on,” Tuk beams, “Let’s go meet them!”

As you let Tuk drag you along, you turn your head to catch Kiri’s gaze, and the sight you’re greeted with nearly has the stunning reunion before you paling in comparison. A smile, stretched wide and dimpled into her svelte cheeks, is on full display. No more cinched brows, no more pursed lips.

Just pure, unadulterated joy. Radiating like a gleaming sun.

Your expression mirrors it; you wouldn’t be able to stop the grin even if you tried. The ache grows dull, faint between your ribcage. You release Tuk’s hand so she can drag Kiri towards her ilu as you get to the shore, finally feeling secure enough to let her go. To see her thrive, again.

Flitting your eyes across the span of shoreline and aquatic celebration ahead, you pause at the sight of someone specific still standing on dry land. It catches you off guard, has curiosity rolling to the tip of your tongue; because why is he not already in the water, embracing such a momentous occasion with everyone else?

“Why are you still here?” You nudge Neteyam slightly, breaking his attention from the show in front of him and focusing it all entirely on you, instead.

“I was waiting for you,” he says, candidly, like it should be obvious. Like there is no other possible reason he’d still be stuck on shore with his ilu drifting nearby. You try not to blunder.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I’ll always wait for you,” he adheres as he wades into the shallows to climb onto his companion. His hand is reaching out for yours promptly, a proposition to join him, and you take it with no more than a sliver of hesitation. 

Biting back grins is apparently not a strong suit of yours today, because the tilt of your lips gives way easily. You walk through the water, letting the cool waves lap at your shins, and mount right behind him. He drops your hand only when you go to hold onto him; a ghost of reluctance shadowing his face. The obscurity flickers away in a blink, though, and he’s tossing you one more smile over his shoulder before taking off–heading to the heart of the celebration.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything quite so moving.

Metkayinas young and old–some merely babies–swim and float amongst the water to meet with their spirit brothers and sisters. Witnessing relationships between bonded pairs is one of the most transcendent honors one can bestow in their lifetime; that is what Neytiri used to tell each of you when watching your siblings create their first affixion. You never doubted that sentiment, but now it rings truer than you thought it ever could.

A tulkun breaches out of the water to your left, their Na’vi pair doing the same; a mimic of each other, a mirror of souls. It is not deliberate, of course, yet its fin edges dangerously close as it begins to descend back to the waves it’s created. You suck in a breath–solely out of surprise–but you are thankful you have done so a moment later because Neteyam is sending his ilu into a dive. Quick thinking, he has, to weave the pair of you out of the way in just the knick of time. He’s rising out of the water as soon as it’s clear, turning back to you before you can even draw a proper inhale in.

“Sorry I didn’t give any warning. I should’ve told you before I just–”

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” you reassure through a chuckle at his rushing, wiping at your eyes. “I’m fine. Can we do it again?”

He loosens up, relaxes in a way that you can feel his back become more pliable against you as he nods. You regain your grip on him around his abdomen, lock your hands so you’re better prepared this time. A boyish grin is what he flashes to you after which he sucks in a gust of air–which you copy–before he’s sending his ilu forward at a downward angle once again.

Captivating is the view of the tulkun’s homecoming from above, but bewitching is it once you are blanketed in oceanic blue.

Children–Na’vi and tulkun alike–are being introduced for the very first time. Families are reuniting. They are swimming in sync, like their hearts beat as one. You wonder, by chance, if they do. It would not surprise you, would not startle you one bit. Something as special as this must hold well in the sight of Eywa. Must put forth the most profound of links.

You make out Kiri and Tuk, holding onto a tulkun’s fin as it swims through the water, Rotxo hanging onto the bottom of the same one. Still beaming, still light. Such a beautiful sight to be graced with. Too beautiful, maybe. 

Perhaps you should have better bearings on yourself–perhaps, you should not let yourself be swayed so easily by the things around you–because in all your pursuing in the magnificent, you let your mind stray from the focus of holding onto Neteyam tight enough.

By the time you feel your grip loosening it’s too late. Your heart skips a beat, your throat constricts in a faux gasp. Right out of your fingers (in the most literal sense) you feel Neteyam begin to slip from you. It’s plummeting, has your mind already plateauing directly to watery graves.

Yet you don’t get any closer to drifting backwards than that. Before you can so much as shift a few inches away, Neteyam’s already reaching back for you. His palm lands on your thigh; circles his grip around the back of it and pulls you back in contact with him. Chest to back, skin to skin. You fully expect him to let go once you loop your arms around him again, but he doesn’t. If anything, it’s almost as if he’s holding you tighter.

And you, well. 

Maybe you’re a little bit tired of trying to bury all the sprouts of affection that want so desperately to bloom out of you. You think you might be well past trying to swallow down the saccharine syrup that longs so desperately to drip off your tongue. So you do not protest, you do not nudge his hand away. You simply cling onto him securely and let your head rest on his shoulder as you take in the show of pure, virtuous love all around you. And you feel your own, blossom in real time.

You’re content, surprisingly at peace, under the water as reconnecting life bustles every which way. Everyone seems so joyous–and who would have a reason not to be? Tsireya is the next familiar face you spot, and she is quite a bit away so you can’t be too sure, but you are near positive she is telling her spirit sister about Lo’ak by the gestures her hands convey. You know your brother would be giddy at the sight of it–even if he would try to act gruff to hide it–so you lift your head to look for him. 

He isn’t far (as if he would put too much distance between him and Tsireya, that fact should be obvious), just floating near the surface with his face a smidgen below the waves to peer beneath him. But it is not the lighthearted, love-struck expression you thought you were going to find outlining his features as he watches them. If you had to choose a single word to describe it, you think you’d have to go with yearning. And somehow, you know it is not romantic in nature.

Nor is it directed towards the chief’s daughter. 

——————————————————————————

Following Lo’ak without him knowing is concerningly easy.

After alerting Neteyam of your hunches, he’s all too willing to send a little party forward to see just what his little brother is getting up to. The pair of you–along with Tsireya, Ao’nung, and Rotxo–follow him to the Three Brothers island chain, which only confirms your suspicions as true. And if the location was not sufficient enough, diving and finding him face to face with the fabled Payakan would have certainly concluded your hypothesis.

Observing him speak to the tulkun is easy enough (though you’d be lying if the whole “killer” title didn’t still leave an off putting churn in your gut), but it is when Payakan opens his mouth that you decide this is not a good idea after all. 

Lo’ak has always been so trusting, so unquestioning when it comes to things he’s already set his mind on being true. And now, as he swims forward without even a single falter of uncertainty into the whale’s open mouth, you find this case is no different. 

You were fine to watch him converse. You were fine to see him swim forward (stupidly). But as soon as Payakan closes his mouth around your brother, you are no longer fine at all. 

Surging forward, your only thought is to save him; which must be an ideal you and Neteyam share because his movements are the same. However, before either of you can get any more than a foot ahead, the chief’s children are grabbing at you. You send a glare back at Ao’nung, a question of concern for why he would still you. He simply signs for you to stop–wait.

There is nothing you can do now except bide the time until Payakan–hopefully–spits your brother back out of his immense jaws. It feels like hours but you know it is no more than a few minutes when your internal turmoil comes to a close as the sight of your brother begins to peek out of the monstrous tulkun before you. When he emerges there is something different about him, something despondent. It’s nearly palpable, the energy radiating as he swims back up to the surface.

He’s created a bond. But, simultaneously, he’s created a fissure. And you are not too enticed with the premise of how it will break.

Returning to the mainland, you find yourself drifting protectively towards Lo’ak as Tsireya goes to alert her parents of what has occurred. Tonowari and Ronal do not speak as they lead your group–minus Rotxo, who was gifted the unfair pleasure of slipping away from whatever is to become of this–to their marui. Ronal waits for everyone, stands to the side to make sure all of you fall in before she trails behind you.

The tension is nearly tangible.

“You allowed this,” she huffs at her children as she stalks into the hut. But then, her focus shifts, lines up directly with Tsireya as she points an accusing finger to your brother. “You allowed him to bond with the outcast!”

Tonowari is circling in too, honing in on her. It’s like watching ikrans pick off a defenseless fan lizard; how could one even fight back to such an obtuse threat? It has your tongue feeling heavy in the bed of your mouth, like a lead slate. 

“Tsireya,” the chief addresses. Tone solemn, grim. “You disappoint me, daughter.” He’s turning to Lo’ak directly after, the same timbre used, the same expression carved into his strong features. “And you. Son of a great warrior. Who has been taught better. ”

“Payakan saved my life, sir,” Lo’ak responds immediately, diligently. It’s almost deja vu to when he was explaining Payakan for the first time to all of you. You remember the lilt in his speech so prominently. Recall the sentiment behind it all. “You don’t know him.”

“No, Lo’ak,” Tsireya hearkens; to save face, to stop another disagreement. To keep peace, is the bottom line. You understand her need to do such, but for some reason you hesitate to get behind it.

Your parents are here, now. Jake and Neytiri stand at the edge of the hut, just inside. Maybe that’s where Rotxo went–to inform them of this meeting that was sure to happen. That falls into line with him, you think, but a piece of you wishes they had not been told. Their presence looming behind you feels formidable. Much like Tonowari’s gaze as he studies each of you.

“Sit,” he utters once, as he begins to lower himself. “Sit,” he orders again, to which Lo’ak is the only one to obey his request. Then, he grows aggravated, demanding. “ Sit down! ” he raises his voice, and you have never taken a seat faster in your life.

You toss a glance to Tsireya, who has been near tears this entire time. Her self control is admirable, her strength is not one to be overlooked, because even though the tears well to the brink of overflow, not a single one falls. Your stomach twists as you shift focus back to Tonowari, contempt carving into the base of your skull.

“Hear my words, boy.” His voice is softer now, not as sharp, but it still holds authoritative weight. Commanding of respect, attention. “In the days of the first songs, tulkun fought amongst themselves. For territory, and for revenge. But they came to believe that killing–no matter how justified–only brings more killing. So killing was forbidden. This is the tulkun way.” It’s blunt, honest. This story has been told before, one can tell. But the last bit of information has not, and that you are well aware of. “Payakan is a killer. So, he is outcast.”

It is easy to notice how no one expects there to be room for discussion now. How they believe this will be the end and your brother will simply agree and settle for his slap on the wrist. But you know Lo’ak far better than that, so it comes as no surprise to you when he’s shaking his head beside you before Tonowari can even get his final words out fully.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re wrong.” 

And there it is: the discrepancy.

It was different, before when he was just telling your young family and friends about his beliefs and they admonished him and brushed him to the side. He wanted to be heard but he settled on being muted for the sake of complacency. He wanted people to listen but was fine with being drowned out. Storming off, ignoring your calls; he did so to put a stake in the matter and leave it dead and hanging.

But now, there’s a glint in his eye. A quiver in his brow. He was fine with being rebuked before, but now?

“ Lo’ak, ” Neytiri jeers at her son. And that unnerves you. “You speak to Olo’eyktan.”

He doesn’t budge. “I know–”

“That’s enough,” Jake cuts in–something he seems to always be so damn good at.

It causes Lo’ak to falter, bite his tongue for just a moment. Tsireya shakes her head at him, telling him to fall back. And you get it, truly, but it’s just so.. Aggravating. 

How can they so blatantly disregard him? How can they muffle his screams of wanting to be heard like a bind around the mouth without a single shred of guilt? Why can they not just listen?

On a last stitch effort to be taken into account, Lo’ak lets go of his tongue. He shrugs his shoulders and puffs out a condescending breath. “I know what I know.”

“That's enough, ” Jake reiterates, crouching down to Lo’ak’s level to give him a stony glare. “I’ll deal with this one,” he converses to Tonowari, before his hand is circling your brother’s bicep and tugging him up and out of the tent.

It leaves you feeling irate, in the most raw form, because this whole situation is just so demoralizing. Anger knows nothing but to simmer or scorch, to bubble or burn, and right now your pot is overflowing. And perhaps your hands have grown clumsy, because instead of pulling it off the burner, you twist the dial to high heat.

“My brother is no liar.” The words leave your mouth before you even think them and you’re rising to your feet. Part of you expects your knees to feel wobbly, buckling, but they do not. “If he says Payakan is no killer, then he isn’t.”

Ronal steps in immediately. “Your brother is ignorant. He knows nothing. Maybe, if he were true of his kind, he would not be so witless.”

Oh, and that? That strikes a nerve in you. Avoiding trouble, remaining quiet and content and compliant to save your family the strife; that all drains out of you now. Like a switch has been flipped. You have had enough.

“He knows more than you will ever– ”

“You watch your tongue,” Neytiri hisses as she yanks you back by the wrist. She does nothing more than send the tsahìk a heated glance before she’s pulling you out of the marui just like Lo’ak had been dragged out before.

She doesn’t even get far before she’s whipping around to fix you with a venomous glare, her grip still not releasing. It must be near bruising now. You strain against it but there is no use; you’d have a better chance breaking free from the claws of a feral mountain banshee than that of Neytiri. You know that and you give in, but it doesn’t mean you’re willing to back down from your credence.

“What are you thinking? ” It’s a question, but she isn’t really asking. “That is the Olo’eyktan. The tsahìk. You show them leioae only. Only. ” [ “respect.” ]

“They did not show it to Lo’ak,” you spit back, and you’re treading some dangerous waters here, truthfully. But why stop paddling if you’ve already lost sight of land? “They did not even listen to what he had to say. That is your son, he wants to be heard–”

“My son speaks foolishly.” There is no hesitation in her deliverance, no pause to think about it. Yet you must admit you can also detect no malice. “And so do you. No thinking before you talk. Disgrace.”

It’s suddenly hard to swallow because her statement is so dense. Her grip feels numbing now but not because it is tight. Disgrace, she says. And it makes you sick how easily it rolls off the tongue. You wonder if she even caught onto what Ronal was inferring in her last statement. If she even realized she was scorning his identity–more specifically one half of it; condemning it. 

If she even cared how that made you feel.

“I–”

“Do not speak.”

Someone has pulled the plug on the oven. Someone has doused water on the stove top. Your simmering has cooled to a misty vapor. Your petulance has been frozen to icy shards. Neytiri tells you not to speak so you sew your mouth shut, let nothing slip past the seam.

“You do nothing like this again.” A decree, an injunction. “Distractions, disrespect. It is too much. One more misstep, and..” She trails off, like she can’t even find the words for the threat she’s about to make past her disappointment. You think it meaningless anyways; you have already heard enough.

“Okay.” You say it to save yourself from whatever she could possibly spit out. “I will do nothing like this again.”

It’s bitter, tart. But then again lies have never tasted too well on your tongue. It does not need to bode well with you, merely just enough to get Neytiri to give in. After a few bated breaths of her staring at you, it seems to do the trick. She releases your wrist (the blood pumping once again) and departs without another word. 

However, you should know better than to get ahead of yourself and think you are off the hook of scolding–because no more than a few seconds after Neytiri is drifting from your sight, her first born is stepping into it. 

“No,” you shake your head, turn on your heel to trudge off in the opposite direction. “Not doing this.”

“Stop,” Neteyam says, announces, and his voice is not sweet. It is not warm and light and reassuring in the way that you adore. It is imposing, lofty. It is the voice of an heir in command. “Do not walk away from me.”

“I am not dealing with you right now, Neteyam.” 

Being lectured once is bad enough. Being lectured twice by a man who holds the same bleeding heart as his mother is a fate worse than death. (Partially an exaggeration, you must admit, but it does not feel like one now).

“I said, stop. ” It’s uncharacteristically harsh; his tone, his diction. You would not call it violent, but perhaps would dip your toe into the pool of aggressive. Not in a way that frightens you, or harms you, but in a way that twinges. In a way that pangs. 

In a way that has you hissing as your tail is yanked back far more forceful than it has ever been before.

“You do not pull my tail,” you shriek, shove at his chest and tug it out of his grasp. Being scolded is one thing. Being disrespected is another. “I have told you already–”

“If you would listen to me, I would not have to,” he fires back, tips his head at you. “How could you say such a thing to the tsahìk? Do you have no regard?”

“ Me? ” You gape, cinch your brows at him. “She is the one with none. They do not care for us. Ronal speaks of Lo’ak like he is a blot in Na’vi existence. How does that deserve any respect from me?”

“It does not matter how she speaks of him,” he dismisses. “She is the chief’s mate. She helped save Kiri. You would not dare speak to Mo’at that way.”

“Your grandmother had enough respect for me that she did not deface my identity.” Hissing at Neteyam is not something you would like to do, but it comes out easily now. He is not getting it, not grasping your standpoint. “I don’t expect you to understand the way I feel, but I ask that you do not dismiss it.”

“You think I don’t understand?” He rags, stares at you incredulously. “I understand very well how it feels to be an outcast. To be a freak. ”

“But you don’t, Neteyam!” 

You’re tipping, losing control of yourself. Arguing solves nothing, confrontation only leads to more, but it has apparently become your theme today. You run your hands down your face. You’re exasperated, fed up. Nobody seems to get it.

“Why do you think you’ve been the one with the least amount of problems since coming here, hm? ” You question him, try not to shy back from the heat buzzing between the two of you. “Do you think Ao’nung backs off when you tell him to just because you’re the oldest? Because he feels some connection to you since you used to be next in line of our clan?”

You’re going too far, you’re being too mean. But you cannot stop now. It’s like you have no control over yourself anymore, like even if you try to lock your jaw to keep the words in they’ll simply crack open your mandible to escape. 

“How come when Lo’ak, Kiri, and I were all being poked and prodded like animals, were you not lumped into that?” It’s vile, how the words translate amongst your tastebuds. But even the tough pills need to be swallowed. “They show you respect because you don’t look like some freak lab experiment. If they were not told, they would not know you were not a full-blooded one of them. They see you as true Na’vi, above the rest of us.”

Neteyam says nothing, simply holds your gaze. You take note of him now; his lack of hairlined brows, his wide set eyes, his thick digits that clench at his sides with one less finger than your own on each hand. It’s a privilege, an exemption. A justifiable right to be a little zealous. 

Yet, guilt sprinkles in, litters itself along the hems of your mind. You resign it with a hello.

“I do not say this to belittle what you go through. And it hurts my heart to know you feel like you do,” you state. Lower, with less edge. Your head drops, your gaze drifts to your feet in the sand beneath you. “It’s just.. Different. Lo’ak does not feel as accepted here as you do. I do not feel as accepted anywhere as Lo’ak.”

The origin of your outburst, the cause of your conniption. It has all boiled down to this. Funny, how the words seemed to flow so easily before when they were full of vexation, but now that they’re coated in vulnerability they string along as stubbornly as molasses. 

“It is hard. Knowing no matter where you go, you never truly belong there.” You’re muttering so quietly you’re not sure if he can even hear you. But maybe if he can’t, maybe if this falls on deaf ears, that is even for the better. “It’s like.. no one ever really views you as a person because they are too busy picking your existence apart. Or even worse, ignoring it. Like no one even sees you, at all.”

You debate laughing it all off as soon as you finish talking. Brushing it away with a shrug of your shoulders and offering up an apology to Neteyam for your harsh words. That’s what would be right to do–what the you before you let yourself become a mess would deem acceptable. You really have made such a muddled up disarray of everything, haven’t you? How foolish of you. Neytiri was right.

Neteyam’s hands raise and you flinch; back to being jumpy, to being resigned. Like trying to scoop up soup with cupped palms–a futile attempt to pretend you never spilt it in the first place when the spices always stick to your fingertips.

You are not sure what you are expecting from him, but his hands reaching for your face isn’t it. They cup your cheeks gently, with great care, as he tips your head back up to meet his gaze. The hostile air from before is gone, the assertive undertone of his grip has vanished to nothing. He cradles your face with such tenderness; like you’re made of glass, like he is scared to break you.

His eyes are searching, analyzing. Or are they? There’s something swirling in them as pink begins to color one side of his face a delicate lilac from the setting sun. Under his scrutiny, you fight the urge to shrivel. Neteyam has always made you comfortable, put you at ease. But lately he has been dangling you over the ledge of.. what?

Your throat bobs with a swallow. Neteyam takes note of it, letting his eyes skirt over your troubled features. His thumb brushes past the apple of your cheek and as it sweeps across your temple it catches the edge of your eyebrow. He doesn’t shy from it, doesn’t pull his hand back in dismay. You aren’t sure why you half expect him to. 

Then, he’s leaning in. Pressing so close you can feel the necklace you made him hit against your chest at the proximity, can feel the middle shell against your sternum. He lifts one hand to turn in front of you, dragging the knuckle of his index finger along the bridge of your nose. Less flat, more humanistic than his own. He gets to the tip then drags his finger back up, skimming across your skin, over the silk of your brow and expanse of your striped forehead before it settles back onto your cheek. Like it’s meant to be there, like it was molded by Eywa herself just for you to slot into.

“ I see you, Ma (Y/n),” he speaks with certainty, conviction. Your breath hitches and your heart lurches within your ribcage. “Oel ngati kameie. Frakrr. ” [ “Always.” ]

And it feels almost inane, frivolous, how you catch yourself reacting. This is not the first time you and Neteyam have said these words to each other, but it feels different, somehow. The days of childish appreciation have gone, become stone walled by adult conflicts and mature contest. Neteyam waits for you, adheres to you, and you find yourself entrapped in his guise. 

You place your hand on top of his, lean into his touch and allow yourself this solace. Your eyes slip shut as he closes in, presses his lips to your forehead before resting his own against it in a show of affection so genuine it nearly causes your stomach to turn.

Apologies will be delivered later–to Neteyam, for diminishing his grievances; to Ronal, for speaking against her even though you still believe yourself to be right–but for now, this is enough. You let yourself indulge in this bit of selfishness, in this sliver of greed. Allowing yourself to be a mess mid-mending for this one portion of your life, in the only hands you trust to put the pieces of you back together.

Like a shattered vase, being cured by its potter.