#he's literally keeping me alive through the series at this point

[iambecomeyourvillain]

there needs to be a support group for people who've been reading the zodiac academy

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

God ever since reading A Gilded Cage I cant get the thought out of my head of a part 2 where Reader doesn't see Jason for a few days after the revelation. Like maybe he thinks he's being kind and giving us some time to process, maybe he's on his angst again, or maybe some outside factor has taken his attention so the only time he's able to visit is while we're asleep.

And the whole night of the reveal feels like a fever dream when we wake up but there's a blanket draped over us and a fuzzy little kitten purring up a storm on our chest (in my heart his name is Bean (short for Toebean)), so we're at least kind of sure it happened. But as the time passes with no sign of Jason our certainty begins to wane and until we finally get fed up and write on the notepad the first thing we've asked for since that night: "You."

Or something like that idek okay I've been over here clawing at my walls frothing at the mouth I never really even liked ak!Jason before reading your stuff and now I'm feral for him and its all your fault and I'm not even mad about it

A Glimmering Collar

AKA Part Two of this series. Ahh, nonnie, you literally cooked with this. I love when my fics inspire people enough to keep thinking on them! Seriously, ty for dropping these ideas in my inbox cause I had nothing going on in my brain for a part two initially. Hope you enjoy!

~2.6k words

You wake up to something tickling your nose. Your body feels heavy, your mind even more so. Nothing in you is ready to open your eyes, to face the fact that last night could all have been a dream. That he isn't– that was just a dream.

Something soft flicks your nose again, and you force your eyes open. You blink hard once. Then twice. It's a kitten. It's tiny, and it's sitting by your face. Every few seconds, its tail sways and brushes your nose.

Oh. You sit up slowly, trying not to frighten the small thing. It looks at you contently over its shoulder and meows. The kitten stretches as you stare at it, then plops itself directly on the blanket resting over your lap.

Huh. There's a blanket you definitely don't remember grabbing sprawled over your legs. You carefully reach down to pet the kitten's head. Your heart melts a little when it nuzzles your fingers and purrs.

You look around the room slowly. Nothing else looks different. The notepad is still in place, but the kitten and blanket all point to one thing. Last night was real. Jason is alive. Jason is the Arkham Knight.

You're trying to wrap your brain around that when the door flies open, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"Good morning!!" A flurry of voice call from the doorway. Your eyes widen as three brightly dressed people strut their way into your apartment, "Are you ready for your shopping trip, hun?"

"My– excuse me?" You stumble out, tucking the kitten to your chest as you stand.

They giggle, and one of them steps forward, "Your shopping trip, sweetie! And spa day, of course. Oh, ha, we haven't even been introduced, have we? I'm Krystal with a K, she's Destini with an i and he's Robbi also with an i."

Robbi huffs and walks up to you to pet your kitten, "Why can't you ever introduce Destini second? She can be Destini also with an i, ya know."

The other girl walks up to you as well and picks affectionately at your clothes, "Because it's alphabetical that way, Robbi. Now you better go get dressed, we have brunch reservations and mimosa plans!"

"I– sorry? What?" You ask, eyes darting between the three of them. Whatever this is, you can't keep up. You've barely processed Jason kidnapped you, and now you're supposed to go get a massage and drinks?

"The boss wants you to go out," a flat voice cuts in. You're the only one that stiffens at the sight of two large men stepping through the door.

Krystal speaks up, "We're here to make sure you have a good time! And Mack and John are here to keep us safe!"

"Mack and John," You echo weakly.

"Your body guards, silly," Destini chirps, ushering you to your room. She plucks the kitten from your hands, "Now get dressed! Wear something nice!"

You stare at the door as she shuts it. What just happened? You hear them chattering happily in the kitchen, idly talking about pregaming your shopping trip.

Your whole mind is a mess, and you sluggishly get ready, thoughts whirling. You've barely talked to soul since you were kidnapped, and now you have five new names to remember, a kitten, and a day out.

You're not exactly sure if you should be unsettled or grateful at how quickly Jason worked to get you what you asked for. By the time you've opened your bedroom door, Krystal, Destini and Robbi are passing around a flask, and playfully trying to get your 'bodyguards' to drink it.

You wonder what they must think of all this. Who they think you are. You're struck with the realization that Jason must be paying them to entertain you today.

You don't get to linger on the thought before Robbi hooked his arm with yours, dragging you towards the door, "Let's gooo, the brunch place we're going to does the best pineapple mimosas. Or cherry, if that's your thing."

"Wait," Mack– or John, you're not exactly sure which one is which– stops you, "Boss wants you to wear this."

The girls and Robbi coo in awe when Mack opens a box, revealing a glittery, jaw-dropping choker. You waver at the sight of it. It's not that it doesn't match what you're wearing. You'd dressed up like Destini suggested, but it feels like some kind of trap.

You reluctantly pick up the necklace, eyeing how it catches the light, "Is it– are sure it's safe to wear this out?" Safety isn't really what you're concerned about at the moment.

You're more worried about the crushing weight that this means more than you understand.

John nods once, "There won't be any problems."

Krystal happily plucks the necklace from your fingers, and before you have time to argue, she drapes the necklace around your throat. "It's beautiful, hun. Just like you. Let's go get you something to eat," her voice is soft, measured, and full of so much understanding it makes you want to cry.

You don't know much they know, but when she hooks her arm with yours to guide you out the door, you have a feeling there's more awareness than their bubbly attitudes let on.

The day ends up being wonderful. Being around people, out under the sun (the sun Gotham does get), was rejuvenating. You had fun, joked, smiled, and for a day, it was almost like you didn't have a prison cell to go back to.

The food was delicious, the spa relaxing, and you didn't have to carry back a single bag. Krystal had flashed a black card at every payment, every place ever could want to shop at, reassuring you it's all been taken care of.

But the time you've collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, the uneasy feelings from this morning are gone.

You settle on the cushions to wait for Jason. To thank him for listening or to yell at him for still keeping you here, you're not exactly sure yet.

But he doesn't come, you fall asleep in your expensive necklace and pretty clothes with one hand petting your kitten. He doesn't come the next day either, at least not while you're awake, but Krystal, Destini, and Robbi do.

Your friends, the people being paid to entertain you are nice, perfect even. They're exactly what you would have asked for.

Your kitten is perfect too, it cuddles with you at night and nuzzles under your chin after you're left alone, when the unease finds its way back to you.

It's been days since you've seen him. It's starting to feel like a lifetime. You know he comes back after you fall asleep, he moves things. You think it's his way of showing that he listened, that he came back because you asked.

The notepad, the one you haven't written on since that night, shifts closer to you on the glass table if you sleep on the couch.

The glimmering choker gets pulled out of the drawer every time you try to put it away. Your kitten has a growing collection of toys and things to climb on.

It's obvious he's visiting, so why won't he let you see him? Day five of dancing around each other breaks you. You want to see him, want to talk to him, and understand. You want Jason.

Your hand shakes a little, when you go to write on the notepad, and when you wake up the next morning, the paper is blank again.

You wait. You wait some more. All day you wait for him. No one else comes. It's strangely quiet, with just you and your kitten. You've just about given up, collapsed in your bed, when the glowing whites of his helmet catch your attention.

You sit up quickly and throw your legs off the bed as you stare into the doorway, "You came."

"Did you mean it," he asks, any emotion he's feeling hidden by the aggravating modulator.

"Mean what," You question, standing off the bed to walk closer to him, "Will you take the mask off?"

He doesn't move for a moment, just takes in the sight of you. The silence that drags almost makes you regret the question, but he carefully pulls off his helmet, "What you wrote. That you wanted me."

"I– yeah, Jason. I haven't– it's been days since I saw you," You only notice mid sentence that his hand is reaching for your face, it makes your voice waver. "You never answered any of my questions," You finish weakly.

His hand stills and he drops it, "Questions. That's what you wanted?"

You nod a little, searching his face for any hint of what he's feeling, but he gives nothing away.

He sighs softly, and looks away, adjusting his helmet under his arm. You think he might look disappointed, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for."

"Why not," You question softly, worried to push him away.

Jason turns his focus back to you, "I just need you to stay here. Please," he sighs out your name, and his hand twitches as if to touch you, "Don't fight me on this."

"That's not fair," You mumble, "Why am I here, Jason? You know I would have listened if you came to talk to me instead of– this."

Silence falls again, and he steps past you into your room. He sets his helmet on your dresser and picks up the choker resting on the wooden surface, "I wish you would wear this. I picked it out for you."

"Jason," You start, tracking his movements.

"I know," he cuts you off, "but I told you, you don't need to understand anything." You stiffen when he steps back towards you and guides you to turn around.

The air leaves your lungs as his gloves brush over your skin. He sets the necklace around your throat, and even after it rests heavy against your skin, his touch lingers.

"You just need to stay here. It's safe. I've given you everything you've asked for, and everything you haven't," Jason says softly, stepping out from behind you. His gaze lingers on your neck for a moment, and the stifling, unexplainable feeling sets back into your gut.

Your words stick in your throat. There's a sense of danger, one that doesn't make sense. Jason wouldn't hurt you. Not the Jason you know. But is this the Jason you know? The thought makes you want to tear the choker from your skin and throw it at him.

"It feels like a collar," You say quietly, and your breath hitches when his gaze snaps go yours, "I mean, it's pretty. Really. But, it feels– like it's more," You stumble out.

He nods slowly, and he doesn't stop himself from touching you this time. His fingers trace the choker, linger over your collarbones, brush along your pulse, "Maybe it is."

You blink at him, every thought flying from your brain, "What?"

He hums softly, hooking a finger under the shiny jewels to draw you closer, "Does that scare you? Knowing that you can't leave? Knowing that no matter how pretty these are, it's just another way to keep you?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," you say instead, it sounds like you believe it, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

"I don't want to," He admits, fingers leaving your throat to trail up your jaw, "but I probably could."

"I don't believe that. I remember–" He tuts, tapping your cheek. Your heart drops when you realize he's mirroring where his own brand is.

"I'm not what you remember," he says firmly, before whispering your name, "I'm not that Jason. Not really."

"Then who are you," You ask, even though you don't want to know the answer. You want to pretend he's still something you know.

His eyes dart over your face, then back down to the necklace, "I'm still Jason. But I'm also the Arkham Knight."

"What does that mean," You push, reach up to grab his wrist, demanding his attention, demanding real answers.

"It means that you stay. It means that I give you what you want. Everything and anything except leaving," he says, voice lowering to something kinder, gentler, "it'll make sense eventually. You'll be happy here. Safe."

"Will that make you happy?" You ask, fingers tightening on his wrist. Half of you wants to pull him away, stop him from tracing patterns over your cheek, but the other part of you wants to press his hand closer.

Something flicks in his eyes at your words, "Yes."

"Will it keep you safe?" You murmur, eyes locked on his.

He doesn't answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw for a moment, "Safety is an option I don't have."

"It could be, if you wanted it," You say, dropping his wrist. It must be true. Even with all the secrets he's keeping, his evasive disappearing act, he could take off the armor. Leave behind the new symbol engraved over his chest.

He laughs a little and swipes his thumb under your eye, "I'm glad that you don't understand. It's good, that they didn't twist you into something unrecognizable."

"Understand?" You prompt, unsettled by his laughter.

"That they need to pay. All of them do," he smiles a little, it's a mockery of the one you remember. Jason traces the choker one last time before stepping back.

"You're leaving," You say, not a question, a statement of fact. He's leaving, without explaining anything again.

"I am," he affirms, moving to grab his helmet.

"I want you to stay," You breathe out and he freezes in place.

He exhales softly and faces you again, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I want you to stay," You repeat, reaching out to push his helmet back towards the dresser.

"And then what?" He asks lowly, a warning, "What do you expect to happen?"

It makes you waver, "I– I don't know. But it's what I want."

It's another long moment of nothing before he answers, gesturing towards the bed, "Go to sleep."

"You'll stay?"

He nods at your question, unceremoniously dragging the chair from your desk to your bedside.

"Is that going to be comfortable–" You begin, settling yourself in the bed.

"You're overthinking it," he mumbles, waving at you to lay down. You do, watching as your kitten jumps into his lap, curling up like this is something that happens all the time. (You have the feeling it is) "Have you named him," he asks quietly.

"The kitten? Mm, no. Wanted you to," You say softly, carefully not to unsettle either of them.

"I wouldn't be good at it," Jason protests, eyes flicking between you and the kitten.

"I don't mind," You murmur, "anything's better than 'kitten'."

He pauses, so quiet and still you think he won't answer, "Bean," he mumbles, reluctant as the newly appointed Bean cuddles into his armor.

You smile, "Bean's a good name."

He doesn't answer, seemingly engrossed with watching the kitten.

You take him in for another moment, memorizing his face before closing your eyes. It's not an accident that you leave your palm open and face up by the side of the bed.

There's no more pleasantries exchanged, no sweet goodnights or the gentle touches against your face you've grown used to. But just as you finally start to drift off, as darkness finally draws you to rest, a warm, rough hand weaves itself into yours and squeezes.

Part Three

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode IV

Seed of Life

This is @zestys-stuff 's OC. All credits to this character goes to this beautiful, talented artist. Thank you again for allowing me to explore and create with him!

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, angst, early pregnancy smut (will be forewarned before it happens), daddy daughter drama, Ralak being little rough because reader won’t stop teasing him, Ralak literally has blue balls, ball play, blowjob, brief thigh fucking, likely incorrect na’vi, teacher/student dynamics/roleplay, p in v, quickie, squirting, masturbation, dirty talk, sexual tension, age gap 

Disclaimer: This chapter entails pregnancy and sexual intimacy during early pregnancy. I include a warning directly before the smut happens in the case that you want to indulge in this chapter but aren’t necessarily up for the pregnancy smut. 

Word Count: 10k sorry

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: thank you guys for always being so patient with me. i love yall too the moon and back <3 happy holidays and a happy new year! also, I’ve realised that I unintentionally decided that Kiri is not involved in this series (i dunno honestly, it’s just occuring to me that I’ve never really mentioned her before and it feels difficult to incorporate her at this point i suppose). It seems like we (reader) have taken her place in this au in regards to being jakes adopted ‘babygirl’ (nothing else though—no superpowers or anything loool).  

Synopsis: After telling Ralak that he's going to be a father, the reality dawns on you that you need to break the news to your own father.

<- Previous -> Next

This pregnancy shouldn’t be much of a surprise to you, honestly. How could you not be? After such a breeding it would be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant. Yet the news wasn’t quite sinking in, even when Tsireya looked at you with wide eyes and spelled it out for you. But now that you’re walking towards the tsahìk, you’re faced with reality and it begins to sink in as you count each step you take. 

Forty-two…  

The words that rolled off the tarsem’s tongue echo in your skull.  

Forty-three…  

Etching themselves into the bone, leaving you with no space to deny the truth. 

Forty-four… 

“You are with child.” 

The ringing in your ears stops as your vision refocuses on the stone cold expression of the Tsahìk. Her voice is unfaltering and clear as it delivers the news to your ears a second time. Bowing to the taller woman, you sweep three fingers away from your forehead and turn your heel to walk away. But before you can take two steps she announces something that makes your ears stand tall.  

“A boy.”  

Her two harshly spoken words strike through your chest, a sinking feeling now brewing in the pit of your stomach. You stop dead in your tracks and lift your head that was once tilted down to your feet. Things become even more real, having you force down a wad of your spit to keep your vision from splitting again. You’re barely able to use your voice—your mouth partially open and your tongue rolling from the churn of your tummy.  

“Thank you, Ronal.” You manage to squeak a decibel or two over a whisper, dropping your head again to lock your stare to your feet before fleeing the now-crowding scene. You overhear the people murmuring the news as you scurry away to your marui pod.  

‘The forest girl expects the firstborn of the village’s best warrior’;  

‘She won’t make it out alive!’; 

‘Did you hear? She will birth the first of a new kind. A kind with demon blood’.  

If your legs could go any quicker, they would.  

A child grows in your womb now. A child for the man you love—Ralak. The man who deserves it most. You’re scared and excited all at once. Proud to bear a son for such a notable and fearsome man. But afraid of how your family will take to the news.  

This was your first month of being a mated pair, and you’ve already succumbed to your most primordial instinct to mate. And with what everyone is already whispering, you’re scared of much more than that. Is what they say true? Is this a risky thing? Will he be teased for being different? Will he be rejected from the clan?  

Does Ralak… even want this?  

You both hadn’t even sat down and spoken about the possible consequences of such a cosmic event—your synced cycles. What if he hadn’t meant all the things he said? Or if he really just couldn’t prevent the things that he did during his rut? How would he react if that were the case?  

Your mind is running at a hundred clicks an hour and your nerves are wringing your stomach that it takes the hot sand spilling through the cracks of your toes to make you realise that you’re already home.  

And there he is, in all his glory.  

Doing nothing other than sharpening his damn spear. Sitting on his knees, leaned back with his flexed abs and gathered brows, concentrating on his task—blissfully unaware of the gossip spreading throughout the clan. The sight brings serenity to the white noise in your head, leaving nothing but the crash of the waves and the splash of the ilus off in the distance. I  

Ralak’s ears twitch as he senses your presence, but he remains focused on the stroke of his whetstone against the blade. He can feel your apprehension from where he sits, and he can already tell what you’re here for. Yet he chooses to keep his appearance no less than stoic, but not enough to be intimidating.  

“Tanhì.” He hums low enough that you strain to hear him.  

“I need to speak with you.” You utter, wetting your dry lips with a quick swipe of your tongue. You stand there fidgeting with your fingers as you await a reply from your husband. It’s almost mortifying how silent this man can actually be. You see the slight tilt of his head and his ear perk up to listen closely. Taking this as your cue to speak, you try to find the words to say.  

How do I say this?  

Ralak is a simple man, perhaps it’s better to give it to him straight. An easy, ‘I carry your unborn son’, would do, right? You begin to gnaw on the dry skin on your bottom lip as you think. But his silence is really getting to you today. How can he sit there so… unbothered? Not even a glance thrown your way or an eyelash batted. Maybe you should just spit it out — ‘you got me pregnant’.  

“Hm?” He lets out a muffled grunt, swiping the whetstone against the spearhead. It sounds innocent. Like he’s just immersed in a task and couldn’t quite bring himself to completely stop. 

“We no longer need to prepare for my heat.” You blurt out, not even knowing where the words came from. You witness his spine straighten and him quickly stilling his movements.  

Little did you know his heart gallops at the speed of a direhorse, thumping wildly between his ribs as he prepares himself to finally hear you utter the words. Oh, how he had been waiting for your sweet voice to sing the news. But he realises that you seem to need an extra push to say them.  

“And why is that?” Ralak husks, still unmoving.  

You wait for him to turn around. To look your way. Something.  

But… nothing.  

“I’m pregnant.” 

Ralaks heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. A grin spreads from ear to ear, so strong and wide that if you were really paying attention you would have caught the way his ears stand at full height.  

But you were too busy fighting the bubble of the blood in your thumping heart, trying to keep your frustration to a minimum. You had expected more. For him to turn around, at the very least. All you could hear was the da-dump and the silence between you two. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Perhaps it’s all the hushed chatter from earlier or maybe it’s just the new surge of hormones and out-of-whack pheromones but you can’t help the burn of your eyes as they fill with tears.  

“So w-what? Not even a glance my way? You knock me up and have nothing to s-say for it?”  You choke back your heated tears of frustration, Ralak now huffing a vehement sigh. “You’re not even surprised, or—” Your blubbering is cut short by your husband's quick movement.  

Ralak instantaneously brings himself to his feet and storms over to you, towering over your petite frame. Now he’s peering down at you, dark, smouldering eyes holding the most intimidating gaze with you as he closes the distance between your bodies. He’s still damp from seeing to the ilus this morning that when your chest touches his cold, bare stomach, it hardens your nipples into stiff peaks.   

“Surprised?” He rasps, his large hand flying to your lower stomach, gently pressing into it. Heaving shoulders slowing as he steadies his breathing, Ralak lowers his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear— 

“Do you not think I had every intention of putting this baby inside of you?” 

Hearing this spoken in such an assertive tone sends shivers up your spine—Ralak knows exactly how to handle you and your… sensitivity. He always has. Your tail sways uncontrollably behind you, earning a well concealed smirk from the giant before you. It’s always been one of his favourite parts of you, but now—oh, now he has a new favourite part of you.  

Your soon-to-be swelling belly.  

“I have known.” He admits through a whisper, smoothing his entire palm over your budding womb, planting a quick kiss on your temple. “Your scent… it has changed, tanhì.”  

“What?” You whisper, almost pulling away from his tender touches to look at him. “And you didn’t say anything?”  

“I wanted to hear you say it. I have been waiting… to hear you say it.” He’s the one to pull away this time, looking you deeply in the eyes. His free hand raises, using his thumb to wipe away a tear seeping from the corner of your eye. “Please. Do not cry.”  

You don’t even know what to say. Yet again, Ralak leaves you speechless—with trembling lips and a swelling throat.  

“And you are actually eating the payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] I cook.”  

“What?” You snort, letting loose a sudden, nasally giggle. You drop your smile and try to fix a serious expression on your face. “What do you mean? I always eat your payoang niktsyey [fish wraps]”  

Ralak laughs, his three fingers tucking hair behind your ear, “I see you throw them to the ilus, tanhì. I am no fool.”  

You laugh again, snotty-nosed and teary-eyed, sniffling when the uncontrollable giggling fit ends. “It seems that our son enjoys your cooking, ‘lak.” You bubbler with a wobbly smile, blinking harshly to clear your vision.  

Ralaks eyes bulge as they frantically search yours—a beaming smile spreading across his lips, his pointed teeth on full display. “Son?” He exhales softly, his left brow bone jumping ever so slightly.  

All you can do is nod, letting your wobbly smile morph into a grin. The tears come back like they never left, twice as much and even hotter than before. You swear you see Ralaks eyes gloss over too, glistering in the sunlight.  

Ralak sinks to his knees, coming face to face with your soft tummy. 

“My prrnen [baby]. My ‘evengan [son; boy child]. It is your sempu [daddy].” He whispers, heated lips slightly pressed against your silken skin. Chin tucked to your chest, you watch in awe, straining to listen to his hushed whispers. “I have wanted you for so long.”  

Hearing that—oh, how hearing that makes you feel. You feel warm inside, your heart so full all your earlier fears melt away. Ralak looks up at you, azure blue eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration—gratitude and admiration.  

“My sweet tanhì. You have made me the man I have always wanted to be.” He croons at you, planting a long, soft kiss on your stomach—eyes still locked with yours. “And I thank you for that. Nìt’iluke [forever; never-endingly]”  

And just like that, the butterflies you felt when you first laid eyes on this man come rushing in, flapping their wings at full force.  

“I am your mate.” You sputter out a little, tiny sob. “It’s what I-I am supposed to do.”  

Ralak stands up, holding eye contact with you the entire way.  

“You owe me nothing. It is an honour that you carry my unborn, y/n.” His hand leaves your stomach to grasp your hand, intertwining his thickset fingers with yours. “You will be a nawm [great] mother.” 

“And you will be the best father.” You choke back your sobs, struggling to get your words out. A comfortable silence passes, where you both immerse yourselves into one another’s touch. Until Ralak witnesses your expression morph into something of worry.  

“What is it?” He asks in a hushed voice, keeping his tone calm and cool.  

“Speaking of… fathers.” The column of your throat undulates when you gulp hard, “How will I tell mine?” 

Ralak swallows, too. The thought had crossed his mind a few times over the past week. He saw the answer as simple – tell him. Ralak holds a lot of respect for your father, looking up at him as a superior given his status and skill as a warrior. And although he’s slightly intimidated by your father, Ralak sees this respect as mutual—therefore, it should be returned. Surely, this will go smoothly if you both remain polite.  

Right?  

“We tell him. Together.” Ralak grasps your hand once more, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, his heavy accent shining through now that he’s high on emotions, “I keep you safe. Both of you.”   

—— 

Both you and Ralak make your way down the shore towards the webbing of overlapping mangrove roots. Though you insisted on breaking the news to your family by yourself, he was adamant that he accompanies you. You couldn’t bear the thought of your father lashing out on Ralak, especially in front of the others. You tried to explain that to him, but he simply shook his head and tightened the clasp of his saya (knife sheath) on his hip.   

You make the trek by foot, wanting a little more time to think about what you were going to say, and he ensured to stay right behind you. Quite literally—looming behind you like some sort of bodyguard. Every na’vi you pass are quick to avert their gaze elsewhere when they see the giant you have as a shadow. They tried not to look to begin with, but it was a rare sight to see you two so close together among the clan.  

Their hushed whispers are kept to an absolute minimum but Ralak hears them nonetheless. It doesn’t bother him. Not anymore, at least. It used to bother him before he had met you—hearing the chatter of the gossip about his voluntary six year celibacy despite being the chief’s right hand man. And now that the murmurs entail nothing but his relationship with you, he could care less.  

But then he hears the indistinct mumble about the babe budding in your womb. It’s something along the lines of ‘it being some demon hybrid’. The comment alone has Ralak screeching to a halt, his head snapping in the direction of a stocky, young warrior in training. One that Tonowari had relentlessly urged Ralak to teach until he begrudgingly gave him a couple combat lessons.  

Ralak’s eyes narrow and sharpen, snapping down to shoot a threatening leer down at him. That's all it took for the stumpy na’vi to drop his head in shame and scurry away with his younger companions.  

Sensing that Ralak is no longer on your tail, you turn around, half-expecting him to be five steps behind. Instead, he’s right where you left him, with a reassuring smile and an extended hand gesturing you to ‘continue’. You return a light hearted smile and spin around, taking another step towards your family marui.  

—— 

“To what do we owe the visit?” Neteyam smiles as he greets you at the marui door, arms splayed out for a hug. You smile and slump into your brother, allowing him to envelope you in a warm embrace. “We haven’t seen you in what feels like weeks, sis.”  

“Because we haven’t.” Lo’ak adds, lurking behind his bigger brother, arms crossed over his chest with a grin on his face.  

“Hey Lo’.” You say in a low voice, smiling at him as you let go of your big brother. Ralak silently stands at the marui door, head awkwardly tilted in an attempt to fit himself in such a tight space. 

“Hey, sissy.” Lo’ak throws an arm around your neck, patting your shoulder a few times as he walks you further inside and away from Ralak. “What’s up with the shadow?” He doesn’t even try to quieten his voice as he nudges his chin in your husband's direction.  

You force a little laugh, unwrapping his arm from around your neck so you can inch away back to your ‘shadow’. You back up until you bump into his solid build, making a muffled thump when you collide. He steadies you by the shoulders, lidded eyes flicking down to check that you’re okay. He can sense your nervousness. 

“I–we… have something to tell you guys.” You begin, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Where’s everyone else?”  

Lo’ak’s eyes squint, brows furrowing as the gears in his brain grind twice as fast to figure out what you could possibly be calling a family meeting for. “No fucking way. Already?” He blurts out when he finally puts two and two together. Your eyes widen when they dart over to him, catching sight of the shit eating grin plastered to his face.   

Fuck, is this skxawng going to spoil it for me? You think to yourself, apparently loud enough for Ralak to hear. He squeezes your shoulders before sliding his hands down the full length of your arms and letting go. “Mawey [calm].” He breathes, his head still hanging low. You look behind you, tilting your head up to meet his comforting gaze.  

“Hey, babygirl.” Jake’s voice snaps your attention back down, having you look your father in the eye. His smile is as wide as his arms as he approaches you for a hug.  

“Dad. Hey.” You whisper, returning the hug and snuggling into his chest. You bask in the moment, lingering onto how things are now—before you drop the bomb on him.  

“I missed ya.” Jake chuckles, rubbing your back. He finally lifts his head and sees your ‘shadow’ hovering a little closer than needed. “Jeez, let her breathe, boy. She’s just huggin’ her old man.” Ralak keeps his head hung and takes a small but noticeable step back. Jake gives you a quick peck on the head as he begins to pull away. “What have ya’ been up—”  

Jake cuts himself short, leaning back in to smell your hair. His eyebrows gather when he recognizes the familiar scent. Neytiri has smelled similarly a few times before. Jake grinds his teeth, scrunched brows and narrow eyes giving away his current state of mind. His hands slide down your arms, gripping then as he looks you dead in the eye. “Y/n. You got somethin’ to tell me?” 

“Dad–” You swallow down the knot in your throat, already getting choked up.  

Jake's lips purse into a thin line as his death-stare immediately averts to Ralak. And for what feels like an eternity, nothing but silence fills the room. The tension in the air is almost suffocating. Jakes eyeing Ralak down whilst Ralaks stare is locked on the way he’s holding you.  

You glance over at your brothers. One’s obviously got it figured out, arms crossed, shaking his head with a smug look on his face. And one is completely clueless—poor thing. You look back at your father who is now seething, leer averted back to you as he exerts all his energy into being patient.  

“What’s going on? Guys?” Neteyam breaks the silence with a worried tone to his voice. His eyes bounce from person to person, until they land on his brother.  

“He knocked her up.” Lo’aks whispers harshly, not even trying to be discreet. Neteyams brows raise and now he is, too, staring at you. You feel all the blood drain from your face and suddenly you’re extremely light in the head.   

Mortified is an understatement.  

Everyone is clearly waiting for you to confirm it. But you’re having such a difficult time saying the two silly little words. The pressure is on now, you could even see Ralak straining to hold his tongue. You finally muster up a cowardly nod, and immediately your fathers grip intensifies, squeezing your arms firm and tight. He’s looking down at you with eyes of disbelief and somewhat disappointment, frantically searching yours to see if this is really the truth. You let loose a low hiss, wincing when you feel the pinch of his grip.  

Not even another second passes when you hear the slap of your husband’s large hands grabbing ahold of your father’s wrists.  

“She is pregnant.”  

A deep, but low growl rips from Ralaks chest. In other words, ‘never lay your hands on a pregnant woman’. Ralak dwarfs Jake as he inches in a little closer, grasping his wrists just firm enough to send this message.  

“Yeah. Got it, bud.” Jake returns a growl through his teeth and tightened lips. He shifts his position slightly, eyes flicking down to acknowledge what his son in law is trying to get across. Nonetheless, Jake stands his ground. “Get your hands off me.”  

Ralak tries to regain his composure, but his protective instincts have just about gone haywire. The urge to protect has never been so intense before. It’s like his soul knows that there’s just more to protect.  

More at stake. 

Ralak looks down at your fathers hands once more, silently making his point clear. He holds eye contact with Toruk makto whilst he remains unmoving.  

“Lak…” You squeak a warning to your husband, who only flutters his jaw as a response. Lo’ak and Neteyam are on edge, both concerned that their father has a grip on you, but even more so that Ralak has a grip on their father. They watch intently, trying to decipher if and when they need to intervene.  

To everyone’s surprise, Jake exhales harshly through his nose and gently pulls away from you, but wrenches his wrists away from Ralak’s grasp. “Sorry, kid.” Jake spits an apology, readjusting his position to be directly in front of Ralak. “Care to explain how this happened so damn quick?” 

“Dad!” You shout in disbelief, wedging yourself back in between the two.  

“You know what? Don’t even answer that.” Jake snaps.   

“You know you are really no one to talk! Where’s mom? Mom!” You go on the tips of your toes, leaning from side to side to look for her behind both the two male na’vi.  

“‘xcuse me?” Jake purposely blocks your view by bobbing his head wherever yours goes. “I am still your father and you will not speak to me that—” Jake steps to the left to avoid Ralak and walk towards you. Ralak quickly adjusts himself to be the wall between you and your father, not allowing Jake the chance to even finish his sentence. Ralak is now looking down at Jake with a stoic expression, trying his best not to come off intimidating or challenging in any way.  

All to no avail.  

“You got a problem with me, boy?” Jake grumbles through his clenched jaw, getting in Ralaks face now.  

“No. Only keeping my word, sir.” Ralak simply responds.  

Jakes brought back to the very moment he made Ralak give him his word. His word that he’d never let a thing happen to his baby girl. The night you completed your iknimaya. The night he granted Ralak the permission to mate with you.  

The night Ralak took your virginity. 

Jake stalls for a few seconds, taken aback by Ralaks behaviour but a little impressed at the same time. Jake's expression softens upon realizing that Ralak is just protecting his mate—just as he does Neytiri, especially during her pregnancies.  

But there’s no way in hell that Jake will be the first one to back down here.  

“Mom!” You call for her once more, hoping that she’ll swoop in and save the day.  

Neytiri rushes in, hand on her hip where she keeps her dagger sheathed—worry and concern etched into her features. She analyses the situation, taking in the scene of her own mate standing face to face with yours. She glances over at you, seeing the panic in your eyes and the hand on your stomach that you didn’t even know you had placed there. Slowly walking up to the two male na’vi, she places a firm hand on her mates chest, pushing him away from Ralak. “Ma’ Jake. What is happening here?”  

Jake’s pressing his lips firmly together, not wanting to say the words. He shakes his head a little, huffing through his nostrils before placing a hand on his hip. His other hand extends in your direction, as if he were pointing out the obvious. Yet he remains choked up and speechless, his hand falling to his thigh as he gives up.  

Finally, he mumbles, “Go on. Tell her.”  

Neytiri looks back at you, eyes trailing back down to your hand that’s mindlessly resting on your stomach as she awaits for your answer. You feel the burn of her eyes, yanking away your hand when it becomes too much. Being the daughter of Mo’at, a tsahik, Neytiri needed nothing more than a quick glance and sniff to know what’s going on. “Is this true?”  

“Yes, mom. It is true. I am.” You say in a defeated tone of voice. Ralak shifts himself, settling close beside you now rather than in front of you. He always had an even greater respect for your mother.  

Neytiri’s expression only grows softer, until there's no trace of concern left in her face. Her smile is downturned but her eyes are bright, glistening with joy as she pulls you in for a warm embrace.  

“It is a blessing from Eywa, my child.”  

She pulls away from you, now looking over to Ralak. Neytiri lays a gentle hand on Ralaks upper bicep, “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations] .” Ralak signs ‘I see you’ to his mother in law, exchanging a light hearted smile with her.  

It was no secret that Neytiri longed to be a grandmother. Her days of children are over now, although she was expecting her eldest, Neteyam, to give her a grandchild first. But Ralak — Ralak is a remarkable, mighty warrior and hunter. The olo’eyktans right hand man, and undoubtedly the best fisherman in the village.  

In fact, Ralak was one of the first people Neytiri took a liking to after she adjusted to the way of water. She always felt that he was a good suitor for her daughter.  

“Are you kiddin’ me? It’s barely been two months!” Jake scoffs, shaking his head.  

“And a day for us, Jake.” Neytiri tries her best to keep a calm, but firm voice. “They are a mated pair, they are having a family now. It is Eywa’s will.”  

Jake quiets himself, reflecting on his harsh ways. He sighs, loudly. His eyes finally glance down to what everyone in the room has been looking at, now staring at your protective hand that mindlessly lay over your womb once again. He grits his teeth, averting his stare to the ground, eyeing the charred wood of the fire pit. His tongue clicks as he parts his lips, muttering— 

“I know… I know, alright? She’s just—” He looks up at Neytiri, then Ralak, and then you. “She’s my babygirl.”  

It’s his way of saying, ‘I just want to protect my family.’ 

“Dad. I am but—but I’m not your baby anymore. I’m not a kid.” You croak, finding it hard to hold eye contact with him. “Your grandson is the new baby of this family.”  

Jake tries to fight the way his eyebrows scrunch together, it was like hearing about the news of his firstborn son all over again. He exhales slowly, nodding his head and extending his arms to hold you. His warmth envelopes you completely, leaving no room for any cold or harsh thoughts and feelings to linger.  

“You keep ‘em safe.” Jake's chin presses into the crown of your head as he mutters the words to Ralak. Ralak had always had a hard time understanding Jake's native slang, but this he understood— loud and clear.  

“Always.” Ralak answers firmly.  

Your safety has been, is and will always be his number one priority.  

Jake nods once, squeezing you a little tighter before letting go fully. “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations], you two.” 

“Thank you, dad.” You smile whilst Ralak bows his head. Neteyam and Lo’ak finally come over for their hugs, making a comment of their own as they release you from their grasps.  

“I’m gonna teach him everything I know.” Lo’aks grin is unnerving and a little sinister, giving away the trouble that he’s already trying to get your son into.  

“Please don’t.” You joke back with your brother, even though you’re being dead serious.  

Neteyam jabs an elbow into his brother's rib cage, disciplining him for his mischief. “Agh — do not worry, Uncle TeTe will keep him in check.”  

“Well, that’s a relief.” You say softly with a smile on your face, “‘Uncle TeTe’. I like that.”  

“Hey, don’t forget about ‘Uncle Lo’Lo’.” Lo’ak chimes in.  

“Eh. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know? What do you think, lak?” You jester, looking up at him to be met with a slight smirk.  

“Very… hiyìk [strange; funny].” Ralaks smirk pulls at his lips a little more. “But, at least it is not ‘ak’-ak’.”  

You swear you hear a little chuckle from everyone in the room. All except Lo’ak, who is staring at Ralak with a deadpan expression, arms crossed defensively over his chest. It feels like an eternity passes until Lo’ak finally booms with laughter, extending his arm out to Ralak, who gaily reciprocates and meets Lo’aks’ with a smack.  

“I like this bodyguard of yours, y/n. He actually has a sense of humour.”  

You let loose a scoff and roll your eyes, about ready to wrap this whole thing up and lie down in bed. It’s seemingly obvious, seeing that everyone is giving you space as they take note of your restless body language and bowed shoulders.  

“If you are tired, you should rest.” Neytiri advises, just as you feel Ralaks hand tuck under your arm to support your weight. “Your body is working hard right now.” 

“Yeah, mom. I think I need to lie down for a little.” You mumble, leaning into your mate a little more.  

Your family practically ushers you out, encouraging you to get some rest and to get off your feet. Ralak walks close to you on the way home, keeping with the pace you set to the tee — only intervening with a hand to your hip when necessary.  

And when you finally slump into bed, your eyelids flutter shut before Ralak can settle himself beside you.  

——smut warning—— 

You rouse to Ralak drawing the curtain of your marui, blocking out the orange hue of the last eclipse. It dawns on you that you’ve slept out most of the day. You didn’t even realise you were so tired to begin with.  

“You should have woken me earlier. I slept out the day.” You mumble, sitting up in bed and lightly kicking off the sheets.  

Ralak turns around, surprised that you’re awake. He curses himself under his breath; he was hoping to keep you sleeping by drawing the curtains but instead he did the opposite.  

“You needed to rest.” He says, making his way over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You have been more tired recently.”  

“Yeah?” You snort, “…and what else have I been, sir know-it-all?” 

Ralak chuckles, his eyes falling to your stomach. “…a little more hungry.”  

You smile a little, remembering his fish wrap comment from earlier.  

But then you witness his half-lidded eyes glaze over with something of… wanton. It takes a second to realise that they’re no longer staring at your belly. They’re staring at your tewng [loincloth]. More specifically, the mound imprinting it.  

It’s the way your pussy is being so tightly squeezed by the thin cloth covering it. It’s the one thing that Ralak can’t help himself from indulging in admiring. Then his eyes snap away,  unexpectedly meeting yours. The stare he’s giving you has your thighs rubbing together and your lower tummy tingling.  

“…a little more tempting.” His voice is thick like honey, laced with lust and arousal.  

In every way. From the way you fill out your top more, to your scent—you’re becoming more  

irresistible the farther along you progress. Your heart beats a little harder between your ribs as you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. His lecherous gaze is fixed, blue eyes piercing into yours. It’s been too long since he’s been inside you that it aches.  

But he’s been patient.  

Especially since the day he figured out you were pregnant. With the way you smelt he found it hard to keep his distance at times but nonetheless, he did it. But the truth is that you haven’t had penetrative sex since your cycles synced.  

To be clear, he took care of you just fine.  

Tending to your needs whenever you initiated intimacy with him but he never took it further than his fingers and mouth. After seeing you so battered by his own hands he found it hard to put you in a position that could garner a similar result again.  

For a while, he lost trust within himself.  

That he no longer had the capacity for self control. Not only did he feel like he didn’t deserve it, but he never expected you to return the pleasure either. He had already taken you on his own terms. Repeatedly.  

Ruthlessly.  

So when you ate one to many of his payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] — when the new earthiness of your scent wafted past his nose — he knew. He knew it stuck. He knew your womb swelled with his child as each day passed. And the urge to protect only swelled with it.  

He became even more gentle with you. Handling you with care when your skin softened and your hips became a little fuller. Ensuring he had excess when he cooked. Weaving an extra thick blanket for you to sleep with when he was off on duty with Tonowari.  

It ached most when he’d come home just to see it kicked off onto the floor, with you on your stomach and your leg propped up just right. Your loincloth would always shift to the side, just enough to expose plump folds that innocently peek through the seam of the thin fabric. Fuck, it more than ached. It made him tender. Throbbing in his own tewng.  

Just like now.  

He dares not to break the steady, intent stare. Or else he may steal another glance at the softness between your thighs. But he can see in your eyes that you feel similarly. You always give him that look before doing something ‘troublesome’. You break eye contact first, your eyes now landing on his tewng.  

Fuck. 

Your eyes widen a little when you catch sight of the growing, thick bulge in his loincloth. Your gaze locks onto it, taking in every detail. From the thick stripes on his thighs to the way the twine of his loincloth is cutting into his v-lines. You can even see the outline of the crown of his cock.  

His stomach rises and falls from his uneven breathing, and his abs pop out one by one as he leans further back—supporting his torso with his arms behind his back. He was never shy about his body, and he certainly isn’t now.  

“Then, why do you resist me?” Though it's a question, it doesn’t sound like one when the words drip off your lips. Your voice is soft and feigned with innocence, yet you're shuffling to get on all fours to crawl over to him. You truthfully don’t care for the answer, you knew that it would be the same old song—‘he doesn’t want to hurt you’. 

“I hurt you.” He says coldly—simply, glancing at the fading scar on your shoulder as you settle yourself on your knees beside him. He watches as your hand finds purchase on his knee, and slides up his thigh. “And now that you are with child… I—haah”. He’s cut short with a shaky breath and slight jolt when you cup his bulge with a bit of force. He looks down at your hand, dainty and slender, barely grasping half of what’s under his tewng.  

“You worry about me too much.” You mumble, more focused on the speed at which his cock pulses at. “Yet still, never yourself.” You feel around, sliding your palm up and down its length, earning a rough exhale from Ralak in return. His lidded eyes dart back over to you, taking in the sight of you almost bent over his lap.  

“That so?” His voice is thick and gruff.  

“Mhm. ‘m always telling you that, aren’t I?” You hum softly, slowly moving your hand further down between his legs, firmly cupping his balls. They’re heavy in your hand, hot to the touch and— 

Eywa. 

“They’re swollen.” You whisper breathlessly, your glossy eyes meeting him with concern. They dart back to his crotch, your hand now fumbling with the twine of his tewng, hurriedly trying to unravel the knot to get the suffocating fabric off him. 

“‘tis fine.” He winces as he spits out the words, watching you pinch him a little while struggling with the taut material.  

Ignoring his words, you continue with your task, a bit more gently now. And when the knot comes undone, the twine falls off his hips and the tewng loosens with it. You tug it off him and see that they’re not only puffed up but also darker in colour. They’re firm and pulled close to his body, perfectly round and stripes well-defined.  

Shamefully, it turns you on to see his balls so full.  

Just the thought of them being so swollen with his seed that they’re aching and throbbing to empty themselves inside you—fuck, it’s making your teeth grit. You sit back into the dip of your feet and stare as your breathing becomes heavier. The more you look the more you realize that they’re pulling tighter and tighter towards his core. You look up at him, a little surprised. Your arousal is etched into your features and it’s more than obvious in your body language. You want to know how they’d feel in your mouth. How they’d taste.  

If they’d even fit.  

Without another passing second you bend over his lap, tail high in the air and legs spread—the overpowering scent of your arousal filling the air. You shove your face between his thighs, inhaling deeply his musky scent. You let out a breath of desire, one that sounds nothing short of pleasure and satisfaction. He smells too good. You can’t help yourself but give his firm balls a quick, kitten lick. The giant above you holds back his chuckle, finding your behaviour cute and honestly a little amusing. Feeling like the butt of a joke, you firmly grasp his length and tug it upwards, causing his balls to pull even tighter.  

“Y/n.” He hisses your name, adjusting his legs to rid himself of the strained feeling. You wet your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue, and press your cheek against them. They’re hot—heating up a degree higher the more you tease him. Just as you pull your cheek away and manage to fit one of them into your mouth, his hand flies to the back of your head, balling your hair into his fist.  

“You need not to—” your tail curls and the tip of it tickles against his chest, “—haah…do this.” Ralak huffs out a sigh of frustration it seems, looking down at you with somewhat of a predatory leer. You pop off with a pwah, catching your breath and turning your head.  

You both share an intent stare with one another, one that feels more challenging than anything. He’s insistent that he’s undeserving of this, and you’re insistent that he must be taken care of. His grip loosens on your hair, until he lets you go completely.  

“Shh…shh.” You shush him, eyes narrowing as they remain locked onto him. You slowly slide off the bed one leg at a time, sinking to your knees and settling yourself between his legs—now looking up at him with doe-eyes. The sight before you has your heart palpitating, just like the sight of your face so close to his cock has his jaw clenching.  

Ralak quiets himself by locking his jaw, waiting patiently to see how this unfolds. It’s the first he’s seen you in this position, on your knees, between his. His cock twitches in excitement as clear, thick beads of precum begin to roll down its length. You swallow thickly at the sight, wrapping your dainty fingers around its girth to pull it close to your flushed lips.  

Ralaks ears flutter and his eyelids grow heavy, his chest heaving as he shifts his weight to the palms of his hands—sitting up.  

You open your mouth, strings of your saliva connecting your lips together. They break when you lower your head, taking the mushroomy, glistening head of his cock into your mouth. It’s mostly sweet, and a little salty too. The corners of your mouth sting as you accommodate his thickness, and you struggle to open your jaw wide enough to take him further into your mouth.  

His head dips forward, eyes slamming shut when he feels your wet, warm tongue press against the underside of his cockhead. His hand flies to your head again, gently cupping the back of your skull as he lets out a strained breath.  

Muffled noises vibrate through your nose as you swipe your tongue side to side against his head. It throbs against your tongue each time it hits that sensitive spot right down the middle. You suckle and swipe at the same time, using your hands to pump the rest of his length until you're grunting and snorting for air. You come up, gasping to fill your lungs.  

His hand quickly slides from the back of your head to cup the swell of your cheek. His calloused thumb swipes at a bead of saliva rolling down your chin and pops it back into your mouth. “What are you doing, my tanhì?” He whispers the rhetorical question, ensuring his voice is calm and gentle. It sounds as if he’s given up—given in.  

Without answering, you take him back into your mouth, locking your jaw once you open it as wide as you possibly can. You stick your tongue out as far as it’ll go and look up at him with eyes that begin to water. He looks down at you with a concerned expression, which morphs into one of astonishment. Your head goes lower and lower, taking inch after inch of his cock down your throat.  

The tears in your eyes finally spill over, and your nose begins to burn. Half of his length is down your throat and you can barely breathe, but the more his face grimaces from how good you feel around him, the more of him you urge yourself to take. You hold onto his hips, using them as leverage to shove more of him down your throat.  

“Hnng. Easy.” He groans roughly, pushing back against your shoves. “You are pregnaaah—mmn, you will make yourself sick, tanhì.”  

Lifting your hand from his hip, you smack away his hand and take him full hilt, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making it bulge. You stop for a second, slowly inhaling through your nose to focus on not gagging. You try moving the back of your tongue, slowly stroking the rest of his length with your hand.  

“Ah, shit.” He exhales shakily, his eyes rolling back before squeezing shut. He looks focused, like he’s concentrating on not cumming down your throat right then and there. Lips parted slightly, each breath he takes becomes louder and more raggedy. His thigh muscles tense up and his legs spread a little more, his hand finding its own way to the base of your kuru.  

Chest swelling with pride, you begin to bob your head and coat his cock with your sticky spit. The more slippery it gets the harder he has to fight back his choked grunts. The grip he has on your kuru is tightening, as if he were preparing himself to pry you off his cock before he fills your throat.  

Suddenly, his head sinks back and his jaw clenches—hard. You could feel it. The way his cock twitches. The way it’s heating up. The way it’s swelling in your mouth. Gurgled noises are escaping past his lips, and he purses them tightly together in attempts to keep himself quiet. His core flexes, and his hips start to stutter. His whole body jolts from how sensitive he’s getting, and finally he thrusts into your mouth, the pointed tip of his cock slamming into the back of your throat. 

You silently gag as his hips stammer into you and he’s fucking your throat in frenzied little movements. He’s trying his hardest to be as gentle as he possibly can.m, but your throat is so soft and tight around him. You swallow around his cock as you try to take a breath and suddenly his erratic movements still. 

“Y/n.” He lets loose a dying groan as his head slumps forward and his inebriated eyes struggle to open.  

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

His voice is gravelly and thick with restraint. You love to see him like this—hear him like this. You can’t help the wandering hand that’s making its way down to your soaked tewng. You try to touch yourself through the fabric, but have a hard time finding your clit with it covered like this. Exasperated, you shove your hand under the band of your loincloth and use all four fingers to rub sloppy circles into your puffy clit.  

Ralak is too immersed into this to even take note of your desperation. He’s too desperate himself. And if you don’t stop now, he really won’t be able to help himself. He begins tugging you by your queue, trying to pry you away from him. With each hasty swipe of your fingers you suck a little harder, as if you were trying to match your pleasure with your mates’. He pulls at your kuru even harder but you’re unbudging, firmly holding the base of his cock as you relentlessly suckle on the most sensitive part of his tip.  

“Stop.” He growls out of breath, finally looking down just to be tipped close to the edge by the sight below him. You look dumb and fucked out with his cock stuffed in your mouth, broken moans vibrating against his length as you franticly touch yourself.  

Finally, he yanks you off him with one swift, hard tug, his cock slapping his stomach when it pops out of your mouth. You land on your behind, legs spreading wide open as your fingers work away at your now throbbing clit.  

“Why? Can’t handle it?” You taunt him between pants and breathy, hoarse moans. Rather than answering he looks down at you with a cocked brow, kuru still in hand. Both of you stare at one another, shoulders and chests violently heaving as you both pant for air.  He’s raw and pulsing, twitching from the heartbeat in the crown of his cock.  

It's suspended mid air, jumping from how insanely aroused he’s left himself. Sticky beads of precum constantly roll down his shaft, one after the next and his balls are throbbing too. You get back on your knees and lunge for his cock again, tongue darting out to have another taste. He pulls you back, his hand still having a firm grasp of your kuru.  

“Is this what you are like when you have been bred?” Ralak huffs, a little taken aback by your lewd behaviour. His gaze shifts to your pathetic attempt to make yourself cum, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “So desperate.” Your silence has his brows scrunching together and him yanking your head back so you’re looking up at him. A growl rumbles in his chest as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you to your knees with him—his hung cock swaying directly in your face.  

A smug little smile pulls at your lips when you realise you’re riling him up. You witness his jawbone flutter, his ears laying flat against his skull. He just wants to stuff his cock back down your throat to teach you a lesson. Instead he shoves your face into his crotch, your nose burying itself into the space between his cock and balls. He holds you there for a few seconds, just long enough that when he finally pulls you away you suck in a tiny gasp of air.  

Ralak sighs a low, lengthy breath, forcing himself to regain his composure. He can’t understand how such a little thing can be so feisty. To act as if he couldn’t pin you down and take you without a scuffle. Truthfully it only makes him even harder. It only further proves that you are really the woman for him.  

Slowly bringing you to your feet, he keeps your face pressed to his body so that your bottom lip drags along his torso as you make your way up. Your hand is still stuffed inside your tewng, slick fingers working hard to find their way back to your clit. With his free hand he grabs a hold of your hip, and steadily backs you up against the wall.  

When your back hits the wall, a shaky breath is expelled from your lungs. He lets go of your kuru and rips your hand from your tewng. He then wedges his knee between your legs, putting pressure on your clit, making it flutter uncontrollably. His movements are quick but gentle, filled with purpose and desire. His eyes dart back and forth between yours as he searches them, his face just inches away from yours.  

“Answer me, little one.” He whispers into your mouth.  

“Yes.” Your answer is breathy and short.  

Ralak heaves a heavy sigh.  

“I am trying to be gentle…” He speaks the words through gritted teeth, using both hands on your hips to spin you around to face the wall. He lowers his head until his lips graze against the tip of your ear. “…but you make it so hard for me.” He growls, using the perfect amount of force to pin you against the wall with his body. His large hand swiftly moves to your lower stomach, cupping it to act as a protective barrier between the wall and your budding womb. 

“No need to be. I can handle you just fine.” Your lips are pressed tight to your teeth, face flush against the smooth surface, making it hard for you to speak clearly. “Pregnant or not.” 

Ralak chuckles.  

“Is that right?” He speaks in an almost condescending tone, hurriedly tugging down your loincloth just enough to get access to your cunt. Without warning, he bends his knees a little to align your pelvises and then shoves his cock between your slickened, warm folds. “Oh tanhì, you are soaked.” His voice quiets down into a hushed whisper, “All from sucking my cock?”   

A mewl splits your lips just as all the blood rushes to your face, staining it a bright pink. Your pussy clenches around nothingness only causing more of your slick to ooze on his cock. Your breath turns shaky, tail swishing wildly behind you. You can’t move even if you wanted to. He’s got you pinned down, quickly reminding you of his strength. And had it not been for his hand on your abdomen you would be completely plastered to the wall and taken on his terms.  

“Tsk-tsk…Have you no shame?” Ralak tuts, holding you still. “Or must I give you a lesson on self-restraint?”  

Despite his cockiness you can sense the urgency in his body language and in his voice. You can feel it in the way his hips stutter, as his cock slides back and forth between your pussy lips. His own desperation. The desire to be inside you. The need for release.  

“Go on then, karyu.” You moan softly, causing his grip on you to loosen for a millisecond. Hearing that name brings a feeling of nostalgia. Of lust. You push back into him, your slippery hole trying to suck him inside with a few quick movements of your pelvis. “But I know you’ve been desperate… desperate to fuck your numeyu.” 

“Oh, little one.” His chuckle is dark and depraved, his protective hand stiffening as if he were preparing it for what's to come. “Yet you are trying your hardest to take me inside you.” He licks your ear lobe to tip, whispering, “so cute.” 

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You mutter under your breath, steadying your feet to ground yourself.  

Ralaks ears flicker and stand tall, then immediately lay flat to his head—his brow cocking in astonishment. His smirk grows wider, the heat in his chest spreading to his extremities. Now that pushes him over the edge.  

“Say that again, numeyu.” He challenges you in a growl, angling his hips so his weeping cockhead prods at your entrance. He ensures not to let the buck of his hips win, keeping you empty and yearning.  

“Haah… afraid to take what’s yours.” You purr, rising to the tips of your toes to try sink him inside you. “Fnawe’tu—” 

Smack. 

The sound of his swollen balls making contact with your puffy clit is almost as loud as your broken gasp. You smile open mouthed as he holds his position balls deep inside you, firmly pressing the tip of his cock into your cervix. He’s grinding his back teeth, digging his chin into your shoulder to quell the rumble of his chest from how tight you’re squeezing his cock.  

You whine from the fullness of him stuffed inside your cunt, his unmoving hips sending a clear message of dominance. He’s hunched over you, body weight pinning you mercilessly against the wall, hand over your womb to keep your unborn safe—as promised. Still being gentle enough.  

But you want him to lose it.  

To fuck into you like he were in rut again. To use your pussy like a fucktoy to satiate his own greed and self pleasure. He deserves that much, for being such a competent and loving man to you. Yet it seems the only way to bring that out of him is to play dirty.  

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You repeat shakily. 

Smack. 

Another deep and hard thrust into your sloppy cunt. He lets loose the rumble in his chest this time, bearing his canines and putting most of his weight on you now. Lips pressed tightly together, your whimper is muffled and outright pathetic, pinched brows giving away the pleasure rippling through you. Still, he remains unmoving, undeniably making it clear who has the most leverage here. But that doesn’t really matter to you—you’re getting what you want, one way or another.  

Right?  

“Voìk si, little one [behave].” Ralak hisses, fighting the inner conflict within him.  

“Haa—” Your laugh that follows is a little sinister, open mouthed and smug. Hands pressing into the wall you push off its surface, sinking him deeper inside you. “No.”  

“Alright.” His voice is husky, thick with confidence and temperance.  

With a rough, quick tug, his cock slips out of you with a squelch, hanging freely between his legs. Your slick mixed with his precum slowly dribbling off his tip and onto the floor between your pointed feet. You fall to the flat of your feet, panting and whining from the sudden emptiness.  

“W-Wait.” You squeak, hastily getting back on the tips of your toes to stuff him inside you again. “Please.”  

“What was that?” Ralak asks, voiced feigned with innocence. “A little louder.” 

“Please.” You barely whisper, backing up on him.  

“Come now, tanhì.” His hand slips from your hip to grip his cock. Giving it a few strokes he teases your cunt with his cockhead and you instinctively shimmy down. Hips snapping back to prevent you from taking him inside, he dips his head so his mouth is next to your ear and husks, “You can do better than that.”  

“Please!” You moan loudly in desperation, reaching down to your knees to unfetter yourself from your tewng [loincloth].  

“Please, what?” Ralak spits the last word through pursed lips, ready to give you exactly what you want if you just ask for it nicely.  

“Please put it back inside.” You beg pathetically, finally getting the knot of your tewng undone. “Please, fuck me.” 

“Ahh, there’s my good girl.” Ralak praises you with a grin, sinking his cock into your warmth at a leisurely pace. His breathing stutters for every inch that penetrates you. “Was that so hard?”  

“Fuck.” You moan in relief, spreading your legs wider. He’s tamed you and he knows it. “No.” 

“No…?” Ralak says it like a question, hissing when he bottoms out in your cunt.  

“No, karyu.” You answer coyly, voice faltering from the pressure of his cockhead pushing into your cervix.  

“Agh—haah” Ralak lets out a gruff grunt in response, his hips now snapping back and forth out of his control. He’s huffing and puffing next to your ear, pumping his cock in and out of you in a frenzy of need. Swollen balls repeatedly slapping against your clit, it’s almost impossible to hold back the gurgled noises escaping your throat.  

“Fuck—so—fuckin’—deep—fuck.” The curses are punched out of you as he relentlessly smacks into you again and again.  

“Lì’fyaz [language.]” Ralak chides in a growl, hand slipping down to pull back the hood of your clit—taut.  

The continuous sting of your clit has your legs shaking and the way his cockhead is repeatedly stimulating your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back into your head. It’s almost too much all at once yet you yearn for more. Your cunt clamps down around him, especially when the tension becomes so tight you feel your stomach double-knot. Ralak hums when you tighten around him, only making him rut harder into you.  

Pulling back, he glances down at you sucking him in, your tail curled tight to your back and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy. He can see just how tight you are as your pussy walls grip his girth mercilessly. And with the protective hand on your abdomen, he can feel each thrust against the palm of his hand. It makes his chest swell with pride— 

You carry his child yet still take him so well.  

“Oeÿa tsantu [my good girl]” Ralak slips into his native tongue, panting in an accent as thick as tree sap. “Oeÿa numeyutsyìp [my little student]” 

Ralaks cock heats up inside you, heating your core along with it. It’s the same familiar sensation you feel before he provides you with your release. The feeling that keeps your eyes squeezed shut and breath shallow. He knows your close and slows his thrusts like he usually does, fucking you a little harder rather than faster, angling his pelvis so he’s right in your swelling g-spot.  

Your hands fly behind you, grasping at whatever’s available as your orgasm washes through you. You gush all over your thighs, cum dribbling down your legs to your feet, some spattering on Ralak as he fucks and holds you through your high. It’s sudden and uncontrollable, leaving you sputtering out nonsense and your legs shaking violently beneath you.  

“There it is. Good muntxate [wife].” Ralak huffs with a smirk, relishing in the quick, feverish flutter of your cunt on his cock. His voice is shaky from his uneven rhythm now that he can finally allow himself to finish too. “Love—hng—when you cum for me, you—ahh, haah—know that?” 

He begins grinding to you, shoving you further into the wall as he focuses on his own climax. He uses his feet to kick your legs closed, and pulls out of you, stuffing himself between your thighs. He’s groaning and growling, hunched over you with bent knees and flushed, flattened ears. Skin slapping against skin, he humps at your thighs, thick cock sliding back and forth over your still pulsing clit.  

His cockhead continuously pokes out between your folds, tip oozing and oozing with precum. Both his hands fly to your hips, gripping them with force as his thrusts become almost violent. You struggle to keep yourself standing as his hips smack into you repeatedly, your body jolting with each thrust. He gives you one last, harsh thrust, holding you still against him as you feel his cock throb wildly between your thighs. You look down to see his huge load shoot out in thick, white ropes. He’s grumbling behind you, giving your thighs an extra few uncontrollable thrusts as he peaks in his high.  

Finally you fall to the flat of your feet, his arms instantly snaking around your waist to support your weight entirely.  

“I told you no taunting, tanhì.” He’s referring to the time he opened up about his first rut, “Next time, you ask nicely. Tslam? [Understand?]” Ralak says breathlessly.  

“Sran, oeÿa karyu. tslolam. [Yes, my teacher. I understand].” You blubber, fucked out and jaded.  

—— 

[gigabyte-flare]

Insatiable (Part 1)

Summary: You are a researcher for D.S.O. who is responsible for studying Leon Kennedy as Las Plagas overtakes him, maybe even finding a cure. He starts to take a liking to you, too much of a liking to you.

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: Heavily inspired by this artwork by @chanif-art on Tumblr along with Project Scorpion by @tagzpite. Literally could not get this idea out of my head until I wrote it down. Definitely going to be another series. We're also going to pretend D.S.O. was founded way sooner than 2011 k byeeeeee

“I fought a war and I learned how to win, but how do you fight when the enemy’s within?”

You step out of an elevator led by two armed D.S.O. operatives in tactical gear deep underground at HQ, your white lab coat flowing gently as you walk forward. Grasped in your right hand is a voice recorder. You and the operatives go through a series of heavy steel doors leading you into the bowels of the underground facility.

Is all this really necessary? you think to yourself as you’re led deeper into the abyss.

Finally, you’re brought to a single cell enclosed with clear polycarbonate panels with steel reinforcements. In this cell was a man sitting in a chair that was bolted into the floor, his hands chained behind his back and his legs chained to the legs of the chair. This man is Agent Leon S. Kennedy. You approach one of the panels closest to the steel door keeping him in. 

Switching the voice recorder on and bringing it to your mouth, you state your name before continuing, “The year is 2004. The subject is field agent Leon Scott Kennedy, currently 27 years old and exhibiting the late stages of Las Plagas infestation, his body is covered in dark, vein like marks. Subject is currently slumped over in the chair. He appears to be catatonic.”

Bringing the recorder away from your mouth, you motion to one of the operatives to guard the door. You input a passcode into a key panel next to the door. It lets out a hiss as it slowly swings open. As you step in, the door swings closed and locks.

You bring the recorder back to your mouth and continue, “Agent Kennedy?”

You watch as Leon slowly lifts his head, his face completely covered in the dark veins, his once blue eyes now have a slight red tinge to them, it makes your stomach twist in sorrow, he used to be such a handsome man.

“Subject appears to still have some cognitive ability left as he immediately recognized his name. We’re still trying to understand how he hasn’t broken down now that the alpha Plagas host, Osmund Saddler, has been destroyed--”

“I’m right here, you know,” Leon suddenly spoke, making you jump.

“Ag-Agent Kennedy!” you reply, eyes wide in shock that he’s able to speak. 

“Please, just call me Leon, sweetheart.”

His dark gaze seemed to pierce straight into your very soul. You collect yourself, clearing your throat.

“How are you feeling, Leon?”

Leon looks down at himself, tugging gently at his restraints before looking back up at you, “all things considered, I actually feel pretty damn good.”

“That’s… good, I guess,” you reply, your nervousness clear in your voice. 

You hadn’t prepared for this, every researcher that attempted to interact with him got absolutely nothing out of him, hence why they sent you down. You argued with them, not seeing the point but now you began to realize that the difference was they were all men, you were a woman. 

“Awww… there’s no need to be so nervous, sweetheart, it’s just me, Leon Kennedy. I promise I don’t bite,” he says, a small smirk appearing on his lips, “hard.”

“Do you know where you are and why you’re here, Leon?”

He lets out a chuckle, “yeah, I’m in D.S.O.’s research facility because I’m turning into a monster.”

“That’s putting it rather bluntly, but yes, that’s correct.”

“About time they sent someone cute down here to visit me, the rest were much too dull. If I wasn’t chained up, I’d ask you out to dinner and a movie.”

You feel yourself blushing, “that’s… very kind of you Leon, however that won’t be happening anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name,” he growls, a sinister grin overtaking him.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest as your eyes widen at him. This wasn’t like Leon at all, the parasite was clearly twisting his thoughts. You panic, turning around to motion the operatives to open the door and let you out. As soon as you’re out of the cell, you briskly walk away from the cell as fast as you can, not once looking back. You could have swore you heard Leon’s laugh echo after you. 

“I am not going back down there, are you insane?!”

“You’re the first person he has actually spoken to since he got back from Spain,” the lead researcher, Bryan said, setting your voice recorder down onto his desk. 

“So? Your point? I’m not doing it and that’s final!”

“Look, this recording gives us valuable data on him, it’s clear that the Plagas inside him is mutating into a more dominant strain. It must know it’s the last one left,” Bryan said, pleading with you.

“So we’re just going to poke and prod him like he’s some guinea pig? Leon wouldn’t have wanted that! Are you sure there’s no way we can cure him?”

“If we attempt to remove the parasite now, it will kill him--”

“Then let’s put him out of his misery, this isn’t right!”

The silence between you was deafening. After a few minutes, Bryan finally spoke.

“Judging by this recording, the Plagas has one thing on its mind.”

“Which is…?”

Bryan looked up at you, letting out a heavy sigh, “reproduction.”

“All the more reason I shouldn’t be going back down there!”

“He’ll be restrained and you’ll have at least two operatives with you at all times, you’ll be safe,” Bryan leans forward on his desk, folding his hands together, “the data you collect from Agent Kennedy is invaluable in finding out how the parasite works, just… go down and talk to him. I know yesterday was unnerving but there is one thing he said that is true, he’s just Leon Kennedy. He’s in there somewhere, even if the Plagas is influencing him.”

You cross your arms, staring at the floor, letting out a frustrated sigh before looking back up at Bryan, “fine. But I want hazard pay.”

“Consider it done, here’s your recorder back,” Bryan says, sliding the recorder across the desk towards you. 

You grab the recorder of the desk, turning on your heel to walk out of Bryan’s office.

“You are to report down there in an hour, you hear me?” Bryan calls after you just as you walk out the door.

You fight the urge to flip him off, thinking better of it. You walk down the hall into your office, getting your lab coat back on and sitting at your desk. You press play on the recorder, listening back on your interaction with Leon several times. There was one part where you repeated it several times, sending chills down your spine.

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name.”

How long had Leon been locked down here, chained to this chair? How many men in lab coats came and tried to talk to him? He knew he was a lost cause, why were they keeping him alive? How many times did he wish death would come and take him in his sleep?

But then you came, awakening something in him.

Your natural scent filled the cell completely, so many hours had gone by and he could still smell you and you smelled absolutely divine. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way your voice was so sweet yet filled with drive and intelligence. The way you blushed when he flirted with you. The way your heartbeat began to race at just the mere mention of taking you.

God you were so cute when you ran off, all flustered, he couldn’t help but laugh; he hadn’t felt alive like that in so long. His reminiscing was interrupted suddenly when he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Lifting his head, he practically began to salivate when he saw you had returned.

You came back to me, baby, where you belong…

“The subject appears to be conscious and alert, he watched us as soon as we were in his line of sight,” you say as he watches you speak into the voice recorder. 

With a hiss, the door opens and you step inside. Leon breathed in deep, taking in the smell of you, you smelled even better than you had yesterday. He feels his cock twitch in his pants in excitement. He watches as the door behind you closes and locks, just like it had yesterday, trapping you in here with him.

Curse these fucking chains…

“You’re more lively today, Leon, care to tell me why?” you ask, your voice flat and void of any emotion.

“How about you tell me why you smell so nice,” Leon replies, grinning at you, drool running from his mouth down his chin.

He watches you shift uncomfortably before you continue, “I’m not answering that.”

Leon scoffs, shaking his head, “then I’m not going to talk to you, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath, “if I’m going to be honest, I don’t know why I smell so nice to you, Leon.”

His red eyes scan up and down your form, imagining it without all those needless clothes. Imagining himself pinning you to the floor and fucking you stupid. A strange, clicking sound came out of him from the back of his throat as he pulled aggressively on the chains holding him to the chair. He watches as the two men with guns outside become alert. Leon lets out a low growl as he glares at them.

You turn to face the men, signaling to them to stand down. He watches them both relax before you return your attention to him. 

“The transformation appears to be progressing faster than expected,” you say into the recorder, “are you in any pain, Leon?”

Leon slowly shakes his head, “no, just unbelievably horny, doll.”

“We have reason to believe the subject is displaying an increased libido due to the fact that the parasite inside him knows it’s the last of its kind.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, that’s awfully rude.”

“Fine,” you say, lowering the recorder away from your mouth, “what do you want to talk about, Leon?”

“You should ask those nice boys out there to take these chains off me,” Leon purrs, staring at you longingly.

“Absolutely not, Leon,” you reply, crossing your arms, “those chains are there for my safety as well as your own, at least until we can get the Plagas out of your body.” “I think I’m too far gone for that, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You take a deep breath and exhale loudly, the sorrow clear in your eyes, “I am so sorry that this is what you have become, Leon.”

“I’m not,” Leon says as that sinister grin overtakes him again; he starts to chuckle.

“Leon,” you begin, stepping closer and kneeling down to be eye level with Leon, “I know the real you is in there, somewhere, you have to fight it.”

Your scent was almost enough to drive him crazy, you were delectable. He licks his lips, that clicking sound coming out from this throat again. His eyes are locked on you and he sees you glance down briefly before looking back into his eyes. He knew what you were looking at, you were looking at the noticeable bulge in his cargo pants.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Leon says, his body visibly trembling.

You don’t respond, you simply stare at him with that same sad look in your eyes. How could you not want him as much as he wanted you. His lips curl into a snarl.

“Let me FUCK YOU!” he growls, lunging forward, the bolts in the chair letting out a loud screech as they’re bent slightly.

You stumble back, falling backwards onto the floor as Leon continues to struggle violently. The two men with guns come rushing in, one of them grabbing you off the floor while the other shoots a tranquilizer dart into Leon’s thigh. Leon feels the effects almost instantly, his body becomes limp as he becomes sluggish, his mouth hanging agape as he watches you get led out of the room by the two men, the door shutting and locking behind them as you’re led away.

“Mine,” he whispers in his last moments of consciousness, “all mine.”

Part 2

[writingoddess1125]

The Buggy Twins as Adults pt. 2 🤡 🤡

Art by Vamos_MK check them out on Twitter!

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Check out the rest of The Old Man Series

• When the guys get their incredibly high bounty they realize quickly- They actually need a crew and ship.

• It was only the blessings of some sick God that was keeping them alive and pure stupid luck. But they needed a ship-

• Which for them was easier said then done.

• In truth Buggy had gifted them a ship when they first set sail- However it burned down after Bee was trying to make a new bomb and it quite literally exploded it his face-

• Which was what lead them to the Marine Base, which was also accidently exploded by you guest it- Bee

• So a ship was needed Pronto

Dee looked over the maps to the nearest village, their small dingy bobbing him side to side as he looked over his compass.

"This is so fucking stupid-" He groaned, looking to his brother who was snoring barely a foot from him. Dee kicking his brother hard on the shin making his twin shoot up in surprise.

"Hey watch it!-" Bee grumbled as he glared at his brother, fixing the hat on his head as he saw Dee glare at him.

"Watch it my ass- We need a real fucking ship yesterday. How come you manage to blow up a damn navel base but can't find a proper ship!?" He screamed as his brother shrugged it off in a lazy matter.

"Lucky!? We have a 500,000,000 berry on our head and no God damn ship! We are fucked"

"Lucky I guess?-" Bee said which made Dee damn near blow a fuse.

"Well maybe we don't have to be-"

Bee said with a smirk as he pointed ahead, Seeing a growing mass right in the distance. Dee's eyes widened at this, looking at the map in confusion.

"Wait- There are no islands for at least another day or two what is that?-"

Bee smirked at this as he winked at his twin.

"It's a floating military base dear brother. Aka our ticket to supplies and a ship-"

• The twins despite better judgment rowed their little dingy to the side of the massive tanker and climbed up- Thanks to Dee's devil fruit abilties.

• Bee whistled at the sight of her, She was hot to say the least- Long red hair and face that was soft and delicate paired with the guns at her hip he wondered if she was good with her han-

• In truth it was far easier then they expected-

• The twins slinked through the ship, Fortunate that they were able to disguise themselves far better as it just required removing their makeup and stashing the fake red nose in their pockets. Deciding shirtless was better since they looked like lazy cadets who had rolled out of bed-

• Snagging a few hats and rushing with other groups they separated. Bee to make a distraction and Dee to find some supplies and hopefully take over the ship.

• Bee walked through the corridors of the ship, hiding in random spots to hopefully get to the helm.

• She turned the corner and he realized she was sneaking around too... deciding that it was best to leave her be.

• He had other things to do anyway-

• Dee went down below and saw that the ship was towing another- clearly a captured pirate ship of sorts. Which ment there was a crew on board.

Going down to the brig he snuck through, his head lowered like some cadet who was terrified. Glancing about he noted the lazed security, sneaking in he didn't see a whole crew but instead a lone guy chained up- each arm chained seperate and he had clearly been well beaten.

"If you're here to try again you aren't getting squat- You hit like a girl" He stranger grumbled-

"No im not a Marine- I'm not going to do whatever they've done to you" Dee said calmly, glancing around to look for keys.

"Is that your ship they are towing?" Dee questioned, the man glancing up and he saw yellow for a split second.

"Yes?.."

"If I get you out of here, can we all use your ship to go? Me and my brother need one" Dee admitted, feeling like honesty was the best option.

"Whats you and your brothers name?" He questioned.

"Dee and Bee... the Buggy Twins" He heard the man snort a laugh at this and nodded in agreement to the terms.

Dee stared at the man, Hesitant for only a moment before pulling out two pins from his hair and cracking the cage open. Starting on each arm of the chain to get him out, till pausing when he felt cold metal touch his head.

"Woah Woah-" Here helping Dee said calmly, glancing to see some red head girl pointing the gun at his face.

"Hold it Vi- He's with us.." The black haired man said quickly.

"Besides I'm Bullet Proof so let's lower the gun. We can all board the ship and get out of here before we get executed? Sound like a Deal?" Dee said quickly.

She lowered the gun quickly and sighed- "And here I thought you were anti-social Alu.." She said with a roll of his eyes. "This is Vivian, my gunner and hopefully first mate" The prisoner introduced as Dee finished taking off his final restraints.

The red head rolled her eyes "In your dreams... and Let's go-"

• The trio ran through the corridors. Hiding whenever solider passed them by and keeping low-

• However it seemed they were having better luck then the other twin. While had found himself at the haul of the ship all right- along with the Vice-Admiral of the ship.

"H-Hey There Cap just passing throu-" She cut him a look and held a hand up up.

"That is by far the worse get up of a pirate sneaking on my ship... are you stupid?" She questioned.

Bee stared at the Vice-Admiral watching as she pulled a sword and glared at him, noting he didnt even have a chance to lie.

"Fucking Pirates.. getting lazier by the day" She hissed at his idiocy, blade raised already to cut him down but he held up his hands with a dazzling smile.

"Woah Woah- before you off me Wanna see a magic trick?" Bee said with a wink making the women look at him comfused- Before in less then a second he pulled put 3 balls suddently and tossed them her way, her immediate reaction to swipe them away with her sword that was till mid air she saw the skulls painted on them.

"Shit-!"

BOOM!-

• The trio jumping from the massive ship to the lower towed away ship- As they Fell Vivian shooting at the rope connecting them to seperate.

• As the exposition hit the trio heard it and the alarms that rang out. Dee grabbing the two of them quickly already knowing it was his twin

• "MOVE Move!" He yelled as they went to the back of the ship were the smaller pirate vessel was being towed.

"GO GO! NOW!" Vi screamed as the three started to set sail to get as far away as possible.

The Marines seeing this as the sounds of Marines yelling 'THE PRISONER IS ESCAPING' Sounded and gunfire rang out from the Marines trying to shoot at them.

"DONT FORGET ME YOU ASSHOLES!" Bee screamed as the Marines shot behind him- soot covering his face as he clearly was caught in the explosion. Swan diving onto the smaller ship face first into solid wood. But it was better then being shot at!

• The prisoner helping the other blue haired teen to his feet-

• "Did you cause that fucking explosion?" He questioned as the twin of the man who saved him groaned and nodded.

• "Not spooky dude.. Alucare.. Dracule Alucare" He dark haired man grumbled, pushing back his dark locks as he looked at the twins. Both seeing the undeniable yellow eyes of the famed pirate lord son.

• "Damn right spooky dude.." Bee groaned out, The prisoner sighing as he helped him up.

• Canon fire rocking the ship as they all yelled and tried to stay put. As the ship groaned and creaked from the attack- Vivian jumping up quickly to help set the sails to get the ship moving faster.

• "Dracule? Like Mihawk? Holy shit dude your dad is like super famous!" Bee said in shock, Alucare shrugging at this. "Same goes with you.. The Buggy Twins, sons of a Yonko and having 500,000,000 Berry for the both of you. Not bad" The two men nodding in agreement of fluffing egos.

• Vivian rolling her eyes at both of them.

• "Wait how were you even arrested? You and your family are kind bad asses?" Bee questioned amused, The dark haired man sighing heavily.

• "Better term would be hunted down-" Alucare grumbled, rolling his shoulder with a heavy sigh.

• "Hunted? By who man!?" Bee yelled, Alucare glancing back at the massive ship thay they were sailing away from- Clearly the explosive damage from the Buggy Twins forcing the Marine Boat to stop for repairs completely and forcing the pirates to sail on woth minimum damage.

• "By her-" Alucare explained as he pointed out to the massive ship and the person who was clearly fuming standing at the front of the ship, Dressed in ger vice admiral uniform she glared hard down at the group of small time pirates- Fist clenched over her sword as she knew it was foolish to chase them.

• "The youngest and probably most brutal Vice-Admiral in history.. Lyra Beckman-" Alucare said with a hearty sigh- Bee jaw dropping.

• "WE FINALLY HAVE A CREW!" Bee yelled as the rest stared at the Clown, even Dee rolling his eyes.

• "Fuck dude-"

• "Fuck indeed... Now let's get some distance before she decides killing me is more important then ship repairs"

• They all agreed and began to haul ass away- until they were sure they were safe enough from the ship and it was a dot in the horizon. Vi glaring at Alucare before tossing a wrapped bundle at him, Opening it to glance and see some clothes and his sword.

• "Don't expect me to rescue you again-" She said shortly. Alucare brushing her off as he went to get changed.

• Bee took note of this- A swordsman... a Gunner.. his brother as a Navigator-

• "We are not a crew!" They all yelled at him.

[chaos0pikachu]

okay so if I don't talk about the kinnporsche side story I will literally combust b/c they didn't need to give us that they didn't NEED to give us this little youtube up short that spanned the spectrum of chaotic human emotion as a stop gap between one of the best episodes of the series and the hyper escalation to flowers in the attic-ville where the lamps have chains okay but they did and bless them for it cause like

first off you have porsche who's given up his chance at something of a normal life with his sunshine kitten of a baby brother walking around the hospital ass out b/c KINN GOT SHOT FOR HIM like fucking what porsche is like welp he's earned that bussy now and tankhun is like OMG MY BABY BROTHER IS DEAD crying in Arm's arms and porsche is like OMG KINN DIED and tankhun is like no you dumb pretty bitch he's dead to me spiritally for being an in love idiot but porsche is already half way down the hall heart pounding b/c his self sacrificing big dicked mafia daddy just bit it only to then see kinn is alive and breathing if moderately a pin cushion only to

THEN be confronted by Vegas wearing this summers best Second Lead in a K-Drama Couture look flowers at the ready like omg porsche I am but a sweet and loving man, holding out flowers, hoping another man, will love me back did you know these mean longing? friendship? unrequited love?? and porsche is like, wtf who's giving flowers meaning seems like a waste of time and money to me rich ppl are so weird meanwhile kinn's "someone's after porsche's baked booty" senses start tingling waking him up from the morphine b/c drugs will NOT keep him away from his man and is like "vegas you whore" and vegas is like "kinn your alive (derogatory)" and kinn's like "take back your fake ass cheap ass dollar store flowers" and vegas is like "see porsche, see what I go through? the hardships that are my life??" and it's just elevator music in porsche's head just full on disassociation at this point b/c why are all these hot dangerous men hitting on him all the time he's just trying to make a living out here

and then kinn's like I got shot cuddle me pls and porsche is like only b/c I don't want the ghosts to eat my ass and kinn is like me either cause that's my job and they cuddle while the music swells and that video has 6.5 MILLION VIEWS EVERY ONE EARNED

[evidenceof]

Source: Richard Winters, Band of Brothers Interview September 29, 2000

Interesting going through the records to see the version of Dick Winters' War which was something else entirely. After the war, he, in a meeting set up by Ambrose, touched base with the German Fallschirmjäger commander Friedrich Freiherr von der Heydte (misspelled in the transcript as "Vonder Hite"), whose company made contact with Easy in Carentan. The meeting and dialogue that followed solidified a few things for me especially after he described the enemy as a, "first-class enemy."

War to Dick, seemingly, was a war to be the best soldier, company, country—likened to a football game. And it shows so much in the writing of Band of Brothers, the eventual show, the corrections and correspondences he's had with all those involved in the narrative. Cutting down what could have been unflattering whether that's how his men reckoned with the war after the fact, or the hell the 101st paratroops raised while in between battles.

Source: Richard Winters, Band of Brothers Interview September 29, 2000

This is a long-ass post so the rest is under the cut if you want to swallow the All-American pill.

Source: Richard Winters, Band of Brothers Documentary Interview

This is isn't going to be a pretty picture at all, mind you. And I mean it's Dick, his blond hair blue-eyed, Christian, (Republican) All-American glory in Class As or a football jersey in the 1940s. His mindset followed suit: that of the White American (male) during the height of America's empire. Persecution for people like him was next to nothing, and a battle could be a battle to prove something to yourself. To have high regard for your enemy, actual Nazis, to regard them by their skill in battle and the neatness of their uniform and march is a take of like the highest privilege.

It echoes a lot in his choices, viewing the war as a battle for who can outclass the other, to prove they're best of the best; the best soldier. Him joining the paratroops with the idea that the doughboy and the run-of-the-mill infantry man wouldn't be the elite arm ("You volunteered and it was the notion that you wanted to do something in order to be with the best. [...] That's the kind of a guy I want to be with. They were in shape. Everything the did, they did it the double."). When he described his men, if he began it with an unappreciative tone about their behavior and conduct, is ended with, "but he was a great soldier on the field." Inefficiency was the enemy. German forces were just the tool to show you where you had holes in your line and which nationality could fight the war the best.

Up until the point of discovering the camp, as an officer, as himself, Dick saw the war as a number of objectives to take over successfully for the sake of the mission, for the sake of keeping his men alive. Only when they find the camp does it seem to really hit him, outside of his disgust for the bombing of Pearl Harbor, why they're fighting this war.

“You’ve never seen anything like this. It’s a complete shock. It just stumps every feeling of emotion that you have. The horror of it…you could never imagine anything like this. [...] Now I know why I am here!” - Dick re: the discovery of concentration camps as told in 'Hang Tough'

The much critiqued Ep. 9: Why We Fight circling on Nix (seeing Dick's irl reaction of him being happy his friend had a larger part in the series), followed by Ep 10 is such a fucking whiplash in tonality not just for the cheeriness of the last ep. But also in showing the atrocities of the concentration camp and then literally giving a platform to a German general talking about how they fought well, having LIEBGOTT OF ALL PEOPLE, to translate feels so deranged. Dick is able to view these the German troops for their individual action and functionality as a soldier instead of a collective ideology of hate and persecution. He then can't comprehend the anger Liebgott had (he tsks a lot about Joe's treatment of the Nazi POWs in the memoirs).

Source: Richard Winters, Band of Brothers Interview September 29, 2000

Dick cared for his men, (my god did he care so much for his men; this is a different conversation that I will yap about some other time), but a lot of the times I feel like compassion couldn't budge beyond that point of understanding. The horrors of the Axis forces were only reality to him if and when he saw them upfront: bombed towns, civilians shot down by 88s, concentration camps. Anything that edges outside that periphery is beyond the objective and therefore inconsequential. "To fight and be the best for the guy beside you in a foxhole," felt like a whole ethos that he carried with him and that propelled him forward.

Dick's view of the world and the war is very much aligned with the white America's vantage point at that time. Liberators, of what and for whom it wasn't always clear to them within the confines of the American logo map that we know America to be today—what mattered was that they were the Good Guys, Victory Joe. They liberated, they did not take. And it ties up so, so neatly for the narrative of Tom Hanks and Co propaganda. What else is there to do after a football game but to shake hands with the opponent?

[hakogyi]

BREAKING: the most toxic duo is currently rotting your brain and you need to see more of them NOW!

keep reading for my very incoherent thoughts about these two

i'm crying idk why i'm so attached to ginkir suddenly but they are currently my guilty pleasure brainrot. i know gin is so so so toxic to kir (and to everyone else. what's new) but i don't ship them in the "i want them to fall in love and kiss" way i need them in the "gin is strangely and inexplicably obsessed with kir and the series will end with kir killing him with his own gun" way (incoming spoilers for movies 20 and 26 + the kir arc/the shuichi akai special collection)

i'm probably reaching with this but bear with me. gin is an impulsive, violent man. his first instinct when faced with anything is to take out his gun and shoot. he's shot kir multiple times - in the darkest nightmare, when she and bourbon were chained to a pole for being on the NOC list, then in black iron submarine, when she was standing in between gin and the eur•p•l agent he wanted dead. OKAY. but he's never shot her with the intent of killing her AND I KNOW THAT'S A LOW BAR BUT BEAR WITH ME.

gin kills as a safeguard!! he killed akemi because of her relationship with an fb! agent and she'd become a liability. he wants to kill haibara because she escaped and is a liability. but after kir gets literally captured by the fb! AND is suspected to be a NOC, gin doesn't...gaf?? gin goes through so much trouble to get her back alive when he could've just blown up all the fbi vans and gotten rid of not only kir, who may have become a liability at this point, but also a bunch of fb! agents to snipe their manpower?? ok gin

"she's an absolute beast when she's cornered" ok gin. ok. is it also because she's the only woman apart from vermouth who dares to manhandle you. is that it. ok gin. i'm nowhere near done with this quote yet i fear i've truly lost my mind. gin is so clearly impressed by the lie she told him about brutally murdering the c!a agents but from what he actually sees of her firsthand he knows she's doesn't like to kill. he literally has to keep telling her "don't hesitate". gin's not dumb! he should have caught on to her lie by now! he should already know in his BONES that kir is a NOC! AND SHE'S STILL ALIVE?? ok gin

the close-up shot of kir's hand on gin's in black iron submarine as she stops him from pulling the lever. people d!ed (me). on a side note i feel like i understand gin on a whole new level after these revelations. i mean have you seen kir

to conclude i think gin is really, really strangely tolerant of kir and i love thinking about him having some sort of weird confused one-sided obsession with her that he doesn't know how to express apart from doing what he always does and holding her at gunpoint. i want this series to end with kir shooting him dead because YES i know gin's true long-established rival (cough 恋人 cough) and the one who will probably actually do him in is shuichi but shuichi's not the one who's been subjected to gin's impulsive bloodthirsty whims as part of his little evil squad ok. rena deserves this just as much as shuichi does

ok about the actual art. sorry i probably could've translated all of my ginkir thoughts into a much better more intense and analytical comic but then i started giggling like a crazy person and this happened. sorry i made gin too babygirl. i need kir to kiss me

[devils-little-sista]

Honestly I think Nico should have died at the end of BoO—hear me out ok just hear me out—and been a martyr figure for a while about a year and then somehow come back just before Tower of Nero and he’s there with Apollo the whole book hanging out with the trogs and kicking Nero’s ass.

It’s just that literally everything in BoO is foreshadowing Nico’s death. Hades’s whole speech about how “some deaths can not / should not be prevented”.

Nico having that dream about Ella reciting that line from the sybline books “the fall of the sun / the final verse”. Because that’s the next prophecy Nico will be apart of and also when Nico makes the big announcement that’s he’s alive again / came back from the dead / is immortal now.

It’s just that there is so much more foreshadowing into Nicos death and martyrdom beyond these points it’s insane. If BoO was fresher in my mind I would be going on about it for eternity.

I mean I kinda understand why Rick wanted to keep him alive because he didn’t want to buy into the whole “bury your gays” trope. But he could have done something like he did with Leo’s last chapter to show that even tho he’s dead Nicos not gone and that he’s still going to be part of the series whilst being a martyr and he may be back in the future.

Maybe Hades makes him immortal. I think that would fit best because of the parallels between Apollo just loosing his immortality and going through hell trying to get it back and then here’s Nico flaunting his fresh shiny new immortality with no idea what he’s doing with it.

Or Maybe Nico come back earlier than ToN because Jason did the Orpheus/Eurydice deal. And maybe when Jason dies Nico does the Orpheus/Eurydice deal so they’re both back from the dead there kicking Neros ass. That would be fun to see.

Side notes: it would be heart breaking if Nico gave Hazel the skull ring right before he leaves with the statue. And she doesn’t want to take it but she does.

And double heart breaking if she refuses to take the ring because she believes Nico will survive this and the ring is going to stay with him.

Triple heart breaking if Hazel doesn’t take the ring or if he can’t get to her in time he asks Reyna or Percy or Jason or Frank to give her the ring for him right before he dies.

I think Percy would be the most heart breaking and the most fitting for this because of Bianca trying to give Nico the Hades figurine. Nico trying to give Hazel the ring that was a gift from their father. History repeating itself. Percy is shattered once again.

[nikethestatue]

Rant incoming.

Maybe I am a bit of a psycho (okay, not a bit) but for the love of God and all that is holy--Sarah, give us the Shadowsinger that you keep hinting at.

I need at least ONE of these men to go dark. Go fucking black.

We keep hearing about the violence, the terror, the sheer presence of them that would make a grown man piss his pants---but we never see it?

The one and ONLY time where I feel it happened (and marginally too) was when Rowan skinned (not gonna say who) alive.

But it's kind of like--if SJM insists on making all these men ruthless warriors, torturers, the most powerful Fae in the kingdom or the world or whatever--then SHOW IT. Show us the men we are supposed to crave and fear.

We had Hunt, the Umbra Mortis, who barely ever 'mortis-nized' anyone ever. He was just a himbo who wanted to eat pizza and watch sunball.

Cassian, the Commander General, had one good run during the war and then became a human dildo.

Azriel cut the Attor a lil bit.

Give me the scary. The unhinged. I don't need cinnamon rolls. I want one of these dudes to rip out someone's heart and then fuck his ladylove on top of the corpse.

I am also so so so tired of the 'girl Power woooo!' thing that SJM keeps writing--where the women always take care of business and need no help, no protection, no revenge, no assistance from the men whatsoever. Why even bother making these men these illustrious warriors, when we know that Nesta can kill a Death God in 10 minutes, and Bryce can kill an Asteri in about 8 minutes.

I am beginning to wonder what is the point of men in SJMs' stories at all?

We had the 'Most Powerful High Lord In History' running around dropping to his knees, looking for a good OBGYN for all of ACOSF. We had the Commander General taking lots and lots of time from his clearly not very busy schedule to train some girlies and have repetitive sex. Lucien, not much of a warrior to begin with, just hangs out at his country manor. Azriel seems to be working at least, but mostly he is just being angsty.

Like there's been a shipwar raging for 3.5 years over these guys, and honestly, for what? Azriel is a spy, a torturer and 'a freak'. If it all ends up being for nothing, and he is just going to be some pining useless follower, carrying Elain's purse, whose 'freakiness' consists of light spanking and a nipple bite, then honestly, GAs or whoever, can have him.

I feel like 90% of all ACOTAR readers came to the series through Rhys. Because Rhys was so shifty. So cold. So unremorseful. Rhys was...INTERESTING.

What happened? Where are the interesting male characters? We know that SJm is not GRR Martin or anything, but come on.

Let's even take Lucien--and I don't give a shit about Lucien--but make Lucien...interesting? If he is so wily and crafty, why can't Lucien at least TRY to trick Elain into liking him, going out with him on a date? ANYTHING. Try to gaslight her, lie to her, trick her--do anything that makes me want to read about you. Eluciens keep whining about 'mean Elain' but like, why are they satisfied with this limp noodle of a painfully boring character? Why no demands of fucking everyone over and going after what he wants? 'Oh, he is so respectful'! Who cares? Why do you want to read that in a fantasy book about supposedly violent and brilliant fairies?

I am reading all kinds of things outside of ACOTAR, and I reflect and I think, OMG, SJMs males are boring AF!!!! Why do they even inspire a glimmer of desire or interest? They literally do nothing memorable or interesting.

Honestly, if the next book is the same, and she murders Azriel's character, it will be a big fat goodbye from me.

I am holding on to hope that she'll write him and even Lucien somehow, somewhat compellingly.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Soup for Breakfast

Summary: Javi comes home to find that you caught the flu from your class at school, and wants to help you feel better.

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: FLUFF. This is literally just pure fluff, as Javier Peña lives in my mind rent free as the biggest softie alive. Mentions of food/eating, mentions of death (but in a really wholesome way), reader being sick

Paring: Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of Y/N, reader is an elementary school teacher)

This can be read as a stand alone, or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

A/N: I wrote this when I had COVID because I am convinced that if you told Javi that you were sick, he would literally go to the ends of the earth to help you feel better.

“Hey hermosa, I’m home.” Javi set his keys down on the entryway table and shed his dark gray suit jacket, flopping it over the edge of the kitchen counter. 

Silence. 

“Hermosa?” He questioned again, concern beginning to creep in his voice. 

Since you had started the school year, Javi came home every day looking forward to the image of you sitting at the kitchen table, projects and papers from your 3rd grade class spread across the oak surface. You’d smile and give him a big kiss, ready to share whatever crazy antics your class was up to that day. But when he stepped through the doorway, he noticed the usual construction paper, notebooks and crayons, but the seat where you always were was empty. 

“Hey baby, it’s me!” He tried one more time, hoping that you were in a room further down the hall and hadn’t heard him. No response. The silence sent Javi into fight or flight, now picking up his speed as he looked into other rooms to find them all empty. He paced back to the living room, trying to keep his composure, his past experience with missing persons not boding well for his current state. Taking a few more deep breaths before doing anything irrational, Javi went to sit down on the couch, until he heard a small grunt underneath him. 

“Please don’t sit on me.” You grumbled, nestled under a large pile of blankets.

“Hermosa, Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” Javi shot up, breathing heavily, placing his hand on his chest. You rolled over, shifting around in your blanket heap, head peeking out to look at Javi. “Baby, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Panic still lingering in his words, now realizing you were laying in a near lifeless heap on the couch. 

“No, I feel great. Isn’t this what everyone does when they feel good? Roll themselves into a giant blanket pile?” Your remark oozing with sarcasm and a hoarseness in your voice. “The flu has been going around my classroom and I think I got it.” You groaned, your body aching as you shifted yourself further out of your fabric cocoon. “You’d think by this point I’d have the immune system of a steel truck, but these kids are just never ending germ factories.” 

Javi quietly chuckled to himself as he knelt next to you, sweeping your hair out of your face and kissing your forehead. As he got closer, he could feel the heat radiating off you, your breaths heavy and labored as you fought to keep your eyelids open. He grazed the back of his large hand against your hairline, his deep brown puppy dog eyes growing more and more concerned.

 “Cariño, you look awful.” 

“Way to make a girl feel good.” 

“No, baby, that’s not what I meant, I-” he tried to quickly rebuttal. 

“Javi, I’m just joking. I know I look like a Gremlin someone just pulled out of a garbage can.” You both quietly laughed before you let out a deep cough, only adding to the effect of your disheveled state. “I started feeling gross this afternoon while the kids were at Art and Gym, so I already made sub plans for the rest of the week, just in case.” 

Javi leaned back down to kiss your head once again, knowing you really must have felt awful if you were willing to admit the fact you couldn’t fight your way through your sickness so you didn’t need to find a substitute teacher for your class. “Okay, hermosa. I think that’s a good idea.” He sat up to peek his head over the couch, starting at your kitchen. “Give me one second, okay?” 

You nodded, already back to being half asleep. Javi began rummaging through the fridge and cabinets, looking for any food that you would 1- eat, and 2- help you feel better. Grimacing at the low stock of items, he began frantically scribbling down a grocery list full of supplies. 

“Hey baby?” Javi had made his way back to the couch, squatting down next to you as he handed you a glass of water. 

“Mhmmmmhh?” You moaned, outstretching an almost limp arm to take the glass, sitting up as you took a few sips. 

“I’m gonna go to the grocery store to get some things. I promise I’ll be right back. Are you gonna be okay while I’m gone?” 

“Well I wasn’t planning on going very far anytime soon, I think I’ll be alright.” You half smiled at him, handing him back the now empty glass. 

“Okay. I love you.” He kissed you on the top of your head, his nose nestled in your hair before he pulled away, frantically gathering his keys and shutting the door behind him. 

“Love you too.” You mumbled, half coherent as you burrowed back down into your blankets. 

When Javi got to the store, he was a man on a mission. You would have thought someone had told him Pablo Escobar was inside at the rate he was moving through the aisles. Completely disregarding the list he had thrown together at the house, Javi had a shopping cart of supplies full enough to tend to the entirety of your 3rd grade class. The thought of seeing you sick and in pain absolutely wrecked him, wanting to do anything he could to help you feel better. He was so desperate, in fact, at one point while in the pharmacy section, he had thrown in a box of bandaids, just in case. 

When he returned back to the house, he was relieved to find you at least sitting in a semi-upright position watching TV, laughing to yourself at the ridiculous amount of groceries he had just set down on the kitchen counter. 

“I didn’t know we were planning on running a hospital out of our home.” You giggled as Javi unbagged the items. 

“I just wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed. I may have gone a little overboard.” He replied sheepishly as he continued to unpack a bag full of snacks. 

“It’s okay, it’s sweet. Thanks Dr. Peña.” 

“Of course.” He finished putting everything in its place before coming back over to you. “Here, drink this.” He passed another cup over to you. 

“Wow, you even got me the red Gatorade? You hate the red kind! You really do love me.” A soft smile crept across your face as you took a small sip. 

“Well I’m not the one who looks like they’re on their deathbed, Hermosa.” It took every ounce of strength in you to give him a playful shove. “I’m gonna make you some soup, okay?” 

“You didn’t need to go all the way to the store for soup, we have soup here.” You rolled your eyes, knowing how much it physically pained Javi to watch you eat Campbell's canned soup after having a taste of one of his mom’s recipes not too long ago. 

“I can already hear mi mamá yelling at me from the grave if I let you eat that shit, especially when you’re sick. I’m making you Caldo de Pollo so she doesn’t come back to haunt me. Had it every time I was sick. Swear it makes you feel better.” Your  heart was warming at the idea of Javi making one of his late mother’s recipes, thankful that Javi’s dad had given you some of them from her cookbook. 

“Thank you, Javi. You’re the best. I’d kiss your sweet face but I’m guessing you don’t want my germs.” 

“A quick one won’t hurt anyone, doctor’s orders.” He winked before planting a soft peck on your lips. 

As he got up, he went over to your entertainment center under the TV, pulling out 2 different VHS tapes. “Which one?” 

“You can’t pit two Harrison Ford classics against each other! Hmmmm, I do love Indiana Jones, but I think Star Wars is gonna have to be the winner today. 

“I had a feeling.” He smiled as he popped in the tape, the theme music blasting as he got to work in the kitchen. 

Javi had to admit, he wasn’t a terrible chef. It wasn’t until he met you that he actually felt a need to cook. In Colombia, he was either eating out or stealing whatever leftovers Steve and Connie had, and once he came home, his dad cooked, insisting he wanted to keep his wife’s habit alive and well, even after she was gone. After Javi had chopped up all of the vegetables, he tossed them into the pot to let them simmer with the already bubbling chicken and rice. Once the soup was done, he filled a bowl practically to the brim, bringing it over to you, only to be greeted by the sweet sounds of your soft snores, muffled under the blanket draped across your face. He laughed quietly to himself before putting your soup on the end table of the couch and shuffling himself underneath your blanket mountain so your head rested against his thigh as a pillow. He stroked the ends of your hair between his fingers in one hand, the other, rubbing up and down your back in soft, gentle circles. 

He let the end credits of the movie roll before turning off the TV and carefully unwrapping you from your blankets, scooping you up to carry you back to bed. As he laid you down, gently tucking you in under the covers, he heard you mumble something. 

“What was that, Hermosa?” Javi’s voice just above a whisper.

“I never ate your soup.” You muttered, eyes still closed, words barely coherent. 

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep, baby. You need to rest.” He sat on the edge of your bed next to you, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

“Can I have it for breakfast tomorrow?” You grumbled, as you turned over on your pillow. 

Javi laughed to himself. “Of course hermosa. Nos vamos por la mañana con tu sopa. Espero que te sientas mejor pronto. Te amo con todo mí corazon, Osita.” (I’ll see you in the morning with your soup. I hope you feel better soon. I love you with my whole heart, little bear.) 

If you would have asked Javier Peña all those years ago if he would have ever made someone soup for breakfast, he would have laughed in your face. But now? Now, he would make a million bowls of soup for breakfast, if it meant he got to spend it with you. 

[getvalentined]

I am so sick of people asserting that Cloud's father is some super special important person like it's some explanation for the fact that he was able to save the world. Superior bloodline stuff never sits well with me in the first place, but in this case it's just so antithetical to the actual thesis of FF7 and does such a huge disservice to multiple characters that it makes me white hot angry.

The most popular contender is President Shinra, because Cloud being a Shinra bastard would (somehow) explain why he's allowed into the company at such a young age (even though enlistment age appears to be 14 and Cloud left Nibelheim to enlist at 14) and how he wound up on so many important missions—because it can't possibly be that he's actually competent, he's so pretty, how could he possibly be competent? It's not as if we see him being staggeringly competent from jump in every title where he's featured, including those that start prior to him being forcibly mako enhanced by Hojo. Clearly this is nepotism.

After all, we know that President Shinra is always so supportive of his bastards! That's why Lazard hid his identity and worked his way up the ranks to become director of SOLDIER at the youngest possible age and then set about trying to orchestrate a hostile takeover of the company by allowing all three of his best operatives to defect in the middle of a war, a process that was only thrown off because one of them passed off every single mission where he would have had an opportunity to go AWOL.

This was clearly the result of nepotism. There's just so much nepotism going on there. Obviously.

The newest contender is Glenn Lodbrok, the lead character from the First SOLDIER section of Ever Crisis, because he's blond-haired and blue-eyed and presumably one of the first people in Project 0 to survive some level of the mako enhancement process. I guess this is supposed to mean that him being Cloud's father would be a perfect explanation for Cloud actually being capable of literally anything, since the only way for him to become the hero that was chosen by the planet to keep it alive would be if it's part of some bloodline destiny.

There are a whole host of issues with Glenn as an option here, not the least of which is the canonical lore about Cloud's father, namely that he was some nobody traveler who kinda passed through and got Claudia pregnant and then left; he may have died up in the mountains, but apparently all that was ever found was his pack, so there's no way to be sure. Further, Claudia was very young at this point—according to her original concept art declaring her to be 33 at the time of her death, she gave birth to Cloud at 16-17 years old.

Glenn is one of two possible age ranges: if he was active in the early stages of Project 0, being a character in the First SOLDIER battle royale game, then he was around 21 in 1985, meaning a 21 year old knocked up Claudia Strife when she was 15 and then walked out on her. If he's 21 during the events of Ever Crisis, which seems likely based on his character design, that would make him 14 at the oldest when Claudia got pregnant.

Okay, I know this kind of thing happens IRL, but I feel pretty confident in the statement that there is absolutely no way that that's the direction SE is taking this timeline and characterization. I'm not even sorry. That's not happening. Either he's giving "predator," or he's Deadbeat Dad: High School Freshman Edition.

But that's honestly not even the worst of it, the math not matching up is entirely irrelevant when the implications of this assertion are applied to the actual thesis of this series as a whole, to the characters we already know, to the actual lore. Claiming that Cloud is only special because of the sperm donation of a man who abandoned him literally removes any concept of his competence as a character, declaring that he's just the newest iteration in a line of "worthy" men. He can't be worth anything unless his father is worth something. He can't be good at anything unless his father is good at something.

Beyond that, it casts Claudia aside entirely, asserting that the fact that she raised Cloud doesn't matter—she may have brought him up entirely on her own, but that doesn't actually matter. She didn't instill values and morals and guidelines into him that would allow him to grow up into a man who could save the world, she was just an incubator, a nursemaid, a nanny, a cook. She was just a servant who kept him alive long enough for his father's bloodline to awaken within him and make him into the hero he was always meant to be.

Insisting that Cloud's value as a character hinges in any way on his father, a person who had no place in his life whatsoever and whom he doesn't even remember, takes away his agency and declares Claudia to be irrelevant. It says that a sperm donation matters more than an upbringing. It says that the place he started is the only thing that defines where Cloud will end up.

This is literally, 100 percent, the opposite of the thesis of this series. The entire concept of these games, of these storylines, is that the way you were made doesn't have to dictate what you can be, who you are, where you're going. Your genetics do not define you, and assumptions to the contrary are literally what make people into monsters. What matters is the people you love, the people who love you, and the person you are now as a result of those people.

And the fact of the matter is that regardless of timelines, regardless of characterizations, regardless of theories, Cloud Shinra and Cloud Lodbrok didn't save the world.

Cloud Strife did.

Claudia Strife's son did.

And I think people could stand to give both of them a hell of a lot more credit.

[hazelnut-u-out]

Do you think about the whole Rick Prime thing? Did it kinda feel anticlimactic???

Yeeahhhhhh, but... I think that's the point!

At first, I was a little bit disappointed with how they handled the arc. I really thought Prime was going to be the Big Bad! Having the whole climax of C-137's arc with Prime as a mid-season episode felt oddly... dismissive? It was like it wasn't even a major event.

After sitting on this for a bit, I think I actually love how they've handled it. I think this is the first time I've really seen the show take something that perfectly fills a 'Television Run' format (i.e. big events at the ends of the seasons for cliffhangers, and so on) and subvert those expectations into something more like 'Real Life.' In my opinion, a lot of the show is shown as how characters involved view the events, especially in terms of tonality. That's why so much of the show fits these media formulas-- Rick views his life as a show.

I often refer to the majority of the show as 'Rick's Director's Cut' because we get events skewed from his warped perception of his own actions. (You can even think of 'Morty's Mindblowers' as Rick literally editing footage into a better story.) Of course, we see why he's sympathetic. As the viewer, we understand why he's doing what he's doing, even if we don't agree with it. He views himself as the 'sitcom dad'-- comically fucked up and abusive, but secretly caring. Rick believes that he's got just enough heart for his actions to be excusable, forgetting that the people he hides his intentions from aren't getting the 'full picture' like the viewer is. From Morty's perspective, Rick does these things for no reason-- unless you count not liking, caring about, or valuing Morty. Of course, we know that's not the case, but Morty doesn't. His family doesn't.

The Prime arc is fascinating to me because of the contrast between how Rick viewed it versus how it happened from the perspective of the viewer. Rick went into the Prime arc thinking it would be a massive, badass epic where the underdog comes out on top and the audience is satisfied with the conclusion. As the audience, this is probably the first time we haven't really been able to click with that, you know? It was unsatisfying, even for Rick, and now he's sort of saddled with, 'Oh, shit. This is real life. What comes next?'

Sure, they're little guys on our television screens. To them, though... that's real life. Real life is messy. Real life is unsatisfying. Real life is disappointing, the editing is sloppy, arcs aren't linear, and dysfunction and substance abuse aren't silly character traits.

The whole point is: What happens now?

In real life, what happens after your abusive parent passes away or you finally get revenge on the person who tore your life apart? In real life, what happens after you beat the shit out of the guy who assaulted you? Or after your dad apologizes for walking out on you?

There's actually a Malcolm in the Middle scene reminiscent of this concept. Francis was blamed by Lois from the time he was born for ruining their relationship. Throughout the entire series, his arcs deal with their broken relationship. When she finally apologizes, the pinnacle of his hopes and dreams-- the only thing keeping him alive, it doesn't help. It doesn't fix the years of psychological abuse he suffered, or the fact that he's as broken as he is because of her failure as a parent.

Another great example is in Adventure Time, when Finn thinks he's ripped Martin's arm off for causing him to lose his own. The revenge doesn't help. (Sorry, not digging for a link to the scene lmao.)

Those things aren't satisfying on their own. The fantasies and daydreams we barter through aren't feasible cures. That's real life. What happens afterward is what you do next. That can be a tough pill to swallow. There's no quick 'fix-all' for everything that's fucked you up. What helps? Hard work. Dedication. Time. Therapy. Grief. Acceptance.

Rick never really worked through the grieving process, you know?

There was Denial and Anger:

And where he got stuck... Bargaining:

After Prime's death? Depression:

Four decades later, we're finally on the cusp of Acceptance.

That's what that look into the hole was. That's what putting up Morty's picture was. That's what choosing to walk away was.

Acceptance.

In conclusion of my long-winded rant, I liked the Prime arc. Fits nicely into the season after the finality of 'Fear No Mort.'

Well done, writers.

Thanks for asking! <3

[fennelrabbit]

Maybe I'll find time to make a longer AT post, maybe even a detailed presentation, but for now I have to say:

The arc they put Simon on for the miniseries is just so, so wrong. It's incompatible and not what his character needs to grow at all.

Simon's problem was never that he couldn't see how important he was to the world or other people. In fact, that was one of the flaws Simon always had - valuing himself based on what he could do for other people, and not for what he values in himself.

Simon lived for Marceline because he needed to care for her and keep her alive. It was the right thing to do, and this sense of purpose slowed his descent into madness a lot more, but it wasn't enough.

When Simon is freed from the crown in the future, he doesn't worry himself about Marceline anymore because she's grown up and outgrown him. She's not a weak little girl anymore so Simon decides in his short time that she can live without him, now that she doesn't need him. Of course he knows that his death would be sad, but Marceline has friends and family now. In his mind, Marceline will be ok because she's not alone.

What else does Simon do with what little time he's given? He apologises to Betty.

Again, it's the right thing to do. Their "breakup" was very scary and confusing. So he makes it his duty to explain himself to her and he tries to set Betty free. "I went crazy. You don't have to feel bad about leaving me. I forgive you". Again, Simon is thinking about his life in relation to other people. He was a bad boyfriend to Betty in that moment, so he must rectify that.

And after that, what does Simon do? Does he fight to stay alive? Does he ask for help, does he try one last time to crack the crown and free himself before he dies?

No. Simon seeks and accepts death because he's tired, and he thinks he is empty. That there is no point to him staying alive.

Nobody needs Simon anymore.

Simon does not value or care about himself.

🐰🐈 So, how does this relate to the Fionna and Cake series?

Well, the issue is that putting Simon on this "Ghost of Christmas everything" style journey through the multiverse does not address Simon's problems at all. Simon isn't a selfish and arrogant character like Scrooge who needed to learn to care about and value other people. In fact, Simon was always very aware of how much people needed him. Simon liked feeling needed.

So this whole "Look Simon, Marceline is evil in the universe where you're dead!" and "in this universe, the crown ruined Finn Merten's life" isn't helpful for pushing or developing Simon's character. If anything, it's just enabling his tendency to value himself as a tool for other people.

And I know people are going to say "yeah, that's the point. In the end Simon learns to live for himself because Betty has moved on from him and wants him to be happy".

But it's like...no??? That's not really a cohesive story at all.

Man wants to die, metaphorically or literally. He can't admit it, because it's shameful to himself. Then someone needs his help, so he uses "helping people" as an excuse to sacrifice himself again, so that he can feel good about himself.

But this multiverse journey doesn't teach Simon to start doing things for himself again. The only new "friends" he makes are Fionna and Cake, and that was really forced. Simon isn't pushed to change anything in his life in the series, because he's not even inside his life anymore, he's hopping around in a multiverse adventure that is basically just a longer, more distracting version of the adventure Finn sent Simon on in episode 2.

Simon isn't shown the benefits of living for yourself. He's only told to keep on living "because he has to". Because the multiverse needs him. This is just Simon and Marcy 2 all over again, but worse, because we're supposed to believe that this experience showed Simon how to care about himself. This is the same reason he was living for Marceline. "Because he had to".

And what's the conclusion of this mismatched character arc? Does Simon finally find something new and exciting that sparks his will to live again? Does Simon make a new friend on his own volition, without the obligation of "saving them"?

No!!! XD We go on another tangent where Golbetty shows Simon he was being selfish because he wasn't paying enough attention to Betty's needs, puts him back in exactly the same shitty situation that pushed him to death to begin with -

Except now, for some reason, he feels happy, and doesn't want to die.

This is all completely wrong!!!!

You can't show a couple's entire relationship with 1 bus scene and then tell the audience it was unbalanced. It looks like Simon is being punished for one mistake (not getting on the bus) even though Betty is an adult woman who makes her own choices, and needs to communicate with Simon as well. It's lazy, it's rushed, and it's so half baked that the sentient dough is raw and asking not to be baked into bread 💀

Simon and Betty's problems are not given enough time to fit into the 'Simon your life impacts others arc' and it doesn't properly address Simon's inability to live for himself at all. We're shown he worships Betty and that his love makes him live for others, but we're never shown why he's like that. There's no new context about Simon, no new information.

We get a little hint that before meeting Betty, he actually was living for himself and doing his own things, but that's it.

And this whole miniseries, as well as reducing Betty to a sexist girlfriend prop again, does nothing to address or even validate Simon's misery.

All it does it tell a depressed, suicidal man that he's not allowed to die because it would make other people sad, and that he plays some stupid cosmic role in the multiverse.

Simon is being treated like a tool, again.

Betty doesn't have her own voice outside of Simon, again.

Anyway, yeah. I didn't like this miniseries obviously, hahaha 😅 and this isn't the only problem I have with it, not by a long shot.

This story was tone deaf and insensitive. Justice for Simon and Betty! They both deserve better writing.

[call-me-mrs-winchester]

𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

PAIRING : dean winchester x original female character

STORY SUMMARY : in series masterlist

CHAPTER WARNINGS : age-gap. pining. fluff. bloody dean. language. sam near death (literally). possessed sam.

A/N : sorry for the wait! i've been super busy but here's the second chapter. hope you all enjoy. check out masterlist if you missed the chapters before this!

Maricela's POV

Dean strides into the room but not with Crowley. A tall man follows behind him, eyeing me as he enters. The older Winchester stops at the foot of Sam's bed as the stranger walks to the opposite end, giving his full attention to the unconscious man.

"Who's this?" I ask, my defensiveness prominent.

"Ezekiel. He's an angel," Dean introduces. "You were right about one thing: Some ain't here to help. Another angel tried taking me out, but this one here stopped him."

I nod before inquiring, "And Crowley?"

"Still in the trunk, alive." Ezekiel places a hand on Sam's chest. Dean crosses his arms, looking skeptical of the angel. "You still able to cure things after the fall?"

"Yes, I should be, but...he's so weak."

The sound of Dean's phone ringing sparks my curiosity. He uncrosses his arms, reaching his slender fingers into his jeans pocket to retrieve the device. His brows draw together as he stares at the screen.

Without wasting another beat, he brings the phone to his ear and warily asks, "Who is this?"

I watch as Dean visibly perks at their answer. "Who is it?"

In a fleeting moment, his eyes meet mine, wordlessly mouthing 'Cas.' Relief and excitement surge through my heart, quickening its speed. He moves towards the door to take the call outside. As much as I wanted to follow and hear from my dear friend, I didn't trust the stranger enough to leave Sam alone.

"So," I break the silence once the door shuts. "Will you heal him?"

"If only it were that simple. Your friend is not doing well." He patiently spoke as if I was receiving the news for the first time.

"Yeah, I know that. That's why you're here." I respond harshly as my anxiety begins to climb. "Use the powers God literally gave you!"

"The fall has left me weak, and entangling with my brother back there did me no favors. But what strength I have left, I offer to help Sam." He pauses, taking his eyes off the youngest Winchester to look at me. "You know, others like me still believe in Castiel. There's no need to fear me."

"Oh buddy, I don't fear you. I don't trust you. There's a difference."

Before he could reply, the building began to shake. Ezekiel yanks his hand away from Sam, and a glimpse of terror emerges on his face. Though, just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. He scrambles to peek outside the large window as loud, frightened, and indistinct muffles erupt in the hallway. Had I not been familiar with what an angel searching for a vessel consisted of, I, too, would've believed it was an earthquake. Just then, Dean rushes back into the room.

"One of yours?" He asks.

Ezekiel turns before addressing Dean, "Trying to secure a vessel. We need to move."

"No, no. If we move him, he dies." I highlight.

"If we stay, we could all die." The angel counters.

Dean looks at Sam's unconscious body before turning towards the wall across from the bed. His eyes land on the dry-erase markers underneath the whiteboard. He grabs the black marker before tossing the red one to me. We quickly draw angel-warding symbols on each wall, including the door, to keep out unwanted celestial visitors.

"Long as these are up, no angels are coming in," Dean informs Ezekiel, tossing the marker to the ground. "No one's coming out. You gonna be okay with these?"

"I'll manage." He answers.

Dean nods before studying Ezekiel's alertness. "What?"

"They're here."

At that moment, a high-pitched ring seeps into our ears, almost drowning out the distant screams that echo through the hospital's halls.

"Okay, do not open this door for anybody but me." Dean points to himself. His right hand grabs the doorknob before pointing a firm finger at his brother. "Save him, you hear me?"

Without waiting for an answer, he leaves the room. People screamed in fear as the glass began to shatter. The fire alarm sounds before Dean shouts from afar.

"Everybody out! Now! Get out!"

I stare at the door, debating whether or not I should help the man I love save people or stay and ensure the angel heals my best friend. I groan, knowing what Dean would want me to do. Suddenly, an unmistakable beeping jolts me out of my thoughts. My head snaps towards the monitor, searching for the cause of the horrific sound. His heart rate, oxygen saturation, and respiration levels spike significantly higher than what they should be. Uncertainty gripped me as I stood motionless, paralyzed by fear and unsure of how to help. Meanwhile, Ezekiel remained calm, observing my distress without making any move to offer Sam assistance.

"What are you doing? Help him!" I cry.

The angel lays his hand on Sammy's chest again. His eyes glow with light, showcasing the use of his power, but it quickly fades before he stumbles back. He sits on the nearby chair, clutching his side.

"No, no, no! Get up, he's dying!"

"There's nothing I can do." He croaks out.

"What do you mean? You're an angel. Please, help my best friend." I beg as tears flood my eyes.

"I'm afraid I'm too weak."

I groan in agony, hating that I couldn't help Sam. "Fuck it. I'm gonna go find a doctor."

I open the door to see glass shards coating every inch of the hallway floor. Coming from the left, a man and the counselor from earlier drag Dean towards the room. I mutter a few choice words before slamming the door shut behind me. Bracing for a fight, I grab Sam's angel blade from his belongings. An axe strikes the wooden door straight through the warding, causing it to disarm. I stand guard at Sam's bedside, ready to protect him at all costs. My hand tightens around the blade's handle as the tension builds, waiting for the angels to burst in.

Instead, a white light shines through the axe-shaped hole as the angels wail in anguish. Dean then barges in with his face covered in blood. His eyes follow where the only sound in the room comes from to see the red 'ALERT' warning flashing on the monitor.

"What the hell's happening?" He questions.

"This just started. And the warding. I'm afraid I'm weaker than I thought," Dean grabs a nearby marker and begins to cross lines in the nearby wardings, disabling them. "I am sorry, Dean."

Dean stops marking the symbols and rushes towards Ezekiel. "No. No, no, no. No, we had a deal, okay? I fight. You save."

"And would that I could. I'm just afraid it's too late." The angel delivers the bad news.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean asks breathlessly. "Are you saying there's no way to save my brother's life?"

"No good ways, I'm afraid," says Ezekiel.

"Well, what are the bad ones?" I frantically inquire.

When he hesitates to answer, Dean jumps in, yelling impatiently. "We're out of options here, man. Good or bad, let us hear them."

"I cannot promise, but there is a chance I can fix your brother. From the inside."

"From the inside? So, what, you gonna open him up?" Dean asks, confusion laced in his words.

The angel shakes his head, making him quickly realize his implication. "What, possession? You want to possess Sam?"

"I told you," Ezekiel whispers.

"No way," says Dean.

"Understood. It's your call."

"No, it's Sam's call. There's no way in Hell he'd say yes to being possessed by anything." I tell them.

The room falls silent as the dreadful reality sinks in: we're out of options. I pocket the angel blade and take Sam's hand in mine. My heart physically aches, knowing this could be the end of the road for my best friend. The watchful eye of the angel shifts from me to the injured man beside me.

"He would rather die." He says aloud, finding the conclusion to our silence.

Dean nods in sorrow as he stares at his little brother. Ezekiel pushes himself off the chair, trying to hide his discomfort. Painfully sighing, he angles his body towards the monitor next to him. With a swipe of his hand, he shuts it off, ending the activity.

"I'll leave you three alone, then."

My heart races as I turn to Dean for answers. His eyes dart with a sense of urgency, almost as if he was scanning through all the possible options to find a solution to heal Sam. His gaze fixed on his brother's frail body, brows furrowed with concern as he contemplated the best course of action. Panic washes over me as I see our only hope of saving Sam reach the door.

"Wait," Dean utters, getting the angel to stop. He slowly turns towards the angel. "If I consider this—and I mean just consider it—I need something, man. You got to prove to me how bad he is."

Ezekiel looks at the pained Winchester with sympathy. Without saying a word, he walks towards us. I move out of the way and behind Dean, giving them space. The angel places his right hand on Sam's forehead before instructing Dean.

"Close your eyes."

The hunter's eyes flutter shut as Ezekiel places his free hand on Dean's bloody forehead. My gaze shifts between the three men, unsure of what the hell was happening. A few moments pass before Dean returns in a state of panic, his eyes wide with terror.

"What are you doing, Sam?" He whispers to his little brother.

"As you can see, there's not much time." The angel tries reasoning.

"I know. Damn it, I know."

"What? What is it?" I solicit, my attention shifting between them.

Dean reveals that Sam is currently engaged in a conversation with Death. Sam seems to be seeking assurance from Death that if he decides to depart with Him, there wouldn't be an option for his return. I curse under my breath, not surprised Sam wants out. I remain quiet, not dumb enough to go against Dean. Instead, I listen as the men hash it out.

"How will it work?" Dean inquires.

"Mutual benefit, I suppose. I heal Sam while healing myself." Ezekiel confesses.

"And when he's healed?"

"I leave." He tries convincing. "It's the best of a bad situation, Dean."

"Even if I said yes, it doesn't mean squat. Sam will never say yes—not to you."

"But he would say yes to you," Ezekiel persuades.

Dean hesitates but nods, wanting his brother back. Ezekiel shuts his eyes and goes to work, Dean along with him. I finished crossing out every symbol so the angel could switch hosts effortlessly. After Dean returns, the room begins to shake as Ezekiel goes from one vessel to the next. We turn away to shield ourselves from the bright, angelic light. Once in the clear, we turn to the angel in Sam's body, sitting upwards in the hospital bed. He pulls the breathing tube and other wires out of his vessel before standing. I grab the plastic bag and hand him Sam's clothes.

"We'll leave you to change," Dean and I step into the hallway before I shut the door. My eyes meet his. "C'mon, I'll clean you up."

"No, it's fine. I can handle it." He passes.

"I'm not asking," I fixed a stern gaze on him, conveying my message with unwavering determination.

Realizing there was no use in arguing, he nods. I take his hand and wander to the closest family restroom. Once found, I ushered Dean inside, quickly checking for any onlookers who could witness us entering together. Confident it was clear, I closed the door behind us. The sound of the bolt locking into place bounces off the small bathroom walls.

I grab a handful of paper towels from the dispenser near the sink. The running water fills the silence as I wet a few napkins. Dean's figure catches my eye through the mirror above the sink, ceasing my movements. He stands beside the door, hesitant and shy. I turn around and tease him lightly.

"Well, get over here. I don't bite."

A deep chuckle leaves his throat as he slowly approaches. "I know you, Maricela, and you certainly do bite."

I fight a smile but quickly lose when I catch sight of his wicked grin. "Maybe...but not now. I promise."

He stops a few inches away from me. The faint scents of whiskey, sweat, and his favorite cologne fill my nostrils. I slowly and discreetly take a deep inhale, welcoming the aromas. My eyes meet his forest-green ones, and time stops. Even covered in blood, he still looks handsome. How? I thought. How is that possible?

Before allowing myself to drown in his pleasantness anymore, I quickly ask, "Ready?"

Dean nods before watching me raise a wet paper towel to his blood-stained face. Careful not to press too hard, I gently wipe the blood away. Thoughts of trepidation cloud my mind: Sam's situation, how Dean's handling it, an army of angels after Castiel, how we'll get them all back to Heaven. I bite my lip, hoping to hide my worrisome expression as I concentrate on cleaning his crimson-coated, angelic face instead. My height disadvantage forces me on my tippy-toes once I begin to wipe his forehead. He stifles a laugh, prompting me to stop my actions.

"What?"

He shakes his head but doesn't attempt to hide his wide grin.

"Nothing, nothing." I squint at him, silently coaxing his answer forth. "You just look cute, having to stand on your toes."

I roll my eyes and switch to a clean paper towel, trying my hardest not to blush at his comment. Despite my efforts, the hot flush painted my cheeks red.

"I'm glad my struggle is so amusing to you." I joke, battling the smirk he's responsible for.

"Here, let me help you," Without wasting another beat, he pulled my body against his.

With one hand on the small of my back, his other hand runs down to my thigh before pulling it towards his hip. I'm so enamored with his touch that I don't question when he advises me to jump. I wrap my arms around his neck and hop, straddling his hips. His hands land under the base of my ass before sliding me onto the counter with a thrust. An audible gasp left my lips, stunned to have felt the front of his jeans shove against my core.

I bowed my head, letting my hair fall around my face to shield the color it wore. My eyes landed between my thighs, and as if on cue, he took a few steps back. I clear my throat before holding up the clean napkin, silently asking if I should continue. With a nod, he permits me to start again. I lean off the counter to tend to his wounds but quickly struggle with the distance he set between us.

"Dean," I straighten myself before urging, "I need you closer."

"Huh?" He inquired, taken aback, with a glint of panic in his eyes.

"Closer."

As he stands still, showing no signs of movement, I reach out and firmly grasp the fabric of his jacket. With a gentle but insistent pull, I guide him toward me. His lips, coated with dried blood, slowly parted as his eyes carefully studied the details of my face. I try my best to ignore his attention as I dab the blood off of them.

"Oh, right..." Dean spoke as the wet paper towel rubbed against his lips. "Sorry."

"Don't sweat it," I reassured in a hushed tone.

A stack of power towels piled on the counter after cleaning blood that had trickled down his face, neck, around, and even inside his ear. I focus on the clump of blood that had collected in his hair before feeling his hands rest above my knees. Tingling sensations run up my thighs as he slowly rubs higher, applying light pressure. My breath becomes uneven, having never been touched by him like this before. So many intimate thoughts race through my mind. He steps closer, grazing the front of his jeans between my legs. My hand begins to tremble as I take a shaky breath.

I soon regret looking into his majestic green irises. His eyes hold me hostage as he stares into my soul. If he searched hard enough, he would find my unwavering love for him. Maybe if he found it, I could grab his cheeks and pull him into a kiss. I could show him how much I love him. I could show him how good we can be together. I could give him what he couldn't find in any other girl. If only he could see that eyes really are windows to the soul, then maybe it could be different. My disappointment reminds me of the harsh reality of 'never gonna happen.' I tuck my hair behind my ears along with my hopes and dreams.

I toss the bloody napkin with the rest before murmuring, "All done."

"Thanks."

He takes a few steps backward before extending his hands, offering to assist me off the counter. I hesitate but place my hands in his before jumping down. Without intent, I stumble into his stiff body. I mutter a quick apology before straightening myself and standing independently.

"We should go."

"Yeah, yeah." He clears his throat before distancing himself. His heavy boots clatter against the tile floor as he walks towards the door. Holding it open, he says, "After you."

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[obimaulartfire]

Do you ever just...wake up and think about how Obi-wan was, for most of his life, Maul's reason to live?

Let me explain, and this is one of the main reasons I was drawn to ObiMaul in the first place. (long ramble below)

We're all aware of the events at the reactor fight, and it'd be an understatement to say it was a very hostile first encounter. But it's in the aftermath where the dynamic gets interesting.

Maul survived on his own, for years, with only his top half. As a former biology major, sometimes I think about how possible this would be in real life, if at all. It would be insanely uncomfortable at best, and impossible at worst. But through the excruciating pain, Maul survived, fueled purely by his intense hatred/obsession with Kenobi (and some star wars darkside magic, I'm sure).

Maul says this himself when first meeting Obi-wan again in season 4 of The Clone Wars:

"You would never imagine the depths I'd go to to stay alive, fueled by my singular hatred...for you."

Imagine being on the brink of death, with half of your circulatory system GONE, your heart beating irregularly, and your "lower half" being in constant pain, but still finding something to live for, and living...for YEARS. That's impressive. Hate-filled or not, it's hard to deny that for that time, thoughts of Obi-wan literally kept Maul alive for a decade.

Maul comes back to the series having been left for dead by Sidious, with spider legs he made himself, and no sense of time and a destroyed sense of sanity. Yet, he lives.

And additionally, revenge on Sidious is only second in his thoughts to his revenge on Obi-wan, even though Sidious is technically the one who left him for dead. Since Maul can't sit still, he did many other things during the Clone Wars in accordance with his own ambitions, likely to attempt to reclaim that part of his life that had been lost to Lotho Minor, but that's a tangent for another post.

He gets revenge on Obi-wan (I guess) by killing Satine, but even that isn't enough for him, as evidenced by the Satine hate shrine that we see in Rebels, when Ezra visits Maul's cave on Dathomir:

(on a side note, there is no sane heterosexual explanation for this^, I'm sorry/j)

Why would you keep a memento of someone you've killed? Why would you cross out their eyes? Maul didn't hate Satine that much, and it's my opinion that he did this because she was important to Obi-wan.

And that brings me to my next point: Rebels Maul

Y'all.... there's a reason the title of my blog is "Twin Suns Changed My Brain Chemistry", because I vaguely had feelings about these two in Clone Wars, but Rebels really cemented this dynamic for me.

I cannot emphasize enough that in Rebels, Maul thinks Obi-wan Kenobi is dead. Whether he got killed in Order 66 or when Vader and the Inquisitors started purging Force Users, there was maybe a .000001% chance that any Jedi, especially Obi-wan, would have survived that. And yet. When we enter Rebels, we find Maul on Malachor, stuck on the planet looking for the Sith holocron.

WHY is he trying to find the Sith holocron? In Maul's own words:

"As for me, I...seek something much simpler, yet equally elusive... Hope."

Hope? That surely isn't a Sith ideal. It's revealed later that the only reason Maul wants to combine these ancient artifacts is to learn whether or not Obi-wan Kenobi is alive. I shit you not.

This implies that Maul has had Hope that Obi-wan has been alive for what... 15 years? That's a long time. At this point, Maul may be like, 49 or 50. He has been fixated on Obi-wan for 30 years of his life. Thoughts of Obi-wan kept him going and going and going for 3/5ths of his life. Even when he thinks Obi-wan has died, he spends 15 years trying to find him, just hoping that he is alive. But for what?

It's unclear to me what Maul, in canon, really desires from Obi-wan. But one thing for sure is that Obi-wan acts as a...source of emotions for Maul. A source of feelings, and a reason to keep going through times that other characters would give up.

Other characters may have survived, but Maul lived because of Obi-wan. Through being bisected, the Clone Wars, being chased by Vader and the Inquisitors, and through periods of despair.

And before the end, he just wants to find his reason to live again, and dies in his arms.