#its been marinating for A Hot Second

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

oh i would also like the record to show: the ~writing weekend~ i have planned is shaping up to be hurting my own feelings with Jorge Scenes that have been tumbling around in my brain pan like aggressively sodden laundry for the past, like. six. fucking years.

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 6

summary ;; This is the reality of Jake Sully: the father and Olo'eyktan of the People cannot coexist, Eywa teaches her lessons in the toughest ways. PART 5 | NEXT (wip) pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; well this took a hot minute. am back on my bs WARNING for violence and t0rture, reader discretion is advised. Please excuse my mistakes if you see any!

Jake moved on pure primitive instinct, unbridled arctic rage honing all his senses into one laser point of focus. It wasn’t survival, and it surely wasn’t prey running from predator, there was nothing noble about what he was trying to achieve. 

That avatar was going to die today, and Jake was going to make it hurt. No fair game. No warrior’s death. No respect. 

Devoid of the shape of humanity or the ties that bound him to it, he was the embodiment of a creature’s killer intent, body taking over and consciousness disappearing to the backseat as he catapulted his tomahawk at the avatar, taking advantage of the miniscule opening provided by a magazine change needed after emptying all of his bullets to a Jake luring him into wasting his resources away. 

The dull squelch of the hand-carved ax’s head plunging into flesh couldn’t be dampened by the avatar’s choked and short shout, and Jake was jumping out of cover in no time, a bull to red, advancing towards the man, footsteps not hidden out of having no concern for it at all, let him panic or try to struggle for all Jake cared. 

Opposite of what he expected, the rifle wasn’t picked up or fumbled to aim at him. The avatar, pale in the face and pupils having devoured the yellow, fear trumping the pain of his arm almost sliced off from shoulder, crawled away on his back from Jake in full speed, getting up before Jake could reach him, and started staggering into the forest, dropping the tomahawk in the process. 

Jake stopped in his tracks for a moment and picked his weapon up, the dark liquid glistening purple in the light of the Tree of Souls, droplets of blood making the moss light up as they hit the ground. His chest heaved in controlled, loud breaths, mouth pulled back in a snarl, watching the pathetic son of a bitch trying to get away. 

He was one of the lot who’d shot you, hurt you, tortured you — simply to get a reaction out of Jake. 

He was the one who pulled Jake away before he could fix his mistakes, undo the damage they had done, and get you back. 

Jake was so close. So close. 

You were there. You were right there. He could still feel you in his arms, his shoulder imprinted with your tears, shiest of smiles at a better future he could build with you from the burnt soil of your relationship. 

If it hadn’t been for him… 

That man was your murderer. 

He deserved the hell of a father’s making.

This avatar was a marine — and the fucking idiot was running into the oblivion blind worse than a normal civilian would in this situation, had all those years of training evaporated in one second? Jake’s steps were determined, yet lax following after the guy, nose picking up the trail of blood left behind, eyes watching the red splatters. This was all Hansel and Gretel for him, playing follow the breadcrumbs.

The sound of thumping, frantic running, bumping into obstacles, crashing into flora, all was distinguishable from the natural song of the forest Jake had gotten so familiar with in these fifteen years. No response came from the avatar, but Jake wasn’t hurrying. He would have him. Let the bastard tire himself out first — but he wouldn’t let him die. No. He could smell the fear, the blood, anger at bay, all ice, knowing the trees would carry all the sounds he needed to Jake. He could hear exactly where the avatar was. and If he was hoping he’d bleed himself out faster than Jake could reach him to save himself from what was going to happen, well… 

He’d better start praying for mercy to whatever deity held his worthless faith, because Jake had none of it. They had no mercy for you, his sinless, innocent child, all but wails and yelps and blood, and apologies for it. 

Every time Jake thought of you in that tremendous pain to the brink of delirium, he burned in his heart’s ice until he was black and purple all over. Your smile was so real, your embrace was tiny and warm in his arms and he had a chance, the only chance no parent could ever get in this life. Jake had dissolved together with that mirage.   

The part of him engulfed in flames wanted to end this quickly and painfully—to burn it all, break that man in, scream his lungs out, the other part of him, frozen fury that scalded over in the loss of you, wanted to draw it out, wanted to inflict never-ending pain, to bring the avatar back from the brink of death over and over again just to repeat it in a cycle. 

His child. His baby. 

The ties that held Jake together were getting pulled tight, the pressure building like deep water currents, thinner threads snapping and crackling, body being pulled to all five directions from all five limbs. Awareness went out and barged its way back in hot flashes, he couldn’t comprehend the passing of time and how long he let your murderer catch the delusion of shaking Jake off his tail — but, his instincts knew to reveal himself before the avatar could be claimed by blood loss. 

Dangling hope right in front of his face just to snatch it away wasn’t enough. It could never be enough compared to you who had dragged your own corpse back home, muted to your own pain cocooned between those who should have meant nothing but home and safety to you. Torture. You had lived torture in your last hours with help just one step, one word away. 

Nothing would ever be enough.  

Jake emerged from the thick flora like the grim reaper himself who would always be waiting right at the spot of the reaping wherever the soul ran away to, detached and unimpressed, blank face not reflecting the scorched soul inside. The almost passed out avatar jolted awake when he smelled the smoke from Jake’s shadow falling on him, and could only press his back further to the body of the cluster of big rocks he had taken shelter against as if somehow becoming one with it could shield him away from Jake’s wrath.  

The man’s breathing was getting louder and shakier the more Jake stood there motionless. “C’mon then,” he said between clenched teeth, spasming hand dropping from his mutilated shoulder, squaring up the last drops of his courage. “Get on with it.”

Jake’s whitened fingers were making noise against the handle of his tomahawk, but his voice was hauntingly hollow, unfeeling now that he had the man right in his palm. “Thought I should let you live what you did to my daughter first.”

The avatar began to scream. “Fuck you, man, we didn’t do none of this shit to that kid—”

Jake’s tone didn’t change, but it cut worse than a knife. “You killed my kid.”

His eyes widened, breath hitching, the reality of what was coming to him finally sinking in and Jake witnessed every panicked second of it. “Fuck…” His gaze wildly alternated between Jake and the tomahawk, raising his better, trembling hand up for feeble defense. “Look, look, listen, we didn’t kill her, alright? We patched her up, okay, she was going to be a prisoner, what happened happened because you engaged in battle, we wouldn’t do that to a—AGH!”

He was interrupted by Jake sharply shoving the head of the tomahawk into his injury, just putting it in there, not moving it further down. “Do you have children, marine?”

The man palmed at the weapon, fingernails digging into the wood, but no matter how much he pushed, it didn’t budge one bit. “Stop, stop! Fuck—”

Jake repeated again, firmer. “I asked you a question, do you have children?”

“No!— No, god, argh!” 

He spaced out for a while, watching him squirm and trash to get away with defeated, half-assed attempts, also unable to because of how much of an immovable object Jake was making the weapon buried in the open wound be. It would hit the bone if he used more strength. 

With a fixed, stony stare, Jake removed the tomahawk, waiting for the man’s deplorable whimpers to recede before breaking him the news like reading it off a doctor’s report. “You won’t get to have any.”

He didn’t look like he cared about something like that, but the man knew his fate insinuated by the words. Nevertheless,it didn’t mean he could be free from the survivor’s instinct’s mood swings his body was putting him through. Denial to bargaining within minutes. “Just kill me already, you deserter piece of—”

“Oh, no, no no,” Jake reassured, the only flicker of emotion he had shown since he’d cornered the avatar. “You won’t get to die for a long time, either.” 

The avatar grunted, head falling down before he started to shake it. “Please just let it end—man, just let it end, I’m sorry, okay, please!” A whole body-trembling begging shifted to anger the more Jake remained non-responsive. Watching. Just watching. The hole in his chest getting wider the more he fed this man’s suffering to it — it wasn’t enough. “Just fucking do it! Pussy ass bitch! Come on you blue motherfucker, kill me! Kill m—”

“Are you the one who shot my daughter?” 

“What?”

“Are you. The one. Who shot my daughter?”

The avatar’s face twisted. “It wasn’t me—it wasn’t—asshole, you already killed the guy, I didn’t fucking do anything!—”

“You... didn’t do anything?”

A beat. The forest fell silent in Jake’s ears. Just like how the noises you made had abruptly died down as he was putting pressure on your wound.

And like that, the thick haze that had Jake desensitized blew over, unadulterated anger rushed to his body, acidic and nauseating, soul stitching back to his limbs by a million needles and he began to shake, face contorting, teeth showing itself, the hiss that lacerated his throat was the most terrifying one of his life yet, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a sentient being, twisted by a grieving, demented animalistic horror. The avatar’s breath hitched, whatever protest and voice he had escaping deep inside his body, ears pinned back to his head. 

“Of course,” Jake glowered, swallowing the scorching stones blocking his throat. He closed his burning eyes, and was greeted by the image of you, opening them back again, and shaking the ax as if it was an accusing finger. 

And without a word of warning, his hand shot down and grabbed the avatar from the neck of his tactical vest, hurling him over the chest-level array of big rocks forming a pointy bed above, ignoring the cries of pain as the abused, torn open flesh of the wound dragged through the sharp teeth of the gravel, dousing them in blood. “Please, please, stop!—I’m sorry, I was wrong, that wasn’t right, shit, shit!”

Jake snatched the man’s dominant arm that was coincidentally the same one dangling by fractured bone and tendons from the shoulder. His soul had known what he wanted right from the start before his brain had processed it. “This hand,” he spat, holding it from the wrist, gnashing his teeth. “that pulled the trigger at me…” 

Murdered his daughter for a second time. 

All a soldier’s worth for. One hand to hold the stock tight against the body and one to fire. All that to take a single life.

Leaning the hand down against the rock in a sudden move, Jake slammed on the blunt, pointy end of the tomahawk on it like he was hammering a nail, the sickening crack of the bones breaking got followed by the avatar’s fractured scream. 

Jake saw you hunched, cheekily laughing in the blue and purple of the creek, freckles glowing because of the eclipse, silhouette illuminated by the floating bioluminescent bugs.  

Spinning the tomahawk in his clammy hand in a full 360 turn, he smashed it down once more, stronger. The metal broke skin and sank into spongy muscle. His ears were buzzing, ringing from how the shrill yells. 

Jake was hugging you after what seemed to be years, and your little arms were clinging to him for life — you were sand slipping from his fingers. 

Jake hammered again. 

You were telling him how mean he was to you, your voice suppressing the avatar’s. 

He brought it down one more time and felt the tomahawk recoil from hitting rock. 

You were bashful as you repeated how Jake would always love you. 

Guttural breaths getting louder with effort each hit, he kept slamming it down until everything was his beautiful little sweet girl. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again and again and again and again and again until there was no resistance from the limb anymore and the man had gone silent and it was all mashed meat he was pounding— 

And then he almost plunged it to your bleeding, battered corpse, your stomach covered in reddish brown from the dried brown, body ashen blue, and Jake cried out in terror, jumping back and losing strength in his legs as the tomahawk flew from his hand and he fell over. 

His lungs constricted, refusing to take any breaths in and his heart ricocheted around in his ribcage, he was gaping at the wall of rock now washed red as if it was some white rose painted red in Alice in Wonderland. 

Jake sat there for the longest time, dissociated.

In those moments, he wasn’t Toruk Makto, he wasn’t Olo’eyktan, he wasn’t the pillar of a family of seven. He was simply Jake Sully. 

However, he wasn’t allowed to be stripped down to the bone until all that’s left was a mourning father. That was Jake’s reality. 

He had to cast the crippled man aside, the tragedy of his child away, and bring the leader of the People out right as your ghost rippled in his vision, watching spitefully within the forest — because all you wanted was for him to be your father, and he couldn’t even fucking do that after your death. 

This avatar was a valuable asset, a hostage to question. For the sake of his people. 

He wasn’t allowed revenge. 

A single drop of tear rolled down expressionless face. When he looked down, Jake’s hands were still stained with your blood. 

The only instance a child should be covered in blood is when they come out of their mother’s womb, little lungs being burned with existence for the first time, crying from the pain of being separated from Eywa’s arms, birth mother a complete stranger to them. 

The gore of you barely clinging to life, unmoving, drenched in your own blood, wiped and wiped to the point Neytiri had to change buckets of water until it turned light pink was overlapping with the joyful image of your newborn self she had lovingly and gently cleaned of the remains of labor with wetted mothsilk, skin too sensitive for water for the moment, the blue coming alive as the blood and other clotted bodily fluids were cleansed. 

It wasn’t the broken, ice-cold, lithe body of a young girl Neytiri had cleaned in the torment of her excoriated, unraveling mind, it was her baby’s. Her baby, her poor baby with a gaping hole in the middle of your body, memories marauding Neytiri’s lucidity. 

She lived the moment of your first cleansing over and over again. 

You were a particularly indomitable cryer, Neytiri had known you would be infamous for your battle cries right as she was brought back from the blackout of post-birth by your overly-healthy wailing — or perhaps you would best Ninat as a singer when you’d unapologetically blossom, but one thing was ascertained: her first daughter was a fierce, fiery blue ball of ardor compared to Neteyam, who was almost shy and reluctant in disturbing people around him in his weeping that a collective worry for his health had plagued the whole clan. 

As you squirmed, smeared in chunks of her flesh and blood, as if you wanted to jump off from her arms and start walking already, Neytiri had smiled up at her Jake, your father, unable to take his eyes off you, stuck between awe and laughs that came and went. “She has your heart,” she’d told him, spent and hurting, but wonderfully alive. “Strong.”

He’d traced his thumb through her drenched hairline. “Lungs, you mean?” His scent, wind and hearthfire, had enveloped Neytiri when Jake had leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I think they’re yours.” The teasing about how you had made Neytiri scream in labor wouldn’t have gone unpunished if she wasn’t on the edge of sleep held up only by your crying, so, he’d gotten a light hit on the side of his face instead. But Jake knew how to apologize, he’d always been spectacular at it. “I’d say she takes after me in appearance, look at her little ugly face.”

To Neytiri, you were beautiful, face dark purple from how strong you were screaming, and a mini-village elder with the wrinkles, swinging those little fists — things that made you lovely in her eyes. Her first daughter. 

She had learned motherhood from Neteyam, but she would learn to understand her mother and her choices through you, someone she thought couldn’t be more different from her — Neytiri, all Mo’at could have been, and Mo’at, all Neytiri might have become, once. She prayed you would love her as much as she’d begun to love you the second you were in her arms. 

To think the enormity of her love hadn’t reached you — it was one of the greatest failures of Neytiri’s life. If it had, you’d be wounded, but perfectly conscious and well in her mother’s tent. If it had, you would have been beyond comfortable telling those demons had hurt you. 

In that all-consuming devastation, the woven towel she was using to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that formed on your body slipped from her uncoordinated hands and fell on your chest, and Neytiri had to hold back the breath that spiked to become a hiccup by covering her mouth, and immediately, her curled hand was engulfed in a smaller, five-fingered one. She came eye-to-eye with Kiri after raising her head, putting her other hand on hers at the girl’s more disheveled and messy self, heart dropping to her stomach at the fatigue varnishing an extra layer of moisture in her daughter’s drooping eyes. 

“Oh Kiri,” Neytiri mumbled, caressing her cheek and brushing the tangled hair away from her face. 

“Why don’t you go get some rest, mom, hm?” 

“Even if I somehow agreed to that, I could never agree to leaving my daughter alone in this.”

“I’m fine.” Stopping to take a breath, she sighed, collecting the towel and starting to fold it. “Well, not really fine, but don't worry about me. We’re all miserable here. And that’s natural.” Fiddling with the corners of the cloth, she leaned in a bit and lowered her voice, light reflecting from the yellow of her irises making it look like they shone from within. “I… I know she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eywa has bestowed us a gift she has never given to anyone before and it’s for a reason. I feel that everything will be set right.” She shook her head up and down, determined. “Dad will do it. I know he will.”

Neytiri trusted Kiri with her intuition and understanding when it came to the inscrutable intentions of Eywa, she was closer to the Great Mother than any Tsahik was — so close that she would drift away too much from her family. And deep down, Neytiri was heartsick by this invisible line that separated her from her daughter, any parent in her place would be unsettled like this.

She was also hog-tied to close the distance growing between them because of the human boy Spider and how she would find camaraderie in him in their ‘orphan’ status as she called it. Kiri was already faraway in her obscure existence and unwittingly separated herself as if she didn’t see herself as a real part of the family some days, and Neytiri hated that the ‘kinship’ she’d formed with Spider was planting these ideas into her head when she was her and Jake’s daughter, no more, no less. To overwrite those feelings, she tried so hard to reach Kiri, but was unsettled by the feeling of being hated sometimes, again, more or less for her stance in placing Spider at the outskirts of their family. 

But oftentimes Kiri would express her affection through small, otherwise unnoticeable actions, just like this one, a caring touch and reassurance that could melt an ice cube — and Neytiri basked in the babiest of steps between them. And maybe this was how Jake had it with you, too, she had never thought about it like this before. 

Taking in Neytiri’s solemn silence, Kiri grumbled, suddenly agitated about something. “I just… I just wish I had isirka resin and xhikul seeds for this paste and cover her wound with it. Grandmother’s extract isn’t enough to stimulate the bone marrow and ugh—” The girl groaned with the obvious guilt at groaning in the first place, as well. “I’m sorry, mom, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Kiri,” Neytiri said, weariness blending with tenderness, knowing you’d agree too. You would have probably told her to not waste her energy and wait around when there wasn’t anything left to do anyway. “Maybe it’s you who needs some rest. You’ve worked hard. Harder than any of us. You do need rest, too.”

Kiri was quick to refuse. “I’m trying something new, I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sure one of your brothers—”

Her earpiece buzzed alive. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

The unexpected timing of it caught her off guard, her hand flying up to the device, drums of alarm going off in her head by the croaky, despondent note to his voice. The impact of their previous argument evaporated from existence just by hearing his distress. “Jake?” She focused on you, not observing any difference, and frowned in worry, her pulse picking up pace as Kiri also locked her attention to her the moment she heard her father was on the line. “What happened?”

“I have here one of Quaritch’s dreamwalkers—whatever they are.” Neytiri’s mouth opened and closed at the reveal, forehead creasing. “Alive. Somehow survived to get to the Tree of Souls.”

Her hand instinctively descended to touch your cool and clammy arm closest to her. “Tree of Souls…? But you were—”

“Yeah. Yeah, he… I couldn’t. I couldn’t…” 

She stared at your face, all thoughts draining from her mind. “What are you saying, Jake?”

Silence.

“Jake,” Neytiri implored, her voice snuffed out towards the end. She tried again. “Jake, I don’t understand. What does this mean..?”

“Son of a bitch pulled me out before I could… before I could finish talking to her.” Kiri reached for her when she let out an incoherent, disbelieving voice, getting more panicked as Neytiri clawed at her tightening chest with his next words. “I failed, Neytiri. I couldn’t… She…” 

Neytiri was physically helpless to respond, and Kiri couldn’t hold back from inquiring seeing the state she was in. “Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”

“This man, if it wasn’t for this man, I had it.” Jake kept talking at an increasing speed the longer Neytiri didn’t say anything. “I had her right in my arms, making future plans, smiling, everything was perfect, and then he—” His breath quivered. “He fucking—” And he stopped the sentence abruptly to get some semblance of control back because Eywa knew Neytiri was losing it ever so slowly. “I need you here with me right now, please. Please, I…” 

Neytiri refused to acknowledge what Jake couldn’t say out loud. You were still breathing, she felt your chest rise and fall even if the pattern was weak. You had life left in you. Jake saying he failed made no sense to her, she didn’t believe it. 

“Neytiri, I need to question this… this filth, need to learn all I can about what’s going on, but I can’t do it on my own. I’ll kill him. In a heartbeat. I want to squeeze the life out of him with my hands right this moment and I— I can’t… We have to know how they could have gotten this far, what they’re planning—and now right to the Tree of Souls too, and…” The rambling that got chaotic and disconnected faded off eventually, as if he’d lost his voice. “Shit.”

And throughout all that, Neytiri had gone from confused, in denial, at the threshold of grief but not nearly in there anchored by your pulse, and lusting for blood within minutes. Kiri was taken aback by the anger radiating from her. “Bring him here!”

“I can’t. He could have a tracker on him—they could have put it in his body. I can’t risk that.”

Neytiri stood up with only one thing in her mind, and it didn’t match Jake’s. “Where are you?”

“You gotta let me pass, buddy, come on! You wanna take my head off or something? Why are you being like this!” 

Hands up and quick on his feet, Lo’ak was trying to negotiate. 

With an ikran of all things. Not even his.

Yours. 

Mom storming out like a wronged, vengeful spirit had been the perfect chance for him to do a quick supply run sneak off, but your overgrown big bird with the exact same attitude as you was getting in his way and blocking Lo’ak off by snapping its jaw at his head and opening its sunset fire tinged wings every time he attempted to cross over to his own ikran. They were basically at a standstill and he had no idea why. 

Lo’ak just wanted to help. Help you. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Shit. 

Neteyam. Making his way to him with such speed that got his braids swinging and of course he’d sniffed Lo’ak out like a nantang. Followed the odd silence, probably. Eywa, he should have thought this out better. 

“Skxawng, do you not remember what dad said?”

“I do,” Lo’ak hummed and hawed, and that was the problem. He’d never felt this guilty about disobeying dad’s orders before, it was making him squirm. “But look, Kiri said she needed isirka resin and xhikul seeds or whatever to treat her, I’m going—”

Neteyam’s jaw had flexed when he said whatever, but there was no visible agitation after he gave a sharp breath through his nose.  “So let’s call mother or—”

“They’re busy with some sky person dad caught—”

“I know. The same ones who did this to our sister. I know, Lo’ak.” Neteyam aggressively gestured to the exit of the cave system, shaking his arm while speaking. “What do you think will happen if you go off on your own and land yourself in bigger trouble than she did? Huh?”

Lo’ak threw resentful looks at your ikran. “I can’t stay put like this. I have to do something.”

“This again? There is nothing we can do.” He hadn’t said that in his normal drilling of dad’s orders — Neteyam had the same pain of acceptance that were Lo’ak’s bruises etched onto his face.

And that made Lo’ak want to throw up all over the place. He’d experienced countless sicknesses his siblings had fallen to over the years, none of those were as fatal as this and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. What was he supposed to do when his sister was dying? What did one do when a family member was in this situation anyway? Nothing seemed right to him. 

And something was finally, finally within his power — and Lo’ak would of course rise up to the challenge without hesitation. He wasn’t just going to sit down and let that possibility of your salvation slip by. “But there is. Kiri said—”

“Lo’ak if you leave right now and somehow get caught dad will never trust you again. He was the most open he’s ever been, don’t betray him like that.” 

He was getting annoyed that Neteyam was ignoring the whole point, though it wasn’t as if Lo’ak didn’t know. He was fully aware, and that’s why this was supposed to be a secret. Dad couldn’t be hurt by what he didn’t know now, could he? Not only were you getting Kiri’s remedy, which he was sure as his name was Lo’ak that would end up most effective, but he also wasn’t breaking his promise to dad when the tiniest thread of trust in his son was knotted by the man just recently.  

Neteyam grabbed him by the top of his head in a brotherly manner but his hold was of steel, the boy tried to grumpily push him off but he didn’t budge, staring right into his soul. “Use what’s in this for once and just tell dad or mother, they’re down in the forest already anyway.” When he let go, Lo’ak stumbled back, rubbing the sting off, and the semi-playful older brother was back. “And one of them will actually know what to look for.”

His immediate response was refusal. “I know what I’m looking for—”

“What does isirka look like?”

The sounds your ikran was making was eerily close to laughter and Lo’ak felt heat rush up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a tree.”

Neteyam didn’t have brow hair like Lo’ak did, but the way he raised the lines was always more expressive than how he did it. “Xhikul, then?”

“Flower, skxawng.”

“Wrong.” Lo’ak’s tail started beating the air at the condescending tone. “Kiri is talking about the fruit. Xhika is its flower.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Whatever—”

“Is it whatever?” Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulder and spun him around so rough that he got dizzy. “Are you calling my sister’s life whatever?”

Lo’ak was going to explode from how wrong this was going and how insistent Neteyam was to twist his words. “That’s not what I meant bro!” 

“You are so careless.” Neteyam’s tail had shot up ramrod straight, the little bush of hair at the end of it all puffed up, ears perking in all directions. He wasn’t necessarily yelling but was tense all over, something he did whenever they were playing back in the day and he was about to pounce after staying still enough to implant a false seed of safety. “You don’t even think about what can happen if you were to bring a completely different ingredient! You don’t think!”

“Sorry that I’m trying to help! What are you doing?”

“Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe.” He pressed his lips together on a thin line, but couldn’t hold back whatever was bubbling inside. “I’m not losing another sibling, Lo’ak!”

Only a small gasp escaped Lo’ak when he opened his mouth in retaliation. He couldn’t have found his voice even if he found something to say to that rawness in return, anyway. 

The gut-churning guilt doubled. 

“Hey… I—”

“Go,” Neteyam whispered, tilting his head together with the lone word. “Since you’re dying to help, help Kiri. She’s exhausted. I don’t think grandmother will refuse.”

“What about you?” And there he goes again. Wrong words. Neteyam was looking more closed-off than before. “I’m not accusing or anything—”

“I can’t go in there.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Neteyam took a deep breath and loudly let it go, tail deflating, the arch of it depressing as hell for some reason. “I can’t look at her.”

Neteyam just gave a forlorn smile in return to Lo’ak’s heavily concerned looks demanding he continue but not knowing how to word it, his back looked weirdly lonely as he was tending to your significantly calmer ikran to join back the horde. 

Buried in negative thoughts all the way back and ignoring the pitiful looks from the rest of the clan, he met Kiri outside of the healing tent talking to Spider, and he could see Tuk’s back covering the view to you in his peripheral.

They were whispering about something and it was obvious even from a distance where they were nothing but stick figures. At least try to look less suspicious, Lo’ak thought. 

The only part he caught from the conversation was Spider saying, “Just describe them to me,” — Kiri was really leaning in towards him. 

“What’s going on?” 

The two looked like they were caught in the middle of scheming, and it clicked almost immediately. 

If Lo’ak had thought of going off on his own, so had they. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, bro,” he said, draping his arm across the human boy’s shoulders. “Neteyam’s literally patrolling.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Spider groaned, visibly disappointed. It warmed Lo’ak’s heart to see he was totally down for sneaking off the camp for you. “You said your dad told him to rest.”

“Yeah, he did. Except Neteyam never rests. He has a dancing glow worm up his ass.”

The conversation couldn’t continue because Kiri did a double take at something. 

“Tuk!” Kiri took a few steps aside, squinting as if she didn’t think she was seeing it right. Then her expression burst into panic, her hands flying forward as she ran to the tent, Spider and Lo’ak could only stare, baffled. “Tuk, oh Eywa, what are you doing!—” 

“I’m giving her water, she’s thirsty.”

“What?”

He actually rushed to the entrance of the tent, nearly falling headfirst in, having stumbled on some rock. Your mouth was actually open. And Tuk was really trying to get you to drink from the bowl she was holding against your mouth.

You choked at one point, still unconscious, but it was a sign of life. Lo’ak didn’t know if the shocked screech came from him or Kiri.  

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul

@eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

@thotd-f1 @httpjiikook @nipoxe @fussel9913 @gloryekaterina @nxptury @thesheelfsworld @heyyitsmaiaa @anyasullyyy @rey26 @in-luvais @em-100 @n7cje @kpopslur @holysaladapricothero @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @maviee @grxcisxhy-wp @me-marilm @n39ro-chann

[missmeinyourbones]

HOOKED ON HER FLESH

cw: afab!reader, fingering, pussy job, penetrative sex, pet names used (pretty girl, baby, etc), suckin and fuckin in the bath, raw fucking but this is not real so practice safe sex my friends

The click of the front door is dull, and Rintaro can feel the burn in his calves when he bends down to place his gym bag beside the few pairs of tossed shoes by the entryway.

If you were on the couch like he'd half expected you to be, you'd scold him for leaving it there knowing one of you always trips over it. But you're not.

It's late, almost 11 PM when he returns home from a long day of training. The apartment is dim and oddly still when he weakly calls out to address his presence. With still no answer, he makes his way down the dark hallway with nothing but the kitchen light illuminating the space.

The second place he checks is the bedroom.

Weirdly enough, you're not there either. But before he even gets the opportunity to worry, he spots an outline of light shining through the closed bathroom door in his peripheral.

Quietly entering the bathroom, he's not all that surprised to find you sponging in the water, eyes closed and hair carelessly clipped up.

You're not asleep—he can tell by your breathing. He notes the glass of red slightly sipped on as it balances on the back ledge of the toilet.

He leans against the door frame, admiring you while he can before you shy away and refuse to let him. It's somewhat muggy in the room from the steam, and he gathers that you've been marinating for a while based on the drops of sweat beading in your supple creases and cleavage.

When the nippy draft of the open door finally makes its way to you, you crack your eyes open and jump a bit at the unexpected figure in the doorway.

Your face cushions a bit when you realize it's him, "God, you scared me. When did you get home?"

"Just now," he placates, making his way over to kneel beside you at the edge of the tub. That singeing ache returns in his calves, but he doesn't seem to care when he's this close to you, counting the steam droplets adorning your cheeks and eyelashes.

You're heavy with sleep when you reach for him, "How was practice?"

He hums in acknowledgment, letting his thumb trace your jaw in a gentle touch.

"Nothin' special," he shakes his head before smiling a bit at your drowsy murmurs. "Tired, baby?"

You nod along against his hand, "A little, yeah."

Opening your eyes, you admire your lover; he's tired too, the subtle lines of worry and fatigue marking his handsome face. Your eyes flicker to his blunt bangs, damp and sticking to his forehead.

Your fingers find them easily, brushing them off of his eyebrows and causing him to crinkle his nose. "You already showered?"

"Yeah," it's his turn to close his eyes. "Took a quick one before I left. Figured it was easier."

You seem pleased with his answer as you relax further into the water. "Good, 'cause I really didn't wanna have to get out."

He shakes his head in amusement, fingertips gently caressing your eyebrows and lids when he asks, "Why're you even in here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You only take baths if you're like, stressed or something."

"Not really stressed," you breathe, though the sigh entwined in your words betrays your point, "just wanted to relax a bit. Feel like I've been a bit wound up these past few days."

Rintaro nods but bites his tongue. His mind filters through the handful of times you've been a bit snippy with him this week. When he forgot to take out the trash and you called him annoying. When his shower went on just a few minutes too long, leaving the hot water merely lukewarm and you cursing at him. Just this morning, when the two of you were buzzing around the kitchen preparing for your days—he used the last of the milk in his coffee and didn't write it down on the grocery list, resulting in a glare from you and a passive-aggressive nudge towards the notepad on the counter.

As if noting the gears turning in his head, you whisper above the sound of water gently sloshing beneath you as you readjust your legs over the side of the tub.

"I'm sorry I've been kind of a bitch."

Rintaro chuckles and it sounds like love. His tone is light and airy when he squeezes your hand in solidarity, "I like you a little bitchy."

You roll your eyes, though both of you know it's harmless, and a warming silence comfortably overtakes your tiny apartment bathroom.

Rintaro thinks he's subtle, and maybe he is to anyone who isn't you, but you know him, and you know that his tender touches trailing from your hand to your leg are filled with both love and something a bit more desperate.

"So," his hand slowly caresses your damp leg as it dangles outside of the water, "wound up, huh?"

A glare is sent his way but the smiling pulling at your lips encourages him.

"Can I help?" His thumb applies some pressure to your calf, rubbing slow circles to the tender muscle and ears perking up at your soft sighs.

"You don't have to, you're probably tired and—”

He interrupts your weak restraint with a rough whisper against your cold ankle, "I'm never too tired to make you cum, let's get that straight."

He hears you kiss your teeth as his vulgarity, "I'm just saying, I'm okay."

And Rintaro does what he does best, and doesn't take no for an answer.

"Well, what if I want to?" he purrs against your skin, "What about my needs?"

"Your needs of making me cum?" you scoff behind a smirk.

"Exactly."

Sitting up a bit to better see you, he prompts you to uncross your legs with a gentle pry of his hand. You obey and spread yourself against the front of the bath, heels against the sides of the cold ceramic as he slips a sluggish hand between your thighs.

He can feel the slick already forming submerged in the water as he teases an experimental finger through your folds. Taking his sweet time, he brings his thumb to brush against your untouched clit, and grins like a wolf when you whimper and jolt at the slight friction.

You hear Rintaro laugh through his nose. "Yeah, you're okay?" he smugly prompts.

You close your eyes at the feeling, too needy to care about his mocking, "Shut up."

You can't see his smirk but you know it's there all the same. He plays with you without any urgency, mindlessly enjoying rolling your nub between his pointer and thumb, greedily inhaling each and every one of your gasps and mewls.

Once he's pleased with his mess of you, he allows a fingertip to just barely dip inside of your heat. Painfully slow and deliberate, he lets it barely sink into you before it pulls itself out, repeating the movement slowly.

He's fucking with you openly, giving you a sinful taste of the feeling you're addicted to without any actual benefits of it. You know he wants you to break, and you can't even bring yourself to put up a fight with your dwindling restraint slipping through your pruney fingers.

With a prod of his finger that goes just slightly deeper than the rest, you whine in frustration and reach for his arm.

"Rin," your hand wraps around his flexed bicep, to both steady yourself and prompt him to do more.

He ignores your pleas, continuing to give you just enough to squirm and thrash at his repeated actions. He knows your lack of patience at his hand—if he hadn't made you so greedy, you'd just take what he gives you.

But Rintaro learned long ago that he's a weak man when it comes to you. He's always going to give you exactly what you want—he's just going to be annoying about it first.

He lets it continue for a bit longer before you finally whine and dig your nails into his bicep.

"Stop—fucking doing that…need—” your words falter into tiny little whimpers as he continues a steady pulse on your clit.

"Need?" his eyebrows raise in a delight that mimics the devil.

You go to close your legs in instinct, but Rintaro's free hand uses its palm to hold you open. The still water in the bath splashes against your movements as your chest heaves with a need that he's not even close to giving you.

Somewhere between mocking and comforting, he tuts and coos at your frustration. His fingers stay steady as he kisses your neck, licking the sweat mixed with citrus-scented salt from your relaxation.

He taunts, "Gotta use your words, pretty."

"Need you," crawls pathetically from your throat, "you asshole."

Rintaro smiles, baring fangs you're not one hundred percent sure are actually there or not. For once, he says nothing as he finally sinks a full finger into your eager cunt.

You gasp at the pressure and he follows suit, almost mimicking your hiccups and whimpers as if he too feels what you feel. With every exhale of yours, he's unashamed in inhaling the sweet sounds, trying to savor them by tasting them for his own.

One finger turns to two, and time doesn't exist as you're rocking against his palm and losing yourself between the splashing water and his mouth on your neck.

"Look at you," he presses kisses anywhere he can, "my pretty baby."

I'm—fuck," your legs try to jostle shut again but they're unsuccessful as Rintaro continues his pace.

"It's okay," he sweetly mocks your shaky attempts to reach your high. His teeth move to sink into the outside of your thigh when he tells you, "Just relax for me."

Feeling you clench around him in a manner that's far too familiar, he changes his movements in a way he knows gets you there every time. Curling his fingertips upwards and lingering a bit too long against that spongey ribbed spot inside of you, you nearly jump out of the water at the harsh sensation.

Suna laughs, holding you down as your nails sink into his wrist in an attempt to ground yourself.

He continues against your feeble tries, mentally checking all of the boxes for when he knows you're about to lose it. When you get to the babbling nonsense and begging for quite literally nothing stage, he decides it's time.

A gentle kiss prods against your temple, "Talk to me, pretty."

"Feels good—so fucking good, I—” Your back arches and flexes against the water, desperately trying to reach your approaching high.

"You gonna cum for me?" he breathes through a smile.

You can't speak, nodding furiously and mindlessly as you feel yourself reach your peak. The churning inside of you unravels like a wave, and you can feel your hips bucking themselves upwards without meaning to for the sake of release.

Your lover doesn't let up, rubbing and curling and cooing you through your high. You don't even hear him, can barely feel him anymore as he milks you for all he can before giving you a break and moving his loving touches to your legs and neck.

"Feelin' good?" he's out of breath from watching you perform for him.

Between how tired you were before, let alone how hard he'd just fucked you on his fingers, he expects you to be spent. He's undeniably hard—only human, after all—but with the way your eyes can barely stay open, he mentally plans to get you settled in bed before leaving himself quickly and joining you.

But he's never been more willing to be wrong when you whisper against his bicep, planting wet and messy kisses across his skin in an attempt (as if one was even needed) to persuade him.

He can feel you beam against his skin when you mewl and pant, "Think I need the real thing now."

"The real thing?" his voice octaves in a condescending sweetness.

You're pulling at his cloth-covered torso when you groan, "You know what I mean."

"That wasn't real? You left fucking crescents on my wrist—”

"Rin," you cut him off with a groan, looking up at him all teary and needy and so fucking pretty he thinks he could cry. "Please?"

You watch his chest inflate with a sharp inhale as his eyes rake over your malleable form. His tongue skims his canine when he chuckles and shakes his head.

"Fuck you."

He's undressed and on top of you in the water within seconds.

"Condom?" he heaves into your neck, practically swallowing you whole between breathy groans.

He feels you shake your head and he kisses his teeth in aggravation. "What'd I say about words, baby?"

"No," you nearly hiss, before following it up with a velvety, "just wanna feel you this time, please."

Rintaro groans into your chest and subconsciously bucks his hips against you, "Fuck, okay. Okay, baby."

He takes his time when lining himself up with you, letting his pink tip acquaint itself with your puffy folds like it's the first time. He feels a pull inside of him that egnites when he realizes, it's not the first time, and over his dead body will there ever be a last.

He watches beneath the water as his pre-cum smears itself all over your pussy, sticky and webbed as it dissolves under the water. He flicks himself across your clit, tapping heavily against you when you softly cry at the sensitivity. He lets out sounds of amusement at your feeble protests.

"Don't—” you hiccup as he runs his shaft between your folds, "—be a dick."

"Shut up," he quickly kisses your lips, "I got you—"

As he breathes, he unhurriedly sinks himself into you, relishing in the way you both inhale one another at the stretch. Breathing in one another's gasps and shivers, he lets himself ease in and out of you until he's completely bottomed out and pressing his weight onto your abdomen to hear you shiver.

It's all sweaty kisses and desperate licks as you meet his movements, pulling as he pushes and taking everything one another can offer. And it is everything—you'd never give anything less.

You can tell he's slowly losing his composure, but he does a good job of keeping up with his long and intentional strokes. He means to leave no inch of you untouched, wants you to remember the feeling every time he's away and you find your hand snaking its way between your legs.

"I love you," falls from your lips like the wine you neglected from the untouched glass that sits a few feet from you. And Rintaro swallows it greedily, tastes its rich red and white and pink before spewing it right back for you to keep as your own.

His thrusts become more sloppy and frantic as he feels himself reaching the brink of his climax. "I love you, shit—love you, I love you."

He comes in bursts of heat and desperation, and with a few more needy strokes and circles on your clit, you follow suit behind him. Spent and sticky with cramping limbs in your tiny tub, Rintaro coddles you through shaky whimpers and sore muscles.

"So fuckin' pretty," he breathes between kisses, to you or himself, he doesn't think he'll ever know the difference. "My baby."

Touches turn lazy and tender, and breathing is now slow and steady when Rintaro adjusts himself with a groan and sits upwards. He reaches for your unattended wine glass, taking a strong swig and raising his eyebrows in jest when you roll your eyes and laugh at him.

He then holds it to your lips, gently leaning your jaw back as you take a sip of your own. You swear that his eyes have stars in them, and while you don't know it, yours gape the same right back at him.

Sinking into the water on the opposite end of the cramped bathtub, he grabs your leg and hooks it upon his shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss to your ankle before letting his head loll to the side.

"This water's fucking freezing now," he mumbles, eyes closed.

But his spirits lift when he hears you giggle at his declaration, opening his eyes and smiling behind a scowl to catch you lazily tossing your head back in amusement.

"It was nice before you got in," you shrug, rubbing your ankle against his ear just to watch him whine at the motion, "so it must just be you."

Rintaro hums in faux agreement, turning to weakly gnaw on your calf before kissing the crescents indented from his front teeth.

"Keep it up and I'll keep your pruney ass right here all night."

[agoodroughandtumble]

Roronoa Zoro x Reader - I Didn't Need Saving

I Didn't Need Saving - Roronoa Zoro/Reader

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is hurt after battling with the marines Warnings: 18+. Language, injury, implied violence (in keeping with the show)

“You’re not dead then.”

You turned your head – trying to ignore the pain currently surging through you even at the smallest of movements. A small smile found its way onto your lips at the sight of Zoro leant against the doorway, arms folded across his chest and signature frown gracing his features. He was fine. He was safe. “Apparently not.”

“Good.” Zoro crossed across the room to stand at the edge of the bed. He didn’t look like that was good. “Means I get to kill you myself.”

“Excuse me?” If this was the swordsman’s attempt at humour, you weren’t understanding the joke. The wound in your side was preventing you from sitting up so you had to make do with glaring at him. “Most people would be grateful-”

“Grateful?” He snapped, raised voice making you recoil. “For your recklessness? Your complete disregard of anyone but yourself?”

You were silent, blinking back tears, unable to look at him lest the dam broke. Images of the battle flashed through your mind – marines everywhere, reinforcements and cannonballs seemingly appearing out of thin air. The invading stench of blood and smoke. Everything happened all at once, and yet time had seemed to stretch endlessly. And then. The explosion. Wooden shrapnel hurtling towards him.

“Well?”

The sharpness of his voice forced you to look at him. His expression was unlike anything you had seen – eyes burning into you, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth were sure to break. It was then you noticed one hand gripping his sword, knuckles almost turning white. Maybe he was going to kill you. Maybe that would be preferable.

Zoro was still staring at you. Expectantly. You took a deep inhale – shouting was definitely beyond you at present but that didn’t mean you weren’t internally screaming at the audacity. Next time you would just let him die – that would teach the arsehole to be grateful. “I saved you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper but the silence was so thick you were certain he could hear the rapid increase of your heartbeat.

Zoro was unmoved. “I didn’t need saving.”

“Next time I won’t.”

“Next time?” He scoffed. “What makes you think you’re going anywhere near a battle again?”

You didn’t answer. Instead turned away from him to focus on the ceiling. Tears of either anger or hurt were pricking the corners of your eyes but you’d be damned if you let him of all people see you cry. “Just fuck off, Zoro. I’m tired; turns out taking a stake to the ribs for someone really takes it out of you.”

If you had still been facing him you would have caught the way he flinched for a second at the venom hanging from your words. Fortunately for Zoro, his voice could remain composed even when his expression couldn’t. “I can’t.” He replied blankly before pulling up a chair and settling himself beside you – boots propped up on your bed (prick). “Chopper wants someone watching you. Guess who drew the short straw.”

A frustrated groan left you. Surely if he was that angry with you one of the others would be a better nurse? You really weren’t going to risk your life again if this was the bullshit you’d have to endure. “Well if you are going to kill me yourself at least wait until I’m asleep.” With that you rolled onto your side away from him. “Ah-fu-” Sharp, white hot pain flooded your system causing you to immediately collapse onto your back – eyes screwed shut and teeth almost biting clean through your lower lip.

“Shit, Y/N are you okay? Do you want Chopper?”

“I’m fine.” You forced out through gritted teeth, trying your best to focus on long, deep breaths until the pain rescinded enough to open your eyes. Only to be met with his. Despite yourself you felt your heart skip a beat at the intensity with which he stared at you. The concern.

“Why did you do that?”

“You were pissing me off.”

“No,” he sighed and rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he did so. “Why did you do that?”

“Oh.” Heat rose in your cheeks and you relished in the smell of him, the feel of his skin against yours. You could stay in this moment forever, well, maybe if your heart didn’t feel like it was about to burst open. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re being evasive.”

You fidgeted uncomfortably beneath him. And swallowed. Hard. If he had asked you ten minutes before you would have thought the answer was obvious. As it happened, his reaction just showed how completely oblivious he was. Did you really have to spell it out? How were you even supposed to start? Hell, how could any words of declaration be any more glaring, any more indisputable than literally risking your life for his? Zoro was an idiot, sure, but he couldn’t be this much of an idiot.

Fighting through the pain you managed to wriggle an arm free of the covers Zoro’s large frame was currently trapping you under and a ran a hand through mossy green hair. A small, lazy smile tugged at your lips but you weren’t there just yet, not until you felt him relax into your touch.

His eyes opened again, leaning back slightly to look at you properly. “If you don’t answer, I will kill you this time.”

You cocked your head, although this threat came with a raised eyebrow and lips threatening to twitch into a smirk you couldn’t help but be a little curious. “Why do you keep saying that?”

Zoro leant back fully, cutting off the contact between the two of you but looking at you just as intensely. “Only I get to decide when you die. And how. And it’s certainly not going to be because you stupidly decided to be a god-damn hero for me. So if you’re still waiting for me to be grateful that you were willing to leave me when-”

You chewed your lips and stared at him. Desperately praying for him to continue. Instead he was stubbornly staring at his boots. “When what?”

Silence.

“When what, Zoro?”

“Don’t do that shit again.” He forced out, still not trusting himself to look at anything other than his boots.

“Zoro, I…” You sighed defeatedly. Your heart would shatter into a million pieces before it mustered the courage to say the words burning your tongue.

He stood up and headed towards the door, still not looking at you. “I’ll ask Nami to watch you. Get some sleep.” With that, he was gone.

You were wrong. Your heart only needed to be cleaved in two.

[i-know-you-know-we-know-lee-know]

Skz maknae line react to you falling asleep on them

This is pt 2 of the falling asleep on them reaction because I've let it marinate in my head for a few days and decided its time to be productive again😌

Hyung line

Tumblr deleted half of this draft so i had to rewrite it😭

Sorry this is shorter than the hyung line;-; i kinda took all the good ideas for that one

Warnings: Bad grammar, mild cursing, alexa makes an appearance, Minsung is mentioned, hot coco

Han

*cracks knuckles*

I know everybody says he's shy-

BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?

poor boy is flustered constantly

He would probably just be laying around doing nothing

Like me

And you would be 🥐pRoDuCtIvE✨

Realises i used a croissant instead of a sparkle

*insert surprised pikachu face*

Anyways

Doing chores, working, living, etc.

Ya know, hard things

Is what you would be doing

But say you didn't get much sleep the night before

So there's basically a zombie casually doing things around the house

When you come over and sit on his lap

Boi is sweating

Profusely

He's worried that he'll wake you up if he breathes too much

So he just kinda sits there all stiff

Untill you snore

And he's like

👁👄👁

Oh

Your asleep

And THEN he cuddles you

Because at this point he's decided that if you wake up he's just going to cuddle you right back to sleep

He would turn the TV volume down if he was watching something so he wouldn't wake you up

...

WHO WANTS A JISUNG TO CUDDLE THEM BACK TO SLEEP?

Stays: *raise their hands in unison*

He would play with your hair

You cant tell me he wouldnt

If you wake up he probably wouldn't even notice😭

He would just be staring off into space playing with your hair

Oh

He's also squishy

👌

Felix

Sunshine boi right here

Lets make that literal

And by literal i mean he's hot

Temperature wise i mean he's warm

😃

Anyways~

Its winter

And the two of you are taking a romp through the aesthetic snowy forest

But you know how walking through snow is exhausting

And your overheating in your snowgear

And the sun is blinding

*remembers winter is my favorite season*

Yeah...

So when you get back home your basically running on the thought of sleep

And the house is warm

And Felix is warm

*melts*

When you sit on his lap you do just that and fall asleep as soon as your comfortable

He would wrap you in a blanket like a lil burrito🥺

If you wake up he makes hot chocolate for you

But when he comes back with it he scares the shit out of you

Because you were already falling back asleep

Once you finish your drink you go back to sleeping

He would probably fall asleep too😭👌

Seungmin

*inhales*

He claims he hates it

But if you try to not sleep on his lap and hes near you

 (๑•̀ㅁ•́๑) 

#offended

Will literally drag you on to his lap

Lets say you just came home from a long trip without him

But when you came home he wasn't there

So you fell asleep waiting for him

And when he does come home he sees you

Takes a second to admire you

And pulls you on to his lap

You wake up and just

?

Oh its you

And fall right back asleep

He holds your waist

Or just puts his arms around your waist and holds you

When you wake up he just looks at you

You think he's about to kiss you

But he just kinda stares at you

You know the way Minho stares at Han?

Yeah

Hes looking at you like that

...

ALEXA PLAY CARELESS WHISPER

*𝓣𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓯𝔂*

Seungmin has been bias wrecking too hard recently😌 im weakening

*exhales*

Jeongin

Shy

But not stiff shy like Han

More like...

Squishy? Shy

Like ✨bread✨🍞

Idk

You had a really long day at school with a bunch of tests and basically slept through half of them

When you get home you B-line for him

And just climb into his lap without saying anything

He doesn't really know what to do with his hands

So he just wraps his arms around you

And hopes he's doing the right thing

If you wrap your arms around him he will freeze

And then kinda just relax into your arms

🥺

Baby bread

Would close his eyes and pull you closer

When you wake up you think he's sleeping

But he's just trying to make you stay asleep

EAGHSPWHEFUHCHEFT

Sorry just combusted rq

🇼‌🇭‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇪‌ 🇸‌🇴‌ 🇨‌🇺‌🇹‌🇪‌

*my friends at my funeral*

Cause of death: Yang Jeongin

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Shadows at Dawn

Summary: After surviving Cranstead Fields but haunted by it's trauma, Billy finds comfort in the allure of alcohol and blurred faces of the women he's been with, desperate to find something that feels good | Word Count: 3k~ | Warnings: smut, alcohol abuse, trauma related behaviour, emotional distress, casual sex

A/N: based off the song 'Good Luck, Babe!' and the Billy brainrot continues 😅

The dreaded banner of a text at the top of his mobile phone screen stole his attention.

Mum: Billy, love, please ring me xx

Billy stared at the message, the screen's glow harsh against the dim light of the bus. He hadn’t been home much lately, hadn't seen much of anyone who knew him before it all went wrong. His mum’s words weighed heavily on him as the bus trundled through the city, a mix of guilt and defiance brewing in his chest. He knew she was right to worry. He was spiralling, his life a blur of lost weekends and forgettable faces.

Every unreturned number, every empty morning was another stamp pressed into an already soaring depression. He set the phone down, resolving to ignore the message, just as he had ignored the signs of his own unravelling.

He felt awful at first for ignoring his Mum, knowing that she was just worrying, as mothers do, in their own loving way. But there was a tight squeeze about her love. Almost controlling in its intentions, as if she had nearly let her son slip from her grasp once and didn't want to let it happen again.

But he'd had enough of screaming matches with his Dad every time he went over for a chat and a cuppa. Not that he expected him to understand the flurry of anxiety and self-hatred that marinated in his head.

It was the same script every time anyway.

Always 'I know it's been hard but you need to get yourself on your feet' and 'you had something stable and good with Becky and now look at you now that she's gone'. When really, Becky had been the one to insist that it was all too much for her after Cranstead, his sleepless nights, his fearful eyes at the slightest sound that pulled him back into that car on the hot July afternoon, were all seemingly beyond the compassion and care she was willing to give.

Billy had known it was over the second her eyes shifted from comforting and caring, to unnerved and weary. And it was all downhill from there.

As he turned away, watching the smear of red and amber street lamps as the bus clanged over a speedbump, a flicker of memory from the previous night came unbidden. Her face blurred, the girl from the club, looking at him with the usual detached amusement and fleeting interest. It was unsettling how a simple look could feel like a lifeline thrown into his roiling sea of numbness.

An interest from someone, whether marred by the effects of alcohol or not, felt like a small victory. But she was attractive, and in the moment, her willingness to be with him had been enough.

For a while, it made him feel something, anything other than the pervasive numbness that had become his constant companion. It was a shallow, fleeting sensation, a reminder of a life where not every emotion was dulled or darkened by the shadows of his past.

This spark, however minimal and fleeting, was a small victory. It wasn’t about her, not really, it was about the feeling of being seen, of existing for someone else, even if just for a night.

Billy had developed a habit, almost ritualistic in its regularity. Each time he left the club with someone, as morning closed in on that spark once again, unable to face them when they woke up, he’d scribble his name and number on a scrap piece of paper, leave it at their bedside and disappear to wallow in the inevitable shame that would soon follow after. It was an offer, a possibility for something more, something beyond the heat of their bed. 

But morning after morning, his phone remained silent. No calls, no messages. Each non-response solidified the growing emptiness inside him. It was as if with every unreturned call, the world reaffirmed the futility of his attempts at connection. These gestures, meant to bridge the gap between loneliness and companionship, seemed to only widen it. He began to think perhaps that he was just as forgettable as the nights he’d left behind, and wondered briefly what the point was in surviving Cranstead if this was the life he was supposed to lead after.

This cycle had become part of the bleak rhythm of his life. He wondered sometimes why he still left his number, why he continued to make a gesture he knew would likely be ignored. Perhaps it was a test, a way to keep proving to himself that he was still trying, still reaching out despite the numbing predictability of disappointment.

He needed to feel like he was still making an effort, otherwise the spiral would quicken even further. It was akin somewhat to feeling drunk, just not the nice kind.

Billy walked into the pulsing heart of the club, the thudding bass mirroring the beat of his heart, as familiar and oppressive as the tightness in his chest. The strobe lights sliced through the smoky darkness, the smell of cheap perfume and sweat humid in the air. Billy slipped into the crowd, his movements automatic and practiced. He had perfected the art of seeming available but never truly being present.

He approached the bar, ordering a drink he didn’t really want. As he leaned against the polished surface, his eyes scanned the room, not in search of someone specific but out of habit. The faces blended into one another, each one a potential story, a possible escape from his own spiralling thoughts. Yet, he made no real effort to engage. It was easier, safer, to remain aloof.

Billy knew the type of girls who gravitated toward him. They were often drawn by the same melancholy that pooled in his dark eyes, mistaking it for depth or perhaps recognising it as a kindred spirit in their own reflections of loneliness. His height and lanky frame, combined with the perpetual shadow of sorrow that draped his features, painted the picture of a troubled soul, romanticised in a way that was both alluring and cautionary.

As if written from a script, a girl who'd been separated from her mates leaned beside him in some dark corner of the club, leaning against the wall, a double vodka and coke sipped through a tiny straw, and big eyes looking up at him as if they were in the privacy of a bedroom already.

She was exactly his type, or rather, he was exactly hers. Billy could see it in the way she tilted her head, her gaze sizing him up, as if she could peel back the layers of his façade with just a look. There was an undeniable appeal in that recognition. Here was someone who did not need him to smile or pretend. She sought the mystery in him, even if it was only for a quick, interesting fuck.

He thought with some hatred pointed inwards, that that was all he was good for. For a girl to brag to her friends the next day about this mysterious, romantically sad creature she'd let have several minutes of heaven between her thighs.

And after the initial excitement had faded, he would once again fade into ambiguity. Nothingness. Nothing more than just a subject of a story that he had both not heard, and yet somewhat at the butt of a joke he didn't know about.

“I'm doing my PhD this year. I feel like one of those in between girls, half of my mates are married with kids and buying houses and the other half are drunk getting pissed and shagging anything with a heartbeat-”

Billy listened, nodding along, but his responses were sparse. He couldn't shake the feeling of performing.

She spoke about herself, too hazed with alcohol to ask him about himself. Or perhaps it was that she wasn't particularly interested in that. She seemed interested in him, or at least, she imagined herself in bed with him later.

As the night wore on, she continued to monopolise the conversation, filling every silence with stories and questions. She seemed to latch onto him, her laughter a bit too loud, her proximity a bit too close. Billy recognised he was a few drinks deep, like her, and feeling dizzy, but half aware at the same time.

"I swear I’ve seen you somewhere," she insisted, the third time she'd said it that night, squinting as if trying to place him in her memory. "Were you at that concert last month? Or maybe at the park during the summer festival?"

Billy shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just one of those faces, I guess," he murmured, unsure whether to be flattered or concerned by her fixation.

She hummed, a playful glint in her half-lidded, tipsy eyes. After a sharp grimace at the harsh taste of the vodka dregs in her glass, she set it aside and leaned closer, her voice a sultry whisper.

“Fancy coming back to mine?”

Billy didn't even feel the tug of impulse. He just did as he had always done, and left with her.

Her apartment was a small, unremarkable space, sparsely decorated and functional. As soon as they entered, she tossed her keys on a table and gestured vaguely towards the kitchen. “I’m just going to grab something to drink. Make yourself comfortable, I guess.”

The transition from the club to her bedroom was brisk, businesslike. And as he walked to her bedroom, he instinctively pulled a condom from his wallet and shoved it into his pocket so that he wouldn't have to awkwardly find it later.

The sex was just as unremarkable. 

Actually, no.

The sex was okay, serviceable but largely fueled by the alcohol coursing through their veins, which lent an exaggerated intensity to their movements. Their mutual inebriation made them more enthusiastic than the encounter warranted, each responding more to their own heightened sensations than to any real chemistry.

At least this made him feel something.

In the humid air, he watched with a dreamy gaze as they changed positions and between ragged breaths, her breasts moving with every push into her, she slurred.

“I know where I recognise you from…” she started, “...didn't I see you on the news a few months ago…”

Though Billy didn't stop, the question hit him, overshadowed the buzz of intoxication and jolted him back into a brief moment of complete sobriety.

She'd recognised him from the Cranstead Fields coverage.

His heart beat rattled with a guilty rhythm, not from the shame of this soulless one night stand to boost his fractured confidence, but from the sudden intrusion of his other life into this detached moment.

Instead of forming a reply, he pulled her towards him by a hard grip at her waist, lifting her as he renewed his anxious energy into sex, hoping she wouldn't either bring it up again or remember.

And as she moaned loudly, throwing her head back, he closed his eyes in relief and attempted to focus on the feeling creeping up his spine. But the seed of discomfort that had been planted wrestled with his pleasure, and when he finally let out a choked whimper and came hard into the condom, it didn't feel the same.

It was hollow, this feeling. Like shame.

That was the first time Billy started not leaving his name and number. Even leaving her apartment the next day, the embarrassment and vulnerability he'd felt when she'd asked, haunted his eyes and tortured his already withered soul.

He no longer kept track of days of the week, only doing so by how busy or empty the local clubs and pubs were on any given evening. The place where Billy could find some semblance of belonging, even if it was to find some girl who looked at him the right way, now felt like a shackle. Casual sex became a monotonous task. Each time chipped away at him and became less and less effective, like growing resistance to a drug.

The usual pleasantries, once peppered with the possibility of future contact, were now clipped, impersonal. Billy moved through these spaces like a ghost, visible but insubstantial, his presence noted but not remembered. He'd always introduce himself, but doubted they would actually remember who he was.

The girls’ faces, names, voices. What were they anymore? They changed so often, and usually the only sound that came out was a faked moan.

The highs of sex were no longer enough to calm the worsening storm within. Alcohol became its counterpart, often holding hands and guiding him through drunken conquests. And though his performance was heavily affected, he could not bring himself to care. 

One Sunday morning felt a chip more peaceful than the average day. After another gruelling phone call with his Mum, Billy felt the shame and guilt nibble at the edges of him. The worry in her voice had made him briefly think, paired with the unusually sunny autumn day, that he should get out and let the warmth kiss his skin for a change.

Although, Billy wasn't perfect. He found himself at the local pub not 20 minutes later at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, moving towards the bar area, fishing in his wallet for his card and licking his lips, thinking of the pint he was about to have and how it would calm the flurry of anxiety in his heart. Even if it was brief.

A young woman rushed in to stack the glasses, hair up and bright faced. An employee he didn't recognise as his regular barmaid, but recognised her from somewhere he couldn't place in his mind.

She smiled warmly, in a way that made his heart flutter.

“Sorry about that. What can I get you?” 

He found himself just standing there, silent, for a long moment. His brain ticking away, trying to pin her in his memory.

“U-uh, just a pint of house lager, please..” he replied quietly, looking down to avoid her eyes, non-judgemental and kind. 

He watched in his periphery as she pulled the pint, eyes vaguely roving over her as if against his will. There was something familiar about the curve of her hips, the slope of her neck. Had he been close enough before to see these details?

She places it in front of him, and smiles, narrowing her eyes playfully, “I know you,” she muses, “Billy, right?”

His heart skipped. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Panic tightened its grip as he feared the worst connection. She knows Cranstead Fields. Shit.

"U-uh—" he stuttered, scrambling for an explanation or an excuse. But her next words cut through his panic. 

"Don't worry, I'm not holding a grudge about you sneaking off. It happens, right?" Her tone was light, dismissive of any offence. Relief washed over Billy, mixing with disbelief. 

"Yeah, I—Sorry about that. I didn't mean to, uh, leave like that," he managed, his voice steadying as the initial shock wore off.

She waved off his apology with an easy flick of her wrist, the ambient light catching the playful glint in her eyes. "Honestly, don't fret. We're all adults here, right?”

He let go of a breath, looking at her as if she were speaking some foreign language.

"Yeah…thanks for being so cool about it," Billy admitted, his guarded demeanour softening as he sensed no judgement from her. He ran a hand through his hair, a half-smile beginning to form. "It’s been a...well, it’s been a complicated time for me."

"Hey, no explanations needed," she replied, leaning forward on the bar, her tone reassuring. “We've all got our stories.”

"Right, right," Billy nodded, his response slightly halting as he processed her dismissal of the situation. He took a deep breath, feeling the tightness in his chest begin to ease, yet a trace of guardedness lingered. "I guess it's just been a while since I didn't wake up to some kind of drama."

She leaned against the bar, her posture relaxed and open, which seemed to soften the space between them. "Sounds like you could use more drama-free mornings," she said, her voice low and teasing. "Or maybe just better endings to your nights."

He chuckled, the sound more relaxed now, realising her intention was not to chastise but to lighten the mood. "Better endings would be a start, yeah."

"Consider this a step in the right direction then," she replied with a warm smile. She moved to pour another drink for a different customer, her motions fluid and confident, but her attention still partially on him. The casual ease of her demeanour helped dissolve some of his lingering tension, making the space around him feel less constricting.

Eventually, she tore off the receipt from the register, scribbling something on the back before sliding it across the bar to him. 

“Here’s your receipt, and a little something extra,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Billy picked it up, turning it over to find her number scrawled in neat digits. “No sneaking off without saying goodbye this time,” she added, her tone playful yet sincere.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Billy responded, a genuine smile breaking through his usual reserved facade. He pocketed the receipt, feeling a lightness he hadn’t expected to find that night. 

His eyes lingered as she moved behind the bar, serving various customers, her smile ever-present and her laugh just as addictive. He felt a flip in his stomach, his skin tingling as if the sun had come out for the first time in the cold, long winter of his soul.

Billy found himself surprisingly content to just sit at the bar, watching the rhythm of her movements, the easy interactions she had with everyone. He sipped his beer, slowly, occasionally chiming in when she threw a casual question his way or made a joke that included him.

She’d loop back to him between orders, keeping him anchored to the moment, to the bar, to her. It was comfortable and unfamiliar in a way that both excited and soothed him. As the night waned and the crowd thinned, Billy found himself enjoying the lightness of their exchanges, feeling a spark of hope ignite within him. 

He willed the world to slow, even just for a while, so that he could keep talking to her, keep looking at her gorgeous warm face, to keep a little piece of who he used to be alive the more she eased her way into his life.

Perhaps, if someone could remember his name, perhaps he could start remembering himself too.

dividers by @cafekitsune

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch

@castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy

@justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3

[ms-scarletwings]

The Speculative Analysis About Irkens No One Asked For: Part II

Hiya! Back at it again with not shutting up about the lil green dudes. In case you found this first, here’s the Part One of this spiel, touching on some of the environmental theories about Irk and its cyberpunk-leaning cultural direction. While this post is dedicated to a more biological look of what’s going on with the Irkens, there was some leading context and other tidbits back in that one you may also enjoy, too.

So, carrying through what we previously set up, I want to… admit off the bat that, I found it a little difficult at first, you know?-To pick an angle I wanted to sink my teeth into. With how old the show’s become and how creative & enthusiastic a fanbase it attracted, it’s getting hard to really note (or theorize) something about Irken anatomy that hasn’t been said before somewhere. And don’t get me wrong, that’s awesome and I love almost every word of it I’ve read. A lot of it from various sources is almost certainly going to bleed together into the first half of this. So, keep it in mind, yet I will try to chew a little deeper into the questions we can’t actually answer with just a rewatch of the show, all good? Because there’s a few more base things we know from the canon I’m going to include to start listing: - Irkens lack any visible form of nose or ears, but are equipped with a pair of sensory antennae. Presumably, these organs fulfill the same roles, as they do in real-world insects. - Irken organs are obviously very alien, not well explained, artificially enhanced, and hard to compare to that of a human’s- outside of their general body shape, the presence of a primary brain separate from the PAK, and the fact that they do possess something of an internal skeleton. - A petite race on average (relative to humans), Irkens universally follow an unquestioned social hierarchy based on individual height. - Irkens are endowed with a remarkable ability to regenerate and heal superficial injuries, even up to repairing the damage of being nearly skinned alive (chest-down) or severely burning their corneas within a matter of hours. - Their preferred diet is one that is rich in (if not primarily made of) refined carbohydrates, and while they seem to tolerate fatty sources, such as processed dairy, their anatomy is poorly suited for dealing with high-protein foods like beans and meat. - In fact, all forms of contact with exposed animal meat itself will cause it to dissolve and meld into their own flesh, via an incredibly painful process. - On contact with water from Earth, their skin will receive harsh chemical burns (This has been explained by Vasquez to be a consequence of impurities and man-made pollutants, which Irkens seem sensitive to). - While I’m already on a roll about their skin, it also contains/produces a substance capable of killing lice.

Now, I think we’ve all heard a lot about sqeedily spooches, but does anyone else want to keep marinating a second longer on the topic of s k i n ? Because I have some damn thoughts to release about Zim’s outer casing.

Let’s Get Chemical

First hot take, and the hill I am willing to be slain on: That ain’t actually skin! At least, it is nothing chemically alike to Earth-native vertebrate skin. I’ve given all of the above and the general running theme about Irkens resembling arthropods a lot of thought, and I’ve come to about the only conclusion I could that makes their dermis equivalent… make sense.

See, one of the biggest traits that sets apart invertebrates from other animals in real life is the “innie or outie” skeleton question, but you gotta understand that the “skeletons” that bugs and crabs have would still be considered something completely different from our endoskeletons even if they were on the inside. The hard tissues that make up OUR skeletal systems are mostly made up of a *collagen (remember that word!) frame that is reinforced by calcium, phosphorus, and other minerals. The hard parts of an ant’s skeleton, on the other foot, are mainly composited of chitin.

Chitin, now, is a very neat substance. It’s a polysaccharide, meaning that it’s made up of a bunch of sugar molecules chained together. This makes it distinct from proteins, which are made of amino acid chains instead of carbs. Chitin is also one of the single most important structural polymers in the universe to a ton of existing life. It makes up the literal backbone of arthropods and the cell walls of all fungi. We’ve even found it in fish scales and some amphibians. So, must also be important to humans, right? NAH. Not a chance. Higher animals actually long ditched the ability to synthesize the stuff, and are not any the worse for it, since there’s more than one way to stick a bunch of creature pieces together. For two examples, keratin and *collagen are proteins we naturally synthesize that functionally do the same thing. Keratin is the hard substance that makes up hair & fingernails, and collagen is practically the wonderglue of flesh: It’s a fundamental binder that holds together your bones, your skin, your precious muscle meats, the ligaments, the tendies, the nerves…

pretty much the whole person blueprint if you get the picture.

And thus concludes your (VERY overly simplified) highshcool bio class recap, but what the hell did that have to do with the cartoon spacemen again? I’m gonna round back to them through a funny secret about exoskeletons, actually: They have a softer part, too! Chitin’s hella diverse in its forms and utility. What’s in an exoskeleton is actually a version of it modified with other materials (like what’s done to collagen in bone) to make it so rigid and shell-like. A purer chitin, on the other hand, is more leathery and flexible, less like the shell of a beetle and more like the squishy wall around a caterpillar or maggot. Even the hard bodied insects still have an endocuticle layer like this hiding just under the “shell”, still considered part of the whole exoskeleton, but suddenly looking and acting more like we’d call a skin.

Eh, see where I’m going with this? My conviction is this- Irkens may have used to be even more arthropodal in an earlier stage of their evolution, including BOTH an internal skeleton, and some form of protective exoskeleton in their body plan. And hey, maybe the two were extensions of the same system once, too. You recognize something like that in modern tortoises when you remember that their “shells” are actually just the bone structure of their own ribcage. Then, let’s say that Irkens later saw the loss of their heavier exocuticle, leaving behind the endoskeleton and the flexible inner (now just an outer) cuticle of what used to be an entire body shell. This could have been a gradual change, via natural selection, or it could have been another artificial mutation brought on by technology- wherein the elder brains decided the feature was less efficient and simply phased it out of the cloning process- the same as the loss of their species’ sexual organs.

But, you’re thinking, why on Irk would the loss of an entire badass armor layer be beneficial to their fitness? Few reasons- For one, they are cumbersome and limiting. The downgrade on freedom of movement and flexibility they would be for a bipedal humanoid is self-explanatory enough. When it came to structural integrity, the inner skeleton would have already done a well job with little modification. For all the protection they provide, they don’t leave much room for expansion, and need to be shed in order for the animal to grow any further or to recover from certain injuries. The process of molting itself would be an excruciating process for any intelligent species to have to endure; one that also temporarily leaves the critter in a very vulnerable and stressed state for every molt. To advance from more primitive origins into a dominant race, manual dexterity and mobility would have to take a front seat over a small amount of modest defenses, and mind you, Irk long ago woulda managed to compensate for that loss in the form of advanced weaponry (obviously).

I’m also of the mind that the shift away from an exoskeleton could have even been the key to allowing the Irkens to even grow to the size they are now. Recall back to Part One for a second, where I shared the likely case for Irk having a massive bulk behind its gravity field. Gravity is a hard thing on any skeletal structure, representing a constant strain to be fought against when moving, growing, and bearing weight .There’s a lot of factors behind why we don’t have horse sized spiders or elephant sized lobsters IRL, and weight is actually one of them. Notice how terrestrial isopods only get about to the size of a bean, but the aquatic ones can top out at over a foot long? And that’s only having Earth’s level of gravity to struggle against, let alone however harsh the conditions would be on a larger planet. So, there’s my framework for explaining what I think the aliens’ cuticle is not; however, what does that mean for what it is, besides “feels and looks like a grub’s”?

Well, look again at some of the extraordinary things it can do.

Cooties Immunity

“Germs” was a memorable episode that posed a very legitimate question to the viewer. Why IS IT that foreign pathogens aren’t a bigger concern for the invaders? They’re literally sent off to other worlds to blend in: Socializing with the native inhabitants, eating their foods, and living in an alien habitat. In the case of an undiscovered rock like Earth, our infectious diseases would have no reference available to the Armada whatsoever. Sure, species incompatibility would provide some protection, but the risk of something carrying over and adapting is always still there. Zoonoptic jumps happen all the time with bacteria and viruses, and Zim’s body temperature IS in the normal human range. And what about fungal pathogens, or parasites-

Oh, wait, the lice episode gave it away right there.

I love this sequence so much, because it’s coincidentally like, an exact “art imitates life” parallel to something a real species of primate does. Black lemurs live in the same area of Madagascar as these vibrant, red millipedes.

The millipedes are special because when threatened, they secrete a poisonous substance from their skin. The lemurs are special because they like to grab the bugs and nibble them for no other reason than to make them release those toxins. Those chemicals are then rubbed into their fur, because somehow the lemurs figured out it makes a really handy mosquito repellant. The lemurs also like to get completely zonked out on the chemicals too but eyy- Point was it stands to reason that Irkens may also secrete small amounts of their own potent toxin from the cuticle, perhaps for more hygienic than defensive purposes. This secretion would be responsible for protecting them from parasites and topical infections. Could it also make people blazed out of their minds? …Maybe? I think I’d like to promote the “Just Say No” policy on the matter of licking aliens, though. Ffs at least ask them out to dinner first.

When it comes to other kinds of sick, looks like it might be the trusty old PAK to the rescue here again. I imagine that, being an intergalactic, partially mechanical civilization, the Irken race has come down this road enough to put in a workaround. A standard PAK contains the entirety of the population’s collective knowledge/history- which would include a catalog of all known infectious agents they have encountered across the universe. Some kind of nanobot-bolstered immune system that could detect and respond appropriately to new threats isn’t out of the question, nor should a feature that can automatically administer the appropriate medicine directly into the wearer’s bloodstream. For all this awesomeness, nonetheless, there remains a downside or two that they haven’t quite conquered..

The Meaty, Sweety, Mending of DOOM

Anyone ever actually think about how as far as resilience is concerned, Zim is practically an X-man compared to any Earthling? He has regenerative capabilities that surpass anything else on earth, save idk, bamboo shoots, if even. Injuries that would leave a human permanently disabled only seem to incapacitate an Irken for a few hours to a day at most. They’re all the more tough to put out of commission when considering that a PAK doubles as a form of backup life support, ready to “soft reboot” the host with a quick jolt if it detects a sudden drop in vital signs. It is tempting to credit the same device as the source of this healing boost as well, teasing the nanobot suggestion again; however, I see a chance instead to bring this back a step.

Although not as quick-acting as Zim, or Skoodge’s healing, there are some remarkable examples of regeneration in real arthropods, from repairing tissues/organs to replacing entire lost limbs. What the aliens are packing doesn’t seem all that different, only refined (through years of bioengineering) to work at a truly frightening efficiency. It shows through in their diet as well. Almost always, if we see a member of this species eating on screen, and believe me there was no shortage of examples, what are we watching them shovel their face with?

Space doughnuts, space popcorn, space Fun-Dip, sodas, and curly fries. Sure, there’s plenty of calories here, no doubt with the amount of carbs and grease that could even turn the stomach of a college freshman, but is this… nutrition?

Yes. Just not for us.

Like their civilization, we have also turned the mass production of sweet-packed, fat loaded foods into one of our favored art forms, and there are scattered pockets of our planet that can enjoy these items in cheap abundance. The catch 22? Obesity and heart disease. Meanwhile, Irkens are so metabolically blessed that they can follow the same lifestyle and actually be thriving by it. We know that the majority of human food is utterly toxic to Zim, but then there were waffles, a literal stack of dessert and butter that pretends to be a breakfast…. Our guy was experiencing the “finally some good fucking food” meme from the first bite off that plate, but this can’t seriously be healthy,or if it is, then how?

Well, if I did sell you on the idea that much of their tissues and skeleton swaps out a chitin base where we would be using protein, there you go. Sugars for the building blocks to synthesize the connective/structural tissues for maintaining the body, and the bulk of the energy required to keep it running. And I won’t make the leap and suggest that’s all they have.

After all, the Irken equivalent of sandwiches do actually seem to contain “lettuce” and something that people will say looks like meat slices while not convincing me. I can get behind the thought of the natural or maybe original Irken diet to be a mix of plant matter and supplemental fungi, but everything I’ve put together implies that they are completely unfit for processing the goodies in animal flesh.

Overwhelmingly, I believe that the only time they possibly even seek out more sources of amino acids is going to be when they are smeets. That’s how it works in many wasp species. I.e. The growing larvae are the only ones that actually get to reap from the hard work of a colony hunting down enough protein to feed them with, yet the adults live out the rest of their lives more than content to gorge themselves on nectars and fruits exclusively!

And you even could put that aside, but you’ll have to grapple with the ungodly thing that happens every single time you see Zim touching a piece of meat. Would be awfully convenient to blame it on his personal brand of weirdness, or earth contaminants, but we remember this was a weakness that Tak approached fully aware of and expecting.

We know that polluted water can burn them. We know that beans and other foods can give them grotesque allergic reactions. Well what in the horrifying name of Resident Evil is this, though? Buddy pals, I think we got some unintended consequences of that bio-hacking on hand. Collagen and chitin aren’t just functionally similar to each other, they are practically analogous building blocks.

For a WILD science fact, consider that there’s a ton of ongoing research into the application of chitin and chitin-derivatives into having a role in tissue engineering, as a hypothetical scaffold in lab cultured meat, and as an effective wound dressing ingredient.

What we’re seeing with incidents like Dib throwing that Bologna at Zim could be an extreme form of the vise versa, because I know a certain protein that processed meat happens to be pretty high in :)))

Imagine the coupling of this with the bioengineered genome of Zim’s kind being so… reactive to a foreign intrusion, yet also flexible to modification. Maybe it is the acids, or some contaminant/seasoning on the meat that first damages the cuticle. That healing ability kicks in, but doesn’t stop where chitin does, readily binding to and with the collagens in these strange tissues that are sorta like an Irken’s but also just enough not like an Irken’s that it also kicks the immune system into overdrive. Think of all the pain and inflammation of a poison ivy rash but if the damn plant itself could also fuse itself with whatever you brushed against it. I think Zim actually had an understandable reason to be homicidally pissed off for that Bologna assault. Also how the Bologna virus was accelerated in Zim’s body. Once it had incorporated itself into his own DNA, it was game set and match with the speed and help those cells had to replicate themselves.

And uh, yeah, I think this post has gotten about as long as it reasonably should be here. I did have a couple more points I really wanted to get out of my brain about the Almighty Tallest, and I think that would be a good launching point actually for a possible (and hopefully final jfc) part three to this. Till then I got some off-topic scoliids to taxidermy 👀

[namism]

impressions | koby

➳ categories: canonverse, fluff, funnily helmeppo-centric, gender neutral reader

➳ word count: 743

➳ notes: idea came from the canon fact that koby hates black coffee ☕️

Koby hates black coffee, even if Rika makes it herself. Helmeppo jokes that it's part of his character to still act like a child since he was Marine-trained at such a young age, to which Koby flips him off out of annoyance.

Helmeppo knows that Koby would never drink black coffee. It was one of the things he learned about him when they became friends.

So imagine his shock when he sees Koby drinking it like it's nothing for breakfast.

Helmeppo approaches the pink-haired teen, whose blue circle-framed glasses rest on his patterned headband, clear of the dirt that stuck to them during yesterday's mission. Helmeppo places an arm on his shoulder, prompting Koby to look up from the newspaper he's reading.

Koby is confused for a split second, but he realizes right afterward.

"What is this?!" Helmeppo overdramatically reacts. His eyes flit back and forth from the Captain's face to the white coffee mug on the table, still hot but already quarter-full.

With a blank stare, Koby takes a sip of the coffee and swallows it immediately. Helmeppo's eyebrows subtly jump. Koby, however, doesn't notice this, as he provides an explanation that he believes he shouldn't even be providing.

"I'm drinking coffee," he responds nonchalantly. His eyes return to the newspaper, and he reads where he left off.

Something is odd, Helmeppo thinks to himself, retracting his hand from Koby's shoulder. The coffee mug on the table looks conspicuous as it stands there, just existing on its own—but its mere existence shouldn't even collide with the existence of Captain Koby in the first place. No, it shouldn't.

At this moment, a crowd of Marine executives enters the mess hall. Their joyous cheers earn them a few glances from nearby tables, including the pink-haired Captain, who sits so calmly on the farthest table by the windows. While Helmeppo is distracted by his silly theories and rushed conclusions, Koby tilts his head a little bit upward to find you.

Surrounded by your colleagues, Koby thinks that you won't see him amid the morning chaos, but a smile makes its way to his lips when he's proven otherwise. Your face becomes visible in the crowd of Marines, shooting him a beautiful smile like you just won against a pirate.

Koby breaks the eye contact after four seconds, afraid that Helmeppo will snap back to his senses and notice his person of interest if he doesn't make his staring less obvious any sooner. To his luck, his best friend is gullible.

When Koby immerses himself back in the newspaper he's been reading, Helmeppo finally notices your crowd that sits two tables down from his. He scans the metal trays of plates and glassware in boredom, still finding a logical explanation for Koby's sudden coffee interest.

Koby grips the mug, takes another sip, and swallows like it doesn't burn. Helmeppo squints his eyes, still suspicious.

"Strange Captain Koby..." he murmurs to himself. He rubs the cleft of his chin, thinking, wondering, and pondering until his mental energy depletes, and he decides to sit beside Koby in defeat.

"You look like you need some coffee."

Helmeppo raises his head in response to the direction of the voice that chirped the suggestion.

Leaning on the table with one hand supporting your weight, you push a coffee mug in front of him with two sugar packets. Helmeppo points at the coffee, then back at himself, asking in silence if it's meant for him.

"Yep, it's yours," you say. "I already got my second fill, ha-ha."

As Helmeppo sniffs the liquid, he detects the bitter aroma of black coffee and decides to add sugar to the mix. He takes a sip afterward to taste, being careful not to burn his tongue in the process.

Meanwhile, you reach into your uniform and slide three small sugar packets across the table, closer to Koby and his nearly empty mug.

"You forgot the sugar again, Captain," you joke. Helmeppo raises an eyebrow as he drinks away. "Do I always have to get it for you? Or have you warmed up to the taste of my plain black?"

Before giving out a response, Koby wickedly smiles to himself at Helmeppo's reaction to a burning tongue, who wastes no time in fetching himself a glass of water from the back kitchen.

When he meets your eyes, you both laugh heartily at the occurrence, clutching your stomach and Koby burying his face into folded arms on the table.

[readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure]

Hot in Herre

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Your insanely gorgeous boyfriend joins you in bed on a hot summer’s night, making you the envy of every woman in the city. Now if only your mind could muster up some decent dirty talk instead of playing that one song on repeat...

Story tags: Established Relationship, Lighthearted (aka silly) foreplay, Undeniable proof that the author is a cringey millennial

Author's notes: Guess who's back? Back again. ... Sorry. Wrong song. Anyways, here's a short and silly fic that came to me in the midst of our early-autumn heatwave. I wish I could say that more fics were on the way, but life is busy, so it would probably be a lie if I did.

------------------------------------------------------------

‘I’m going to bed,’ you said, draping your arms over Billy’s shoulders and kissing the top of his head. He was sitting at his desk in his home office, going over some Anvil reports, and would probably still be there by the time you fell asleep.

You didn’t like falling asleep without him, but such was life when you were the girlfriend of one of New York’s up and coming CEOs.

‘Night, babe,’ he said, lifting his hand to give your own a squeeze. He didn’t take his eyes of the screen, but you didn’t take it personally. He was still getting used to having someone else living in his apartment with him. Before you, Billy Russo had been a contented forever-bachelor with no intentions of ever settling down; time to adjust was to be expected.

You still didn’t know why it was you he wanted to keep – you were hardly the sort of bombshell seductress he was usually photographed with – but you were determined not to mess up and change his mind. So, you kissed his head again, and then reluctantly untangled yourself from him and left for the bedroom.

It didn’t take you long to get ready for bed. Falling asleep, however, was a totally different story. Summer was just ending, but the heat was clinging on for as long as it could, and even the solitary sheet you were using to cover yourself was too hot. You knew you could turn on the air conditioner, but without Billy, you would be too cold with it on. No doubt he would turn it on himself when he came to bed, but until then, another layer had to go.

You weren’t willing to sacrifice the sheet – you needed something covering you to fall asleep – and your shirt was little more than a tank top, so that left you pyjama bottoms the only option. You weren’t usually one to sleep in your underwear, feeling awkward even when alone, but these were extenuating circumstances.

With a bit of manoeuvring, you wriggled out of your pants and dropped them over the side of the bed. It was marginally better, but not enough to help you sleep.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there for, staring at the wall, but eventually you heard the blessed beep of the air conditioner turning on and the soft shuffle of Billy getting ready for bed. How he never walked into anything in the dark, you would never know.

Maybe it was all that marine training.

It only took a few minutes for the room to cool down, and just as you were starting to chill, the sheet lifted and Billy’s warm body pressed against you from behind.

Much better.

Billy’s hand casually settled on your thigh, and you could tell the exact moment he realised you were in one less layer than usual. His fingers stilled for a second before splaying across your skin, as if trying to reach as much of it as he could.

You made an involuntary hum of pleasure. You loved his touch, no matter how tame.

You heard a faint chuckle from behind you, and the hand on your thigh suddenly got a lot more confident, caressing and squeezing in a way that left no doubt to its owner’s intentions. ‘This is a nice surprise,’ he said, the velvet purr of his voice banishing all thoughts of sleep from your brain.

Who could even think about sleep when they had an amorous Billy Russo behind them?

‘Were you waiting for me?’ he continued in the same silky tone. His breath ghosted over the shell your ear, and the shiver you gave had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

‘It was too hot,’ you said simply, but you leaned your neck to the side and pressed your hips into his hardening groin, letting him know you were enjoying his attentions. ‘An item of clothing had to go.’

Billy attacked your neck with a flurry of kisses as his hand skirted up from your thigh to your waist, sliding under your tank top. ‘In that case,’ he said, his hand inching higher, dragging the fabric with it. ‘Maybe you should take this off as well. I have a feeling things are about to get very hot in here.’

You wished you could be as smooth as he was. You wished you could come up with a sexy reply said in a sultry bedroom voice that would have him flipping you over and ravishing you…

Instead, you giggled.

His hand froze, and you quickly turned in his arms before he could pull away. You buried your face into his bare chest.

He didn’t have a problem sleeping without layers.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said between the last few hitches of laughter. ‘You’re being very sexy and I’m very much here for it, but all I can think of is that damn song.’

You risked a glance upwards and saw that Billy was looking at you with an amused but quizzical eyebrow raised. ‘Song?’ he asked.

You wiggled your shoulders in a vague approximation of dancing. ‘It’s getting hot in here’—Billy grinned, instantly catching on—‘so take off all your clothes.’

Suddenly, Billy’s lips were on yours, cutting off your abysmal singing. By the time you both parted, you were well and truly breathless.

‘So, I didn’t ruin the mood, then?’ you asked.

Billy chuckled and shook his head. ‘Never,’ he said, eyes twinkling with an emotion you liked to think was love. It certainly looked like love.

But still, that nagging bit of insecurity remained. ‘You don’t mind that I’m terrible at dirty talk?’

You were on your back before you’d even finished your sentence, Billy hovering over you. He gave you another one of those all-consuming kisses. ‘I love that you’re terrible at dirty talk,’ he said once he had pulled away again. ‘I love that we can laugh and have fun in bed. I’ve never had that.’

You reached up and stroked your fingers down his cheek. Was that all it would take to keep this man whom you had quickly fallen in love with? Just be your idiotic self? It was hard to believe – it seemed too easy – but looking in his eyes, you knew it was true. He wanted to keep you simply because you were you.

You grinned from ear to ear as your heart soared.

‘In that case,’ you said in a poor imitation of his earlier seductive tone. You reached down to grab the hem of your tank top, and as you slowly pulled it upwards, you swayed your hips to a silent beat.

Billy’s laugh told you that he was hearing it loud and clear.

‘I am getting so hot, I wanna take my clothes off.’

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 7

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2.5k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 7: A Heist Gone Wrong: Part 2

The soft tick of the clock was the only thing keeping your mind tethered to reality. You weren’t quite sure how long you’d been sprawled on the cold tile of the infirmary. You weren’t conscious enough to keep the count in your head. Had it been minutes? Hours? Time felt abstract. Your whole body was numb, your breaths increasingly shallow with each exhale, darkness threatening to take over your gaze. But even as it threatened to claim you, a stubborn flicker of defiance burned within your soul. You refused to surrender to the void, clinging to consciousness with a tenacity born of sheer determination.

Yokubari laid unsheathed in front of you. You had to cover it again, before someone tried to hold it. You attempted to move your hand without success. You couldn’t manage even a twitch of your finger. The sword lay tantalizingly close, its gleaming black blade a stark reminder of the danger it posed in the wrong hands.

Darkness continued its advance, creeping in at the edges of your vision like a relentless tide. Panic set in as you grappled with the reality that the basic functions of your body had begun to shut down.

A distant shuffle of footsteps barely registered in the conscious part of your mind. The sound seemed to come from a world far from yours. Seconds, or perhaps hours, passed in agonizing uncertainty. The footsteps drew nearer. Someone was approaching, and the urgency to protect Yokubari intensified within you.

Boots came into sight, then three swords. Ah. It was the swordsman. He was safe after all. Thank the gods.  

You don’t feel his grip on you as he moved you, the environment spinning violently as your brain struggled to comprehend the sudden change in your vision. The swordsman’s gaze was on you, his brows furrowing in a mix of confusion and concern. “What the hell happened?” He asked, his voice cutting through the hushed atmosphere of the infirmary.

You strained to respond. Nothing.

Your eyes went to your sword. His followed. You watched in horror as his hand went to the scabbard.

No.

You panicked.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you tried to muster a sound – a groan, a whisper – anything that might convey your plight.

“Don’t,” you managed to rasp sluggishly; voice barely perceptible.

His hand stilled. Zoro’s gaze flickered between you and the unsheathed sword, realization downing in his eyes. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice as he asked, “Want me to leave it there then?”

Fuck.

You couldn’t leave it here.

If Yokubari fell into the wrong hands… You weren’t sure you could live with yourself if it happened again.

Zoro searched your gaze for the answer.

“I’ll sheath it as fast as I can, alright?” He said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

You didn’t answer, consciousness starting to fail you.

His hand went to your neck, looking for a pulse. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath. “Hang in there.”

You hazily see him grab Yokubari before the wave of his haki interacting with the sword knocks you out.

Roronoa Zoro found himself navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the marine base, a crumpled map clutched tightly in his hand. Though he would never openly admit it, he was hopelessly lost amidst the maze-like layout. Yet, there was a hint of satisfaction in the fact that he had managed to locate the map – a small victory he anticipated flaunting in the witch's face later, if only he could recall the exact room from which he had made his daring exit through the window.

Before he could dwell further on his thoughts, a commanding voice sliced through the air, halting his progress.

“Hey! You, there! Doctor! Where do you think you’re going?” The taller of a trio of officers shouted at him.

Zoro didn't bother to glance back as he responded gruffly, his frustration palpable. “Got some patients to check on.”

The officers quickly converged, forming a blockade in his path, their skepticism evident. “Patients, huh?” The tall lanky one questioned. “We weren’t informed of any new transfers this month. What’s your name, doctor?”

Zoro let out an impatient sigh, his hand instinctively inching toward the hilts of his swords. He didn’t want to do this. Those officers were barely more than children. Their faces were still round and freckled. “Does it matter? I’m needed in the infirmary. Now step aside.”

The boys exchanged wary glances, unsure of how to proceed in the face of the swordsman's blatant lie.

A pudgier one took the lead from the taller one, “We’ve got protocols here. We need to verify your identification. Besides, the infirmary is that way.” He said, pointing back from where Zoro had come.

Zoro’s eye twitched in annoyance. With feigned compliance, he pretended to search for his nonexistent identification. His fingers were hovering dangerously close to his weapons as he searched his pockets, preparing himself for whatever confrontation lay ahead.

It was then that a tidal wave of power flowed through him. His senses instantly overwhelmed by its intensity as it threatened to drag him under, to drown him under its domination. The air crackled with energy, thick and suffocating, as if he were submerged in an ocean of raw force. Every nerve in his body tingled with the electric surge, and his muscles tensed instinctively, bracing for the onslaught.

But it was too much. He hadn’t been prepared for this assault. The pressure bore down on him without mercy, forcing him to his knees. His hand shook uncontrollably over the pommel of his sword, the haki coursing through him like a tempest threatening to consume him whole.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he struggled to maintain his composure. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the oppressive weight pressing down on his chest.

In front of him, the trio of officers collapsed like marionettes with their strings cut, their bodies convulsing uncontrollably as white foam gathered at the corners of their mouths. Zoro watched in stunned disbelief, his mind reeling from the sheer magnitude of what had just occurred.

With every ounce of willpower he could muster, he forced himself to take in a breath, the air filling his lungs like a lifeline in the midst of a raging storm. And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the wave of power vanished, leaving behind nothing but an eerie silence in its wake. Zoro remained on his knees for a moment longer, his chest heaving with exertion as he struggled to regain his bearings.

With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself to his feet, his muscles protesting the exertion as he stood unsteadily. The corridor stretched out before him, empty and silent, the only sound the soft echo of his own breathing.

For a moment, Zoro hesitated, unsure of what to do next. He crouched next to one of the marines, taking the boy’s wrist in his fingers in search of a pulse. Nothing. He was dead.

A chill ran down his back. He knew haki could have this effect, but still he’d never seen it happen. He didn’t bother checking the other two officers.

He stood back up. This power, he’d felt it before. But never in such despair. It had felt like a dying animal’s last screech. Dread froze his limbs.

Something was wrong.

Incredibly wrong.

Zoro didn’t need a map nor a sense of direction to pinpoint the location from which the surge had originated.

He ran.

His heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the winding corridors of the marine base, his senses heightened by the urgency of the situation. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to move faster, to reach you before it was too late.

With each step, a feeling of fear gnawed at his insides. He couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that something sinister had happened. It was his fault. He shouldn’t have let you out of his sight.

The door of the infirmary was open. It didn’t take long for him to understand what had happened. A man in a lab coat was dead on the floor, syringe in one hand, a small vial in the other. His eye narrowed as he searched for your form.

His heart dropped. You let out a ragged breath through your lips. Its sound barely perceptible, almost eclipsed by the tick of the clock.

Without hesitation he moved to your side, crouching, so he was in your vision. His gaze met your unfocused eyes. Recognition was slow in your stare but then there it was, followed by relief.

Guilt settled on his features.  “What the hell happened?” he asked.

There was a struggle in your eyes. No answer.

Shit.

Your gaze left his, to settle on your sword. He followed, trying to understand what it was you were trying to say.

Ah.

Understanding flowed through him. The sword had been what had unleashed the wave of power. With uncertainty he reached for the scabbard. He’d have to sheath the sword.

“Don’t” you managed to rasp sluggishly, voice barely perceptible.

His head snapped back at you. The fuck was he supposed to do then? Leave it there? For some marines to take? The implications of such an outcome made his spine go cold.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Want me to leave it there then?” he asked, awaiting your decision.

He searched your gaze for the answers. No. That’s what he thought. No way in hell he’d leave it here either if he were you.

“I’ll sheath it as fast as I can, alright?” He said, as much for him than for you.

He wasn’t sure if you’d heard him, the consciousness in your eyes slowly fading away. He took your wrist in his hand, looking for a pulse. You were cold, clammy in his grasp. He couldn’t feel it. Panic shot through him, his hand going to your neck.

There it was. Faint but there.

“Shit.” He muttered under his breath. This situation was a nightmare.

He repositioned your head so you looked him in his eye. “Hang in there.” He said as reassuringly as he could before turning to the sword.

He could hear his heartbeat in his ear as his hand reached for the handle. His fingers wrapped around the silk weave. There was a moment of calm before the wave hit him.

His mind seemed to merge with the blade. His haki fighting against the sword’s authority. It threatened to take away everything from him, to consume the essence of his soul. He tried to control the wave that flowed from his encounter with the sword’s will with little success. He prayed you were alright in the aftermath of it.

His gaze locked with the black sheen of the blade. He knew if it went on much longer, he’d lose this battle of willpower.

Without losing sight of the blade, he grabbed the scabbard. His grip tight, white knuckles almost cracking the polished wood.

He had to time this right. He breathed in, summoning all the strength he could. His mind concentrated on the rhythmic hum of the blade, trying to decipher its pattern of demands, to find the right moment.

Now.

With a quick movement he sheathed the sword. The domination the blade had over him stopped instantly.

He’d done it. Exhaustion washed over him as he struggled to find back his breath. He retched. An after-effect of his altercation.

Fuck.

He hadn’t felt this weak in over two years.

He turned back to your form on the floor, feeling for a pulse. You’d passed out, but you were still breathing. Good. He crouched next to you, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. His mind raced as he carried you out of the infirmary. His muscles screamed in protest with each step, but he pushed through the pain, his focus solely on getting you to safety. The weight of responsibility heavy on his mind as he navigated the maze-like corridors of the marine base.

"What the fuck happened?" Sanji's voice rang out from the end of the corridor, filled with concern and confusion.

Zoro spared a glance over his shoulder, his gaze meeting the cook's worried expression.

"I almost died! Twice!" Nami's voice echoed not far behind the cook.

“She unsheathed the sword,” he said, as though it explained the situation.

Sanji raced next to him. Taking in your limp body over the swordsman’s shoulder. “What the fuck happened?” He asked again, anger filling his eyes this time.

Zoro looked past the cook, not meeting his eye.

“Sanji, not now,” Nami stated. “We need to get her back on the ship.”

Her plea fell on deaf ears.

“She unsheathed the sword,” Zoro repeated in a daze.

Fury blinded the cook. “You bastard!” Sanji said, gripping Zoro’s coat tightly. “You were supposed to protect her.” He shouted at the swordsman.

Zoro’s eye settled on him. “You think I don’t fucking know that.” He shouted back.

The tension crackled in the air between them, each word heavy with unspoken emotions. Zoro's jaw clenched as he fought to keep his composure, the weight of Sanji's accusation bearing down on him like a physical blow.

"We need to get her to Chopper.” Nami interjected, her voice urgent but firm as she placed a hand on the cook's shoulder, attempting to defuse the escalating tension. "Arguing won't help her."

Sanji's grip on Zoro's coat loosened slightly, his anger still simmering beneath the surface but tempered by Nami's words. With a heavy sigh, he released his hold and stepped back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Brook and Luffy went to get the Sunny.” She said solemnly. “We won’t need an escape plan. Everyone we’ve encountered is dead.”

Zoro took a deep breath, his muscles still tense with adrenaline. He took a step forward, following Nami as she guided him out of the door you’d entered together not even an hour ago. He could feel the weight of guilt bearing down on him, a heavy burden that threatened to consume him whole.

They watched the Sunny approach in heavy silence.

Chopper’s concern was palpable as he took in your form. The doctor hurrying the swordsman to place you on the bed of the infirmary. Zoro tried to explain the events the best he could, answering the questions the doctor shot at him.

He laid your sword at your feet before being chased out of the small room. Zoro’s fists clenched at his sides, his gaze lingering on the closed door. He wished he could have stayed, help in some way. But he knew Chopper needed to focus on treating your injuries. He let his body glide against the outer wall of the infirmary, letting his head fall in his hands.

The ship was well on its way to the next island when the doctor finally left the infirmary.

“She’s stable for now” Chopper said his voice tired but resolute. “But she’s still unconscious. It's going to take a few days for her to recover fully.”

Relief washed over the crew at Chopper’s announcement, their tense shoulders sagging with the weight of their collective worry. Zoro let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He had to get stronger.

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[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 41

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sex, mentions of violence

Discovery

Waking up in Killer's bear hug made you question if you wanted to ever leave the Kid Pirates to pursue your personal goals. Even though you didn't deserve this level of affection and kindness in the first place, you greedily craved more of it. What if you could wake up every day like this? Would that be enough to fulfill you? You thought this journey you were on was purely for yourself, but the more you thought about abandoning it, the more you thought you would be letting down the victims. 

There wasn't a rush. You didn't have to decide now. It had just been weighing on your mind. Surely if you stayed long enough, with the path Kid was on, you would come across boundless marines. 

"Darlin?" Killer's bangs covered his eyes but he was awake. He probably sensed that you were awake and woke up too. 

You pulled your face from its place on his shoulder. "Mm?"

"You ok? You were making a face."

"That's just my face." You scratched his goatee. 

"No, no. Your face is usually much meaner." 

You playfully bapped his cheek. "How dare you. You're lucky I like you." You pulled him towards you, guiding his lips your own. "It's "later" you know."

"It is," Killer agreed slowly. He was mentally calculating how long he had before he needed to start breakfast. It was hard to think when his mind was focused on the way his body was reacting to your lips and teeth against his neck. He allowed himself to give in to your touch. 

You threw your leg over his hip, noticing that he had removed his jeans at some point during the night. Winding your hand into his hair, you pulled him back to your mouth, tasting his tongue on yours, feeling his breath hitch when your hand felt along his hardness. His hand ran from your face, to your breasts, kneading them, running his thumb over your nipples. It went lower, squeezing your hip, your ass, pulling your thigh tighter to him. 

Killer rolled over you, pulling your other leg up around him. Through his boxers, he was grinding his dick against you, groaning into your kisses. His hand moved to replace his dick, sliding two fingers into your wetness. He coaxed sweet sounds from your mouth, pumping his fingers slowly in an out of you, adding a third to prepare you for him. The wet fabric of his boxers,  a mixture of his precum and your wetness, clung to his skin. 

You whined as he removed his fingers, licking them off, and kissing you again with the taste of you on his tongue. You felt his weight shift as he removed the last bit of cloth between you. A second later you felt his tip pressing against your slit. You pushed your heels into his back, prompting him to continue. 

Killer groaned as he felt your cunt envelope him completely, pushing in until his balls gently slapped against your ass. His cock twitched hearing the wanton moan from you as he pushed past your folds. Finally, he could feel how tight and hot and wet you were. It was his own fault he waited this long in the first place, but he was right when he thought it would be all the more worth it when he finally fucked you. He could feel your eagerness from the way your walls pulsed and gripped against him and the way your hips rolled up for friction.

The dam had been broken. Neither of you could keep your hands or your mouths off each other. You were desperate to swallow his moans, and he, yours. Your hands were scratching at his back or pulling his hair. He was pulling yours, too, mostly to keep you still so he could keep kissing you deeply. He pumped into you at a decent pace, not too slow, not too fast. Making breakfast was forgotten. Killer was only focused on making one thing and it was making you cum. Killer leaned up for a moment, grabbing your thighs and pushing them down until your knees almost reached your ears. He wanted to kiss you some more, but he wanted to watch your face when you came even more. 

"Fuck, Killer," you moaned as he hit a deep angle. "Don't s-stop." Your eyes were half closed, though still watching his abs contract with every thrust, watching his shaft disappear inside you repeatedly, watching his hair tumble over his shoulders. Your eyes drifted to his, where they were caught by his bright blue irises. The angle his cock was hitting you and the way he was looking at you brought you closer to the edge. 

Killer stared down at you and licked his lips. Every buck of his hips made your tits bounce. Your chest heaved with how hard you panted. The sinfully wet sounds coming from your cunt were driving him wild. He was kicking himself for not eating you out first. Next time. The look in your eyes alone made him want to nut. Your pleas for him to fuck you harder did not go unheeded. He could feel your entire body tense, your thighs pushing back against his hold, your head tipping back, your back arching. The praise falling from your kiss-swollen lips and the increase in wetness around his cock made his hips stutter. 

A wave of pleasure flooded your body in surges. "You make me feel s-so good, Kil." You tugged at him. "Please k-kiss me m-more." You were still riding out your orgasm, meeting the rhythm of his hips with your own. You didn't expected him to scoop you up to straddle his lap. His hands grabbed your hips and moved you up and down his length, pressing you down and grinding into it. His cock hit your deepest center, forcing you to the edge a second time in this overstimulated state. "Fuck. I'm-." His lips went to your neck, kissing it, whispering things into your ear. 

"Cum again for me." He pushed your hips into his own again. "I n-need to see it again." One of his hands slid so his thumb could reach your clit, rubbing against it. 

It was like his voice has a hold on you. You wanted more of his praise. The pressure against your now-oversensitive clit made you cry out. The coil in your belly was about to unwind.

"That's it." Killer brought you down onto himself harder. "You're being s-so good f-or me." 

That pushed you to your climax, falling into him and moaning into his neck as you dug your nails into his back. You felt Killer's grip tighten on your hips, rutting up into you with a more erratic pace until he came with a grunt. Your hips rocked into his slowly, until you felt him stop twitching inside you. You sighed and turned your head on his shoulder to look at him while his hand drifted lazily over the soft skin of your back. You sat up and gave him another kiss before getting off him to clean up. 

Wordlessly, you both put clothes on, adjusting each other's clothes and hair to mask the freshly fucked appearance that you both had. It was easy for him. He could wear his helmet. For you, the flush in your cheeks carried on as you helped Killer with breakfast. Every time Killer looked at you, with your face like that, his heart skipped. When he felt the scratches on his back sting, he thought of all the sweet sounds from that morning. 

That felt so much different from the other encounters you had on the ship, even the ones that Killer participated in. It felt... tender? Loving? It made a fire erupt in your chest. It made your stomach churn. For the rest of the day, you couldn't look him in the face, for if you did, a big goofy smile would threaten to appear and all you could see was his sparkling blue eyes staring at you, filled with emotion. What did it mean? 

Even Kid noticed the weird atmosphere between the two of you, pointing it out during breakfast. You had moved spots lately from sitting with the girls to sitting with the officers, sometimes at Kid's request, sometimes of your own accord. 

"Fuck is up with the two of ya?" Kid spoke through a mouthful of eggs. "Thought ya would be in a good mood from all the noise coming from yer cabin this morning, Kil." 

Killer shot him a look through the holes in his mask. 

"Oh so you can't get up with the sound of your own name being called, but you're suddenly the world's lightest sleeper if food or sex is involved?" You rolled your eyes.

Kid looked at you like you were stupid. "Aye. Those are my two highest priorities." He glanced at his empty plate and back at you. "So how bout ya help me with the second one." 

"Get bent." You grabbed his empty plate and your own to put them up.

You spent most of the day doing deck chores. When you finished them, you decided to work on how you could manipulate your power so that you could travel. You probably had the capability to create wings, though without experimenting, you didn't want to risk it, because you didn't want to fuck up your own body by accident. You couldn't create something from nothing either. Air had particles of water in it. Maybe you could condense the water to form a solid platform to step on. You concentrated until you could see droplets forming in the air in front of you. If this didn't work you would have to try learning how to moon step.

It took a long time for enough droplets to form a small square. It wasn't very high off the ground. You took an experimental step; it worked. You created another step, and another, and another. You would have to practice until you could make them effortlessly, because each one took way too long to make. You looked down; you had gone much higher up than you intended. It's fine. I'm fine. Intrusive thoughts would win today. But what if I fall? The thought banished your platforms from existence. 

"Fuck!" You fell toward the deck. Please someone catch me. Please catch me. I don't want a broken back today. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to relax your body, tensing would only cause more damage. You thought Kid would catch you with his big purple hamster ball so you would float nicely above the deck. The falling sensation stopped, yet you remained in the air. Upon opening your eyes, you were floating just above the deck. You felt incredibly undignified, yelling and falling, now spinning around in this stupid fucking orb. You caught sight of Kid, who had no doubt come to see what the ruckus was about. "Well? put me down already."

"Doll, I'm not doing that." He was mesmerized by whatever was happening around you. 

"What?!" You started floating around more erratically. "That's not fucking funny, Kid." More people had gathered to see what was going on. 

"I swear on the one piece. It ain't me." Kid could feel a strong magnetic energy coming from you, but it wasn't regular. It was very uncontrolled, erratic. "Yer doing that." 

You saw now that this thing surrounding you was yellow, not purple like Kid's power. You didn't even know how you did it or what you were doing. Sure you imagined Kid's magnetic field, but as far as you knew, you couldn't manipulate anything like that. "How do I get out?"

Heat moved to pull you from the orb but Kid quickly stopped him. "Don't touch it." Kid could tell from the chaotic energy crackling around, nothing good would come of making contact. If it was emitting magnetism in a regular field, he could have countered it. The irregularity and unpredictability of the field mad bit impossible. Plus, he didn't know what would happen to you inside it. "Ya gotta figure that out on yer own."

If you were imagining being caught by Kid in a ball, and still trying to conjure up dense particles to stand on, maybe you created a ball of condensed air particles. You didn't know much about physics. If you had, you would know that you had accidentally created a sort of plasma by bringing all the particles together in such high density, in turn disturbing the atoms and releasing large amounts of energy that only made the matter around you more unstable. And in doing so, made a solid-like protective orb around yourself. You started imagining the opposite, the particles spreading back out and dissolving into the background atmosphere. You willed your feet to be on the deck. 

It did not dissipate quietly. There was a flash and a sudden release of intense heat, almost like a ball of lightning, followed by a rumbling shockwave of thunder. Nonetheless, you were dropped to the deck on your ass, mostly unharmed, only tired. 

Kid squatted down in front of you. "Let's not do that on the ship again, ok, doll?" The instability of whatever you just did scared him. That was enough energy to rip apart the boat if you lost control of it. He was also very intrigued by it. If he could build something to channel that same energy, he could turn it into a power source, or better yet, a weapon. He offered his hand to you, pulling you up with him when he stood up. "Come with me. I wanna show ya somethin."

"I swear to god if it's your dick, Eustass." 

"No!" He pulled his hand away, suddenly aware that it was still holding yours. "I think about stuff besides sex ya know." 

"With that big, heavy brain of yours."

"Damn right!" 

Kid predictably led you to his workshop. He dug around, moving a bunch of scraps, before pulling out something leather and metal. He held it up so you could see it. 

"Is that...?" 

"When ya called me a dog, it gave me an idea. Ya keep tryna run away, so I gotta make sure ya don't get far."

"I thought you said this wasn't a sex thing."

"Very telling, that yer thinking of it like that."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up, Kid."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Can I put it on ya?"

"Oh... Didn't think I had a choice." You might as well let him. You kinda liked it.

Kid shrugged, maybe a hint of pink on his cheeks. "I'm a nice guy like that."

"Okay." You turned around and moved your hair out of the way. "I'll play along."

Kid knew you would like it. You acted like you were indifferent, but he could tell you wanted to wear it. It was obvious you liked things around your neck and you liked when someone else was in control. Now you would look more like a Kid Pirate, too. Kid had made you a black leather collar with "Rotten" on the tag, small spikes studded around it. He held something reflective up so you could see what it looked like on, flipping the tag around so you could see what was written on the other side: If found, return to Kid Pirates.

That made you snort, yet made you feel more comfortable on the crew. It was very well crafted. You were surprised that he could make something so nice in a short amount of time. You turned slightly to see it from different angles. "It's alright." 

Kid tossed the metal aside and turned you back around. "Whatever. I know ya love it." He took the tag between his fingers and smirked. He pulled you with his devil fruit, closer to himself. He frowned when he saw you wince. There was something responding to his magnetism that wasn't your collar, or figuratively He felt bad that he hadn't noticed it earlier. "Did you get shot?!"

"Oh yeah. I did. Sort of forgot in all the action." You could feel the bullet fragments shift with the magnetism and it wasn't comfortable. 

"What do ya mean ya fucking forgot!?" 

"I can't feel them or anything."

"What if I accidentally ripped them out of ya!" 

"That would have been inconvenient."

"Yer fuckin insane." 

"But that's why you like me so much." You jingled the tag on your new accessory. "Which is also why you're gonna help me take them out.... Not like the first time though." You remembered the time he helped with the bullet fragments in your leg. This situation was more dangerous and decidedly less sexy. You had to focus on not allowing yourself to bleed internally. 

Kid made a face. "Can't Killer do it?" 

"Yeah sure. Did he learn to manipulate metal recently?" 

Kid groaned, kind of similar to how a child groans when they don't want to do chores.

You thought it was a bit strange that he was this reluctant. "What? You don't want to help me?" 

"No. Not- That's not it."

You weren't going to force him to help. "Ok. Fine. You don't have to. I'll have to dig around myself." You shrugged. It would be a lot easier and faster if Kid zipped the fragments out. 

Kid felt his face get hot. "I want ta help, okay?" He was fighting himself. "I... don't want to hurt ya, though."

"Kid, please." You rolled your eyes. "When have you ever cared about hurting me or not?" 

"Don't do that." Kid's voice became more stern. "Ya know what the circumstances were." Kid paused. "Ya hurt me, too." 

You hummed, contemplating. "That's fair." You held out your hand. "Truce. I won't try to kill you again if you return the favor."

Kid shook your hand. "Truce."

"Cuz I would have beat you the next time and I wouldn't want Killer to be sad." 

Kid pulled your hand and jerked you towards himself, caging you against him with his metal arm. "Ya think so, brat?" Kid smirked at you. "I would have let ya win. Cuz Killer really likes his little kitchen whore."

"It's called a sous chef." You raised an eyebrow. "Good thing we called truce then. For Killer's sake." 

"For Killer's sake," he agreed. 

There was a certain tension in the air.

[thelov3lybookworm]

The Elites

Day 7: free day

Summary: old debts need to be paid.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: mafia lucien is soo 🤤 also, I know this is pretty cliché. So what? Its just a one-shot. All that matters is Lucien is hot 😏

(should i do part 2...?)

@lucienweekofficial

•○🌑○•

Lucien sipped on his coffee as he read through the reports in his hand, the TV in front of him playing some news channel, the volume turned low. Not loud, but audible enough that he could listen to it.

Or his assistant could. At the moment, she was lounging in the chair on the other side of his desk, staring intently at the TV.

Something occurred to Lucien as his attention flitted to the TV for a moment. The man that was currently being interviewed looked familiar.

"Have we yet found the man who stole from my father?" He questioned, setting the reports down on his desk.

His assistant– Alice– glanced at him.

"No." She replied flatly.

Lucien nodded, his eyes not moving from the man. He grabbed the remote without looking and increased the volume, leaning back in his seat and grabbing his coffee again.

"Who is that guy?"

"Some random billionaire. He's recently became very famous. Has four daughters."

Lucien let that information marinate in his mind.

This man definitely looked familiar, and Lucien wasn't going to let that slide.

Could that be him?

"Alice?" He called.

"Hmm?"

"Think you can get me the file my father had on all his business partners? Also the file he kept on who all he had lent money to."

"Sure." She got up, fixing her skirt and shirt, clasping the few top buttons she always had open. Lucien eyed her for a moment before looking away. She always did that when in his presence, opening her shirt buttons until her chest was practically falling out of it.

"Thanks. Please make sure it's recieved by the next hour."

She nodded and left. And then Lucien pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello?"

"Festus. I want you to–"

"You know you can call me Jurian, right? It's my name after all." The voice was cheerful, meant to be deceptive. And it could fool people if they didn't know that he, Jurian Festus, was private investigator for the elite mafia families. Lucien's family was one of those elites.

"Festus. I'm going to need you to get me all the information you can about this new billionaire. Apparently, he's recently become very famous."

"Mr Archeron you mean? Oh yeah I can get you information about him."

Lucien felt his eyes narrow. "How do you already know who I am talking about?"

Jurian laughed. "I was just researching about him for fun because I had nothing else to do. Turns out, he'd been a very wealthy man, trading in jewels and what not. He suddenly went off the radar for some years, almost a decade. He's now back, claiming he'd lost all his wealth due to a shipwreck or something. Apparently, he recently found out the ships never stopped sailing."

Jurian took a pause, then continued. "The youngest of them is married into the Night family. Has beef with the Springwell family. The second oldest is the favourite of Mister Archeron. Doesn't really give a fuck about the oldest and third daughter."

Lucien took all of that information in before responding.

"Get me all the background on him and everyone he associates himself with."

"Sure. Did you try the new drink–"

Lucien hung up before Jurian could agitate him further.

•○🌑○•

"Alice. My office. Now." Lucien spoke into the telephone.

He had recieved the reports on the Archeron father, and turned out the man really was familiar.

"Yes?" Alice pushed open the door, strutting in like she owned the place. Her shirt buttons were again undone almost halfway, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

"Get my car ready. I'm going to meet someone."

She cocked her head. "Who is it that you are going to see?"

Lucien stood, setting the reports aside.

"You are my assistant, Alice, not my mother. I do not need to let you know of anything if it does not concern you. Do not make me repeat myself. Get my car ready."

He could see her fuming, steam practically coming out of her ears. But she nodded and turned away, walking out of his office.

Lucien pulled out his gun, making sure it was loaded before he left his room.

This was going to be a fun trip.

He found his car waiting for him in front of his house. It was a black SUV.

When he went to open the door, a hand shot out to grasp the handle. He slowly turned his head to look at the person, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Alice gave him a charming smile.

"Were you planning on leaving without me?"

Lucien gripped her hands, tightening his hold until fear entered her eyes. "Get out of your limits again, and you'll lose your job."

•○🌑○•

The Archeron home was huge, but it was humble compared to the Cleaver's estate.

It didn't even begin to compare.

Lucien walked upto the door, his group of guards and security right behind him. As soon as he rang the bell, the sound of footsteps greeted him.

The door opened, and he expected a servant to peek out.

But he found himself looking at a woman, barely any older than him. She was beautiful, her eyes captivating as she stared at Lucien.

"How may I help you?" She raised an eyebrow.

Lucien blinked, then cleared his throat. "Uh– yes– I'm here to meet with Mister Archeron."

Her eyes roamed over his security team, incredulity taking over her features. "Alright..." She drew out the word.

"Who is it?" A firm voice asked from behind the lady, and she glanced back.

"I don't know. He says he's here to meet father."

From the slight gap over her head, Lucien could see a similar looking woman, though older, standing there.

"I'll get him. Don't let anyone in."

A few moments passed, and the woman who had opened the door inched it open slowly, leaning against it as she pulled a novel out of nowhere and began reading.

Lucien found himself studying her, and by the time Mister Archeron arrived, Lucien had memorised almost everything on her body. From her features to her clothes to the accessories she wore, everything.

"Who is it?" An irritated voice questioned from inside the house, and Lucien looked to find the man he'd seen on TV that morning walking towards the door.

"Lucien Cleaver." The man paled, and Lucien smiled, ignoring the questioning look the woman sent him. "That last name mean something to you?"

"No. Absolutely not. Y/n, why don't you go read somewhere else? Let me handle this now."

Y/n. A beautiful name. Lucien thought.

As soon as the girl was out of sight, Lucien got to the point.

"I know you know who I am, so let's not pretend. The contract will stands, and according to it, you are obliged to get our money back."

"I don't know what you are talking about. Leave the property before I call the guards."

Lucien smiled slowly. "You don't want to do that."

The man swallowed, realising he could not get out of this one. "I can't return the money. I don't have it right now."

Lucien studied the man. He knew Archeron was lying, but maybe Lucien could get something out of this facade.

"That's okay then."

"Is it?" Archeron looked at Lucien warily. Smart.

Lucien smirked. "You can have all the time you want to return the money, and in the meanwhile, you are supposed to hand over something precious to you."

"What do you want? Jewels?"

"Your daughter."

"No. You will not have any of my daughters."

"I'm not asking for your favourite Elain. I'm good with Y/n too."

The man's eyes turned from wary to contemplative. "I... if I do that, will you leave me alone?"

Lucien shrugged. "You will have her back once you return our money."

Archeron sighed. "Fine. Have her."

It took all Lucien had in him not to shoot him them and there. Lucien hated people who were ready to trade away their kids so they could have some money in their pocket.

But lucien didn't do that, because if this man was ready to let his daughter leave with someone he didn't know, then he didn't deserve to have her.

"I'll get her ready."

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife

[vinciwolf]

Loyalty Pt 5 (2/2)

(Recom)Na’vi!Miles Quaritch x (fem)Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: SLOW BURN, THIS IS AN EVENTUAL NSFT SERIES, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, capture, romance, reader is female

Warnings for this chapter: reposted this bc I found some errors and also the tags weren't working Finally, the second half of part 5!!! Bring tissues!!! Fluff, tension, angst, violence, animal death, things are finally boiling over!

Notes: Na’vi spoken in italics AND brackets now to clear up any confusion in this chapter.

Tags: @deliwrites​ @ikranwings​ @lovekeeho​ @luciddasher​ @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed​ @avatar-lover​ @justasimps-blog​ @mechformers​ @perseny​ @dakotali​ @ragingloser​ @worldofmunson​ @whxre-bxby​

You awoke to the hint of sunrays ascending into a purple hue of morning dawn on the horizon. The corner of your lip upturned when the arm around your waist pulled you closer atop the chest you rested your head on, ear listening to the soft thumps of Miles’ heartbeat, your hand lazily set upon his sternum.

Sand shifted beneath your body when you stretched up to peek at the sturdy Marine who still kept his eyes shut, not wanting to move for a few more minutes. It had been a very late hour into the night after starwatching when the two of you laid down to get off your feet, only to slowly descend into sleep on the beach shoulder to shoulder.

“Miles…” you start, tone soft and hushed. “Miles, we…should go back…before anyone thinks we’ve run off.”

A hint of a smirk inched forward on the Recom’s cheek, finding a small bit of humor at your recall to what he had told you inside the floating mountains.

Getting up was hard as the sand was pillowy and warm, but brushing off the particles from your clothes was even worse seeing that your pants had a hole in it for your tail, allowing some of the granular substance to get into your ass crack. Maybe sleeping on the beach wasn’t so much a good idea let alone a romantic one.

The walk back to camp was quiet save for the sounds your feet made shuffling through the pale beach, sun entering the sky and casting itself onto the waking world around you. Not wanting to disturb anyone, you gently got onto your bedroll and stilled yourself, making it seem as if you never left. Miles did much the same in his cot. But there was an eye that peeked open and sneakily watched your elusive return, making the kid grin briefly before returning to his dreams.

~

You soared fast above the water’s edge. Sprinkles of water dusted your face as the large waves crashed into each other below. The sounds reverberated your soul, making the head of your Ikran tip up to glide higher away from the oceanic chaos. Soon the objective of this rough flight came into view: the SeaDragon. It was mighty in size and glared the bright light of the sun off its giant, metallic frame.

Flying in with Miles and Lyle, Sylway flapped hard and landed atop the helm of the SeaDragon. Your feet landed with a bang on the roof as did the other two large Recoms when they dismounted, just for them to hop down with audible thuds onto the deck where the captain stood with a long scowl. Being only seconds behind them, you were about to do the same until you halted when Miles rotated his weight and extended a hand, the light blue of his palm welcoming for you to take—and you did with a visible smirk. The Colonel’s hand firm as he helped you down. Then the captain let out his voice causing your ears to tip with annoyance since you knew a voice like that was attached only to the worst of insufferable douchebags.

“Are you the arsehole commandeering my ship?” Scoresby whined with a heavy accent.

That was Miles’ cue to saunter toward the captain, having an elbow arched from his fingers idly sliding to rest over his pistol.

With a fanged smirk, he admitted huskily, “That would be me.”

Your cheeks flared hot at the cool touch of his voice hijacking your senses. From this angle, your eyes feasted along the arm resting on the holster, studying the flexed muscles swollen under azure, striped skin. He knew what he was doing and it was unfair how he withheld himself last night, only sparing you a kiss to the fucking forehead, so you gladly drank up whatever you could find during these missions.

Not realizing the air passing over your mouth dried out the skin, you padded your tongue to wet them. But there were another pair of lips that weren’t exactly dry, instead quite the opposite.

Inside, Scoresby and Garvin introduced themselves as you stood near the scientist from the other side of the glowing table that showed a map of island locations.

“There’s probably fifty villages out there,” one had mentioned.

“Fifty—one hundred—we’ll search them all,” Miles countered.

“You can’t just come in here and take over my ship! I have quotas to meet!”

Your eyes that were fixed on the captain slowly trailed to the Colonel who leaned his body and lengthy arms on the holographic surface.

“I’ll be nice once, then I won’t,” he smiled with mock friendliness, ears folding back.

You heart skipped when he said that. He was ready, by any means necessary, to finish what he started. Then it dawned on you just how deep with was getting. War was here. Nothing could prepare you for the coming storm – the whole point of the Recombinants’ existence – and that made you anxious, and fearful. You hated how the RDA would waste life just to consume everything. Hated how Miles and every person that was rebirthed as Na’vi would perish eventually while Ardmore could care less.

Inwardly, you scoffed. Just cogs in the machine. Nothing more.

But maybe you could keep at least one of the Recoms alive.

You had to. Your heart begged of it.

~

You knew the RDA was ruthless, so you begged Eywa to prolong those brief moments when Spider laughed or to feel the hairlike touch that set your body on fire when Miles' pinky grazed yours amidst a crowd at a boring meeting. But stalling was not their forte. They would claw forward, burning the whole world down, to get what they wanted. You understood this, teeth grinding together as your heart wrenched witnessing village after village ravaged. Ardmore would have her scalp, no matter how much it pained you to see her loyal Recom at his worst.

The Metkayina were shoved onto their knees and threatened with voltage weapons swelling a knot into your throat too hard to swallow down. You understood that power too well.

Stood before you were Miles, Prager, and Lyle holding the chief and Tsahik hostage. The Colonel lifted up a portrait of Jake and demanded them to tell where to find him.

“These are sea people. Forest people don’t come here,” Spider earnestly explained.

Then the Tsahik regarded you desperately, “[Please, stop this madness! You need to leave!]”

“They don’t know anything!” Spider shouted.

Your heart was torn, unsettling your whole body while begging the villagers to help find your friend. But several of the Metkayina around you kept talking and yelling which made the Recoms and human soldiers angry and begin yelling themselves. Trying to keep up with the scrambled threads of conversations, you got onto your knees and focused on the Tsahik in desperation.

“[It doesn’t matter what you tell me, just give me a direction! Any direction!]” you spoke fast.

Mentally, your cussed yourself out for asking her to lie, but then quickly recalled that these people didn’t even have a word for lie. Her voice was swift as she told you that she didn’t know where Jake was, but you kept interrupting her in an attempt to get her to understand that she didn’t have to tell the truth – you only needed a random location to suffice. But being scrambled with your try at buying time, you didn’t notice that the Recoms were tired, especially Miles, who got increasingly irritated behind you. Then your blood ran cold when three bold words came from the Colonel.

“Shoot that animal!” he shouted, pointing at an Ilu.

Then a loud blast rang through your ears causing them to sting, whole body curling in from the sudden noise. Then the villagers cried and hollered watching the creature float dead in the water. You swiveled where you crouched and looked to the water, eyes rounding in shock, lungs deepening with hard breaths.

A few feet away, the kid made it clear his disgust. “What the hell are you doing???”

No… no, no, no!

You felt like a failure. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Your feet were faster than your thoughts as you stood and said very firmly, almost a hiss, “…Miles.”

“They don’t know anything! What you’re doing here is wrong!” Spider screamed. “Please!”

Then Lyle was pushing the end of his rifle into your backside, stinging your flesh as the barrel was still freshly hot.

“Choose your next words carefully,” he warned.

That was when you had enough.

“You’re not pressing the knife where it hurts—” you turn around and face the Corporal, image reflecting off his black shades, this time his gun at your ribs “—and next time you threaten me—” you glare through your brow with a hint of your sharp fangs glinting in the sunlight “—do it to my face.”

Then you took Spider, who you loved and raised, and trudged away from the chaos, Miles not even stopping you. You couldn’t cry, not in front of them. The deep rot in your chest returned and ate away the last lingering bit of hope you tried to salvage in this daily hellhole. Why did you even stay again? Oh, right, the thing around to your neck. You were trapped.

Had he felt nothing? Had those moments of touch and comfort mean anything, or was he just playing along to get a kick out of it. Did he get off knowing that if he wanted to take you, nothing could stop him. How could you resist? You wanted so badly for things to be better, despite the gaping hole manifesting itself in your heart having to watch countless communities destroyed.

~

Eclipse had fallen hours ago. The dock was quiet and lifeless from the Recoms and crew tucked away in the hull of the ship to catch some sleep. The air was still aside from the critters going about their business zipping through the air or the occasional scampering of something in the woods far off beyond the ship's pier. Despite the deep ache to run towards freedom as you looked at Sylway, who had perched herself for slumber, you hugged your knees from the sting in your eyes, a lone tear crawling down your cheek, tail furling. Ears then flicked to the oncoming sounds of a grunt and shuffling behind you. Part of you wished it was Spider, but you knew those footsteps with the heavy thuds atop the spacious roof of the ship’s bridge, only part of the ship that gave you some semblance of privacy, belonged to someone else.

"You found a good hiding spot," Miles' voice reached through the endless silence that had settled long ago.

Your stomach lurched as you tried to contain your emotions with tears begging to trample forward over the ravine. It was hard to look at him, heart jumping in response to his presence nearing to where you sat. He was so close yet it felt like he was far away where you could not reach him. You yearning to be at his side faded into sorrow. Mourning for what could have been if things were different. Mourning for what could still come to pass if you caved selfishly and said fuck it all.

“I couldn’t find you when we were debriefing. I could’ve used your input...”

You sneered, "Just your box of secrets to exploit whenever you please."

“Don’t make this difficult. We both knew this would have to happen to weed out Sully.”

Enough rage was flowing through your body that you hadn’t realized how quickly you stood up.

“Did you actually care!? Or would you have kept me collared all along like a good pet until you’d find the time to discard me and Spider when you were done with us!?”

Your words struck a chord in Miles causing his tempter to rise and piss out his mouth, like the jarhead he was, not thinking why he let the bitterness flow effortlessly as he spoke.

“You think I care about some kid!? We ain’t even the same species!”

Blood boiled and ran hot through your veins triggering a reflex you didn’t know you could possess. You swung your hand to slap him, but he caught your wrist midair, clasping it hard enough to leave a mark.

"Don't try me, woman!” he spat with venom. "I could have you down cold in a heartbeat!"

Yanking yourself from his vice, you laughed mechanically. It was unnatural and forced as you dwelled in the irony, the burn of your wrist still fresh as you rubbed the pain.

"You're right—" you meet Miles' stare with equal fierceness, tears wiggling along your vision "—you could take me right here, right now, in front of everyone—” your arms spread wide open “—and there'd be nothing I could do about it.”

Then you clutched the device on your neck and jingled it loudly in front the Colonel, pointing out the obvious truth to his statement. You were a dog. Nothing you did since Ardmore strapped this bloody thing on you has been free will. And it tore your guts up knowing you had still fallen for the Marine bastard anyway.

Miles’ eyes widened when it became clear what his words meant, aggravation causing his jaw to tighten when he grasped that he had been stupid and blind. Not once did he have to use the collar for his advantage. Not once. But it was still there waiting and smiling for him to indulge. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he brought out the device to your collar and hit a button.

Everything moved slower as you absorbed the clanking noise hitting the roof below.

Your raging temper rapidly smoothed itself into a calm stream of clarity.

Free.

You were free.

Fingertips with a featherlike touch, careful and unsure, hovered where the bulky collar should have been to then finally press along your exposed skin, breathing shallow and overwhelmed. It felt strange for your mind to process but your heart raced. Then your senses came to with the loud drumming of Miles’ steps. He hunched over and snatched the circular device.

“I don’t want your loyalty bought!” he shook the collar in your face before chunking it over the bridge, landing somewhere forgotten on the dock.

Within, your gut screamed at you to keep your feet still but you were at your breaking point. Lungs felt like they were filling up with something hot, like you’d float away if you didn’t get fresh air despite being outside. Your face displayed fear, yet something else was being calculated behind your look. Miles’ brow drew close as he put together what you might do next, silently pleading for you not to do it.

But you were off and skipping down the human stairways with great thumps as you sprinted to Sylway with only one instinct playing through your every fiber: run.

"Motherfu-" Miles whispered irately to himself while he bounced down and ran to Cupcake, taking off into the night sky after you.

Your heart raced, exhilarated by being in the air. It felt wrong to run, almost like a betrayal, but you wanted to flee for so long that you didn’t recognize yourself in this moment as running.

Miles then appeared beside Sylway, causing her to screech, Cupcake batting her wings harshly to keep up with your Ikran’s crazed flying as you desperately searched for anywhere to be safe.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" you yelled across the loud thunder of wind passing your body.

But the Recom held firm, not knowing if he had lost his goddamn mind or kept up because he didn’t want you to hurt yourself as you flew like crazy over the giant waves roaring below.

You got excited when you noticed a giant fracture that split up the side of a mountain, banking hard to enter the fissure. Sylway passed under the thick vines that hug down the rocky opening, the walls of the tunnel humming as you made your way deeper into the cavernous heart.

Inside, bioluminescent spores and other huge fungi covered the long columns of the stones jutting up to the dark ceiling above. You hid behind one just in time as Miles flapped into the cave moments behind you. While the disturbed air stilled, glowing speckles from the plants floated down to cover you and Sylway.

Then a voice rang out to you in the darkness.

“(Y/N)!” Miles hollered.

“Please, I know today was—” he inhaled deeply “—not a clean search like the rest…it was fucked up.”

He felt awful for not being able to fit the right words together.

“I—” he halted again, cussing himself out.

How could he say sorry? He justified his actions because it was in his entire DNA, the only reason he’s alive, to hunt down Jake Sully. But was it worth it if it meant losing you? Something tugged low in his chest as he thought about how he was possibly talking to no one in these caves, that you had lost him – that he was alone.

With nothing left to lose, he exhaled just above a whisper, “Please come back to the ship.”

Please come back to me.

Your face twisted with sadness as you listened to his tired plea. Defeated and lost, you revealed yourself by Sylway’s flapping and readying for flight, the lustrous dust kicking off her wings.

When in the air and outside the mountain, your heart slowly began pulsing normally, so you landed on a beach and hopped from your Ikran, Miles not too far behind leaving his own mount. Your legs plodded through the sand without a destination in mind still feeling the need to get away.

"Now where're you going??"

"I don’t know!” you fling your arms in the air “—just away! Away from you! Away from everything!”

"I know you can't run away from the kid! He needs you!"

"Oh, and like you can't take care of him yourself!? You need mommy's help?"

"Quit acting stupid!"

Miles grabbed your elbow and roughly shoved you around, to which you pushed him away.

"LEAVE ME!" you screamed harshly to then whimpered, tears flooding your vision and dampening your cheeks. "What you’re doing—what you did to those people was wrong!”

"I DID IT TO PROTECT YOU!"

You were taken aback as he snapped, but he wasn’t angry, he was confessing.

“Jake Sully is my mission, but they put a fucking noose around your neck and a chip in the kid’s mask! I had—I can’t just do nothing!”

“But Ardmore doesn’t give a crap about you or the others! You’re just fodder to her!”

“Fucking Christ—” Miles turned and rubbed a hand over his face. He wanted Jake defeated. That was his whole purpose. He tried to alter his decisions subtlety when the General couldn’t see, but this war coming to a head was inevitable. Taking a deep breath, he returned to facing you.

"You can run away. I know you fucking hate me. But please come back, at least for the kid."

Your palms covered your nose and mouth, eyes wrinkling shut hard in an attempt to stop the flow of tears. Could he not see that he was being fooled? The RDA didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.

This was too much. You faced your back to the Marine and gazed heavenward.

Why did Eywa put you here?

Then quietly on a shaky breath, you said, "I would've followed you into the fire if it meant keeping Spider safe... if it meant keeping you safe."

Miles perked at your hesitant voice, edging him to step closer.

"My loyalty… it was never bought—” you could feel his breath on your neck “—not for you.”

A pressure weighed against the back of your head when Miles’ crown gently leaned into your hair. No words needed exchanging.

You inched your body around until you were face to face with the Colonel.

Then you connected lips.

[star-girl69]

Keep Me Ablaze

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warning: mentions of guns, swearing, mentions of death, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Four- Face It

—-

Pandora air was different.

Chemically, in the way it was made up, the fact that humans couldn’t breathe it, but also in another way. Like any second, if you would flick a lighter, the air everywhere would burst into flames.

There something in the air, in the ground. Something tangible, a thrum, a heartbeat as if the planet itself is alive. Of course, Grace tells you all the time about how there’s something measurable in this planet- that Eywa the Na’vi worship is real.

All you know is that the air is different. And, in your human form, you can’t breathe it.

Days are spent in your Avatar, special made itchy clothes, the sun hot on your skin, smelling all the flowers and plants.

Grace wakes up next to you with a groan, like she always does. The switch between bodies is hard for her, but she still does it each day, because she can’t miss Pandora.

While you had been out for an hour already, Grace hadn’t come today, too busy teaching Jake and Norm more about being an Avatar driver.

“Still want a cigarette,” she mutters, before sitting up with yawn. Her eyes find you, like you’re a beacon in the dark, and she smiles like you’re the only light she’s seen for days.

“What are you doing?” you ask, putting down the shirts you were tidying.

“Making sure the new guys don’t die,” she huffs, standing up and stretching.

“I’ll come,” you say, and it takes you a second to even realize the words came out of your mouth.

“Sure,” she says, unknowing of your confusion. Subconsciously, maybe, do you want to be with him? Did he entrance you that much with a shitty pick up line and his skin on yours?

You follow Grace out anyways, while she babbles more about the new recruits, until you hear the sound of dirt shifting.

You look up, and he is there. There like he’s always been there.

He takes a few breathes and looks around, feels the soil in between his working legs. He doesn’t notice the two of you yet. He’s too caught up in the majesty.

Grace bends to pick a fruit from its bush, so you smile, ignore whatever you’re feeling about him and let the words fall out.

“Jake!” you call, smiling slightly, not sure if he’ll recognize you.

“Damn,” you hear him mutter, see his ears go wide. Heat fills your cheeks, making you feel foolish and amazing. Exhilarated. On fire. “Y/N?”

You smile and nod, feeling like you should have worn a different outfit.

“Think fast!” Grace shouts, throwing the fruit at him. He catches it, eyes wide, and Grace nods approvingly. “Motor control’s looking good.”

He looks from the fruit to the two of you, taking a bite of the small purple thing. He chuckles, in awe. He has only known human food before this- the last seeds of a dying planet.

—-

“Come on, everybody, quiet down!” Grace shouts, walking through the rows of beds. She continues saying more, ushering the humans out, but you look at Jake.

He looks at his tsaheylu, studying it, watching the tendrils move.

“You get use to it,” your blurt, reaching out and kicking his foot with your own.

“It’s kinda freaky,” he replies, looking up at you. You shrug, and he chuckles. Metal clangs through the sleeping paddock, Grace shutting the doors.

“Lights out! See you at dinner, kiddies.” The flights flicker out, and you shoot Jake a smile before laying down. Something shrieks outside, and you hear Jake shift.

You want to say something, maybe tell him it’ll be alright, that at least for right now- nothing out there can hurt you. But you don’t. You let yourself fall back into your human body.

—-

“Just keep your mouth shut and let Norm do the talking,” Grace hisses, leaning over Jake’s link pod.

“Aunt Grace…” you mutter, and she ignores you.

“Your only job,” she continues, “is to carry a gun and not shoot anyone. I will make your life hell, Marine.”

He chuckles. “You know, Y/N, I don’t even know how an angel like you is related-”

The sound of the link pod closing fills the air, and Grace smiles triumphantly.

—-

Flying in Pandora is something you’ll never get used to- the thrill of being in the air, paired with the sights of new animals and plants you swear grow by the day.

Grace does a sharp turn, following the curve of a wide waterfall, before circling back to the forest and landing, making the animals on the ground scurry away.

Jake hops off before the helicopter even hits the ground, scoping the area out with his gun at the ready, but you and Grace wait a moment longer.

“Shut it down!” Grace shouts into the intercom, circling around to the head of the helicopter. “We’re gonna stay awhile!”

The engine starts to slow down, the forest starting to quiet again, go back to how it should be.

You huff, fix the pack wrapped around your waist, watch as Jake and Wainfleet point their guns everywhere. Grace seems to to share the sentiment.

“Stay with the ship,” she says to Wainfleet. “One idiot with a gun is enough.”

Jake chuckles and smiles, taking the insult in stride.

His shoulders drop, relax, and he backs up towards the helicopter. “You’re the man, Doc.”

The walk deeper into the forest is silent, besides for creatures chittering and moving, the sound of footsteps on the thick forest floor.

“So, how will they know we’re here?” Norm suddenly asks, stepping over a large root.

“I’m sure they’re watching us right now,” she replies, and he looks around the forest anxiously.

“You won’t be able to see them,” you hum. Jake turns, looks at you questionably. “You won’t.”

“Keep up, guys!” Grace shouts, bumping shoulders with you.

—-

“Here I go,” Grace says, inserting a needle into the root of a tree.

“Scanning,” Norm replies, and you catch Jake slowly moving away.

He seems entranced but the forest, trudging through it loudly, but you follow him anyways. What else do you have to do?

You follow him through a clearing, until he stops, eyes fixed on some plants in front of him.

Tall, spiraling and light orange, like coral, you smile as he approaches them in awe.

“Touch one,” you whisper, and he doesn’t startle. Did he know you were there? He half looks over his shoulder, grinning wide, before reaching out and just barely touching one:

He gaps when the plant shrinks it on itself, before doing the same to another one. Again, and again, until they all sense the danger and shrink in.

You smile, because his childishness is somewhat endearing, until something roars.

You look up- something armored and angry, huge, far bigger than you- you know this animal, you know what to do- but you’ve never encountered one like this in the forest. Angry, staring right at you.

“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot, you’ll just piss him off,” Grace says through the intercom. “It’s okay, baby,” she says again, only for you.

“Grace…” you whisper, turning from the wild beast in front of you to your aunt. Her eyes flick between you and the animal, and she keeps nodding, keeping trying to reassure you. Herself.

The animal takes it horned head, hits it into the foliage next to it, making it splinter and fly everywhere.

“It’s already pissed off,” Jake replies, not lowering his gun, and if your voice could work you would scream at him to lower it.

“That armors too thick, trust me.”

Jake lets out a grunt before pointing his gun up.

“It’s a territorial threat display,” Grace notes, “do not run, or he’ll charge.”

“So, what do I do, dance with it?” he shifts on his feet, ready to run, to attack, to do something, while all you can do is stand there in fear.

“Hold your ground.”

The animal keeps growling, brushing the ground with its feet, until it seems to have enough and charges.

“Stay!” Grace keeps shouting, but the world narrows down to nothing but the feel of your fear, the ice in your veins. Your vision blurs with something, tears, that fight or flight response trying to kick in but everything is too much and you can’t move.

You think Jake runs forward, goes to meet the animal halfway, until the both stop and silence fills the air.

Jake let’s put a relieved laugh, the animal starts backing up.

“Yeah? Come on! What else you got?” he shouts, feeling like he’s on top of the world. But he’s new to Pandora. He doesn’t know. He is on the food chain, the hierarchy, and he is at the bottom. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, bitch.”

The animal trumpets and runs away, scared by something. But for some reason- even as Jake continues his verbal assault, you don’t think it’s scared of him. Then-

You hear it.

A growl, a growl you know the sound of so well, the one that haunts your dreams and stays in the back of your mind like sticky honey.

A thanator.

What killed your father, all those years ago.

It snarls, and Jake stiffens, turns around slowly.

It roars, and he pulls his gun out again, but the thanator jumps over the two of you like nothing.

“So what about this one? Run? Don’t run? What?!”

“Run! Definitely run!” she shouts, and it’s silent for a second before Jake springs into action, turning and grabbing you by the wrist.

His touch burns and hurts, shocking you out of your fear and into life. You’re living. You’re breathing. You have to keep doing that.

You run behind him, let him lead the way, copying the way he weaves between plants, jumps over trees.

“There!” he suddenly shouts, reaching behind him blindly for you. You’re too focused on the ground under you to even know what he’s referring to, but you grab his hand and he pulls your forward, forces you into the roots of a tree.

You push yourself to the back of it, breathing heavily, while Jake readies his gun. The sound of gunfire fills your ears, and no matter how many shots he seems to fire the thanator doesn’t back down. Then, the gun is ripped from his hands, and he shouts again.

“Fuck! Go, go!” he shouts, drags you through to another opening, the two of you keep running, and your legs burn, foliage hitting your face.

Suddenly, the thanator jumps down from up above you, grabs Jake by his pack and swings him around in the air.

“Jake!” you screech, but you have no weapon, nothing to help him. He shouts, unclipping his back and falling to the ground, jumping up and sprinting over to you.

Now, you have a head start.

“Trust me!” he shouts, and the two of you are just running again, so fast you can hear the wind whip in your ears.

“What?” you ask, just as he tugs you over the edge of a cliff.

—-

taglist:

@kitkat1690 @tiajk @reallysparklychaos @behindthearcane @neteyamforlife @aeslenya @ghoulbli @luvvsnae @personapersonally @bubble-blu @ameriesworld @itsyoboysparkel @ok-boke @arschbohrer @ambria @ssc7514 @w3ird11 @vane28282 @littlexscarletxwitch @erenjaegerwifee @myheartfollower @simp-erformarvelwomen @maevirago

[randomfoggytiger]

"You Had Nothing"

(Dedicated to @goodshipsmulder~. Merry Christmas!)

Perhaps a Part II to “Gold” 

Set during the events of Fight the Future.

*****

They’d been waiting 56 hours, 13 minutes, 10 seconds before the phone rang, loud in a room so thick with anticipation that it was nearly nauseating. Langly would have answered, but he’d just dipped to the john; and had there not been security footage to prove either way, the victor of the final frenzy-- Frohike’s stumpy grab and Byers’ uncharacteristic snatch-- would forever remain a mystery. 

Byers spat out “Lone Gunman’s headquarters--” in the same breath as Frohike’s “Mulder, is that you?”; and both were winded and heady with relief when their friend’s monotone croaked across the line, across the ocean, across the world. 

“Hey, settle down, everyone. Can’t hear you all at once.” But he was smiling-- they heard it-- and was pleased he’d been missed. 

“Is Agent Scully with you?” Frohike cut to the chase, locking his thumbs together in the half-second of silence. 

“Yeah… yeah, she woke up a couple hours ago. Doing well. Fever’ll break sometime tonight, nurses say.” 

His report was peppered with warmth and weary exultation, joy and a touch of fear fading and coming alive again, if they listened for it. The three compadres-- Langly had rejoined them, a streak of yellow lightning vaulting over cables and discarded coffee cups and a trampled donut box-- neglected further investigation in their eagerness to ask and ask and ask about what happened, were they at McMurdo, who did and didn't they and hadn't he--

“Fellas! One at a time, please.” The please was implied. “And can I get back to you on all that? We’re a bit jet lagged.” 

Byers nodded, stopped the phone from its madhouse hot-potato from one hand to another, and sighed, “Yes, of course. Get some rest, Mulder--”

“Not a chance!” hollered Frohike; and snatched it right back. “Mulder, you can’t just leave us hanging like that, especially concerning the delectable Agent Scully.” 

“Yeah, Mulder, what did she say? Bet her eyes really popped.” 

There was a pause and a long sigh and what sounded like their friend shifting positions. 

Finding it hard to judge if Mulder was amused, angry, or willfully silent, Byers tried to redirect. “I think we should let Mulder rest-- he’s had a hard couple of days.” 

Langly snorted and Frohike huffed. 

“Not until we know how Scully took his words of undying love.” 

“Yeah, Byers, stop trying to be a wet blanket. Mulder’s just evading the question.” 

They were bickering now, of course: tense days passed in total lockdown-- ear to the phone and sleeping in shifts-- wore them to frazzled ends focused on a singular purpose. Goal accomplished, their energy had to be vented elsewhere. Poking Mulder about his private life and hoping it matched the thrilling conclusion envisioned in their caffeine-marinated heads was exactly what Frohike and Langly were bent on doing; and they traded verbal blows with Byers as well as each other, three dogs scrapping for the upper hand and losing sight of their original aim the longer the battle dragged on. 

The first few mutters through the phone weren’t loud enough to snag their attention; but a forceful “Guys!” pulled them up short. 

It was Scully: authoritative, assertive, and annoyed. Deeply, deeply annoyed. 

“Agent Scully?” Byers asked, again conscious and commiserate. 

“What do you three think you’re doing?”

“What happened to Mulder?” Langly’s transparent attempts at misdirection, they hoped, hadn’t been caught by Scully. The trademark sigh-- humor them-- puffed through: they had, but their bid for Mulder's health had also, temporarily, stalled her wrath. Frohike thudded Langly on the shoulder. 

“He’s resting, actually,” she replied. “Or I assume so, since he’s scrunched up in a chair.” Her voice shifted, misdirection having worn out its bag of tricks. “Like I should be; and was until a minute ago.” 

Danger, once turned away, was doubling back with a vengeance. 

Frohike tried-- “We’re terribly sorry, Agent Scully-- we’ll let you get back to catching your beauty sleep; and I’m sure Mulder will call us in the morning if anything’s--” but even her affection for him wouldn’t deter the delectable lady’s insistence. 

“First, you three are going to explain why you were shouting about me to Mulder.” An expectant pause. "Is there something wrong?"

“Rest assured, Agent Scully, no one's in danger. We were merely….” As one, the Lone Gunman looked into every crack and crevice of the room for the right word. “...merely congratulating him. And you.” 

“...'Congratulating’.” 

“Yes, on a successful mission. And we’re sorry we disturbed the both of you. We’ll hang up now and let you rest.” 

Her winding-up breath was abruptly cut off by Frohike’s swift stab to the end button; and all three slumped, sighed, or fidgeted out their nerves. 

“What’ll it take,” Frohike snapped, swinging his arms to relieve tension, “an alien invasion?” 

“Pffft, more likely the sun burning out and the cold consuming us all,” Langly parried. 

Byers kept silent, wondered how they could so spectacularly waste another opportunity. Those were hard to come by, and with no guarantee of a second chance. 

All three silently wondered how much of their fight Scully had overheard, and how much she would piece together later.  

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[pumpkinhrat]

Martin nearly drops his glass of wine in his lap when the notification pops up. A bit does splash over the lip of the glass and nearly ruins his freshly folded laundry, but he can’t bring himself to care. The message blinks at him from his phone screen: Tinder (now) – Somebody Super Liked you! Find out who.

Martin stares blankly at it until the screen starts to go dark. A Super Like. A Super Like? It’s been a week since Martin opened the account and he’s barely had 5 matches in the time since. He’s not even really sure what a Super Like is besides the fact that Tinder keeps trying to make him buy them. Did someone pay to match with him? Martin’s pulse quickens and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s typing in his passcode and pulling up the app. Immediately, a profile pops up with a bright blue star under the scowling face of–

Jonathan Sims.

Martin freezes, the skin of his neck prickling suddenly. What… He takes a furtive look around his flat, suddenly and bizarrely self conscious, as if someone’s gonna pop up beside him to judge his every reaction – ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. He takes a large swallow of wine.

Martin’s first instinct upon discovering that his boss Super Liked him on Tinder of all places is, of course, to deny, deny, deny that it’s really happening. Because, really, imagining dour, dry Jon sitting down to set up an online dating profile after scoffing at Tim’s own profile so hard that he’d set himself into a coughing fit is unbelievable. It doesn’t help Martin’s denial, however, that the third picture on Jon’s account is one of Tim and Sasha crowding beside him at a bar. It also doesn’t help that Martin remembers that night very clearly and knows for certain that after Sasha had taken that selfie of the three of them, Tim had insisted on a photo with Martin as well. (“Gotta have documentation that I actually managed to drag all three of you out at once!” he remembers Tim shouting in his ear.)

Martin clicks through the rest of the profile with a deliberate sort of detachment, though his cheeks warm against his will. It’s not his fault that every previously unseen photo of his stuffy, starched shirt boss in jeans and a flannel ignites a new wash of fire down his back. The blue Super Like star continuing to glow merrily under each photo doesn’t help, either.

Martin mindlessly scrolls down a bit further and encounters the description he’d missed while scouring Jon’s photo album. The bio reads: ‘Stressed, depressed, well dressed. Put the bi in bibliophile. Looking for someone to raise a cat with.’ Martin’s attention catches on the second line, specifically the word ‘bi’. He knows that Jon had dated at least one woman before but he never wanted to assume anything about his preferences. It’s nice to know, he supposes, as his traitorous body sends another wash of elated heat down his back.

This is bad. Very, very bad. Jon had been alluring enough when he’d been Marin’s mean, unfairly hot boss who’d occasionally dress him down in a way that made his hands tingle. Cold, strict, and gloriously, mercifully unattainable. It’s been a few years since those rocky beginnings, though. Now, Jon has settled into his gig as Head Archivist and the spiky walls of his glaringly obvious inferiority complex have disappeared entirely. He still snaps and snipes, of course, but that’s to be expected no matter how close you are to Jonathan Sims.

This, unfortunately, means that Martin’s… interest (he refuses to say ‘infatuation’ as Tim had) in Jon has taken a bit more of a realistic turn. In the past year or so, Jon has turned into something of a friend, which is incredible on its own but also has disastrous implications for Martin’s ability to maintain his self control. And this? This is bad.

The wine (a thank you gift from Jon for hosting his birthday party at his flat the year prior) sits warm and soft in Martin’s belly as his thumb hovers over the swipe right and left options. Nothing about this makes a lick of sense, but Martin’s imagination never really needs much to go on in order to find the most ridiculous course of action and convince him to act on it.

He downs the rest of his glass in one go and swipes his thumb to the right. Who needs self control?

––

“And what, exactly, do you mean by concerned?”

Sasha cringes slightly at Jon’s sharp tone but Tim just slings an arm around his neck, snatching his phone and the offending Tinder account away from him. “Oh come on Boss Man, you know we worry! We’re just looking out for you! Consider it a favor.”

“A favor.” His tone is so dry that even Tim grimaces but he quickly recovers.

“Yeah! You were just whingeing about how terrible company Sash and I make on a night out, always running off for a bit of fun and leaving you by your lonesome. We thought we’d solicit you some company!”

“Must you phrase it that way? It sounds as if you’re hiring me an escort.” Jon gripes without much bite, crossing his arms where he leans against Sasha’s desk. Tim grins at him so widely he rolls his eyes and looks away. “So, what, you want to find someone for me to interact with while the two of you go off to- to do whatever it is you do? I’m just supposed to stay behind and rendezvous with some stranger?”

“Well,” Sasha says slowly. Jon turns his imperious look on her. “We tried to encourage you to, um, rendezvous with someone at the bar when the two of us break off but you didn’t seem to like that idea either.”

Jon puffs out an exasperated little sigh that is honestly endearing as fuck and levels a flat look at Sasha. “You know perfectly well that that is not something I’m–”

“That’s not what I meant,” she cuts in quickly. “It’s perfectly possible to make friends at bars even if you’re not looking for anything else.”

“Maybe for some people,” he mutters, looking away, and Sasha’s heart squeezes much in the way that had made her start this entire endeavor. She opens her mouth to explain just this but Tim beats her to the punch.

“That’s kinda the point, Boss Man. We know you aren’t particularly comfortable having full blown conversations with strangers, so we thought this would be is a great solution! Match with a few people, see who fits the best, then you can meet the ones who you think you’d actually survive socializing with.” Jon takes a breath and Tim quickly barrels on. “Aaaand if you don’t find anyone who meets that bar, then no harm done! Just delete the app and you’ll never have to think about it again.” He gently pushes the phone across Sasha’s desk toward Jon, the app open to the ‘matches’ page.

Jon stares down at it with clear disdain before eyeing them both doubtfully. “I appreciate the effort,” he starts carefully and Sasha has to bite her tongue to resist interrupting. “But isn’t this an entirely unnecessary endeavor? It’s not as if we go out all that often, anyway. Everyone’s far too busy to agree on nights to go out, and Martin hasn’t been able to attend in months.”

“Well, y’know, that’s also kind of the point, Boss Man,” Tim says. He yanks out a chair and sits on it backward beside Sasha so they’re both looking up at Jon. He taps his phone pointedly. “We want you to get out there, mingle with other people now that Martin’s lost his weekends to his mom and Sash and I are dipping into territory you’re not as comfortable with–”

“You two do know I am capable of hearing the word sex without bursting into flame, yes?”

“–and, hey, we get it, you’re not the most social guy. But everyone needs a little bit of time with a friend or partner. We don’t want you to miss out on that because our little quartet has encountered a few scheduling conflicts.”

Jon stares at them, a look Sasha does not like filling his eyes, and his lips thin slightly. “You think I’m lonely.” He says the word with such a tone of accusation that Sasha cringes again.

“We don’t think you’re lonely,” she corrects quickly. “We just think you’d benefit from new social connections now that we’re less available.”

“And we still wanna go out,” Tim adds. “As often as we can. We just want–”

“Me to have more options than just you three, yes, I understand the premise.” He turns his attention back to Tim’s phone and gingerly pokes through the app, huffing and making more Jon Noises. Precious. After an excruciating amount of time, he heaves a gigantic sigh. “I suppose it won’t hurt to- to test it out. See if your theory holds any weight.” He sounds reluctant but Tim and Sasha share an excited glance, Sasha giving an endeared little nose scrunch at the wording. What an utterly Jon thing to say. “It has– It’s been a while since Georgie, so I believe now is as good a time as any to ‘get back out there’. I hadn’t thought there’d be anyone particularly interesting on apps like these but…” He trails off as he clicks through one of his matches’ profiles and Sasha just barely catches a glimpse of a foggy silhouette on a mountain.

“We handpicked a few people that we thought you might gel with,” she cuts in quickly, before Jon can expand on his ‘but’ and shut the whole thing down. “The one you’re looking at right now is Tim’s favorite, though I think he’s a bit boring.” Tim makes an affronted noise but Jon just hums, scrolling slowly through the profile’s long winded description.

“Yes, quite,” he says, clearly not paying any attention to what she’s saying. Tim grins at her.

‘Told ya so!’ He mouths and Sasha gives him the finger under her desk.

“Well, whaddya say, Boss?” Tim asks after another few minutes, which Jon spends entirely on Martin’s profile. “Shall I get you all logged in on your phone so you can start chatting him up? Or am I gonna lose my phone entirely to you and this ‘Martin’?” Jon looks up at Tim, surprised, then back down at the phone.

“Oh, right, yes, this is–“ He fumbles to return the phone to Tim, as if looking through it hadn’t been the entire point of the account, and pulls out his own phone. “I’ll just take over from you now, shall I? It is, ah, apparently my account, after all.”

He says the last bit with no small amount of pointed wryness but Sasha ignores their squabbling, leaning back in her chair triumphantly. Another successful mission in order to expand Jon’s little world, this one possibly the most satisfying. She glows a little with the feeling of a job well done.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

ANON YOURE BACK, THANK YOU FOR WRITING MORE I absolutely love it 😭

[Here is the previous part] --- [next part]

UPDATE: You can read the whole story by JJanuaryRain on AO3! Go give them lots of love -> "all's fair in love & tinder"