#not tagging for coverage or whatever

[aparticularbandit]

Of A Fatal Captivity: Prologue

Summary: When do they decide that she can't leave? That they're going to keep her there no matter what she wants? That's the day her captivity begins. Is that today?

Some of you will think that this beginning is a gimmick. Up to you! Think what you want! (It's not a gimmick more than anything else in writing is a gimmick, which is to say, of course, it's a gimmick, because that's all writing is, really, isn't it? A bunch of gimmicks? Some of them more successful than others? Isn't that why we have tropes? The trappings of a Tragedy to tell us whether that's really what the story is or not? (Do you know the story you're in?))

Enough games.

You're here for something better than that.

Or: Junko Enoshima's factory reset may or may not be going as planned, and Ryoko Otonashi has plenty of things to say about that. Or will, once she realizes what's going on.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons.

AO3

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Book One

Two Weeks Ago.

Makoto feels the slightest twinge of pressure on the top of his head.  It would be easy to squeeze his eyes shut so that he can avoid the pain, but he doesn’t.  Instead, he continues to look out over his classmates – his friends – one last time.  Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Junko, the last of them, the mastermind, giving him a wink and a thumbs up.  And then—

It’s a perfectly timed, perfectly choreographed sort of dance.

In a movie or video game, it would be called a frame by frame action, something that happens so quickly that you can’t catch it with your normal eye – as opposed to the SFX bit in The Lion King, which isn’t a blink and you miss it moment, but something caught incorrectly by a child who assumed it said sex.  The child could see that word; this, on the other hand, happens so quickly that you would need screencaps to catch it.  In fact, there are a lot of things you can realize from frame by frame analysis. If it could be done with this moment in the Killing Game – if there were recordings that could be combed through later – then this, too, is something that would be realized.

Makoto’s desk – the floor beneath him – drops down at the same exact rate as the compactor block drops on him, so that all he ever feels from it is that slight twinge of pressure.  Then, just as he moves safely out of the way, something snaps shut over his head, neatly chopping off the top of his ahoge as the block slams down onto it.  Wherever he is, it’s dark, and something drips through the floor above him and lands on his nose, his fingertips.

Just a few drops, though, and then he’s whisked away to he doesn’t know where.

If this were faster, it would feel like a rollercoaster with all of its twists and turns and ups and downs before it finally comes to a halting but complete stop.  A door in front of him opens, and the sudden light blinds him.  He raises a hand to shield his eyes, blink, before he steps off of the desk where he’s been seated.

“Hey, Makoto!”

Junko’s voice, echoing around the room, but off somehow.  Unreal.

As Makoto steps into the room, the door slides shut behind him with enough clicks and locks that he knows he will never be able to get back out the way he came in.  His eyes slowly adjust to the light again, and he scans the room the way he thinks Kyoko might, gaze stopping on a laptop resting atop another desk, a laptop that looks nearly identical to the one on which they found Alter Ego.  Maybe it’s even the same one, although he’d been so certain he’d seen him executed.  But then again, Alter Ego already saved him once, and he, Makoto, was here, despite what probably looked like certain execution to the others, so—

Right.

Makoto lowers his hand from where it shielded his eyes and notes the bright, sparkling pink on his fingertips.

(Junko is nothing if not thorough.)

“Makoto, my man!”

Junko’s voice again, and now – now, with the light no longer blinding him – Makoto can see an image of her on the laptop.  Unlike Alter Ego, she’s not all in shades of lime green.  Instead, she looks normal.  Like a photograph.

Or a video.

When he gets closer, Makoto notices the pause button, the rewind, the volume settings.  Whatever this is, it’s pre-recorded, which means—

“I wanted to let you know you didn’t make a mistake.”  Junko flashes him a grin from the other side of the screen as she leans forward the slightest bit, one hand held in place with one finger up, as though she were making a point of something.  “Obviously you don’t think you made a mistake, but you’re going to be stuck here for about ten days, and at some point during that whole boring time, you’re going to think you made a mistake, and later – like, so much later I can’t even talk about it right now without, like, a ton of context, but we’ll get to that – you’re going to think that again, because you’re not going to trust me (and honestly, who would, right?) and worse, you’re not going to trust yourself – so hear it from me now and, uh, however many times you replay this over the next week and a half – you didn’t make a mistake.”

Makoto slides into the chair that’s situated just in front of the laptop.

“See, the thing is Makoto, I’m still gonna die.”

Makoto’s eyes widen.  His mouth drops open.  Even though Junko isn’t really there, he starts to say something, stutters over his words.  What was the point of all this if you’re just going to die anyway?

“Oh, not like you’re thinking!”  Junko flashes him another grin and winks.  Then she crosses her arms and sighs, gaze switching somewhere off camera.  “Only yeah, I’m totally gonna die, and you’re locked in here and can’t do anything about it.  Sucks for you, sucker!”  Her eyes grow wide, maniacal, and she sticks her tongue out as she makes the same double I love you gestures she’d made during the trial.  Then that expression fades again, replaced by the softest smile he’s seen her make.

In fact, Makoto’s pretty sure he’s never seen that expression on Junko before at all.  It’s oddly vulnerable, and she doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would ever have been vulnerable around him, even before she’d taken their memories.

Junko’s gaze flicks to him again, and that smile disappears.  She yawns.  Bored.  “See, the thing is, all of you are absolute fucking shit at trying to kill me.  I’m supposed to be the big villain, and you’re supposed to all team up to take me out!  And you won’t fucking do it!  So I’m just going to take care of the problem myself.  Don’t thank me on your way out.”  Then she leans forward again, all boobs and big hair and bright blue eyes with just the faintest glimmer of red beneath them.  She rests her head in her hands and asks, “So, since I’ve got you here, you wanna hear my grand plan?  Only I’ve had this whole thing cooked up forever, and I’ve had no one to tell it to, and you’re just kinda stuck here, so.”  She winks again.  “You can pause if you want.  Or skip.  Whatever suits your fancy.  But don’t you just wanna know?”

A few seconds pass.  Then Junko’s tongue pokes just between her teeth.  “I knew you would.  So here’s what’s vibing—”

~

Junko talks.

And Junko talks.

And Junko talks.

(He thought she talked a lot during the last trial, but that has nothing on this video.)

It isn’t particularly short, and Makoto has to pause it quite a few times and rewind it to try and get the full gist of what she’s saying.  The thing is, he’s not Kyoko.  He doesn’t have a notepad or pencil ready, and he’s not good at following all these sorts of things without them being repeated in a lot of different ways, and Junko doesn’t seem interested in doing that.  (“That’s so boring, Makoto!  So I’m not going to say things over and over again.  But you can rewind if you need to!  Or if you just want to hear the silky sweet sound of my voice, you perv.”  A pause, then whispered, “Maybe I should have worn a different shirt or something.  You can totally see most of my boobs,” before a wink and, “But I know you won’t take advantage of having a video of me like this, will you, Makoto?”  A lean in, teeth bared, voice growing menacing, “Will you, Makoto?”)

But eventually, Makoto thinks he gets it.  Mostly.  Maybe?

“Now, that’s all I can tell you!  There’s more to the plan, of course, but spoilers!”  Junko taps her sharp red fingernails on the table in front of her and heaves a huge sigh.  “I stocked a bunch of food and everything for you.  All of your favorites.  Enough to last two weeks, just in case Nagito decides to take forever to show up, but he’s usually pretty prompt about this sort of thing, and Miki’s not going to let them take too long to come save me.”  Her head tilts to one side, and she shoots him a glance.  “I know those names mean absolutely nothing to you, but they will at some point, don’t worry.”  She nods to a side of the laptop.  “There’s a bed over there, too, made just the way you like it.”  Another wink that makes him extremely uncomfortable.  (He’s not sure he wants to use the bed now.)  “And, well….”  Her voice trails off again.

Makoto stares at her for a few moments.  He’d be convinced that the video froze – or finished – if not for the minute shifts in Junko’s expression, the occasional blink, the way her chest moves when she breathes (although he isn’t paying attention to that).  It’s just quiet.  (He hadn’t known Junko could be quiet.)

“It was really nice to know all of you.”  Junko smiles again.  Fond, achingly fond, but nowhere near as soft as that first soft smile.  “You were one of the only people to ever throw me a birthday party, other than Yasuke and Mukie, but….”  Her voice trails off again, and her eyes darken.  “We were friends, weren’t we, Makoto?”  A pause, then, softer, “We are friends, aren’t we?”  Then she shakes her head and laughs a little.  “I’m being stupid.  Of course, we are.”

Another silence, longer this time.

Then, finally, “Oh, right.  Do you remember Ryoko Otonashi?”  Junko laughs, harsh.  “No, no, of course, you don’t, my bad.  But you will, at some point over the next few days.  Day five, maybe?  Or six?  It’s so hard to pin down when people are going to remember anything; it’s all down to luck, you know.  I guess it doesn’t really matter when you remember, since you’re locked in here.”  She shrugs.  “Anyway, I left you a little friend, so you won’t, like, die from solitary confinement, or whatever.”

Another few seconds pass before Junko sighs.  “You probably don’t need to hear this, Makoto, but your hope isn’t misplaced.  So you should trust in that, like Nagito trusts in his luck.  I know you don’t know what that means, but—”  She pushes a hand through her hair.  “Man, I’m such shit at goodbyes when I don’t get to kill someone.”  Then she winks again, but there’s no joy to it.

“See you on the other side, Hope Boy.”

Junko finger guns, and the video ends.

Makoto blinks.  Looks around the room.  Junko mentioned a little friend?  He scans the room again.  I don’t see any—

“Hello again!”  The face of Chihiro Fujisaki – no, Alter Ego – appears on the screen in front of him, covering Junko’s face.  He beams up at Makoto.  “I’m so glad you’re alive!”

A lot of emotions swell inside Makoto all at once.  Too many for him to properly name right now, maybe too many to properly name ever.  So many things just happened that he could not have guessed or expected, and he needs time to process it all, if he even can.

Fortunately for him, if Junko’s right, then he’ll have more than enough time to himself to try.

~

Four Days Ago.

Nagito steps into the room where Makoto has been held captive for the past ten days.  He scans everything – a quick scan once – and then asks, “A message?  For me?  How unexpected.”

It’s just part of her plan.

Sometimes, Nagito thinks that no matter what he does, he will never be able to escape the Ultimate Despair’s plan, and it throws him for a loop.  He hates her as much as he loves her as much as she loves him as much she hates him.  They all hate him.  He’s aware of that.  Even Makoto, in the end, will probably hate him.

But at least she has use for him.

(Use that will spread hope to the whole world, a hope so light that he can’t even imagine it.)

Nagito nods towards the laptop.  “There?”

“Mmhm.”

“Alright.”  Nagito sits across from the laptop, squints, and then clicks on the icon with his picture in pixelized art on it.

All at once, Junko’s face appears on the screen.  “Is this…is this thing on?”  She stretches up to fiddle with a camera, showing an overlarge focus on her chest that would make Miki blush, and then settles back.  “Can you…can you hear me?”  Her head tilts to one side, lips pursed into an amused expression, and then she shrugs.  “Well, with your luck, you’ll figure it out.”  Then she grins.  “Hey, Nagito?  Still want to kill me?”

He hits the pause button mid-wink and looks up at Makoto.  “You’ve seen this?”

Makoto sighs and nods.

“And you’re still showing it to me?”

“Of course!”  Makoto’s eyes widen.  “It was meant for you!”  Then he glances away and reaches up to scratch his chin.  “I couldn’t understand most of it anyway.  It’s all in some cryptic language or…or something, and Alter Ego couldn’t translate it.”

At first, Nagito takes a deep breath of Makoto’s hope (it’s relaxing, refreshing; he’ll have so much fun with him later), then neatly grins.  His luck comes through again, just the way it always does. Then he reaches down and starts the video again.

[golyadkin]

Long road to Colorado

[shekeepsmeworms]

Had some wine feeling good made a really shitty bowl in ceramics class this morning that I’m really worried has a bunch of air holes in it and had a really crappy therapy session where I didn’t talk too much but was honest about some other stuff which is good overall I guess but now I’m doing drunk crochet and watching the Duggar family documentary and probably going to stop watching soon once they start talking about the awful stuff but yeah day in the life of a woman doing her best I guess

[that0nebird]

I hate not being able to talk about the Stephanie soo situation because she was absolutely wrong for what she did but of course internet troglodytes had to start being racist w it.

[ana-bananya]

URGENT: Aalaa only has 3 days left to achieve her goal

Current progress: $45,328/50,000

Vetted on SudanFunds.com

"Following my mother's recent surgery and upon last week's check ups and testings, with further tests and medications still required, we face significant medical expenses. Despite two months of fundraising efforts, we are yet to reach our goal and my mother remains uninsured. This lack of coverage affects my entire family, including my mother and my 15 my year-old brother, who needs to undergo emergency surgery for an open foot fracture. We urgently need to raise $6000 to cover these mounting medical costs and respectfully request your assistance."

– Update from Aalaa posted on gfm in April

Aalaa still has not been able to cover insurance for her family or been able to schedule check ups for her mother. Her brother is also still waiting to be able to afford surgery to heal his foot.

It has been 3 months of failed attempts to help get Aalaa's family the funds they need for their medical expenses. Now, this is the final push to get the money to them by the end of May. We need to help Aalaa complete her goal of $50k in the next 3 days.

Please do whatever you can to help her, whether that be sharing or donating. Anything you could give will help immensely.

Tagging for reach. Please share if you see this. Thank you

@harfee @beybuniki @umbr3llaz @5nake-eater @romantiquue

@terezbian @vaas @ayllu @nonbinarythoughts @satyajit-ray

@seepweed @chubbles-7x @aroshenanigans

@tuxedokit @gamb0fficial @vincentspork @teabisexual @officialscud

@sleeplessea @musicrunsthroughmysoul

@raccoon-in-a-hoodie @mintidotxml @infinitemacaroni

@livindeddreamz-rbs-and-nonsense @weirdmarioenemies

@amvs @lun4rc0w @purpleweredragon

@aetharis-starcaller @bobanchikn-reblogs @twstchatterbox

@weirdmarioenemies @ugisfeelings @cosmicgamerboy

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.4): bonfire debrief - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

part 3 - part 4 - part 5

present day, 2 years since starting kooked.out;

the island lookout had backed off from posting about the group for a while. ever since kooked.out had kicked off, you’d been showing the world everything you were up to before they even had the chance—parties, random adventures, all of it. and whatever wasn’t posted on your page, they’d cover, but the things were so minor, and started to feel like the same old thing. eventually, the posts about you four slowed down.

that was until today. last night’s bonfire had been one of the biggest of the year—end of summer, peak tourist season, which also meant a whole lot of attention. things were about to get interesting again.

it was mostly typical night for the pogues; jj doing something stupid like always, drinking, and laughter. what wasn't, was john b turning every girl throwing themselves at him away, and instead wanting to enjoy a "quiet night". and as the pogues do, calling him out on it.

pogues groupchat, kie, jj, cleo, pope, from jb's perspective;

the kooks were too busy recovering from last night's chaos—fighting off hangovers, dealing with random texts from people they barely knew, and trying to avoid the heat of the day. phones were barely on their radar until sarah happened to check a notification that was actually relevant.

just like that, the island lookout had their eyes glued to the four; once again.

the post wasn't what mattered. it was the fact they knew this was just the start. the start of constant coverage of every. little. thing that happened in their lives, just like it was 2 years ago when they had just started posting.

except now, island lookout had audiences beyond the island. kooked.out fans had slowly started finding the twitter account, as followers from obx would fill the comment sections talking about "island lookout could never". now not only could fans access what they chose to post, they could see what everyone else was saying about them.

and whats a better solution than to drink your feelings away?

an; tags under the cut!!

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @frankocealuvr11 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @Chillgal135 @6r4cie

[viennakarma]

prob just a blurb but jenson with a hot young gf <3 others keep teasing him that she’s too hot for him but he takes it all in stride and is like believe me i know🫡 and is generally rly secure (and sexy!) about it. he doesn’t mind others checking her out bc he loves having a baddie gf. very much “wear whatever u want i can fight” energy 😭

Tags: jenson button blurb, smut, f!reader, age gap, p in v

Jenson knew how it’d be when he brought you the first time to a race. Luckily, he was not a racing driver anymore and only had duties with pre race coverage and post race interviews of the podium drivers.

He always knew it’d be trouble whenever he had the opportunity to take you to his work. And he knew it’d be even greater trouble, pretty little thing like you the morning of the race day as you got out of the hotel room in a little pleated miniskirt. But Jenson wasn’t about to ask you to change, no, he wasn’t that kind of guy.

So when you got to the track, his hand in yours as you happily pointed spots and asked questions, Jenson only ground his teeth as he noticed the other men looking at you.

He obviously felt a bit jealous but it never led him to feel insecure, quite the opposite, it made him feel possessive, wanting you even more. That’s why he ended up sneaking you into a meeting room mid race, bunching your skirt up around your waist, panties tugged to the side as he fucked into your tight warm cunt, a hand on your mouth to silence your moans and little mewls, as he repeated how much he loved your slutty little skirt, asking you if you had dressed like that for him, nipping at your neck and lobe, until you were cumming around his cock, and he kept going, unrelenting as he wrung another orgasm before pumping you full of cum.

After he pulled out and you two got dressed again, fixing your disheveled appearance, he smirked as he guided you back out, a deep satisfaction knowing you were walking around full of him, dripping in your panties.

now crowd how do we feel? 🎤🎤🎤

[kumakuma-circus]

i think my favorite part of my p4 playthrough is that i somehow never got pixie and had to go back to get her when trying to fuse black frost for the shadow mitsuo fight. i still don't know how that happened i was in the castle for so fucking long sfldkjskfjfdksfdkjfd-

[aonungslvr]

he’s…what?

pairing ; jealous! ao’nung x f!sully! reader

taggings ; 🪽⭐️🐚

summary ; ao’nung quickly falls for the sully sister after she arrives in his village, but who is this boy she keeps talking about?

3.1k words

when you and your family had first arrived in awa’atlu you hated it. the sound of ilu’s chirping and waves thrashing against the sand wasn’t normal. the smell of salt was disgusting. there were no trees to shield you from the suns rays or give you coverage when you wanted to be alone. no grass or cool dirt to dig your feet into.

this wasn’t your home; you belong in the forest. you had been chased out of your home after having a knife held to your throat by sky demons; obviously you weren’t happy to be here.

your nerves certainly were not eased when the tsahík of the metkayina, ronal, had grabbed your four-fingered hand to show the crowd. you were instantly met with hisses and snarls from the lighter blue clan. you gently trembled at her touch, less from fear and more from annoyance, and continued staring into the sand, trying to dig your feet into it like dirt. it was too hot; this wasn’t your dirt. your mother intervened, seeing your discomfort, and held you to her; raising her fangs towards the tsahìk. your father entered himself in hopes of calming the situation down, showing the clan his own 4 fingered hand.

when ronal had moved on and the attention focused on the leaders of the metkayina, you glanced up, seeing the ocean clan more clearly this time. you had noticed a girl and two boys closer to your family than the others; they looked around your age. the female was eyeing your youngest brother before her vision shifted towards you. she offered you a warm smile along with a small wave. you looked her up and down before giving her your own smile and wave, though you lowered your hand as you could tell she was now focused on your extra finger.

you looked beside her to see a taller boy with a bun, he had been the one to make fun of your brothers thin tails, the tail you all shared. you sighed and continued staring at the teen, for some reason you couldn’t stop. that was proved false when the boy looked your way, you diverted your eyes back to the sand as fast as you could. you hadn’t been able to see it, but the teal na’vi eyed you up and down silently. his shorter friend slapped his arm and laughed at him, whispering something you couldn’t quite pick up.

apparently whatever your parents and the leaders were talking about had been concluded. you heard the olo’keytans stern and loud voice speak out among the crowd, before he faced your family directly and spoke a bit softer.

“my son ao’nung, and my daughter tsireya will show you our ways.”

ao’nung and tsireya. the boy you had stared at spoke up in disagreement, leading you to his name being ao’nung, as well as him being the chiefs son. the kind girl had also made herself to be tsireya when she guided your family to your new home.

you walked among kiri, trailing shortly behind her. you followed tsireya and ao’nung had followed from behind you all, paired with his little friend.

“i do not like it here kiri.” you spoke as you looked up to face her.

she scoffed in return, “yeah me neither.”

“these are ilu, if you want to live here, you have to ride.”

you and your siblings were all hip length deep in the sea, surrounded by multiple swimming animals, they were called ilu. they reminded you of your ikran.

the ocean siblings had been tasked with training you all to learn how to survive within their clan, and it was time to tame your animal.

tsireya first helped lo’ak, you already knew why. it was quite obvious. he had settled onto the creatures back and held onto the saddle. he made tsaheylu with the marine animal and she took off. you watched as your brother had tried to hold on as best he could but was ripped off due to the speed and pressure that being underwater included.

he had failed miserably and tsireya continued to guide him, but you couldn’t all wait for him. (you’d be there for years.)

ao’nung had invited you over a few feet to show you how to get your own ilu. he explained the process just as tsireya had. you mounted the animal and waited for instruction.

“hold here, when you make the bond, you need to think with her. not against her. let her guide you.”

after seeing what happened with lo’ak, you figured that was a load of bullshit and you would be swept away too. you gripped on the saddle with one hand and grabbed your braid with the other.

“your position is wrong.”

the blue teen pushed your back down and shifted your legs. the feeling was different, the extra skin on his arms were odd. your heartbeat quickened for a moment and the ilu beneath you flapped her fins.

“there. remember, bond gentle.”

you connected your kuru with the creature, and took off. you panicked for a little until you were reminded with how dramatic lo’ak is. he had made this look like such a hard task, it really wasn’t too bad. the water pressure threatened you but you were able to manage. you tightened your grip and squeezed your eyes shut. as you felt the tide flow with you, you slowly opened your eyes. you instructed your ilu to slow it down, which she listened too.

the sea wasn’t horrible. there were so many new creatures you had never even known about. you looked among the fish and corals as you smiled at the sight. feeling your chest begin to tighten, you and your ilu went back up to the surface, swimming closer to where you had left the others.

tuk was the first to congratulate her big sister, “that was so cool (y/n)!”

“yeah way better then lo’ak”, laughed your eldest brother, neteyam.

“ok bro, who invited toruk makto?” your youngest brother was always the jokester, and you laughed at the reference.

looking back at your mentor, you noticed ao’nung hadn’t held any malice or laughter towards you, you took that as a good sign.

throughout the training of your family, you had sectioned off into unofficial groups. tsireya tended to assist lo’ak and tuk, while ao’nung helped neteyam, kiri, and you. ao’nung had tried selling you off to tsireya because he was upset he had to deal with three sully’s while his sister only had two. she had argued that having tuk was basically like having two in one, and she stood with her statement.

with annoyance, he taught you what you all needed to know to adjust to the ocean. most of his lessons were filled with sighs and reprimands when someone would do something wrong, but that had started to fade lately.

“what do you mean ao’nung is nicer? no he isn’t? he still makes fun of us during training…”

oh.

it had only began to fade for you.

well this was fine, neteyam was probably just exaggerating. after all, he was certainly a charmer yesterday.

. . .

“you are not breathing right.”

you and ao’nung sat on a jagged rock in the middle of the reef, he was giving you a private lesson on holding your breath because apparently you were falling behind. (not true.)

you looked at him as he demonstrated how to intake the air and hold it, but it just looked like normal breathing. you tried to repeat what he did but it still wasn’t good enough for him.

“what are you even doing? are you even breathing?”

you rolled your eyes and looked away from the teal teenager, he was so dramatic.

“pay attention to me forest girl,” he redirected your face back towards his.

he placed one of his wide hands on your smaller diaphragm and the other where your heart layed.

you panicked at the sudden contact and prayed he couldn’t feel your heartbeat pick up beneath his touch.

“eywa please i never ask for anyth-“

“your heartbeat is fast. that’s why you cannot breathe.”

thanks great mother.

despite the metkayina’s teasing, he had genuinely seemed to adjust to you. you two spent more one on one training together and even hung out when it wasn’t time to train.

it was nearing eclipse when ao’nung had come to your families marui, unfortunately, your father had noticed him first.

“what are ya’ doin’ here boy.”

the shorter navi hesitated for a moment until he was able to speak up,

“i’m- i’m here for (y/n.) sir.”

your father looked him up and down with a stern look on his face. ao’nung was convinced he would be thrown outside by toruk makto himself. jake grunted and leaded down into your new friends face.

“she’s back by 10 before eclipse. a second after and i’ll cut your tail off. she comes back with even a hint of your touch on her i’ll drag you deep into the ocean by your braid and leave you there. understood?”

“yeah- got it.”

“i said understood.”

“uh-understood sir!”

your dad sighed before finally alerting you of the conversation,

“(y/n!) visitor!”

you showed up at the door as your father was walking away, and was greeted with the sight of ao’nung shaking in the sand.

“hey ao’nung! you alright?”

he eyed the exit, indicating you to leave with him. once you step out he grabbed your thinner arm and ran towards the shore, looking back for the deadly gaze of jake sully.

“oh my god (y/n) why didn’t you tell me your dad is fucking terrifying.”

you giggled and brought your hand to your lips, trying to conceal it.

“whatever, no big deal, follow me.”

despite his ego being damaged, he led you along the shore, pointing out some shells he though you would like on the way. you two eventually made it to the more foresty part of his island, farther from the clan.

you were unaware this area existed and instantly fell in love. it had been months since you had seen a tree. the sight reminded you of your home and it brought you so much happiness. you glanced at the back of ao’nungs head as you continued to follow him where he led. you two made it to a part of the small forest that opened out into the beach. you could see the sunset and water clashing onto the sand all from behind a tree.

“ao’nung! this is so beautiful, it’s just like the forest!”

“well yeah, that’s what i was hoping for..”

he was hiding his flushed face but you could hear the smile he was trying to hold back.

“come!”

you grabbed his arm towards a tree you deemed was tall and had enough branches. effortlessly, you climbed up the tree. you jumped and stood on branches, easily making it to the high thin branch you wanted. you had planted your left leg and arms on the branch as your right leg hung down.

the lighter blue na’vi watched you and his mouth dropped open. he had made fun of your family for being poor divers, but god you were good at climbing. him and his friends would break the branches if they were to ever try that.

“get up here!”

“yeah…i don’t think so.”

you quickly remembered you were among the sea people now, and their bodies simply weren’t built for climbing like you were.

“ah right.”

you hopped down onto a lower branch then the ground, the teen boy staring in aw yet again. you ran up to him and pulled him into a hug while giggling.

“thank you ao’nung, really. this was great”

he scoffed in embarrassment and rubbed his neck,

“yeah, we’ll there’s actually one more thing. i was just wondering if you’d l-“

you cut him off before he could finish his question.

“this is just like what txäol would show me!”

what.

ever since the first mention of this “txäol” they kept coming.

no matter how many times ao’nung tried to get you to like him more, it always ended up as a talk about txäol.

“ao’nung this necklace is so pretty! it looks like the one txäol gave me!”

“txäol used to say that! he’s super funny.”

“oh eywa this shell would look great next to the flowers txäol gave me!”

you were beyond oblivious at the way ao’nungs eye would twitch when you brought up your best friend from back in the forest.

it was a comment on the gifts he’s given you, or the stories he used to tell you, or sometimes you would show the metkayina boy some things the omatikayan gave you before you left the forest.

ao’nung raised his concerns with tsireya first. she was pretty close to you, so he thought she might have some intel.

. . .

tsireya automatically burst out laughing when her brother questioned her.

“your-your joking right? sweet eywa, your so funny! your helpless brother- truly!”

“what- tsireya what are you talking about?! who is txäol?!”

“oh-oh my eywa i cant-“ she continued laughing.

“is he her boyfriend?!”

this just caused tsireya to start laughing again. she gripped her stomach and bent over, unable to stop the giggles that flowed out of her.

“whatever- your never any help! i’ll just ask her!”

and so that’s what he did.

the teal teenager approached you while you were mounting your ilu, getting ready to go hunting.

“(y/n)!”

you turned your head to the sound of your name and saw ao’nung riding his own ilu towards you.

“oh- hey! did you need anything? i was just about to head out.

he had been torturing himself over this question for so long he just cut to the point.

“is txäol your boyfriend?!”

you paused and had no words. your ilu had picked up on your shock and had even dropped her own jaw.

“t-txäol? h-“

you were cut off by the reef na’vi.

“if he is- just tell me. i understand if you have a lover back home that you can’t forget about. all i’m asking is you let me know!”

“he’s n-“ you tried to speak before you were interrupted again.

“i just can’t deal with the not knowing! i see you, (y/n), and i need to know if you see me too! you talk about this txäol guy all the time, so if your in love with him instead, tell me! i won’t be an-“

“he’s gay!”

oh.

bonus!!

the sky people had finally returned back to their planet, and wouldn’t be coming back this time. this meant your people were safe. you could go back to the forest! back to the forest…

when you first arrived at the reef, all you could think about was going home, and how happy you would be. but now that home was right in front of you, you just couldn’t. not without ao’nung.

you two had recently began courting each other, and had plans of mating once you both completed your rite of passages. you couldn’t leave him behind now. so if you couldn’t leave him behind..why not take him with you!

. . .

you yipped for your ikran, calling her down to the sandy shores.

“seyä! hi girl!” you rubbed her nose and cleaned off some sand off her head.

you mounted seyä and invited ao’nung to do the same.

“no fucking way.”

“she doesn’t bite!”

“yes the fuck she do? look at her!”

“aww you poor thing..is he being mean to you?”

you rubbed your ikrans head and made tsaheylu. she flapped her wings and screeched, scaring the hell out of ao’nung.

“yeah there’s no way i’m going anywhere near that th-“

he was cut off as seyä picked him up under his arms using her claws, flying up in the air. you giggled and grabbed ao’nungs hands, pulling him up behind you on the saddle.

“that wasn’t so bad- right?” you could swore you saw a tear running down his face, but he denies it.

. . .

the fly had taken a few days and you were exhausted, ao’nung had given you company and made sure to hold you extra tight when you were getting tired. if it wasn’t for him stopping you to make you sleep, you probably would’ve flown while sleeping.

after what felt like years, you finally arrived back at the forest. you flew over the trees until you saw the omatikaya people, your people. your smile had began hurting your jaw as you landed your ikran on a tree, hopping off and landing on the branches. you would just jumped right down but you had to help the metkayina.

“here- just..place this foot here. and then this arm right here.”

it took awhile (32 minutes) to get him down around 7 branches. it usually took you a few seconds, but who were you to judge.

he mainly just trailed behind you as you greeted so many friends you had missed. he felt like the outsider now, surrounded by darker blue people with thin limbs. he stayed back until he heard someone scream your name. a boy scream your name.

“(y/n)! oh my eywa- your back!” he ran up to you and embraced you in the tightest hug out of everyone else.

ao’nung looked this guy up and down and frowned at him, about to step in and announce himself as your boyfriend until you spoke up.

“txäol! oh i missed you so much-!”

oh. him. the metkayinas anger was reduced, but still present. this boy was all over you! how could he not be upset? he stepped up closer to you and wrapped his hands around your waist, hugging you from behind.

“oh- txäol meet ao’nung, ao’nung meet txäol!”

txäol raised his nonexistent eyebrows at how the boy hugged you and eyed you. he would definitely need you to tell him about everything he missed.

“i’m txäol, (y/n)’s best friend!”

“ao’nung. her mate.”

you kicked ao’nungs knee, trying to get him to be nicer. he was still jealous and god did it show.

“speaking of mates..” txäol started.

you stared and him and gasped. “your lying.”

“(y/n) meet ityea, my boyfriend.”

a shorter omatikayan male entered from the forest and held txäol’s hand. you screeched. like loud. ikran loud.

“txäol oh my eywa i can’t even- you guys are so cute!!” you hugged your best friend and spun around.

“right?! but no- you guys too! i can’t believe you found someone in another clan- you guys are adorable!!”

ao’nung backed up and grounded himself. right. he was gay.

[wandascosmic]

get your humor like i do (3)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part three of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 2871

tags: best friends to lovers, reader being completely in love with wanda, wanda's an oblivious best friend, i might mean oblivious to her own feelings as well but who knows, both of them being complete dorks, reader messing with sam with wanda as her pranking accomplice

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

“Last night, on trading spouses,” you told Wanda enthusiastically, leaning over her desk on your elbows. 

“Uh huh,” Wanda nods, chewing on the end of her pen as she listens to your story with a smile. 

“There was- oh, wait, have you seen it?” a look of realization comes across your face. 

“No, actually, I have a life,” Wanda jokingly responds. 

You laugh, “Interesting,” you played along, “What’s that like?” 

“Fun, you should try it sometime,” Wanda quips back. 

“Wow,” you said thoughtfully, staring off with a wistful look in your eye. “But then who would watch my TV?” you remark. 

Wanda laughed agreeingly as she looked up at you from her chair. 

“That’s sort of like a win-lose-” you continue until Tony’s voice interrupted your sentence.  

“Y/N, can I see you for a minute please?” 

Giving your favorite receptionist an apologetic look, you nod before following your boss into his office.

Wanda frowns slightly, sighing as she picks up her phone and gets back to work. 

***

“I need you to help me decide on which healthcare plan the office should be on, then explain it to the rest of the office,” Tony says to you as you sit across from him at his desk, handing you the large stack of papers with the various healthcare plan options. 

You nod slightly, “Wow, this is a great offer,” you point out, truthfully not believing your lie for a second. 

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Tony replies with disinterest. 

“But Tony, I really think I should be concentrating on sales,” you told him, holding back a smile at your plan. “I just don’t think this is a task that I’m well-equipped for, but I do know someone who is.” 

“Wow, who’s that?” Tony answers monotonely. 

“I think Sam would be great for this. You know, he’s smart, hardworking-” you sell your idea. 

“Sure, yeah, whatever, go get him then,” Tony cuts you off.  

You nod in agreement, smiling as you walk out of Tony’s office. 

Sam was such a sucker. 

***

“You did it again,” Wanda remarks, seeing Sam sitting in Tony’s office through the window, excitedly taking the papers Tony handed him. 

“I did,” you admit, smiling at her as you're back at her desk once more. 

“I can’t believe that actually works every time,” she says with a laugh. 

You shrug. “Sam’s such a suckup that he’ll do anything to get on Tony’s good side. So, naturally, in his good nature he should be glad to do any task Tony gives him. Even the ones he gave to me first,” you say smugly, popping a candy from the dish at her desk into your mouth.  

“You’re quite devious,” Wanda teases. 

“All in a day’s work, Maximoff,” you reply with a grin. 

***

Sam has fucked up awfully. You suppose it's no surprise since Sam has a limited understanding of natural human needs, however, his healthcare plan is basically as cheap as a gas station slushie. Everyone in the office is completely outraged.

You and Wanda have decided to attempt to convince Sam to fix his plan, as the health care coverage he’s chosen is basically second to none. 

“Sam,” Wanda says as she opens the door to the conference room with you following behind her with your hands in your pockets. 

“Wanda, haven’t you ever heard of knocking?! This is an office,” Sam says exasperated from the table he’s sitting at with papers scattered all over as you and Wanda stop to stand in front of him. 

“It says workspace,” you point out, nudging your head toward the sign on the door, knowing Sam had argued toward the title of office, but Tony had told him no. 

“Same thing,” Sam argues, reading over the papers. 

“If it’s the same thing, then why did you write ‘workspace’?” you ask with curiosity.

“Just knock, Y/N,” Sam says frustrated. “It’s a sign of respect, and as your superior, I deserve that respect.” 

“You’re not my superior,” you retort.

“Ok, well, then why do I have an office?” 

You tilt your head slightly. “I thought it was a workspace, Sam?” 

“Okay!” Wanda interrupts, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Sam, are you really in charge of picking the healthcare plan?” she asks the worker in front of her, crossing her arms over her button-up shirt. 

“Yes, and my decision is final,” he responds with assertiveness.

“This is a ridiculously awful plan, Sam, you cut everything,” Wanda explains to him, her worry increasing at the fact that it might as well be considered as having basically no health care coverage whatsoever. You rub your hand slightly across her back, noticing the slight furrow in her brows indicating the fact that she’s worried. 

Sam pouts in fake pity, ignoring the scene in front of him. “Well, times are tough, Wanda. Might as well get used to it.” 

You narrow your eyes, his dig at Wanda irritating you slightly. “You cut more than you had to, didn’t you?” you cut in, knowing Sam’s lack of sympathy for anything related to the human race. 

“Sure,” Sam shrugs without care. 

“Well, why did you do that?” you ask, not understanding why he wouldn’t want health care coverage for himself as well. “You work here, Sam, don’t you want good insurance?” 

Sam scoffs. “I don’t need it, Y/N,” he says obviously. “I’ve never been sick. I have a perfect immune system.”  

You and Wanda look at each other in uncertainty. “Okay, well if you’ve never been sick, then you don’t have any antibodies,” you explain to him.  

“I don’t need them. I have superior genes, I’m a Wilson. And on top of that, I have superior brain power. With extreme concentration, I can raise and lower my cholesterol at will,” he argues.

“Why would you want to raise your cholesterol?” Wanda asks, looking at Sam warily. 

“So I can lower it, obviously.” 

***

“Everyone, gather around,” Sam announces, stepping out of the conference room, looking frustrated. 

You swivel around in your chair to face him, ready for whatever irritating thing will come out of his mouth this time. 

“It has been brought to my attention that some of you are unhappy with my plan,” he says, his annoyance seeping through. “So what I’d like you all to do, is to fill out this form and write down any diseases you might be suffering from that you would like covered, and I’ll see what I can do, since you people are weak enough to get sick.” 

You raise your hand, a clear issue in his plan sticking out to you. “Sam,” you cut in, and he looks at you irritated. “Well, we can’t write down our diseases for you because that’s confidential.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, I didn’t say to write your name down, did I?” he answers sarcastically. “You can fill it out, and leave it anonymous. Or, don’t write down any disease at all, and it won’t be covered. “Sam slams the forms on the shelf next to the wall. “Alright, I’ll be in my office.” He retreats back into the conference room. 

“Workspace,” you remind him. 

Sam slams the door closed. 

***

You stand at Wanda’s desk, the two of you filling out your forms together in silence. 

Looking over at Wanda, you notice her biting back a smile as she fills out her form. 

“Wait, what are you writing?” you ask with curiosity. 

She looks up at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“Don’t write ‘Ebola’, or ‘mad cow disease’,” you tell her, her smile faltering slightly. “‘Cause I’m suffering from both of them,” you grin, showing her your paper. 

Wanda laughs. “I’m inventing new diseases,” she reveals. 

“Oh, great,” you lean further over her desk, intrigued. 

“So, like, let’s say my teeth turn to liquid,” she describes. “And then, they drip down the back of my throat, what would you call that?” 

“I thought you said you were inventing new diseases, Maximoff,” you wave your hand in an obvious gesture. “That’s spontaneous dento-hydroplosion,” you describe with a smile. 

Wanda looks at you, impressed. “Nice,” she states. 

“Thank you,” you respond, smiling as you watch her write down the fake disease excitedly. 

***

“Y/N!” Sam growls from the conference room, rushing out the door. “All right, who did this?” he yells, holding up the forms.  

“What are you talking about?” you ask with a tilt of your head, still standing at Wanda’s desk. 

“Someone here forged medical information, and that is a felony,” Sam accuses, narrowing his eyes at every one of the office staff. . 

“Whoa, that’s a pretty serious accusation there, Sam,” you warn, holding up both your hands in fake surrender. “How do you know that they’re fake?” you ask him. 

“It’s obvious, Y/N,” Sam retorts. Reading out the diseases, he lists, “These hysterical diseases like, flesh-eating bacteria.” You snort.  “Hot dog fingers.” 

“Wow, that sounds awful,” you whisper quietly to Wanda who snickers at your dig.  

“And my least favorite,” Sam reads out. “Government-created killer nano-robot infection.” 

Wanda looks up at you cheekily, and you widen your eyes, impressed. 

“You did this, didn’t you?” Sam accuses you, as you turn back around, narrowing his eyes. 

“Absolutely not,” you answer calmly. 

“Yes, you did.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“I know it was you,” Sam argues. “Okay, you know what,” Sam says frustrated. “I’m going to have to interview each and every one of you until the perpetrator makes him or herself known. And until then,” he pauses. “There will be absolutely no healthcare coverage for anyone!” Sam yells out, retreating back into his workspace and slamming down the papers in anger. 

Holding in your smile, you ask, “Killer nano-robots?” you inquire to the receptionist in front of you. 

“It’s an epidemic,” Wanda shrugs with a playful glint in her eyes, smiling at you.

You shake your head in amusement.  

***

“The problem, Y/N,” Sam starts. 

“Mhm,” you acknowledge, sitting across from him in the conference room. 

“Is that the people who are really suffering from a medical condition won’t receive the care they need, because someone in this office is coming up with all this ridiculous stuff.” He picks up a form. 

You listen with fake intrigue. 

“For example, Count Choculitis,” he reads out. 

You whistle. “Sounds tough.” 

“Why did you write that down, Y/N? Is it because you know I love Count Chocula?” he says with seriousness. 

“Do you?” you ask. 

“I think you need to confess,” he explains.  

“Mhm,” you nod, standing up out of your chair. 

“The fact-” 

“Yup.” You grab his keys from his desk. 

“What are you doing?” he asks in confusion. 

“What?” you ask, as you open the door and walk out. 

“Those are my keys, Y/N,” he tells you, slowly standing up out of his chair. 

“Good luck,” you tell him, starting to close the door on him. 

“Y/N!” he sprints after you, the door closing before he can stop it from closing. “Damn it!” he slams his palms on the door window in frustration.   

Locking the door completely, you hold the keys by their key ring to taunt him, then smile as you throw them behind your back where they land across the room. 

“Let me out!” he bangs on the door. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” you retort, plopping yourself down at your desk as you can’t stop the shit-eating grin on your face. 

***

You smirk as your phone starts to ring. 

“Y/N L/N,” you say mockingly as you answer. 

“Let me out,” Sam says immediately through the phone. 

“Who is this?” you reply, swiveling around in your chair to face him as he glares daggers at you. 

“Let me out or you’re fired,” he fights back. 

“No, you can’t fire me,” you say as you turn back around, putting your feet up on the desk. 

“Yes, I can, I’m the manager for the day,” he retorts. 

“Mhm,” you nod, not believing him for a second. 

“Clean out your desk,” he continues. 

“Ok.”you reply, when suddenly,  your phone rings again. “Can you hold on one second?” you tell Sam as if you’re speaking to a customer. “I’m getting a, uh, beep.” 

“No, don’t you dare put me on hold!” Sam shouts. 

You ignore him, answering the incoming call. “Y/N L/N,” you introduce. 

“Hey, Y/N, it’s Wanda,” you hear the smile in her voice. 

“Hey, Wanda!” you say enthusiastically,  “How are ya?” Wanda playing pranks with you was a long-time tradition in your friendship, and it was something you treasured very close to your heart. Plus, it made you fall in love with her even more every time. 

Sam bangs on the door, interrupting your train of thought. “For god’s sake, Y/N, open the door!” he shouts from the conference room. 

You ignore him, continuing your conversation with Wanda. 

“I’m doing good, how are you?” Wanda answers, watching you with a grin on her face. Playing pranks with you was probably one of her favorite things in the world. 

“I’m doing ok,” you respond through the phone. “Getting excited for the weekend though.” 

“Yeah, same, oh, I’m not bothering you, am I?” Wanda asks, biting her fist to hold in her laughter. 

“No, not at all!” You reassure, turning your chair to look over at Wanda as she looks back at you with her glistening smile. 

“No? You don’t have anything you’re doing?” she says mischievously. 

“I have absolutely nothing to do,” you shake your head. 

“Y/N! Sam yells from the conference room, banging on the door once more. 

“Yeah, no, this weekend, I’ve got nothing,” Wanda says on the phone with you. “I’m not really doing anything.” 

“Y/N!” Sam shouts again. “Stop flirting with Wanda and let me out!” 

“Might go to the mall,” Wanda continues. 

“The mall,” you repeat. 

“I need new shoes,” she tells you. 

“Oh, interesting, what kind of shoes?” 

Wanda finally breaks as she laughs. 

You smile, wanting to mess with Sam a bit more both for your entertainment and Wanda’s, you hold up your eraser to show her and she nods as she knows what you’re about to do. Turning around, you show Sam the eraser as well, then throw it directly at the window where he’s standing with fury in his eyes. 

“I tried being rational!” Sam shouts at you. 

***

“Tony, why did you leave Sam in charge of the healthcare plan?” Nat asks Tony, as he steps out of his office, the rest of the workers surrounding their boss in a circle. 

“What did he do?” Tony asks disinterestedly, reading over the magazine in his hands. . 

“His plan is awful, it’s basically a pay decrease,” Bruce explains to him. 

Seeing Sam walk out of his workspace as he finally unlocks the conference room door after trying to pick it for an hour, the workers start to shout at hiim in frustration. 

“Sam, what did you do?” Tony interrupts. “Didn’t you raise benefits?” 

“I most certainly did not,” Sam retorts, crossing his arms and glaring back at everyone who looks at him in anger. 

Tony sighs, exasperated. “I should’ve never let you do this,” he puts his head in his hand.  “Alright, everyone, go home, it’s after 5, I’ll call corporate and have this fixed by the end of tomorrow.” 

The workers mutter their distaste for the awful day they’ve had, starting to scatter and pack up their things.  

“This isn’t over,” Sam tells you as you and him both pack up your things at your desks. 

“Can’t wait, Sam,” you smirk at him as he scoffs back, bumping into your shoulder as he starts to walk out with his briefcase in his hand. 

***

After packing your messenger bag, you run up to Wanda’s desk, drumming your fingers on the ledge as you ask her if she would like to walk out with you. 

“Sorry, Y/N,” Wanda apologizes. “Vision’s on his way up now to pick me up so we can leave together.” 

“Oh, okay, no problem,” you assure, your heart slightly deflating as you hear about her fiance once more. 

“Thanks,” Wanda smiles.  

“Yeah, you too,” you respond. “Hey, uh, that was great, how you helped me out with messing with Sam.”

Wanda laughs. “Yeah, that was fun. You really got him today, it was awesome.” 

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you,” you tell her with a soft smile. 

Wanda looks at you with affection, and you stare back at her, admiring the infinite green swirls in her eyes. 

Clearing your throat you say, “So, um, I should probably head out.” You point to the door behind you. 

“Oh, yeah,” Wanda nods with realization. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

“You too, Maximoff,” you bid her goodbye with a wave. 

Closing the door behind you as you step out of the office, you sigh at the day you’ve had, chuckling slightly at how you messed with Sam. 

As you descend the flight of stairs to walk out to your car, a small smile makes its way across your face at the thought of a certain green-eyed brunette who always managed to brighten your day with just a simple look.

part 4

[thegingerparty]

I was tagged in Tidbit Tuesday by @sad-girl-hours23 so now seems like a great time to say that I am in fact writing a fic based on this -> https://www.tumblr.com/thegingerparty/782024880658989056/okay-but-why-havent-we-talked-about-dailey-planet?source=share post!! I'm really excited about it and I hope it doesn't take me a million years to write. lol.

______________

"Do you think he had plastic surgery?"

Eddie pauses in his typing. "I'm not even sure I want to ask."

"For his cleft, I mean."

A myriad of expressions cross Eddie's face before finally settling on something like bemusement. "Pretty sure that's natural, bud."

"You think?" Buck rests his chin in his hand, gazing across the room at where Tommy sits typing on his own computer. He watches as Tommy squints at the computer, before pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Buck's stomach clenches.

He quickly turns back to Eddie. "What about his jawline?" he presses. "There's no way that is all natural."

The loudest sigh Buck has ever heard slowly releases from Eddie's lips. "Buck," he says. His tone of voice is the same one he uses whenever Buck has started oversharing.

"What?" he responds defensively, pulling back to cross his arms over his chest. "Its a valid question!"

"No, Buck, it really isn't." The clicking of the keys continues as Eddie picks up his typing again. He's been really excited about this week's coverage, since the Rangers are in town. You can't take the Tex out of the mex, or however the saying goes. "I thought you guys really hit it off, when you gave him the tour?"

"See, that's what I thought, too!"

"But then…" Buck can feel himself losing Eddie's attention rapidly. He's even more annoyed Taylor is at the city council meeting today, he could really use someone else to vent to about this.

"But then he reconnected with Hen and Chim from when they worked at the Times and Athena agreed to work with him on a case during his second week! I had to wait months for her to work with me voluntarily." Eddie hums noncommittally, frowning at his document. He probably accidentally made every right justified again and is trying to figure out how to change it back.

"And! I know the two of you have been going to bar trivia together on Thursday's after work." Buck accuses, pulling out the big guns. He sits back in the chair smugly as Eddie freezes. He looks over at Buck out of the corner of his eye, not even turning his head.

"Technically, its karaoke trivia," Eddie says. "And I haven't invited you because…." He trails off.

"Because you-you want to exclude me from fun? You want to keep the new guy all to yourself? Sorry that I still don't understand baseball Eddie, but it's not like you can blame me. I mean, the short stop isn't even short! They're usually tall!"

Eddie has taken to rubbing his forehead, a sure sign he's about to professionally tell Buck to fuck off any second.

"I haven't invited you because you hate singing in public unless you're tipsy, which you don't like to do during the week, and because you can be kind of…intense about trivia. I didn't want to scare Tommy off right away."

Buck scoffs. "I am not that bad." he insists.

"You got us kicked out because you kept arguing with the host about how the answers were actually wrong. At three different bars!"

"Well they were wrong." he grouses, borderline pouting, now, even though he would never admit it. "And if it happened again, I would have made sure to keep my cool in front of Tommy."

"Buck you tripped me when walking into the elevator yesterday so you could get in first and stand between us." Eddie has his patent "Dad Face" on, like he's about to ground Buck for a week.

"You can't prove that." Buck says airily.

Eddie just shakes his head. "Listen, whatever it is you have against this guy, you need to get over it. I mean, you barely even work with him, no one is forcing you to interact with him if you don't want to."

Buck rolled his eyes. Eddie was so missing the point. Because the thing is, Buck had wanted to interact with Tommy, had been looking forward to it. But somewhere along the way everyone else had gotten there first and now Buck was stuck trying to figure out how to either make an impression on him, or find a way to ignore him completely.

(He had been trying that for days.)

(It wasn't working.)

Which meant his only choice was to make an impression.

Tagging @queermccoy @dharmaavocado and @thefixations-ofmine if they so desire and anyone else that reads this and wants to share!

[hellinistical]

a review and analysis of the anecdotes needed for the new chapters, as well as being sprinkled with my own theories.

this will be a LONG post and will have MAJOR spoilers for ZAYNE AND SYLUS.

Covering Sylus's "Land of Lost" and Zayne's "Never-Ending Winter", and then for those that didn't read Zayne's "Thorns Under the Moon" in the Prologue to Tomorrow portion of the story.

Additionally, this would be a great thing to read if you dont wanna do the routes or whatever or if you're confused! I tried to break it down supppper deeply and organized it as best as i could. the formatting MAY be off but theres nothing I can do about that cause i literally just yoinked it from my google doc and its the same shit on the power point im doing LMFAO anyways. i also think this is good for people who struggle to write for them!

And finally, a review and analysis of the Timelock Key and the new four chapters will be out later. thanks for reading!

if you'd like to be tagged for the break down of that or future analysis, just comment ! if youd like to see more stuff of this, there's some character thoughts in my masterlist.

ANECDOTE COVERAGE: (scroll down for the route coverage)

Sylus, Land of Lost

0.1- High Alert

Myth v.s. Man, and distinguishing the two.

Sylus is introduced through reputation first, with a wanted poster, a myth, the most notorious criminal in Philos’s history. There is already a legend made about him that precedes who he is as a person. 

“He was lucky” with his entrance just flips the myth backwards- no longer is it a metaphor, but it is real. Composed, sardonic, and in control. Sylus’s escape from the space-time prison may have altered or corrupted him. The mist could be a byproduct of that breach—something he brought back that now answers to him. (or has smth to do with his evol since we know that theres already a mist type thing when he uses it sometimes like in his entry in the main story) 

The mist could be an ancient, banned technology, linked to the space-time prison’s interior environment. Sylus may have fused with it during his escape—he could be its host or conduit. It feels like it is smart. 

There is a huge sense of moral ambiguity with this man. He isn't painted as a clear-cut villain or hero. He uses violence and manipulation (puppeteering with mist), but his actions seem directed toward a larger purpose—likely resistance or rebellion against the Overlord. That line “the Overlord’s luck has run out” implies Sylus is an agent of change or revenge, not chaos for its own sake. He’s driven by his own ideological preferences. And unlike Xavier, with them being like, parallels and directly combating each other, he is supposed to be an answer for tyranny.

    Tone/Atmosphere

The story opens in a tight, claustrophobic, almost “noir-like” tone, where suspicion and tension hang thick even before Sylus appears- which makes sense due to the man being kind of perceived as a story to get kids to listen. The presence of seven checkpoints and grumbling deputies builds the sense that something oppressive looms—not just outside, but within the hierarchy of the world. (which we will continue to see throughout the anecdotes and even in the main story). “They scoured the galaxy for rare treasures—gifts for the Overlord's birthday.” This line is bureaucratic and akin to a ceremonial event, but keeping in line with it being dystopian, the wording having it be seemingly grandeur (what with the hunt), but it’s got that pettiness with the fatigue and suspicion. It’s basically bringing about a juxtaposition.

         Dialogue/Subtext

The exchanges between the Deputy and Captain establish three things at once: 

1. Philos, Feathers Star, the Overlord, the space-time prison.

2. The Deputy is brash, the Captain more informed—suggesting tension between age, rank, and experience. 3. Perception of Sylus: He's introduced as a legend, almost too big to be real. Which I’ve already said but yeah organization wooo

“That name rings a bell…”

“Most wanted criminal in Philos’s history…”

This exchange uses casual disbelief as a tool to lull the reader into a false sense of security before Sylus arrives. His later entrance undermines that skepticism with force.

   World Breakdown

Regarding Feathers Star is treated like a capital node—likely a core planet in the Overlord's dominion. The description of the black diamond-shaped planet could be both literal and symbolic: a rare, harsh, precious place shaped by immense pressure. The overlord, of course, is seen as some kinda central figure in authority- not divine, just a ceremonial thing like a king. HOWEVER, the gifts do add some quasi-religious under tones. A cult. 

The Overlord may not be a single person, but a figurehead position, used to stabilize control across multiple sectors. Alternatively, the Overlord is a god-king who may be immortal or technologically sustained. (Astra gonna get their ass whooped ong)

   Cultural/Political Notes

Deputy- younger arrogance. The captain- institutional loyalty. Sylus might once have been a figure of authority himself—perhaps part of the regime—before becoming its greatest enemy. The empire turned him into a myth to discredit him while simultaneously fearing him.

   Feathers star

Black diamonds- compressed carbon (basically a nod to Sylus’s unbreakable control), but the name is a contradiction as it has a stark contrast to it. Another note of a false utopia of some sort.

 Back to the Mist

Ik I’m circling gimme a break. it seems emotionally responsive. Its grip tightens as the Captain speaks; it performs violence without Sylus moving. It could be a manifestation of Sylus’s will, semi-autonomous being, or linked to his nervous system/mind.

0.2-Absolute Suppression

Narrative Dissection

The opening imagery is something to take note of, I think: “The impact caused great fire, illuminating the night sky above Feathers Star’s capital.”  The anecdote begins with cataclysm—a violent rupture of normalcy. It is literal (explosions, war) and metaphorical (the collapse of dominion, security, and identity).Feathers Star’s capital, once presumably  secure, is lit up in unnatural illumination—a foreshadowing of Sylus’s reality-warping presence. The line recalls Biblical imagery: fire from the heavens, divine punishment, or a celestial revelation- him coming is a sign of the apocalypse(?).

The setting of the bunker is critical in that it is a contrast to Sylus; treasure and armouries show materialism and militarism, showing the hoarding nature of the overlord and his force (which is funny cause Sylus is now like that-) and Sylus bypasses with his own will and the symbolic dominance. The bunker is also a false sanctuary. Its doors were made to withstand “any assault”—yet Sylus’s mist enters without resistance, breaking natural and technological law. The contrast suggests that the Overlord has prepared for every kind of power except the kind Sylus brings: psychological inevitability.

The Throne

“Sylus sits on the Diamond Throne, crafted by the Overlord himself.”  This is the heart of the scene, and arguably the anecdote. The Diamond Throne, a symbol of conquest and dominion, now becomes a seat of humiliation for its original maker. Sylus doesn’t fight for it—he sits. It’s the natural progression of his presence. The throne, being made by the Overlord, becomes his ultimate defeat—he built his own demise. This reads as mythic irony—the kind of punishment given to gods in Greek tragedy. His pride, his conquests, have led him here.

Power Structures/Philosophies

The Overlord

Represents rule through fear, violence, control. He conquered Diamond Star and turned it into a "cesspool of vice"—his strategy is corruption and enslavement.

His attitude during Sylus’s arrival shifts from bargaining to desperation. He uses humor (“You got the muscle, I got the goods”) as a shield, but it's transparent.

His final surrender (“Yes.”) is not a rational agreement, but a psychological collapse—possibly influenced by mist or Sylus's gaze. 

Sylus

Sylus is not a looter, and not a tyrant. His words make this clear: “Unfortunately, none of the loot here will satiate my appetite.”

His objective is not wealth, nor vengeance in the usual sense. He’s after the soul of power itself—planetary control, cosmic realignment. Sylus embodies Absolute Suppression, but not through overwhelming force. He doesn’t destroy the Overlord; he converts him. He renders him obedient, slack-jawed, erased. The eye glow suggests a hypnotic or godlike power—possibly symbolic of omniscience or deep manipulation. This is not magic in the fantasy sense, but presence as pressure. ASIDE from it being an aether core i mean.

   Thematic Significance

The mirror question- “Recognizing these gems so easily…Aren’t you just like me?” is a plea from the overlord to reclaim parity- asking Sylus to acknowledge SHARED identity. However, Sylus rejects this through inaction. Doesn’t even dignify it. Basically, this could be seen as “False Equivalence” in that the overlord thinks that plundering and ruling are the highest expressions of power. Sylus sees that as small. They’re insignificant in the presence of something higher—not through strength, but by scale of thought.

Stylistic/Symbolic Mechanics

Repetition of irony and role inversion: 

The Overlord locks himself away for safety but dies (spiritually) there. His own identity (biometric data) is the key Sylus uses to enter. He rules through chaos, only to be undone by something quieter than chaos: stillness, presence, inevitability.

Red Carpet imagery:

“It’s as if a red carpet is being rolled out for an unexpected guest.”  The “guest” doesn’t act like one because he’s already the master. This line reinforces the reversal of the collapse of ceremony to horror in that the throne room becomes the execution chamber (and yet no weapon was actually drawn).

The Broader Narrative Implications

This Is a Pattern: The Overlord is likely not the first. Sylus seems to move from system to system, leaving behind ruined rulers, empty palaces, and rewritten identities. 

He May Be a Cosmic Reset: This isn’t about revenge—it’s entropy given form. The beginning of an unraveling. He wants planets, not for conquest, but perhaps for cleansing. (ala a safe place for him and mc and anyways he was looking for mc regardless at some point)

0.3- Mysterious Visitor

Power as performance- theater of control

This scene is drenched in spectacle—the ruined fortress being rebuilt, the choreographed arrival of gifts, the banquet, the sudden darkness, the birthday cake. Yet at its core, it is a meticulously staged humiliation. Sylus isn't just overpowering the Overlord militarily—he’s directing a psychological play where power is theatrical. The use of props like candles, chess pieces, and cake frosting laced with blood shifts control from brute force to emotional warfare.

This birthday is not a celebration. It’s an execution masked as ceremony, and Sylus is the puppeteer. His control over setting, pace, and tone renders everyone else impotent—especially the High Lords, who are stripped of their status by their powerlessness in the mist.

Chess being a metaphor for mind games

The repeated chess motif is important—Sylus doesn't just want military dominance; he wants intellectual supremacy. Every move on the board mirrors a manipulation in real life. Sylus letting the Overlord "win clarity" only during chess is a cruel gift—it shows he's fully aware of the Overlord’s mental fog and exploits it for his own amusement.

The demand to “round up to 100 spaceships” is more than greed—it’s numerical obsession, a perfect number that signifies control, closure, and perhaps a past offense. It subtly implies that Sylus is correcting an old imbalance with math (I think. Could be waffling).

Mind Control/Gaslighting (slayyy)

The Overlord is “stuck on his throne by the mist”—likely literal and metaphorical. He is lucid only during Sylus' chosen moments. This implies that Sylus has control over his consciousness, choosing when to grant and revoke awareness. The overlord is reduced to a puppet with flickers of sentience, which makes his pain all the more cruel—he remembers enough to beg. When he says “Please, spare me... I’ll give you anything…” it’s not desperation for mercy. It’s total surrender, the moment when power crumbles into pathetic bartering. The frosting—sweet on the outside, violent on the inside—perfectly captures the tone of this entire anecdote. 

Sylus’s line, “Beasts don’t belong in cages”, is loaded. It indicates Sylus sees something morally corrupt in the Overlord’s methods—using violence for entertainment, caging living beings. This line alone humanizes Sylus, albeit slightly, hinting that while he, too, is violent, he sees himself as principled.

Mockery

The use of a candle—not just for light, but to blow up the armory—is poetic. It’s a literal spark of destruction masked as birthday celebration. Lighting it on the cake equates the entire banquet to a funeral pyre. When Sylus says “If this is our final celebration, we should make it unforgettable,” he knows he's orchestrating a legacy-killing moment. By forcing the Overlord to taste blood-sweet frosting, Sylus makes him consume his own humiliation. The knife isn’t plunged into the Overlord’s heart—it’s gently brought to his lips. That kind of violence is surgical, chilling, and psychological.

0.4-  Out of Reach

Thematic depth

“Out of Reach” subtly but powerfully explores the theme of disillusionment and idealism fading under pressure. Myer still holds onto the fantasy of justice even as the older generation has learned to accept reality’s limits. The boss's line: “Kid, it’s good to dream,” is particularly poignant.

Bigger Boom Boom

The gift ship reveal ties beautifully to the previous chapter: Dozens of ships, compared to "years past," implies this year is different (duh). Myer’s horror at the pillaging reinforces the moral cost of the Overlord's birthday tribute—another way the Overlord is letting Sylus use him as a pawn.

  0.5-Judgement of Fate

World Building and its revelations

Space‑Time Prison Brooch: The blood‑soaked brooch links Sylus’s escape from Philos to this massacre, implying a continuity of cosmic artifacts and a deepening conspiracy.

Basically, its supposed to act as a crescendo of destruction. Sylus’s waning power, mythical artifacts, and the dreams of mortal pursuers. It elegantly bridges the supernatural scale of Sylus with the human stakes embodied by Myer.

Zayne, Never-Ending Winter

0.1- Never-Ending Winter

Two World Ya Feel meeeee yessir

Zayne’s duality is central: he’s both a healer and a destroyer. His dream—a battlefield soaked in blood and silence—contrasts sharply with his waking role as a brilliant surgeon. His past is haunted, hinted by the imagery of him stepping over bodies and using dark crystals to kill. That supernatural or metaphorical moment isn’t just a dream—it’s a manifestation of guilt, perhaps from past trauma, war experience, or even literal supernatural powers in a sci-fi or fantasy setting. "These hands have mended heart valves and saved hearts. Yet for the past ten years, these same hands have ended countless lives in an endlessly repeating dream." It positions Zayne as someone who cannot separate who he was from who he is—even if society can.

Hypercompetence vs. Humanity

Zayne is shown to be immensely capable: he performs emergency open-chest CPR under chaotic conditions, something rarely successful in real life. But this scene isn’t just to prove his skills—it humanizes him. As sweat forms despite the cold, as his voice remains calm while everyone else panics, you can feel the burden of his excellence. His competence isolates him, but it also defines him.

Traumaaaa

Zayne cleaning bloodless hands with a disinfectant wipe shows that trauma lingers in muscle memory.  He’s mentally living in both timelines—in the snow-covered battlefield of his past and the sterile, clinical present. (Like that thing that dawnbreaker dreams of everything our zayne does with mc and has no mc of his own but i suspect that dawnbreaker is the true zayne ANYWAYS-)

Thematic Significance!

The line between dream and memory is intentionally blurred. The boy in the snow may be real or symbolic—representing Zayne’s own innocence that was silenced, or a literal act from his past. That’s the horror: he doesn’t wake up screaming. He wakes up cleaning blood that isn’t there.

Redemption Through Service

Though tormented by his past, Zayne chooses medicine, rescue, and action. His decision to risk a high-failure surgery shows not just skill but a desperate need to save. It’s not just duty—it’s penance. (But meena, why would he be punishing himself? BECAUSE HE’S ASTRA YOU FOOLS- gets dragged away)

Body as the story 

The repeated attention to hands, heartbeats, surgical motion, and even notebooks held close to the chest—all evoke how the body holds truth. There is no need for exposition when the reader can feel Zayne's internal struggle through how he moves and breathes. Infold makes it a point to mention his scars moreso than that of people like Rafayel. His scars are evident especially when he rolls his sleeves up.

Symbolism/Setting

The silence in the dream and the snowy landscape of Mt. Eternal mirror one another. Both are cold, quiet, suffocating. It creates a symbolic atmosphere where death feels natural, quiet, even expected. Mt. Eternal isn't just a location—it's a metaphor for enduring guilt, danger, and immovable pasts. "As the flurry of snow slowly dissipates, the foreboding Mt. Eternal comes into view." It’s telling that Zayne is being dropped back into this exact kind of environment—not only physically but psychologically.

False Daytime

The final scene where flash bombs illuminate the mountain “as bright as day” is metaphorical brilliance. It’s a false brightness. It mocks the idea of clarity and peace—Zayne is still in darkness, even if the snow is lit up. (womp womp sucka)

To compare- the boy in the snow

“There is only a shivering little boy. Zayne stands before him, his shadow looming across the boy's blood-covered face.” This is an image of absolute power imbalance. But Zayne doesn’t act—he simply raises his hand. The interruption of the dream here is haunting. We’re not shown what happens next. That ambiguity feeds the reader’s curiosity but also reinforces Zayne’s internal turmoil: what did he do? (THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS HIDING SMTH)

Emotional Tensions

Internally, Zayne’s stoicism is a mask. Underneath is exhaustion, dread, and a deep yearning to rewrite something irreversible. Externally, The narrative never lets him rest. Every reprieve—like a cold glass of water or a moment of peace—is shattered by new emergencies, new deaths, new reminders.

Deathly Encounter

Mt. Eternal is a character in itself- STAY WITH ME

The environment—snow-covered Mt. Eternal, the field ward, the constant presence of death and blood reflects Zaynes mental state. "The freezing air in his lungs wakes him." This line isn’t just physical. The cold is what brings clarity. He feels alive only when surrounded by death.

 Emotional Arc

Zayne is a man collapsing inward. The external composure masks his internal unraveling. He’s too exhausted to dream, but even when he does, his dreams are haunted by death—and himself. He doesn’t remember when he last slept. He lies when he says he “just woke up” highlighting the disconnect from time and reality. Additionally, Zaynes dreams turn into visual allegories  of guilt and failure.

“The Grim Reaper in his dream mocks him for his folly, futility, incompetence.” This dream is a direct representation of his inner critic. It manifests as himself in a white coat, standing still—accepting death. It’s a split between his idealistic self who wants to save everyone, and the realistic self who knows he can’t.

Recurring themes/motifs

Mortality/Futility being the  central philosophical tension is: Is trying to save everyone noble, or naïve? Zayne carves a tally mark for every death, not to punish himself, but to remember. Each patient is not a number but a memory. This is his quiet rebellion against futility. (low key makes me think of the abyssal chaos story where they had people trapped in the computers) “Yet they still died.” “But he’s not planning to give up.” The tension between idealism and realism is the emotional centerpiece.

Role of Healer (Im a healer, but…)

Zayne was a battle medic in an active warzone.   He’s a figure of stability, but also desperation. William’s dialogue was a BIG thing: “Zayne, it’s normal to want to save your energy since you just started here.” Because it implies that he’s new to this scale of trauma (level unlocked!)

Symbolism

Dark Crystals: In the dream, Zayne’s hands form dark crystals. This is a potent symbol; it could imply corruption of purpose, symbolizes how his intentions are becoming brittle, and ties into the mysterious evol system mentioned earlier. 

The tally notebook is his tomb of remembrance, being a ritual to honor and in a way, an emotional ledger (#vent channel). Echoes Holocaust witness poetry, war memorials—personal documentation to make sure death doesn’t go unnoticed.

Determination

I cant lie dawg im getting tired anyways THEMES

Duty vs. Safety: Zayne’s conflict revolves around the tug-of-war between personal safety and public responsibility. He chooses self-sacrifice not out of recklessness but out of deep-seated obligation.

Mentorship/Legacy: His instructor represents both a parental and professional figure who wants to preserve life, not lose it to ideals. His plea isn’t just professional—it’s paternal.

Solidarity/Brotherhood: William’s final gesture is essential: it affirms that Zayne isn’t alone in his conviction. His acceptance into the special rescue unit isn’t just procedural—it’s spiritual, like a knight receiving his sword from a brother in arms.

Emotional resonance: "If he can't save everyone, then he'll go to the root of the problem and eliminate it."This is his core creed—heroism, not in glory, but in its raw, sacrificial form.

Zayne’s arc in this chapter follows the "Refusal of the Return" in the Hero's Journey model. He has crossed a threshold, faced conflict, and now is being offered a return to safety—but he refuses. Instead, he doubles down on his journey toward the unknown, because that is where his truth and usefulness lie.

Through Troubled Times

Mission Briefing/A will/

“Our mission is to find the center of the Protofield and eliminate it…” Idkw I added this it just seemed noteworthy. High-key lost my train of thought.

“I'll introduce you when we get back.” William’s question is poignant. Wills represent anticipated death, and his curiosity about Zayne’s "emotional anchor" peels at the shell around Zayne. Zayne deflects, classic repression. But William’s line “I’ll introduce you when we get back” adds human stakes. It’s a quiet but powerful emotional tether to the idea of life after this. “Didn’t expect ‘getting back’ to become an unobtainable luxury.”

Lil notes

He needs immense therapy.

A Long Way Home

More mission stuff

The team’s technical precision and logistical readiness (detailed callouts like "Metaflux barrier test initiated") contrast heavily with the chaos that follows. The structure dissolves into survival, loss, and raw willpower. This showcases the brutal unpredictability of war—even the most meticulous planning can be undone by uncontrollable variables.

Zaynes character development

Self-Sacrifice: He freezes his own legs to stay upright—a brutal metaphor for using your pain to maintain control.  His decision to face the Wanderers alone reflects both his guilt (stemming from his past) and his relentless need to redeem himself by saving others.

The moment of peace in the line “can we go back”  is heart-wrenching in its simplicity. It acknowledges survival—but also the emotional release Zayne experiences for the first time in the narrative. Sunlight here is not just weather—it's the return of hope, warmth, and clarity after the suffocating cold of war and grief. The “frozen apocalypse of dreams” not becoming reality ties directly back to Zayne’s trauma and internal war. It's a powerful resolution… until it isn’t.

Plot twist, with other notes

William and his lil contamination. The blue crystals appearing on William signal Protofield corruption—a slow death or transformation, possibly into a Wanderer. Zayne's inability to speak is telling. For a man so controlled and emotionally locked down, this moment breaks him. It’s the fear of failing again, of not being able to save the person he cares for most.

Protofield energy, like trauma, doesn’t kill instantly—it spreads, it infects, it lingers. William’s final scene reinforces that not all wounds bleed—some glow.

The title is deceptive (just like the size of my dick) 

Home for zayne is a state where guilt is no longer defining him, a place where people can stay safe, and where the past isnt actively poisoning the present.

The Nightmare Worsens

Immediate tragedy 

The core of this chapter is the horrific transformation and death of William, Zayne’s close friend and comrade. William becomes infected by black crystals—possibly remnants of the destroyed Protofield or something even older—that violently mutate and consume his body. The transformation is grotesque, agonizing, and irreversible.  The core of this chapter is the horrific transformation and death of William, Zayne’s close friend and comrade. William becomes infected by black crystals—possibly remnants of the destroyed Protofield or something even older—that violently mutate and consume his body. The transformation is grotesque, agonizing, and irreversible. 

There is NO noble death. It’s just decay.

Post-trauma (the time-skip)

Three years later, Zayne is a doctor, seemingly functional, even celebrated for his Evol-assisted surgical breakthroughs. But the trauma has calcified inside him. He’s buried William’s memory—literally in a drawer, along with his own accolades. However, it is VERY clear that the past isn’t done with him.

Thematic Significance and Analysis

Corruption of Hope- Evol saves lives, but cannot stop death, and sometimes makes the suffering more unbearable. William’s line, “Life… can be terrifyingly ugly,” hits this theme hard.

Heroism vs. Mercy:  Zayne's struggle represents the clash between heroic idealism (“I can save him”) and merciful pragmatism (“He’s already lost”). The tension breaks Zayne spiritually. The right choice is impossible. He doesn't kill William in cold blood—William dies by crystal-induced combustion—but that doesn’t absolve Zayne from the torment of not being able to grant mercy.

Memory being a burden: The theme of remembrance vs. repression comes through Zayne's drawer—an altar of sorts. He hides the awards like tombstones. And yet, he can’t move on. The story implies that the snow, the trauma, the ghosts—they never left him. The past isn’t past; it’s patient.

Fate Cycles and the Reaper: The closing lines paint a chilling picture: the Grim Reaper, once a metaphor for death and guilt, is now watching again. His eyes have reopened. Fate is cyclical, not linear. The crystals have returned, and so the nightmare isn’t over—it’s merely paused. This final image sets up a possible continuation, but even as a standalone, it says: There is no peace in survival—only the illusion of it. What happens to the hero who survives, not as a victor, but as the last one left?  The title “The Nightmare Worsens” is both literal and existential. Not only does the crystal infection physically escalate, but Zayne's internal nightmare—the weight of loss, guilt, helplessness—deepens and metastasizes. And then it goes back to the crystals, which only appear again. 

THORNS UNDER THE MOON/ ROUTE COVERAGE:

Zayne Being Dawnbreaker

Zayne being shaped to become Dawnbreaker is a burdened inheritance- it was GOING to happen regardless. It’s meant to represent sacrifice, redemption, and his universal purpose. It’s meant to display that this role is a cyclic pattern,  potentially reincarnated or fated through time, especially if tied to Astra. Mind you, his whole transformation isn’t all about getting some big ol strong power up- its a metaphorically power up that relies more on the philosophical reasonings, whatever they may be.

Beta Protocurve/Linkon

Beta protocurve is more than a new enemy mechanic—it links directly to space manipulation, and in speculative fiction terms, that usually leads to dimensional anomalies, temporal dissonance, or void incursions.

Wanderers being attracted = Ever sowing chaos intentionally, to create another Metaflux rupture or open rift.

Basically this is implying that he is acting as a mythical anchor and it is almost evangelion-like in that emotional trauma and myther converge together. 

Another Zayne arc

Ever’s plans to do their own empire using the aether-core enhanced wanderers, manipulating science, trauma, and fate. Their interest in MC is not casual—MC is central to their plan. (which we knew. duh)

Nodding back to when I said that zayne’s trauma is emotional and physical, it’s important to remember that with the reveal (that i am getting to) that his trauma is supposed to happen and is chronological. The nightmares are bleeding into prophecies. The guilt over William, the illusion MC, and the fear of Akso—this isn’t PTSD, it’s Foreseer-induced temporal insight. Remember: he does NOT want his fate, he accepts it out of necessity (cough he’s astra out of guilt and-)

Akso Hospital is used for premonitions

Akso isn't just a setpiece in Zayne’s dreams—it’s a future event he keeps reliving because he may be consciously or subconsciously temporally displaced. Foreseer’s voice suggests time isn't linear for him anymore. “When you and the world wake up,” implies a sealed-statis that could be him becoming a rift stabilizer- basically a living Dawnbreaker lock.

Zayne taking in the black ice → he absorbs chaos metastasis into himself.

He isn't killing the anomaly. He's hosting it, and that implies a toll—possibly one that alters him into Dawnbreaker or fractures his timeline permanently.

Doomed pairing

Zayne’s fear of losing MC and thinking he is a curse to her is what makes his arc tragic. He doesn’t fear death—he fears being the reason she suffers. When he says “Letting her in was a mistake,” he either means that letting her into his nightmare is dragging her into the pain or that letting her into his life like that means that their destinies are tied to HER destruction (NOT his).

However, this is a paradox: it's MC who grounds him. She keeps him sane, real, anchored. The cluster cracks when she is successful. Their soul resonance is literal and symbolic: she is his will to live.

Extrapolation

Zayne becomes Dawnbreaker not because of lineage—but because he takes the metaphysical weight onto himself. He might merge with Astra or be chosen by their essence. (or that ho IS astra).

Akso Hospital event becomes the catalyst where all timelines converge: MC, Ever’s scheme, Metaflux rupture, and Dawnbreaker's rebirth.

MC’s Healing Ability could be aether resonance-based, and her memory unlocking (via dream/future peeks) could mean she is also connected to Foreseer or even Astra in some unknown way. (NOT counting the myths, of course).

Zayne’s real curse isn't Dawnbreaker—it’s loving MC in a world where love leads to annihilation. Which. Imo that’s his own interpretation for the sake of romance but hey! Could be wrong. 

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 2 "Eidolon"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tag list? Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

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Night 15

Midnight darkness caresses Feyd's shoulders as he pads to his dark bed, clad in full-coverage pajamas of loose, black fabric. He catches his silhouette in the wall mirror, glad to be spared the view of the new blemishes on his back and chest.

When he slips under the stiff covers of his bed, he is almost too excited to fall asleep. Excitement knots his stomach, so he forces his lungs to perform the breathing exercise that has always helped him since he was a child, channeling his focus only on his breathing, not whatever is happening to his body, the good and the bad.

The excitement helps him through the day, but he needs to relax his mind, relax his soul.

Is it working? When will he finally sleep?

The transition is seamless. He never realizes when he falls asleep and when the dream seeps into his mind like a blessing.

But then there she is, right in his arms where she belongs. They are reclined against the headboard of the large, white bed, their legs half buried under black covers. The fern rustles faintly in the terracotta pot and Feyd catches a glimpse of the two of them in the wall mirror. Immediately, his cheeks do this thing that makes them appear rounder and fuller and his teeth are on full display while his eyes are slitted. He is shirtless and there are no blemishes on his skin.

"Have you been here for long?" He asks, fingers tracing the softness of her upper arm.

"What?" She asks.

"What?" He replies and the same sense of could-be-should-be déjà-vu as always macerates the fabric of reality. She blinks at him and he leans down to kiss her on the lips. Her hand curls around the smooth back of his head, pulling him close as she opens her mouth and beckons him inside, so easily, so softly.

When they part, she whispers: "I don't know how long I've been here, but I missed you."

"I missed you," Feyd rumbles. She has absolutely no idea how much he missed her.

Gentle hands explore his face, touching places no one has ever touched, like his closed eyelids, the dip of his cupid's bow or the meandering shapes of the shell of his ear.

"How is this scientifically possible?" She raptly breathes and Feyd's eyes open back up from the blissful trance where only the caress of her hands can bring him.

"I still don't care." He smiles, leaning closer into the warm and comforting body that breathes against him.

"How can you not care? Shared, lucid dreams imply the existence of a connection between two organisms across space time, and since our interactions seem to be instantaneous, it's almost like we're quantum entangl- Feyd!" She squeaks when he rolls her on her back, pushing one leg between her thighs and his chest on top of hers.

She is so caught up in her wild chain of thoughts, that she completely forgets to hold him and that annoys Feyd greatly. "Don't you find that fascinating at all?" She asks.

"I have bigger concerns."

"Yes, like what?" She grins, cupping his face with gentle hands.

"Like the fact that you're not kissing me."

"Oh, you're so needy." She pecks him on the mouth, noting how his features soften and his lashes lower.

"I'm not." Feyd growls, pressing his mouth against hers softly while he wonders why he actually denies it. Their chests come flush in an intimate dance of bodies, bare, vulnerable skin stretching across bones and muscles.

These may be dreams and they are the dreamers, but she is real. Feyd could never make up a woman so kind without any reference.

Night 28

"How was your day?" Worry laces her voice and Feyd would like to be upset with her but, oh, he can't. She always looks at him with such concern, as if she expects him to drop dead any moment, or fall apart beneath her fingers.

"My day was better than usual," he reveals nonchalantly, scanning her face with challenging, blue eyes. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Something is up today, I can feel it."

"Nothing is up," he insists and delves for her throat where he intends to place kisses on the impossibly soft and delicate flesh, but she catches him by the chin (so smooth, not even a hint of stubble) and pouts.

"Don't lie to me, Feyd." She can read him so well, as if they've known each other forever.

Fine. "I killed my uncle's pet today." Oh, how good it felt to say that. The elation in his tone is impossible to hide.

"Feyd! Why?!" She lets go and flinches away from him and Feyd regrets his choice of words instantly. She however is more shocked by the fiendish grin with which he had admitted a murder than the actual words.

"If you saw iit and lived with it, you would understand why. You could say I put it out of its misery." He sits upright, mirroring her position. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, so it was sick?" She hopefully asks and Feyd is seriously tempted to just lie to her to maintain that warmth that returns to her expression. She appears to be ashamed of misjudging him, but his answer can only disappoint her.

"It-, well, I should spare you the details."

"But now I want to know." She comes back to him and curls against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. She wants to know about his life.

"It was a monster. It would have scared you." And now it won't ever scare her. Feyd's arms slide around her waist and she leans into his embrace. His presence is so comforting, she thinks. She may not even care if he killed an animal.

"Was it dangerous?"

"It shouldn't have existed in the first place!" Feyd hesitates for a second and she feels the spike of his pulse against his jugular. "And it was my uncle's."

Aha, she thinks with alarm, fingers tracing patterns on his smooth, bare chest while she keeps her face hidden in his shoulder. "Tell me more about that pet." What she really wants to know is more about that uncle.

Feyd turns his head, catching her gaze which is only inches away and leans closer as if to whisper a foul secret to her. "It was Tleilaxu-fashioned." That word doesn't have the intended effect, which is a little annoying. She blinks at him without understanding - bless her innocence - so Feyd sees himself forced to elaborate. "I'm saying it was genetically engineered to be a monstrosity."

"Oh." She shrugs her shoulders like that is not at all shocking. His strange woman was shocked by his black cum but not a twitch of disgust decorates her features in the presence of breaking the laws of nature.

"It was fashioned only for my uncle's amusement, not because it should exist but because it could!" More anger swings in his tone now. "I've done it a favor."

When he was younger, he had asked himself many times if anyone would ever do him the favor, but he was too well-protected and now the idea has been banished into a dark, dark corner of his adult mind.

"So, your uncle has been… Mistreating his pet and you put it out of its misery?" Her fingers gently stroke his wrist.

"He's been treating it better than other things." Things, people, boys…

Feyd glances into the center of the room, looking right through everything, into the nothingness, not realizing how his grip tightens around her innocent flesh.

She sees it there in his eyes, the truth. She sees it in the tight set of his jaws, the sharp intake of breath, the terror buried beneath layers and layers of apathy. It could be anything, but her empathy has never lied to her. It's like she's always known.

"Oh Feyd," she says and wraps her hand around his. His every muscle becomes rigid and his head whips around. He can see that she knows. 

How can she know from just a glance? This witch! Feyd recoils, aghast that he gave away so much of himself so easily. It slipped out of his grasp like a snake left to flail on the ground and bite him in the ankles unless he stomps it dead. Should he kill her so she can't tell anyone his secret?

As he recoils and slides off the bed, she releases his wrist and Feyd's stomach cramps. Why did she let go of me? I repulse her now, I repulse myself. Everyone who knows would be repulsed and wouldn't want to touch me.

He backs off until he has maneuvered himself into a corner, shoulders drawn up, panting like the small boy who once ran down the corridors, chased by nothing but the sticky shadows of reality that follow him every waking hour. His woman hasn't followed him at all. She sits on the bed, looking at him sadly and with pity that overflows from her eyes and posture.

"I don't want your pity!" He barks, voice shaking. "You know nothing about me!" 

"I'm sorry," she squeaks, flinching, and Feyd wants to take it back, feeling awful for making her scared, but he can't, just like he can't take back the terrible truth.

"No…" Feyd weakly mutters, looking away, staring at the pattern of the floor until his vision turns grainy. Clenched fists yearn for his blade, but he's never had it in this dreamscape. Any target will suffice, a slave, a fighter, himself, his uncle… But not her.

"What can I do?"

"Can you get me out of here?" Feyd blurts out.

"Oh." Why does she sound so disappointed? "We've tried to wake up before, it's never worked, I don't know how to-" 

"That's not what I meant." Feyd's jaws grind and he stares so hard at the floor pattern that his brain starts seeing the shapes of snakes that slowly coil around what looks like his neck.

"Oh, Feyd. My poor-" 

"I don't know where that question came from!" Feyd snaps, interrupting her. Viciously, he shakes his head. His eyes sting with hot, wet tears because he's stared at the floor too long. How silly of him, a pathetic, dreaming boy, to think she could save him, when he can't even save himself. Giedi Prime's most fearsome warrior can't even-

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrap around him tightly and the crown of a head invites him to rest his chin upon it. Feyd's heart stops and he bites back the agonizing pressure in his throat with a choked sound.

"I'll stop if you don't want me to."

He hugs her back so fiercely that her poor ribs and spine must be aching, but she only hugs him back fiercer still, face buried in his chest, lips mouthing sweet nothings. After minutes, Feyd's grip grows weaker, his face on her head heavier and by the end of it, she is holding him.

Night 39

"Have you always dreamed?" Feyd innocently asks and she struggles to comprehend the question. 

She lies prone on her stomach, legs spread open and a pale, smooth body undulates on top of her, taut chest and tummy pressed against her back, pelvis grinding against her ass. His length slides in and out of her at an inefficient angle, every upwards arch of her hips being smothered by a downwards push of Feyd's.

"Every other night, y-yes, hah~" Once more she tries to raise her behind, but Feyd's rutting hips press her down. He could reach much deeper if he only let her move!

"And have you ever dreamed of other men?"

"Hnngg, ahh- I'm sure I have. Feyd!" Her cheeks blush hotly when Feyd slams himself to a stop, cock throbbing palpably against her walls as he holds himself there, nearly crushing her with his weight.

"What?" His voice is more growl than human and a shiver passes down her spine which is smothered by his smooth torso.

"But not like this! Oh, please, don't stop." She tries to grind her ass against his pelvis with little to no range of motion, but Feyd only slightly shifts his knees, tightening the cage he has created around her body.

"Do other men have you in your sleep?" Plush lips tickle the shell of her ear and his hot breath caresses her skin, eliciting a clench of her inner muscles around his unmoving, velvety length.

"I only dream of you," she whimpers, heart thrumming up a storm in her chest. To be craved so possessively almost feels forbidden. "And do you dream of other women?" 

"I only dream of you. I only think of you too," he rasps, hips snapping leisurely back to action massaging her inmost parts. Feyd expects her to repeat it after him but she doesn't, so he tightens his manacle around her shoulders, caging her torso with his arms. "Who do you sleep with when you're awake? Is there someone holding you while I fuck you in your sleep?" 

"No, there is no one!" She snarls, shuddering from the harsher pace that came with the last question.

"Are you lying?!" Tiny specks of spittle spray against her ear.

"I'm not lying!" She snaps. Why doesn't he believe her? "Feyd~" A pleading moan rolls past her lips, body squirming for freedom and release, rejoicing when the former is denied to her. Feyd's right arm crawls under the impossibly tight space between her body and the mattress, past her sweat-damp pubic mount.

The tender, little nub of her clit rewards him with a clench of her walls when his fingers trace deft circles, smothering her body and mind from all directions with possessive affection that would be too much if she didn't crave it so much. Her body adjusts so easily to the rough tempo and pressure builds with no way out, nowhere to go except over the top of her climax and crashing down in hard waves that squeeze his cock and make tears and drool roll down her face.

The orgasm takes her worries to the sky where they dissolve among the clouds and pelt down like harmless rain drops. What if the dreams suddenly stop, what if she will never see him again, what if something terrible happens to either of them in the real world? All meaningless words, jumbled into benign disarray as bliss takes a hold of her body.

Her face drops on Feyd's forearm which is the bars of the fleshly cage that shelters her and she moans open-mouthed against his skin as he still ruts into her from behind, chasing his own release. Why would she ever have anyone at day when she can have him at night?

 By a route obscure and lonely,     Haunted by ill angels only,     Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,     On a black throne reigns upright,     I have reached these lands but newly     From an ultimate dim Thule –     From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,           Out of SPACE -- out of TIME. - Dream-Land by Edgar Allen Poe, 1844 

[Tag list: @nostalgichoya]

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part eight

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: none

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 4.2k

words in italics: whatever language you like

“Make sure you stick close to your uncle the entire time and remember: if you don’t feel well or if, at any point, you want to leave, just tell Uncle Robert and he’ll get you out of there, okay?”

Elisa nodded as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Alright. Put on your headphones and follow your uncle.”

“Follow.” Elisa pronounced the word slowly, before she continued in English, “you said it wrong, Mom. You say it like this.” 

Then she repeated the word again.

You smiled, nodded before you repeated the word for her. “Got it. Thanks, ladybug. Now go, I’ll catch you guys later.”

Tucking a loose hair behind her ear, you hugged Elisa one last time and placed a kiss on the top of her head before you let her go. She bounded to where Robert was standing, gave you one last enthusiastic wave, then you watched as they began to walk off to the direction of their seats. 

Now that you were alone, faced with the corridor that lead down to the pitch, you took a deep breath, exhaled, and then with leaden legs you began to walk.

To say that you were nervous was an understatement; you were absolutely terrified. Not only because this was you first coverage after… after the last one, but also due to the fact that this would be the first time you were going to see Alexia in person since the night you left.

Alexia wouldn’t recognise you–no, she wouldn’t even know you were here–you saw to it. You asked Derek to register you under Jersey’s name because the client was none other than Alexia’s agent, a request that earned you a dirty look from Derek but he indulged you anyway. And as a precaution, you made sure to wear a face mask–an accessory that was met by a knowing, raised brow from Robert and a worried, ‘Are you sick, Mom?’ from Elisa–not to mention that your hair now was different compared to then. 

No. Alexia wouldn’t recognise you; you were, after all, only a face among the many that adored her.

You kept walking, shielding your eyes from the brilliant stadium lights as you stepped foot on the grass.

Fifteen months. What good did that time do you? Just the mere thought of Alexia’s eyes suffused you with such burning ardour that neither a kiss nor touch from another could come close to her–there simply was no competition. You couldn’t even let another touch you the way she did because the act of kissing another’s lips was enough to incite guilt in you. 

But why? How could Alexia still have this much hold over you after all this time? Was it because this was the first time you felt something deeper for someone, something that transcended the physical aspect of a relationship? Or was it the fact that the moment you let yourself be vulnerable, almost offered yourself completely, everything came crashing down? And now, you found yourself hung up on someone who had clearly moved on.

But, a small part of you reasoned, if Alexia had truly moved on, why still try to commission you? Why would she want you around? Maybe she… No. You shook your head firmly. That wasn’t possible.

Pain throbbed in your foot as it collided with the sponsor board that lined the spot you picked, earning you a few concerned glances from the nearby photographers who were already there. You cursed internally, dropping your bag to the ground, as you offered the others a sheepish smile and an apology. The pain brought you back to reality though, a reminder that you needed to get your mind out of the gutter and that you had a job to do. 

You had weeks to prepare yourself for this. Everything would be okay. How hard could this be, really?

An hour passed and the stadium was filled to the brim with Spanish red and Brazilian yellow to witness the first match of each team for this tournament. Each nation’s supporters clapped and roared when the players began to run out to the pitch. And all the mental preparation you’d done for this left you completely. 

The moment she stepped out of that tunnel and the stadium lights shone down on her, it felt like you only learnt how to breathe again. There Alexia stood: the slope of her shoulder familiar, the strength carved in the curves of her back looked stronger, and the lines of her arms just as inviting as they were the first time you met. 

And those eyes, even if there were meters between you the weight in them–that low, burning fire–was all too apparent from where you stood.

Despite yourself, you found yourself smiling beneath your mask. She looked healthy; happy.

As the starting whistle breached through the chants of the crowd and resounded through the arena, you found yourself content–content at being an spectator of Alexia’s life, to watch her shine from afar, that was enough. 

Parc des Princes. Sweden vs. Spain: The Clash of the Titans.

Not even two hours before kickoff and a significant crowd had already gathered by the entrance points of the stadium donning their respective supporter colours. It was no surprise to see such numbers very early on this fine Saturday evening because ever since the results from the dramatic Semi-Finals that saw Sweden and Spain through to the Finals, it was the talk of the town:  the World’s Number One against the World Champions; both formidable in their own rights made them titans indeed. 

And the question of who would emerge victorious would be answered tonight.

You saw firsthand how Spain brazenly blazed through this competition, knocking out their tougher competitions in the form of Germany and Japan in the Quarters and the Semis respectively in a similar fashion. They were a force to be reckoned with driven by their purpose and it made you more than proud to see how far they’d come.

Though it had been difficult you managed to remain undetected throughout the length of this tournament, something that you were truly grateful for. And after tonight, you could as easily slip out of Alexia’s world just as you had seamlessly gone in for the last time. The last thing you wanted to do was to jeopardise Spain’s chance at winning no matter how little an impact your presence would cause if you were discovered by Alexia. 

But the thing was, you couldn’t lie and say you felt nothing as you watched Alexia from afar because you did: all the regret and desire… the longing; they were all there with you. More than once you found yourself wanting to run into her arms, to tell her you missed her, to let her know she saved you, to tell her… But you knew in your heart that that couldn’t be, so you allowed yourself this brief luxury, this silent, intimate appraisal of what and who she’d grown into even if she herself didn’t know it–you captured it all and to you that was more than enough.

As for Elisa she was nothing but ecstatic, a bundle of energy through and through. If you were being honest, you had doubted your decision to bring her with you because you didn’t know how being surrounded with tens of thousands of people would affect her even though she’d told you multiple times she could manage it. But to your relief, Elisa had immersed herself in the sport, blanketed herself in its atmosphere and in fact, she seemed to thrive in it. On the way home after each of Spain’s match you went to, Elisa would recount in vivid clarity all the instances she deemed to be highlights of the match–of course most of them were about Alexia which wasn’t a surprise considering how much she meant to her. 

Elisa was enjoying herself and that, truly, brought you immense joy and comfort. She never asked you for it but you knew how Elisa badly wished to meet her inspiration, her and Robert had tried at the end of each match to stick around to meet her but so far, they had no luck.

No, Elisa never asked for you to do anything about it but that didn’t mean you couldn't try. You couldn’t quite think of how to go about it just yet but seeing as how the match before your eyes was the last, you knew your time to decide was beginning to run out. 

The thing about football was that it was unpredictable, one minute it could be going your way, the next it could be the opponent’s; nothing was set in stone and anything could happen.

It was nearing the forty-minute mark, the scoreline was still down at all nil, when Aitana sent the ball lobbing from the middle, just at the edge of the penalty box, into one of Sweden’s goalposts for Alexia who’d already made her surge forwards. In response, Zećira Mušović dove for the nearest post, just about managing to grab the ball as it landed a few paces in front of Alexia’s feet but the ball went out of play as it slipped from her grip. Alexia was going too fast though and your heart jumped in your chest with worry as Alexia leaped over Mušović’s prone form, barely avoiding a collision with the Swedish goalkeeper, before she ended up slamming against the sponsor board and–

Suddenly, the air was knocked from your lungs as your back slammed to the ground and the back of your head throbbed with a dull ache that made you groan. And then you felt the warm weight pressed against you, dangerously familiar and way too close for comfort but it was gone before you could open your eyes. When you did you found honey-coloured eyes that you knew all too well as Alexia regarded you with concern.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Alexia asked, her ragged breathing made her accent all the more pronounced, and she took both of your hands in hers to help you to your feet. You tried hard not to think about the warmth of her palms on your skin–in fact, you hardly had any thoughts at all–and your throat was so parched you could only nod at her question. 

Only once you got back on your feet did you notice Alexia had gone stock still. The sudden change in her demeanour worried you at first, especially when she hadn’t let go of your hands yet, and then confusion settled in. That was when you realised her attention was zeroed in on the string around your right wrist… at the bracelet she made you, the one you couldn’t bear yourself to part with.

Your eyes widened and you snatched your hands back, shielding your wrist from view with your other hand but you knew it was already too late. Alexia now looked at you, the concern in her gaze now shone together with… something else, eyes red as unshed tears clung to her lashes. 

“You…” Alexia’s voice low–restrained–as her throat bobbed and her chin quivered. 

The sound of the whistle barely registered in your mind and Alexia looked like she hadn’t heard it too, her eyes remained glued to you as if she’d seen a ghost. Then Aitana was by her side, hand around her arm as Aitana attempted to tug her back into the game but she just wouldn’t budge. Aitana regarded you briefly, the clear confusion in her eyes difficult to miss, before she tried to coax her captain away again.

“Alexia. Go.” You said as you gently pushed Alexia away with a hand on her stomach. She flinched from your touch–and her reaction really shouldn’t hurt this much but it did anyway–so you quickly retracted your hand away. Only after that did Alexia finally let herself be pulled away by Aitana but not without staring at you as she went.

This was bad. Out of all the times that this could happen, why now?

You picked up your camera, the fact that it was intact offered you little comfort, and the urge to run away pervaded you. You so desperately wanted to pack everything and leave, allow Elisa to enjoy the match and maybe just sit this one out in the crowd with her. Alexia didn’t need to know. 

The thought was tempting.

But with clenched fists, you stayed. 

A moment later, the Swedish supporters roared when Spain conceded a goal during extra time which left them now down to one goal. Spain still had enough time to try and equalise, and their chance was given in the form of a penalty.

Alexia stepped up but Mušović denied her a goal and your heart ached from the way Alexia shook her head, dejected as she looked up at the sky. 

The halftime whistle blew and you watched as the players walked towards the tunnel entrance but, your eyes widened when you saw her, Alexia was making her way towards you, stride long and with purpose. Her face was neutral but the way her lips was pressed in a thin line revealed that she was anything but calm.

Oh, fuck. 

You didn’t even have time to compose yourself–or do anything, really–because before you knew it, Alexia had leaped over the sponsor board, gripped the monopod with your camera and ripped it away from your hand. A protest left your lips but it was quickly cut off when you felt her other arm around your waist, pulling you to her with a strength that left you breathless. And when you felt her front pressed firmly against your own and her warmth immediately seeped into your bones, everything melted away–the flutter of camera shutters, the roar of the crowd–your world became Alexia entirely. 

Everything just fell rightly into place. It felt like coming home.

Alexia didn’t say anything, just craned her neck so she could rest her head against your shoulder. At first you were frozen, your arms still and left hanging by your side, but as you felt the way Alexia’s ribs expand and the way her heartbeat jumped through her jersey, you came back to yourself and finally, you slid your arms around her, your hands immediately finding purchase in the small of her back. 

You gripped her jersey as you sank into her embrace, pressing your cheek against her collarbone, and god, what did you do right in this lifetime–or the last–to have her back in your arms like this? You breathed her in and you nearly sobbed at the intimate familiarity of her scent.

“Alexia, I–” You began but you shook your head. So instead, you choked out, “Alexia, you shouldn’t be here.”

Silence was the only answer and Alexia seemed to cling all the more tightly to you after the words left your mouth. And you could feel it, the despondency in the slope of her back as if they already had lost the match. Guilt ate away at you. You did this, didn’t you?

“Listen to me, Ale. Your team is waiting for you. They need their Captain, Alexia. They need you.”

At those words, Alexia only buried herself further into you as if she wanted herself to disappear completely. Then she spoke in a voice so small you could barely recognise it was her talking.

“I messed up. I… I can’t be what they need me to be right now. I feel weak.”

You recognised this, the familiar shadow of doubt that tinged Alexia’s thoughts and marred her confidence. Although rare to rear its head, its venom was lethal when it did, attacking her weakest parts, right where it hurt the most. 

Cradling the nape of her neck with a gentle hand, you let her fall all the more closer to you and you whispered softly, but firm in the way you enunciate the words, to get your message through to her. 

“‘The match is not won until the last second is lost.’ Alexia, isn’t that what you told me? You can't just give up now. You can't lose faith in your teammates right now." Alexia’s breath hitched at your words, her arm around your waist tightened. You continued, “your strength is their strength, and theirs are yours. I used to tell you, remember? You're so strong but it's not all yours to carry, Alexia. You're only human but that doesn't make you weak. Have faith in them... have faith in you."

You turned your head just so so you could rest your temple against the line of her jaw before you said, “now go, Alexia. Your team needs you.”

Alexia leaned in to your touch and sighed. She nodded and finally she loosened her grip but before she fully extricated herself from you, she said in a raw voice but not with malice, “I’m still mad at you.”

You couldn’t help it, the small laugh that bubbled out of your throat as you rested your forehead against her shoulder. 

“Fair enough. You can be mad at me all you want later but right now, you have a match to win.”

She pulled away and you finally saw her eyes. Albeit red and raw around the edges, the hazel in them shone with a familiar brilliance, a hungry fire undiminished by the tears in her eyes. You longed to dry her tears but Alexia did it herself, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes. She handed you back your camera, hand lingering on your right wrist as she brushed the pad of her thumb over the string there, gave you one last look and a nod, before she jumped over the sponsor board and sprinted to the tunnel entrance, the crowd roaring as she went past them. 

At her departure, the rest of the world came back to focus: the stadium, the screaming fans, the blare of the halftime music… the cameras pointed at you, from the broadcasting channels to the phones of the fans on the stands; you were the subject of all their eyes, all their lenses. Even when you glanced at your fellow photographers, most of them had their cameras pointed at you, some looked at you with passing curiosity while some stared at you as if you’d grown an extra pair of head.

Your ears and cheeks warmed at the attention, gut coiling uncomfortably as you adjusted your face mask, something that you were all the more grateful for especially after that little public display from Alexia. You kept your head down as you walked the length of the sideline towards Sweden’s goal for the next half, and you tried your hardest to ignore the weight of the stares by pretending to tend to your equipment. 

Then you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. You fished it out and found a message from Robert.

‘That was… pretty public. Are you feeling alright?’

You looked up, tried to pick out Elisa and Robert from the crowd but when you couldn’t, you typed out your reply.

‘I’m fine, thank you. How are the both of you?’

‘Well, Elisa’s just about as ecstatic as any child who found out that their mom knows their favourite football player. She’s been asking questions non-stop, I don’t even know how to answer them all. Please help.’

Despite your situation, you chuckled at the image of Elisa pestering her uncle. 

‘Tell her she can save her questions for me later. Don’t say anything else.’

‘Okay, thank you. And hang in there.’

The loud cheers from the crowd drew your attention away from your phone and upon looking up, found that the players had begun entering the pitch. Automatically, your viewfinder was to your eye, framing the players as they went and taking a shot. 

Alexia was last to step foot on the field and you didn’t miss the way she looked over the last spot she saw you and when she couldn’t find you there, her head swivelled around as she jogged to her position in the opposite half. She found you eventually and even with fifty meters between you, the intensity of her stare reached you. It made you shiver–hopeful in spite of yourself–but when the whistle cut through the air once more, you readied your camera, breath held for what was yet to come.

The game went on and you were so focused on trying to do your job that you couldn’t keep up with the details but the fact was this: no matter how hard Spain pressed forward, Sweden’s defensive effort increased twofold, and whenever Spain played deep to keep Sweden in check, Sweden prodded forward, constantly chipping away at Spain’s defensive line with each effort. 

After Sweden’s attempt at Spain’s goal came an opportunity. One minute Cata had the ball in hand, the next the ball was by Alexia’s feet who took one touch before she passed it between two defenders to Salma who was waiting past the halfway line, who then dribbled the ball into Sweden’s penalty area, then she cut it back and crossed it to Aitana who angled her run just enough to tap the ball in.

One-one.

The crowd roared to life and Spain’s fire was reinvigorated. They had eleven minutes left of normal play to score another goal and win. Both teams clashed, gave their all throughout the remaining time, then through to additional and extra time.

Now the moment of truth: a penalty shootout at Sweden’s goal.

Your palms began to sweat, nervous for Alexia. When was she taking her penalty?

Spain went first. They got it in. Sweden as well. One-one.

Then it was two–two.

Spain got their third. Sweden took their shot but Cata deflected it.

Mušović stepped up this time and blocked Spain’s fourth. Cata, again, anticipated right and denied Sweden their own.

You drew in a staggered breath as Alexia began to walk. Once she got to the ball, she flicked it up with her foot and caught it easily with her hands. Click. Through the lens, you watched as Alexia turned the ball over then placed it right by the penalty spot. Click. Then she began fixing her socks, adjusting her shoes, brushed her left ankle with her thumb–click– and she leant back up, resting her hands by her waist as she waited for the whistle. You zoomed in on her face: she was stoic, calm as she eyed the goal, beads of sweat lined her forehead and the bridge of her nose–click.

The whistle blew.

Alexia took five steps back, one step to her right. She took two short strides forward and on the third, her left foot connected with the ball. The net moved with an audible swish from the power behind her kick, depositing the ball in the bottom right corner of the goal and the crowd roared–or was it you who was screaming?–as the rest of Spain’s team ran to their captain to hug her.

Spain won.

Photo after photo, you captured Spain as they celebrated, their cheers and victorious cries. And when each member of Spain’s team walked the stage to receive their golden medals, the feeling that surged through you was something else entirely. 

The celebration went on but as the crowd thinned and the live broadcast ended, anxiety filled you once again. You tried to keep track of where Alexia was but she’d been surrounded by so many people that you lost her in the celebration. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you packed up your things but kept your camera out as you hung about at the edge of the pitch near the stands.

And then you heard it.

“Mom!”

You turned to the sound and found Elisa who was leaning against the safety rail of the stands just off to the side of the tunnel entrance, an enthusiastic arm waving in the air as she grinned at you. Beside her was Robert who, too, was leaning on the railing with his elbows who gave you a small wave as you jogged over to them, pushing your face mask down on the way.

“Elisa, ladybug, careful you might fall!” You reprimanded but a smile made its way on your lips all the same and either way, your words fell on deaf ears as Elisa excitedly bounded up and down.

“Mom! Did you see that?! That was so intense! And did you see how Alexia just went,” Elisa imitated Alexia’s strike and an affectionate laugh bubbled out your throat at her display, “and it was the best!”

Then Elisa stilled, eyes widening as she looked past you. “Oh my god, Mom, it’s–”

“‘Mom?’”

It was Alexia but her voice was almost unrecognisable because of how flat it sounded. You whipped your head back and surely, the expression Alexia wore accentuated the barely hidden animosity but it wasn’t directed at you nor Elisa. Rather, you found her glaring up at Robert and at his hand resting on the railing where the gold band on his finger was visible–glinting.

You looked at Alexia, whose demeanour was souring by the second, then at Robert who looked paler than you’d ever seen him before, then to Alexia again.

Oh, no. 

[bullet-prooflove]

Hi! 🩶

Terry Silver + apartment, couch and pillow

for the three things prompt game pls?

thanks a lot!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @eddieslut69 @mia1653 @kimbergoldess

Companion piece to:

Paris - Your entire world changes when you meet Terry Silver on your birthday. 

Pont des Arts - You and Terry stroll along the Pont des Arts.

Yours (NSFW) - Your first time with Terry starts with a seduction.

Adventure - Terry asks you to come on an adventure.

Out of Love - You're convinced things will change when you get home to LA.

Terry realises there’s something wrong when you don’t respond to his texts. The two of you been back in LA for a couple of months, you see each other most evenings, call on the nights you don’t so when you don’t pick up the phone he’s more than a little concerned.

When he stops by your apartment in Silver Lake to check in you don’t answer the door, he can hear the TV on the opposite side of the wood but no movement. He coerces your landlord to let him in, threatening to break down the door himself if the other man doesn’t give him the key.

He finds you asleep on the couch, a pillow from your bed propping up your head, a blanket draped over your body. Your skin is flushed, your hair damp with sweat, your breathing laboured, there’s crackle in your chest, one he can hear with every inhale.

He tries to wake you, gently at first but when you don’t react he’s more forceful, shaking your shoulder, lightly slapping your face. Your head lolls to one side and that’s when Terry knows the two of you have got a serious problem and calls the paramedics.

It’s in the waiting room the doctor tells him you have severe pneumonia. You’ve probably been ill for days and not mentioned it over your phone conversations. It isn’t until the doctor starts to discuss your treatment options that he understands why.

You have no insurance. They’d initially wanted to start you on Aplatrlyin to give you a fighting chance but your lack of coverage means they’re going with Fatafrphin, something that will only give you a 20% possibility of recovery.

“You’re telling me she could die?” Terry rasps, his pulse accelerating.

“Without Aplatrlyin there’s a good chance she won’t make it through the night.” The doctor confirms and in that moment it feels like Terry’s whole world is falling apart.

“Give her the Aplatrlyin.” Terry tells the doctor, catching the other man’s arm as he starts to walk away. “I’ll pay whatever it costs, just please do everything in your power to save her life.”

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[darcyolsson]

the newer april fools pranks on tumblr are not necessarily less fun or whatever but now the website is mostly functioning the experience is just very different. back in the day it was a very defining feature of tumblr that the entire website was kind of lacking if not straight up broken: we didn't have a working video or audio player for YEARS, you couldn't tag asks, the mobile app wouldnt load images unless you closed and reopened it 5-10 times, you couldn't reply to post replies at first and they fixed this by deleting the entire reply feature, site-wide glitches were so common you'd barely bat an eye. there were several browser extensions dedicated to making it a useable website. and then one day you logged on and they had created an entire functional lizard election with live news coverage and a full dashboard makeover and a plotline and "i voted" buttons for your blog and auto-generated posts you could use to endorse your favourite candidate. like. we got a lizard campaign poster generator made to disappear after 24h before we got the ability to normally play videos. the sheer bizarreness of it will always stay with me