#trying to keep myself distracted and sane

[florwal]

hospitals have the most rancid uncomfortable vibes i hate them so much

[thurio-edau]

SBG GANG MENTAL ANALYSIS

yup, him for part two. funny thing despite Aiden being my favourite character I'm most excited for the other three posts I'll make, especially the last one. there's a lot to unpack here so

also im writing this with a migraine pls read it-

Part 2: Aiden Clark

ah, yes. the obviously-mentally-ill from the start fan favourite Aiden Clark. let's go.

first, I want to start with something I find really important about his character, what makes him heavily mischaracterized in the fandom. the 'psychopath' cliche.

the terms 'psychopath', 'insane' and 'unstable' are often confused with each other due to media stereotypes, such as Aiden here. one, he is not a psychopath. psychopath literally means a self-centered person who lacks sympathy, affection and care; making them far from most other characters in their franchise. their lack of sympathy/empathy often makes them criminalized, here

disturbing content warning, for an example of a psychopath.

let's take Gressil from Homesick for example since a lot of SBG readers also read Homesick. so, here, Gressil is a perfect example of an actual psychopath. his lack of empathy makes him torment others, he's very self-centered. and when asked why he's doing this? he says he was bored. let's look at Aiden here. what does Aiden do when bored? probably dumb ideas or annoy Tyler. not torturing people for fun. Aiden is just a boy who likes thrills, but he has a sense of empathy, care and justice.

you wanna see a psychopathic Aiden?? the canvas is it

(our local Logan hater is publishing the canvas eps go checc beachy out)

but that's him, not our Aiden. canvas does not equal originals y'all

alright, now since we got that cleared out!! firstly, ADHD.

I think everyone in the fandom is already aware that Aiden is ADHD but I'm still going to talk about it just like Ashlyn's autism. Red has also said that she wrote Aiden with ADHD in mind but hadn't canonically confirmed anyone as neurodivergent. let's start with the main symptoms of ADHD, also known as Attention Decifit and Hyperactivity Disorder.

I know about 5 different ADHD people myself and did some research, it probably won't be extremely accurate since I'm not ADHD myself, but I'll try to do whatever I can. first with the AD part, Attention Decifit.

now as seen, he doesn't exactly have any problems with theorizing itself. but the problem is that his attention just goes away easily.

i mean cmon bro was making memes on the job

he tries to do work, but can't. he has a low attention span which makes him not able to concentrate. he can't keep it up for long, he'll get distracted or bored too easily about things that doesn't interest in specially.

it's just distracting. what his attention is on constantly changes, there's more to that after the ADHD part but we're here for now.

the hyperactivity... it's a lot more apparent. but I should explain the insane-unstable thing before that.

insane means that someone's mental health is not in an okay situation, where it prevents the person from thinking normally, acting rationally, very often found together with delusions. the person is seriously mentally ill where it might count as a disability.

unstable, however, where someone is prone to psychiatric problems, has moodswings etc. they're not exactly the most sane person, but they aren't insane either. Aiden here, obviously falls on the unstable side. maybe just a little bit insane if you squint. this will be brought up later too, but it mixed well with his hyperactivity too.

and as we all know, our boy isn't exactly the most stable person. (sorry for the collages, but since there is a tumblr picture limit i have to keep on collaging. yes i learnt from the last time) his hyperactivity mixes with his unstable mindset which makes him incresingly vulnerable to danger- which he likes. from when the first shift happened, he's been really careless about stuff but it's been all about his love for thrill.

and it irritates Tyler, too.

the main subplot about his character is that he's a person of excitement. guess what? ADHD people like the excitement, they like new things, they like the adrenaline and thrill. now, Aiden's main characteristic of being unstable mixed with ADHD makes him an even more reckless person. another thing mixing with the hyperactivity, is boundaries.

this part will mostly be about Ashlyn since the boundary issue only happens with her.

I talked about this on Ashlyn's side on my Ashlyn analysis, now it's time for Aiden's side.

he's really annoying to her at first. Ashlyn is someone with lots of boundaries, like high walls. and who tries to climb them with his dumbass? Aiden of course.

she kept rejecting his efforts to befriend her for some time, until the night they stole the jeep. then she managed to actually bring the walls down, and accept them all into her life. but damn was she blunt.

felt that honestly

and Aiden understands her that night, too.

Ashlyn was hesistant to hug him, yes, he was aware. but she still did which made him realize she was also trying. i have to tell you, people with ADHD and people with autism either have trouble getting along, or go perfectly well. my ADHD sibling for example, I have to push them away for a lot and tell them to lower their voice. but once they remember my boundaries it actually becomes a normal, even pleasant hangout. which, Aiden realizes and tries to get along with. he tries.

seeing his efforts on her boundaries makes something click in her mind. and she starts to be a lot nicer when they hang out in the arcade.

Aiden eventually learns and remembers what she's like and what she loves to do. he already tried to watch her ballet sessions once -got slammed-, he's been to her room where he remembered the mat from and her fighting makes it obvious. I'm sure he knew he'd get cooked by betting that. but he still did,

because he knew it'd interest her. which he succeeded, he saw her smile again. the arcade day went great until Barron and his gang pulled up, but if we ignore that part it all went well. Aiden started to understand and respect her boundaries.

anyways then Tyler fucking dies

he knows that Ashlyn feels guilty. Aiden wants to comfort her through it, but also do it correctly. without going over any boundaries. which makes him really,

really,

really surprised when she responds.

also including this pannel cause its hilarious

here we see that he's still trying. hell, I'm sure he spent minutes thinking if he should come close physically to help her. that's probably why he just nudged her softly before anything else. he's not used to it, he has to conciously make an effort to not cross said boundaries. keeping his voice lower, try to not be so reckless, not doing anything physically close unless she reciprocates. wow how i wish another someone i knew irl tried that hard instead of blaming it on me cOUGH COUGH COUGH

also other small things to include

he's yapping a lot

he has a comically large amount of puzzles in his backpack for one single trip

and sticks his head into lamps for some reason

but that's just Aiden and his little neurodivergent brain for ya.

now the part I wanted to get to the most.

Borderline Personality Disorder.

first, what is Borderline Personality Disorder?

shortened as BPD, borderline is when someone's mood is inconsistent and swinging. think of it's name; the person's mental state is in the border, in the border line, switching up fastly. the most easily understood and common type is when the person goes from a depression to a happy state. but no matter which state they are in and/or go to, one thing stays the same: it is unstable.

one thing about borderline is that it is frequently mixed with bipolar. however bipolar is a neurodivengercy which means it is what someone is born with and cannot be changed. but borderline is obtained later in life. it usually happens with depression. bipolar is much more random and the episodes last longer in comparison. it may last up to hours, and the person's memory might have trouble remembering their episodes. borderline, on the other hand, is a short-lived mood swing.

now here. here's the catch; people with BPD during mood swings can have reckless behaviour, suicidal thoughts -in his case as far as we know, lowered sense of protecting himself- or a loss of understanding danger. sounds familiar?

borderline's recklessness and dangerousness, sometimes self-destructive acts combines with ADHD's love for thrill and excitement, combined with Aiden's own personality all make up for a great condition of instability.

Aiden's behaviour constantly goes crazy, I think his most frequent mood swing might be his normal self (at least, as normal as he could be) to this more maniac way of acting. I noticed it from his eyes, when he's in a more calm-ish normal state his pupils are a bit more dilated. in the pictures above, you can clearly see that he's still in the episode; filled with the adrenaline, the unstable way of thinking.

but, what causes that? surely a mental illness such as borderline doesn't happen on it's own.

right?

cause it didn't.

it never works that way.

but it can get better.

eventually.

but what happened to him?

personally, as much as a large amounnt of people seems to believe it's something like family abuse I don't think so. maybe neglect, maybe withdrawal, maybe maybe. but we've seen his parents. I don't think they would hurt him like that. I can't put any more pictures, but this is the last part anyway. his parents seem to be kind and gentle, despite that picture in his house. I'm thinking the picture was only for the dramatic effect. his parents said that he used to be really calm and quiet during Lily's birthday, and both Aiden and Ben seem comfortable around them. they were happy taking Ben in too, any kind of abusive parent wouldn't do that at least that's what I believe. also there is that Aiden got serious and concerned when he learnt that their parents were also in the facility, most likely worried for his own as you would have thought.

there was a post that I've been trying to find for like half an hour, I commented on it but I can't find the post now. the person talked about their own theory. if I remember correctly it was that when Aiden was depressive as a child, his parents took him to a thrilling activity like the ones he's been talking about (bungee-jumping, skydiving etc.) and the thrill made him actually get excited. which is why his parents allowed him to go even more reckless, because they are aware of how prone their son could be to the depression.

what happened? let's ignore the parents factor. someone can have a loving family and still be traumatized, someone can be taken care of and still feel abandoned, someone can never have confronted a situation they are terrified of.

one of my theories is that, the loneliness. it must get to a child heavily considering children need to not be left alone, but Aiden was. he didn't have any actual friends since they always moved from one place to another from his parents' business, and they might have not had enough time to make for him (which I believe is bullshitting, every child deserves to be taken some time out for. some people quit their jobs entirely for their child.) and be unaware, and that doesn't change that he was still depressed and alone. his depressive state was seemingly before Ben was taken in. now here one thing with borderline, at least from my experience, is faking actions. smiles, laughs, friendships, conversations... almost as if there's two different lives; one fake, and one real. you keep on switching, you keep on swinging between the sides where you're yourself and where you're just mimicking 'normal human behaviour'.

it starts from faking a happy state during their depression, and by time you're faking it it becomes an automatic adition to your personality. to your mind. once it furthers, it becomes the disorder. Aiden we see is always smiling. it becomes a habit that only breaks sometimes. now, I'm not saying his smile is fake- I think his face is literally just stuck like that. it breaks ever so slightly sometimes. fake it till ya make it yanno? that kind of thing. and when he swings from his calm mood to his borderline-d mood, his pupils get small and his smile gets worse. noticably worse. I'll be rereading the series (AGAIN) and this time look at all the small details since Red loves putting them and I love theorizing so

which, wraps up the Aiden thing! im actually really proud of how i could put my thoughts into text which i never could. i'd love any additions because i love other opinions as well.

and you know what? im glad Ash and Ai are out of the place because the rest are what I'm actually looking forward to >:)

...and i should sleep. really.

(wow sorry yall i finished this hours ago and said 'alright reread to make sure its good before sleep' and fell asleep through it lol sorry for 4 hour delay ig)

(leaving for school rn see yall 8 hours later 🫡)

[sunofpandora]

Virago: Chapter 3 part 3

Neteyam x fem na’vi!omaticaya!reader

Characters:

Ka’lik- (like you would pronounce “Malik”) Y/n’s father, deceased, a warrior and hunter of the 

omaticaya clan. A teacher to young warriors undergoing iknimaya.

Zensira-deceased, Y/n’s mother, spider's adoptive mother, a strong hunter and the best singer in the omaticaya clan, and a teacher to young hunters.

Kailo-(Y/n’s ikran. Your ikran is a male)

Popiti-(tuk’s best friend according to the visual dictionary)

(Also idk how many of you know this but Jake’s ikran’s name is canonically ‘Bob’.)

(WARNINGS!

Sharing a sleeping hammock with the opposite gender (non-romantically)-

Neytiri hating on spider/ mentions of insecurities, heartbreak, war,/ fluff/ angst/ mentions of hunting, killing animals, mentions of therapy, military, ptsd, romance, pining, use of military terms/codewords/  Let me know if I missed anything.

Chapter desc:

Authors note:

Here we go! Chapter 3!! It feels insane to be posting the actual third  chapter of this. But holy moly, building up romance is much harder than I thought. This chapter is a long one so grab your favorite snack, find a comfy spot and buckle up. 

I have a small request for my lovely virago readers, please comment on your favorite line, moment, quote, or dynamic from this chapter. This is so I can know what kind of stuff you guys incline towards so I can throw more of it in as the story continues.

IMPORTANT:

hi guys. So I’ve decided to change spiders age from 20 to 19 for plot purposes. Jake and Neytiri are the same age. Tuk is still 7. Kiri is 19, neteyam is 19, Lo’ak and Y/n are 18.

Important!

This is part 3, the final part to chapter 3. Thank you for your patience!

                                                                   V I R A G O         

Chapter 3;

Surrender to his saubade, he has set his soul and sin ablaze (to be yours)

Part 3 (final part to chapter 3)

Y/n’s pov-

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ 

(Still Neteyams POV)

Night hunts were a normality for our clan. Especially the ones led by my father.

I stood in the tent, slipping on my arm guards as I prepared myself to join my group on our ikran for the hunt.

I started Mentally checking off everything I needed.

Water flask, ionar (riders mask.), and-

I just can’t seem to focus. 

All I can think about is y/n and how I’m going to speak to her after this hunt. 

Kiri is right. I don’t deserve her. And maybe I never will.

I especially don’t deserve to call her mine.

And that’s okay. I can settle for just having her in my life. That’s enough. 

But that’s a lie. I know it deep down. 

It was never about sex or the physicality of it. I could love her my whole life and never touch her.

Would I go insane? Probably. 

But could I do it? Definitely.

Settling for distance is my sacrifice. Distance is safe. Distance will keep her safe. It’ll keep me sane.

Well, that last part was a lie. 

It’s a glass half full at this point. I told Kiri I only wanted us to be friends again. Normal, average friends.

That’s not what I want. I can keep trying to compartmentalize this for the rest of my life but I’ll always live with this ache. This void in my heart that only fits her shape.

Sacrifices. Sacrifices. Sacrifice-

“Neteyam?”

I snap out of my daze; turning around to see my mother standing in the entrance way to our hut.

“Are you ready yet, ma’itan? 

Lo’ak waits outside for you.”

I shook my head, chuckling awkwardly.

“Ah. Sorry. I got a bit…distracted.

It’s nothing, mother. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

She nods, taking a step closer.

“I wanted to give you something before you leave.”

I turn to face her, my eyebrows raised a bit.

“Oh? Alright.”

She reached behind her back, holding out a small pouch, long and thin tied by a string in a roll.

I open it slowly, knowing whatever was inside was of great value.

Inside laid about 8 newly made arrows. The wood carved for the shaft still fresh in scent and the feathers for the fletching too soft to have been reused.

It’s the color that peaks my eye. The all-too familiar green and yellow shades.

“Your arrows?”

She nods, a look that can only be described as prideful as she gazes at me.

“I want you to use them tonight.”

I shake my head. This was too much of a gesture. I haven’t done anything to deserve.

“Mother, they are beautiful. But I cannot-“

“Ma’itan.”

She cuts me off. Her tone devoid of any hostility or impatience.

“I was thinking about our talk the other night. About your father, and how he is harsh sometimes.

You know well by now what you are. Who and where you come from. You are your fathers son. You have his strength. You carry yourself much like he did in his days of battle. and you must understand that scares him.”

I’m quiet as her words sink in. She places a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes of a golden hue that mirror my own.

“He is not ready to see his son fight his battles or wear his colors. Your father has his own shadows he has yet to face. If you cannot yet wear his colors..I want you to wear mine.”

She places the arrows in my hands, and I’m speechless. 

She gently cups my face, her palm sliding down to my shoulder once again.

“You may use his weapons. You may speak his language. And you have grown up with his sky people ways. 

But never forget, blood of the real warriors comes from us.”

She places two fingers atop her chest, right over her heart.

It breaks my soul to remember that one of my mother’s greatest fears is that we will forget the ways of a na’vi. That even the minimal amount of tech we use in our family circle, with the exception of my fathers gun, seems to threaten everything she knows.

I’m taller than my mother now. Only by a few inches. So I lean down when I go to hug her.

“Irayo, Sa’nok.”

(‘Thank you, mother.’)

I pull back, smiling at her.

“I hope with these, the winds of our ancestors fly with me tonight.”

She chuckles, taking a step back.

“They are with you. Always. No matter where you go. No matter where you are.”

There’s a comfortable silence before my mother sighs, and I put the arrows in the leather pouch that is attached to my ikran saddle for hunting.

“You should go. Your father is waiting with the others.”

I nod, putting on my ionar and finishing slipping on my arm guards.

I lean down, fastening the straps to my leg guards as well before grabbing the small satchel and making my way off.

“Neteyam- one last thing?”

I turn the moment my mothers voice reached my ears.

“Here.” She spoke softly.

I turn to see my mother holding up my beaded choker. The one worn by so many generations of warriors in our clan. I took it off a few days ago when Tuk wanted to re-braid my hair. last time, she kept getting my hair tangled with the clasp at the back of the necklace.

“Let me.”

Without another word, she turns me around by the shoulders, brushing my braids out of the way as she slips the necklace on me, tying the clasp properly to ensure it doesn’t fall while hunting.

She struggles for a moment, having to crane her neck to see properly.

“Curse you and your height.” She mumbles, and I can’t help but laugh.

Once she finishes, I kiss her on the cheek before speeding off.

I jog across the pathway, slinging my bow over my shoulder. The thick air of high camp resonating and weaving through the sounds of distant conversations and laughter.

I finally spot Lo’ak and Spider. Lo’ak stands with his bow around his torso, the string brushing his chest. Spider carries a basket of the arrows he and lo’ak made for y/n.

I pinch the back of lo’aks neck before slinging my arm around him.

“Ready for the hunt, baby bro?”

He hissed at me, shoving me away.

“This is bullshit. I fluke once. ONCE. And now dad won’t even let me fly my ikran for the hunt!”

Spider shrugs, as the three of us start walking to the large crevice cutting into the mountains of high camp, making a large entrance way and a stable spot to land and saddle up ikrans for coming or going.

“Look on the bright side. At least you get to go. Plus you’ll be with the direhorse squad with Norm.”

He pushes Lo’ak lightly to walk a bit faster.

Lo’ak grumbled something and speed-walked ahead of us.

Spider sets the basket down once we meet the meeting spot. The same place the clans war and hunting parties gather before a raid

Or a hunt.

Some other hunters start to swarm in. Carrying bows and arrows of their own, all talking amgonst one another.

Spider groans.

“Lo’ak. Look.”

He taps Lo’ak’s arm, not-so-subtly gesturing to Makeyo standing across from us, speaking with one of the other hunters.

Lo’ak fake gags, Spider glares and the both of them stare him down for a good 7 seconds.

An odd feeling settles itself in the more unwelcoming corners of my heart.

Like fingers trying to pry their way through a barrier.

Something tenses in me as I find myself staring at him too. Remembering how y/n spoke of him at dinner.

Makeyo a bit shorter than me. Only by a few inches. My hair is longer, his braids reaches his shoulders. Still taller than y/n though. 

It’s only when I hear spider whispering I snap back to reality.

“Oh fuck. He’s coming over here. Don't make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact.”

Spider stares up, whistling as he shoves his hands behind him, leaning on a rock. Lo’ak fidgets with one of the arrows, both of them over exaggeratedly feigning to ignore Makeyo’s approaching figure.

He smiles at me, greeting us with an unhesitatingly proper formality.

“Neteyam. Lo’ak,”

He pauses for a moment, having to avert his eyes downward to notice spider.

“Ah, and..”

He struggles for a moment to recall spider’s name. Spider can only glare at the taller na’vi that somehow appeared even more intolerably annoying when he was being kind.

“Spider.” Spider mumbles, crossing his arms.

“Y/n’s brother.” I add, stepping in front of spider to try and distract Makeyo from the smaller human that looked like he was plotting a murder.

Makeyo nodded in recognition, smiling softly.

“Right. I assume y/n will be leading us tonight? As usual. She’s your fathers right hand man.”

“Woman.” I correct, with an unintentional edge delineating my tone. An almost crude enunciation of the word finds itself leaving my lips, making Makeyo still for a moment before chuckling.

“Of course. And what a woman she is..”

When did his face become so punchable?

Makeyo is someone that makes himself very difficult to hate.

Helpful, kind, smart, good with kids, the whole ordeal.

But I am no foreigner to a mask. Why? Because I wear one every single day of my life. Sometimes I wonder what Makeyo’s mask looks like. Or if he even wears a mask at all. Forever yearning to grasp such a thing that always seemed to evade you.

I bite my lip, my jaw tensing as my eyes graze over the expanse of his figure. Up then down.

Makeyo falters for a moment, but proceeds with an unhesitatingly sweetened glean in his eye.

“What I mean is, she is just amazing. Well, I don’t need to tell you that, of course. You’ve practically grown up with her.”

Something about the way he so shamelessly displays his simpering delusions of innocence in the form of this crush he has on y/n-

For lack of a better word, is really starting to piss me off. His bold assumptions of platonic love between me and y/n makes my tail flick.

And no, I’m not jealous. I’m not. Really. Yes, I am capable of violent impulses and of course, I do fantasize about punching his face every now and then, but that’s not jealousy. Is it? No. Of course it’s not.

Yeah, maybe I slightly envy the fact that he can love her so freely. 

The way he could stand where he couldn’t see and hold her hand, unbothered by the absence of sunlight to compulsively provide promises of safety and sanctuary. Maybe I hate that he is unburdened by the weighted whispers of the elders and third eyes peskily pruning gazes at holding her hand. Maybe I hate that he spends almost all day with her. Watching her laugh, and interact so perfectly with the children of the clan.

Maybe I hated the way he had no history with her that resonates with soured feelings and broken promises. I envied his clean conscience.

But that’s not jealousy…of course not.

He’s called away to assist with some other task, and when I turn around Lo’ak and spider are quickly jogging in the opposite direction, towards the edge where an familiar red, purple, and blue ikran perches, with an even more familiar rider on his back.

Y/n smirks as she hops off of  Kailo, the creature releasing an almost purr-like shrill as it rubs its chin against y/n’s cheek.

She chuckles, small luminous sparks leaking through the tops of the rocky stronghold flirting with her pulchritudinous smile.

She hums, gently petting the banshee’s neck.

“Mawey, pretty boy.”

I don’t really know why, but ‘pretty boy’ had an odd way of making my chest flutter. Even if I knew she was talking to her ikran.

She flips her braids over her shoulders. Y/n as always had a bit of a more effete-feel to her wardrobe. That of a warrior, of course. The strongly woven arm guards and her beaded cuff to tie her hair back when she flew, or hunted, always easily annoyed with her braids falling in her face.

The waist beads she wore, which were usually made by Kiri or my mother, were always a signature habit to herself.

She had quite a few scars, blemishes, and bruises that canvassed her skin. I find them beautiful. Like the patterns of the universe printed onto her skin.

Spider and Lo’ak fake saluted as y/n made her way towards them.

“Y/n, ma’am.”

Spider tipped his head ever so slightly, Lo’ak dramatically bowing, making her roll her eyes and laugh.

“At ease, boys.”

Lo’ak stands up straight again, slinging an arm around her shoulder and gesturing to spider.

“We made you something.”

Spider proudly holds up their basket of arrows.

There’s something indescribably tantalizing about the way she smiled at those two. 

“Aw guys, you shouldn’t have..”

Spider scoffed, placing his hands on his waist.

“Please. It was our pleasure to assist the mighty archer.”

It’s a moment later when spider and Lo’ak run off to help norm, and I stand quietly behind y/n as she places the new arrows in her side saddle along with her bow.

“I’m assuming you were on babysitting duty? Supervising those two with the fire pit and sharp edges?”

She teased, nudging my shoulder. I chuckle back, shrugging.

“Of course. Someone has to prevent the children from running with their hunting knives.”

She shakes her head, another giggle tumbling past her lips.

“Tuk? Or Lo’ak and spider?”

I hum before leaning over a bit to stand a bit closer.

“Why not all of them?”

She laughs once again, and my palms feel warm for a moment.

I clear my throat, straightening my back a bit.

“Y/n. Can We talk abou-”

“Alright people let's get moving! Fall in and line up!”

I’m cut off by the sudden cannonade of my father’s voice. Y/n’s  eyes widen a bit as it flickers to where he stood. Talking with uncle norm. She glances back at me, patting my back. “Later. Okay?”

I can’t even respond before she jogs over to my father, only stopping her dauntless strides when she pauses to fist-bump norm.

I follow suit with the other hunters in an almost feverish manner. Slinging my bow around my torso and finding a spot in the forming two long lines of other hunters and warriors beside Lo’ak.

“Let's move it people! We’re wasting the sunset! Oscar-Mike (move out), people, lets get it done!”

When the last few of the younger hunters scurry into line, my father stands tall in front of all of us, his arms crossed over his chest. Don’t be fooled by the brute build. He’s still the same man who stumbled into hometree all those years ago with a ‘good evening everyone’ and a ‘please don’t get up’.

He clears his throat bef0re he starts to speak.

“Good to see everyone turn up for tonight's hunt. This will be no different from training you’ve all had in the past, or currently undergoing.”

Some nod, others shift nervously on their feet.

Y/n approaches from behind my father. Her strides not faltering for even a second. Her chin titled high, looking us over with a gaze of a storm flooded a seafloor beneath a tideline. Y/n doesn’t get in line with us, no. Her place is beside my father. A leader.

spider perched behind her on one of the high ledges in the unevenly rocky stone walls of highcamp. One of his hands placed on her shoulder to keep himself from leaning forward too far.

My father continues.

“For those of you still training for your iknimiya, you will be on the ground team with Norm, and Awkey and the Olangi hunters will join us tonight. Stay in line with them. You will ride the pa’li on the perimeter of that narrow clearing in the middle of the grove. Understood?”

A few yips and grunts were heard from the younger na’vi, a few raising their bows and nodding their heads.

Father nods, turning back to face us again.

“Warriors. Those of you who have passed iknimiya and have ikrans will be in the sky. Bows on the ready, death from above.”

He takes a step back, gesturing to Y/n, who still stood in her place behind him.

“Y/n, my most trusted Archer, will be in command of the sky team. You are to stay within her flight patterns, and not go beyond what she sees as a fit perimeter. Follow her orders, and you might just learn something.”

Father finishes giving us our positions, and I stray from my assigned group, only for a moment. I walk towards the opening to the crevice, leaning down and making the bird call my mother taught me, pressing my lips together and releasing a high-pitched note of a sound.

The familiar flap of wings resonates in the air below me, and before I can blink, my ikran perches herself infront of me, making a soft shrill noise of her own. In all her glory, the green, brown, and yellow skin worn like a Hyde of the forest.

I pet her neck, adjusting the side saddle for my bow and tightening the neck reigns.

Rey’sa is what I named her.

Broken fragments of my mothers language stitched together. The meaning is a remembrance of Seze. My mothers first ikran. I had a toy ikran that was painted green, brown and blue, when I was around Tuk’s age. Y/n’s mother had gifted it to me when I was 7. Modeled after Seze even in color, my mother happily shed tears at the sight of the small wooden toy.

It’s been passed down. Me and Kiri played with it, then Lo’ak, then Tuk.

The toy is old and cracking now, the paint peeling away. I think love is holding it together. Tuk sleeps with the thing every night. I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable, though.

My iknimaya dodged the fateful curse of a chaotic, violence-craving ikran.

I’ve watched my brother and y/n almost die during their right of passage. Meanwhile, Rey’sa bucked me off maybe twice and it was over. Made the bond, had our first flight, the whole works.

I pet her neck, smoothing my palms over the leather skin one last time before I mount. My leg swinging over as I adjust the inner part of my thighs against the saddle.

I wait for my fathers signal.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ 

Y/n’s pov:

Neytiri hated when Norm and Max joined the hunt. Or any hunt for that matter. Hunting was a sacred practice to na’vi. To take a life in such a delicate way it’s almost painless. She didn’t want the sky people’s ways to taint such a delicate tradition.

You walk over to where Norm and Max were packing some extra radios in the Samson seat packs, Norm checking all the controls as he whistled a tune to himself.

When you approach, his ears perk up, and he smiles. His usual tan colored vest and shorts fashioned securely to his avatar body.

“Hey kiddo.”

He gives you a hug, ruffling a few of your braids. Mex sits behind him, sitting on the benched ledge of the side entrance to the aircraft, giving you a thumbs up and a soft smile.

Norm sighs, taking a step back, his hands on his hips as he looks you over.

“Look at you. Growing into a brave warrior. Seems like only yesterday and you and spider were running around the lab.”

Norm and Max had been like family to you. Especially with your parents always accounting for Spider, they didn’t completely understand how to raise a human boy, so Norm and Max were always there with extra breathing packs and masks. Plus, being a package deal with spider meant you hung out in the lab just as much as he did when you were little. Poking around at all the link beds and making norm play your stupid little games of tag, even pestering max. Sometimes, Max would let you use his glasses to look at different plants and leaves, because you loved the way things looked under the glass. 

And sure, some na’vi mothers and fathers couldn’t possibly comprehend why such intelligent, well respected clan members like your parents would leave their daughter under the watch of two sky people. But it didn’t matter. Max and Norm fared well as babysitters.

You smiled at Norm, a small laugh leaving you.

“Well. Seems like your joining us on another hunt?”

Norm nods, adjusting the radio on his hip.

“Yup. I keep telling Jake the misses’ ain’t gonna be happy with us tagging along, but he says it’s for Safety. If anything goes wrong, if RDA wants to show up for another playdate.”

You nod, thinking about the attack awhile ago.

Your attention rechannels itself towards the smaller pale creature that emerges from behind a much taller Norm in his avatar body.

Spider blinks up at you through the sheet of glass that has acted as a blockade between you both ever since you were 2. Protecting him from the unwelcoming atmosphere of Pandora.

“Y/n.”

He huffs.

“Please inform Norm here that I’m old enough to drive the Samson.”

Max scoffed.

“It’s not about age, Junior. It’s about training.”

Spider rolls his eyes, gesturing to you with over dramatic movements.

“I’m 19. I’m too old to be hitching rides on my little sister's Ikran.”

Norm shrugged.

“Fine. You can start riding with me and Maya.”

Maya was Norm’s ikran. He told you it was named after someone from the past. Back in the first war. 

Her name is Trudy. Jake told you that you reminded him of her sometimes. Same attitude and rebellious spirit. She piloted a Samson 16, and always called it ‘Maya.’ You admired that he named his own set of wings after someone’s dream of flying.

Spider shook his head.

“Or, let me at least have my own avatar. So I can pass Iknimaya, and get my own ikran!” 

Norm nods, a sudden wave of enthusiasm. “Sure junior. Just put 40 million on the table and i’ll have your order ready in the next..hm..12 years?”

Spider groans, rolling his eyes.

You laugh at Norm’s sarcasm. Though, a part of you really did feel bad for Spider.

Norm and Max were called over to talk with Jake one last time before the group descended, leaving you and spider alone.

You sat next to Spider on the step up to the cockpit, rubbing his back.

“You know I love you no matter what size you are, right?”

Spider scoffs, his head tilting the opposite way.

“Gee. thanks.”

You chuckled, and he spared you a small smile.

He sighed, staring out at the na’vi hunters and warriors that mounted their ikrans, preparing to descend.

You could never imagine what it was like for Spider. Being born a human on a planet he couldn’t even breathe freely on.

Ideals formed under disillusion. The little, messy-loc’d pale boy you’d help paint blue as a child is no longer shielded from the pesky whispers and glares of your clan. 

You don’t think its fair. You never did.  And you even found it a bit hypocritical. Considering your clan’s never ending preachings for the value of nature, balance, and adaptation.

Spider has adapted to be just like your people. And he’s done a pretty fucking good job.

Your moment is interrupted by Norm, who jogs back with Max trailing behind him.

“We’re moving out! Y/n, you’re needed in the front. Spider, lets get moving!”

You nod, grabbing your bow and giving one last small glance to spider.

He smiles.

“Be safe. Please.”

You scoff.

“I’m always safe.”

With that, you mounted Kailo, and took to the skies.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ 

Y/n’s pov

The wind whipped and wailed. The familiar sting of raw current against your cheeks was oddly soothing. Your team flew behind you. Neteyam, Makeyo, a few others. Jake next to you, and Awkey below. The smaller group of Pa’li hunters maintain obedience in formation as the maddening rhythms of horse hooves assault the ground beneath you. The half-finished notes demand attention through the heavy thrumming melody.

“X, do you read me?”

Jake’s voice comes through your throat comm with a static quality. Struggling to maintain volume against the violent symphonies that crowded the night air. 

You place two fingers on your comm, allowing your voice to cut through the mic.

“I read you.”

“Norm’s radars are picking up some heavy movement to the east. Take your squad and dive on down. I’ll catch up.”

“Roger that.”

You lift your bow, turning your head over your shoulder. Sending a call to your team, you start to dive further down beneath the canopy. They don’t hesitate to follow you, some even going as far to mimic your dive move.

You don’t have any words for what you see below on the muddied path.

You’ve been sturmbeest hunting before. Many times. But this..This was something you only imagined.

Sturmbeest in the most intense stampede imaginable, some even tripping and folding over one another. There doesn't seem to be even the smallest amount of space between them as they charge.

You made a signal for your team to disperse, some falling behind you or to the left side of the perimeter, keeping a close trail with the pa’li hunters. You saw lo’ak behind Awkey as he led them further down the sidelines. He looks just as shocked as you are.

Jake arrived on the scene not soon after.

His voice broke through your comm again, this time connecting Neteyam.

“X. stay front and center. Makeyo and Pathfinder are gonna spot you from the right. Try and find some targets. The rest of your team are far out behind.”

Minutes had passed, and you had watched the pa’li hunters desperately try to squeeze their way into the flow of traffic.

You watched a good portion of the hunters attempt at shooting one of the sturmbeest on horseback using their bow, only for the arrow to bounce off the rough exterior of the skin.

You watched a few of them collapse in a pile of chaos. 5 of them using spears only to get rammed down by a new group of the mud-covered giants, thrown with their pa’li into the dirt. The sight made you wince. Every fiber of your being just screaming for you to dive down there and help.

“Fuck it.”

You mumbled under your breath, preparing kailo to dive.

“Don’t even think about it.” Jake calls out to you.

You turn to see him, weaving through the trees on bob. 

You shake your head, your long braids wildly whipping in the wind.

“Sir, we have too many hunters riding pa'li down. If we just sent support to the ground level we’d make a kill!”

Jake shook his head. “Forget it, X. Your job right now is to keep your squad in line. If you dive, you run the risk of all of them diving down after you. You say up, they say how high. You gotta keep yourself steady, kiddo.”

You hiss to yourself, your ikran feeling mutual frustration as a shrill escapes your companion.

Neteyam flies ahead with you, his bow at the ready on his side.

“Any openings?” he calls to you, and you only shake your head.

“None that don’t look risky.”

Neteyam nods, his eyes scanning the path.

“Let's get a bit closer. We can scout better angles from below.” he offers.

It wasn’t a terrible idea. You looked to your side, your eyes locking with Neteyam’s. Flames that weren’t quite worthy of being threatening engulfed a jaded voice under your chest. Promises of sunlight and safety that were agonizingly familiar shade of olive green and bright yellow. The same sounds of a bird thrashing in a cage. Exhausted and rough, and yet, there was trust beneath the surface. Like jumping off a cliff and knowing something will catch you.

He nods at you. 

“I’ll be right behind you, X.”

You grab your bow and dive, Neteyam follows your lead.

You cruise above the chaos, mud flying in damp specks, your vision is clouded by dust and overbearing sensations.

Neteyam is beside you, and you can feel his gaze shifting between you and the path below in a predictable pattern.

Your eyes focus on a small rift forming in the middle of the stampede. Like a crack in the mountain. An open space where single beasts drifted in and out of a bare area.

Maybe small spaces still managed to infatuate you.

Your eyes locked onto one sturmbeest that took its turn in the middle. You reached for an arrow, pulling back the string of your bow. The familiar satisfying stretch felt beneath your finger tips as neteyam spotted you from beside, tilting himself down along with you.

You quickly devised a plan. A blockade of sorts could be created. If you shot down at least two of the biggest sturmbest, the rest would slow down because of the largest creatures stumbling about.

You traded in your singular arrow for two of your own, resuming your position as you pulled back your arrows.

Neteyam seemed to understand your plan, grabbing an arrow of his own.

You both nodded at each other, a mutual procedure seemingly placed into action.

“Ready whenever you are, X. I’m under your order.”

Neteyam’s voice sent a cold sensation down your spine. Something about obedience..The willingness to follow your every move.

You both released your arrows, one of your arrows hitting the exact same spot as his in one of the largest sturmbeest, your other arrow landing solo in the other.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The two beasts stumbled into the mud, causing the other sturmbeest to disperse into a wider path. Creating more room for targets.

Neteyam let out a celebratory war call, following your lead as you and Kailo flew up, circling Reysa and Neteyam.

“Hell yeah!”

You screeched.

“Hell Yeah!”

Neteyam mimicked you, his accented voice sounding funny on the human term spider taught you.

You both laughed, circling each other on your ikrans as the wind caught your hair.

Time seemed to slow for a moment as you both caught each other's gazes.

But it didn’t last for long.

“Y/n!”

Lo’ak’s voice screeched through the static of your throat comm, causing you and Neteyam to pause. 

You placed two fingers on your throat comm, tuning into lo’ak’s distressed call.

“I’m here. what’s happening?”

“It’s spider! The Samson is dragging too close to the sturmbeest, its looking dangerously close to a collision. Dad’s comm isn’t going through and neither is norm’s! You have to get through to them!”

Your heart thrashed itself into an unyielding rhythm of uncertainty.

You don’t even answer Lo’ak. You dive back down, ignoring the calls of your name leaving Neteyam.

You finally find yourself parallel to the Samson, that, quite literally as Lo’ak described, was dragging through the air, the usual smooth running ship making unusual sounds as norm seemed to struggle along with a concerned max on the controls. A malfunction maybe? Eywa. Why now?!

You yelled to catch spiders attention, he jumped out of his seat and leaned on the edge of the side door that was now wide open, hanging out with only his arm holding him up as he gripped a bar.

“Tell Norm and Max to go up!”

You screamed, desperately making hand motions.

Spider couldn’t hear you. He leaned a bit closer to hear when suddenly the Samson dips down further, a sturmbeest bucks upwards.

Your heart seemed to completely cease beating for a moment.

You didn’t see what happened. All you knew is that when you looked back at the ship, spider was gone. The panic that sets in was enough to smother your vision in an unfamiliar color you couldn’t quite place. Panic rushed through you in bolts as all you could think of is the possibility of your brother being dead. The boy you carried around on your back for so many years. The boy who protected you from all the creepy boys in the clan. The boy who let you scream and cry and vent after Neteyam broke your heart.

A small whimper left your lips, and you can’t really tell if you’re crying or not.

The world around you seemed almost in a reflective like manner, as If kept in a kaleidoscope or a dome.

You dive down desperately, screaming for him, your voice tearing through the wind.

Neteyam dives down after you, cursing to himself and calling for spider as well.

The world around you seems to blur when you catch sight of a smaller pale creature sprawled out on the ground, unconscious.

You dive down, scooping him up by the waist and throwing him on the back of your ikran, one hand struggling to steer as another hand keeps spider slumped against your back, stretched behind you.

Lo’ak is below you, following you on the back of his pa’li.

You land a bit farther from the path in the forest, jumping off your ikran with jagged, uneven breaths as you laid spider on the grass with scrambling hands.

You freeze when you see the twitching of his hands, and the small crack in his mask.

And all you can think about is how if you lost spider, you really did have no family left.

“No, no no no no no please-“

You whispered, not knowing what to do or how to fix this.

Do you take it off? Leave it?

You resort to placing your hand over the crack, thinking maybe it’ll keep more air from slipping inside.

Your vision starts to blur with tears. And just when you place your palm atop the glass, you feel a jolt of pain rush through your wrist.

The pressure you applied had cracked the mask even more, and now tiny shards of glass had covered your palm.

You didn’t feel the pain. Not at first. But then, like the bitch it was, adrenaline was starting to abandon you.

Lo’ak hops off his pa’li and runs towards you, leaning down.

“Shit! Spider!”

He looks at you.

“What happened? What- how-“

Tears streamed down your cheeks. And Lo’ak stared for a moment as one of the strongest people he knew was crying right in front of him.

“H-he fell- I don’t-“

Your breathing becomes uneven.

Behind you you see Jake and Neteyam both land their ikrans, the Samson landing behind them a bit in the distance as norm runs carrying a first aid kit.

The air around you thieves you of oxygen as your chest becomes heavy.

Strong arms wrap around your waist, gently pulling you to your feet as your turned around and met with Neteyams golden hour eyes, his palms softly dragging down your cheeks to your collarbones,

“Hey-hey look at me. Are you hurt?” 

You try to speak but the air in your lungs is swallowed instead, and you gasp.

“S-spider.”

He turns you the opposite way, shaking his head.

“Don’t look at that right now. Look at me. Just keep your eyes right here. I’m right here. Y/n.”

He looks you over, and freezes when his eyes settle on your palm.

“Shit. Your hand-“

You look down, seeing the thin trail of warm red liquid that dripped down your fingertips.

You felt like a faceless phantom in a hollow shell of a wreckage you called your body. Watching the world spin by as you remained trapped in your bird cage of broken wing bones.

You watched as Norm quickly replaced spider mask, his chest rising up and back down again like an ocean being suppressed under a sheet of glass.

You almost release yet another sob when spider regains consciousness. His eyes blowing wide like a shell-shocked animal. The sight of his pale hand gripping Norm’s much  larger bicep makes you sick to your stomach.

Neteyam gently guides you by your waist to behind one of the trees, you press your back to the rough bark in hopes some kind of sensation will break this shock.

He takes your hand, grabbing the waterskin pouch from his knife sheath strap.

You watch as he pours the clear liquid onto your cut. 

The cool water washing away the remnants of red and painful delirium that stained your hand was a soothing stimulation.

He’s movements are quick. Unrehearsed. A raw desperation submerged under his skin.

He rips a strip of fabric off of his loincloth, kneeling down as his knees suddenly assault the dirt with his sudden drop.

He gently takes your hand, wrapping the cloth around the wound, methodical movements carefully tying off this makeshift bandage.

He stands to his feet again, running his palms down your shoulders, then your arms, then your newly bandaged hands.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

You shake your head. You find yourself in an absent abstraction of a state. A warped, uncanny fabrication of reality. This verisimilitude within a broken mirror. A wondering reflection.

“You’re shaking.”

His deep accented voice breaks your wall.

You find yourself collapsing into him.

It was a blur, the whole thing.

Your face pressed to Neteyams chest as he kept an arm around you. You breathed in his scent, reminiscences in the familiar warmth of him, an almost magnetic feeling flowing through you.

And for a moment, the spaces didn’t seem too small anymore.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ 

Y/n’s pov.

Norm says it was an accident. And accidents are prone to happen.

You sat in Mo’at’s tent, watching as the last few warriors had their injuries cleaned and bandaged.

You fidgeted with your bandage on your hand. Neteyam’s old one had been discarded when you returned, and you were given a real wrap for your hand.

Spider was alive. His breathing was normal again, but he suffered from his fall. You’re shocked he got away with only scrapes and bruises. He wasn’t allowed to climb or leave camp for the next few days. He was confined to bed rest. 

He was now resting in the lab bunks. Norm and Max promised you they would not leave his side. It gave you some comfort. 

It’s funny, really. How you had no problem facing war. You were good at strategy. A fierce archer. Different from some other na’vi who felt repulsed by human things.

You were fascinated with calculations and numbers. Planning and plotting. Reading and graphing. Heights, distances, etc.

But when something so sudden and blunt like your brother almost falling to his death out of a skyship, you fumbled and almost killed him.

You fidgeted with your bracelet. The one you, spider, and Lo’ak made as children. Twirling the beads between your fingers and staring down into the void of colors and shapes.

The feeling of Neteyam’s arms around you is far from absent. His scent lingers. Honey and wooded. 

When you returned, he didn’t leave your side. He led you to his grandmother's tent, gave you water and sat with you until his father dragged him away to assist with gathering the meat from the beast you both hunted up to camp.

You didn’t like being pampered or prodded at, but for some reason your skin that now feels as hollow as a shell, it  practically became a ragdoll under Neteyam’s hands.

The world around you felt far too big for this small tent to be encasing the storm of thoughts under your skin.

“Y/n!”

Tuk scampers inside through the entrance, practically throwing herself into your arms.

“Oh Tuk-Tuk.” You whisper, finding familiar warmth carrying you back to reality.

You held Tuk close. As if some threat of a force would take her away. As if the hollowness that shaved your bones longs for something to protect. Something to keep within the circle of your arms.

You smoothed back her braids, kissing her head. 

“You’re back.”

She whispers, nuzzling her head into your shoulder. You place your hand on the back of her head, keeping her still and safe.

“Of course I’m back. I’ll always come back. What do I always tell you, love?”

Tuk sniffles, wiping her big eyes with the back of her hand.

“It would take a thousand sky ships to take you away?”

You smiled, tapping her nose gently.

“Make it a million.”

She smiled, but it fades away a bit as she glances down.

“Is spider okay?”

You still for a moment, the familiar ache in your chest returns.

“Oh little love. He’ll be just fine. Spider is big and strong. He’s a wild child, remember?”

You scooped tuk up into your lap, pressing a few kisses to her head, tickling her stomach. She giggled and thrashed in your arms.

“Y/n! Stoppp!”

She laughed wildly.

Finally, you put her back down, letting her snuggle up next to you as you wrapped an arm around her.

It wasn’t long before Kiri and Mo’at entered.

You bowed your head slightly, greeting mo’at.

“Ma’tsahik.”

She nodded at you, placing a hand on your head, smoothing down a few stray hairs from your braids.

“The salve will take affect soon, child. But you must not use it for the next few hours. Let your mind and your body heal.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand.

“Thank you.”

You whispered.

Kiri sat behind you, starting to untangle a few of your braids from its disheveled position tied back with your beaded cuff.

“Let me straighten your braids, tsmuke (sister). It looks worse than my fathers job at braiding.

You snorted, rubbing Tuk’s back as a small giggle leaves her lips.

Mo’at started to clean up the bowls laid around, behind her entered Lo’ak.

“There’s my sister from another mister. Killer shot.”

He teases, locking his hands with yours in a handshake-hug gesture you and him

Picked up as children from watching norm and Jake do it so many times.

When you pull away, he swings his arm around you, making himself comfortable as he leans sloppily over you, pushing Kiri back further.

She groans.

“Lo’ak! You idiot! Stop making me pull her hair!”

He shrugs Kiri off.

“Relax. We all know who y/n’s favorite sully is.”

Kiri scoffs and you reach behind your head to squeeze her hand.

Before you even realize it, the broken fragments of fear and self-hatred wither away under the surface of a settled skin. No longer sleepless with worry. 

The air feels lighter with Tuk’s small snuggles and Kiri’s gentle hands running through your long braids, leaving some pieces at the ends unbraided just as she always loved the way it looked on you. Your chest doesn’t feel so tight after a few of Lo’ak’s stupid jokes and stories. The laughter seemingly loosening the threads of torn tapestry.

A few hours later, Neytiri enters the hut.

“Mama!”

Tuk squirms out of your arms, running to neytiri as she smiles softly down at her youngest.

“Oh tuk.”

She hums, leaning down to kiss her daughter's head, her attention turning towards you after tuk jogged away to mo’at.

“My sweet. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, standing to your feet as she gestures for you to come closer, wrapping her arms around you and resting her chin atop your head, kissing your hairline.

“Oh my strong girl.”

She whispers, running a hand down your back.

“Strong heart.” She hums, stepping back a bit as her eyes slowly take you in.

She turns to Lo’ak and Kiri, who stand up soon after you.

“Your father has called a gathering of the clan’s hunters and warriors.”

She turns to you and Lo’ak, tilting her head upwards slightly.

“Your presence is needed. Both of you.”

You feel yourself straighten instinctively as you let her words register past the lingering haze of your earlier experience still looms over you like a storm cloud.

Lo’ak stretches, ruffling Tuk’s hair as she hisses and swats him away.

“Alright then. Let’s get moving.”

He nudges your elbow, brushing past Neytiri who softly touches his shoulder as he passes by.

“Y/n. A moment please.”

Neytiri’s slender fingers wrap around your forearm. Not harshly, but her voice has a clear coat of concern.

You pause, looking at Lo’ak once more as he ceases his strides.

“Y/n? You coming sis?”

You nod.

“I’ll be there in a minute. You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

He nods, starting to walk away.

Neytiri turns to her mother.

“Sa’nok. Do you mind watching Tuktirey and Kiri?”

Mo’at shakes her head, standing to her feet and ushering Kiri and Tuk back to the sully family marui, Kiri giving you one last hand squeeze and Tuk giving you a small hug.

Once the tent is empty, your focus rechannels onto Neytiri. 

“Is there something wrong?”

You ask.

She shakes her head.

“I just wanted to see if you were alright, yawne.”

Her hands rest on your shoulders, traveling down to your arms.

“You have been through so much these past few weeks, my sweet. If you ever need anything, please, don’t ever be afraid to ask me or Jake or Tsahik. You know this.”

You nod. Smiling softly to reassure her. This woman. This strong, beautiful woman who was giving you the love your mother left behind.

“I am fine. I promise.”

She sighs.

“You have dark circles under your eyes, Y/n. Your thinning a bit. You need sleep, and proper meals.”

She cups your face.

“All I ask is that you take care of yourself, my sweet. And please, let us take care of you. We are here for you. We always have been  and will be.”

She gently runs her thumb over your cheek.

“Lean on us, yawne.”

You smiled, the two of you embracing one another in a hug.

You step back after a few moments.

“I promise. I’ll practice at it.”

She smiles and kisses your head.

“Tonight may be a bit evasive for sleep, thought. I’m gonna spend a few hours in the lab before turning in.”

Neytiri tilts her head.

“The sky people room? Why?”

“To check on spider.”

Her expression sours slightly as she hears his name.

“I’m sure he is healing just fine. The sky people’s tools take no time at all, it seems.”

There was an edge in her voice, but you knew it wasn’t directed towards you.

It was a difficult case when it came to what is left of your family.

It was always you, your father, your mother, and spider. A circle of safety and familiarity that never left you unguarded.

When your parents died, you were placed under the care of Jake and Neytiri. Neytiri would do anything for you. She would go to the same lengths for you, she would go to for any of her children. In her eyes, you were hers. Hers to love.

But love is a sacrificial abstraction. (Seems to be a common theme, does it not?)

You think what frustrates her is the sacrifices you make for him. Love was a unsteadily structured sentiment. And when all his attempts seem futile in forms of pale skin painted blue, there was a sensitive inflection of utterances. 

You were his sister. You weren’t leaving him.

To Neytiri, your life was a cage. Stuck with this feral human boy who fancied himself a na’vi. A soul coaxed to wild-child thunderstorms and bruised knees from tree climbing, messy locs from days of sunlit spaces.

In her eyes you were stuck with Spider. 

Her love and protection was something that created a barricade between you and your brother. You prayed you would never find yourself having to choose between spider and her.

“I should go see him. Just to check on him. I won’t be there long.”

Neytiri nodded, but you can tell she was biting her tongue.

You give her one more soft smile before turning to leave.

“Y/n?”

You turn at the call of your name, and she only utters a few words.

“Your mother loved that…boy. I know she did. But you are allowed to think differently. You need not be burdened with carrying yourself and another.”

You didn’t need her to elaborate. You understood.

You nodded.

“My mother believed that connection is unconditional. The color that stains our skin and our blood doesn’t make a family. She always told me that if you bind yourself to pure hatred, you forget who you are. I love my people. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Neytiri’s tail swished.

“Y/n. Do not abandon what eywa has given us.”

Her voice was pleading. As if trying to place tessellations of an invisible disillusionment. A carefulness edged.

“I abandon no one.”

You whispered, holding her hands.

“But please. Understand that my home was built around both me and spider. The biggest abandonment I can see from that would be leaving him behind.”

She says nothing.

She stared at you with something you didn’t recognize.

It wasn’t cold, or shallow. Her gaze monitored a retrospection of something lost. Behind a liquid glass. You couldn’t tell if she saw you in a mirror or a window.

It’s blunted and ceased after a few moments. She kisses the top of your head.

“Olo’eyktan waits for you. Go on.”

You nod at her, deciding to take that as your signal to depart.

☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮

When you arrived at the meeting spot, the first thing you see is your clans most renounced warriors in a circle with the exception of a few hunters and Lo’ak. He wasn’t quite as skilled as Neteyam when it came to certain skills, but was a warrior all the same.

You find a spot next to Lo’ak, nodding respectfully at the other na’vi easily recognizable that stood across from you.

Kyuna’s father, Makeyo and his father, Ka’ani, Lo’ak’s current teacher, and the man who took your fathers and place in teaching the young hunters undergoing iknimiya, and a handful others.

The dreamwalkers couldn’t be seen in the gathering, you assumed they retired back to their reserved part of the stronghold.

You turned to Lo’ak, who was fidgeting with his bracelet, the one you, him and spider shared.

“What is this about?”

You whispered.

Lo’ak shrugged, glancing at you, the two usual braids that framed the sides of his head falling in his face.

“Maybe we’re all gonna hold hands in a circle and dance about love and peace.”

He hummed, his face blank.

Your tail thwacked the back of his head.

“The sarcasm is not appreciated.”

You rolled your eyes.

He scoffed.

“I learned it from you.”

You felt something brush your side, you and Lo’ak both turn to see Neteyam take a spot next to you.

“Bro, where have you been? Being late for you is like-

Once in a lifetime.”

He nods, standing next to you.

“Had to make sure the ikran were tended to with a few others.”

He placed a hand on the small of your back, his gaze forged of soft honored gold, and deep skies.

“I fed Kailo and made sure he was tended to. He’s just fine.”

You mentally slap the shit out of yourself when you remember rushing to get spider to the lab so fast you dismounted Kailo without even noticing your companions weariness from the excitement.

“Shit- I completely forgot- fuck.”

You drag your palms down your face.

“It’s okay. He was fine. Still feisty as usual.”

The chuckle in his throat reverberated against the deep accent of his voice.

You felt yourself heat on the back of your neck.

“Thank you, Neteyam.”

He nodded, gently letting his hand fall back to his side.

“Yeah yeah, so kind of you-

Bro do you know what we’re even here for?”

Lo’ak not-so-subtly shoved himself between you and Neteyam pensively, unbothered by his clear dislike of your close proximity.

Lo’ak never loved the idea of you and neteyam being together. Not when you two were courting, and not now. Always pensive of you and Neteyam hanging out for too long, even doing together something as harmless as helping Mo’at back to her feet after a nap.

You always thought it was jealousy. Not the romantic type. The clan always told you that you and Lo’ak would make a beautiful match. But the thought felt like wearing clothes too big for you. Detached, displaced sense of stability. You loved Lo’ak. More than anything, you really did. But it wasn’t romantic. And Lo’ak clearly didn’t see you as wife material. 

That’s fine. He wouldn’t make a great wife either to be honest.

It confused you sometimes. Lo’ak often showed Neteyam off to you, praising him. You wondered if it was sarcasm, or just respecting his brother enough to not embarrass him, but not wanting you two to court again either.

It was a mess for another moment.

Neteyam shrugged, shaking his head.

“Probably just a debriefing. The hunt was…unexpected to say the least.”

You nodded, locking gazes with Lo’ak for a moment as you both had a silent conversation.

It wasn’t long before Jake arrived, the first thing he did was check on the three of you. Mo’at followed behind him, making her way straight for the center ahead the gathering. It wasn’t uncommon for Tsahik to be present and meetings like this.

“You kids alright?”

Placing a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder, checking your hand and patting Neteyam’s back.

“We’re fine, sir. Just a few scratches.”

Neteyam affirmed, shifting on his feet slightly.

Jake sighed in relief, hugging both his sons, before dragging you into the hug.

“I’m proud of you boys. Did nice riding out there, Lo’ak. And your shot was right on line, Neteyam.”

Lo’ak didn’t show it, but you could tell he was smiling. He kept his gaze down, peering at the ground.

Neteyam nodded, a smile tugging at his lips as well. You found it cute that both Neteyam and Lo’ak, even at ages 19 and 18, were still excited about getting a compliment from the great Toruk Makto. Their father.

The two of them talked for a moment, you found your gaze drifting to Makeyo and his father. They were speaking in the crowd. Makeyo looked anxious. Almost tensed as his father kept a hand on his back, ranting in a whisper.

Jake lead the three of you to the front of the gathering, straying  from the crowd a bit. “Boys, do me a favor and go make sure we have everyone?”

Lo’ak and neteyam nodded, both jogging off to weave through the crowd and count heads of all the warriors they recognized.

As Neteyam and Lo’ak walked ahead, Jake placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you what you think spider called ‘a thumbs up’

“Nice shooting, sweetheart.”

He smiled proudly, sitting down next to you on one of the crevices.

You tried to conceal a smile of your own; your attempt pathetic as you smiled up at him like a child bringing home a freshly caught fish.

“Thank you.”

He ruffled your hair.

“Two for two shot-

Eywa, you never fail amaze me. What was it you and Neteyam did, the uhm, the two arrows in one-?”

“And one in the other. Something I’ve practiced with Lo’ak.”

You explained, smiling as he laughed.

“Genius. Absolutely.”

You two sat like that for a moment before neteaym and Lo’ak returned.

“Father, we are ready.”

Neteyam informed. Jake nodded, stretching as he stood to his feet.

Mo’at gently touched your back as she stood next to you.

Jake held a hand up, signaling the clan to be still and quiet.

“Thank you, my people for gathering. I’ll try to make this one quick.”

Jake’s lack of informality never seemed to not make you chuckle a bit.

“I have decided to make arrangements for the trainees in the war parties.”

He turned to the group that stood behind Makeyo and his father.

“It has come to my attention that some of you have clearly been ranked beneath your current abilities. And need more open field training.”

Open field training?

It was something you had back when you were 15. A few months after your parents passed. Jake started teaching you human tatical skills. How to use a gun, far distance targets, how to read radios and signals on old ships and navigate the screen charts on the controls. You so heavily insisted on having a position fighting the sky people. You worked, and you trained, until you became the most skilled warrior on your group. Even passing Neteyam and Lo’ak in your group.

Jake appointed you to his side. And you still at the realization that the moment he appointed you, it started with a meeting just like this.

Uncertainty shaved the hopeful soul that coated your bones. 

Jake continued.

“I have decided that the upper rank trainees will start with new practices. They will now be lead by Ka’ani. Awkey, you will lead the years younger.”

So it wasn’t what you thought. Your position remained, it seemed.

The sudden switch of teachers was a bit odd, nonetheless. 

Jake finished his speech minutes later. It was a short overview of new tactics the warriors would be learning. New places for target practice, and unfamiliar routines.

You didn’t mind the new schedules. It seemed like less of your day would be consumed in strategy sessions.

When he finished, the crowd started to disperse. Lo’ak went to speak with Awkey, leaving you with Jake, Mo’at, and Neteyam.

Makeyo and his father remained in their spots; as if waiting for a further instruction.

Makeyo’s father, Va’ru, was ambitious to a point it was farther than frightening. Constantly trying to put his son in first place. Like a cloud formulating a storm that swirled seated under restless skin.

Neteyam stepped forward, his tail flicked slightly.

“Dad, if Lo'ak's group will be with Awkey, does that mean I will be undergoing Ka’ani’s training?”

Jake shifts for a moment, as if trying to place his words in the right order.

“Yes and no. I have a different plan for you.”

Neteyam’s eyes widened only slightly, his tail flicking.

“Sir?”

He tilted his head.

Jake’s tone was clinging to remain inconcous as he saw Makeyo’s father approach.

“Olo’eyktan. I assume this is about the private lessons for Makeyo?”

Private lessons? Makeyo was going to take private lessons with Jake?

Makeyo seemed reluctant to engage in whatever was about to happen, gently tugging on his fathers arm.

“Father. Please. There was no certainty it would be me.”

His pleading falls deaf on his fathers ears.

“Va’ru. There has been a change.”

Jake speaks slowly, as if not to wake a sleeping thanator.

Va’ru is still for a moment.  

Neteaym steps forward, gently past his grandmother.

“What are we speaking of?”

He inquires, his own ounce of impatience slipping past his mask ever so subtly.

Jake sighs, rubbing his temple.

“This is not how things were supposed to go.

Over the last few weeks, I have been individually monitoring the warriors in your group to consider them for private lessons. Since Y/n is my most prominent warrior, she would be teaching the one I chose. My choice was Makeyo.”

Makeyo’s ears flicker upwards, and his father straightens, a smile forming on his face. It wasn’t genuine or even greatful. It was hungry, frenzied with torrid energy.

“Olo’eyktan. I would be honored to have Makeyo be taught under your most trusted archer.”

You felt your expression sour. Clearly uncomfortable with the energy that radiates off Va’ru.

Jake shakes his head.

“I have had a change of mind. As of a few days ago I have decided to give the role to Neteyam.”

This feels mosaic the moment you register his words. The figures around you now made of oddly shaped colors and sizes of glass. All the wrong shades.

You feel your fingers twitch and your mind go adrift. A blanket ablaze blanks your mind to a faceless slate. 

Alone. With Neteyam. 

The words swirl around like a whirlpool. A windless storm without the familiarity of chaos to stabilize the seas.

You try to place yourself in the vision but you can’t. You can’t seem to inhabit the precipice of this reality.

Your shaken away from the void of your thoughts as Jake places a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n. You will train Neteyam. Teach him the things I have taught you and your own ways. He will learn a lot from you. We’ll have another archer in our skies. More air combat support.”

You force yourself to nod and swallow, neteyam still seemingly frozen at the news.

Va’ru is clearly not pleased. 

“Olo’eyktan. With all due respect-“

The funny thing is, there’s not an ounce of respect in his tone. Its ironically edged, as if Jake’s decision is the height of audacity.

“Makeyo has been training. He’s familiarized himself with Y/n’s methods. He studies her.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed when Neteyam’s ears pin down, his gaze narrowing as the words ‘study her’ reach his ears.

You can’t blame him. It does sound fucked up.

Va’ru digs himself in a deeper hole this time.

“He trains the younger children with her. He spends most of his days with her. He’s dedicated his time, his-“

Jake cuts him off, his voice a bit sterner this time, and you can tell his patience is slipping away.

“It’s not about time. It’s about skill. Makeyo is a very talented warrior. There’s no doubt. He’s a strong archer. But neteyam has shown promise over these last few weeks. He’s worked to improve his knowledge on the air strike patterns of the RDA. Hes flown with me to scout the perimeters of hell’s gate. He’s ready to advance to start training with newer methods.”

Va’ru scoffs, taking a step back, your tail flicks.

“You throw your son in the highest place again and again. You choose to ignore the others potential.”

Jake wasn’t one for favoritism when it came to the honest work of his warriors. To suggest otherwise was offensive. 

Honor was valued among the na’vi. It was wrong to accuse him of just always picking neteyam. If anything, this was Neteyam’s chance. He had worked so hard to be seen by his dad. You knew this.

Jake took a breath to steady his urge to let this guy steal the last shred of tolerance he has left.

“Va’ru. Not infront of the others. We can speak privately-“

Va’ru’s tone was biting now.

“You cannot keep doing this. And your son can’t keep ‘running to daddy’ when he falls behind my son and can’t admit it.”

Something surged through the hungered veins under your skin. The fire never stayed absent for very long. Purging itself to cultivate on unsettled gilded flesh.

A hiss left you. The ardent prolonged end notes of something almost inhibited by a growl. A fervid, feverish vehemence whisped behind.

Va’ru’s eyes widened a bit, his prior confidence subduing under a sheet of hesitance.

Jake pushed you back a bit, a warning glare tossed towards your squirming figure to step forward once again.

“We can speak privately. But I will not allow you to insult the hard work of my son. Or question the expertise of Y/n.”

Va’ru and Jake agreed to talk privately, but you predicted just more arguing.

☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮

Seeking solitude in the hidden caves of the mountainous cave of high camp, you settled with your anxiousness with one of the corridors above the first columns.

You paced back in fourth, cursing to yourself and throwing sharp stones at the wall.

You weren’t ready. You just weren’t ready.  The moment Jake and Va’ru left you ran for the farthest place you could find. You couldn’t bare to look at Neteyam.

Jake’s words from earlier pierce the surfaces of unsteady standing ground in your heart.

Love isn’t easy

Love isn’t easy

Love isn’t easy

You know what else isn’t easy? Having to spend all day with the man you used to dream about kissing. Loving. Hugging. Mating with.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your pulse quickens.

You remember that day. You remember the day though you waited for him under the rain. 

Under a lapis hued nightfall you were ready to give him your heart. Raw and bruised and blemished and every curve and dip and imperfection yearned for his touch.

But you fell in love with the sun. And you were undeserving of sunlight.

A boy made of flaxen fanned regrets and flamed forged promises.

You loved him. You didn’t love him for the son made of stone. Through the shifting shadows and vibrant visions of excellence engraved in ecstasy that echoed through disassembled pieces of manic daydreams.

You loved him. Tormented yourself with distance and fervent optimism. Idealisms too far to be attained.

This forbidden collision of the sun and the moon. 

And you waited. Damn yourself yet you waited. 

You waited for an explanation for his departure. A reason for this distance.

Weeping under a wild sky, disgusted with your own reflection. The sight of yourself just a poor effort of what you could have given him.

And then your family went somewhere you cannot follow, and suddenly he seeks remorse.

It’s unfair. It is so fucking unfair the nights you spent crying over the loss of his warmth. The sunlight felt cold. The warmth wind felt unfamiliar. 

And then you found the moonlight. The contingent comfort of dimmed sapphire hues and vengeance.

You refused to cry. You refused to be weakened. Your mother had seen fire and survived it. You had seen fire and burned with it-

And burn you will. Burn under the Sirius secrets whispered under the raptured intimacy of independence and its sweetening bindings.

So be it. So burn. bloodshed forging bones into bludgeons of tattered tears trains and scarred screams, soulless sleep.

Forgiveness surrounds itself in fractions of frustrations. 

You damned the sky starless because all the stars had fallen with your tears waiting for him. Waiting for the voices in your head to surrender and ricochet to the shallow corners of the planes traced lines on your palm.

You recount. Roll back and fast-forwards through every memory no longer remembered under glistening sunlight poured into liquid glass, and the hues of his golden eyes.

He was daylight. He wore a halo of Helios and draped warm flesh over sun-stained soulful essence to challenge the sea and the sky. A faint heartbeat under adrift moments scattered to a tethered wind. 

A man, a mask, and it’s burdens and bodies and sun-dried bones. He was a symphony and you, a mere half note of lost virtues.

Why must you constantly be at war with yourself? Why do you do this to yourself?

Do you hate him? 

Do you love him?

Do you want him?

You were nightfall.

Cascades of constellations and curls of lavender. A restless shade of reddened sunset, undertoned swirling and swept to hues of purple, orange, blue, a fiery sunset. Moonlight worn like a veil, tear-stained lips and blood stained hips and yet, oh how beautiful you were. Dark and delicately dressed in grief.

Sensationalize these bittersweet story endings and happily never after forever, then maybe some more.

To restrain this punishment, this internal unredeemable consciousness. 

Someone is behind you. Coming slowly into your peripheral view. 

You move quickly, drawing the knife on your hip and flipping it into your uninjured hand, steadying at the perpetrators throat.

“Shit! Easy, easy…”

Neteyam holds his hands up in defense, his eyes wide at your sudden movements.

“Y/n. It’s just me.” He cautiously lowers the knife in your hand.

Great. The man of the hour.

Oh eywa must have you fucked up if she thinks you’re dealing with this right now.

“Get out.” 

You didn’t mean to sound so punitive, but you were pissed, confused, and on the verge of tears. That was never a very delightful combo.

Neteyam shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Neteyam I’m not going to tell you again. Get out. Please.”

Your voice cracked this time as you took a step forward. 

“Y/n please.” He begged. 

“Get out! Go! Leave! Fuera!”

You used every word you knew. Including another earth language spider had been teaching you. ‘Spanish’ is what he called it.

He winced, but only for a moment.

“I can’t. Because if I leave id just carry myself right back here.”

It satisfied you but it did nothing to console the ache in your heart.

“Then what do you want?”

You whispered.

“Another chance.”

Fuck.

You took a step away, running your palms down your face. Neteyam ignored the gesture, walking after you.

“It’s been years, y/n. I’ve dug my own grave and I’ve lied in it. I can’t eat or sleep properly anymore because it fucking eats me alive.”

Neteyam Sully was never one to curse. That was more of lo’aks calling card. So it stunned you slightly when he spoke in such a way.

You turned to face him. His golden hour eyes locking with yours.

“I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I only ask for you to hear me out.”

He took a breath.

“From the moment I was born, every single moment of my life feels like it’s been calculated. Staged, rehearsed, nothing was ever out of place. Everything was a plan- a strategy. I’m not asking for your pity but all I ask is that you understand. That life is all I’ve ever known, Y/n.

And then I fell in love with you. And you were just-“

He paces around as he walks. Talking with his hands, making grand gestures to try and articulate some spontaneous thought without really knowing what he was saying at all.

For every moment in his life being staged and prepared, this sure as hell didn’t seem rehearsed.

Maybe the sun-stained son made of stone broke like glass after all.

He continues stumbling over his words. It was rather unlike him. To be this outspoken and unequivocal with his words.

“You we’re just, Eywa I don’t know how to begin.

You were wild and unpredictable, so unbothered and reckless and passionate. You still are. You make the most dangerous shit I’ve ever seen in my life seem so graceful and beautiful. You care for my siblings, Tuk wants to quite literally ‘be y/n’ when she grows up and Lo’ak and Kiri would probably plot a mass murder if you asked them too. My mother and my father love you like one of their own. I don’t want what used to be between us ruin any of that. I’m tired of it, y/n. I’m tired of all the awkward formalities and hating eachother. And I’ll be damned if I’ve ever met a woman in my entire life who knows a bow and arrow like you do.”

You’re stunned. Everything he says sinks under your skin for a moment.

He takes a breath.

“Y/n. Please. Give me another chance. To be friends again. I miss you. I really do. You're going to be my teacher now. We shouldn’t be-“

“Just shut up for a minute.”

A small ‘yes ma’am.’ Leaves his lips as his gaze darts down a bit.

Now, if someone told you about 30 minutes from now you would be hugging neteyam sully, you probably would have called them crazy.

But now, as eywa as your witness, that’s exactly what you did.

He was still for a moment, and then he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you back.

You took a step back, smiling at him softly.

“Our first lesson starts as soon as my hand is healed. Don’t be late.”

And with that, you left.

Neteyam stood there for a moment before jumping up, fisting the air, a celebratory ‘fuck yes!’ Leaving his lips silently.

Maybe things made of stone can break like glass after all.

☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮

Parallels:

Biggest parallel: the “hell yeah!” Line between neteyam and y/n is parallel to this scene between Jake and Neytiri.

Spider and Y/n - Tommy and Jake (two siblings, two sides of the same coin)

Y/n and Neytiri - (learning to love even through grief)

Y/n and Jake - (’soldier mentality’ and low self image because of trauma)

Lo’ak, Y/n and Neytiri - (rebelliousness) 

Spider and Neteyam- (oldest sibling responsibility)

Authors note:

I’m alive! I survived probably the longest chapter in this fic. I think I owe all my virago readers an apology. This chapter is WAY overdue. I'm sorry about that one, y'all.

But we're finally out of the enemy stage! And now I get to enjoy writing fluffy moments between neteyam and y/n, aka our resident virago and sun son made of stone.

So I just want to clear some things up before I wrap this up.

In my story, spider is a Spanish speaker. I read the original script and saw that he does speak Spanish in one of the scenes, and as a Spanish speaker and a spider stan that just warms my heart. Yes, a na’vi speaking Spanish might sound kinda cringe but it's my personal headcanon that spider would definitely teach y/n Spanish. 

Btw I just finished watching the hunger games so if anyone can catch all the Haymitch and Katniss references between y/n and Jake I will literally kiss you.

Remember to pleas like, comment, reblog, and as a request from me, please comment your favorite quote. trope, dynamic, or moment in this chapter or even the story so far.

Taglist

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[asytho]

trying to keep myself sane by playing Hades as a distraction.

and its not working....... so have a byzantine armored Nandor.

and also one with glitter because my best friend convinced me he needed to look even more silly.

[tothosewholisten]

Forever Healed | TUA insert

Chapter: 12

<<previous chapter | next chapter>>

Masterlist

…

Once I left Five I returned to Diego’s car, where he’d been sitting, just waiting for something to happen. “Hey,” I said softly as I sat in the passenger's seat. He only grumbled in response and looked out the window.

“Where are you gonna go?” I asked. He once again didn't respond, and I started to think maybe this was a bad idea. “Dieg-“

“Why are you here?” He cuts me off coldly while enunciating every syllable of what he says.

“I just wanted to see if you're okay and help you if you need it. What you saw was traumatic, and you shouldn’t be going through it on your ow-“

He looks me dead in my eyes. “Nobody needs your fucking help, Y/n.”

We were silent, the only thing I heard was his heart racing and the sound of his heavy breathing. I can't even tell if he regrets what he said. It doesn't matter because I'm sure he means it.

But I chalk it up to tensions being high after Five told us everything, it hurts though. In a way, no scar has ever hurt before. I try to come up with some snarky thing to say back like I always do. Younger me would’ve had a field day cursing him out and leaving. But now I just sit there and look down at the car floor.

“Nothing to say?” He taunts. “What happened to that mean little girl who used to try and put me in my place? Is she gone?”

Maybe he's just an asshole.

“…” I keep my eyes on the floor not wanting to make eye contact. I should just leave, I thought to myself, he doesn't want my help.

But I didn't want anyone’s help when Ben died, I pushed everyone away. But Diego isn’t me. I finally came up with something. “I understand how you feel Diego.”

“Bullshit.” He yells.

“You feel like your world is collapsing around you. That what you love the most is gone and the only way to replace the empty hole you have is to fill it with something worse. Just to keep going, whether it's drugs or killing or meaningless relationships to distract yourself. We do it to stay sane, but it doesn't have to be like that. Don’t close yourself off from the people around you, the Diego I know wouldn't.”

What I said came straight from the heart and how I felt after Ben died. I stayed in my room all day and broke things, but at night I was sneaking off with Klaus to get high. I even went as far as refusing to use my powers for Reginald. My lowest point.

And when I moved out my problems did not end there. I was alone in the world, I attached myself to the first guy that showed me any interest. That did more harm than good. I only recognize that this isn’t who I wanted to be when the relationship was gruesomely ended.

I sighed. “I'm far from perfect Diego, everyone is. Her death will stick with you forever. Let me at least try to lighten that burden.” The same way Klaus and I tried to do for each other. “I understand if you want me to leave though.” Since he stayed silent, I got the hint and reached for the door handle but I was stopped by a gloved arm.

Diego was no longer stoic, his posture had gone slouched as tears dropped from his big eyes. “I loved her.” He whispered.

“I know.”

“Sorry, Y-Y/n I didn't mean to be a jackass.” Diego stuttered.

I nodded “I understand.”

Once his sniffling calmed down, he told me that he would usually never cry in front of anyone but it felt good to get it out around me.

Diego explained how he and Eudora weren’t together at the time but had a deep and convoluted past that spanned during his time at the police academy and after. But she still found a way to enter his life, around when he was tased by her at Griddy’s the night Five came back for disturbing the crime scene there.

But still, no matter how much I tried to persuade him, Diego wanted to hunt Hazel and Cha-Cha down. To get even in his words even if he knew it wouldn't bring her back.

Diego had a receipt from Griddy’s, one of the items that he had taken from the motel room. The only thing ordered was a jelly donut, which didn't seem out of the ordinary.

But he tried to connect it to what happened to Eudora anyway while forming a plan in his head on what to do next. And all I could think about was how disgusting jelly donuts are.

“We're going back to the academy.” He told me. I shuttered thinking about heading back there.

“Y/n, what's wrong?”

“It’s just that we still don’t know where Klaus is, what if he’s still out there? Alone. What if he can’t find his way back to their academy?” I rambled.

“There was no sign of him at the motel. Knowing him he made his way back to the academy and is just taking a bath or doing drugs or something.. okay? No need to worry. And if not, we’ll go look for him.”

I nodded in response. “You’re probably right.” I mean Eudora technically freed him, if anything he’s looking for us instead.

..

13 YEARS AGO

I lay in bed staring at my ceiling trying to tune out the blaring screech that echoed around my room.

I heard the sound of feet running against the hardwood floor, I knew I needed to get up but I didn't. I missed the early workout, and I missed breakfast but who cares? No matter how much Reginald yelled for me to get up I didn't.

Once again It was time for another tiring mission but I could never complain, not ever. I was put on this planet to save the world as Reginald described it time and time again.

But I hated the world and all the people in it. Because the world took away Ben and after his funeral which was only a few days ago, I was expected to stop crying and go back to killing myself. A job I never signed up for. So I just stopped doing it.

A gentle knock at my room door broke my concentration. Even amongst all the commotion in my house, there was one person who would also stay in their room.

"Come in," I grumbled to Vanya who stood at the other side of the door.

She took care in opening the door and made sure no one, especially Reginald would see her breaking the rules.

I inhaled sharply hoping if she knew I was in a bad mood she'd just go away. But she didn't. She stood there concerned all over her face.

"What do you want, Vanya?" I practically yelled.

She shifted her eyes from me to her shoes. "I uh. I just wanted to ask if you're okay."

"Do I look okay?"

She didn't respond.

It was clear her focus was slipping from me, she wanted to leave this uncomfortable situation.

And not surprisingly, she turned her back to me and quickly sped out the door. She didn't even give me a final glance. I could've said something but I chose to take my pillow and scream. I marked today as the worst day of my life.

I held my fluffy pillow up to my face and squeezed down hoping to suffocate. The suicidal urge didn't last long because my pillow was lifted off my face by small hands. By Vanya of all people. Who'd made her way back through my door without me noticing?

Her face painted with a smile, "I know it's not breakfast time but Mom insisted that I bring you something to eat. I made these.”

My eyes met hers as she grabbed onto my pajamas. Vanya scooted my body up against the pillow I tried to silence my misery with.

In her hands she had two sandwiches, I instantly knew they were peanut butter and marshmallow because that was her greatest creation and my favorite late-night snack

My mouth hung open slightly. "You made this for me?" I asked.

"Of course!" She handed me a sandwich.

Any anger I still had in me washed away at that moment. What I was left with could only be described as love. Vanya spent all day with me for the most part. We talked a bit about life, but mainly we just sat in each other's silence. It was good to know I didn't have to be alone while grieving Ben. I'd forgotten that all of the kids lost him, not just me.

Looking back, being sixteen years old was a nightmare. Especially when I was left to my own devices.

For the remainder of my time at the academy, I refused to go on missions and I guess Reginald deemed me a lost cause at some point because The Umbrella Academy officially became five people again. While I spent all my new free time in my room.

..

PRESENT TIME

The first place I headed for when I got back to the academy was our rooms. I wanted to go into Klaus just to see if there were any hints of if he ever came back. Diego stopped me at the bottom of the stairs.

He raised an eyebrow “Where are you going?”

“I'll meet up with you after you get your knives. I'm gonna look in Klaus’s room again.” He gave me a sad look as he turned away from my direction. We both knew that I wouldn't find anything new there. But I still needed to try.

I needed Klaus, not just to see if he was safe. But the fact that he’s one of the only people who makes me feel like I can talk to them about all the crazy stuff going on. Because we share a lot of the same experiences. I should’ve probably told him from the jump that the world was ending, I bet he’d give it a good laugh.

Klaus’s door was wide open, definitely not like I left it. And when I walked in it looked almost neater. Grace wouldn’t be the one to clean it because she’s, well, gone. And Pogo wouldn’t step foot in his normally dirty room.

So who's been cleaning it? Unless I did this subconsciously and discovered a new power.

I could hear everyone’s hearts beating around the house, so I counted the amount of people. There was Diego and Pogo, and Five who had just gotten here. And another.. familiar but sporadic. Something that I've heard a million times, and something that was getting extremely close to me.

I whip my head towards the door and see none other than Klaus Hargreeves in the doorway, half naked and ticked off. His expression wiped the smile clean off my face.

Klaus was dripping head to toe in water, but he was here just like Diego said he’d be.

But even though he was here and seemingly unharmed, I was still worried when he didn't say anything to me. All he did was groan while he clumsily walked over in his towel and he picked up some random clothes on his floor.

This switch in personality made me speechless as well. I turned away from Klaus as he dropped his towel. With no regard that I was even in his room.

“Why are you acting like I’m not here?” I crossed my arms with my eyes still averted from the sight. I went back to looking at him when he slipped his faint blue v-neck over his head.

“You might as well not be.” He stated. “I mean like, here you are in my room on my bed. Not even phased by the fact that you haven’t seen me for a year. Hell, even before I was kidnapped by those crazy shits I've barely seen you.”

“A year?”

“Did you even notice I was gone?”

He and I spoke at the same time, saying two different things.

I wanted to yell at him. Of course, I knew and I was worried, but he was right. How would he know that he’s been on my mind since the night of the attack? When I seemed to be the only person who noticed or paid any mind to him at all.

I took a breath to conceal my frustration. “I knew right when I didn’t see you after the attack. I looked all over the city for you. But you’re right, I've been busy recently. Because fuck, Klaus a lot is going on right now. Stuff I should’ve told you at the start but I was so wrapped up in all of it. Last night, Diego and I found the motel and thought you’d be there.”

“But we found Eudora, I mean the officer who freed you. But no sign of you.”

Klaus’s normal excited look on life didn't return to him when I explained what happened. But his glare melted away. “What happened to her?”

“She’s dead, Klaus. And I couldn’t bring her back. Unlike you I can’t bring people back from the dead.” I laughed sadly at the events that unfolded around me. His eyes wandered to the spot next to me on his bed, but there was nothing there?

I pretended to yawn to choke back resurfacing tears. God, I cry all the damn time. “Tell me what happened to you?”

“Well they weren't the most gracious host.” He said sarcastically. “They wanted information on Five but I told them over and over again that everyone ignores me or doesn’t tell me things. And yeah, I came back here after I escaped through the vents which wasn't a pleasant experience at all. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

I didn't want to push my luck but I could tell there was a part of his capture he didn’t include because of the flucture of his heartbeat and the fact he couldn’t look me in the eyes.

“Klaus, can I tell you something?” I responded quietly.

He looks around the room. “Oh yeah, don’t have anything else going on today.”

The best approach isn’t to sugarcoat it. “The world is ending in four days, that's why Five is back because he’s here to prevent it. But people are going after him, like Hazel and Cha-Cha to make sure it still happens. And turns out I survived it, and live on in the future..?”

“Sounds like loads of fun!” He cheers sarcastically.

“Klaus the world is ending.”

“Well it has to end eventually, I just betted on it being global warming.”

“You betted?”

“Of course. Me and Linda from the nursing home, bet weekly.”

My body releases all of the previous tension and I explode into a loud laughter. “How am I supposed to take you seriously? You’re hilarious” I cried out.

Klaus shows off his teeth when he smiled. “Just one of my many charms I guess.”

“I missed you so much,” I giggled.

Once again he turns to the opposite corner of the room. “We missed you too” he whispers.

“We-

“Great, you found him Y/n.” Five glanced into the room with his hands in his pockets. I was too busy to even hear him walk in.

He looks back and forth from the disheveled Klaus and me. “You okay?” He asked him.

“Yeah.. just a long night.” He replied drowsily.

“More than one by the looks of it. I don’t remember the dog tags..” Five points out.

I stare at the shiny dangling tags on his neck. “Huh, me neither.” How did I not notice that?

Klaus grunts at the both of us. “They belong to a friend.”

Five starts a strange interrogation of Klaus. “How about that new tattoo?”

“You know, I don’t totally remember even getting it. Like I said, it was a long night.” Klaus jesters for him to leave but he doesn’t stop there.

“You did it didn’t you?” Five moves closer as Klaus sits on the bed next to me. I started to get confused.

Based on the room and Klaus I hope Five wasn't getting the wrong idea. “We didn- I mean. What are you talking about?”

“I recognize the symptoms, Klaus.”

“Symptoms of what?”

“The jet lag. The full body itch. The headache that feels like someone shoved a box of cotton up into your nose and through your brain?”

Klaus hides his head in his hands. “Your pals, when they broke into the house and they couldn’t find you, they took me hostage instead.”

Five smiles while thinking maniacally. “And in return, you stole their briefcase!”

“Yeah, I thought there was money in it, or I could pawn it, you know, whatever.” He sighed. “And then I opened it.”

The boy paced around the room. “And the next thing you knew, you were.. where? Or should I say when?”

“What difference does it make, Five?”

Five stammers “What diff— Uh— Okay, how long were you gone?”

“Almost a year.” Klaus chokes out.

“That's what you meant by a year? Okay, am I the only one who isn’t following?”

Five stares at me in desperation. “You don’t know what this means?”

“Yeah, I’m ten months older now.”

“No. This isn’t a joke, both of you pay attention now. Hazel and Cha-Cha will do whatever they can to get the briefcase. Where is it now?” Five checks around the room, for any resemblance of what he’s looking for.

“Gone. I destroyed it. Poof.”

Five goes from excited to furious in seconds. “What the hell were you thinking?!” He shouts.

“What do you care?” Klaus says back. By now the two of them are in each other's faces.

“What do I care? I needed it, you moron, so I could get back. I can start over. So I can save y-“ Klaus shushes him when he stands up. “Where are you going?” Five calls after him.

“Interrogations over. Just leave.” He walks out of the room and down the hallway, away from us.

Five turns to me and where I've been slugged over on the bed. “Why does no one listen?” He asks me, well more like yells in my direction.

“Who likes being shouted at? I mean you didn't even give him a second to breathe, Five. He just came back from shit we can’t even imagine.” I swung my feet off the bed and headed out of the room to find Klaus or Diego who I forgot I'd be helping.

Surprisingly I found the two together, Klaus and Diego were standing in front of the crushed chandler that would normally hang on the ceiling but was destroyed when the house was attacked. The two both looked extremely worn out when I walked over to them.

“I'm not giving you a ride,” Diego told the man in front of him. But Klaus moves in closer in desperation. “Oh come on man, you know I can’t drive.”

“We can give you a ride Klaus, it's fine right, Diego?” I stare him down but his unwavering decision doesn’t falter. “Well fine, I’ll drive him if you don’t want to.”

They both cringe at my statement. “No way I’m letting you drive my car, don’t forget that you can’t drive either.” Diego says.

“Yeah sorry Y/n, I’m actually good. I don’t want to die today.” Klaus adds.

I smirk. “Exactly, this is why you should just take him instead.”

Diego thinks for a minute before responding. “Fine.” He grumbles.

“Amazing! Let me go grab my things, two minutes. Thank you, N/n sweetie.” Klaus grabs onto my shoulders and gives me a good shake before running back up the staircase to grab god knows what.

“What could he be getting?” I turned to Diego.

“Anything he could snort probably.” I punched the smug Diego in the arm. “Shit!” He cries out.

I shake my head at him. “That was rude, you ass.” Before walking out the front doors to wait in the car. Diego slowly trails after me while rubbing his now glowing arm.

..

The car ride was silent for the most part, except for the occasional small talk Diego made with me. But Klaus who sat in the back seat didn’t speak a single word. He just looked out of the window to the cloudy afternoon and drank hard liquor that he must’ve grabbed from his room before we left.

Diego and I didn't know exactly where we were driving him, but he told us he’d say something when we arrived.

I desperately wanted to know what happened to him in the almost year that he was gone. But he didn't look ready to open up just yet.

“You okay back there?” I asked. He answered with another sip of his beverage.

Diego takes a look at him through the rearview mirror. “Wow. This is a first. My brother Klaus is silent. The last time you were this quiet, we were twelve. Ran down the stairs wearing Grace's heels, tripped over, and broke your jaw. How long was it wired shut again?”

“Eight weeks,” I replied. That was one of my first impressions of Klaus, and I felt really bad for him. But Reginald wouldn't let me heal him. Told me that Klaus needed to learn a lesson.

“Eight glorious weeks of bliss.” And just like when he couldn’t talk, he’s silent when Diego says that. Doesn't even respond with a snarky comment. Instead, he straightens up in his seat and points out his window.

“Hey, just.. just drop me off here.” The two of us in the front seats look to where he’s pointing, he wanted us to drop him off at a VFW post. The building was strangely out of place and surrounded by normal buildings. But despite the weirdness Diego cuts traffic and parks his car in the lot.

Klaus bolted out of the car, bottle in hand as soon as we parked. “Klaus?” I called out

“Are you sure you're okay, man?” Diego adds.

The car door shuts before we ever hear a response. That is if he even said anything. Diego gives me a look. “Okay, what is going on with him?” He asked me.

“This might sound crazy, but then again we all have powers. When Klaus left Hazel and Cha-Cha he stole this time-traveling device. And he opened it which sent him somewhere for almost a year. Which explains the new tattoo and dog tags. My guess is he went back in time and fought in a war.”

His eyes widened. “Jesus.. that's woah.. that's a lot. But we should do something right?”

“Like go after him?” Which is what I was gonna do anyway. He nods at me sharing my same opinion. Soon after, we’re both leaving the car and heading to the building ourselves.

“Oh my god it's cold,” I complained. Diego chuckles at me while opening the door for us.

…

Taglist:

@aloflapse @gabriella-aesthetic @solarbeanz @ciakind @elenalovestoread @miscrying @dakotapaigelove @theoriginalone1111 @water-hemlock18 @tialovesyoutoo

[genderkoolaid]

Hi I'm ND and I was wondering about your experiences with religious beliefs? I saw your post and it definitely resonated with the frustration I had engaging in spiritual communities because people are never Normal about it. I guess I'm also wondering how to navigate with discernment regarding spiritualism as someone with intrusive thoughts and other issues, if you feel like you're able to shed some light with your personal experiences of course. Have a good day!! ☀️

So I personally deal with intrusive thoughts, paranoia and delusions, while also being deeply religious & having mystic experience, which as you can imagine can be very stressful! its hard talking to people about that because its so easy for people to just go "oh you're psychotic so you can't be trusted on your experiences."

when it comes to psychotic stuff: for me the #1 thing i keep in mind when it comes to this is learning to not focus on whether a certain experience is "real," but rather if it is helpful. this is one of the things thats been repeated to me many times & its been very helpful keeping in mind. trying to prove whether or not something spiritual is "real" is an absolute mess for the sanest of people (mostly because i think the conflation of spirituality and science as like. opposing forces has done so much damage to how we think about it but anyways). but something solid you can ponder is how a certain belief or practice helps or hurts you. instead of "is x real or am i crazy," ask "how does x affect me? does it make me feel more equipped to deal with life? does it inspire me to connect with others and with myself? is it causing me mental or physical stress/harm? is it causing others harm?" these focus you more on things you can identify immediately. you can also ofc combine this with things like reality checks & secular ways of coping with delusions/paranoia/hallucinations.

as a general rule it's good to take your time with any sort of spiritual/mystical experience and think through it, what you felt, possible causes (spiritual and secular), and what you might do because of it. don't feel the need to rush into anything, it's not a sign of failure to be thorough and contemplative and open to many possible explanations.

additionally, we have this idea in our minds that if something has a spiritual origin it can't have a physical explanation, which is silly to me. even if there is a biochemical explanation for something, that doesn't mean its not a spiritual experience; we are fleshy creatures. there's no reason why our spirituality can't be fleshy too. if someone has hallucinations because of brainweirdness, that doesn't mean they can't ascribe spiritual meaning to them; and it also doesn't mean they have to ascribe spiritual meaning to every hallucination. something something why must our humanity be antithetical to god-or-what-have-you.

on intrusive thoughts: i don't have moral ocd, although i used to have religious compulsions. i don't really anymore because my beliefs/experiences have re-affirmed many times that god-or-what-have-you is not going to get mad at me for not doing x thing Good Enough, and the "does it hurt or help" rubric also helps me remember that the things that help me feel good and healthy are what is best for me spiritually. if you feel scared and stressed and self-hating constantly, that isn't going to make you a better devotee/follower/practitioner, its just going to tear you apart until you can't function.

i saw a post a while ago talking about prayer/meditation when you have ADHD & get distracted by thoughts easily, and i think its helpful for that + disruptive intrusive thoughts: instead of trying to stop thinking them, you can just incorporate them. if you can't stop thinking about a hyperfixation, you can meditate on what interests you and why. if intrusive thoughts won't leave, you can vent about that to god-or-what-have-you.

the thing about mainstream religion/spirituality is that it is by and large made by sane neurotypical people, for them. ND/mad people are either demonized or, sometimes mythologized, but we are always being viewed as outsiders. we haven't been allowed to have spiritual autonomy and create our own intepretations and practices that match our unique ways of thinking and perceiving the world. once you realize this you have to start pointing out where a practice fails you and then take it into your own hands- this is why i have found religion so helpful for me, because i have found/made interpretations that affirm me. if you follow a sacred text, you can reject literalism & that it perfectly reflects the actual words of the divine. you can reject the mainstream interpretations that cater to racism/sexism/homophobia/transphobia/etc. and find new ones or make your own. you can adapt rituals to your needs or make entirely new ones. and once again find other people who are also brainweird and spiritual and talk with them about what they do & believe. god is crazy too etc etc

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

labyrinth

Theodore Nott x fem!reader

part of the midnights collection

                    February 22nd 1999

Dear Diary,                   

Everything is fucked.

Notice how I only write when somethings terribly wrong? Well, try not to be too surprised with this entry.

Up until a few days ago everything seemed to go fine- well as fine as it could, given everything going on.

We’ve been making progress, rescuing muggles and muggleborns, shutting down attacks, even the horcrux hunt seemed to be going well, it felt like we had reached the beginning of the end.

But we were so fucking wrong.

There was an attack last week, well two of them. One was a distraction and the other one…well two safe houses were compromised, most of the order members got out on time, but two died. A Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw, a year older than me. I never talked to them at school, but I knew them, I remember seeing them during breakfast and at hallways. And now… 

I kept thinking how it could have been me, and I hate myself for being this selfish, for not being the bigger picture. It’s survival instinct, I know, but I wish I could overcome it, ever since the war started I keep finding myself, wishing I was someone I’m not.

The only thing worse than dying in an attack, like that, would be, being the only one left. What if I survive and everyone I love dies, what’s the point of winning this- if there is nothing left, after. If the world ends up destroyed beyond repair, why keep fighting? For Harry, who claims the Light- Good will win?

Harry who could be a Horcrux? Yes, I know. Its unthinkable but Hermione and Moody think it’s true, it could be a possibility we shouldn’t ignore. It could explain so much that, almost everything that has happened all the years. His ability to speak with snakes, the nightmares, the visions. They could be tied to that. And if it is true, what then? 

I had

I slept with Theo on New Years, I… don’t know how to feel about it. It feels stupid even writing about it with the direction our world has taken.

It was weird at first, the next day, things felt different. It felt as if…the safety I feel when he is in my room, when we sleep next to eachother at night, it felt like that safety had spread everywhere, like it followed me around the next day.

I thought I would feel self-conscious around him, but I don’t, it feels as if he is the only thing left that makes sense. Maybe, it our way to cope, getting drunk isn’t practical and getting high…well I can’t do that everyday. Maybe having sex is our way to get through this war, sane? 

Although, it doesn’t feel like it’s that simple to me, it’s not just a coping mechanism, for me at least. But I won’t get into that, it’s selfish and wrong to think about that when there are bigger problems out there, tearing my sleeve as they beg for my attention.

Hermione has been doing a lot of research into Horxcruxes, Malfoy helps her a lot, he tells her everything he’d heard that summer- before 6th year. He, told Moody about his aunts vault, at Gringotts, how she had it checked every month, she was paranoid about it, that’s what he said. They think there is something important there. Bellatrix and her family, they have been nothing but loyal to Voldemort, all these years, it would make sense for her to be trusted with something as important as this. 

The Order, planned a mission tonight, a run-in at Gringotts, to at least inspect the vault, or find a way inside, and if they are lucky, find the Horxcrux.

They

You stare at the page in front of you, you can’t bare to continue writing, because what you are about to write, is the thing that’s been eating you alive all afternoon. You can’t explain how Theo was sent on this mission, how he could be recognized and then-

You don’t want to think about what could happen next, not if you want your breathing to remain even and your stomach settled. Instead, you charm your diary and conceal everything you’ve written, from the outside world, and then head downstairs, wait with the rest of the house.

“Any news?” You ask worried 

“No, not even a Patronus.” Hermione shrugs and hands you a cup of tea

You grip the hot mug with both hands, savoring the warmth in your skin, taking in the smell and focusing on the feeling it wakes inside of your chest. Ginger, lemon and honey. 

It reminds you of your childhood and the drinks your mother made you every time you got sick. Then, your family and summers with them, flash before your eyes. You would always miss Hogwarts in the summertime, all your friends would be either at the Burrow or at their homes, far away from your summer house. You’d complain about how isolated you felt then. It is almost ridiculous to think now. You would give anything for one more summer, taking walks at the beach- savoring the orange sky and the way it kissed the sea, how the color got lost in the water and danced on the waves. And then, as you think of the waves- you imagine the house Theo had told you about, that night. And how you would go there, once the war is over. And perhaps, this is the first time you’ve felt nostalgic about a place you’ve never visited before. 

You’ve clung to the hope of an after so hard, that this house- the one by the sea, with the perfect library and velvet loveseats, almost feels like home. You’ve painted a new picture of safety in your brain and the walls and colors of the house fit the drawing perfectly.

Then again, maybe, it isn’t the house that plants this hope inside you, but it’s the person that would join you. The one who would fill the house with laughter and stories, the one whose smell would float through each room and the one who’d make it a home. 

But that person isn’t here, and the frailty of his return shatters you. 

“They’ll come back. Moody is with them. They’ll be fine”

Your friend offers knowingly. As if your fears have spilled out of you and have turned into a cloud around the two of you, turning everything darker and colder.

You can only nod in response and ask about her progress and the boys, in hopes that her words will distract you. 

“You went flying yesterday.” She says with a smile “I haven’t seen you fly, since… Hogwarts.” Since Dumbledore died

“You’ve seen me fly on missions.”

“Yeah but that’s different, you looked free yesterday- it took me back to quidditch practice. Remember how I’d watch you three practice?” 

“Yeah; I remember you had a different book every single time. Ron always joked about that”

“I miss it” she says tear-eyed “And I miss the boys and-and” my parents you think to yourself and grab her hand tightly- anchoring her to you.

“I am so tired.” She finishes; and it hits you then how much this war has changed her. From the color of her face- to the spark in her eyes, everything now seems washed out.

Voldemort and his followers have taken pieces of her, of Theo, Ron, Harry, one at a time, stealing memories and feelings, taking away their safety and friends, leaving behind nearly empty shells; that fight- fight back and desperately try to reverse everything. And you can’t help but think of why they-why you keep fighting back. You can’t possibly undo everything that’s has been done so far. You can’t bring people back to life, you can’t reverse stolen memories or forget new ones. You can’t chase away the demons that will hunt you at night. With or without Voldemort in this world, you struggle to decide if it is worth saving in the end. 

Defeat one evil just for the next one to appear? To bring more nightmares and fights? More death?

At last, it may be that you keep fighting- because if you stop now, after everything that’s happened, everything you’ve had to face, and do, ultimately it will all have been for nothing. And that; is a fate worse than Voldemort winning, worse than death.

“I know you are.” You reply and open your arms for her to hide in. Hide and then let everything out- every disappointment and regret. Cry and hide from the world just for a few minutes, because that’s the only thing you or anyone can give her, right now.

They haven’t returned yet.

You finish writing a few hours later, with the weight of the night sky settling on your shoulders; the constant thought of “they should have come back by now.”, sitting at the pit of your stomach.

You notice a few of Theo’s things around the room, a sweater on your chair, a couple of books on the floor by his side of the bed. You realize then, the pattern you two have fallen into, a life inside the one you already live in. Intimacy; the kind that scared you once, is now your only shelter: your refuge from reality. It’s because of that newfound intimacy, that your room now feels lived in, and isn’t a gray space for you to sleep in. Its because of another person, that you feel protection at night and warmth despite the blistering cold.

The chance of never feeling his warmth again- paralyzes you. And it shouldn’t, because the chance of him not making it back tonight- or after a mission- the possibility of him dying, is a reality you must come to terms with, if you want to keep fighting this war sane And you almost laugh at the irony of that thought

And it is a cliche, its something you’d normally condemn stupid and immature- but there is nothing normal about this, so you must act accordingly.

I shouldn’t have gotten this close you begin writing but you hear voices all of a sudden and the familiar creak of the floor outside your room.

The door opens and its him, no blood, no limping- a darkens under his eyes- sharper than the one you’ve seen before.

“Hi.” He whispers and his eyebrows soften almost instantly.

You shouldn’t have gotten this close you remember, but you can’t control your legs as they move towards him- and you can’t help the way your body molds to his.

“You’re back.” You breathe in his scent as you bury your face in his chest, your hands gripping his jacket tightly- keeping him as close as you can.

He doesn’t say anything back, he just lowers his head to your hear- breathing you in in return.

You’ll stay like that for a few seconds, before you ask how the mission went, if everyones alright… You’ll stay frozen for a little while, before you have to force yourself to stay away from him, before you reprogram your brain to learn to cope without the comfort of his touch, or the whispered words he speaks into your hair at night.

I have to get away, remind yourself as you kiss him goodnight.

I need to get away, you think again, as you watch him fast asleep in your bed.

How will I get away? you ask hopeless as you hear the beat of his heart and let his arms trap you.

a/n: am I happy with this chapter? no. Was it necessary for me to finish it so this story could get moving? yes

taglist: @avalynlestrange @spacecadet16 @lucywritess @aleviia @marina468 @annaisabookworm @liarajoah @notasadgirlipromise @pariseffer @unlikelysadgirl @ktz-bb @lizisthecoolest

btw free Palestine!

[wanderingpages]

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾Gentle Sins AU☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

“Are you going to help me take my clothes off too?” I meant it to sound teasing – I wanted to show him I could play his game too – but I was breathless, I was buzzing with anticipation.

“You know it wouldn’t end there, Jude,” he gave me a wry look. “It's a shame,” he rose and ruffled my hair, “It's a shame you’re my sister,” he murmured, needlessly reminding me. “Because that was some damn fine pussy, baby.”

TFOTA // All Human // AU : Jude and Cardan do things step-siblings shouldn't do.

Trigger Warnings: Crude language, Allusions to Drugs/Alcohol, Debauching Catholicism/Religious Metaphors, Taboo Sex.

Big up to @headcannonxgalore for keeping me sane for this one 🪦

Jude's POV

The rest of the ride home isn’t quiet, but it feels tense to me. It feels like that first ride we shared after the wedding, when Cardan told me he knew those were my flowers on the floor in front of the dressing room. When he tucked my hair back after clicking my seat belt in place, when it started as a tease, but he kept quiet after seeing the panic and distraught look on my face. Like I had wished back then, I wish now to open the car door and fling myself into oncoming traffic.

When he sees me press a hand to my heated cheek, he cracks the window for me, letting cool air settle my nerves. I clear my throat and instead of saying ‘thank you,’ I reach for the dials on the radio and disconnect it from his phone. Feeling like somehow Cardan’s personal playlist was catered to test me, I switch between stations, until I settle on something light and a little goofy. He taps his fingers along the steering wheel, quietly letting me do what I want in his car. I snoop through the console area, finding nothing of great importance, only packets of candy and gum, a couple of multicolored mini lighters, a pack of EZ Wider rolling paper and some ketchup packets from a fast-food chain. Underneath it all, I pick out a pair of mismatched gold earrings. One is shaped like a curved hardware nail, the other like a star with a pearl dangling from it. I twist them between my fingers, feeling a little nervous to be holding high-end tiny jewelry, lest the car swerves and they go flying out the window somehow.

“You like them?” He asks suddenly, pulling me from my gaze.

“Um, yeah,” when Cardan turns to me, he takes one hand off the steering wheel and plucks the Cartier one from my palm to hold it close to my earlobe.

“You should keep them,” a small smile tilts the side of his lips up and I look away, feeling a squeeze in my chest. Instead of saying no, like I should have, I take the earrings and tuck them into the pocket of my jacket, mumbling out a thanks to him. I turn away, taking in the scenery to distract myself. I’m not his girlfriend and I shouldn’t let him treat me like one either. At some point, I realize we’ve merged onto a more residential area, and the houses begin to look familiar. We were getting close to home now, on the wealthier side of town. Cardan’s hand reaches across, and he points to a three story house, equivalent to a mansion. “That’s me.”

I blink, looking at the house, bending my head to stare after it as we pass by, then I look at him with wide eyes. “You – you live there? You live in Insmire?” It may have put into perspective what it meant to have half a pair of high branded jewelry just lying in his car, but all I can piece together in my mind is just how close we’ve actually been living next to each other. I try to think back on all the times our paths could have crossed since the wedding and even prior; how much of our peers overlapped – could we have met at a party? Could we have met first, before our parents even knew each other’s names? Would it have made a difference? “Oh…” I whisper, the squeezing feeling in my chest dropping to the pit of my stomach. I rest my head back, tucking my hands into my pockets, fiddling with the earrings until night falls.

We make it home well after dinner, which is probably good in hindsight. I don’t think I’d be able to get through grace without shame. Even now, as Cardan opens the door for me and helps carry both of our overnight bags, even as Asha welcomes us warmly, greeting me with a hug, I can only think about Cardan, his fingers and the taste of cherries. When I shiver, Asha runs her hands frantically up and down my back as if to warm me.

“Oh, Jude,” she laughs, “I’ve missed you! I feel like an empty nester,” she pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. Dad reaches in for a half hug and kisses my forehead, then turns to his stepson and pats him on the shoulder. “Cardan,” Asha smiles lovingly at him, but stays close to my dad instead of also giving him a hug. It’s strange, watching her almost buzz with excitement but hold back as if Cardan were something so delicate, a touch would break him. I could almost laugh. Delicate. Cardan is anything but that. “Are you guys hungry? I can warm up some food – or at least have some dessert before bed… I know the drive must have been long.”

Cardan throws an arm around my shoulders, startling me as he kicks the door close behind him. “Fret not, Mother, we’ve had our fair share of dessert.” Without stuttering or picking at my skin, I managed to explain that we had stopped for lunch. I shrug him off, rolling my eyes when he shoulder-checks me. In the eyes of our parents, we’re getting along just as siblings should.

“I’ll show you to your room, then,” Dad says, leading Cardan up the steps. The room sharing a wall with mine has always been Cardan’s as far as I knew. When Asha moved in, she had spoken to us about it, wanting to do it up for him was he to ever stay over – and of course, Cardan is her son, so who was I to object if my dad had no qualms about it? Still, part of me knew Cardan would never be visiting his mother for the weekends – in fact, him saying yes for our winter break still has me miffed, especially now knowing where he lived.  And yet, Asha decorated his room to her heart’s desire, until slowly, it began to feel like a shrine of sorts. She visited it daily as if mourning a ghost, dusted down invisible dirt and hung photos and seasonal decorations that by no means fit the characteristics of what little I know about Cardan. If I think about it too much now, I’ll see the erratic behavior for what it is and maybe stuff Cardan has told me before, about how unfit his mother was, would start to make sense. But it was her way of coping, which is no worse than my scarred fingers or my willfully ignorant father.

I watch them walk up the stairs, only coming back to myself when Asha takes hold of my hands, inspecting the bandages over my knuckles. She squeezes them lightly and smiles at me, “There’s cookies in the kitchen – go get changed and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

I shower quickly, avoidant of Cardan unpacking in his room. Unused to living with him, I hadn’t walked with my clothes in the bathroom, and when I realized this, I cracked the door open, barely missing him heading down the steps. The hot shower hardly settles my nerves and I stride straight to the window, opening it a crack, letting the air circulate the stuffy room. I turn and lean back against the sill, tightening my towel against me and taking in the rest of my bedroom, untouched since I left for the dorms. Even the air feels stale. I let out a huff, allowing my eyes to wander to the armchair where two stuffed animals – a black cat and a koala – squished together under the draping of a shirt I’d tossed when I couldn’t decide what to wear the morning I left.

My bag has been tossed on the bed, but that hardly disrupts the way I’d left it. There’s a corner of my bed where the covers are pulled slightly just as it had been when I’d grabbed my phone charger at the last minute. The pillow is skewed a bit, and my stuffed snake is laid adjacent. Even the pen on the vanity is left at the same angle; when I pick it up, there’s a thin layer of dust that’s noticeable. I wonder why my stepmother would diligently clean a vacant room religiously, while my room is just as I’d left it. Of course, I would never expect Asha to keep my room, but maybe I did feel a little resentment that Cardan’s room was tended to daily while mine was left to become a relic. I’m overreacting, mostly fueled by Cardan, I suppose, so I sigh and take the shirt from the chair and use it as a rag to wipe down the surface of my dresser, telling myself that she’s only giving me my privacy.

I drop the shirt in my laundry basket and straighten out the pile of books on the floor next to my bookshelf on my way towards my closet. I find some cotton pajamas and throw them on before finally sitting at the edge of the bed. I open the nightstand drawer, to swipe in the miscellaneous pens and hair ties left beside my lamp, only to let out a squeak at the new addition to the junk pile. She leaves all else still, but Asha still manages to place a bible in the bedside drawer like this is some kind of hotel. I pick it up and flip through the thin pages, letting the tiny black letters blur. I pretend it’s a flipbook and the words are creating some type of eight-bit fire. I once again try to think back on when this all started – had it been after the wedding or were there hints before? I snort and shove the book towards the back of the drawer, wondering how far she will take this before I finally snap.

I hear the bathroom door shut right when I walk out, guessing I’ve missed Cardan again. When I make it to the kitchen, I’m surprised Asha isn’t there for me to ask about the present she left in my room. There are two cups of tea on the counter beside a plate of cookies – for her son and I, I guess. Asha can’t bake for shit, so I know the chocolate chips are from the bakery near the supermarket, only gooey because she’s warmed them up in the microwave. I debate on waiting for Cardan, taking in the added décor to our kitchen walls – some prayer on a plaque and a wooden cross right under the clock. After a moment, I grab a cookie and I shiver, wondering if she had stolen the cross from the church, as it was incredibly similar to the one in the dressing room – the one absolutely embedded into my brain.

“Creepy.” Cardan says, causing me to bite my tongue. I yelp, turning to him, hand covering my mouth, unable to take the mix of blood and chocolate. He looks surprised at my reaction too, leading me to the trash can so I can spit it out. “Shit, sorry.” He rubs my back and I wave his hand away, heading to the sink for some cold water.

“What the hell?” I mutter, wiping my mouth. I hadn’t even heard him come down.

He looks bashful, for once. “It looks like an omen,” he nods his chin to the cross and I eye him warily, still tasting copper in my mouth. His thumb reaches towards me, and he swipes down the corner of my lips, rubbing away the smear of red and brown, making my knees feel weak because suddenly, I'm in that booth at the diner again and I want him to paint me as red as those cherries. He parts his lips, looking as if he wants to say more, but all he does is grab my half-eaten cookie and give me a parting pat on the head, ruffling my hair slightly. “Anyways, sleep tight, little sister.” He’s up the steps and I feel a little aghast that he’d come down, inflict pain, remind me that we’re siblings then walk up the stairs like the past week – let alone that night at the reception – hadn’t happened. I stick my middle finger up at his back, annoyed that he can switch his emotions around so easily, annoyed that he plays this game better than I do, annoyed that I had even given him the green light so many months ago, thinking I could best him somehow.

I stay a while longer, struggling to make myself move, but soon the hurt ebbs away enough for me to snag another cookie or two or three, snacking on them almost angrily. As I finally make my way to my room, I check the time on my phone and it lets me know it's ungodly to be up so late. While I do feel incredibly tired, I just can’t find it in myself to sleep; I feel strung up and it may have little to do with Cardan Greenbriar sleeping just a few feet away from me. I decide on straightening out the rest of my room, dust off shelves and fix anything I’d left awry, but only less than an hour passes. I run through my phone contacts, wondering who might be up and on a whim, I send a message to my roommate, asking how she’s doing. To my surprise, Vivienne responds within seconds. The three dots dance at the bottom of the screen for a moment until it stops completely, and I get a phone call from her instead.

“Why are you still up?” She asks instead of an actual greeting. I roll my eyes; I could ask her the same thing. I walk to my laundry basket when I suddenly remember the earrings I’d left in my pocket. I take them out and before placing them on the dresser, I glance at myself in the mirror, holding the Cartier one to my earlobe, trying to see what Cardan had seen earlier.

“Jet lag,” I quip at Vivienne, switching to the Dior pearl, twisting my head this way and that. I place them on a small jewelry tray and head to my bed. I sit on the edge and fall back to stare at the ceiling. There’s even a cobweb at the far corner. I roll my eyes at how bratty and entitled I’m feeling over dust in my room. At the end of the day, Asha isn’t my mom, but she’s done more for me in three years than my real mom has done in five.

I can hear Vivienne’s scoff, “That’s not at all how that works – you’re in the same time zone.” I hear shuffling on her end, and she says a quick apology before I assume she’s settled. “Okay,” she clears her throat, “how was it?”

“How was what?” I play dumb, grabbing the stuffed snake and holding it to my chest. I stroke the fuzzy skin, distractedly. It’s black with thin, iridescent scales threaded through, seemingly accurate to the size of a fully grown pet snake. The black beady eyes stare back at me cutely.

“Don’t ‘what’ me – the car ride, you dick,” Vivienne huffs and it’s funny, so I can’t help but giggle. “With Mr. Oh-no-step-bro-I’m-stuck-under-a-table,” She elaborates. “Dude… I can’t help but live vicariously through you right now – like are you guys fucking? In the same house your parents are fucking? That’s so gross,” She snorts, and I make a face.

“Ew Viv, no! No one is fucking anyone.”

“Oh my god,” She clocks me in a matter of seconds. “You guys absolutely got freaky on the road, didn’t you?” I don’t need to have her in front of me to know her thin, blonde brows are wiggling comically.

I press my hands to my cheeks and groan. “No,” I tell her, which technically is not a lie because nothing happened on the road. In fact, being on the road was probably the most normal thing to happen between us – between actual siblings. It’s when he held my hand and took me to the diner that he seemed to press play on our perverted little game.

“Liar, liar” she sings. “Just be safe, ‘cus it’s going to be super weird when Jude Jr. pops out and you have to explain that her daddy is also her uncle.”

I nearly gag at the thought. “God, no, stop it!” I push the snake aside and turn to my stomach. “No one is having kids, okay?” I shiver, “That’s disgusting.”

“You’re right, we’re in Maine, not Alabama.” She thinks she’s so funny, she’s laughing at herself and I threaten to hang up. When she calms down, I finally change topics and ask about Heather and Liliver. We chat until she starts to yawn and I let her get some rest.

I still feel so edgy, though my eyes start to tire. I find my Kindle app and, on a whim, I ignore all the unread books in my library and download a Camus book. It’s not the one from Cardan’s car but it's a translated English version of one that does not aid in my sleep at all. I read until it’s about 5 in the morning, more engrossed in it than I was when it was an assigned reading in high school. I glance out the still dark window and think about track for a moment. I used to leave the dorms so early to make it for morning runs. I got so good at using it as an escape, I was suggested to try out for the track team next semester. Sunrise is in a couple hours, and there’s a trail leading down the creek just behind the house. It’s a bike trail, mostly, but I can run beside it until the sun comes up, just to keep myself occupied for a while.

The next few days involve me slowly cleaning my room, inch by inch, even going down to my small jewelry collection, and scrubbing them clean. I’ll admit, next to Cardan’s expensive jewelry, mine looked very shabby in comparison. I avoid Cardan and maybe Asha in the process, by staying out of the house as much as possible, running in the mornings until my legs give out, catching up with old friends – like Fand and her boyfriend – maneuvering around the city like a tourist, going to small museums and bookstores –  places I would never even think of going on any regular day. Of course, I’m home before 9 every night, and in my room until I force myself to get through a few hours of shut eye just to run again in the morning and start it all over. It’s beginning to get harder, trying to ignore my problems, tedious even.

I'm rubbing lotion on the scabbed over bits on my fingers, annoyed and embarrassed by how horrifying they look, starting to yellow in color and peel at the edges. They itch in their healing process, making it hard for me not to pick at them again. My fingers look mismatched, and I know scar cream can only fix so much. I could cry at how horrible it makes me feel to not even be aware that I’m doing it, that I’m hurting myself until I start to bleed. Therapy might help, but Dad is against it. I guess he doesn’t want to know what the root cause of it is – doesn’t want it said out loud, at least.

I push my window all the way up tonight, sticking my head out to stare at the stars. There’s a big ledge that should technically be the roof of the garage, but I’ve often brought blankets out to sit comfortably and read when it was nice out. I twist my fingers, trying not to focus too much on the compulsive need I feel to itch at my skin, instead lamenting about last summer, and definitely not at all about anything related to my stepbrother. I’m so in my own head that I almost miss when Cardan sticks his head out his own window.

My brows are raised as I watch him climb over the sill and walk on the eaves to sit on the slope right beside me, the scent of burning earth creeps into my nostrils “Jude,” he murmurs in greeting and my name had always sounded so pretty from his lips, but something about tonight makes my chest squeeze tighter than usual. The near week I spent without him felt almost intolerable in perspective with him sitting beside me right now. Why had I put myself through torture to steer clear of him when I feel so at peace now next to him?

“It’s cold,” I point out, glancing at his attire of a short sleeve white shirt and thin looking gray joggers. He doesn’t even have socks on. I may have on shorts and a T-shirt, but I'm not outside in the cold, in fact my room has become so unbearably warm these days I have to constantly leave my window open.

He ignores me, taking a short drag of whatever he’s rolled. When the scent hits me again, it tickles my nose a little and I try not to sneeze. “Why is it that we live together now, and I see less of you? Are you avoiding me?”

“I could say the same about you,” I point out, resting my elbow on the ledge, bracing the side of my face to my palm. The few times I’ve been home before dinner, Cardan has been noticeably absent.  He smiles but it looks grim. He leans back, resting his head on the gable. The air is unusually still tonight, so the smoke surrounds him for a long while; I watch the wisps disappear between us. The fume begins to sting my eyes, but I don’t want to look away. I admit, “I can’t sleep.” My sleep schedule has been fucked for days, no matter how often I’ve managed to tire myself out.

He holds out the joint to me and I take it mostly out of confusion. “Your lights are on all night long then you disappear at five in the morning.”

“Have you been keeping tabs?” I roll the joint between my fingers, then make a decision and take a hit. My lips touch where his lips had and though we’ve done a lot more than share spit before, this feels far more intimate in the quiet night. It burns a little, like I know it would, and it itches my throat when I exhale slowly through my nose. I look down at the thin stick, brows furrowing at the rolling paper. I’ve never seen any with words on it. “I am. Avoiding you. My heart beats faster around you. My palms get clammy and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. It hurts to breathe sometimes,” I explain my anxiety, twisting the joint to read the words, wondering if it says something profound. “Can’t mean anything good,” I mumble. “It’s like walking across a narrow bridge with nothing beneath to catch my fall.”

After a beat, he asks, almost too quietly, “Are you scared of me, dear sister?” I don’t answer, then he shrugs, eyes gazing over what he can see of me, “I think you’re prettiest when you're honest.” Cardan reaches his hand to ruffle my hair. I try to bat it away, but his fingers dig in a little tighter, weaving through and under the bun I’ve haphazardly attempted earlier. He doesn’t really need to tilt my head to face him, I do it for him. If the stars are bright tonight, his eyes are even brighter. “I’m not avoiding you,” he tells me after a long while. “And you’re not, by the way,” he is so close to me now, that our breaths mingle and turn to fog between us, “Out of my system, I mean.” My eyes widened at the answer to my question that seemed like eons ago. He releases my hair and tweaks my nose almost affectionately. He takes the roll from my fingers, but I catch a few words where our fingers touch, morbidly reminding me of Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam.

“Holy shit,” I whisper suddenly, looking at him horrified as he smokes it. “That’s the – you… The paper!” he raises a brow and looks at the roll like he’s only now noticing what I had. “Oh my God,” I say.

His languid grin is so wicked, I could almost say he’s the devil himself. “Yeah,” he drawls, “I guess so.”

“Cardan!” I whisper harshly, “You can’t smoke bible pages!”

He shrugs, “Was out of rolling paper.” He rolls his eyes, “It’s not like Big G wrote it himself anyways.”

My mouth parts in disbelief. “Big G?” I struggle to say. He bends down and kisses my nose. “You’re kind of cute, Jude.” I blink up at him and he pecks my lips this time. I pull back and touch my lips tentatively, aware that I too, have smoked the same bible joint. My mouth parts and he slips said joint between my lips as they close. I inhale sharply, eyes on him. When he pulls it away, I start to cough. His warm hand smooths over my cheek as if trying to calm me. He takes another drag, almost absently, eyes starting to strain red as he watches me settle. His thumb plays with the freckle under my eye, swiping over it as if to see if it’ll disappear.

“Wh- What,” I cough again and try to clear my throat, eyes watering while he catches the stray droplets. “What page was it?”

His smirk comes by sluggishly. His words are as hazy as I feel, trailing off by the end, “Something in Proverbs. Keep your mouth free of perversity; keep corrupt talk… far… from your… lips.”

“God, you’re sick,” I tell him. “Jesus, Cardan,” I manage; I feel unnerved and his lack of reaction makes me feel like I’m going crazy.

“Invite me in,” he says quietly, like he’s a fucking vampire or faerie; changing the subject I’m still reeling over. “We can watch a scary movie. I’d love to hear you scream.” He pinches my cheek. “I’ve missed you, Jude.”

I don’t know what convinces me to do it – him, his confession or my mild inebriation – but, I take hold of his wrist, stopping him from pulling away from me. “You’re a fucking menace,” I mutter. I take a step back and tug him, “and I don’t scream,” I let him know, holding his hand as he slips in through my window.

Cardan smiles, pinching the joint out and placing it on my desk. He looks around my room, and I awkwardly shuffle around my desk for my laptop. I sit on my bed, watching him warily, with my heart beating against my eardrums over him touching all my things. This is different from how it was in my dorms. I’m less comfortable and acutely aware of our parents and all the reasons I tried to avoid him this week.

He shuffles around as nosy as I had been in his car. He picks up a bottle of perfume and sniffs the nozzle, then spritzes some onto himself, probably to mask the weed scent he’d acquired. He plays with makeup I’ve left out on the vanity, opening a palette and rubbing a finger over a gold pigment he then rubs off against his shirt. I wince while I’m trying to remember my password to the streaming sites I’m sharing with three other friends. I hear him opening drawers and I glance to see him pick at my undergarments. He finally opens the bottom drawer and pulls out a pair of thick socks he manages to stretch over his feet. I hold in a laugh and scoot down on my bed while he hits the light.

He picks up the stuffed snake, tosses it on the armchair with the other two stuffed animals, and climbs on to the bed. He smells like me, atop that earthy aroma. I shuffle in closer, and he wraps his arm around me like it was just natural for him to do. It feels like a date, so I tell myself it’s the weed and sacrilege that makes me give in - we can't get any worse than smoking Proverbs – so I allow myself to rest my head on his shoulder. I become aware that there’s something else beneath those two mingled scents on him; that amber musk I always smell when he’s near. Without knowing when, I’ve missed smelling it, so I twist my head, trying to get more of it. 

Cardan chooses one of The Exorcist movies and my eyes blur later when I try to see beyond the dark frames of blue-toned lighting. I don’t scream but my face is pressed into his chest, eyes screwed shut and my legs wrapped around him so tight my bones ache. My heart is racing something different than what I'm used to around him, my chest is tight, but it feels like the bad sort of wrong. I’d never seen any of the movies, but I hadn’t expected to feel petrified enough to wrap myself around him.

I feel the vibration of his chuckle and when he strokes my hair back, I look up to him. The bluish tint from the screen casts something ethereal across his skin. He feels so warm and cozy and I think for once, I wouldn’t mind if sleep could evade me, if it meant resting in his arms. How had I spent a whole week avoiding him when I could have been doing this instead?  “Okay?” he asks. His eyes are droopy; red and lethargic. I nod imperceptibly, and he tugs at a lock of hair unkempt from the band, trailing it over my face and letting it spring back to its mess. His finger dances across my nose to the freckle under my eye, then slowly down my jaw and across my lips. “Should we turn it off? I can have you screaming in other ways.” His finger’s skim over my lips and I want to do the same to him, unexpectedly so aware of them and the way they move. I get his oral fixation with me. 

I touch his bottom lip with the tip of my fingers, “Fuck off,” I mumble beneath my breath. I slip my finger between his teeth and his tongue slowly wraps around, beckoning it further in. I feel it in the tightening of my breasts and the warmth pooling in my core when he sucks on my finger. 

I lift up a bit and he chuckles, helping me find balance as I rest my weight on my elbow. I pull my finger out, trailing wet lines over his chin, and down to his neck. I trace the tendons there, entranced by the way his muscles flex at my touch. When the movie is forgotten, he reaches for the laptop and twists to set it on the bedside table, letting the movie play out beside us while my hand trails down his chest, slowly to the hem of his shirt tentatively playing with the cotton. I gnaw at my bottom lip, hesitating for a moment. “What if…” There’s blood and gore and screams and a haunting soundtrack, but it's Cardan who has my heart stuttering and my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts now. His hand rests on the small of my back, the other skims to my neck, resting where my pulse vibrates. His eyes flutter, struggling to stay open and on me when my fingers slip under the waistband of his sweats. When I touch the skin of his pelvis, feel the trim of hair there, I realize that it’s the first time I’m touching him there at all.

“Jude,” he murmurs, subdued now.

“What if,” I continue, softly, “I want to make you scream?” his eyes glimmer and his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth when I take hold of him blindly. His stomach twitches and I’m torn between wanting to watch his reaction and wanting to look at what my hand is doing. My grip tightens and he sucks in a breath.

“Jesus, Jude…I…” he struggles to breathe and it does something to twist at the heat in my belly, “I don’t scream either, Jude,” he finally whispers, pressing on my back until I fall forward. He kisses me deeply, slowly, further muddling my brain. His hand slips under my shirt, warm on my spine. He grabs hold of my hand and pulls it from his pants. I pull away from him startled, and a little embarrassed until he licks the palm of my hand and guides it back to his dick. “But I’m not above begging,” he tells me in a breath. “So don’t stop, Jude…” I clamber on top of him, finding his free hand and using it as leverage to hover over him. He lets me bring it above his head, lets me rest my forehead on top of his, eyes gazing at each other until I look down between us, holding his shaft tighter, pulling him from his sweats.  “Fuck,” he breathes.

I thumb at the head, sticky precum coats my finger and when I squeeze the swollen tip, he lets out a soft moan. I’m a bit out of my element but I hope I hide it well. I want him to feel just an ounce of the way he makes me feel. I kiss his cheek, trail my lips to his ear and stroke his member. “Look at you,” I say in a hushed tone as our fingers interlace. His free hand slides over my ass and down to my thigh, squeezing my skin like it’s a tether. He bites his lip, a grunt escaping. The movie plays on, music growing louder, fueling the atmosphere. “Look at my big brother,” I bite down on his earlobe, tugging the metal loop he’d left in tonight. “So needy…and …all… for… me.”

Cardan lets out something between a laugh and a groan, hips bucking against my hand just the slightest. “Fuck me…” he groans. “You’re a bit of a brat, you kn- ahh!” I stroke faster, a little harder. There’s silence from the laptop. “You… you missed me too,” he mumbles, eyes shutting, sweat sheening his forehead, “didn’t you,” he slurs. I nod, taking my lips down his neck and kissing him under his jaw. He calls my name when I pull skin between my teeth. “Fuck!” He lets out the moment the screaming on screen starts up. His dick twitches but before I can do more, his hand on my thigh begs me closer to him, “Please, Jude… please… let me feel how hot and wet your pussy is right now,” he begs almost drunkenly. He tugs at my shorts and pulls them along with my panties to the side, then helps me settle on his straining cock, hissing when our skins touch. I pull in my bottom lip, grabbing his hand and pressing it above his head with the other.

I feel my cunt spasm before I even start to move. “Fuck…” he whispers again, eyes in a daze when my hips begin to grind.

“Is this…” I trail off, not wanting to sound unsure of myself. “Do you like that, Cardan?”

“Y…yes…” His grip tightens around my fingers, and his hips begin to rut against me. He’s slick with my wetness in the matter of seconds, sliding between my slit, rubbing against my clit hard. “Don’t stop, baby,” he slurs, “keep… riding me,” he pleads, “you feel… so fucking good,” he tells me so quiet, I almost don’t hear it beyond the noise of the movie I wish would just end already. I watch his face twist, and his eyes struggle to stay open and on me. His lips are parted and forming quiet obscenities between muffled grunts, “So wet for me…” I feel lightheaded and warm all over, my knees start to shake and try to keep up with his thrusts. I move faster, whimpering and moaning, enthralled by how he looks - like he's the one who's being corrupted by me.

I don’t have time to comprehend when he easily overpowers me and flips us. He takes hold of my two hands in one of his, the other hand reaches for my shirt and pulls it all the way up, holding the scrunched fabric to my neck. He moves sloppily against me, rough and hard. My breath catches when his head falls to my chest, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth. I pull in my lip hard between my teeth, scared of the noise that’d escape. His tongue flicks tenderly in comparison to the abrasion between our legs. It confuses and overwhelms me and when he bites down and pulls hard, my eyes cross and my vision doubles, “Car-ah!” my nails dig into his flesh, and my body starts to twitch uncontrollably. 

It’s like my climax had been what he was waiting for because he pulls away from me and takes hold of his cock, stroking it over my stomach fast and almost animalistically. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants, “Jude… fuck…” until his come shoots hot and white over my skin, between my breasts and down my navel.

He breathes rough and shaky, burying his face into the crook of my neck. My hands tremble as they wrap around his head, running over his hair more to calm myself than his. His heart beats against my chest almost alarmingly, and when the air seems to finally clear, the credits roll on the screen and Cardan falls to his side. I almost laugh at his near immediate lull to sleep.

My hands still shake as I detach from him, closing the laptop and sneaking off to the bathroom for a wet rag. I wipe down myself before I work on the mess against his skin. He’s still asleep when I wake up in the morning, but when I’m back from my run, he’s not even home.

←Prev Part ∞ Next Part →

Masterlist

Gentle Sins Masterlist

[panic-flavored]

Mermay-Stobotinik ask!!

An agent or basically just another human starts getting handsy with a uncomfortable Robotinik. Then Stone dives out of tank and eats the other human before promptly marking Robotinik as his.

“You can't keep disemboweling every agent who gets a little too close to me, Stone!”

The badniks have already dealt with the body - or what was left of it - and Robotnik is pacing in front of Stone’s tank, rubbing a knuckle against his chin, torn between either delivering a furious reprimand or thanking Stone for disposing of a man who was entirely too touchy-feely with him to be considered work appropriate. Stone sits on the platform attached to his tank - Robotnik originally constructed it to make it easier to perform exams on Stone, but lately Stone enjoys using it just to get closer to the Doctor - watching Robotnik with an expression that can only be described as distracted. On edge, perhaps. His pelvic fins are still frilled in agitation. Robotnik has seen him like this before, usually after a kill, but today something seems different. 

“This is the third ‘misunderstanding’ in the last month, I'm starting to run out of excuses to tell the Commander! I don't enjoy having to occasionally work with humans either, but you're going to have to learn how to control yourself around them. Do you understand?”

Stone frowns. His fins have lost their threatening red stripes and have eased into the friendlier golden glowing spots, something he only displays for Robotnik. Stone repositions himself so he can use his hands to sign. 

He touched you.

“Yes, I know, I was there,” Robotnik groans. He can still feel the unwelcome hand on his hip, and can still hear the uncomfortably flirtatious tone in the agent’s voice. Why someone would ever attempt such a thing is completely beyond him. Robotnik is famously a horrible person to be around - a fact he’s very proud of, thank you - and should, by all accounts, scare everyone off without even trying. This was the persona he’d cultivated for himself, after all. The agent must have been after something, he thinks. There’s no other explanation. “I didn’t enjoy it, but I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need you to rip out the throat of every human who looks at me funny. I’ll let you know when and if your service is required.”

Stone stares at him unblinkingly. He signs again. 

No one can touch you but me.

Any sane, rational person would take a step back after hearing something like that from a merman who has just pulled the intestines out of a man with his teeth, but Robotnik is neither sane nor rational. He takes a step forward.  “Oh ho, what’s this? A bold claim, if I do say so. I don’t remember ever agreeing to this.”

You don’t seem to mind when I touch you.

Robotnik’s eyes narrow. “Well, you’re different, I suppose. I’m researching you, sometimes physical contact is necessary.”

Stone’s eyes dilate sharply. That isn’t– He makes an irritated click from the back of his throat. It’s different.

“Enlighten me, then,” Robotnik challenges, taking another step closer to the merman. At this distance, he can see how wild Stone’s eyes look and how abnormally labored his breathing has become. Robotnik frowns. “...Stone? Perhaps you’d better get back in the water, you–”

A low growl rumbles in Stone’s throat, and before Robotnik can react he’s being tackled to the floor by a merman. Robotnik sputters a surprised curse, his fall softened by Stone’s arms around his head and shoulders to cushion the impact. Robotnik always knew getting killed by either his machines or his research subjects was a possibility - about .09%, actually - but it was unexpected, all the same. When a few seconds pass without the feeling of sharp teeth tearing into his flesh, however, Robotnik chances glancing up at his attacker. 

Stone leans over him, his chest heaving with harsh breaths, lips parted to reveal the barest hint of those terrifying teeth. His eyes are wide and wild, but again, something seems off. He doesn’t look hungry, he looks desperate. Emotional, perhaps. With his hands planted on either side of Robotnik’s head, he can’t sign what he’s thinking, but Robotnik isn’t certain he’s able to communicate anything in this state, anyway. 

Robotnik is wearing his control gloves. He can easily signal the badniks to end Stone’s life right here and now, but he doesn’t. Instead, he raises a hand to gently, experiementally touch the side of Stone’s face, fingertips trailing over Stone’s trembling jaw. 

“I think I understand,” Robotnik says softly. Stone’s eyes are dilating wildly, locked onto him with a longing that doesn’t need to be signed to be perfectly understood. “Alright, then. You’ve been a good boy all this time, haven’t you? You’ve done everything I’ve asked, and you’ve protected me as well as any of my machines. Whatever you need to do, go ahead.” 

Something flickers behind Stone’s eyes, something Robotnik has never seen there before. Stone leans down, opening his mouth wide and setting the tips of his teeth against the juncture between Robotnik’s neck and collarbone. Robotnik sucks in a breath just as those teeth sink into him, piercing through the thick material of his shirt like it’s nothing more than tissue paper. 

Robotnik hisses in pain, unable to stop himself from bringing his hands up to grab hold of Stone’s shoulders, not to pry him off, just for something to hold onto. He can feel his pulse throbbing frantically under Stone’s mouth, deafening in his own ears. Stone’s jaws are locked onto his shoulder like a vice but thankfully he doesn’t continue to bite down. He holds his position, his mouth impossibly hot against Robotnik’s newly punctured flesh. As Stone’s grip grows stronger his powerful tail moves to coil around Robotnik’s legs like a snake strangling its prey, holding the Doctor firmly in place.

Robotnik has never felt so helpless in all his life. He’s in pain, he’s immobilized, and he’s completely at Stone’s mercy. At any moment Stone could decide to rip his throat out and end it all, but inexplicably, Robotnik knows he won’t. He can’t explain how he knows, but if he had to try, he would say he just has a feeling. Robotnik is not a man of feeling, not usually, but it’s almost as though Stone’s intention is infectious, spreading to Robotnik’s conscious mind like a virus. Stone makes him feel safe. It’s bizarre to claim he feels safe with an apex predator digging his teeth into him, but there’s no other way to describe how he feels at present. 

If Robotnik is being honest with himself, he knows exactly what Stone is doing. He’s known for some time, ever since he sussed out the reason behind the luminescent spots appearing on Stone’s fins, or noticed how extremely overprotective Stone was over his wellbeing. Stone wants Robotnik to be his mate. And although it defies all logic and reason, Robotnik isn’t against the idea. 

It’s too late for regrets, even if he had them. The moment he’d given Stone consent to mark him he’d sealed the deal. Although it's a foreign concept to him, Robotnik relents, relaxing his body into Stone’s hold. Stone utters a soft, pleased growl, his tail curling around Robotnik all the more snugly.

.

.

.

“Good lord,” Robotnik mumbles, standing shirtless in front of one of his monitors, using his badnik’s camera to view his wounds. An almost perfectly symmetrical circle of teeth marks covers his neck and collarbone, still bleeding. He dabs the emerging blood with a cloth. “You’re lucky I like turtlenecks, Stone, because I’m going to be wearing one for the rest of my life to cover these up. I hope you’re happy.” Behind him, Stone ceases his contented, languid circles in his tank to come to the surface with a big, dopey grin on his face. His mood has done a complete one-eighty since being allowed to bite the Doctor, and Robotnik doesn’t know exactly how that makes him feel.

Don’t cover them when it’s just the two of us. I want to see them.

Robotnik scoffs, though he can’t ignore the way his face heats up. “Don’t think that just because I gave you a little bit of freedom you get to order me around,” he growls. “Now that you’ve gotten what you wanted, does this mean you’ll stop ripping agents to pieces if they stand less than five feet away from me?”

It depends on how close they get.

“Stone!” Robotnik squeezes the bridge of his nose, exhaling a frustrated sigh. “I suppose you don’t want me to treat the wound either, despite how many diseases you just probably gave me.”

Stone leans on the edge of the tank. Come over here. Robotnik shoots him a suspicious glare. Please?

Robotnik rolls his eyes, stomping back over to the tank. Stone reaches out carefully, guiding Robotnik closer, and he pushes himself out of the tank just enough to brush his lips over the puncture wounds. For a moment Robotnik wonders if Stone is going to bite him again - maybe once wasn’t enough - but instead, Stone’s long, narrow tongue laps gently against his wounds, sending a chill flying up Robotnik’s spine.

“Wha– What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Despite his protests, Robotnik barely moves, allowing Stone to continue his ministrations. A musical trill sounds from Stone’s throat as his hands answer Robotnik’s inquiry. 

Helping you feel better. 

As difficult as it was to admit, it was working. The stinging pain was beginning to fade away, replaced with a pleasant, tingling warmth that spreads into his neck and down into his shoulder. 

“F-fascinating. Remind me to take another sample of your saliva later,” Robotnik says, biting his lower lip to prevent an unbecoming moan from spilling out. When Stone is satisfied with his work, he leans his arms on the edge of the tank, that grin still infuriatingly plastered onto his face. The spots on his fins are glowing so brightly Robotnik worries he’ll burn himself out. 

Feel better? Stone signs. 

Robotnik clears his throat, the heat in his face growing stronger. “The pain is irrelevant, it’s the scarring I’m worried about.”

Stone rests his chin in his palm, his eyes trailing from Robotnik’s face to the red-pink mark on his neck. Don’t be worried. My marks look beautiful on you.

Robotnik reaches out to grab Stone’s hands, desperate to make him stop talking. His words are doing something to Robotnik’s chest that he can’t explain, and for once, he’s in no hurry to figure it out.

[seeinginthedark]

This is what I believe in my heart and in my soul . My heart and soul have synced in and the communication line between is clear . Same goes for my subconscious, after rigorous shadow self work. As for my mind , I’ve synced in my left and right brain hemispheres. I did this in 2022. So they are balanced and healthy . I am of sane mind . I won’t be gaslighted anymore by anyone , any man , any institution and not even gaslighted by myself .

Here we go, strap in .

If you’ve been reading my blogs , you will know that I’m on a mission. I have a psychosis but, as I keep reiterating, a psychosis means different things depending what culture your from. In Indigenous cultures(who are more closer to the Earth and nature) a psychosis is a ‘spiritual situation’ . In the western medicine world , it’s a mental illness. People get scared during a psychosis and don’t know how to handle it. I handle it. I don’t get scared or paranoid. I don’t have hallucinations or hear voices . I know the difference between a delusion and a sign , a message from the ancestors .

The videos I made in 2022, contain information that I didn’t understand at the time , suddenly now have become relevant. They were warning me of what to watch out for .

We are in a spiritual situation. A war. An attack on our souls . An ongoing oppression. Being drained of our humanity.

To be turned into something un-natural and mechanic. And we won’t allow this happen.

The ancestors that made it to the afterlife (instead of a reincarnation soul trap ) are building alliances with spirits of this Earth, of nature and of the inner Earth. I’m dead serious about this .

A lot of us today are souls of our ancestors who chose to leave the astral afterlife realm to come here in this modern world . They are Mother Earths army. We are at the front line now . The children of today have been absolutely bombarded with screens, technology and toxic social media . In an effort to neutralise us , make us forget who we are and forget what’s important in life . This wave of children , are born already spiritually activated and awake . They have immense spiritual potency and magic-like abilities. They are our salvation now .

A lot of people however , are getting confused thinking they a star seeds or thinking they were meant to be a different gender . These are trends and narratives that have been articulately planted on purpose for the reason to distract and confuse and cause social division . And self identity issues .

Please, if you have one of these special children , who are from magic bloodlines , please take care of them . Nurture them and their abilities. Do not crush their imagination- as it is one of their magical traits . Please limit the amount of screen time they are having. I know it’s hard and we are all busy trying to get by and have to work and have so many things on our plate but please don’t pacify them with iPads and tablets and phones . It inhibits their development. It inhibits their social skills . It socially programs them.

Get them outside in nature as much as possible . Listen to them. Let them have a voice . Let them express themselves creatively. Treasure them . Love them unconditionally. They are here to change the world. I don’t want to see any of these children grow up and be plugged into a permanent virtual reality . With microchips in their brains . With non -organic robotic add ons . Stuck in the simulation. Their souls recycled back into this system when they die . Their souls need to be free, as all of our souls should be .

We can beat this A.I take -over . Together . United . Strong . Keep your vibes high . Self care. Heal from your trauma. Be the powerful spiritual warrior you were born to be . For Earth. For our souls . This is it.

[mrmcwigglyman]

A letter to E-Sekai

Rare semi-serious post because E-Sekai's first anniversary is tomorrow.

Hopefully this breaches Tumblr containment because I don't use any other social media.

When E-Sekai first debuted, I was at a really bad time in my life. For context, I went to college in late August, and for two months, I was slowly destroying my mental health because I wanted to stay, but couldn't handle it. I continued to sink deeper and deeper into depression until my mom came to take me home in late October. During the first months of my return, I was so dejected that I didn't want to do anything. I wasted all my time doing unproductive things on the computer, relying on it for comfort. My parents intervened and restricted access to my computer. Without my computer for comfort, I turned to watching VTubers on my phone, to the point of staying up all night trying to distract myself from the sadness of having to leave college. It was really unhealthy and non-sustainable, but I couldn't get myself to do anything else.

Almost exactly one month later, I found a debut compilation for Idol-EN's first generation, called E-Sekai. I was immediately interested, so I found their channels and subscribed to all of them. I especially liked Rin, for various reasons which I'll get to later, but I enjoyed watching everyone. Their streams got me to come out of my shell online. Before E-Sekai, I didn't use the YouTube account on my phone for chatting or commenting at all, because I didn't have a channel linked to it, but E-Sekai convinced me to make a channel so I could chat. One of the things about small to medium-sized VTuber agencies is that the streamers are more likely to see your comment as an individual. Whenever I got someone to laugh with one of my jokes, it made my day. E-Sekai made me want to be creative again. They got me through the grueling late nights of working at my coat check job. And they helped me try to get out of my depression. I actually know and interact with people on the Idol discord, and I discovered a lot more VTuber agencies because Idol gave me confidence to chat in many other VTubers' chats.

My life is still not perfect. I'm really anxious about any sort of change to my routine, such as getting a normal job, and I need to get better at taking care of myself. But E-Sekai and Idol in general still brings a lot of happiness to my life.

I want to take the rest of this post to say how each individual member of E-Sekai contributed to my life, and the group as a whole. I'm not good at writing these kinds of things, and I'm probably missing a bunch of what makes them all so fun to watch, but I hope this captures them well enough.

Yuko: The scream from her debut was ear-piercingly beautiful. Her hyperactive personality leads to incredibly fun moments. I'm still amazed by how much she loves her boo bros. She's the perfect blend of lewd, wholesome, and silly. In one of her karaoke streams, she got me to listen to the entirety of "A Little Piece of Heaven", which is my least favorite A7X song. Keep being the most neurodivergent in E-Sekai, Yuko! Wanau :boobropout:

Juna: The eel's art and Live2D streams were super comfy, but also very cursed. I celebrated New Year's along with her, and I still have the art she made for it somewhere. Juna's streams got me through the early parts of my coat check shifts. I love all the inside jokes the fameely has, such as "good riddance", "LIVID", banning Yogurt, and Golden Shower. And speaking of the fameely, they're the friendliest people in the Discord server, and I love to talk to them. Juna actually responded to my comments a lot, which boosted my confidence a lot. Also, one of my favorite moments was during the Seiso Stream when I tried to catch her off guard by asking her to pronounce "Featherstonhaugh." Always remember that it rhymes with "hand saw." Stay LIVID, Juna, and thanks for all the completely sane streams so far.

Rin: Rin is the one that I instantly identified with. She loves making silly powerpoints. She has a very particular taste in video games that I can never find anywhere else. Even before she mentioned she was ace, I could tell she was ace-coded. She has an incredibly broken sense of humor. The first (and currently only) VTuber merch I've ever bought was the skrunkly plush. And I don't really believe in fate, but I had to admit that there was one coincidence that was very convincing. While watching her debut slides, when she was introducing some of her plushies, I learned that I have a very personal connection to the name of one of her plushies. Her streams are incredibly creative and fun. Her powerpoint streams and skit streams are the funniest content I've seen in a long time. Her reactions to things that wouldn't normally be funny makes them funny, which is part of the reason I love the shovelware series so much. I can tell she works so hard behind the scenes to make all those things happen. Even though after the Shortsening her chat is sometimes unbearable to look at, I'm glad that she is a lot of people's first VTuber. I'm proud to call Rin my kami-oshi. Fun fact: The B emoji in my YouTube username, although I've used it before Idol, was specifically chosen for Rin, except now that the emoji is banned in her chat, I can't actually send my membership milestone chats because according to YouTube logic, my username counts as part of the superchat?? I'll probably change it to a small capital B instead someday. Anyway, Rin, I'm glad to be a member of the Princedom, and I'm so happy that you are able to reach so many people. Also, congrats for keeping up the Rin facts for a YEAR! *metal_pipe.mp3* *outro music*

Pochi: Pochi is an absolute gamer. The fact that she doesn't rage very often leads to some very comfy streams, even in frustrating games. She also does some cool themed zatsus, like the pet peeves stream. I enjoy her Minecraft streams a lot, and I actually got back into modded Minecraft because of her. Her redebut was so good and so creative, and I just think her "hello, I am puppy" t-shirt is hilarious. I often leave her streams on in the background because she is just so comfy. Keep doing what you're doing, Pochi! Wäf wäf!

Fuyo: One early series of streams that I enjoyed was Fuyo's Bioshock playthrough. Normally I don't like those kinds of games, but it was actually really interesting. I also remember watching her VTuber cosplay stream while waiting for a doctors appointment that I showed up an hour early for. I still don't know she got away with some of the games she played in the first week after debut. When I was waking up late because I was staying up late, Fuyo streams were what helped me wake up and get out of bed. Also I think I left the Nyan Cat stream on while I slept, which may or may not have been detrimental to my musical health. I look forward to the future, and I hope you are, too, Fuyo. Thank you for giving back my physical wallet, even if you kept the stuff inside.

I'm awful at wording things, but I really wanna thank E-Sekai for helping me out of a deep hole in my life. I know this is probably not gonna get more notes than my fucking Papa Louie Veggie Dog post, but on the offchance this reaches one or all of you... idk I'm all out of words, but I'm looking forward to another year of E-Sekai antics.

I also want to thank the rest of Idol for being just as awesome!

[cbts004]

Anon asked: have u ever gotten burnout or overwhelmed from your commission work or art in general? ur a big inspiration to me not just bc of ur art but well you are at like, doing commissions and doing so many on time, and on top of that you pump out so many drawings every week…do u ever get tired or anything? what is ur secret i must know

I dunno if I have "a secret", I think I'm just straight up addicted to drawing or something if I'm being honest. I have had periods where I do draw less, for months at a time in fact, but that was due to me feeling extremely depressed and very unlike myself. Drawing for me is a way to cope, to self soothe, distract myself from other things. I pretty much go through most days with a sense of overthinking and anxiety, and drawing allows me to escape that whirlpool and just focus on one thing at a time. So for me, if I haven't drawn for a day, it feels WEIRD and uncomfortable, like I've got some sort of nagging itch. I understand that a lot of people absolutely do not have this relationship with art, sometimes for them it can feel like more trouble than it's worth, or a dissatisfaction with how works turn out vs the amount of effort put in can be crushing. I do feel stuff like that, certainly. Though the feeling is never enough to keep me from at least drawing something once a day because for me, it's what keeps me sane.

 I think I have felt a sense of burnout before with art, and that's when I was in situations when I had to rely so much on art to get me things for my livelihood. I understand that for me, a career in art would probably put too much pressure on me to the point where I would just want to avoid doing it. When you have that pressure, you can't enjoy art for what it is, it has this importance placed so heavily onto it I can't even think about drawing clearly. It's that heavy expectation that kills my drive for me. I don't feel that with commissions, because for as professional as I try to be, it's informal. People understand that I may take my time, have things happen, etc. Cuz when you commission someone they know I'm ultimately just one person doing this on my own. https://retrospring.net/@cbts004/a/111134782956863276)

[kollapsar]

Tl;Dr discussion of rates, the art industry, personal thoughts etc.

For a long time there- a period of about 3 years when I started freelancing again- all I wanted was to work for companies like Wizards. I held the art made for them in such high esteem, I got a mentor to help me work in that direction and I've labored in blood to get my skill and style there. Stress straight up put me in the emergency room.

And gods I've grown, but the critical, negative, you're not ever going to get there in my head has grown so strong that the rift between what I see and what I make has grown even wider. I genuinely only see what I could have done better in my work most of the time these days. I struggle to share it because between Twitter's slow motion implosion and the industry being Like That and this aforementioned rift, I am torn between "it's not good enough" and "what's the point?"

When honestly, my style and work have thrived best under work for private clients and small entities. I'm starting to realize that maybe that's where it's at- and I'm closer to something I really wanted all along. I don't want to make something that is an asset, I want to make pieces that sing, or shriek, right into a heart. I want to make work that is a collaboration between my client's imagination and heart and my heart and my hand.

That's not to say that the private client atmosphere is always going to be conducive to artists living healthy lives or getting paying wages. The balance is hardly struck, through by god I love madly in my heart each client that will pay my high rates and help me set that example that my work is worth $30 an hour.

But I also haven't raised my rates for private clients in 2 years. I've painted maybe 300 complete paintings since, probably more, and that number hasn't changed, because the people I love working with most can't afford it.

But in turn, I've found out that the artists who work for people as big as fucking Wizards are over delivering masterpieces for wages that haven't changed in 20 years. Storm the Seedcore by Jason Rainville is a fucking piece of triumph that I have had as my wallpaper for years as an aspirational piece a fucking beauty of motion, composition and color that he delivered for $1200. (It's his spirit of transparency that he showed in discussing it that I hope to share in talking about this now).

$1200 to a megazillion corpo that indubitably made so much more off that incredible piece. Like, Jesus Christ. Sure he got the right to sell prints and he probably lives better than me but, what?

So until things get better, and who knows if they will, maybe it is best that I stay here struggling. And all I can do is try to take care of myself while working with the beautiful people that I do and making the art that I want. But god, finding that balance has been so difficult I have stretches of days paralyzed by indecision and depression.

It's been hard to think and I genuinely have made a resolution of 2024 to be more cognitively present instead of self medicating to keep working, because my art needs me, not just the skills I've cultivated over years to autopilot out a painting. And I have to be in one sane piece to deliver.

So I'll keep striving to share my work even if my critical self keeps seeing problems. I'll keep loving and trying to reward all the care and investment my followers and clients have given with more of this work. I'll probably keep bleeding a little into my paintings the way I have, though I'll try to take care of myself and feed myself too.

It's all just a storm of imbalance distracting from the heart of it all: we're trying to create something that will outlast us here. Something that sings.

It shouldn't be this hard, but hell, it always feels worst before a breakthrough, right?

[softguarnere]

hey dove! how are you? family Christmas is coming up and I have a sneaking suspicion this year is going to be a doozy. your writing always cheers me up and I was wondering if you could maybe do something with Joe Toye? maybe reuniting after the war ends or the first Christmas back home together?

I've literally been rereading all of your stuff bc it's the only thing keeping me sane as of rn xD hope you're having a great day/night!

I'll Be Right Here Waiting/Put It Back Together

Joe Toye x reader

A/N: My dear, you have no idea how much this message means to me 🥹 The thought that the things I write to cheer myself up might be a comfort to someone else is so humbling 💕As someone who has also been dealing with lots of family drama this Christmas, I am sending you virtual hugs and good vibes - we will make it through this 🤝

Y'all know I try my darndest to write requests in the order that I get them. (And if I've taken forever to get to yours, I'm truly sorry, and I promise I'm working on it!) However, this message hit really close to home, and writing it felt like the distraction that I've been needing.

For those of you who enjoy my song title references, this one comes from Lucky by Two Door Cinema Club! (As always, this is written for the fictional depiction from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️

Warnings: mentions of war and hospitals, over use of italics - as usual

Funny, how one can grow so accustomed to unusual circumstances that going back to what was previously normal can be what feels like the drastic change. As the men that you’ve spent the past few years of your life with mill around the deck of the ship, your heart aches a little with the realization that for many of you, this might be it.

Even though you’ve exchanged addresses and given each other instructions on how to keep in touch, realistically you know that you may never see or hear from some of these friends ever again. Sure, you’ve all promised to remain in contact, but making a promise is one thing, and keeping that promise once you’ve moved on with your life and had family and friends and jobs and time get in the way is a completely different thing.

The evidence to prove this is there: there have been plenty of friends that you lost touch with after they were removed from the line and taken to hospitals. Even you, as a nurse, had a difficult time keeping track of them. Unfortunately, even someone who might have been more than a friend, had fate not seen it fit to send him home . . .

How do you go back to what you once knew when you’re so changed? What will you do when the things you saw during the war weigh heavy on your mind in the middle of the night, and the nearest person who would understand what you’re feeling is miles and miles away?

This might be it. The ship pulls into the harbor. People on the docks scream and whoop in delight as you and the other nurses and all the soldiers lean over the rail and wave, smile bright despite the dull worry gnawing at the back of your mind.

This might be it. Babe and Luz and Liebgott all shake your hand and slap your shoulders and trade slips of paper with you, promising to keep the flame of friendship alive between you.

This might be it. You’re gathering your few personal belongings and trying to push through the throngs of people with them, wondering where the loved ones who were supposed to meet you could be.

This might be –

“Let me help you with that,” a deep and familiar voice offers as strong hands take your trunk from you with ease.

Out of habit, you start to protest. “Oh, it’s fine I – “

But then your eyes meet his, and the world around you fades away until you are the only two standing on the dock.

“Joe?”

None other than Joe Toye smiles back at you, his brown eyes alight as he sets your trunk down and opens his arms. Not caring who might be watching, you throw yourself into them, the two of you wrapped up in a warm embrace.

You’re not so sure whether you should laugh or cry or what exactly, as your breath hitches in your throat. “You’re here!”

Still holding you tight, you can feel him nod. “So are you.”

“You found me.” Breaking your embrace is not an easy choice, but you want to look him over. Because he’s really standing in front of you, as tall and strong and capable as ever, his smile lighting up his handsome face as he takes you in in turn.

He nods again. “I had to. It was killing me, being away from you.”

What had started as shy looks between the two of you way back in England had turned into friendly smiles and inside jokes as the war moved you through Europe. And then those jokes and smiles had turned into touches that lasted a little too long and evolved into secrets shared in stolen moments and nervous kisses away from the prying eyes of his superiors.

And then he had been taken from the line before you could decide what word best described what was happening between the two of you.

Now he’s been hugging you on the dock – in front of God and everyone – and he looks just as ready to pick up where you left off as you feel.

“Me, too . . .” You choose your words carefully, like he might disappear again if you accidentally say the wrong ones. “Whaddaya say we make a point of not being away from each other for a while?”

Joe, usually so reserved in the emotions he expresses publicly, breaks into the widest smile you’ve ever seen. Is that your imagination, or does pink tint his cheeks? God, he’s so gorgeous like this, and you wonder how you got lucky enough to find him.

“You’ve always been better with words than me,” he laughs. “And Doll, you stole them right outta my mouth.”

With ease, he grabs your trunk with one hand and throws his other arm around you, protective as he leads you through the crowd. The people who were supposed to meet you at the boat fade to the back of your mind. Joe doesn’t say where you’re going, but with him, you’re certain that anywhere you end up will be called home.

[beatsboy]

8.16.24 / day 54 of doing this, day 1 of living like a delusional artist

day 2 of moon time, pain level: excruciating

everything is no longer romantic. brat summer is dead. i started this little journaling project in a time when i thought what i was seeking was romance. this is because i was lonely, and i had lost my connection with the love for my art, as we artists do, time and time again throughout our lives. because to be artists, we must be lovers, sufferers, those who live. and while living, we can get distracted from the other part: creating.

the other night when i was with friends at the pool, they asked me why romanticize, and as i’ve journaled before, i said i wasn’t sure, and i was considering changing the focus. finding meaning, drawing significance, creating purpose, connecting to the earth, connecting back to myself,

but i keep thinking about david choe’s video i watched about being a delusional artist, just deciding, and living like that. and though my mind is constantly filled with thoughts of whether or not the plastics in my clothes, sponges, towels, foods are going to kill me, whether or not my soap is going to kill me, whether or not the kind of cheese i eat is causing me GI issues, trying to gather the energy and motivation to go to the social services office, stressing about money and wondering how i can get more work, wondering if i’ll ever be over my ex,

i keep going back to that video, where david choe tells me to be a delusional artist. and every day since that video, i’ve asked myself: how can i live today like a delusional artist?

what would a delusional artist do?

and truly, when i think about surviving this place, this city, this industry, more than the nutritional changes i can make, or making sure there’s no chemicals in my clothes (there are), or researching a new sponge because i’m afraid of the bacteria buildup in traditional sponges, the one thing that will help me survive this place will be this: living like a delusional artist, being a delusional artist. that is the only way people make shit happen around here and stay sane, it seems. to let everything else go, and believe in the purpose of your art so fiercely that you protect it, you honor it, you respect it, you fulfill it, you devote yourself to it.

and i’m not talking about devoting myself to the music industry, to spotify, to marketing or branding, i mean dedicating myself to my art. i have been so caught up with the planning (which albeit necessary, but i took it too far) that i forgot that the art itself is what makes me sane, it is what always has: music. music has kept me sane this entire time, creating and absorbing, it is what keeps me in myself, balanced, and regulated. when i was a child, i used to keep track of time in songs. i would ask my mom how many songs until we got where we were going in the car, it was the only way i could figure out when i had to get out of the shower, by listening to the songs playing off my cd player from my room.

so, here is to day 1, officially of being a delusional artist. today, as a delusional artist, i took care of my body, i leaned in to the alleged restorative and cleansing powers of menstruation while my body ached and plagued me. i took a bath, i read a graphic novel, and at the end of the day, i made a rough release timeline. it is time to let my baby out into the world, and it will take the artist and the boyboss inside me to get through this. but i must never lose the artist. tomorrow morning, this delusional artist will go to work at 8am even though my body will beg me to stay in bed, because delusional artists work shitty jobs to pay for their art, so they don’t have to go work at a corporation and forget about their passion projects. it is not about how my day changes or my life changes with this view; i still have to do things like menstruate, work, and support my friends and family. but the lens is different, the view, my priorities are different, and i am interested to see how this shift in focus will manifest in these entries, and in my daily life.

[countrymusiclover]

Ch 39 - The Future of Westeros

Part 40

Fire OF A Stark

@dragonixfrye

Oh my gosh ya’ll ONE more chapters and then I will be completing this story ❤️ ❤️ 😭 😭 😭 ❤️

Tyrion and Jaime both declared together making me get a little embarrassed. I valued their opinions but it wasn’t theirs that scared me the most. “Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister for queen.”

“Will you wear the crown, Lynesse. If we were to choose you…or even if we choose someone else, would you stand by their side and sit on your rightful place on the Iron Throne?” Tyrion slowly walked up to me making his handcuffs squeak. His green eyes shifting from his brother and over our two children.

Blinking my eyes a couple of times I was at a complete loss for words. Even though I was a mother of two growing children and a loving husband. I wasn’t even thinking about being a queen or really a ruler of anything. I have been so consumed with running all my life where I was too focused on keeping my true identity a secret. "Guys I am honored to think that you want me to be the queen of the Seven kingdoms. But I…I don't think I am meant for such a thing."

"You have done a great job with attending to the Rock household. Lynesse, you are so confident on dragon 's back. You risk your life for your people and you don't live by the sane Fire and Blood." Jaime declared placing his hand on my cheek making me turn my head looking at him directly in those bright green orbs. "I told you I would follow you wherever you go, you are my queen now and always."

Sansa shifts in her seat with her hands resting in her lap smiling at me. "You've always been looking out for me and Arya even after you learned who you really were. Lynesse, you have a good heart and you never wanted to use Joanna to get an advance in a battle. You would be a good queen."

"Lynesse, I have seen that you are different from most ladies in our realm the night we met at Winterfell so long ago. And if I recall you once told me that Rhaenyra Targaryen, daughter of Viscerys declared to you in a dream that she believed you were meant for the throne.” Tyrion slowly walked forward much to Grey Worms grumbling that he should stop moving but no one else stops him. “I understand that you might not want it but you are one of the best people that I know in my life..I would bend the knee to you, Lynesse Targaryen.”

All the other lords and ladies turned their heads in my direction. I felt uneasy. Rocking little Eddard in my arms I distracted myself as best I could looking at him. He opened his eyes real big staring up at me. Sucking in a sharp breath I swore that I was staring at my father or at least understanding what he had told me years ago.

"A Lord or Lady makes the hard decisions to protect their people…even when they are afraid." My father Ned told me and Robb as he was showing us where his sister Lyanna and his brother Brandon were buried in the crypt underneath the castle.

Robb glanced back at his father, confused pulling his fur cloak around himself more. “What are you trying to say, father?”

“Is this like anyone can be killed even if they are the greatest fighter in the world?” I questioned him, crossing my arms over my chest. Even though it was frowned upon by my mother Catelyn I had managed to slip away so I could learn lessons from my father. I had learned more from him than I would learning to sew a needle and thread.

Our father turned to face both of us. He had his right hand resting on his sword that he named Ice. “You are right, Cadence. That anyone can be killed but that is not what I am talking about. I am talking about that as the ruler of this house I wake every morning with fear and go to bed with fear in the night.”

“How can a man be brave if he is afraid?” Robb glanced between him and I.

He smiled simply, straightening his back shifting his gaze from each of us. “That is the only time a man or woman can be afraid my children. Now come we should go get ready for dinner.”

Robb headed up the stairs and he started to follow until I called his name, making our father pause in his steps. “Father, do you think someday when the world knows the truth about me…about my parents. Will they accept me or will I have to be afraid for the rest of my life?”

“Lynesse, my dragon. I have faith that one day you will find a group of people who will accept you.” He declares stepping forward kissing the crown of my head making me smile. “If you ever become queen you will do just fine so long as you follow the tips that I have taught you.”

“Lynesse, what do you say?” Jaime’s voice pulls me from my trance where I shake my head.

Brushing hair behind my ear he shifted Rhaenyra in her arm. “The realm won’t accept me as its queen…but I know someone they will, Bran.” Eyeing my brother in his wheelchair he just sent me a nod not saying a word.

“There's nothing in the world more powerful than a good story. Nothing can stop it. No enemy can defeat it. And who has a better story... than Bran the Broken? The boy who fell from a high tower and lived. He knew he'd never walk again, so he learned to fly. He crossed beyond the Wall, a crippled boy, and became the Three-Eyed Raven. He is our memory, the keeper of all our stories. The wars, weddings, births, massacres, famines. Our triumphs, mm, our defeats, our past. Who better to lead us into the future?” Tyrion caught onto my suggestion locking his eyes with the young living Stark child.

Sansa glanced between him then back at me and my husband. She absolutely loved that I had children even if they did share blood with the women who killed her father. “Bran has no interest in ruling and he can't father children.”

“Good.” Tyrion chuckled dryly at her glancing over his shoulder at Grey Worm. “Sons of kings can be cruel and stupid, as you well know. His will never torment us….That is the wheel our queen wanted to break.”

He faced our group of leaders once more slowly walking forward until he was so close to me and Bran. “From now on, rulers will not be born. They will be chosen on this spot by the lords and ladies of Westeros... to serve the realm. I know you don't want it. I know you don't care about power. But I ask you now, if we choose you...will you wear the crown? Will you lead the Seven Kingdoms to the best of your abilities from this day until your last day?”

“Why do you think I came all this way?” Bran replied simply.

Tyrion raised his head declaring a vote. “To Brandon of House Stark...I say aye.” Everyone around us declared yes in agreement.

“Lynesse, you shall rule by my side.” Bran turned in his chair so he could face me as best possible. “I know you have good judgment even if you don’t think you do. You have a good heart and a fighting spirit. And you are the last Taragaryn who never used her dragon except to stop the army of the dead.”

Blankly staring at him I still didn’t understand why they thought I would be a good queen. I mean yes did I have a dream about a dragon queen from 200 years before we ever existed. Yet it didn’t mean I would be a good leader. “Bran, I love you. And I appreciate that you all think I would make a good queen but why me, why?”

“Jaime, would you mind?” Bran gestured for him to push the wheelchair closer so my husband got up pushing the chair closer to me with his left hand. While he had his right arm secured on holding our daughter so he didn’t drop her. “I choose you to rule by my side as the realm’s queen because no one else was chosen to find this…The three eyed Raven predicted that you would one day become a queen and so today is now clearly that day. ” He drew out Rhaenyra’s crown hanging on the back of my chair.

Jaime rose to his feet, handing our daughter over to his brother for a moment so he could take the crown from my cousin’s hands. He drifted his gaze down to me, waiting for him to declare. “All hail Bran the Broken, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Everyone in our circle of leaders responded back. “All hail Bran the Broken!”

“All hail Lynesse the Last Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of Casterly Rock, Stark raised true, Lady of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Tyrion made up his own declaration for me nodding to his older brother smiling proudly.

Everyone once more responded. “All hail Lynesse the Last Targaryen!”

“Lynesse-Cadence Targaryen-Stark-Lannister you shall forever be my Queen from this day until your last day.” Jaime Lannister, the man that I never thought I would fall in love with through an arranged marriage grinned. He gently sat the golden crown on my head slowly dropping onto a knee as he did so never breaking eye contact with me.

Bran titled his head to the side watching as Tyrion handed my daughter over to Sansa. Grey Worm stepped forward to lead him away. “Lord Tyrion... you will be my Hand.”

“N-- No, Your Grace, I don't want it.” He stuttered, glancing in my direction. “I couldn’t possibly, my queen.”

Bran said back. “And I don't want to be king.”

“Nor I queen, especially not without you to guide us.” I added on when Jaime rises to his feet coming to stand behind me resting his real hand on my shoulder.

He shakes his head trying to still turn down the job. “I don't deserve it. I thought I was wise, but I wasn't. I thought I knew what was right, but I didn't. Choose Ser Davos. Choose anyone else.”

“I choose you.” Bran sniped.

Jaime smirked, pointing his index finger at his little brother smiling proudly. “She won’t take the job without you, little brother. You have to accept this.”

Grey Worm cut in. “You cannot.”

“Yes, I can. I'm king.” Bran pointed out sternly but still in a kind tone.

He didn’t agree. “This man is a criminal. He deserves justice.”

“Grey Worn, I don’t think I need to remind you of her presence…” I trailed off lifting my head up where everyone lifted their heads seeing that Joanna was watching from one of the high cliffs above our heads. “I aim to change what my blood relatives have done. But you will learn your place and accept that he will meet the punishment we set for him.”

“He just got it. He's made many terrible mistakes. He's going to spend the rest of his life fixing them.” Bran added on placing his hand over mine making Eddard clap his hands together. We were the future of Westeros and he would have to accept that things would be changing in the years to come.

Comments really appreciated ❤️