#which is the same thing as just weaving a longer end

[somecunttookmyurl]

joining a new colour without leaving a starting tail to weave-in

yarn over and pull through the new colour to join as normal, leaving a long tail. enough to work several stitches + a few cm/an inch or so.

do a few stitches crocheting over the tail, trapping it inside the stitches, to move away from the initial join location. in the case of c2c, just one square will do

now grab both the tail and working yarn, hold them together, and work with it held double until there is no more tail. this will only be a few more stitches

if there's a teeny tiny little bit at the end that still sticks out just give it a haircut

those few stitches will be a bit thicker. this is also, in most cases, not at all noticeable

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4

summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed. PART 3 | PART 5 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding! Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH

It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable. 

At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock. 

Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.

The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact. 

Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade. 

Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now. 

He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand. 

Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada. 

It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)

Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada. 

So dada started making you little trinkets. 

He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating. 

That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task. 

His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.

“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”

“You’re mistaken.” 

Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”

Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”

“Baby.”

“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”

“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”

“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”

“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.” 

“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”

“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!” 

Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected. 

Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers. 

And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.  

“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”

“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”

Oh, it’s on. 

Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper. 

“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”

Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much. 

Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”

Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that. 

You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing. 

One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face. 

“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”

Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!” 

The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock. 

You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement. 

Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted. 

Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.  

But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that. 

How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face. 

Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one. 

“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”

You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes. 

“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”

Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions. 

Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him. 

Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter. 

You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray. 

A rustle from above. 

“Attack him!” 

He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes. 

Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing? 

But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”

“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word. 

Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ. 

“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.” 

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!” 

After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it. 

“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”

He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.

The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”

“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.

You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”

“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”

He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”

Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”

“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”

At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood. 

Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake. 

She did. 

And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.  

Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic. 

Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul. 

But she was wrong. 

That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language. 

Losing. It was all about losing. 

He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love. 

That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together. 

The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”

You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.  

Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses. 

(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.) 

Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen. 

When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—

A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…” 

The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip. 

You had gone slack in his arms. 

He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple. 

“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”

The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.

Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day. 

Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other. 

You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back. 

A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time. 

A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap. 

It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort. 

Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.

The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface. 

Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass. 

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there. 

“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”

And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action. 

He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.

The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again. 

“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”

“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.  

He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.

“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”

Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”

“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”

Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you. 

“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”

Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right. 

“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough. 

“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision. 

Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing? 

In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family. 

You had died in his arms. 

Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”

“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”

Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”

But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.  

“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”

Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind. 

Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.

His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless. 

Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?

His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.

You thought you weren’t loved.

“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?” 

Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood. 

All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out. 

His daughter’s blood, on his hands. 

He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.

“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!” 

Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.

He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides. 

“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake.  “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!” 

Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings. 

Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.

The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name. 

“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.

“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”

He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…” 

“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!” 

Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister. 

“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively. 

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate. 

But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty. 

Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy. 

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”

“Neteyam—”

“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”

That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart. 

It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”

He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake. 

Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do. 

Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.

Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails. 

He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon. 

His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.

“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still. 

Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng. 

“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once. 

And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”

Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well.  “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children. 

“You think so?”

“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”

Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful. 

“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”

It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed. 

It would never fly again. 

Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.” 

And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be. 

“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”

Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one. 

Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain. 

Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman. 

“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

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

[abbyonmars]

cw; fem!reader, mentions of sex, swearing.

wc: 1.7k. angst/fluff.

this is also kinda toxic imo sorry x

ellie can't won't sleep without having you in her arms.

but since the sun's setting your evening looked like hours of waiting for her. spamming her phone, chewing unsparingly at your already short and mutilated nails, heart beating relentlessly in your chest — all in result of each rapid thought that gushed through the boundless blackhole that was your worried mind, and the ceaseless growing pit of anxiety that dropped to endless oblivion in your stomach.

she had told you before she left that she would be back by 7:00pm to watch that movie she promised to watch with you. the one in which being the sequel to your favourite franchise, as well as it being the movie you had been begging her to come see with you for weeks. not only this, but it also happened to be your one year anniversary with her; you had spent so much time and effort to weave in a plethora of sentiments like dinner and gifts that you thought she would like and so patiently, you sat cross-legged on your side of the bed like the good, loyal girlfriend you were, waiting for her to come home.

and since hours before, you had been dolled up and ready to see her. your hair was intricately made, glitter was tapped to your eyelids — and underneath your tightly hugging button up and the thin fabric of your skirt laid a set of pretty pink lacy lingerie you were excited to surprise her with later.

but you were sat there for hours. you watched the clock turn from 7:00pm to 8, 8:00 to 9. but 9:00pm turned to 10, which soon turned into 12am and yet, no ellie.

some would argue that this isn't such a deal. you could claim your own indifference — just tuck yourself in, indulge in that perpetual doom-scroll before you fall asleep. you could just ask about her whereabouts in the morning, just don't make this such a big thing. she probably just happened to have too much fun.

however, this has happened one too many times, too many times for you to count. making in advance plans only to have her screw you over without word, continuously coming home to you with the same and overused, pathetic excuses that always resulted in an argument and tears — notwithstanding the heated make-up sex she'd treat you to in order to to ease her 'guilt' and to compensate for her assholery that day.

but this time you decided you were tired of waiting. you didn't feel like having that habitual screaming match at whatever time she'd decide to come home that night and you knew that whatever you did, you would always end up in the same predicament that was reimbursing your forgiveness, despite constantly being treated similar to the dirt barred between the crevices in her converse soles.

'she can do whatever she wants.' you tried to reassure yourself; after all, no one was there to do it for you. why fret? 'i'm not her mother. i don't control her.'

with your back turned to her side of the bed, you tried your best to fall asleep, watching the moon's gentle spill of light from the glass window of the room with half-shut eyes. for now, you were at some state of serenity, finding solace in the teasing winks of twinkling stars and small snippets of the wind's light whistles.

you'd been half-asleep for longer than you thought, merely lost in your absent thoughts about anything but her. but soon, it wasn't just you and the moon — interruption came by the creaking of the bedroom door along with the obnoxiously bright and artificial light that forced itself in through the crack of the entrance. by then you knew she was back, but you remained still and seemingly unstirred by her entry.

"babe," she whispered, her enunciation almost blending in with the wind's breeze. "you awake?"

but you stayed silent. no longer watching the darkened skies, you froze, shutting your eyes without any utterance and really tried to fall asleep that time — a few moments had passed, and your mind had eventually come to being on the brink of unconsciousness, almost derailed of its endless foreboding.

you shouldn't have gotten used to the feeling of your head no longer spinning, nor the induced tranquillity by being solitary. because once you felt the bed dip in next to you, your stomach was suddenly in knots all over again. all the progress towards the settlement you were better off with was expeditiously diminished, and all from hearing a singular sigh from the girl next to you.

although you tried your best to contain it, a sole tear happened to roll down your reddened cheeks, and a small sniffle was made from your allegedly sleeping peace.

"baby," she breathed, sliding her cold hands onto your bare shoulder, "you're awake - listen, i'm sorry i didn't call, or—"

with an abrupt movement you turned to face her with wrinkled eyebrows and a scrunched face, lips turned downward into a lip-bitten frown and with eyes that turned glassy instantaneously. she met you now with a similar looking frown as she eyed the fresh dampness of your cheeks, her stomach now swirling with shame.

"where were you?" you rasped. you took in a sharp and shaking breath, watching the way her blinking green eyes bored back into yours. "where were you?"

"i'm sorry," she answered, her voice quietening to a murmur upon seeing your eyes roll in response. "i just lost track of time—"

you scoffed. letting out a dry chuckle, you swallowed down the lump that threatened to form in your throat, well aware of the one also forming in hers. "we had plans. don't you care about me?"

with that, her eyes widened as she instantly sat up, and her voice all of a sudden grew louder in her attempt to defend herself.

"what? of - of course i care about you, y/n. i just—"

"you just, what?" you huffed, sitting up next to her. "you just - lost your phone? couldn't get away? or did you just.. forget? because, i wouldn't be surprised if you did, since—"

"jesus, will you just let me talk?" she muttered exasperatedly, bringing up a hand to rub her temples with her thumb and first two fingers. "y'know, you're always jumping to these ridiculous excuses. just let me explain."

"fuck, i wonder why," you sighed. sarcastically smiling, you leaned forward to your knees, delving your face into the palms of your hands. "do you even know what today was?"

she blinked. she let a beat of silence pass, her mouth being slightly hung open with a sort of blank cluelessness. "... w-what?"

and came another scoff from you and weak tears slipping from your orbs, you responded, "our anniversary. our one year, together."

as if she couldn't feel or look any worse than she did now, blood drew from her face, bestowing upon her freckled cheeks the palest you have ever seen her look. she withdrew a quiet breath, sliding her narrow fingers up her neck and over her mouth as she payed mind to the growing disappointment on your face.

you waited for any development of voice, but alas, to nothing. you bit your lip, muttering a quiet, 'forget it' as you turned over to lay on your side, and your head plunged back into the sinking air of your pillow as you pulled the duvet up to cover the shivers upon your bare neck.

she sighed. sliding her hand back onto your shoulder in a forbearing attempt to get you to turn back to her, she gritted her teeth and her hand moved away once you shook her off, only tucking yourself tighter into the covers.

"go to sleep, ellie," you muttered, sniffling once more.

"baby — please. you are so important to me."

"sleep."

forthwith, ellie grew tense. her other hand shot up to nervously rub at the lobe of her ear as she continued to plead with you, but having unsuccessfully drawn any sort of amenable answer she eventually gave up, deciding that she'd push for some stage of absolution of the sort in the morning.

but having barely endured the unresponsiveness from you, the next half hour was spent restlessly by the girl; within short intervals she kept shuffling an uncomfortable amount in her space, consequently perturbing you each time. it took quite an ounce of strength not to tell her to stop because you knew that if you took action, she'd take it as an initiative to talk again.

yet unknowingly, you were in that same dilemma. your side of the bed felt particularly colder than normal, and your heart spiked with something other than your determining stubbornness — suddenly, you no longer felt consoled by the room's solitude from earlier. even with her next to you, you couldn't have felt more alone.

"y/n," she whispered. "i know you're awake."

you sniffed. shuffling slightly in place, the warmth that you were well accustomed to gradually felt like it moved closer to your own body, and you felt the light graze of her fingers once more, skimming gently along your arm.

"please," she breathed. "angel, i- i can't sleep. let me touch you."

a moment's hesitance happened to come alongside a huff that indicated you finally caving into her touch. without turning you reached for her hand and you threw it around your waist, squeezing your eyes shut in slight regret and yet, ease.

letting out a small sigh of relief, she tightened her hold around your torso and pressed your back up to the front of her body. her hand moved to the dip of your hip and stayed there, and you could feel her heart racing against you — somehow, even after the torment she unintentionally put you through, your own stomach swarmed with butterflies and the tension within you dissipated almost in an instant.

"thank you," she mumbled, lips lingering around the crook of your neck. she moved your hair aside, planting soft kisses up the skin of your tensed shoulder and to your ear.

"i'll make it up to you," her warm breath hit your skin and tickled the back of your ear, the rasping of her low voice sending a different ray of knots into your stomach. "i promise."

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

hii i'm back

i hope you're all well :')

pls let this be a (very poor) reminder to not let anybody treat you less than you're worth. if this happened to hit home, i'm sorry — know that whatever you've been through, you are worthy of love and respect. please don't think otherwise

[httpsleclerc]

under the monaco moonlight - vampire!au

pairing/s: Gasly!Reader x unnamed!bf, Vampire!Charles Leclerc x Gasly!Reader, Platonic!Pierre Gasly x Gasly!Sister!Reader, Platonic!Arthur Leclerc x Gasly!Reader

c/w: Implied smut, attempt of sexual assault, brief shitty descriptions of violence, bad ending??

w/c: 1.7k

summary: Charles Leclerc is in love with the forbidden fruit, or his best friends sister Y/N Gasly and can't control his instincts when she's in trouble.

a/n: no one asked for this but I might do a part two if anyones interested x

masterlist

Charles knew this was wrong.

You were his childhood best friends little sister, but he couldn't help himself from watching the way your hips swayed in time to the music which blared over the speakers, your mini skirt - Which he knew your brother would not be happy seeing you in - rising higher up your thighs as you moved. He knew that it was wrong to think of himself between your thighs, pleasuring you in ways which you'd never been before, satisfying you unlike how the boy you were grinding against would.

He needed you so bad it hurt.

If his heart were beating he was sure he'd feel it ache in desire for you. 

He stood by Arthur, his eyes trained on you as his jaw clenched and he tightly gripped the glass he'd been nursing as he watched you, so tight that he would surely smash the glass into tiny pieces if he held it any harder. He feared if he pursued you any more than he had, then your heart would end up in the same way as the glass could, he feared he'd fall too in love with you and sink his teeth too far into your neck, leaving you helpless and bleeding. He'd never be able to explain himself to Pierre, how could be explain what he had done to his best friends precious baby sister? Your one night fling weeks ago had become a regular thing, despite you being adamant that you loved your boyfriend, but any time you and him had sex, all you could do was think about was Charles, how good he made you feel, how deliciously full you felt when he was inside you, the way that he left you stumbling the next day; scrambling for an excuse to try and satisfy your boyfriend.

"You are staring at her again, Charles," Arthur chided his older brother, he knew just how in love with you Charles was, but also knew that he'd never let himself love you properly for the fear of hurting you. Sleeping with you and being the other man would have to suffice for now.

"No I am not," Charles defended himself quickly, too quickly for Arthur to believe him. "I'm just...keeping an eye on her with that stupid boy. Pierre asked me to." Arthur chuckled at Charles' excuses. The two Leclerc's watched as you turned and faced your boyfriend, giggling as you pressed a small kiss on his lips and heading off to the bathroom, entrusting him with your drink - Which would be your first mistake of the night. Charles watched as you weaved your way through the mass crowd of the club towards the bathroom and flitted his attention back to that of your boyfriend, watching as he emptied a sachet of white powder into your drink.

"Charles?" Arthur nudged him, trying to see what had gained his brothers attention but Charles' attention was otherwise diverted away from his little brother. How dare this boy violate your trust like this?

"Fucker, I'm going to kill him," Charles went to storm off, but Arthur grabbed him before he could do any harm to your boyfriend. "Arthur let me go. He's going to hurt her." He backed off, noticing that Charles' eyes were no longer their usual green colour, now a deep, dark red. His eyes scanned the crowd, seeing you standing back with your boyfriend, now looking disoriented and swaying on your feet, putting up no argument as he grabbed your hand and dragged you through the crowd with no regard to you stumbling over your feet in your high heels.

Charles weaved his way through the crowd, blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins as the music continued to pound through the speakers and coloured lights flashed and illuminated the otherwise dark club that he was in. Making his way outside, his pale skin shone under the Monaco moonlight, eyes scanning for you anywhere in the crowd gathered outside of the club.

"No, I don't feel good," He heard you whining from a dark alleyway a couple of streets down, your voice thick with tears and fear. You felt like you were dying, you were hot one minute, cold the next, your stomach was halfway up your throat ready to be thrown up at any minute, and you didn't have the strength to defend yourself against your boyfriend. You wanted to go home, you wanted Pierre to come and get you and make sure that this boy was too scared to ever look in your general direction ever again. "(Name), please stop, I don't feel well." You pleaded, futilely trying to push him off of you, your eyes welling up with tears as he pushed his knee in between your legs.

"It won't hurt as much if you stop struggling, pretty girl."

That sent Charles over the edge. He promised Pierre that he wouldn't let anything happen to you and now you needed help. Before he could hurt you any further, he was pulled off of you, hitting the wall opposite with a grunt. 

Charles loomed over him, his teeth bared and eyes red.

Drowning out the sound of your crying and whimpering, Charles let his instinct take over, tearing into your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend as you screamed and cried, unsure if you were really seeing this or if you were hallucinating. You covered your eyes as you cried, shielding yourself from the violent attack happening in front of you.

Charles huffed he stood back up, wiping blood away from the side of his mouth and turning back to face you, his stomach dropping as he saw your distraught and distressed state. Panicking, he pulled your hands away from your face hoping that his familiarity would in some way calm you down - but the sight of your brothers best friend with red eyes and a face covered in your boyfriends blood only pushed your fear.

"No! Let go of me! Someone help me!" You screamed out, trying in vain to push Charles off of you so you could find someway to get back home. Charles, in a further panic, pressed his hand onto your mouth to silence your screaming.

"Please calm down, ange, it's all okay, I promise," Charles tried to calm you, even if it appeared to be without any result as you continued struggling to try and get away from him. "Please, please just calm down and let me explain, just let me talk to you." Looking into Charles eyes, you found yourself feeling more and more at ease, still despite your efforts to get away from him. His stomach sunk as he realised he'd unintentionally tranced you, leaving you at his mercy.

"Charles, what...what's going on?" You dazedly asked him, slumping forward into his embrace and leaning your head on his shoulder, leaving your neck perfectly exposed to him; Charles found months and years of self-control withering away, he'd never allowed himself to be in such close proximity to you.

"Please not now, Y/N, you need to rest," He tried to persuade you to go to sleep, hoping that under your trance like state that you would. Fighting sleep, you looked up into Charles' red eyes, hoping to find some glimpse of your Charles, not this...blood sucking monster, you wanted your Charles who always made sure to clean you up after your sexual encounters, who made sure that you were still okay with what you were doing, who you knew loved you but for some reason you never knew, could never let himself.

"I love you, Charles," You confessed, pulling his blood soaked face to look at you, even though all he could focus on was the pulse point of your neck, the sound of your blood rushing through your veins was too much for him to take.

He couldn't take it anymore.

You let out a gasp as Charles' fangs pierced through your neck, two sharp pain points flashing and then going numb. You knew that it was futile trying to get away from him, and accepted that if this was how you died, then you were dying in the arms of the man that you loved - even if it meant you'd never see your beloved brother again.

As Arthur made his way outside and up the street to look for where Charles had gone, he stopped in his tracks as he saw you laying almost lifeless in his brothers arms, his teeth well sunk into your neck as the blood had almost been drained from your body and the life drained from you.

"Charles! stop!" He pulled Charles off of you, unsure if you were even still alive. "Oh my God, Charles, you have to help her." Arthur checked your neck where Charles had bitten you, feeling a faint pulse.

"No, I can't, Pierre will kill me, Arthur," Charles was near hyperventilating, and looked at Arthur confused as he let out a chuckle and shook his head.

"Oh, and you think he won't kill you when someone finds her here dead and you have to explain to Pierre that it was you, and that you left her here like a coward because you can't control yourself?!" The two brothers were now panicking, despite being in some way immortal, they were terrified of Pierre, your older brother was fiercely defensive over you. Acting quickly and moving beside you once more, Charles bit into his wrist, piercing the vein and watching as his blood slowly trickled out, much darker and thicker than your own, and put his wrist at your mouth, forcing you to drink his blood despite your very weak protests.

"We'll take her back to my place, tell Pierre she met a friend and she's staying there for the night, deal?" 

"Deal."

[heartfullofleeches]

Damsel in Duress

Yan Damsel + G.N Reader blurb

-

"My hero~"

Closing shift was a drag. Cooped up behind the counter till dawn - the store watched you more often than not until you were "graced" with the chance of another living soul walking through those doors. Your saving grace from the monotonous life of a gas station cashier was a patron on the rise in frequent appearance.

A cosplayer, you assumed - from their style of dress and the whimsical way they carried themselves in mannerisms and speech. You got a good laugh out of seeing them weave through tiny, narrow aisles in those giant, puffy gowns they dawned. Damsel is what you called them which - by coincidence apparently seemed to be their name. Another reason for the title beyond their attire was they couldn't do a thing on their own. Asking for sliced apples when they were standing in the very same aisle fruits were stocked. Questioning the proper ways to use a fork and if you'd teach them with demonstration. To every task you helped them with they thanked you with the tagged on honorific of "My Hero" at the end. Getting into character was one thing, but sometimes it really did feel like they just popped out of the pages of a fairytale.

It's getting pretty late. You wonder where your entertainment is-

Bang!

Sharpened nails scrap across the glass doors still rattling in their frames. Blood red as the cloak masking their features; you watch as the hand welding the crimson talons yank the door's handle and flings their blood inside. It leans against the frame - barricading the doors as footfalls rebound in the distance. Expressionless- their eyes well with tears as they scan the store finding you where you always were.

"Lock it...."

You remove your headphones. "What?"

Their lips quiver, voice rising with a hick. "He's coming... Lock the door!"

A shadow creeps over the parking lot. Reaching for your keys, you volt over the counter as it runs for the door - crouching beneath Damsel as they apply all their weight against it to keep it shut as the handle shakes violently. You lock the door, keys knocked out of your hand as the figure throws himself against the door, and drag them away from it as you stand. Their face falls against your shoulder - the scent of copper flooding your nose.

"You fucking bitch! I'll kill you!"

Damsel shrieks, assaulting yet another of your senses as it drills through your ears. They latch onto your shirt.... Weren't their nails longer a second ago? They meet your gaze - face washed in fresh tears and bruises. "Help me.... please help me... I was on my way here when that man and his friend offered me a ride. I said no, but - they started to chase me and....and..."

Damsel breaks off in a quiet sob. You squeeze their shoulders reassuring, backing towards the back office eyes trained on the man pounding on the doors "Calm down. My phones in the back and the door to the other entrance only opens from inside. We'll hide there until the police arrive."

The man presses his face against the glass, the skin of his knuckles worn down as he beats the door. "What the hell are you doing? Get out away from that thing! It killed him. Dont belive anything it-"

Damsel tucks at your arm. You tear your attention away from the door and push them towards the office. Dragging them inside the break room you shove the coffee table against the door for good measure and fish out your jacket and phone from your locker. You throw the coat over their shoulders, dialing the police as you hand them some napkins to wipe their face.

"Breathe. We'll be fine in here. I'm calling for help now and they'll make sure nothing happens to you."

Damsel dabs at their eyes - faint smile dipping at your conclusion. "I'm not worried now that you're here... Guess you really are my hero aren't all, aren't you? I've never seen anything like that before, one second he was the kindest person and the next - he was like a rabid wolf."

"It's okay... You're safe now." You drape an arm behind their hood, consoling them as they hiccup and sob against your chest. You chalk the wind exiting your lungs as they latch onto you the ending results of your physical exhaustion, and retain a calm voice as you speak to the operator over the phone. Damsel squirms in their chair as you hang up.

"They're on the way... are you okay?"

Damsel fiddles with the strings of their hood. "I um.... have to go powder my nose."

"What?"

They bite their lip, face hidden in your jacket. "Use the bathroom? I know the only one here is outside so you don't have to come with me... It'd actually make me feel better if you stayed in here."

"Damsel, I cant-"

"I-it's alright, Y/n.... Long as my hero's safety is assured I'll be okay. I'm sure he's gone by now anyway. Do you mind if I keep your jacket?"

"...No... If anything happens - you scream and run, got it?"

"It's what I do best. I hope that someday there's something I can do to rewards your braver... For now...I'll leave you with this" Damsel springs from their seat and kisses your cheek as they pass. They push the table out of the way with surprising ease, looking back at you as they open the door. They smile - locking the door behind them and snapping the key.

Damsel steps out into the station. They walk past the bathroom and inspect the collection of household necessities your store had to offer. Could be better, but they'd made due. It grabs a pocket blade, ripping open the package and leaving it on the counter along with the exact bills and change for their purchase. The man is still there - eyes now wide fear. Damsel grins at him with a small wave.

"Oh!- Hello, glad to see your still here. I was going to let you go - but then you had to go and do a nasty thing and try to turn my hero against me. They're very brave - aren't they? I'm such a lucky traveler. Hmmmm.. so I'm the hood in this story and they're the hunter... What exactly does that make you? Mmm, I think I know...."

"The slaughter."

[ssahotchnerr]

A soft little Aaron thought<33

Aaron waking you up with kisses all over your face and neck. No sexual motivation behind it. Just lovey little kisses to you. He's so smiley when you open your eyes sleepily. He says "Good morning<3:)" and kisses your lips and brushes his nose against yours<3333. It's his favourite SOFT way to wake you up 🤭🤭.

Hope this is okay bestie<3. First thing I thought of when you asked for soft!Hotch<3

closer

that's so so sweet 🥹 cw; bau!reader, established relationship, minor aaron angst about him not sleeping :( but so so much fluff

despite how soft aaron's lips were, their gentleness never failed to arouse you. it was the most serene way possible to slowly pull you from sleep, lightly bringing you back to the awareness of the world but not all at once.

pepper-light kisses started at your temple, before trailing down to your cheek, then to your jawline, and moving even lower to find home at your neck. from there, even more kisses were scattered along the surface of your skin before the route restarted at your cheek, but not before stopping momentarily at your lips.

there was a time in your life where an alarm clock signaled the start of your day.

this was better.

your hand moved upwards, your fingers weaving into aaron's dark hair, scratching your nails against his scalp softly to indicate you were awake.

"good morning." aaron's voice was clad with sleep, a bit hoarse from the disuse.

"hmph." you hummed in response, a small smile taking form on your face as you stretched. as you opened your eyes to find your favorite person, his hair was tousled, the comforter pulled up past his shoulders- he looked adorably comfortable. his own eyes were lined with an eagerness, full of content now that you were awake. with the relaxed expression adorned on his face, it appeared almost as if a younger aaron was staring right back at you.

you would never forget; when you first had first joined the bau, aaron would enter the roundtable room, exit his office, with the heaviest eye bags you've ever seen. it wasn't an every-once-in-a-while thing either, it was a daily occurrence.

it appeared as if he never slept, which you almost believed to be true at one point. almost nightly, he would remain in his office as everyone else left, scribbling away at paperwork, rifling through case file after case file, a fresh cup of coffee on the side.

and when you arrived back in the morning, the same visual was there. pen working furiously, a stack of never ending files, another steaming mug of caffeine nearby. his shoulders were tense as he held his posture while sitting, but it was seemingly forced, as if he disguising or refraining from letting them slouch with his exhaustion.

and now, his previous dark circles under his eyes were almost nonexistent. they almost never appeared, except for the instance a case took a heavy toll, and you had a lot to do with the result. in addition, the obvious change was what indicated to the team he was seeing someone, and soon afterwards that someone was revealed to be you.

he was well rested, relaxed, happy.

it also gave you a feeling you couldn't quite put into words- knowing you contributed in giving him a sense of peace; peace he never thought he was capable of experiencing again. night, for him, no longer served the purpose of overworking, or overthinking, but rather a time where rigid shoulders didn't have authority.

"always waking me up, aren't you hotchner?"

a sweet laugh escaped him, his eyes simply glowing as he gazed at you lovingly. unable to help himself, he lazily pressed his lips to yours once more, brushing his nose to yours and staying close. "i missed you."

you rolled over slightly, draping an arm around him, and then doing the same with one of your legs, hooking him strictly to you. "haven't gone anywhere, my love."

and never planning on it.

his face easily found the crook of your neck, where he once again began littering it with kisses. his breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, scooting himself even closer to you if it were possible. "doesn't matter."

the two of you remained like that, unwilling to part, not ready to begin the day just yet. moments like these were your favorite, whether in the morning or at night as you both fell into the depths of sleep, where the two of you could just be together. or rather, just be. nothing else required your attention, no other responsibilities, not needing anything else in the world but each other.

as aaron had the most comfortable, soft yet solid torso, you nearly began dozing off again. but he spoke up, his mumbled voice vibrating against your neck.

"i think i'll always miss you. no matter how close you happen to be."

[probablyhuntersmom]

An Uncommonly Discussed Trauma Symptom

Disclaimer: This is in no way a substitute for therapy: it’s only psychoeducation. Please consult a therapist and/or hotline and get the help you need if you are experiencing mental health difficulties, especially if experiencing distress or issues that feel unmanageable.

Warnings: Mentions and discussion of suicidal ideation, death, abuse and violence.

Special thanks to @ashanimus and @childlikegoblinqueen

Ever heard of "the sense of a foreshortened future"?

If you have suffered trauma over a sustained and long enough period of time, you may find that you can't imagine yourself living long. You can't see yourself reaching milestones, because it hardly makes sense to your mind that you can go on for that long...given how much you have felt like you've escaped danger, given just how many close calls you have had in life.

Yet the sense of a foreshortened future is a separate thing from suicidality.

If you have both of those together though, it really isn't fun because they may feed one another in a cycle, in the way that symptoms under the same mental health condition have the potential to do the same.

It isn't a desire for pain to end (which is what suicidality is), more so a generated expectation that takes root, and a framework which a survivor tries to fit their experiences into, with the goal to get things to make as much sense as can be. Because it's often the easier thing to devise a simple formula, to feel certainty and to manage one's expectations: rather than embrace the grey areas of uncertainty about how life will turn out.

It's almost as if this feeling of a foreshortened future is in a tug-of-war match between what appears to be solid reasoning, and a person's natural survival instinct along with the hunger for a meaningful life.

This symptom isn't on the *official* criteria for a psychiatrist or clinical psychologist to make any diagnoses, it is not listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5) or International Classification of Diseases, 10th Revision (ICD-10). But informally it is sometimes categorized as an avoidance symptom under both PTSD and Complex PTSD, and also under longer-term depression.

(however, I think it can extend to other conditions. The key criteria is it emerges from repeatedly experiencing horrible things until it makes sense in one's head to expect themselves not to last much longer)

If you hop onto Google Scholar to find proper research about it, the findings are very scarce because it's hard to define it, empirically measure it and quantify it in the first place.

Again, it's not the same as suicidal ideation because a foreshortened-future view is an expectation, while the latter is about a desire.

I wasn't taught about this symptom in any training and supervision before becoming a licensed therapist, nor did any of my own therapists bring it up as psychoeducation when I saw them. It was only through online articles on informal websites that I stumbled upon the phrase and it all clicked for my long-term experiences.

But I feel it is good knowledge for anyone providing psychotherapy to bear in mind.

In The Owl House, the grimwalker lore weaved into Hunter's arc, can shockingly be linked with this symptom, symbolically and thematically.

But the show's age rating means it would likely be too dark for the writing team to explicitly incorporate it into Hunter's dialogue.

Hunter was a lamb marked for the slaughter early on.

He has questioned his survival and ability to thrive.

The following article on Psychology Today describes Belos's long-term influence on Hunter pretty well and provides info that strengthens the points I'm making in this whole post:

Link

It's bad enough that before Hunter and Luz found Belos's mindscape, he struggled with the fear of failure to the extent that there was already the raging inner battle between his primal survival instinct and the already knackered part of him that sought eternal rest from his suffering (showing up as suicidal thoughts):

Fast forward a number of episodes...and we see the looming horrors in Hollow Mind that culminated in Hunter's discovery of what his predecessors went through:

followed by permanent rejection by his parental figure:

The power held by a foreshortened-future view, and its potential to isolate you - to make you feel like you're invisible, or a ghost - can be strong.

What Hunter said to Gus in the following screencaps sums up what it feels like pretty well:

In the context of having an abuser, it emerges from the negative beliefs they impose on you. It gets tricky if those beliefs are internalized, and which may remain internalized even after you get to safety and away from said abuser. Internalized until they become what you expect of your life.

It's about those thoughts which you know in your rational mind are lies, but you feel their apparent truth. They go more silent when you practice self-care but they return to try and reel you in again, and to a degree, they succeed in getting you to believe them all over again, before you renounce them once more.

Being in the C-PTSD Club along with Hunter, I personally experience the feeling of a foreshortened future as a voice deep down which almost always says that life feels too long and it therefore feels absolutely weird, like it doesn't make sense. Life feels too long, contrary to that commonly heard cheesy quote, "Life is too short to blah blah blah".

When I reached milestone birthdays like my 21st, it was confusing and made me irritable, feeling an itch deep down that I could not scratch.

The voice asks me why the heck I'm still around when it apparently doesn't make sense. It's a pervading feeling which can be pretty annoying, though I have it far enough in the background that it's like noise instead of being a source of distress.

It's not the easiest thing to explain this, but Hunter may have confusing thoughts creeping into his head like "Caleb didn't last long, why would I?" whereby such thoughts have a strange feel to them. They aren't exactly hard rules, nor are they distant enough that they can be easily brushed aside. Brain hurty, emotions spooky.

After the horror of this night:

I can definitely see Hunter wrestling with this symptom from time to time. No doubt. It was a major loss of autonomy and control that would significantly aggravate what was already brewing deep down.

I'm doubtful that the crew even established this on purpose (unless they actually consulted trauma experts and/or experienced mental health practitioners), but...this one symptom ties in with grimwalker lore so perfectly...it's hella fascinating that all Hunter's predecessors' lives (including Caleb's) were cut short. Prematurely.

They came with an expiry date set by their abuser: something very characteristic of this foreshortened future feeling, though not unique to survivors of abusive home environments (e.g. if you experienced natural disasters over many years, yet had a loving family, you could also feel like you may not live long). And Hunter's experience of seeing the grimwalker graveyard in Hollow Mind is a shockingly visceral and visual metaphor to symbolize a concept like this, which matches perfectly with his symptomology as a Complex PTSD survivor.

The battle for inner peace has a high price: it is ongoing, and extends beyond him being physically free from Belos. Because Hunter can't just trim away the Belos-related memories from his earliest years and formative years. He can't forget, but he can choose to give those memories less attention, and choose not to let them take the steering wheel in the long-term.

In my opinion, the possession scenes don't just portray the physical experience of an abuser returning to try regaining control or restoring the status quo of having the survivor in their grasp.

The scenes also represent the abuser's imprint upon the survivor that lasts beyond the duration for which Belos is present in Hunter's life. Belos is the kind of abuser that is so insidious that he knows he could leave some marks that outlast his directly physical presence, in the event that he meets his own end. He would have definitely thought about this. Leaving the kind of grisly reminders that won't ever technically fade away (not to be confused with how they can certainly "fade further into the background" via therapy, new positive experiences and the support of loved ones).

For example, the patterns of the permanent scars on Hunter look so much like the patterns on Philip's own face and body. When possessed, the markings were dark green, later faded to the colour of scar tissue once Belos leaves his body.

As we all know, it's hella sad to imagine Hunter having to look at himself in mirrors throughout the rest of his life. It was awful enough that he had the haircut-related panic attack.

If we tie all that back to the symptom of a foreshortened-future view: Hunter might be left with a spooky nebulous feeling (that will alternate between coming back to haunt him, and subsiding) that he too has some expiry date that is different from how the people around him naturally and confidently expect to live a substantially long life. As a cult survivor with C-PTSD, Hunter can't afford the luxury of those natural expectations.

I don't mean that he might plan a day in the future to end his own life, not at all. But he may have a strange ghostly expectation of how long more he has till his life may come to an end, and he wouldn't be sure of how this subconscious expectation came about.

The darker days of navigating the confusing mess of his complex trauma may feel like exhaustion from paddling and swimming to keep your head above water to breathe.

Speaking of water and drowning, plus the theme of sinking down vs. rising back up above the water surface...the fact that Camila jumped in to bring him back up, his friends helped to pull him out, and Flapjack passes new life to him...this is also some crazy powerful symbolism for surviving complex trauma.

Falling back on a support network, your "tribe", that won't abandon you.

My other Hunter analyses (link) go into more detail about his support network and why he needs it.

I was talking to a friend about all this: she has relevant lived experience and mentioned that poor Hunter would reach a milestone birthday and perhaps cry at least a bit on that day, maybe even during the birthday party: out of sheer confusion. The confusion would be silently screaming "But...this doesn't...make sense?". And he might feel confusing waves of darker emotions along with a strange sense of joy.

He may make a decision to start a family with Willow, and a confused questioning voice will bother him now and then with "How are you still here, doing this and living to see this?".

(...also, when is his birthday...? Is it documented in some Emperor's Coven records that they will find..? Even the mere concept of having a birthday is messed up for him to think about, given the purpose behind his creation)

Complex trauma changes its survivors' relationships with the world, not just with people, and this can even apply to their relationships with things like joy and how joy is experienced.

Flapjack's absence would have bred survivor's guilt. It might translate into Hunter questioning whether he is worth the love and effort his friends put in for him. This feeling could emerge at random moments over the years in his life.

Visually, I feel that these two frames - the lighting (which I'd say is unique among all his scenes because they are parts of his arc that stand out so much), his pose, his expression - somehow capture the experience of how complex trauma is chronic and long-term:

The currently most known C-PTSD memoir out there, What My Bones Know by journalist Stephanie Foo, has some content that I feel matches nicely with what Hunter is experiencing in the two separate scenes above.

The author describes something she calls "the dread" (if you get the book, it's first mentioned on page 51). I would call it the amalgamation of multiple things such as shame, the fear of impending harm, self-doubt where you question whether you did something wrong, fearing that someone hates you, etc.

And basically, good lord my poor boy in the first screenshot..with that expression of suspecting what he thought was Belos's presence in the room: something about it fits the book author's words, feeling like she was "on the precipice of fucking everything up".

That's certainly something that would cross Hunter's mind multiple times as he processes the worst night of his life. That he could have done something to prevent all that.

With so much pre-existing worry that his friends and family might actually hate him, the possession scenes and Flapjack's death would definitely shake his foundation and I'm sure he isn't past this kind of ingrained thought pattern at all:

Second, the book author calls C-PTSD a shapeshifting "beast" (page 316). And when she fights it, she must use a different strategy depending on what form it takes, and that it will keep coming back from time to time in another form. Which is why there is a particular exhaustion one feels from having to adapt to each battle.

For Hunter, the second screencap of him fighting Belos's coercion in a direct physical manner is the first of many battles he has to win in his mind, even after Belos is gone for good. Outlasting whatever invisible assailant is trying to get him, as he faces inevitable episodes of being retraumatized in the future: these are called emotional flashbacks (one of the symptoms of C-PTSD).

Being a survivor of complex trauma who experiences a weird sense of time via a foreshortened-future view, can feel like being on the outside looking in.

But! To end this meta on a hopeful note, I should reiterate something from my most recent long meta about Retraumatization vs. Self-Soothing, the first part of Hunter's important speech in Thanks to Them touches on wild magic and palisman. Wild magic represents freedom, while palismen (quoting the Bat Queen) represent close bonds in relationships, emotion, and conviction.

Applying this to how we can navigate the swampy waters of a foreshortened-future view, Hunter can use his newfound freedom and sense of agency to create the story he'd like to tell about his life. It is pretty much impossible to avoid bringing beliefs from our young formative years into adulthood. But expectations (which have a direct link with emotions we end up feeling) of ourselves and of life can be altered over time, so they become less rigid and instead more open to new possibilities.

He has an inquisitive mind which is a big plus point in understanding the impact of what he has been through, and I have full faith that he'll do just fine in that regard because of the courage we have seen in him.

Among the hobbies he explores in the future, flyer derby will be one example of an excellent outlet for him because of its physicality: trauma and grief are not only emotional battlegrounds but also highly physical ones. The body is also very much involved e.g. feeling the lead-like weight of depressive moods in one's body, feeling the physical tension of hypervigilance, etc.

It's fantastic that he has Luz, Willow, Gus and company, he will have a very meaningful career, and he'll have everyone else in his large found family.

His story...his heart...his resilience and vitality...it's all truly inspirational.

We might learn even more about the grimwalkers in the finale and that would undoubtedly prompt me to do a shorter Part 2 on top of this meta.

[ravixen]

hi! hope you had a good day today! i was hoping if you could do the other svt members for the “idol!reader falling on stage” reactions you did previously. thank you sm!

svt + idol!s/o falling on stage (pt 2)

➔ reaction || idol!au

➔ warnings: none || 0.6k words ➔ notes: fluff ; hiya! thanks for being patient - I know that this has been in my inbox since early february. you didn't specify any members and I only do 3-5 per post for the longer ones, so I chose some myself for this continuation. hope you like it!

SEUNGCHEOL: ooh, someone's getting fired. he's next to your manager, both of them with their phones up to record your stage through the screen. it's only the first run through of the morning, but you put all of your energy into marking your moves; your stage expressions are perfect, and he swears you eat up the camera every time you perform. but one second, you're in frame, and the next second, you're gone. the music continues without your voice, and he drops his phone, confused, until the camera zooms out and he sees one of your group mates helping you to your feet. your arm is slung around their shoulder as you hop up, clearly favoring one leg. the manager moves first, but he moves faster, shoving his phone into their hands and weaving through staff members to get to you. "I got it from here," he grunts, shifting you into his arms and supporting you with an arm braced behind your back, the other making way. your member steps away without complaint, going instead to fetch the nearest medical personnel. he hopes that it doesn't need more than ice, but the way you're wincing is worrying. the broadcasting better hope that this wasn't negligence on their part...

SEOKMIN: he was a little nervous about having a schedule with you, but you wouldn't be the only two guests and the program promised ahead of time to play nice. still, he knew the industry and was prepared for them to make digs at your public relationship. a teasing comment here and there, if not outright insinuations. but he's actually pleasantly surprised at how the cast are letting you all have fun, and towards the end, the show completely devolves into hysterical chaos as he shows them his iconic sogo dance and pulls them into a conga line around the studio. the lights are turned down low, and someone pulls out a disco ball. he passes the sogo to the next person and joins the end of the line. eventually, it gets to you, and you decide to be a little extra. which is fine until your foot catches on something and you land hard on your hand and knees. he inhales sharply, moving to help you up, but you roll onto the floor laughing, hands covering your face in embarrassment. so he does the most logical thing: like in the gose episode of the 12 shadows, he pretends to trip over the same thing and mimics your position on the ground, the cast quickly following suit.

SEUNGKWAN: he told you that you shouldn't do the stunt. he told everyone that you shouldn't do the stunt, but hearing so only made you more insistent on doing it. "I'll be fine," you told him every day leading up to the performance. "I nail it every practice." and you do; he saw your final rehearsal, and even in his nail-biting worry, he had to admit that your fans would love the dance break addition to your latest song. he wishes that he could see it in-person, but unfortunately he has a recording schedule, so he sends you a good luck text and figures that he can binge your fancams tonight. well. when he turns his phone on a few hours later, there's texts from you, with excessive exclamation points, complaining about how he jinxed it with all of his nagging and that he needs to make it up to you. "what happened??" he messages back, but the internet is faster than your reply, and his timeline is filled with videos of you tripping during your flip routine. at least you got a second try during your ment, determined to prove it to your fans. he's just glad you didn't get hurt.

[bitchinbarzal]

I love you, come back | nico hischier

summary; part two of i love you, say it back which you can read here

-

Nico went back to Switzerland for the off season.

He called you the night before he left, leaving a voicemail.

hi, um I leave tomorrow for home - Switzerland I mean! I really want to see you, to talk to you at the very least so please…. I love you, come back.

You never called him back.

His time in Switzerland passed painfully slow and you were in Jersey, loving your life.

Once the season started and you knew the devils were back in town you avoided all sports you thought possible to run into Nico.

You didn’t even watch the game. You don’t watch them any longer.

You were out a bar in Hoboken and the game was on the tv’s. You’d glance every so often at the score and when a group would cheer you’d see the aftermath of a devils goal.

At the second period break the analysis came on the tv, the devils were down a few goals and you could see the toll it was taking on Nico.

You and your friend read the captions of the tv

“and Nico Hischier has had the worst start in his career this season so far!”

“That’s not fair” you mumbled.

“Rumour has it Hischier and his girlfriend split up just before the end of last season and that is what has been impacting his game”

“Well, whoever she is and wherever she is come back for the sake of the devils. I’m sure he’s sorry and he loves y’a!” They joke before continuing on with the broadcast.

You then turn to your friend with a deflated look and she says “Oh sweetheart…”

The next day you get a notification from twitter

@amandacstein: Captain, Nico Hischier is not happy with last nights second period broadcast! In interviews this morning he said “My personal life is not the business of the broadcasting team and I don’t appreciate my ex girlfriend being brought into the blame for our teams failures” and when later pressed as to why he felt the need to say these things this morning he said “Because I love her and I will always do my best to protect her from anything. She’s not to blame for our mistakes”

Your phone trembled in your hand. You re read the tweet over and over again before clicking on the links attached to the tweet, taking you to a video of these interviews.

He said it. You heard it.

You pause for a moment before you click through on your phone to purchase tickets to tonight’s game.

You had to hear it from him.

Walking around prudential was basically second nature to you at this point as you weaved your way through the crowds to your seat.

The jersey clung to your body as if you’d never taken it off, the number thirteen sat proudly on your back.

They won. They finally won.

In the stands you were cheering, screaming for them and their glory.

On the ice Nico wanted to cry, they’d finally won.

You thought you’d be able to make it down to the tunnel without being accosted but you thought wrong.

“You didn’t think you could walk in here and us not notice, right?” Darya’s voice asks through the corridor.

You pause, turning to look at her “I was hoping”

She pours at you for a moment before she takes off rushing towards you, both hugging one another “we’ve missed you so much”

“I miss you guys too” you mumbled into her shoulder.

“He’s not the same y/n”

“Dash-“

“He messed up I know but he does care about you”

You don’t reply.

“C’mon” she replies, taking your hand and leading you the way you were originally going.

Once you were downstairs the rest of the girls fawned over you for a moment until they heard the boys coming out.

Nico was last, shouting words of celebration to his team in front of him.

Your heart sped up hearing him.

When the sea of Hockey players had dispersed infront of him he was left with a crystal clear view of you.

He paused, almost tripping over whatever was in front of him.

You give him a soft smile but he’s still stood staring at you as if you’re about to disappear.

“Say it, Ni” you mumble.

He stutters before he says “I love you”

“Say it again” you whisper, both of you inching closer to one another.

“I love you” he’s stern in his words, you’re now right infront of him and he’s looking down at you before he says “Say it back”

“I love you, nico”

His shoulders drop, almost in relief and he’s let out all the tension. His stick drops to the floor I along with his gloves and his hands grab your cheeks and kisses you.

After you pull away, both breathless he smiles “You were here? All night?”

“Yeah I watched the game”

“Maybe the broadcast was right” he jokes and you shake your head “not funny”

“I’m sorry it took loosing you—“

“I don’t care, you said it back”

“I really do love you”

[kankuroplease]

could you do an Hc of Kuri,please she has Wolfgang's eyebrows ✨and she married her big brother's best friend even though she doesn't love him 🤣🤩

Kuri looked so similar to the daughter Tsuna said he’d like to have one day (his hair, Ebba’s eyes) that it made Ebba tear up a bit seeing her for the first time

She was a rather joyful baby that smiled easily

Total daddies girl from day one

She took a bit longer to talk, but once she started, she didn’t stop

Often talking to her parents about the different things she saw in town

Or pestering her grandmother about weaving lessons and horseback rides

She had no problems making friends and quickly became popular despite being a bit timid because her friends (two very popular girls) took her under their wings

Her Irish Wolfhound came from the same litter as her best friends ninken

Once she was a bit older, she took up apprenticeship with her grandmother as a ferrier

That’s about the time Asahi started hanging out with his friend Ivan

Who was as big as mountain even as a child. He laughed too loud, ate too much, and always said the strangest things

Including; she should speak with her head up, he can tell the difference in her embroidery style to her mothers, and she chews loudly

But what really made her not like him was when he said his father told him she had a face full of stars (complimentary)

She hated her freckles, so it just seemed like he was trying to make fun of her

After that she kept conversations with him SHORT, even when he stayed with them while his father was away. That is Asahi’s problem friend not hers 😤

In her teens, she full embraced her popular role and almost exclusively hung out with the Inuzuka that had also settled in this land

This kept her ninjutsu skills sharp and that gave her a sense of pride because she was praised for both her Uchiha and Inuzuka abilities

She was still a daddies girl, so he was still the first person she told all her big news to

She loved shipping with her mom and helping her embroider things. Often sneaking in an uchiha fan to make her smile

Her relationship with Asahi was rocky as he didn’t spend much time at home

She joined Frederick in playing the taikos with their mother

She was the best sibling at managing the triplets and that was done through making everything a game. She could get them to scrub the whole house if she wanted to and let them crash in her bed with her most nights

Elke was like her own little baby doll. She liked picking her clothes and styling her hair as it had a fun flip to it’s ends

Arashi was her other little doll, sort of. More like the puppy she showed off to her friends and taught funny work songs to

She loved betting on dog races with her grandmother. Ebba always made it fun as she wasn’t afraid to challenge anyone

Unfortunately for her, so did Ivan

And he was much better at choosing a winner than her

She tried to avoid him, but they always ended up in the same spots, shops, or being seated near each other at festivals

Her mother telling her to stop acting rude when Ivan never so much as said a bad word about her or mistreated her

Her friends all gushed about how big he was and giggled when he let them compare their hand sizes to his

To which she passed when he reached out his hand for her to do the same

He knew his hand was bigger than hers and wasn’t impressed like the others

He eventually stunned the heck out of her when asked her out

So much so she sort of just agreed as long as he didn’t tell Asahi or anyone else

He agreed and so they agreed to meet by the “quietest” part of the river

She didn’t know what to talk to him about. She knew her parents weren’t to happy about his father getting Asahi into bounty hunting, but that didn’t seem to extend to him

It was during that awkward silence sitting by the river that she noticed he smelled nice; earthy like rosewood but also something more alluring

He knew she liked rye bread best and pulled out the fresh loaf he packed along with some sweet wine (which she also liked sipping off of her mother’s in secret)

It made her feel happy and horrible that she didn’t bother paying attention to what he liked or anything about him other than him being her brother’s friend

after a little liquid courage, she asked about his likes and dislikes

She learned he has a bit of light perception and can determine light from dark

She also learned Asahi forbid him from asking her on a date… but here they were, which they both laughed about

He confessed he had liked her for sometime. He liked her laugh, how sweet she was with her family, and how excitedly she talks about her job

And she practically melted. Only able to tell him an shaky ‘thank you’

In the end she apologized for being so rude to him when he just was trying to start a conversation with her.

She promised to be nicer towards him and consider is confession seriously (sealed with a kiss on his cheek check)

It was from there that they started their secret trial relationship. Holding hands when no one was looking, brushing hands under the table, sneaking away to their secret spot, talking, kissing, etc..

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of being with Ivan, but she wanted to keep something to herself for once coming from such a big family and not feel like there was pressure

Each rendezvous got a little better and brought them closer

She found herself falling for him hard as his straightforwardness and genuine affection left no room for doubts in her about her own feelings about him

She loved that he was so gentle with her, loved hearing about her day, the way he lit up when she complimented him, and how his ears turned red whenever she whispered sweet nothings to him

Even his strange sense of humor made her laugh; the main one being that they sounded like some sort of fairytale couple where he kept changing their titles ‘the ferrier and the blind man’ ‘the witch and the bounty hunter’

It was perfect. Nothing could ruin her mood when she got to spend time with him

Or so she thought

Nothing like going to her grandmother’s house to pick up a few tools before heading home and being forced to take a bath + drink some funky mixture because dear grandma could smell that she had sex despite Kuri having washed up a bit afterwards

It was mortifying. Not because her grandmother was judging her (Ebba would never), but because it was her first time and she got found out not even an hour later.

She was very grateful that Ebba told her parents she was staying at her place to help for a couple of days (so she could shake off her nerves)

In reality, she was getting an Inuzuka crash course in how not to get caught by her Inuzuka father because “what she does as a woman is not his business if it’s not happening in his house” (Ebba’s words)

Kuri did learn some helpful tips and tricks,and her father was non the wiser of her activities

She knew Ivan was going to ask for her hand before he did because while he was still very affectionate, he was acting strangely

So when her father asked her what she thought of Ivan, she told him honestly that she loves him

Telling Asahi was more nerve wracking for some reason. She didn’t want him to think she was taking his only friend away from him

He took it well to her surprise, especially considering he apparently knew about them for a long while

[aphrodisiac-siren]

Home~ Neteyam x Metkayina!reader

Summary: Leaving behind everything he knew was hard for Neteyam and then adapting to the ways of the new clan was even harder. He'd push himself, overwork and exhaust himself even, to live upto his family's expectations; never really giving his own wants a second thought. That's why Y/N was the prefect companion for him, someone who kept things in his life balanced, who made sure to let him know that what he wanted was just as important, perhaps even more so, than what everyone else wanted of him.

//slow burn, Neteyam finally growing a braincell//

masterlist, Part 6

Part 5

🫧

Neteyam had arrived at the conclusion that he'd finally lost it.

The boy had a very simple morning routine that never quite changed over the years. He'd wake up, grab whatever choker his fingers clasped around, maybe put on an armband or a bracelet if he felt like it and then leave without a second thought. He knew he wasn’t lacking in good looks, so he never really fussed over putting much effort into how he accessorised.

Until today.

He had changed the random coloured beads in his hair to ones shaded with different hues of blue and had tried on at least four different chokers before he was satisfied with one that had pretty lilac beads weaved into it.

He didn’t understand why all of a sudden he developed the urge to put in that extra bit of effort into his attire, even if it was as subtle as everyday jewellery.

Neytiri had noticed the shift in his behaviour but decided against commenting on it. It was far too obvious to her even though her son was utterly clueless as to what drove him to turn his quick morning routine into a full blown crisis.

When he reached a point at which he knew he was indefinitely late for his lesson, something that never happened, he seized his little game of dress up and left the pod.

‘Tardiness’ and ‘Neteyam’ were two words you’d never put together in a sentence, so it was just as surprising to the others as it was to him when he arrived at the beach a good amount of time after the lesson had already begun.

“You’re late” Y/N announced and it sounded more like a question than a statement, as if she was making sure that she said was something that was actually happening.

“Sorry” was all Neteyam managed as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, not wanting to go on a tangent about how he couldn’t pick between the green and the blue arm band.

For the entire duration of the lesson, Neteyam kept glancing at Y/N. Every time he did something right or even remotely close to ‘good’, he’d look at her in hopes of receiving some form of praise or encouragement. Even when he’d fumble over something, he’d instinctively look toward her instead of Tsireya, Rotxo or Aonung, as if it was her critique he valued most out of the others. And to some extent, it was true.

The lesson ended within the same timeframe that had been decided but to Neteyam it felt as if it was cut short. He all of a sudden wanted more time to learn what was being taught, as long as it meant that he’d get to hang around Y/N for a bit longer.

“Oh you’ve got new beads braided in” Y/N pointed out as she walked beside the boy along the shoreline, admiring his new adornments. She reached out to touch them, her fingers barely grazing his neck as she did “they look nice”

“Uh yea yea” Neteyam shrugged, not wanting it to seem like he’d bothered to put in some effort. He never had to do so before and he didn’t want to admit that he’d started doing it now. Still, his ears pointed upward in response to the compliment, betraying his placid demeanour; Not to mention his heart picking up pace when he felt her fingers brush against his skin.

He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself that he was greedy for more blandishments from her, perhaps even borderline desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. The attention he received seemed to leaving him thirsting for even more, but he only cared if it was her gracing him with it.

He tapped his fingers against the skin of his thigh, trying to think of some way to keep the conversation going. Again, he did not know why he was having trouble with this. Back at home, he’d always been an outgoing person, effortlessly making conversations with both kids and the elders in the clan. So why was he overthinking every single thing when it involved Y/N in someway? She was sweet and just as easy to talk to as his other friends but Neteyam made it difficult for himself by overanalysing what her response could be to whatever he might do or say.

As if Ewya herself pitied the poor boy, she granted him a temporary recluse from his own anxious thoughts.

"The tulkun have returned" Someone yelled, grabbing both Y/N and Neteyam's attention.

Y/N was the first between the both of them to react, clutching the boy's wrist and dragging him behind her toward the ilu while Neteyam was still processing what was going on, eyes fixated on his hand in her's.

"Come on" she urged him to move faster, clicking her tongue at an ilu "you'll get to meet my spirit sister"

An adoring smile adorned Neteyam's lips at the visible display of enthusiasm and eagerness from Y/N. He was of course joyous to witness the return of the tulkun from their migration, but even more so about the fact that Y/N wanted specifically him to tag along to meet her spirit sister.

He slid his one hand firmly around her torso once they'd sat atop the ilu; Him behind her, his chin ghosting close to her right ear as they moved in with the other Na'vi closer and closer toward the magnificent aquatic creatures.

Neteyam let out an involuntary laugh as their ilu rapidly swam amidst the tulkun, a symphony of clicks and whirs engulfed them with accompaniment of a few excited hollers from the others being beyond happy to be reunited with the tulkun.

Y/N tapped his thigh, to signal that they were about to dive under. They both took a deep breath before being encompassed by the cool waters.

Despite it being so busy, the girl didn’t have much trouble spotting her tulkun friend, communicating with the ilu to swim in that particular direction. She pointed her out for Neteyam as well, slightly turning her head to look at him as his smile grew adorably wider.

Y/N eagerly swam toward her, signing 'I see you' whilst Neteyam tailed after her, still in awe of the large animal.

He watched fondly at the both of them, Y/N signing rapidly out of excitement to tell her Tulkun everything she’d missed out on this whole time. Neteyam wasn’t fully adapted with their sign language but he knew enough to make out a bit of what she was saying; ‘he’s my friend’ and ‘yes I know he’s handsome’ being some of them, that made him grin bashfully. He politely waved his his hand as a greeting before he swam closer to the pair.

The remainder of his day consisted of some peaceful swimming followed by a race between Y/N and Aonung’s Tulkun with Neteyam holding on to it’s fin for dear life. Neteyam had been paired up with Aonung and while he was silently praying to Ewya for the entirety of the race, Y/N and Lo’ak, who was on her Tulkun’s team for the race, were having the time of their life.

And then finally it was eclipse.

The shadow of night cloaked them and all their excitement had at last simmered down as they all retired from the waters to the beach. The gentle glow of the bioluminescence of the surrounding provided a tranquil atmosphere; the fires lit were warm and the smell of food from the pods was inviting.

A perfect end to a perfect day.

“Did you have fun?” Y/N asked Neteyam in English while looking at him with her big eyes, knowing well enough what his answer would be. She still wasn’t fluent but knew a few words and phrases to have short casual conversations.

The two of them decided to while away their time on the beach, staying out a little longer than their siblings.

“Ay, your English is getting better” Neteyam grinned at her, responding to her in their mother tongue though “yea, today was fun”

“She likes you, you know” Y/N looked up at the stars as she spoke, admiring the numerous shiny orbs “my spirit sister”

“Do you like me?” Neteyam blurted out before he could even process the words leaving his mouth. His eyes widened slightly, too stunned at the fact that he boldly said that out loud.

“What was that?”

Luckily for him, she was not as good as he was when it came to speaking English and he thanked Ewya for it.

“Nothing” he shrugged, maintaining his calm composure while his heart was hammering in his rib cage. To his contentment, she didn’t press him into translating for her, probably too tired from all the excitement from earlier that day. She only responded with a suspicious grin, brows narrowing before she looked away. Her eye lids were slightly droopy, Neteyam noticed, a clear sign of her fatigue but still despite that she looked peaceful. A gentle smile stayed on her lips and her breaths came out in long timely intervals, like the waves that crashed against the shoreline.

Why did I say that? He inwardly scolded himself, still wondering how he could even fathom that thought.

Neteyam continued to gaze at her while her attention was still fixated on the stars. She was rambling to him about some constellation, how if he connected this star to that it'd form an arrow. And even though he nodded and hummed to show he was listening to her, he wasn’t. He was busy forming his own constellation of thoughts, putting together things that formed the picture he didn’t want to see. The extra effort he put into his appearance, the urge to spend every second he could spare with her, the constant need of plaudit from her and the racing of his heart caused by innocent touches.

And then his eyes grew wide once again, ears and tail both jerking slightly upward when the realisation harshly hit him, like a palulukan charging at him and successfully hurling him into a tree.

Neteyam had subconsciously fallen for her.

And now, he desperately wanted to know if she in someway felt the same.

[wildsupernova]

a movie i’ve seen before.

summary: you can’t stop playing it out in your mind like it’s a movie. but the ending is always the same, no matter how many times you wish it would change.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: small amount of explicit language, a small mention of harassment, angst

word count: 1.6k

masterlist | prompts list

You’re counting the swirls in the ceiling above you. 

1, 2, 3. 

The music from the party downstairs shakes the floor beneath you and you hug your knees closer to your chest. You’d had to slip away when yet another drunk teenage boy had brushed up against you and played it off as an accident, but the way his hand had been dangerously close to the hem of your skirt had told you otherwise. 

1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4. 

Your heart was finally starting to slow down and you could breathe again, although every inhale was shaky and every exhale caught in your chest. You continued to stare at the shapes the plaster made on the ceiling, counting the center of each swirl to keep yourself calm. You wished the night would just go by faster so that you could stop hiding away in Steve’s bedroom and leave this stupid party. You would have walked back home by now if it hadn’t started raining a few minutes ago. 

“Hey.” A soft voice from the doorway pulled your attention away from the ceiling, eyes barely able to make out the shadow of the boy standing there. Steve was offering up a small smile, one you tried-and failed-to return. “You okay?”

“No, not really.” He waited for a moment before he took a step into the room and sat on the floor next to you, knees propped up in the shape of a V, arms draped over them and a can of beer in one hand. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

When he asks, it all comes spilling out. 

“I’m not usually like this. I don't know why it's bothering me so much.”

“What's bothering you?”

“All the guys that keep…staring at me, doing that stupid thing where they walk too close to me and pretend they didn’t mean to.” His brows furrowed.

“Who? Because I can kick someone out if I have to-”

“No, I don’t want you to make a big deal about it, okay? I’m just gonna…sit up here for a while.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. You should have told me what was going on, I would have told them to leave.”

“That’ll just ruin the night for everyone. Please, it’s okay.” He looked as if he was about to say something further, but dropped it. 

“Fine, but the next time they show up for a party I’m not letting them in.” You let out a small, choked laugh. 

“Thanks.” There was a silence that settled over the room. It comforted you, to just be able to sit here and talk without trying to yell over the music. Especially if it was with Steve.

“I can take you home, if you want.”

“No, Steve, I don’t want to make you leave your own party-”

“It's not a big deal, seriously. I don’t want to make you stay if you’re uncomfortable.” 

You thought about protesting again, but instead you nodded. 

“Yeah, yeah I’d like to go home.”

He stood up and held out a hand for you to take, pulling you up quickly once you took it. His grip on your hand got tighter the longer it took for the two of you to weave through the crowd and make it to the front door, and didn’t loosen even after you’d left the house. He laughed as the rain, which had now begun pouring down harder, soaked through his clothes nearly the second he took a step out from underneath the porch. One step on the pavement and your shoes had completely soaked through with water, and all you could do was laugh as Steve dragged you through the rain and to his car. 

You wished the moment could have continued on just a bit longer. 

Next thing you knew, Steve was pulling into the driveway of your house and putting the car in park, the only sound in the car the squeak of the windshield wipers and the soft hum of the radio. You didn’t want to leave the sanctuary that Steve had been providing you all night, leave the only thing that gave you a chance to breathe. The second you opened the door and left, it’d be back to that place somewhere between lonely and lost, drifting untethered in some place you didn’t have a name for. 

“We can hangout tomorrow if you want.” Steve adjusted himself a bit in his seat, taking one hand off the wheel. “We haven’t hung out just the two of us in a while.”

“I’ll have to check with my parents but I don’t think I’m busy.” You flashed him a smile, one he returned. Another silence fell over the car, this one much thicker. 

You hadn’t gotten a good look at Steve since before the party. His hair had begun to dry on the drive here, strands starting to curl softly at the ends. He smelled of beer and expensive cologne, and his soaked shirt stuck to his chest and arms. His smile had dropped into something neutral, and the way his eye flicked over your own face had you feeling self conscious. 

“Something wrong?” Steve shook his head and let out a breath. 

“No, nothing’s wrong, I just…” He paused and tried to find the right words to say. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t have to.” 

“Yeah, you do.” He swallowed. “You know your parents will kill you if you miss curfew.”

“Right.” Your heart was beating in your ears, so loud it was almost deafening. “I should probably go, then.”

“Right.” You contradicted your own words and made no move to leave the car. There was another moment of silence before Steve let out a breath that seemed to say ‘fuck it’. 

Before you could process it, his lips were on your own, soft and hesitant and sweet. It took your breath away, made your body freeze, but the second your mind kicked back in, you were kissing him back. He relaxed, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your face and hold you there. It felt like something out of a movie, the kind of scene where some cheesy pop track plays in the background and the whole thing goes into slow motion. 

It couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but you were breathless when you pulled away. Your hand gripped the handle of the car door, popping the latch and pushing it open. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” It was hard to get the words out, but when you did, Steve smiled.

“Yeah, yeah okay.” 

Three weeks later and you’re waking up in Steve’s bed, a single beam of sunlight passing through a gap in the curtains. The sheets are soft against your bare skin, and you bury your face further into the pillow as you feel the soft shapes Steve’s fingers make along your back. His touch is soft, never traveling too high or too low, but still running along every spot nobody else has ever touched. At some point you fall back to sleep, and when you wake up again you find yourself thinking about how nice this feels. The sheets feel like a shield, blocking out the chaos that had been surrounding the two of you for days. You find three words teetering on the tip of your tongue as Steve presses his lips against your neck. 

They’re still there when he drives you back home, and they slip between your lips when he does something stupid that makes you laugh. 

“God, I love you.” You don’t realize that they’ve come out until he freezes, and you try to take them back. “Fuck, I’m sorry I-”

All he does is cut you off with a kiss, as if he were drowning and you were the only gasp of oxygen he could get. It was his hands gripping tightly to the sides of your face, your eyes shooting open in surprise, your hands clutching the neck of his shirt to ground yourself. It was three words that had slipped out of your mouth, and three words he still wasn’t quite ready to say. 

“Y/N?”

But it wasn’t real. 

This isn’t how it went. 

He didn’t kiss you. You can’t even remember the last time someone kissed you, especially not someone like Steve. It felt like a movie because it was, one you’d made up in your mind and played on repeat like an old VHS tape. You always tell him you love him but he never says it back because you know it isn’t true, but you still keep watching hoping that one day the ending will change.

Your eyes snap back into focus as you turn your head away from the car window, no longer watching the raindrops race to the base of the window. 

“Huh? What did you say?” You clear your throat and pretend your voice didn’t crack, but the look on Steve’s face tells you he noticed. 

“I asked if you wanted to hang out tomorrow.” He phrases it more like a question, and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to shrink into your seat. Your face heats in embarrassment and you hurry to open the car door. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah sure. I’ll, uhm, call you in the morning.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but you’re already out of the car, rainwater splashing up onto your legs as you run through the front door. The second it shuts, you blink away the tears that had been threatening to spill since Steve pulled into your driveway. 

You tilt your head upwards and start to count the swirls on the ceiling. 

1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4.

[calxkrbd]

swift encounters (genshin men x t.s songs, gn!reader)

Folklore ; cardigan - It was evident that Kazuha still hasn’t moved on from his past lover. Him accepting your confession was probably out of pity, and the longer you’re with him, the more you’ve come to realize that the very man you’d be willing to brawl with the heavens for wouldn’t even lift a finger for your sake. Before, his presence lingered like a tattoo kiss and you felt over the moon whenever you were with him. But now, the euphoria he made you felt and the stars he made you see wasn’t enough to conceal that the scars you’ve tried so hard to hide were now bleeding. Despite all the what-ifs, you knew you had to let him go.

Lover ; Cruel Summer - If you were to tell your 10 years old self that you were secretly dating your brother’s best friend, you’d be endlessly gagging, but the summer night you said yes to be his partner was the night you sealed your fate. Loving Alhaitham was a hard thing, and your secrecy was causing a strain in your relationship. In an attempt to reconcile with him during your last summer together, you snuck out, leading to an angry confession that you were afraid he’d find someone else better when he goes away. What doesn't kill you makes you want him more, and hearing him say that he loves you was probably the worst thing you’ve ever heard.

Reputation ; Don’t Blame Me - You were a heartbreaker, but being that was the least of your worries when you were working as an assassin. Betrayal, death, and seduction; all of these were principles you’ve mastered in order for you to survive and fend for yourself. When you were transferred to a new location, least to say that you were stunned to see that your new boss was your ex. Scaramouche was taught from a young age to have pride in himself, but you were an exception to this. Shame be damned, you believed that he’d really do anything for you when he went on his knees and begged for you to stay. You became his drug, and he was ready to indulge in you for the rest of his life.

I’d Lie - Your relationship with Xiao has always been rocky. You were always the receiving end of his snarky comments and bad mood, and you had no clue why, but whatever he felt for you, you felt the opposite. It was safe to say you were smitten. Seventeen was always just a number for you, but it became so much more when you discovered that was his birthdate. Green never looked so good, not until he dyed his hair the exact color. And even though he claimed that he hated you, he had you in a tight embrace when you were at your lowest. You knew he’ll never reciprocate your feelings, so you made sure that no one knew your biggest wish was to be his. On the contrary, he couldn’t deny that what he knew what he was feeling for you wasn’t exactly hatred, but if you ever asked him if he loves you, he’d lie.

1989 ; Wonderland - Being born under a spotlight was a curse. You spent almost your whole life monitored by the public eye, and you felt suffocated because one wrong move could cause your reputation to go in shambles. Fake people came with fame, which is why when you met Heizou, you felt that you could finally let down your facade. Being with him felt like you were in wonderland every time, and while he’s a bit of a troublemaker, you could never say no when he flashes you his green eyes and cheshire cat smile. Life wasn’t the worst nor was it getting any better, but to be with him forever was a daydream you didn’t mind getting lost in.

Speak Now ; Back To December - December was a month everyone looked forward to celebrating. It encapsulates the season of giving and the celebration of Christmas. For you, December was anything but joyous, for once November weaves into the winters, you’re taken back to the time you lost your everything. Kaeya and you had your issues, whether it be with others or with yourselves, but he became a better man for you. He saw you as his pillar and a reason for growth, but you didn’t see him the same. He was ready to give you the world, but you were already planning on saying goodbye. You wished you weren’t stupid enough to let him go, for if given the chance to love again, you swore that you’d love him right.

Midnights ; Midnight Rain - Thoma had always envisioned a future that was built on the sole purpose of being yours. He was willing to risk it all for the sake of your happiness, but unbeknownst to him, your vision was the complete opposite. You were willing to sacrifice your relationship and everything that the both of you have established together just to have a name for yourself. You wish you never told him what you were thinking, for your ideology was an idea he couldn’t comprehend, and you ended up losing your love before your so-called future even started.

Fearless (TV) ; You Belong with Me - Spending almost half of your life pining after your best friend was exhausting to say the least. Childe’s an idiot, a really dense idiot, and you wonder what made you fall for him this hard. He’s also kind of an asshole for suddenly ignoring you, so right after greeting him one last happy birthday, you’ve decided to finally move on…Huh? What do you mean he’standing in front of my window holding a placard? You must be hallucinating.

Red (TV) ; Red - To love a person who has a guarded heart never ends well. You knew that Diluc was hot-headed, stubborn, and no matter how many times you tried to forget about him, he always managed to fit himself right back into your heart. To lose a person with a guarded heart is a different story, for you realize that every effort you’ve exerted to get to know them can come crashing down in a matter of seconds. But to miss your person and his guarded heart is inevitable, as memorizing him was as easy as knowing all the words to your old favorite song. It hurts to always come back to him, but he’s the only one you’ve ever learned to love.

[coldresolve]

are you a torture apologist, or are you just dumb

... said with all the due diligence this subject warrants, etc etc. i’ve written posts about this before, it’s fallen on deaf ears, people either aggressively ignore it, or they go out of their way to take me in bad faith, and when the latter doesn’t work, they fall back on ye olde reliable: tone policing. but we’ve had that conversation too, haven’t we? it’s my culturally determined value of blunt honesty versus your culturally determined value of politeness. i express my opinions in a way that’s admittedly harsh and hyperbolic, and in so doing, my intention is to treat you like someone who is mature enough to distinguish my point from its delivery, and emotionally well-adjusted enough to deal with whatever the fuck some rando on the internet has to say about what you wrote. i also do it because its more fun this way. are we still cool? ffs lol

the thing is, right, it’s fucking easy not to write torture apologia. very straight-forward and simple, in my humble little opinion. you learn what the usual arguments are, and then you try to avoid accidentally making them – a bit like how, when you learn that white supremacy is a thing, you typically then go on to try and not write some wildly racist shit. same principle.

and i genuinely don’t understand why people are so opposed to this, specifically. they don’t know they’re doing it, which is fine, but then when you try to let them know they’re doing it, on the off-chance they even acknowledge that you said anything, they’ll hit you with an “its just for entertainment,” or “it’s not that deep.” so you tell them they sure seem to spend an awful lot of time weaving torture apologia into their vapid, shallow entertainment. and they don’t like that, jesus. but what else are you supposed to say?

i figure i just havent bullied people hard enough about it, honestly. and by bullied i mean pointing out the mindless use of torture apologia as plot points in the slop everybody writes. i would happily tell all of this directly to the writers of 24’s jack bauer, but those guys aren’t here, so.

you probably won’t be surprised to learn that the majority of the myths surrounding torture are rooted in facistic, reactionary thinking. might makes right is big among people who endorse corporal punishment; the ends justify the means is in play when governments try to excuse the use of t-, ahem, enhanced interrogation tactics. allegedly.

and among a much, much longer laundry list of bullshit i’ve seen spewed – oh, not by shady governments, but by you:

torture as an interrogation method yields reliable information

some forms of torture are more sophisticated than others

torture makes people obedient

torture used as a punishment deters unwanted behavior in others

brainwashing is a thing that is possible (usually through torture)

it’s not torture unless it leaves a physical mark on the body

see to me, it’s fucking easy to rework that scene in your story where torture results in the perpetrator gaining trustworthy intel. fucking easy to reconsider that arc where a character gets rewired by torture into passive obedience. fucking easy, when writing a story, to not accidentally send the message that torture is a tool that works. but hey, allow me to really dig my teeth in.

you drumming up your torturer as “skilled” in the “art” of torture feeds real nicely into the myth that torture works as an interrogation method, here under the condition that you should at least do it properly. is that what you believe? or do just believe that there’s an extra special way to cause extreme physical or emotional destress in a person which, for vague unspecified reasons, superceeds all the other, more amateurish ways one could go about it? the former would make you an direct torture apologist – the latter, a fucking twat. ask yourself why “some torture methods are more sophisticated than others” is an idea that needs to be perpetuated. who benefits from that idea? who would feel really validated by that idea? which government on this green earth of ours, hypothetically speaking, could use this idea as a way to paint their own acts of torture as more cultured or civilized than, say, hypothetically speaking, the torture used by those other nations where the brown people live? allegedly.

alternatively, your little good boy slave fantasy seems to imply that being subjected to torture will make a person obedient. is that what you believe? is it true that might makes right? say, wouldn’t state-sanctioned corporal punishment be justified as a tool to make people obey the law, then? no? okay, hear me out then, cause this is really out there, but. could the idea that violence is a tool that makes people more compliant with the demands of their aggressors, possibly maybe perhaps, be something you only find it acceptable to greenlight as the result decades of war propaganda? naaaaah. fiction isn’t reality, and it means nothing, and victims of torture are weak and malleable and broken, and also what they say can’t be trusted cause they have no real fucking agency anyway. fuck me.

“but elias,” i hear you say, “how am i supposed to write an interesting story that features torture in a way that’s in accordance with scientific consensus on its effectiveness and/or consequences? realism and compelling storytelling are diametrically opposed to one another!”

here’s my take: you just straight up lack creativity. cope and seethe.

if you’re interested in writing about torture, read up on what it is, instead of assuming everything you’ve been told by military-sponsored action movies is true and valid. we’re talking about some pretty extreme facets of human behavior and psychology here, but ones that none the less exist in reality. the bare minimun is to not buy in to the myths and propaganda surrounding it. the next step is to write what it can look like in reality. the big boy galaxy brain move is to write torture in a way that challenges the status quo on how we culturally view torture, and how all these false myths affect victims and perpetrators alike. you just have to fucking think about it.

torture for information doesn’t work – but your perpetrator might be convinced that it does. so instead of going the easy route and proving them right – explore how they're wrong. show torture failing. show your perpetrator’s desperation as they gain nothing. they conceptualize their actions as the lesser of two evils, but whoops, there is no second evil. hows that for a change?

is there such a thing as “torture lite?” does it make any real difference whether it leaves a physical mark behind or not? where do we draw the line between interrogation and torture? is that question not interesting enough for you?

is complying with demands under threat of torture the same as genuine obedience? maybe your victim is forced to pretend in certain ways, through feelings of absolute powerlessness. their survival is pitted against the guilt that comes from following the demands of their perpetrator/s. the sense that they’re betraying themselves, the hatred they feel against their aggressor for making them obey, which is otherwise completely uncharacteristic of them. they’re never reduced to a blank slate, there’s always an internal conflict. what if they reach a point where they have nothing left to lose? real torture makes people more defiant. human beings are amazing at adapting to impossible situations. how is that not a wicked fucking cool thing to explore?

brainwashing isn’t real, but your victim’s loved ones believe that it might be. this means that their attempts to talk about their complex feelings toward the more humane sides of their torturer, or recount moments of a strenuous mutual understanding, are met with vehement denial from the people who are supposed to facilitate their recovery. “don’t talk about him like that, he hurt you.” and a desperation to get people to understand that it’s just not that simple. they’re not just saying it because they’ve been brainwashed – people just aren’t black and white, torturers included. the way they feel compelled by the pressure of their loved ones to just… keep quiet about that aspect of their trauma.

here's a fun fact: not only is torture absolutely useless at everything it sets out to do, but rates of PTSD are equally high among victims and perpetrators. the latter is something called participation-induced post-traumatic stress, or perpetrator trauma. you see it in murderers, too. nobody talks about that. and i get it, it’s a touchy subject, we wouldn’t want to portray torture as something human beings do. but, and here’s my counter-argument: maybe reality is just messy and complicated. and maybe exploring that messy complicated reality in fiction can serve as something interesting and worthwhile. emotionally cathartic. no?

if you read up on torture in psychological studies, regarding the psychology of both victims and perpetrators – and possibly also read some sociological studies about how governments have used a lot of the myths i’ve mentioned about torture to excuse their own actions (allegedly) – you start to get an idea for just how comprehensibly it fucks with people, and how effective that propaganda machine has been. real life torture is not rare. torture will continue to not be rare as long as people believe in the idea that it is useful. so maybe it’s a good idea to approach the subject with a little bit of thought beforehand, you know? we could approach fictional depictions of torture with the same amount due diligence we take with the topic of rape or child abuse, instead of, you know, literally affirming all the myths that justify its use and then brushing off criticism like mine in that aggressively uncritical fiction-isnt-reality,-depiction-isn’t-endorsement,-zero-further-introspection way.

or whatever. maybe im just a big meanie, i must be fun at parties, etc

[lost-girl-2021]

Metkayina Headcanons (pt 3 kinda)

This is from the same idea as the last part (where the Metkayina thing Spider's a lot younger than he actually is, because surely the humans grow more than that, right? Not that they have a lot of experience up-close).

I think when Spider finally finds out they think he’s a child, it would be accidentally. Like, what if Jake (after a while of getting caught up in his grief and worries about the RDA) comes to Tonowari and thanks him for taking care of Spider, but explains that the humans will come to take him back in a few days, when they come for a supply run. Spider over hears this and assumes he really has just be a glorified prisoner or something and he’s about to get sent back to High Camp and all of the humans twenty-plus years older than him. Sure, he misses Norm and Max and the forest itself, but days stuck in the lab were draining, boring. Still, he resigns himself to his fate, not wanting to be a burden on the Metkayina for any longer. (None of the adults know that he heard them and he left before he could hear his not-parents response).

He ends up leaving the village (he’d spent the day with Tsireya weaving by the water and had been about to go join Ronal in making dinner in their marui when he overheard everything). Night falls and Spider is in the woods beyond the village. He climbs a tree and settles in to sleep there, deciding it would be better for him to just leave on his own, rather than get forced to leave.

When he wakes up, people are shouting his name. I think Lo’ak would be the one to find him, actually, because he grew up with Spider and knows how skilled the other boy is when it comes to climbing and that he usually hides up high when he’s scared. Tsireya is with him, while the others are diving and looking around for him. Lo’ak eventually spots him up a tree and just climbs up after him.

“Dude, what happened?” Lo’ak asked breathlessly. “We’ve been looking for you half the night! It’s not like back home, you can’t just pull your disappearing act anymore.”

“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m fine.” He grumbled, pulling away when the other boy reached for him.

“Are you?”

“Just leave me alone, Lo’ak.”

“Are you kidding me? I just walked, like, miles to find you.”

“Cool. Now, leave. I’m not going back.”

His friend (were they still friends?) frowned at him. “Spider. Now is not the time to sulk. Everyone’s been worried— “

“Yeah, worried I wouldn’t be back in time for them to send me back.”

Turns out they (shockingly) weren’t about to send Spider away. There ends up being a big conversation and it’s explained to Spider that no, they aren’t sending him away. If he had came to them the night before or just asked, they could have told him that they had no intentions of ever getting rid of him.

They also mention that he’s too young to be wandering around by himself anyways, which makes Spider very confused.

“I’m as old as Aounung, though?”

Everyone’s very confused. Eventually, it gets explained (with some help from a very worried Jake) that Spider was sixteen, not ten or whatever. And that, back in the forest, he was allowed to hunt and fish and forage from a young age.

“Yeah, I’ve been wandering the forest alone since I was, like, six.” He added with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You— what?” Jake blinked at the teen, eyebrow raised. “You were definitely not allowed to go in the woods by yourself before you turned nine.”

“How do you think I got to the village all the time? The scientists were boring, so I left.”

All the adults have something to say about that, but it’s been a long night/day and at the end of the day, Ronal and Tonowari are just glad Spider’s okay. Even if he is a few years older than they thought he was. I think they’d probably still treat him like he was young, but in the way they still treat their other children. Like, a ‘you’re never too old for your mom to braid your hair for you’ kind of thing. And Spider, who was treated more like a stray pet than anything else as a kid, soaks it up. Sure, sometimes it’s annoying when they keep an extra close eye on him or when one of his siblings tracks him down and insists he take a break, because too much sun isn’t good for anyone, but humans especially. But, he has people to go home to and talk to and that kind of makes up for it. It makes the overprotectiveness and Tsireya’s insistence that she’s the older sibling worth it.

IDK if I'd ever end up actually writing this as a fic, because I suck at writing stuff with real hurt/comfort or fix-it-fics, but if someone wants to write this or knows a fic that's kind of like this, please lmk.

[helix-studios117]

Halo Reloaded: Seeing Triple III

The Warthog's engine growled under Silver's deft control, its tires kicking up clouds of dust as it navigated the desolate landscape. The inside of the vehicle was thick with the tension of its three very similar, yet distinctly different occupants. Silver, with a driving style that could only be described as 'enthusiastically reckless', seemed to find a sort of grim amusement in the occasional jolt that threatened to unseat them. Chief, for his part, sat with the stoicism of a boulder, his gaze fixed on some distant point, lost in thoughts that likely weighed as heavily as his armor.

Ranger, unable to stand the silence any longer, swiveled his turret around, a mischievous glint in his one good eye. "Hey, fellas," he started, voice dripping with a blend of curiosity and the kind of cheerfulness that only comes from blissful ignorance of true despair. "How long have you been playing the galaxy's most reluctant heroes? Feels like we've got enough grimdark backstories to start our own band."

Chief let out a sigh, the sound somehow carrying all the weight of his years. "Feels like since the dawn of time. It's been a never-ending parade of enemies. Insurrectionists, Covenant, Flood, Prometheans... And now these Banished chumps. Honestly, it's like the universe has a personal vendetta against my downtime."

"Banished? No such thing where I came from. Back in my timeline, it was more about Spartans going rogue and interservice, political in-fighting." Silver waved a hand dismissively, as if brushing away the memories along with the dust that had settled on the dashboard.

"You boys make my timeline sound like a walk in the park. No Banished, just a bunch of Forerunner tech that doesn't play nice," Ranger chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. He paused, his expression turning thoughtful under his helmet. "Makes me wonder what I'm missing out on. Or not."

The topic of age came up as naturally as anything else could in a conversation held at gunpoint by existential dread. "So, how old are we talking here? I'm a sprightly 2530 baby, myself," Ranger offered, injecting a note of pride into his voice.

"2511," Chief responded, his voice as flat and unexciting as a history lecture.

"Same." Silver chuffed, glancing over at Chief with a look that could almost be considered camaraderie if one squinted.

Ranger nodded, a smirk playing on his lips, "Makes me the kid, huh? Guess that explains the youthful charm." He laughed, a sound that bounced around the Warthog's interior.

"Y'know, I got a girl back home. Spartan Linda. Tied the knot and everything. You guys would love her; she's a real charmer, once you get past the sniper rifle."

Chief's reaction was almost comical, had anyone been in the mood for comedy. A slight twitch, like he'd been zapped by a low-voltage current, betrayed his surprise. "Linda..." he echoed, the name carrying a weight that seemed to anchor him to the spot. The moment stretched, filled with unspoken thoughts and feelings, a saga of 'what-ifs' and 'if-onlys'.

"Got a thing for your Linda, huh?" Ranger nudged, his tone playful yet edged with understanding. "Can't say I blame you. If she's anything like my Linda, she's one in a trillion."

The conversation meandered from there, shifting to less emotionally charged topics... that's a lie, it got more emotional. Ranger glanced back at his companions, a new thread of curiosity weaving through his thoughts.

"You know, I've been thinking... It's weird how everyone in your world can just... interact with Forerunner tech. In my dimension, it's a no-go unless you've got this rare Forerunner genome thing going on. Which, luckily, I do." He tapped the side of his helmet, as if to punctuate his point.

Silver, who had been navigating a particularly treacherous patch of terrain, perked up at this. "Yeah? That's a thing for me too." He noted with a half-smirk, then, as if a thought struck him, he directed a queston to the other Johns. "You ever hear of someone named Makee in your world?"

Both Chief and Ranger shook their heads, their interest piqued. Chief’s voice was the first to break the ensuing silence. "Makee? That's not a name that's come up. Who is she?"

In the rearview mirror, Silver's reflection showed a man wrestling with how to frame his next words. "She was... unique. A human, but the only one who joined the Covenant, believed in their cause. She could interpret the words of the Forerunners, activate and use their tech... She's like me, but she used her abilities for them."

The weight of the story hung in the air, heavier than the gravity on Onyx. Ranger, always one to push forward, nudged the topic. "So, what happened to her?"

Silver's grip on the steering wheel tightened, the muscles in his jaw working as he chose his words carefully. "One of my Spartans killed her," he said, a simple statement that carried layers of unsaid emotion.

The silence that followed was telling, filled with a mix of curiosity and respect for the delicate subject. It was Ranger who broke it, his tone treading the line between sensitive and inquisitive. "You sound... kinda fond of her?"

There was a pause, long enough to be uncomfortable, before Silver finally let out a breathy chuckle, laden with a cocktail of emotions. "Yeah, well, she was under my custody, and... we ended up falling for each other. And, uh, she—We..." He stumbled over the words, a rarity for someone usually so sure of himself.

Chief, the ever-stoic warrior, found himself at a loss, his brain trying to reboot like an old, overworked computer. "You were... involved with a POW?"

Ranger’s reaction was a mixture of shock and an almost irrepressible urge to laugh, not out of mockery, but sheer disbelief at the complexity of Silver's situation. "And let me guess, there were... consequences to this?"

Silver sighed, a sound that was half resignation, half defiance. "If by 'consequences,' you mean a baby, then yeah. I'm raising our child. Her name's Angel."

The revelation hit like a gravity hammer. Chief looked as if he’d been physically struck, the concept so foreign and shocking to his disciplined mind that it nearly sent him into a state of system failure. Ranger, on the other hand, clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with the effort to contain his laughter, not at the situation itself, but at the sheer absurdity of life and how it seemed to throw curveballs at the most unexpected of times.

Silver glanced at both of his counterparts through the mirror, a sheepish yet defiant look in his eyes. "Yeah, I know. It's a mess. But she's the best thing that's come out of all this chaos. Angel, I mean."

The Warthog trundled on, the silence now filled with a new understanding, a recognition of the complexities and the unanticipated paths their lives had taken.

Chief, still processing, finally nodded, a gesture of acknowledgment if not full comprehension. Ranger, finding his composure, offered a supportive clap on Silver's shoulder, his laughter subsiding into a knowing smirk.

"Life, huh?" Ranger mused, the landscape around them unforgiving and barren, yet somehow less desolate with the sharing of their intertwined tales. "Doesn't get much crazier than this."