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shibaraki · 1 year

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OUR MOURNING GLORY ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: everything born in his body will eventually outgrow it. his love for you should be no different.

tags: GN reader, hanahaki au, strangers to friends to lovers, falling in love, requited unrequited feelings, quirkless reader, villain dabi, vomiting, hanahaki as a chronic illness, quirkless discrimination, lack of self worth, hurt + comfort, mild body horror, morally ambiguous reader, first kisses, very hopeful ending (<- I prommy lol)

wc: 5.4K

A/N: now with lovely cover art from momo! thank you so much!

Dabi really fucking hates doctors, has since he was a kid.

They’re too sterile. The strong antiseptic smell burned his sinuses and being surrounded by entirely white walls set him on edge. As though he had been deposited into a liminal space where time does not exist. A cacophony of suffering, incessant beeping, wheels rolling on old gurneys, echoed footsteps, all coalescing into prickly white noise.

Finding a place that would actually treat him was a hell in and of itself. Bigger hospitals and university medical centres weren’t viable options, given how beefed up security usually was. Seedy back-alley places existed in the areas he liked to haunt, but even the thought of stepping foot into one gave him sepsis.

Quirkless clinics were rare. Most that existed ran out of funding— the government saw no reason to care for a dying species. If you didn’t have a quirk then you had it bad. Citizens were legally required to have it listed under a disability on their medical records, and it wasn’t uncommon for people to be turned away in the emergency room because of it.

Dabi almost walked away that first night. As bad of a guy as he is, there was something inherently wrong about infringing on space that did not belong to him. But you had stepped out into the street for a break, jacket pulled close to your chest, took one look at the blood dried to his cheeks and rallied him inside.

He finds himself back here again, for the nth time. Today makes it an entire year since he met you, and ten full months since he coughed up that first bud. A mild inconvenience turned into an invasive bloom.

“…Hanahaki is a serious disease. It is a condition where vine-like buildup in your airways forms into buds, eventually flowering into…”

Morning glories. Buds of deep-blue, trumpet-shaped blossoms and leafy stems. The delicate petals taste surprisingly bitter, with a bite that lingers in the fissures between his molars after it has been ground into thin paste and swallowed. He had long since gotten used to the astringency— drying his throat, twisting his stomach.

“…At best it causes severe breathing difficulties and discomfort. Worst case scenario, it can be fatal…”

In the beginning he thought it would pass. Dabi has endured sickness all his life and a cough wasn’t about to stop his long laid plans. But it worsened, mutated into something he could not control. He remembers sitting in your bathroom on the toilet lid, the little blue burgeon rolling in the shallow of his palm. It’d been covered in bloody mucus, but still a pip, still harmless.

Any sane person might have been afraid at that moment, realising what fate awaited them. Dabi, however, felt oddly resigned. One in one hundred million. Of course this would happen to him. Death clung to him everywhere he went.

“Dabi, are you listening?”

Doctor Tereda had been the one to stitch him up back then. A quack with a near useless cell activation quirk and glasses lenses thick enough for a bullet to bounce off. You’d dragged him into her office, sat him on the bed with surprising strength, and she attended to him no questions asked.

Dabi tried not to make a habit of visiting one place too often, but between your pleading eyes and his rapidly worsening health, he ended up back in her office more times than he cared to.

He makes a noncommittal sound.

“As a medical professional I must strongly advise you to talk to the individual these feelings have bloomed for,” Terada says. Dabi does not like the sympathetic pinch in her brow. “That is the least invasive option”.

Prying open his chest and baring himself to you seems pretty damn invasive. “Not happening,” he mutters airily.

There’s a sense of satisfaction when her frown strains with frustration. Her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose. “Your case is incredibly advanced. It may be your only chance to tell—”

“You got something wrong with your ears?” he interrupts. The stitches beneath his eyes sting, pulled taut by his glare. “I said no”.

Tereda sighs and turns to her screen, pushing her frames back up. The keyboard clicks under her fingers. Every computer here was ancient, their systems totally outdated, but they made do.

“You have two more options. The best results are produced if both treatments are done together,” she explains. “First is surgery. You’ll be put under general anaesthesia and the disease will be removed along with some surrounding tissue in the lungs for biopsy. Memories of the loved one are usually lost”.

Dabi slouched to feign disinterest, betrayed by the restless bounce of his knee, “And?”

“Your second option is to attend an interpersonal psychotherapy programme,” she lifts her hand to silence him before he can interject. “This is highly recommended to patients after surgery to prevent relapse. But you can do it regardless, as it is helpful in reducing your symptoms, and while the disease becomes chronic, it is more manageable”.

Dabi’s jaw shifts as he grits his teeth, pulling at the staples by his mouth, “Calling me fucking crazy now, eh Doc?”

“No,” she replies cooly, schooling her features into something kinder. “As people we underestimate the influence our mental well being has over our physical condition. Hanahaki disease is rare, yes. But over a quarter of all cases are found to be psychosomatic”.

Dabi laughs dryly and brings a fist down hard, smoke squeezed from between his knuckles marred the desk with black. “So this is of my own making, is that what you’re saying?”

“This isn’t something you plant into yourself, Dabi. It isn’t your fault and I could be completely wrong. I’m not all knowing, I’m just a doctor,” a smooth hand is placed over top of his own in effort to comfort, “But torturing yourself will only feed it”.

He scrambles to his feet, the chair legs scraping piercingly across the tile, and snatches his fist back to hold behind his back. The doctor levels him with a sad, soft look, her upper body still leaned across the table.

“If you leave this as it is it will only hurt you. It is already hurting you,” Tereda continues critically. “We can mitigate this, Dabi. Before it kills you”.

That unearths some ill-gotten memory from the recesses of his brain. A film strip he replays often in solitude; the day Endeavor sat him down and told him he shouldn’t use his quirk anymore. At first it was a fatherly suggestion, unnaturally low and soft. “You should stop. It’s hurting you, Touya,” as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

That never made sense to him. In training they used to focus on fire, usually— on intensifying his flame power— but on occasion they would spar. Between poor footing and wrong steps, Endeavour always reprimanded tears and quick surrender.

“But it hurts…”

“Strong heroes fight through pain,” he said. “The world does not stop just because you are crying. Get up! Or are you weak?”

Touya took it to heart, back then. Clenched his chubby little fists tight and got to his feet with a wobbly snarl on his damp, swollen face.

Young minds are impressionable and his own had already been moulded by the very hands on his shoulders. Endeavour’s fingers had held on tight, dwarfing Touya’s frame; heat soaking through his shirt from those searing palms and the sting of old wounds had been enough to keep him grounded in reality. You should stop this. It’s hurting you.

Those words festered and ate away at his soul like an infection. Giving up was against everything he knew— and against everything Endeavor told him a hero should be. It was not an option he was willing to take, and so Touya trudged forward, just as he was taught.

Eventually Endeavour’s words evolved into demand. He became furious. Touya became accustomed to long sleeves and learned how to treat burns alone. Hands made for saving left oval shaped bruises and finger painted the entire family.

How do you abandon something stitched into the very fabric of your being? Being the Number One hero was his hereditary purpose. His father gave up on him so readily but Touya would have rather died than surrender when it got tough. Giving it up would be dying all the same.

Pain was a toll necessary for growth. He grew until his ambition and greed swallowed him whole. And now, there was you. A garden of weeds in his lungs. You were rooted into the capillaries and harvesting his yearning. Every time he coughed it felt like self immolation; a cruel cycle he can not stop repeating.

Hanahaki discriminates. It happens to those who feel deeply, people whose hearts are hemmed by the ones they love. Dabi is selfish but more than that he is lonely, and you’re the one good thing he has in this shit hole.

Accepting the surgery would just be another loss. A surrender. It wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things; Dabi is going to die either way. A walking corpse. Skin, esophagus, tear ducts, tissue— his fire burns all of it. Deep within him, eating away at his soft insides like dry grass. And what withstands that heat are the seeds you have unknowingly sown.

There is something disturbingly satisfying about carrying a piece of you to the grave with him, flowers proliferating around the earth that houses him. Call him twisted. It isn’t as if he’s unaware he’s got a few loose screws— he also has no desire to get better.

The silence is broken by the quiet scratch of pen to paper. Doctor Tereda offers a thin smile and slides a prescription across the table, signed and ready to be collected. “Here. This should help with the pain for at least a week or two. We know how easily you burn through medication so… don’t take too long to make your decision,” she hesitates before shaking her head. “And go to the emergency room if your breathing worsens”.

Dabi eyes her suspiciously, grabbing the slip and shoving it into his coat pocket. Worrying at his lower lip he offers her a short nod, the ‘thanks’ implied.

As he turns and makes his way toward the door, Dabi pauses just before turning the handle. He doesn’t look back as he mutters, “Keep this to yourself, yeah? That means no putting it on my records”.

Tereda hums curiously, “No one else has access to your records”.

He scoffed, turning his wrist and pulling the old door to demonstrate his point; a groan reverberates throughout the room as it opens, “Yeah right. This is hardly a fine establishment”.

“I resent that!”

Dabi strides through the familiar corridor toward the waiting room, ignoring Tereda’s indignant shout. He wasn’t off the mark about how shoddy the place is— atleast, in comparison to other medical centres. The building is small and narrow. It was built during the pre quirk era and handed off to the quirkless by the government to honour their status. The whole thing stank of ridicule and it pissed him off the more he thought about it.

You’re exactly where he expects you to be. Sitting pretty at your desk, twiddling your thumbs, keeping watch over the empty space and quietly mumbling some melody from Mount Lady’s latest hair care advert over the unremitting whirr of the fan above.

A laugh bubbles in his chest, drawing your attention, and it chokes him in effort to smother the sound. You are alarmingly predictable. There, plain as day on your computer screen, are his supposedly secure medical records.

Dabi pressed the heel of his hand to his sternum as he violently coughed. You’re talking to him now, on your feet and rubbing along his back. A viscous lump of petals forces its way into his throat and he feels his quirk react. Still, you don’t pull away.

“Deep breath,” God, that’d be nice. “You’re okay. I’ll get you some water,” Don't go.

You stop and let him drag you back by the wrist. He rights himself on his feet and forces the flowers down. “I’m—” bile stings the back of his mouth and he gags, turning his face into his coat collar to hide a grimace.

Dabi exhales and it sounds so thin. “Fuck. I’m fine. Don’t start,” he croaks, hardly convincing. Rooting through his pocket, he shoves his prescription slip forward to distract you, the paper crumpled into a small ball. “Doc gave me a prescription. It’s just a chest infection”.

He lingers and observes as you unwrinkle it. You’re careful to smooth out each corner and wrinkle. The tension swells as the silence stretches. He tempers the urge to snatch it back.

You squint at him, “A dosage this high for a chest infection?”

He shrugs and reaches over his head to yank his coat hood forward. “Doctor’s orders”.

After a beat, you relent and glance over to give him an exasperated smile, “Whatever. As long as it helps clear your lungs. You freaked me out last night with all that wheezing”.

You begin switching off your monitors, patting down at your pockets for the keys. To synchronise with the end of your shift, Dabi purposely chose the last appointment. That was another thing he has been doing a lot— trying to fit his life around yours.

“Watching me sleep now, perv?”

“Yeah. I love when a guy sounds like a punctured squeaky toy, really gets me worked up,” you drawl, falling in line with him after turning off the lights and checking the locks. Tereda would close up the rest.

You brought a tonal shift to his life he couldn’t have anticipated; enough that he regularly spent nights crashing on your couch to wait out the bad weather. There was something about you from the beginning that he couldn’t put a finger on. Nothing as simple as your attractiveness— you had a good heart, but not by society's standards, much like Twice.

A quick internet search would pull up listings of buildings he had burned and the trail of bodies left in his wake. But it didn’t matter. Villain, vigilante, hero, a person is a person, even him.

That first meeting, winter settling in, you admitted to him you were quirkless. A shitty olive branch effort, he’s sure. That whole instinctual radar that comes with being a misfit in this world. You left a strong impression. He recalls how he gave you the name Dabi, cackling harshly as if he were leaving you with a ticking time bomb, and you simply said: “Maybe I’ll see you again. Hopefully without all the blood, next time”.

He latched on and desperately wanted to hate you for it. Yet your arm is linking through his once again, pressed close to his side as the rain hammers down onto the empty street, and everything he can’t bring himself to say has taken root in his windpipe.

“Wanna come up?”

“For coffee?” he swipes his tongue over his teeth, raising a suggestive brow. Your offer is as innocent as it always is, and the sight of you flustered is as welcome as ever.

“Tea, actually,” is your poorly veiled response.

Dabi knows he’s getting too comfortable. You might be quirkless but you’re not stupid. Infact, at times you’re unsettlingly perceptive; his only mercy is that you are too nice to pry.

He should tell you ‘no’. Giran could probably set him up. He might even get away with crashing at the bar. Instead he says, “Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be”.

Your apartment building is nothing to write home about. Slightly run down, maintained by residents rather than their pig landlords. It stands shorter than the neighbouring buildings, the entire right side eaten by withered wisteria. Nobody bats an eyelid at his appearance in a place like this.

Inside is a mirror of the outside. Unremarkable in every way, yet he feels remarkably at home. You go in first, kicking off your shoes without bothering to line them up, waddling to the narrow linen closet in the hallway. You’ve managed to cram a dryer right beneath the shelves, since there was barely any space elsewhere.

“I can grab you something to wear while I put our stuff on a spin”.

The rain sticks to his forehead, thin streaks of black dye running down his temple. Grinning, you hand him an old towel, already stained and fraying at the hem, “You look harmless like this. Like a wet cat”.

He pats carelessly at his face while shucking off his coat. The nerves are long dead and it’s painless. You squawk when the heavy fabric hits the genkan floor with a wet slap. “Dabi!”

“That’s what you get,” he rolls his neck and bends to untie his boots, the towel thrown over his shoulder. “Harmless. I burned down a money laundering front just a few hours ago”.

“I saw it on the news. You’re such a dickhead,” you laugh, heading into the kitchenette. “There was no good reason for you to melt the asphalt of that entire city block”.

A smile works its way onto his face. Gross. “Can’t have them mistaking me for a good guy”.

“You are a good guy”.

“You’re delusional,” he shoots back, an unbearable fondness swelling in his chest. The pressure is the worst part. Spools of vine and leafy green pierced into lung tissue, stems squeezing through his rib cage.

You’ve been staring at him for too long. That sweet smile hasn’t wavered. Dabi clears his throat, first to dispel the awkwardness he feels and then again as a stray petal sticks to his throat. It brushes against his tonsils and he quickly covers his mouth.

“Sure you’re okay?” your voice is quiet, testing the waters.

A fingernail catches on a staple by his chin as his hand drags down his face, answering on an exhale, “Fine. Stop asking. Didn’t you say something about tea?”

“Can’t help it,” you huff, shutting the overhead cupboard with too much force. "You’re not a good liar, you know”.

Dabi gives a dismissive wave and heads over to the couch. The distance is barely four strides but he manages to unbuckle his belt, jeans unbuttoned and falling loose around his hips. Kicking them off with little to no grace, your eyes are heavy on his back as he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it at the laundry pile tucked away near your bathroom.

The quaint studio can barely house you, never mind him. Dabi was always small for his age but here it feels like he could stretch and touch every wall.

You’re moving in his periphery, following his lead and gradually revealing swaths of bare skin. You’ve seen him half naked before, in the clinic, but never the reverse. Dabi swallows thickly, ignoring the intimate atmosphere he unintentionally created. The kettle is electric and he takes comfort in the loud gurgling sound that comes with it, fixing his gaze on the blank TV screen.

“You can turn it on, you know. You are allowed,” you coaxed, voice warm and teasing. You’ve rummaged through the pile of clothes and found a hoodie that falls below your hips. “Or are you just going to sit there with your dick out?”

“You fucking wish,” he objected, reaching for the remote. Is it? His eyes fall to his lap. No, it isn’t.

He slouches, reclining into the cushions as some old rerun of Mighty Man plays. “Hey,” idly picking at a loose thread, he asks, “do you get many people come through with hanahaki?”

That gives you pause, and immediately he regrets asking. It’s hardly a common question. Hell, a good percentage of the population thought it to be an old wives tale, even in the wake of quirks. There was no plausible excuse as to why it would be on his mind.

Cautious in your approach, you stop by the couch with a steaming mug cradled in your hands. He sees those naked thighs, soft and uniquely yours. “Is… is that why you’ve been coughing?”

“No,” Dabi scoffs. In one forceful yank he rips the seam open and watches the foam innards spill out. You linger, weight shifting between your feet, and irritation prickles under his skin. “Who the hell do you think I would be chucking up flowers for? Not like I’ve got friends”.

Your shoulders lose tension and he tries not to think too hard about it; he doesn’t want to know. He feels his own airways clear at the sound of your laughter, “I dunno. Stain, maybe?”

Pursing his lips, he sucks back the copper from between his teeth, “Fuck you”. You try to smile. You pass his tea and he forgoes the handle. The warmth of the mug seemed to seep into his bones and ease the ache.

“Right right. Big bad villain. I forgot you’re supposed to be an empty husk without a heart,” you teased, sitting unnecessarily close and burying your feet beneath his thigh, careful not to touch his staples. The hoodie slips and pools around your hips. Dabi’s throat constricts as his body goes rigid. “Ah shit. Are my toes cold? Want me to grab a blanket?”

Forcing himself lax he clicks his tongue and tastes iron, grip tightening on his mug as he brings it to his lips. “Doesn’t matter. I run cold anyway”.

The tea is soothing. Sweet for a ginger tea— brown sugar, maybe. You must’ve boiled it for his sore throat. Molasses swirl on his tongue. They wash down the blood and clean his palette. A smooth, mellowed out aroma fills his senses and overpowers the delicate anise fragrance lingering at the back of his throat.

You concede, tucking your knees under your chin and regarding him with that look again. The one that feels as if you’re reading him like a page in a book. He has never been the type to worry about appearances but when it’s you he can’t help wondering what you think of him.

A cartoonish explosion fills the room with streams of orange and yellow as the episode comes to the halfway point. The light paints your silhouette gold, reflecting in your irises as they retract from the brightness.

Taking another gulp, he winced at the sharp twist in his chest. Two weeks was generous and Tereda knew it. He’s already vomiting full flowers. Corpses make for fertile soil, apparently. He read that somewhere online while he searched for information on morning glories; you are fast growing and frost tender.

A soft note breaks the silence and your toes start to wriggle. “I can hear you thinking. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Despite what you thought, he was a good liar. To those around him but most of all to himself. This is when he should retaliate with a biting comment and keep the equilibrium. He would, if not for the wave of heat that rolls through him at your words, and how obviously you felt it displace the air.

Dabi can lie. His body can not.

“Just that thing you said earlier, about being an empty husk,” he begins, bringing the warm mug to rest against his sternum, incognisant to the ring of heat stinging his skin.

Your expression wanes with regret and he hates it. “I was joking—”

“If you say sorry I’ll burn your couch to a crisp,” he fumes. Vulnerability made him defensive. Angry. It felt like cold air blowing on exposed muscle. “Didn’t ask for a meaningless apology”.

Deep in the cavity of his ribs another bud unfurls. Your patience with him is not endless but it is more than he deserves.

“Then what are you asking?”

Nausea curdled in his stomach. He feels it climb his gullet. “Guess I wondered what you really thought”.

“About…?”

He snarls, hackles raised. “Do I have to spell it out?”

A few beats pass. Your answer comes in a gentle murmur. “Well, our capacity to hate reflects our capacity to love. So, yeah. I do think you’ve got a pretty big heart. It’s just a bit bruised up”.

“Jesus,” he mutters. The worst part is you’re being entirely honest. His knees spread as his hips shift, the after credits begin to roll and reflect off the sutures around his thighs. It reminds him that he is half naked, literally and figuratively. “Forget I said anything. I need a smoke”.

“No smoking,” you bat lightly at his shoulder. “Not until you’re better. If I catch you I’ll kill you before that cough does”.

And isn’t that fucking hilarious.

Pressure prickles behind his eyes that he can never relieve. There’s a florid mass in his thoat; his pulse is thrumming now, singing in his ears. He needs to throw up.

You shout after him as he stumbles over toward your bathroom. He slams the door behind him, hears you curse as his ceramic mug hits the floor and breaks. This isn’t romance, or a fairytale. It isn’t like it is in the movies.

Lifting his fist, he brings it down hard on his sternum. The force barrels him over and he retches. Sour, viscous threads of saliva drip from his mouth into the toilet bowl, but nothing more comes up.

You’re banging at the walls. “Dabi, open up!”

Dabi lurches again, forcing a deep cough and watching a few small heart shaped petals dance in the air as they free fall. Again, collapsing to his knees, he can taste your ginger tea. He vomits a clump of bloomed morning glories, wrinkled and smooshed into a misshapen ball. Blood muddies the water.

Another knock, this one somewhat pitiful. There’s a soft noise that sounds like you’re sliding down the door. “Please don’t make me break this open. My landlord will kill me”.

Trembling. Dabi reaches his fingers into his mouth and feels around the teeth to dislodge what was left. Settling back on his feet, his hand uncurls like a slow sprouting shoot and reveals another morning glory in the shallow of his palm.

Colour streaks across his vision, filled with hazy undulations. White noise drowns out the frantic tone of your voice. Mouth hung open, Dabi inhales until his lungs bloat, and keeps it held until the lights begin to fade.

His consciousness tips from one dream to another. When he wakes up on his back surrounded by soft, freshly washed sheets. A sigh escapes his lips as he turns into the downy pillow beneath his head. It smells like you.

Fingers comb through his hair, pushing the bangs away from his forehead. It’s then that he notices the mattress dipped towards the weight of another.

Dabi squints, prying his eyes open. You’re laid beside him. At first he considers that he’s dreaming, but you feel so real. Your thumb strokes over his cheek in a tender back and forth motion, “You comfy?”

“Better than the couch,” he rasps. There’s an awful taste in his mouth. Intermingling mint and copper. “Did you brush my teeth or something?”

“I rinsed your mouth out,” you admit bashfully. Now that he’s looking he notices your eyes are red. Puffy like you’d been crying. Your smile fractured as you added, “I had to make sure nothing else was stuck”.

Realisation creeps in slowly. It’s gentle with him, like you are, acclimating him to reality. Just like that— you know.

“How’d you get me in here?” he deflects.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and reach to trace the topography of his scarred chest. His breathing stutters and your fingers stop right over his heart.

“Might’ve pulled a muscle or two but it wasn’t so hard. You weigh almost nothing,” you reply. Quiet, as though you were afraid to break the illusion. “Kinda concerning but it seems you have bigger stuff to worry about already, huh?”

Eyes falling closed, he inhales, counting to three. He replies on the end of a long exhale, “Didn't want you to know”.

“Tereda does?”

Dabi nods and the movement knocks his brain loose. He hisses at the throbbing pain. You take him into your palms with a frown, “You hit your head on the way down. You’ll have to come in with me again in the morning”.

“Fuck that,” he groans. You tap at his temple and pout your lips, glaring disapprovingly. “You can’t make me”.

“I can and I will,” his eyes widened at the crack in your voice. Tears gather along your lash line and you sniff harshly, “You could have died, Dabi. And now you might have a head injury. How the hell could you not tell—?!”

“Alright, alright. Shit,” uncharacteristic of him, Dabi let himself have this. His hand cups round your neck and brings you down into his bare chest. He hushes you softly, running his palm down the length of your spine, wrapping you in a clumsy embrace. “Don’t cry about it”.

You settle into the crook of his neck, nose bumping his jaw as you turn to speak, and he suppresses a shudder. “Don’t cry about it,” you repeat mockingly. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“Enlighten me”.

Frustration bursts, and you lift your head to look at him. You’re so close. “I care about you, idiot. I don’t want you dead on my bathroom floor! Sue me!”

Dabi cracks a crooked smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me”.

“Who is it?”

And he sours, his stare fixed on the ceiling above. “Does it matter?”

“It matters,” you lean over him until all he can see is you. “…Is it me?”

There’s an echo in his ribs; a phantom knife’s twist. Sure, Dabi is a good liar, he thinks. Touya never was. Touya wore his heart on his sleeve. He was terrible at concealing his hurt. Dabi tries to find the words and comes up short.

The silence is answer enough. Your mouth wobbles and you nestle back into his neck before he can see you cry in earnest. “You are so fucking stupid, Dabi”.

Despite the seriousness he laughs, tucks his nose to your crown and tightens his hold around your waist. He’s only ever imagined what your weight would feel like pressed against him like this. Maybe he’s imagining it, but his lungs are lighter.

“What did Doctor Tereda advise you to do?”

He pouts where you cannot see it. He doesn’t want to think about that quack right now. “She told me either I get the surgery and go to therapy, or I get the symptoms to calm down with therapy on its own”.

“Of course you’d…” you huff. “She didn’t tell you to talk to me?”

“That too,” he shrugs, grinning at the warning press of your teeth to his throat. It’s disturbing how comfortably you both fell into place. A soft kiss replaces your bite, and he holds his breath.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him, kisses trailing up his jugular to his cheek, unperturbed by the scar tissue and metal in his skin, or the tremors rumbling through his body. “I’m sure there’s no way in hell I can get you to agree to therapy. So instead I’m going to take you out on a few dates and see how your symptoms change”.

Dabi’s mouth opens for air and your lips brush, stealing his breath. “What the fuck?” he says. “Why?”

There’s no point, he wants to tell you. It won’t change a thing.

“Because I want you to believe me,” you murmur, nose knocking his own. Inexplicably drawn to you, Dabi tilts up to align your mouths again, barely a kiss. “If you die it won’t be because of me. And I atleast want you to go out knowing that I love you too”.

The swell in his throat is different this time. He has never been so glad about his inability to cry. Dabi grins, wide and all teeth, pushing the staples in his cheeks up by his eyes. “There’s something really wrong with you, you know that?”

“No kidding,” you laugh. “Guess we make a good pair”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader

423 notes · View notes

eywa-eveng · 11 months

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ɪᴠ. sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏɴᴇ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ᴊᴀᴋᴇ sᴜʟʟʏ, sᴜʟʟʏ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴹᴱᵀᴷᴬᵞᴵᴺᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.4

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – widower!Jake, major character death

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ – ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ – ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪɪ

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @itscheybaby @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @goldenmoonbeam @ladylovegood-69 @slutforsmut4ever @myheartfollower @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz @sovereignsylvia @scc7514 @ghost-lantern @calums-betch @nao-cchi @a--1--1--3 @crazy4books1 @meladollsims @yeosxxx

Wounds will heal with time. Scabs turned to scars. And these demons have gouged deep gashes across Pandora, ravaging everything they touch with no regard for anything outside of themselves. They are the aliens setting foot in a world that is not their own and yet they treat Pandora as if she is theirs to tame. To torture and abuse. Like a diseased plant poisoning all that it’s roots tough, they take and take, never returning that which they’ve stolen. They reap without sowing and destroy everything that wanders into their path. The Great Mother has surely weeped for many years at the atrocities these sawtute have committed against her. And even those years of peace were stolen away in a heartbeat. A scar long since healed torn open to bleed once more. Pandora had prevailed once before and yet these humans have learned nothing. Ignorant as children, repeating the same mistake and hoping that this time it will be different.

The oceans have been stained in blood by their hands. The blood of tulkun. The blood of Na’vi. But the favor has been returned and it’s now their blood that mingles with the waves. This battle may have been small, only a shadow of the might they brought down upon the forest, but they lost. What was left of their people retreated like wounded animals, chased out of the ocean back to whatever stolen piece of the forest they’ve made their home. But how long until they’ve regained their strength? How long until they return once more in search of revenge. These humans are like weeds. Cut away only to grow back once more. It will be a small miracle if they’re gone long enough for the People to heal, to grieve. Because both sides have suffered losses, though some feel greater than others.

“Tsireya!” It’s the first word you’ve spoken in what feels like days and it sears through your throat as if you’ve swallowed fire. The clouds of smoke had not been kind to your body, feeling your lungs and making each breath feel like you’ve swallowed thorns.

“Sa’tsmuke!” Sunlight spills over her in a wash of amber light, tears sparkling in her eyes as she finds you in the distance. Payakan had kept all of you in the cradle of his fins through the eclipse. It allowed for a fitful sort of rest in the soft rocking of the waves. It felt like the comfort of your mother’s arms gently bouncing you as your mind slowly began to stitch itself back together after coming undone by the thought of your son being one of the casualties lost to the hands of the sky demons. Even now you can hardly think further than what is in front of your eyes. Your children, your mate. Your family. You cling to the idea of them, terrified of what will happen if you allow the pain to consume you once more. To return to that great gaping maw that swallowed you whole, covered your eyes and quieted your mind to anything but seeking to make others suffer with you. It was deserved but the demons are gone. To lash out now would be to hurt those that you love. The only people that remain already share in your pain.

A deep breath steadies your resolve.

Tsireya stands shakily to her feet, swaying as she wraps her arms around herself, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. She reaches for you as soon as you climb ashore the tiny stone island.

“Tsmuke’ite,” you cup her face until her gaze steadies on your face, “where’s your brother? Where are Ao’nung and Rotxo?” She shakes her head as falls into your arms, burying her face in your chest. Her heartbeat drums against the palm of your hand settles on her back. You curl yourself around her as if there’s anything left to protect her from. The damage has been done. All you can do is pick up the pieces left behind. Her tears wet your skin as your nose presses against the shell crowning her head. She smells like home. Like comfort and safety and happiness beyond this small piece of land wet with water and blood. Her hair carries the familiar scent of dried flowers and that sour fruit so few people seem to like. Your heart pinches at the thought as your arms tighten around her. Ronal and Tsireya were always the ones to share the sour fruit with you until the Sullys arrived. Neteyam seemed to love the almost bitter taste. It pains you to think you’ll never bask in the simple joy of eating with your son again.

The points of your fangs dig into your lower lip as you brace yourself to look over at where you know he’s lying. Tuk is at his side, holding his hand in her own. Her tears fall over his fingers and drip down his arm and still he doesn’t move. And his stillness can’t be mistaken for anything other than death. His eyes are closed but it hardly looks like he’s resting. The hole torn through his chest stands out against his deep blue skin, like a red flower blooming in his chest. The sight of it snatched the air from your lungs and the strength from your body. Lo’ak rushes to your side as Tsireya struggles to keep you standing. The ground meets your knees, stone chafing your skin, but you hardly notice. Tsireya says something. Perhaps to you, or maybe to Lo’ak. It sounds as if she’s shouting from across the horizon even as she kneels beside you. A hand touches your shoulder, just for a moment before falling away as you rise just far enough to move. Your hands keep your movements steady as you half crawl towards Neteyam’s prone body.

There’s a deceptive sort of warmth to his skin as you reach out to touch him, fingertips brushing over his cheek. The sun casts fleeting heat across his cold body as you pull him into your lap. He’s been here for hours, cold and alone save for Tsireya and the stone beneath him is wet with a facing wash of his blood. It stains your legs as you hug him close, Tuk nuzzling against you as you wrap your arms around the both of them. Her cries are quiet as she hides her face in your side, hands clinging to the beaded strings of your chest covering. The pads of your fingers find the shape of his pil, tracing the striped pattern so different from the ripples dappling your own face. Tears cloud your vision as you brush over the softness of his lashes, desperately hoping against hope that his eyes will suddenly flutter open.

The shape of the wound in his chest seems almost delicate. Small and insignificant if it were in another place. The ocean holds many wonders, but also great dangers. Warriors have come to you to heal far more grievous wounds. Your fingers find the shape of the wound you’d stitched only weeks ago. It has healed well, only a slightly raised scar, a pale slash across his arm. He bled then too. It had seemed like such a simple thing to heal. A needle and thread to soothe the hurt, but some things are beyond your abilities as tsakarem. Even a tsahìk would be powerless to this injury.

The thought weighs heavy in your heart. Already so much has been taken and still there is more to lose. But these things have a reason. There is balance in all that Eywa does. The Great Mother protects the balance of life no matter the cost. All things have a reason even when you cannot See it. This pain has blinded you, closed your heart. Your chest feels cold and empty as if the flame of your soul has burned out. Perhaps it has. The only thing left burning inside are the tears in your eyes, clouding your vision even as you try to focus on Neteyam’s face. To carve him into your memory before he is washed and committed to the ocean, returned to Eywa. Soon a search party will be sent to find those stranded and your family will be among them. Neteyam will be taken home. His adornments will be removed and his body washed in preparation for his burial, but you want to stay here for a while longer. To count the pale freckles dotted across his cheeks, to remember the pattern of stripes crowning his forehead.

Someone says your name. Gentle as a warm breeze as you hug Neteyam close, cheek pressed against his braided hair. A shadow falls over your back, blocking out the warmth of the sun and reminding you just how cold Neteyam feels in your arms.

“Come here, yuey.” Jake whispers. It’s his hands that move you more than any will of your own, gently unwinding your arms until Neteyam is laying on the ground once more with Tuk still at his side. It seems wrong to leave him there. Stone isn’t as gentle as sand. Surely his tswin is being pinched under the weight of his head. You reach to push a stray braid away from his face but Jake catches your fingers with his own. His grip is insistent as he pulls you away. Kiri takes your place at Neteyam’s side, taking his hand in hers just as Tuk had. You watch over them as Jake pulls you aside and wraps you in his embrace, arms tighten until the air is crushed from your lungs but you hardly protest. His grip is grounding though you can’t help but wonder how long this strength will last. Already you can see the splinters forming in the crease between his brows, in the hard line of his lips and the pain swirling like a storm in his eyes.

“Monkey boy.” Kiri’s voice is quiet, only the faintest hint of relief ringing in her otherwise doleful tone. Her eyes are staring past you and you turn to find the same human god threatened on the demon ship. He looks different now that your mind isn’t fogged with mournful violence. When he was under your knife you hadn’t cared much for the finer details of his appearance, but now you stare at him with a renewed sense of curiosity. He boasts the trappings of a Na’vi and yet he still seems so strange and out of place.

“Are you alright?” Jake asks, fingertips brushing over the scratch you’d left on his chest. It’s shallow as you’d expected and the bleeding has long since stopped. He nods but he eyes you warily before stepping away from the two of you. He joins the children around Neteyam’s body, speaking your language with assured fluidity. On the ship he had spoken in the human language but now he seems comfortable as he speaks to Kiri and Lo’ak, gently touching Neteyam’s arm. You stiffen, tail swaying tensely behind you.

“Shh,” Jake whispers, nuzzling his nose against your temple as he feels your muscles tighten in his arms. “He’s okay. He’s safe.” You aren’t sure if he means the boy or Neteyam who can no longer be hurt by the hands of a tawtute. You watch him as he interacts with your family. Tsireya eyes him warily, sharing a fleeting glance with you even as Lo’ak speaks to him with a familiarity akin to that he shares with his siblings. All of the Sully children seem at ease in his presence but you find yourself still wondering about his ties to humanity. The man that held your daughters captive, that nearly killed your mate, hesitated at the thought of this human boy dying by your hand. He hadn’t seemed so worried over his band of uniltìrantokx warriors and it makes you nervous to think of what importance he holds to the demons terrorizing your home. He must feel the weight of your gaze as you scrutinize him, picking out the finer details of his appearance, because his shoulders begin to curl as if he can become any smaller.

His hair is loc’d like Jake’s and adorned with beads, and you notice the end of a braid hanging down his back. Likely his equivalent of a tswin. A scowl finds its way onto your face, lip curling with distaste. Seeing something so sacred being mimicked by a human feels almost insulting. Your shoulders rise as your body seizes with disgust only to be soothes by Jake’s soft petting as he traces the shape of the stripes swirling across your shoulder beneath his fingers. You feel all five of them gliding across your skin. Five fingers. The same amount that Lo’ak has. That Kiri has. That this boy before you has. If he is so repugnant then what is keeping you from feeling repulsed by your mate and the family he’s given you. Your eyes move away from the braid, tracing over the rest of him. His armbands are handsomely made, the pattern indicative of the Omatikaya’s intricate weaving style. His tewng is comparatively plain but there is a songcord hanging from it.

“Sa’nok,” Kiri says warily, watching you watch the boy. She had always spoken so fondly of her human friend and now she seems almost resigned to your displeasure. Hearing about him is different from seeing him before you, and suddenly you can’t reconcile the thought of this seemingly peaceful boy with the demons that attacked your family only a few hours ago. Not when he meant something to one of them. Norm and Max had been abandoned by their people, left here to live out their lives in a place that they loved. They made sacrifices to be here. What has this boy done but aided the demons that attacked your home. Speaking the tongue of your people only to demand to know where Jake had hidden himself away in a desperate attempt to live in peace.

“Sa’nok, please.” Kiri tries again. You do your best to smooth out your expression and ease your body until a tenuous sort of neutrality returns to your face. Tsireya seems to calm with you, shoulders relaxing under Lo’ak’s arm. The boy–Spider–looks between all of you, as if he’s trying to piece together the threads that bind you to them. But he speaks Na’vi. He must know what sa’nok means. His eyes are brown and full of hesitancy as he stands to face you. So strange that you can See into him the same way you can with your People.

“Spider,” Jake says finally, introducing you by name. “This is my mate.”

“She is the sister of tsahìk of the Metkayina. A tsakarem.” Kiri adds. Spider nods but it hardly relieves the tension between the two of you. Part of you wonders if this is how Ronal felt when the Sullys first arrived. These strange new people, coming to join your clan despite their obvious differences. But if her animosity had been misplaced then, so too is yours now. This boy is loved by those that you hold in your heart. Even still he doesn’t seem any more at ease than he’d been a moment ago.

There’s a dip between his brows where the fear on his face has gathered. He’s frightened again. Though not nearly as terrified as he’d been with your blade against his skin. He looks afraid, but not of you. In his eyes the fear seems to run deeper than your appearance. This Spider does not fear Na’vi. And yet he is still afraid. He shrinks back when you take a step towards him, curiously staring into his brown eyes as if the dark depths will become clearer with closeness. Surely you aren’t easing his nerves with your continued silence, but you’re listening for something. A shift in the wind, a rogue screech of a hì’ikran. Anything that might tell you what Eywa wills you should do with this boy. When nothing comes you wonder if she’s already given you your answer. This boy is no threat to you or your family. He is precious to your children. That should be enough. Especially now when so much has already been lost. To turn him away would be to further fracture your family. Still you’re curious.

“Oel ngati kameie.” He bows, hand extending towards you in a customary greeting. You hum in acknowledgment but don’t share the sentiment. Just like his tswin you can’t help but wonder if he fully realizes the weight of his words or if he’s simply mimicking those around him. His body is adorned with fading war paint, stripes streaking across his skin in uneven lines. There’s no pattern to the blue markings as there would be on a Na’vi. It seems strange that someone like him hasn’t decided on a more traditional design for his paint. It’s almost childish how desperate the thick lines are, how obviously they’re meant to mimic the sharper stripes of a forest Na’vi.

“Where is your family?” You ask at last. Spider seizes as if you’ve struck him but you spoke softly, keenly aware that all your screaming had whittled your voice down to a rasped drawl that might make him hear anger where none was meant to be found.

“My mother is dead. And my father… he’s dead, too.” He looks away as he says this but you don’t need to see his eyes to know that isn’t the truth. A lie. A word Jake had to teach you. Something different from the truth. You don’t ask again. If he wants to lie to you then you will let him live in his delusion. No one corrects him and you wonder if they know he isn’t speaking truthfully.

“This is my family.” He says after a beat of silence. His voice breaks as he looks down at Neteyam. You hum and turn your back to him, eyes facing towards the horizon where riders will soon come to take you home. They arrive as you listen to the faint voices of the children reuniting with their friend. The soft screeching of skimwings echo over the open water followed by the long bellow of a horn. A scattering of voices whoop and yip in return as those left behind make their presence known. Your own voice joins the calls, the sharp sound burning your throat. Riderless tsuraks and ilus swim through the water and you mount the first one you find. The ilu tosses its long neck as you make tsaheylu, clicking as the storm in your mind mingles with their own. Tuk rides with you, her little arms clinging tight to your waist as you ride back to the village.

A net of silence has been cast over the island. The shallows are empty and the beach deserted, chores abandoned in favor of mending what’s been broken by the humans. Battle is not unknown to Na’vi. Clans fight amongst themselves when peace cannot be made with words. The humans had ravaged Pandora before. But never here. Never in the far reaches of the ocean reefs. Even the tulkun that had been killed were murdered far to the south. Now the shadow these demons cast has finally fallen over Awa’atlu. Kiri takes Tuk as all of you arrive home, leading her to the marui. All of the children trail behind Jake as he carries Neteyam’s body. He looks so small in his father’s arms. It’s your instinct to follow, to comfort. Instead you find yourself hand in hand with Tsireya as you make your way to your sister’s home.

Tonowari is the first to notice your arrival, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of you and his daughter on the breeze. He meets you on the path overhanging the water, arms winding painfully around the both of you before he kneels before Tsireya. A gracious sigh comes from inside the marui as Ronal emerges with Ao’nung at her side. She goes to her daughter first, hands moving over her body in search of any wound that needs tending. Ao’nung strays toward you, head knocking against your shoulder. He doesn’t speak but his actions are enough. You rest a hand on his head. Not quite a hug but enough to offer comfort. He hesitates before grabbing your arm and leaning into the weight of your hand resting on his braided hair.

“Tsmuke.” Ronal moves in beside her son, eyes tracing over you. “You’re hurt. Come.” There’s no leniency in her words as she pulls you inside and sits you next to the cookfire. The needle stings as she threads the torn skin of your arm back together with meticulous hands, rubbing a soothing balm over the wound when she’s finished. The pain had already calmed to a manageable throb after being ignored for so long and now it feels all but numbed.

“What happened?” She asks after returning her healing items to their rightful place. “I felt your tirea so vividly but I could not find you. We searched but the demons were retreating. We had to look after the clan. We–I thought–” she gathers herself with a long breath, “I’m glad to see you safe.”

Ronal has never been a coddling person that speaks gently and soothes worries with softened words. She is plain in her speech, pointed and assured even with her own children. It has always been this way growing up in her shadow. You were kept under her impartial guidance in all things and even now she isn’t inclined to soften her strong voice, but she can do nothing to mask the worry she felt even if she hasn’t said it in so many words. The fear she must’ve felt turning for home without her daughter and sister at her side must’ve stabbed through her like an arrow but Ronal is tsahìk before she is anything else. The clan looks to her and Tonowari for guidance and they cannot waver no matter the circumstances. Though your olo’eyktan is more open with his fears.

“You are a fearsome warrior, but I feared for your death when we could not find you. I stayed until the last of our mounted warriors had retreated, praying that the Great Mother would spare our tsakarem.”

“Eywa has heard you.” You hum with little enthusiasm. “I was on the demon ship. They took Kiri. They had Tuk and Tsireya. I couldn’t leave them.” Tsireya looks towards the floor, ears pulled back tight as she leans heavily against her father. He holds her close, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her arm. A parent reunited with their child. You understood the need to keep her close. You’d felt it when you saw her stranded and alone on that little island, felt it when you saw Kiri and Tuk bound on the demon ship. A part of your family has been reunited but there is still a fragment missing. A piece that will never be replaced. Your hand finds the length of your songcord, thumb drawing over each piece in turn. Your first breath, your selection as tsakarem, your iknimaya. The whole of your life is strung here. And it will continue. Already there is a need for new additions. But so many cords were cut short in the battle. The threads slip through your fingers as your hands begin to shake. The bitter taste returns to your mouth as you try to find the words through the rising tears.

“I found Kiri and Tuk after Tsireya escaped, but–” your voice cracks as tears rise in your eyes once more, “I couldn’t protect them all. I–we lost Neteyam.”

“Neteyam? He–?” Ronal’s eyes find yours in an instant. Her eyes are wide with panic as her hands find yours now tightened to fists to keep the tremors at bay. You can imagine what she is thinking. How could Neteyam, the promising warrior, son of Toruk Makto, be lost in battle? Tonowari looks just as disbelieving. He has seen Neteyam’s prowess, trained him alongside Ao’nung and the others. His death must seem impossible and yet he is gone just the same.

“He is with Eywa now.” Is all you can muster. Your sister bows her head, eyes unblinking as she hears your words. When she meets your gaze again her eyes are resigned. It’s the same dark cast her green eyes had taken when Jake insisted on sending away the tulkun. Disbelief and rejection linger in her voice when she finally speaks.

“Go to them.” A basket is hastily filled with food before she leads you outside. “Your family needs you now.” The path from your sister to your mate is a familiar one and you arrive to find the children gathered outside the marui. The covering meant to keep out wind and rain is drawn closed and Jake is nowhere to be seen. Still, you tend to your children first. Tuk is hugged against Lo’ak’s side and Kiri and Spider are sitting in the canoe just beyond their hanging feet. There are no words exchanged as you offer each of them food, hesitating for a moment before offering some to Spider. He doesn’t protest when Kiri snatched the leaf wrapped meat from him, carefully picking through it before rewrapping it. They haven’t eaten in hours and you watch them carefully as they take their first bites, keeping a close eye on Spider.

He takes a deep breath before his mask hissed as he pulls it away just long enough to fit a gluttonous bite into his mouth. It must be easier to take larger bites than prolong his time without proper air. You find yourself waiting for something terrible to happen. It isn’t uncommon for children to explore the world with their mouth, eating anything that looks enticing. But some things are poisonous, meant to be consumed by animals that have developed immunities to them. But when Spider doesn’t begin to choke or itch you deem it safe to leave them to eat. You’re still weary of him but far too exhausted by loss to let another child slip between your fingers today. Human or otherwise.

Inside you find Jake kneeling beside Neteyam’s body, the faint blue light of the sun peeking through the marui membrane, the only thing lighting the somber home. His ears twitch at the sound of your approach but he makes no move to look at you. He takes in a deep breath through his nose, scenting the air instead of turning to see who you are. Only when you’re within arm’s reach does he move, his hand finding yours in a nearly painful grip as he pulls you down beside him. He curls himself around you until you’re nearly in his lap.

“I’m sorry.” He says it over and over, nearly choking on the words as the air refuses to stay in his lungs. Each inhale is shallow and rushed, too quick as each exhale rushes across your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, clinging impossibly closer. His tail finds its way around you, the tuft of hair tickling your skin though you hardly feel like laughing as you watch your mate fall apart in your arms with no way to hold him together. He had been strong for all of you but at last the tide has turned.

“She killed him. I killed him. All of it was for nothing. I’m supposed to protect the People and I can’t even protect my own son.”

Your skin is wet with tears where he’s hidden his face. Even if you wanted to, you can’t pull away from him. He’s holding you tight, blunt nails biting into your skin as if even the slightest bit of slack in his embrace will leave space for something to take you away. He’s shattering like splintered wood and it’s all you can do to gather the pieces back together. He lets you. His cries grow quiet and his breaths slow as you try your best to soothe him. It’s only a temporary consolation. This type of pain isn’t one that can be healed with salves or prayers. Even tsahìk cannot heal this wound. Grief is something that only passes with time. And even if you like a thousand years it’s almost certain a part of you will die still mourning your son.

“I failed him.” Jake mumbles. His voice sounds utterly defeated. “A father protects. That was my job. Above anything else I’m supposed to protect my family. I couldn’t even do that. My son–” his words break off into a choked sob as he shakes his head. “My boy.” He touches Neteyam at last, his hand settling against his son’s cheek while the other keeps you close. “Neteyam.” Tears fall onto Neteyam’s cheeks as Jake bows over him. His eyes flit across his face, looking at every detail before he finally sits back.

“I wish we had more time.” Jake whispers. It breaks your heart, or what’s left of it, shredding the few fragile pieces that remain. No father wants to bury their child. Neteyam was meant to grow up, grow old. Be laid to rest long after Jake was gone. Now here you sit. Returning such a young soul to the Great Mother.

“I wish you had more time with him. He loved you, you know. I know he might not have said it much, but he did.” Jake’s hands hesitate as he takes Neteyam’s songcord from its place hanging on his loincloth. Some beads you know from when he would hum the melody of his life during quieter moments. His iknimaya, the shell marking his arrival in Awa’atlu. But there’s another close after. One you’d assumed was a chorus bead, a placeholder between events. Events that would never come. There’d be no bead for his Metkayina iknimaya. No bead for his mate. No bead for his first child or a triumph in battle. Every cord must have a last bead and it seems the one Jake is rolling between his fingers will be it. It’s a pearl, pale blue and lustrous in the muted light.

“This one’s for you.” Jake says, gently placing the waytelem in your hands. “It matches his mother’s.” There’s another bead, farther back in his life story. A light blue bead of stone laced with black veins. “This was the bead for her death. He wanted yours to match hers as a show of his love and respect for both of you.” It’s not until Jake thumbs away the moisture gathering on your cheeks that you realize you’re crying. Of course you knew Neteyam loved you. A tsakarem is taught to See all, to feel the ties that bond each being to Eywa and each other. When you quiet your mind and steady your soul, pushing aside any thoughts and worries you can almost feel the people around you. Their triumphs and tribulations. Their happiness and sorrows. Just as clearly as you can see it in their eyes, their tirea can be felt like the warmth of a flame wafting off their skin.

Neteyam always radiated calm and contentment when he was at your side. You often found him accompanying you in your chores the same as Kiri. The eldest of your children preferring the more subdued space of your marui to the mischief Lo’ak and Tuk seemed to stir the moment you take your eyes off them. Now there is nothing surrounding him, no air of comfort as you stare at his serene face. Nothing. This is only a body, waiting to be returned to the earth. Neteyam has been gone for hours, his vitra already passed into the hands of Eywa.

“We have to clean him.” You say finally, rising to gather some water. The freshwater spring isn’t far from the Sully marui and you find others there. Bowed heads and solemn faces as they gather their fill of water. Death is not uncommon. Life must always be returned in the end. Energy is only borrowed and one day you have to give it back. This is the way. And it is good. Eywa holds all those that have passed into her hands. No one is truly gone, and yet you will never see your son again. Not truly. The Ranteng Utralti will offer brief glimpses, small moments of comfort. But it won’t be lasting. No new memories will be made. No changes will be seen in his face. He will remain as he was while everything continues to change without him. Death has parted him and only death will reunite you in the Great Mother’s arms. Jake is still where you left him when you return, Lo’ak following close behind you.

“It is time.” You say gently. Jake nods. He’s slow in his work as he washes the blood from Neteyam’s skin. Taking off each of his adornments and setting them aside. His necklace, his armbands. They’ll be kept as memories, passed down to his siblings or their children as cherished items. Lo’ak puts them away with care. It’s plain on his face that he has many things he wishes to say but has resigned himself to the silence. You busy yourself with weaving, the familiarity of the task is strangely comforting even as you weave the bindings Neteyam will wear as he’s returned to Eywa. It takes hours, long enough for day to give way to evening as the sky begins to darken to dusk. Finally you set aside the last of your weaving to stand. It is time to allow everyone to say their final goodbyes. Jake has already had his time with Neteyam as he washed the blood and sweat from his body. Now he leaves you to say your parting words.

It’s so strange to touch him and know he will not move, to breathe in and find his scent stale in their air as if he hasn’t been here in many hours. And truly he hasn’t. The body before you is empty of life. Neteyam is gone. But there’s still a small comfort in sitting beside him one last time.

“We didn’t have long together did we?” You ask quietly, a sad laugh leaving your lips. “Even if it was only for a moment it has been an honor being your mother. Did you know your sempul still hasn’t told me your mother’s name. I’ve been too afraid to ask. You’re likely with her now. I’d like to think she’ll be happy to see you but I’m sure it’s a bittersweet reunion. And I’m sorry I could not do more to protect you. Our Great Mother protects only the balance of life, but if she willed it I would trade my life for yours. But what’s past has passed, all I can say now is goodbye, maitan. Until we meet again.” His skin is cold beneath your lips as you press a parting kiss to his forehead. When you emerge Kiri stands with Spider in hand. They duck inside and you leave them to their privacy.

Instead you find your way to your own marui. It stands as little more than a place to keep your things since finally being convinced to sleep with your mate in his own home without feeling as though you’re imposing. You’ve had your time with him. Now it is their turn to whisper their goodbyes.

“Here you are.” Jake stands at the entrance of your home, back turned to the darkening sky. The freckles dotted across his skin are beginning to glow faintly. The pattern is interrupted by a slash across the bridge of his nose, dipping over his cheek. You hadn’t noticed it before but now it gives you purpose. Just as weaving had you find a distraction in healing.

“You’re hurt. Come here.” You light the fire pit in the center of your pod, before finding a needle and thread. Jake’s eyes don’t leave your face as you stitch up his wound. When you’re done he doesn’t allow you to pull away. Instead his hands settle on your face, bringing your head close until your nose is pressed against his. One hand leaves your cheek to reach behind you, brushing over the curls of your hair before settling over the braid of your tswin. He draws it over your shoulder, bringing it to his lips. For a moment you expect him to ask for tsaheylu so that you might share this burden of pain, but it would only feel heavier as it weighs on both of you. Instead his lips brush against the braided hair for a moment longer before letting it fall between you.

“Tsmuke.” You’re drawn apart by the sound of Ronal’s voice. She arrives with her arms full, footsteps slowing as she sees Jake by your side. Her eyes turn away but you catch the edge of regret in her eyes. It’s been there in fleeting bouts in the months since the Sullys have begun learning the ways of your clan. She’s slowly grown past her previous misgivings even as things have ended in this way. With the sawtute turning their eyes towards your peaceful home in search of the man seated beside you.

“Jakesully,” she say at last, inclining her head towards him, “may Eywa ease your spirit.” Jake returns her show of respect, touching his brow and extending his hand towards her.

“Tsmuke,” she says evenly, “you are our tsakarem.” You aren’t the only one but you’re surely the eldest. The most experience and the most respected within the clan. Tsireya has inherited the honor as well with a few others but only one will be named tsahìk when Ronal passes down the mantle. “Will you lead with me tonight?”

The clan hasn’t suffered a loss this great in many years. Usually only one, perhaps two people are committed to Eywa in such a ceremony but tonight there will be many lives returned to the Great Mother’s hands. Ronal extends her own hand, balancing the basket she’s holding on her hip. She pulls you to stand but Jake doesn’t allow her to take you farther than necessary. His tail coils around your ankle before you can take even a half step away from him. His eyes don’t meet yours when you look down at him and he says nothing as you accept your sister’s request to lead with her. It is your duty to your people no matter the occasion. Eywa has chosen you for this and you can’t turn her back on her when you so desperately need her guidance.

The sky has turned a deep shade of blue like the darkest depths of the ocean, dotted with pearls of light as stars shine overhead. The village flickers in shades of orange and red, finally stirring after a day of lingering silence. A song lingers on the breeze, the familiar sound of chorus beads and the intimate words of each Na’vi’s life. Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe… You know these words by heart. They’re the words that you sing in your heart as you trace the beads of your own songcord. Your hand finds your hip where you keep the cord wound around your tewng. The beads and crystals, bones and coral that symbolize your life. Jake’s fingers draw over yours before slipping his hand into yours.

The covering is drawn back by the time you return, Kiri’s voice carrying outside as she sings the beads of Neteyam’s songcord. Jake’s hand tightens in yours as he listens to your daughter sing. Her voice lulls over the last words before your home falls silent once more. All of the children have come to hear Neteyam’s waytelem. Tsireya and Ao’nung have come along with Rotxo as they kneel around Neteyam’s body to hear Kiri sing. Such an honor is only given to those closest to you and everyone here cared deeply for your son. There won’t be another chance to be beside him after this moment. Soon the ceremony will begin and Jake kneels beside him, carefully bundling Neteyam into the ties that you’ve woven. Tsireya offers you a jar of paint in customary white. It’s cold against your skin as Jake drags his fingers from your forehead to your chest. You return the favor, painting each of the children in turn. And when people finally begin to gather in the shallow waters you shrug on the woven shawl Ronal gave you as Kiri straightens the veil upon your head.

Firelight drifts over the gentle waves as Ronal’s voice rings out across the shore. She calls to Eywa to open her arms to her children, to hold each of them in turn. Your brothers and sisters, each treasured members of the Metkayina are pulled out to sea in their sämunge surrounded by those that were closest. Mother, fathers, siblings, mates, children. Tonowari announces their names as they’re given over to the anemones lighting up the ocean with yellow syuratan. The grasping fronds glow brighter as each body is accepted into the watery earth. Returned to Eywa.

“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.” Tonowari’s voice echoes into the night as you step away from Ronal’s side as she opens her arms to send Neteyam home, joining your family as Jake leads the ilu over the open water. Pale pink flowers trail behind as you carefully pull Neteyam from the woven carrier. His tanhì are still dark, no light glowing from within. There’s nothing left of your heart to break as each of you takes a final moment with him. Jake’s eyes find yours as you hold Neteyam above the water. He isn’t ready, but when will you ever be ready to part with your child? Lo’ak lingers beside you, his hand resting on Neteyam’s head until you and Jake pull him beneath the water. One swaying frond touches his skin, brightening until it’s nearly white. Another and another until they’re pulling him from your hands, wrapping Neteyam in their grasping arms and pulling him deep into their embrace. He disappears all too quickly. Blue skin lost in the sea of yellow. Part of you wants him back but that desperation won’t be quelled by holding his body. Neteyam is gone. Clinging to his body won’t bring back your son. Your tears mingle with the ocean as you linger longer than the others, knowing you’re meant to sing when you rise again. But it is your duty and you must do it.

“Utralä Anawm ayrina’lu ayoeng.” We are all seeds of the Great Tree. Words you know by heart. Words you’ve sung many times. Words that sting your tongue as you sing them for Neteyam. For all that were lost to the hands of those demons. How had a day like any other darkened so deeply with a storm that seems as if it will never pass. The clouds crowd your mind and darken your heart. It’s cold, and desperately lonely even as you stand beside your sister with the clan at your back. This pain is yours and yours alone. Others have lost those they love but they haven’t lost Neteyam. They haven’t lost those small pieces of him that you would never get back. It feels selfish to feel so anguished, to be so utterly consumed by this darkness of grief. You only had him by your side for a short time, but even so you loved him. He was your son. You were his mother. And now he is gone.

When the night draws to a close and the People retreat to their homes you find yourself wandering the shore. The ceremonial garbs have been abandoned somewhere behind you. Perhaps slipping carelessly into the sand or maybe you’d given them back to Ronal. You can’t quite remember but the air feels cool against your suddenly bared skin. Your hands run over your arms as you hug them around yourself, feeling the prickles flesh of your cold skin under your fingertips. Despite the slight chill of the night you find yourself wandering further than you have a need to, walking aimlessly until sand turns to dirt underfoot. Burst of blue and green light come to life with each step as the treeline swallows you. The forest holds a different type of silence. The sound of waves breaking over the shore is replaced with the buzzing and chirping of unseen insects and the sound of wind rustling through the leaves.

Fatigue creeps over you like a tree taking root, threatening to bind you where you stand. Two days you have fighting. The demons and your own grief-stricken mind, and finally it is beginning to take its toll on your body. Each of your footsteps is slower than the last, your legs feeling heavier with every passing moment. The forest is still bright with syuratan that dapples your skin in shades of purple and green but darkness is starting to creep in around you, tears only working to further disrupt your vision. So soon after you’ve been blessed with everything you could ask for it was taken away. The sea gives and the sea takes, no matter when your blessings were received. All life must remain balanced and equal. It is your sole purpose as tsakarem to abide by Eywa’s will, to uphold the Great Mother’s balance. But the mantle feels too heavy to bear at this moment.

Your feet slip, knees going weak, and fall to the ground. You’ve asked for so little in this life. Never wanting more than that which was given. Your heart never darkened against your sister when she was bestowed the honor of tsahìk. Never once did your happiness falter when those around you were mated and blessed with children. And when finally the tides turn in your favor a wave comes to wash it all away. Your arms tighten around yourself, nails biting into your skin as you curl in on yourself. Content to let this terrible moment pass in the cradle of the forest floor. Now you will allow yourself to grieve, allow the ugly, terrible feelings to overtake you. Your tears seep into the soil as your cheek rests in the dirt. Each breath is gasping and shallow as a weight like a thousand stones threatens to bury your prone body and return you to the earth as well.

The silence is nearly deafening until it isn’t. The lull of the forest is broken by the sound of something tearing through the trees. Too heavy to be a benign animal, yet too loud to be a hunting predator. There’s a stiffness to your limbs as you try to sit up, rolling to your knees in time to see Lo’ak vaulting over a fallen tree.

“Sa’nok!” He stumbles to a stop in front of you.

“Lo’ak? Why are you here?” He should be asleep.

“Why am I here?” He asks incredulously. “Why are you here? I’ve been looking all over the village for you!” Why are you here? You hadn’t meant to walk so far, to get so lost in your own head. Instead of answering you find your feet and begin walking the way he came. Despite his loud approach Lo’ak has left hardly any trace of his presence aside from the dimming light where his feet had been only moments ago. Veins of syuratan ripple like water through the ground, rising and fading as your son walks beside you. Grass turns to sand and the light of Naranawm washes over both of you.

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak finally says, breaking the comfortable silence between you, “I’m sorry about Neteyam.”

“It was not your fault, Lo’ak.”

“But it was!” He is suddenly in front of you, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I was the one that said we should get Spider. Neteyam saved us and now he is gone because of me.” You hear his words before you speak, turning each one over in your mind. Of course it was not Lo’ak that killed his brother. He loved Neteyam. You raise his head with a hand under his chin, nearly drowning in the amount of guilt shining in his yellow eyes.

“It is no fault of yours, maitan. Many lives were lost. No one is to blame except the demons from the sky. They brought this storm upon us, not you.” He pulls away from you, pacing in the sand. It seems he won’t allow his guilt to dissipate so easily. You sigh and close your eyes, turning to the Great Mother for guidance. It’s a lesson you learned as tsakarem. Eywa speaks when thoughts are quiet and hearts are open.

Somewhere in the wind there’s a whisper of her voice. It’s a simple breeze brushing through the mangroves but you hear more. Somewhere in the stillness of your focus you hear the sound of a tulkun singing, slow and mournful. The same song that filled the air as you and Ronal laid Roa to rest yet the voice in your head isn’t as deep, still light with youth. A young tulkun mourning its mother. And then more. Many more. Na’vi and tulkun, all dead in bloodstained water. One remains, a single voice. Payakan. Your eyes jump open as if you’ve been struck. Eywa’s meaning is clear as the stars overhead as you look at your son. Lo’ak is still pacing and muttering to himself.

“But if I hadn’t asked… if I’d left Spider–”

“Neteyam might’ve died even still. Perhaps not on the demon ship but those ayvrrtep were everywhere in the water. What did you tell me when you bonded with Payakan?” His feet finally come to a stop as he thinks over it.

“Those Na’vi died, but it wasn’t Payakan that killed them. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”

“And neither were you. We are not tulkun. Their way is not our law. I know Neteyam’s death is heavy on your heart, but it is not your fault, maitan. Who is to say he would not have been struck by their metal arrows later. It is the sawtute that should carry this guilt.” He sniffles and nods, eyes still staring at the sand, then he lets out a watery laugh.

“Bullets.”

Your ear twitches, “What?”

“The metal arrows are called ‘bullets.’” You taste the foreign word on your tongue. It’s your deepest hope that you will never have to say the word again, but it’s a naive thought. War has come to Awa’atlu and it will not end until every hostile human on Pandora is dead. But these are worries for another day. War is a heavy burden and you are barely carrying the weight of your son’s death. You draw Lo’ak into your arms and press a kiss to the top of his head. He smells like the ocean and home. It makes your heart long for the comfort of your family, of your mate’s warmth and the sound of Tuk’s purring snores. You’re tired and you both should sleep but for a moment more you find yourself standing still as Lo’ak wets your skin with silent tears.

The horizon is hidden behind the silhouette of the seawall. A small piece of protection around the village. But somewhere beyond, over the horizon yet far closer than they should be, the humans are lurking deep in the forest. Or perhaps they’re even closer, building a nest for themselves on some island just out of sight. The threat is great but you’re already so tired. Tired of the fighting and the death that it brings. It makes you wonder how tired Jake must be.

He doesn’t look peaceful even as he sleeps. His face is pinched, brows drawn tight as you finally lay down beside him. Lo’ak finds his own bedroll, the place next to him occupied by Spider instead of Neteyam. When you lay down Jake stirs just long enough to wrap his arm around you before falling still once more, and you wake to the feeling of his tail slipping from its place curled over your thigh.

The sky is already alight with light far past a blushing dawn. Voices and sounds float in from beyond the open marui as village life moves on. One day at a time. A first step and then a second until you’ll lose count and look back to see how far you’ve come. The pain will linger. A familiar smell or a comforting melody might bring echoes of pain to the surface like ripples across still water, but with time your heart will heal if you don’t allow the grief still clinging like a second skin to consume you. Just one step, one day.

Kiri kneels next to the cookfire, turning over carved skewers of fish. Lo’ak is missing as is Tuk, but you can hear her voice somewhere nearby, giggling and splashing in the shallow waters. Spider lingers in the shadiest part of your home, knees curled up to his knees as he watches Kiri cook. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell just in his posture. Pulled up tight into himself as if he will disappear from view if he can make himself small enough. He seems almost ashamed of himself, of everything that he is. He seems so like your children and yet no amount of warpaint will hide his true nature. Still, you quell the animosity still festering deep inside you. There is no time to dwell on darkness. If you stay still and wallow in these feelings, you’ll be lost.

“Good morning.” It’s a tentative extension of kindness, kinder than the few words you’d had for him yesterday. Spider raises his head, eyes darting between Kiri and Jake as if your eyes aren’t resting pointedly on his face. Kiri returns your greeting, murmuring about Lo’ak having already left to tend to his chores. It’s a distraction for him, you’re sure. It is easy to forget yourself in the needs of the many. You imagine it’s why Kiri is cooking. Busy hands, quiet minds.

“Good morning.” Spider says at last. It is enough. One step. You rise with Jake as he stands to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to speak with Tonowari.” His face is guarded, eyes clouded as he tries to hide his intentions from you. He’s pulling away and you reach for him. It’s instinctual. He is your mate, your love, and you want to stand beside him.

“Ma Jake, what is wrong?” So much is wrong, so much hurts. You want to bear this burden with him. Let me, you want to say. Spiritual burdens are something you were taught to See. The bond between Jake and the Great Mother still holds strong, the rope has not frayed. Eywa has not abandoned him and he has not turned his back on her. So what is so wrong that he would hide his eyes from you? He doesn’t explain himself as you trail behind him, hand still in his. You pull hard, planting your feet against the path until he can go no further without letting you go. He hesitates before his hand falls away from your own. For a moment it feels as though the world has fallen away completely, that there’s nothing left to ground you now that he’s pulled away. Anxiety rushes through you like bitter poison, pricking over every inch of your skin as tears begin to burn in your eyes. His rejection stings more than any other you’ve felt in your life. Every terrible thought rushes to the surface all at once.

“Jake?” Your voice wobbles as your arms hang limply at your sides. His shoulders rise and fall with a heaving sigh before he turns to face you.

“Ma muntxate.” His hands find your face and you, thumbs brushing over the shape of your cheeks. There’s conflict in his eyes, uncertainty, as if he is standing at the edge of a cliff wondering which way he should step. Away from danger. Away from whatever is causing him so much strife. The look in his eye is different than the pain you saw yesterday. It isn’t the futile longing of a father. It’s something more resigned. Whatever he wants to tell Tonowari, it shadows any of his own feelings.

“Don’t.” You say quietly. “Please, don’t. Whatever you are thinking, please, don’t do it.” He’s heard your words but doesn’t seem to take them into his heart. Instead he presses his forehead against yours. The world falls quiet for a brief moment. You feel grounded once more even as Jake pulls away with no intention to heed your words.

“Nga yawne lu oer.” And he means it. There’s no glint of deception in his eyes. Jake loves you as you love him and yet something inside you feels as though you’re losing him. Each step he takes away is like a thread straining and if you don’t follow it will break. His pace is slow as if he dreads what he is about to do. All it would take is a moment’s hesitation. If he would just turn around it would quell the panic rising in your heart.

Tonowari and Ronal rise as they see the two of you coming towards them. Jake trudging somberly with you quick at his heels. Ronal looks between the two of you, setting aside the spear arrow in her hand.

“What is this?” She asks before Tonowari can speak. Jake swallows thickly before he answers.

“My family and I, we’ll move on tomorrow. Far away from here.” Ronal takes a half step away from him as if moved off balance by his words. You feel the same. A weakness builds in your knees as you try to step towards him, to see his face, his eyes, and know what he is thinking. This is his home. Your home. He has built a life for his family–your family–here. You’d promised to follow him, but hearing the words makes you realize the path you’ve laid for yourself. A new life in a new place, far from anything you’ve ever known. Wherever you go it will be a place your previous life cannot follow. Ronal, Tonowari, the children, your spirit sister. They’d all be left behind. The thread begins to break.

Tonowari nods but it is a gesture you’ve come to recognize as disapproval. He is acknowledging Jake’s words but he will not heed them.

“Your son lies with our ancestors. You are mated with our tsakarem. This is your home.”

“Now you must stand with us. As our brother.” Ronal’s voice is steadfast though Jake still seems to hesitate even before the words of his tsahìk and olo’eyktan.

“I caused all of this. They were looking for me, for my family.”

“And we are here.” Ronal’s voice echoes your own as the two of you speak in tandem.

“You are Metkayina now.” Tonowari extends his hand expectantly. Jake looks at it, then at you. As if trying to decide if this is truly what he wanted. A moment passes before he clasps Tonowari’s forearm, committing himself to his place within the clan. With time, when Jake has fully committed his heart to the Metkayina, he might become eyktanay and stand beside Tonowari. The clan needs his guidance now more than ever. War is inevitable. All that’s left now is to prepare for the coming storm. He’s quiet as you walk away, aimless steps weaving through the village paths.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, “I don’t want to abandon you. I want you by my side. You are my mate; I love you. But I have to protect the People. I can’t let anyone get hurt because of me.”

“These things we cannot decide. It is up to the will of Eywa who lives and who dies. The Great Mother’s balance is out of our hands. All life must be returned to death sooner or later.” It hurts to say the words and know that your son was among those taken into the Great Mother’s arms. It was far before his time if you could’ve chosen it. He would’ve lived a long life, far beyond your own and died with the legacy of a great warrior. With a mate and children of his own and many beads to sing of his waytelem. But it was not meant to be. Neteyam is gone and you miss him more than anything but he would not want this. He would not want his father, the mighty Toruk Makto, to give up this fight. Jake was like the brightest star in Neteyam’s sky, a place so high he could only ever hope to reach. His greatest wish was to be a warrior resembling his Jake. You will not allow him to abandon his son’s dream even in his absence.

“Eywa has not abandoned you, ma Jake, so you will not abandon us.” He nods but his eyes are shrouded with a fog of sadness. Grief does not pass easily and you don’t expect this wound to heal within a day, a year, or even a lifetime. You’ve lost people in your life. Great warriors and clan elders. Thinking of them is like pressing against a bruise. It pangs and throbs but soon you will forget until you touch it once more. Neteyam’s parting is still fresh in your mind, weighing heavy on your heart.

“I miss him so much.” There are no words to placate the pain in his voice. “I just want to see him again. Just once.”

The desperate wish leads the two of you to the Ranteng Utralti. It will not be a true reunion. Not in the way Jake wants, but it will be something. Neteyam still lives within Eywa. His vitra has not been lost even in death.

The sun is still high overhead, poking beams of white light through the water as the two of you dive towards the Spirit Tree. The fronds seem to beckon your arrival as they sway in the tide, tossing patches of purple light across your skin. You’re still wearing your mourning garbs, your paint, your veil. It seems fitting as the two of you lock eyes. Jake’s hand reaches for yours, squeezing tight as you both make tsaheylu with the Spirit Tree. One moment you feel yourself floating, water all around you, but it fades in an instant, swallowed by a swirl of flashing light that fades first to green and then to more defined shapes. Leaves, a forest. It’s only vaguely recognizable, just different enough from the forest of your home to know you’re far from Awa’atlu, returned to the Pandora jungle once more.

There are voices among the sounds of rustling leaves and chittering animals. The sun is warm against your skin as you trail towards the sound, wide tail brushing against the plants around you. A warmth unfolds in your heart as you peek around a tree and find Jake kneeling next to a stream, a young boy at his side. At once you know it’s your son. His smile is just the same as it was as he offers his little bow to Jake. It’s beautiful in a way only Eywa can provide. A peaceful piece of perfection, a sweet dream to tide over an ailing heart. You’re content to watch them but a sound draws your attention, an ear flicking towards the noise. It doesn’t seem to disturb Neteyam or Jake and you wonder if they even know you’re here just beyond sight. Perhaps you’re at the very fringe of Jake’s vision, peering in from the outside. You leave him to it, attention drawn towards the sound of a woman singing. The forest changes around you, wavering like air above a fire as you walk a seemingly long distance in only a few strides and stumble upon a marui. It’s large, much too big for its single occupant, and woven with the intricacy expected of an Omatikaya dwelling.

“If you have time to stand and watch you should come help.” She interrupts her singing to finally look up at you and her face is striking. Round eyes, full lips, and her pil slant upward in a way that makes her features seem sharper. And there’s a sense of familiarity within her features, as if you’ve seen her somewhere before, like a memory faded with time. You stare at her even as she hands you a stone bowl, expecting that you’ll begin to grind cycad seeds. It usually isn’t your place to make such preparations but you are a guest in this woman’s home and she wouldn’t know if you are better suited preparing meat rather than flour. Still it is the same as preparing plants for medicines, an easy enough task, though you nearly drop the bowl when she asks who you are. But it’s hardly a question as your name rolls off her tongue.

“That is your name, yes? Neteyam has spoken highly of you since he arrived.” There’s a bitter tinge to her tone. For a moment you think it’s directed at you as you finally recognize her face. It’s Neteyam’s face if only older, more feminine. This is his mother. Jake’s first mate. Your chin tucks towards your chest as you try to hide within the dark cloud of your curls, shrinking behind the curtain of your hair. Perhaps you had wrongly interpreted Eywa’s will. Perhaps you were not meant to mate with Jake. It had been a selfish thought just as you’d worried, inconsiderate to the woman waiting for him here. She curses under her breath and your fangs bite into your lip to keep from apologizing before she’s said her piece.

“I give my life to protect my children and still it is not enough. Faysawtute.” Her chopping begins to gain vigor, scoring the wooden slab as she goes. “I kill him and he lives even still. When will it end?” Finally she looks up at you.

“Are the children safe? Kiri, Tuk, Lo’ak? I have not seen them here. They have to be safe.” She is trying to hide her desperation, you can tell by the pinched doing of her voice, but her eyes cannot hide from you. She is terrified that more of her children will be delivered to her soon.

“They are safe. They’re all safe.” The tension leaves her shoulders.

“That is good. And Jake?”

“He is with Neteyam now. He might come to see you soon…” your voice trails off as you realize he never told you her name. In his quest to keep you from questioning his devotion he has hidden a piece of himself. She will always be a part of him and it is not your place to begrudge him that. It is because of her that you have the family he’s given you. She deserves your unyielding respect as the mother that came before you.

“Neytiri,” she sounds almost amused by your ignorance. “Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite.” She sets aside her cooking and reaches for you, her hands finding yours once you set aside the bow of ground seeds. “I’ve heard of you and your sister Ronal. A skilled tsahìk and her tsahìknay.”

Tsahìknay. No one had ever called you such a thing. It was always tsakarem; a tsahìk that never finished her training and earned the honored title of clan leader. That was your sister, that was Ronal. She was tsahìk and yet you’re still treated with such respect within the clan. Even Ronal defers to your guidance at times. Was it not you that told her to allow the Sullys to stay? Before the clan she reminded you of her authority, but she is your elder sister. It has always been her guiding you and giving orders. Of course she would bristle at her word being questioned before the clan, before outsiders. And yet she allowed it. Even Jake had acknowledged your place upon first meeting. He called you tsakarem just as the rest of the clan did. It’s a title for a child not yet completing their rites to become one with the People, but what else were they meant to call you. Rarely does a clan have more than one tsahìk. But just as Eywa has blessed Jake it seems she has chosen you for something as well. Why else would you be blessed to See things as you do?

You See and yet you are blind. Ronal has told you this more than once in your life. It was meant as a reminder. To look clearly at things as they truly are. The shadows retreat and you see at last. You were never lacking, never less than. You are equal. Second to none.

Neytiri smiles, “A clan with two tsahìks must be blessed. I am glad it is you that he has chosen. My children will grow up well.” Her hand presses to your chest, palm against the tattoo inked over your heart. It means loving, protective. These are words you live by.

“Oel ngati kameie,” she says with gentle reverence. Your name sounds like a prayer on her tongue. “You have a strong heart. I trust it to take care of everyone that we love.” Even when you’ve failed to protect Neteyam she has given her blessing to look after her mate, her children. Your mate, your children. You move to bow but she meets you halfway, pressing her forehead against yours just as Jake would. You aren’t taking her place. Tsaheylu bonds your body and soul. She is a part of Jake just as much as you are, so she is now a part of you.

When your eyes open the marui is suddenly full of white light. And though you’ve never seen a forest atokirina’ you recognize the delicate creatures at once. There’s something calming about the presence of the pure spirits. Their syuratan is different from the yellow glow of the tree spirits of your home but they still feel gentle as a kiss when they caress your skin. One lands and then another. Neytiri reaches out her hand as one dances over her palm. She holds the bouncing sprite in her hands, white light dancing in her eyes as they fill with a rueful sadness.

“When I died, I was afraid. I knew I was dead the moment my eyes opened. My sister, my father, Tsu’tey. Everyone I had lost was here to greet me within Eywa. But I was afraid for my family.” She lifts her hands and gently blows on the atokirina’. It swirls through the air, threadlike tendrils swirling about before it finds the breeze and floats away with the others. They leave in a shimmering cloud just as quickly as they came. When you turn back to Neytiri she’s smiling. “I’m not afraid anymore.”

For a moment you think you’re crying as her face begins to swirl into a wash of color like spilled paint, but when you blink it away the vision is gone and you’re staring at the Ranteng Utralti once more. Jake’s hand is still tight in yours as his eyes open as well. When you surface you find that you were crying, tears streaming down your cheeks along with the seawater as you mount your ilu.

“What’s wrong, yuey?”

“I saw her, Jake.” A smile finds its way to your face despite the tears. Your heart flutters in your chest, beating heavily where her hand had been. Your skin seems to sing as you touch your tattoo as if her hand would still be there.

“Saw who?”

“Neytiri.” His eyes go wide, ears standing on end. Behind him his tail perks up, curling anxiously as he sits on his own ilu. It has always been his greatest fear that you would seek out knowledge about his mate. He knows you, knows your heart. You would have compared yourself to her, belittle and bemoaned your every flaw until you felt like nothing by comparison. But that isn’t the truth of it. There is no comparison. He chose her. He chose you. Jake values both of you just the same in his heart. There is no superior. You see that now. See it more clearly than you ever have.

“Why are you crying? What happened?” Sharing what you’ve seen while connected to the Spirit Tree is always an intimate experience. Tsaheylu is sacred, and what’s seen while communing with Eywa is always a look into someone’s soul. But you do it every time you meet someone’s eye. Jake’s vitra is plainly clear in his eyes. The bittersweet feeling of being able to catch even a glimpse of his son, to relive the memories that he cherishes and know that’s all that will be now. Just memories.

“She called me tsahìknay, said I was blessed. We were touched by atokirina’.” The Great Mother’s has not been subtle with her intentions on this day. You are meant to be by Jake’s side, just as Neytiri was before you. And Jake is meant to be by your side. To part would be to spite the blessings Eywa has given you. There was a reason you were not mated before. He is the reason. This is the reason. You were not meant for Tonowari, not meant for any man in Awa’atlu. This is the path Eywa has drawn for your life. It has not been without its hardships and there will surely be more to come–more death, more destruction–but the only way is forward. The storm will come and you will weather it. One step at a time. For now, though, you return home, listening to Jake recount his time with Neteyam. Their fishing and climbing trees. He sounds younger, a quiet smile in his voice. His spirit is lifted if only for the moment.

“She would’ve loved you.” He says at last. “I wish I’d told you that sooner.” There’s so much he hasn’t told you, so much you’ve yet to learn. A sharp pain pinches in your chest as you think of Neteyam and all the things that died with him, all the things you’ll never know about your son. Part of you wishes you had seen him with Eywa, had a chance to speak with him, but the Great Mother doesn’t always show you what you want to see but what needs to be seen.

“She said she trusts me to take care of our family.” Jake smiles and for a moment he looks like himself again. His face isn’t drawn with sadness but bright with a satisfied grin.

“I know she does, because I do. This family is our fortress and I trust you to protect it. No matter what happens.”

ɴᴀ’ᴠɪ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

Tawtute, Sawtute – sky person, sky people

Sa’tsmuke – aunt, mother’s sister (speculative)

Tsmuke’ite – niece (speculative)

Hì’ikran – dorado verde, small ikran (speculative)

Sämunge – transportation device

Eyktanay – a step below clan leader

Waytelem – songcord

Ranteng Utralti – Spirit Tree

Vitra, Tirea – soul, spirit

Vrrtep – demon

Tswin – neural braid

Muntxate – wife, female mate

Maitan – (my) son

Naranawm – Polyphemus, the planet Pandora orbits

Syuratan – bioluminescence

Uniltìrantokx – dreamwalker, avatar

Pil – facial stripes, skin stripes

Tsakarem – tsahìk-in-training

Tsahìknay – a step below tsahìk (speculative)

Yuey – beautiful (inner beauty)

#jake sully x reader #sully family x reader #avatar x reader #avatar #atwow

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corvidares · 5 months

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okay, so i just finished re-reading Any Way the Wind Blows and this feels so blatant as to be smacking me in the face: simon is disabled.

now, the reason why that makes itself even clearer in this book than in wayward son (where he, of course, also has the wings + tail) is because simon is once again in the world of mages - despite doing his best to leave it behind. compared to wayward son, where hes basically and literally in the wild west. where theres magical beings everywhere, where simon practically fits in because he is one.

but ill get back to that.

ive seen a lot of really interesting points about what simon's wings represent and mean, and i'm not disagreeing with those. but in a very literal sense, they are a disability.

think about it like this: the world of mages (and Normals) is not built for humanoids who have giant webbed wings and a tail. simon constantly struggles with controlling these limbs, and their size makes it ten times harder. spaces are too small, furniture and objects are broken when he spreads them, and many a shirt or jacket are ruined.

he struggles to find a good way to deal with this - spell them away? wear them out by cutting holes in things? fold them extremely painfully into his shirt? even though this last one is treated like a solution for a little while, its far from ideal. who is simon doing this for? himself, or everyone around him? yes, of course Normals cant see them. and yeah, hes expressed discomfort about baz and penny spelling them hidden. but thats not the point. even with this botch job of a way to "wear" his wings, which succeeds at hiding them from Normals, simon still states a couple times that he knows people stare at him and his seeming hunchback. i mean, thats blatant.

(he eventually, with shepard's help, realizes a good way to work around this - zippers or buckles on shirtbacks - which very much feels like an aha! disability aid moment)

im not saying disability is based in how people look at you, or it only being a societal thing. (as in, when he wasnt in the world of mages, he wasnt suddenly 'not disabled at all') disability is a huge spectrum. but those things absolutely can be a part of the disabled experience.

but all of that doesnt even get to my main point: simon has no magic anymore. and in the world of mages, thats a huge deal. magic is like living and breathing, especially for baz and penny. its not something they question or have to worry about not being able to call upon. hell, even before simon lost his magic he was disabled, just to a different extent.

before awtwb, we dont hear much about mages whose magic is weak. but they come to the forefront now - which just solidifies that solid magical ability = able bodiedness.

smith is promising a miracle cure. a cure. think of it like bullshit orgs such as aut!sm spe@ks, wanting to "cure" autism - he wants to cure people. (and hes just as full of shit) why? because weak magic is seen as a disease, a problem, even subhuman.

take daphne, baz's stepmom. her quality of life is fine, great. her weaker magic doesnt seem to put her at a disadvantage. she manages her disability well. but in comparison to the norm, to what is expected of the average mage, shes got nothing. less than nothing. she feels shame over what she cant do.

smith's case becomes even more blatant when we see, at the end of awtwb, that he wants to essentially cull weak magicians. that they're holding back society. that theyre better off as powerless as Normals - who are blatantly seen as subhuman - than as weak mages. much like how ableist rhetoric puts forward that disability is a fate worse than death.

which brings us back to simon. he insists hes a Normal, now or always has been. baz insists hes the most powerful magician to exist. both of them are wrong.

and right. and right and wrong.

simon is some third thing - not a mage, not a Normal. akin to how disability is its own minority aside from race or ethnicity he has a foot in each world, and he always has. but now he cant achieve blending into either.

this is why the increasing presence and humanization of other magical beings beside mages is so important (thank you shephard!) how mages tend to seem magical beings is very ableist. theyre subhuman, theyre not to be trusted, theyre freaks, theyre dirty, etc. except oops, how can you keep thinking that penny, when this very nice one works at a cafe and helped you translate shephard's engagement terms?

even baz and the events of wayward son play into this - yeah, some vampires are horrible people. but plenty, like baz, are just people. with a range of experiences and morals and ways of living life. (take nicodemus) (i could make a point about how simon's stalwart acceptance of baz's vampirism helps baz comes to terms with it and how this is also super disability coded, but thats another essay)

in the beginning of awtwb, he decides to go to the extreme opposite of his chosen one powered life - to live as a Normal, and the second step (after cutting himself off from baz and penny) is getting his wings removed.

except he cant do it. and even having his wings touched is horribly uncomfortable. now, this partly has to do with how much theyre sensual parts of his body - same as his tail. but its also, separately, very intimate. theyre treated very clinically, like a fascinating specimen to pore over. im not trying to give niamh shit here, just saying what i saw.

but theyre part of him. people with disabilities often deal with being stared at and poked and prodded by the medical field (if theyre not ignored or waved off. maybe both.). even every day folks feel the right to touch disabled folks, or their mobility aids.

for a lot of people, mobility aids are a part of them - its like a stranger touching your face and thinking theyre doing you a favor. when instead theyre being weird as fuck.

simon's status as previous chosen one even plays into this sort of thing - people see him more as a figurehead, for what he can and cant do (including his wings!) than a person. hes a tragedy, hes a hero. hes inspirational, hes to be pitied. sound familiar?

the end of awtwb doesnt spell out whether simon ends up deciding to keep his wings (frustratingly). but they spell out that he would absolutely would, in my opinion.

simon increasingly treats them as a natural extension of his body. think of the scene where he flies about the watford goats. how he expresses his feelings with his wings and tail. and of course, how he learns to let baz loves each and every part of him: including his dragon limbs.

baz loves him, and loves them, not in a fetishistic way, but because its simon, and he loves everything simon is. not just what he represents or can or cant do.

#carry on #wayward son #any way the wind blows #simon snow #simon snow trilogy #baz pitch #awtwb #snowbaz #its there man okay its about disabled love. disabled4disabled #corvi caws #DO YOU SEE MY VISION? DO YOU SEE IT??????#theres probably more i wrote this in one sitting #also a disclaimer: i am not physically disabled. if ive said something thats a big nono please let me know and i will edit or delete -#accordingly. and by that i mean if a /disabled person/ tells me i said something inappropriate #also im not saying this was rainbow's intention. i have no idea if it was. itd be kinda wild if it /wasnt/ to any extent tho #im aware its like. iffy to say nonhuman creatures are an allegory for disability #it definitely IS iffy #which is why im not sure if rainbow meant it that way. or should have done that #but it does read like that #and rainbow drives home that theyre ALSO people #so like idk. its complicated #regardless simon is disabled ill die on that hill #im shocked no one else has written this essay btw #maybe someone has but i didnt find it #IF someone has link it to me i want to put it in my mouth

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sleepingdeath-light · 2 years

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Favouritism Headcanons | Dragon Cookies

requested by anon

reader is assumed as gender neutral and as the dragon cookies’ spouse

Ananas Dragon Cookie

being ananas dragon’s partner means that you’re going to be bragged to and about at every given opportunity - i mean, you are their partner so you signed up for this treatment in their eyes.

expects their followers to worship you as well as them - as their partner and equal, in their eyes, they should revere you for your superiority over them just as they do them

brags a lot more in your presence, emphasising their strength and prowess to impress you and earn your reverence

has their followers build a shrine dedicated to the two of you - one that emphasises your beauty, strength and devotion to them

will brag about you to the other dragons on the rare occasion that they meet; all smug smirks and long winding stories about how amazing of a partner you are to them

covers you in gold and jewels to show others that you’re taken and have a powerful spouse beside you - avoiding unnecessary confrontation and allowing them to spend as much time as possible being worshipped and revered by lesser beings

makes sure that you know that you’re superior to others of your kind however they can

Lotus Dragon Cookie

lotus dragon is a very calm and perceptive lover who will make use of their status and reputation to give you whatever you want, always answering with a smile and nod before calling on their servants.

insists on hydrangea and her fellow servants waiting on you hand and foot, pampering you at any given opportunity and discouraging them from denying any request from you

spoils you with the finest of luxuries one can afford: jewellery, lingerie, clothes, accessories and more

never leaves your side, having you lounge with them in their palace; constantly on display like a show pony or trophy spouse

they’re most often seen laying on their side with you beside them, their arms around you and their lips pressed gently against your temple

has art and stories made to emphasise your talents and beauty - commemorating you in the eyes of their servants and those under their control

constantly praises you and encourages you to pursue your talents

knows your dreams and emotions like the back of their hand and is extremely good at comforting you however you need them to

calls you their “beloved” and their “darling”, rarely ever using your name as you’re “above such mortal things now”

Lychee Dragon Cookie

lychee is very open about their fondness for you and will gladly brag about their relationship with you to anyone in reach - even doing so when using the “mangosteen cookie” identity by constantly calling back to their “dearest love” with a sickening sweetness that those around them found endearing.

has the monsters tend to and protect you, keeping you under constant surveillance to ensure your safety (and that you don’t leave them)

doesn’t let any of the “lower beings” near you and almost views them as a disease on the island that they’re protecting you from - talking them down whilst praising you to the heavens

very affectionate with you and can’t seem to keep their hands off of you in private/anywhere that people that they don’t want to see can’t

keeps you in their cave away from the rest of the island, in a lush room built especially to your tastes (the safest area of the cave by a long shot)

does have a habit of guilt tripping you if they feel your relationship is threatened, exaggerating their innocence and upset to keep you with them - though they’d never outright use their powers on you unless they were truly desperate

has murals and statues made in your honour so that they can have part of you with them after you’re gone

can be very dramatic and even manic, but you calm them down - so they can be very reliant on you at times

Pitaya Dragon Cookie

pitaya is an incredibly prideful spouse who will treat you like a god amongst men, coveting you like you’re a precious treasure and yet expecting all cookies to worship you as they did them.

very warm, even compared to their fellow dragons, and will hold you close whenever you feel cold or if heat soothes your pains

always has a hand on you, keeping you flush against their body so you know they’re there and will protect you - their grip getting harsher if there’s another cookie nearby

carries you when they fly and enjoys showing you the world - telling you that you’re above it all now, that you deserve it all and more

purrs when you touch or play with their hair but if anyone else gets close to them, they’ll lash out at them violently

has you sleep on their chest so they can protect you even in their sleep

sees you as their most valuable treasure and tells you as such often

doesn’t brag about you per-say, but anyone that sees you will know who you belong to because they have you wear their colours and the treasures they’ve collected

will ask for your input on any of their schemes, valuing your input above even their own at times - but will violently shut down anyone else that tries to interject into your conversation

openly territorial over you as their “dear mortal”

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myemuisemo · 9 days

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Parts 6-8 of Letters from Watson's handling of The Sign of the Four hit at a time when I was swamped with work, so circumstances have made a fool of my assumption about that tiny footprint before I had a chance to thoroughly embarrass myself in public.

My first thought for the footprint was "monkey" -- I apparently really, really want a monkey, and there are certain macaques whose faces would be absolutely terrifying if seen pressed against a dark window. The problem is, the footprints of monkeys, apes, gorillas, and other such don't look like human footprints. They're all much more like hands. Gorillas come closest to having a human-like foot, but there's still a big thumb-like finger. And, of course, gorillas are too big anyway.

My venture into simian podiatry at least explains why Dr. Watson doesn't think "monkey." Victorians would have been better informed on this topic than I am, as monkeys were a common household pet in England. Little Jacko was, unsurprisingly, usually clever but mischievous. The blog from which I got monkey-lore also gets into monkey-fighting, which is even more appalling than how monkeys were treated as pets.

In part 8, we discover that the footprint does not, after all, belong to a monkey, ape, or other animal. Oh no, Doyle has in mind a situation much worse, and he's even foreshadowed it with two Indian servants. The colonial occupiers of India absolutely brought home people for their convenience.

The mysterious Jonathan Small brought home an indigenous Andaman Islander, who would be totally justified in wanting to kill anyone associated with the British Army. About 30-40 years before the time of the story, British settlement on the island had brought diseases that nearly wiped out the indigenous peoples. Efforts to help them existed -- one such would have been in the news in 1888 -- but it's still entirely a shameful episode.

(If you recall the 2018 story of the missionary who was determined to land on an island of indigenous peoples who were known for not allowing visitors... these were Andamanese, specifically Sentinelese. He was killed by the locals.)

Now, then, listen to this. ‘They are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes, and distorted features. Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably small. So intractable and fierce are they that all the efforts of the British official have failed to win them over in any degree. They have always been a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. These massacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.’

There's still a lot of "exotification of the savage" here -- the images of today's Andaman Islanders just look like people, very dark-skinned, with textured hair. Cannibalism felt like one of those charges levied against any group one doesn't like, and sure enough! Every source I can find today says the people of the Andaman Islands never practiced cannibalism. History Today also says "no poisoned darts," but the article's partly paywalled.

The Andaman Islander has kind of harshed my buzz vis-a-vis fun elements like the many ways Holmes demonstrates he's a man of class flexibility, the "never tired when working" line (he has got to be neurospicy), the omnipresence of creosote (used as a wood preservative, toxic af to the workers and anyone who recklessly burned all creosote-treated wood), and the humor of the newspaper report fronting for more localized police stations, along with the running joke of Athelney Jones arresting everyone indiscriminately.

At least there was a badger (at the house where Toby was obtained).

#sherlock holmes #letters from watson #the sign of the four

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anexperimentallife · 5 months

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Medical update (bad news)

I don't know how long my throat surgery can wait. The idea is get back to the US ASAP (I know we said May, but if we had the means we'd go as soon as I'm strong enough to travel), where I can use my Medicare and VA benefits to get surgeries amd treatments, but unless the GoFundMe/PayPal fund fills up fast enough to get us back SOON, we may HAVE to spend what moving money has come in and go further into debt to get surgery here, and start over again on moving plans, because this is getting life-threatening faster than anyone thought it would.

Now, I USUALLY notice within a couple of hours when medicine gets stuck, and a combination of hot drinks, fizzy drinks, and pressing on places on my throat gets it dissolved and out of there, but I'm worried about what happens when I DON'T realize pills are stuck.

The problem is that I have a herniated esophagus, a literal hole in my throat, in which things regularly get stuck. Not only does this sometimes start me choking if food comes back out while I'm breathing in (had a few close calls there), but also medicine often gets stuck in there.

To briefly explain why that is such a problem, imagine going without a medication you're on for a couple of days, then getting three days doses all at once when it all finally dislodges. Not a big deal for some things, but if it's, say, my blood pressure meds?

My foot surgery can wait--the foot stuff just makes walking more painful and opens the door for infection. But the throat thing really worries me.

I mean, yeah, it also worries me that I've been coughing for two months and even my pulmonologist and infectious disease specialist are reduced to guessing and spitballing about what's wrong and how to treat it, but the throat thing worries me even more. (Wonder if the two are related?)

I gotta hold on long enough to watch my little girl grow up. That's my mantra. Stay alive for Eleanor. Stay alive for Eleanor. Stay alive for Eleanor.

#rob gets medical

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doodlegirl1998 · 4 months

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Hey, on the topic "quirks are diseases" again, I do think it would divided people here. Bc if you are born with Momo's quirk, wow, you made in life.

If you are born with Mineta's quirk? Tough luck.

But here a few things I want to say:

1) I talked about Rede and yes he wouldn't like people thinking quirkless are better( I think is lile at best 5% of people who do have powerful quirk) and soon a civil war would happen. Well, a dude who has a powerful quirk will be "liberate" in using 100% and envy speaks loud. Rede's end goal makes no real sense but is better than afo.

2) how the quirks came to be? Like overhaul was spreading this theory. So he lie...meaning people could have acess to this info. Quirkless are healthy one...does all schools teach about that?

3) if so, why Izu was abused? Ok say Aldera is mega shitty and never taught that. Ok. Still doesnt justify how shitty Izu was treated and he was healthy among his peers.

4) I have a hc now...that quirks users have a short lifespan compared to quirkless. Again, an intetesting concept hori wont touch with a 10 feet pole.

5) what this revelation proved? Nothing, aside Hori shitting on Izu AGAIN.

6) ok so...I do think Hori was influced by MCU but then started seeing the boys...and fails miserable. The boys does take dark concepts and explores (spoiler: they have a drug that can kill supers) it has a built up and consequences. Hori? Shits on Izu and wanks Bk's dick.

Like to sum up, this chapter proves how Izu shouldnt have been treated like that and he would be better off not being a hero. I just saw a sgdk fic where Inko - in an angst moment where she is right- asks in tears why Izu's dream has to cause him harm? Why he cant have anothet dream? Fair. He wants help people? Doctors exists. Fireworks too.

To this day I dont get why the MC wants to be a hero.

Bk? I know why ...and hate how it makes sense.

Hi @mikeellee 👋,

I think even if born with Mineta's quirk, you'd be set for life. The grape is cowardly but you can't deny his quirk could be highly useful as a hero. But I do get your point, quirks are a sickness no one wants a cure for.

1) ReDestro wanting people to be liberated in using their quirks makes sense - however the practicality of this not so much.

2) I bet schools (especially if some are hunting grounds for MPA recruitment) do not teach that quirkless are the 'healthy ones' because that wouldn't benefit them in any way.

3) Canonically, Bakugou being an abusive little shit is the main reason for Izuku being abused for being quirkless (although he even abused him before that point - being quirkless just have Bkg more fuel to torment him with.)

4) that's an interesting plot point - one Hori wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. But under a better writer, resentment from quirked people over them not living as long as the quirkless would make sense.

5) the revelation of quirks being from a virus meant nothing! Nothing at all! It only harmed the story - and added a heavy bias against AFO and OFA's nameless, homeless sex worker mother (thanks Hori *sarcasm*).

6) Hori may have been inspired by other superhero stories but fails in incorporating the origins of quirks in MHA.

Despite going to UA being how Izuku met his idol and friends - being a hero has only brought Izuku suffering, canonically speaking, he would have been better off doing anything else to help people.

I hate how MHA and Izuku's story has become THIS.

#mha critical #bnha critical #anti bakugou #anti bakugou katsuki

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awhphooey · 2 years

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Summary of everything we’re allowed to know about the separated au 👉👈?

Also what is Leo’s relationship with Hueso and how does it differ from the series? What about Hueso jr 👀?

Ok so this post is gonna be long it’s basically: really brief summary, second half of the ask, then a more in depth summary with no spoilers.

First Question: The boys are separated after Lou rescues them from Draxum’s lab, found by Hueso, April, the Foot and Big Mama. They’re all raised apart and end up meeting. Splinter agrees to help them defeat the Shredder. They beat him, become a little crime fighting team, then the Krang stuff happens.

Second Question: Leo sees Hueso as his father and Hueso sees Leo as his son. Honestly their banter is very punny vs dry humor like in canon, but everything else I am actively making up as I go. Just know that they are father and son and Hueso would die for Leo. Hueso Jr is now Piel’s son who does not have a name, but is Leo’s cousin.

Long Summary time-

Draxum kidnaps Lou Jitsu, who was previously in the Battle Nexus as Big Mama’s champion. The turtles get mutated with his DNA like usual, Raph gets dropped first just outside Draxum’s now exploded lab, and on his way out of the Hidden City Lou drops Leo. Mikey gets dropped just outside of where he exits, but Lou is barely able to pay attention now as he is very painfully being turned into a rat. Donnie is the last one to be dropped, near the O’Neil’s apartment complex. Lou ends up retreating to the sewers with a few other mutants Draxum was experimenting on, most notably my version of Leatherhead.

Donatello “Donnie” Franklin O’Neil is 14 when the au starts. Donnie is the first to actually be found, despite being the last to be dropped. April finds him on a walk outside and begs her parents to let her keep him. He’s raised alongside April as her brother once they realize he can speak and is growing at the same rate if not faster than April. He goes to school like a normal kid, they just tell everyone he’s got a skin disease and that’s why he is green. He’s not able to make all of his tech, and isn’t trained at all like the other three, which leaves him vulnerable.

Galileo “Leo” Hueso is 14 when the au starts. Leo is the next to be found by Hueso (who is named Eric in this after his VA, full name Eric Hueso) who takes him back to his pirate ship. He’s part of a crew with his brother and a few others. They all work together to raise Leo, but Leo is closest with Eric and they have a father-son bond. Leo’s first few years- about until he is 11- are spent on the pirate ship. Once his dad becomes an outlaw in the Hidden City they move to the surface and open Run of the Mill Pizza, which caters to both yokai and humans. I can elaborate on this if anyone wants. Leo becomes a vigilante in his free time.

“Big” Red aka Raphael Hamato is 15 when the au takes place. He’s found by Big Mama’s right hand who was sent to retrieve Lou Jitsu. Instead, they find Red and bring him back to Big Mama. Insert plot device so she’s aware Lou Jitsu’s DNA is in Red and she starts raising him as her and Lou’s son. Raph is the only one aware Splinter is their dad. He starts training for the Battle Nexus when he’s 10, first fight at 12 where he gets his scar and nickname, remains the Nexus Champion until [spoilers].

Michael “Mikey” Angelo Jones is 13 at the start of the au. Mikey is the last to be found by his uncles, Rob and Maurice, who are having troubles training their next recruits. They start training Mikey in the mindset of him being their weapon, but as soon as they adopt Casey as well they start treating the two more like family. Mikey isn’t super devoted to the Foot, as he feels a bit of disconnect from them. He’s unlocked his nimpo, but his family just think it’s something mutant related.

I can’t explain anything further into the plot because I really want to draw this stuff, but the Shredder, Big Mama and the Krang will be their biggest problems. Draxum is against them briefly, but far less than in the show.

#ask phooey #rottmnt au #rottmnt #rise separated au #rise separated au ask

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aheckinmess · 2 months

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Fire in the Hole [Bakugo] (Fluff)

(One-shot 2/? in a collection of My Hero Academia one-shots posted regularly on Saturdays.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Bakugo x OC, Katsuki Bakugo, Dynamight, Pro-Hero Bakugo, Pro-Hero OC, Feisty OC, Fluff, Fluff with maybe a little angst, one explosion boy.

Word Count: 1,202 words

Summary: Everyone knows that Dynamight can be a hot-head. But Tigress notices that his aggression is doubled when directed at her, and she's in for a wild surprise when she finds out why.

Author's Note: This one-shot isn't a part of a series, so if you're ever looking to see what character I'm writing for, I'll give a character name and whether it's angst, fluff, or smut in the title. Enjoy!

Ichijiku (Tigress)

It’s a little off-putting to say the least when Dynamight starts acting weird around me. Every time we team up against villains, he seems to get more feral and aggressive towards me. Granted, he’s always been feral and aggressive…but he really likes laying into me.

Today he pushes a little too far. I step into his agency to visit a friend and he roars his displeasure.

“WHY THE HELL IS THIS DAMN CAT HERE AGAIN?!” He bellows at me. “YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE–”

My fist swings around to meet his face and he blocks it with surprisingly quick reflexes. I use the momentum to slam my foot up into his stomach as I scream at top volume, pumping fear into him.

I’m not surprised when he lands a hit into my side, but I remain on my feet with bared teeth.

“Stop treating me like a damn disease, Dynamight!” I hiss. “I came here to visit a friend, not listen to you complain!”

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” He grits his teeth with a glare at me.

I try not to admit to myself that he makes me feel warm inside. That despite his abrasive exterior, I appreciate his authenticity and the subtle ways he takes care of others. Even though he hides it.

“Ichan! You made it!” Sayuri chirps from behind. Her face instantly turns into a scowl as she wraps an arm around me and guides me away. “Leave my bestie alone, Dynamight. We’ll be back.”

“You’d better. I don’t pay you to goof off, Phobos.” He growls.

“We’ll be fifteen minutes, tops, pretty boy.” I huff over my shoulder.

“You better make that ten, extra!”

“I’ll make it twenty if you piss me off!”

. . . . .

Lunch with Sayuri has become habit at this point. It’s friend time carved into the week in order to help me maintain my mental sanity. I recline at the table as we wait for our waitress.

“So, how are you and Kiri doing these days? I miss hearing about my besties!” I giggle, smiling at the waitress as she comes by to take our drinks and orders.

“He’s the best! And I’m sorry we haven’t been keeping in touch much. You know with the move we’ve been pretty stressed. And there’s been a tick in crime this fall season.” She surveys the area as she says it before grinning. “But aside from that, things have been well. It still seems crazy that we’ve already been married for six months.”

“It feels unreal.” I agree, before the waitress brings our drinks.

I get quiet as I sip my tea and look at Dynamight’s bright sign for his agency next door. Why is he so mean to me anyway? Little brat is asking for a visit from my claws. I don’t realize my facial expressions show my thoughts so loudly until Sayuri speaks up.

“Sorry about Dynamight. He’s a bitch.” She chuckles, sipping her water. “I hope it didn’t bother you too much. I know sometimes loud noises are hard for you.”

“Is he always like that?” I ask, wondering if maybe I’ve been exaggerating how he behaves around me. I’ve always heard he’s a hothead, so maybe I’ve just been walking in at the peak of his tantrums?

“To an extent,” Sayuri begins, before looking thoughtful and adding. “He always seems more aggressive towards you now that I think about it. Did you do something to piss him off?”

“I knew it!” I set my chair all the way down just as the waitress comes by and drops off our sushi. I pull out my chopsticks as I sigh. “I don’t know what I did to him. All I know is that every time I enter the room, he targets me. I swear it’s like he’s got a tracker on me.”

“Yeah…I’m sorry. I know you like him.” She shakes her head and pops some sushi in her mouth.

“It’s nothing serious.” I shrug, even though it hurts more than I bargain for.

While we both pause to savor the flavor, I start turning over memories of fighting with Dynamight. Even since the first time we worked together, it feels like he’s only ever had it out for me. In fact, I barely interacted with him that first time. What the hell is his problem?

We make it back to Dynamight’s agency exactly fifteen minutes after we left thanks to quick service at the sushi shop. When we walk in, Dynamight’s busy with a group of rookie sidekicks.

“You idiots! You’ve got to try harder. If you keep making little mistakes like that, they’ll pile up and it could mean someone’s life instead of a faulty budget. Go fix it!” He hisses, but it lacks the venom he uses with me.

“See?” Sayuri whispers. “I don’t get it. The little shit.”

When the rookies move away, he notices us and his face twists in anger.

“There you are! I told you you had ten minutes!” He snaps.

“And I told you that we’d be back in fifteen.” I stand firm, glaring at him.

“Shove off, Dynamight.” Sayuri rolls her eyes and storms past him, looking professional and ready to work. I don’t miss that she stops just outside her office to watch us, though. When we don’t go for each others’ throats, she steps inside.

“I have a question for you, Dynamight.” I say with piercing eyes. “What did I ever do to piss you off?”

“Tch. You’re wasting my time. I’ve got an agency to run.” He turns and stomps off.

I head towards him for a moment, before I clench my fists and start walking back downstairs to leave. Not worth the energy. Just a stupid crush. I’m rounding the corner of the stairwell when I’m shoved into a dark, empty room.

“Goddamn it…how do you do it?” Dynamight’s voice growls in the darkness. When I squirm, he grips my wrists and turns on the light. His red eyes bore into mine, pupils huge. “What made you think you’d pissed me off?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’re meaner to me than everyone else.” I growl, despite the growing attraction buzzing in my chest. I shield it with anger. “It doesn’t matter when I’m here, you always single me out!”

My pulse picks up speed as I struggle to maintain eye contact, but he’s a lot stronger than me. At least in this moment. He grips my chin with his hand and gets closer to my face. My eyes flicker to his lips for half a second.

“Don’t you understand anything?” His calloused thumb rubs my cheek, making me meet his eyes again. “I’m only more pissy with you because you make me feel like doing this.”

His lips capture mine and I could swear his quirk extends to my heart as an explosive force draws my arms around his neck. I tangle my fingers in his hair before pulling my other hand down to rest at his chest until we both pull back, our expressions much softer and uncertain.

“You know…you could have just told me that instead of making me think you hated me.” I swallow thickly.

“Whatever.” His cheeks tinge the slightest shade pink. “I get off at 7. You like sushi, yeah?”

“I do.” I smirk.

“Then your ass better be here by 7:05.” His lips ghost my ear before he leaves.

#mha fanfiction #mha one shots #bnha #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo #dynamight #kacchan #bakugo x oc #katsuki x oc #fluff #okay maybe fluff with a little angst #after all it's our favorite explosion boy #feisty oc #original characters #ichijiku

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dcwnthercbbithcle · 2 months

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HELL'S BELLES HEADCANONS

The Hell's Belles, at least as a functioning group of vampires has existed from 1963 onwards, though it's been a brain child and a frequent fantasy of the Founder, Chrissy since at least 1958

The name Hell's Belles comes as a counter offensive from the era of peace and love as a solid 'fuck you' to the 'sugar, spice and everything nice' perception around girls!

The Hell's Belles initially represented a form of feminine support Chrissy CRAVED, given her relationship with her mother has never been the healthiest. It was this idea that there was a kind of sisterhood out there that someday, somehow she'll find. Well, Chrissy was right, she hadn't anticipated then that she'd be making this sisterhood herself from girls and women as broken and cast away as her. But does the future ever really work out the way you expect it.

The initial Hell's Belles were made up of a group of fellow runaways, though these founding members are no longer a part of the group. They're not dead! They just parted ways on friendly terms!

You see, the Belles didn't exactly have a home base for the first several years. They were just as transient and nomadic as their head and that lifestyle is rough, even for a vampire. Chrissy made and lost many, many friends during these years and it was the complex feelings from that which lead to her and the third iteration of the members focusing more of an effort on finding a distinctive and definitive base of operations

The Belles found their home out of a University Campus located a ways from the picturesque coast of Santa Carla in a sleepier, but, fortunately for them, no less lively student town. Now, I hear you, how the hell are a group of vampires living undetected in a university? Well, they're not exactly in the University, they're underneath it.

The University campus didn't always live it's life teaching students, in a previous time, it was a sanitarium, used to treat victims of disease with fresh air and beautiful sights and to reflect this purpose, it was outfitted with the full ensemble. Numerous buildings, a beautiful vantage point for views and, the veins of any hospital operation: tunnels. 800 yards of tunnels and small alcoves. When the buildings were converted into a University, rather than footing the cost of filling in all of the tunnels, the school opted to brick off all the entrances, hiding doors behind false walls and plastering the creases while leaving them to quietly rot in disuse. Except.... they didn't seal ALL the entrances, the body chute, a secret exit for funeral homes to pick up bodies out of view of the patients and staff. That's how the girls got in and they've infested them ever since.

The girls do come and go through the secret entrances and exits left over from the past lives, secretly unbricking the doorways and hiding that they've rendered the doors usable once more. ALTHOUGH, this being said, they prefer not to source all of their food from students on the university. That would alert to them too much, five or six students missing a term? It's understandable! People get cold feet for university and in a party town near the woods, people can get lost! But more than that and it's suspicious, they prefer to snatch prey from Santa Carla to take heat off them (unless you're Doe who feeds from dying patients in hospitals)

There's a total of 13 Hell's Belles members, not counting Gareth who INSISTS he's not a member and Mapplethorpe who comes around to spend time with Doe. All of the members are femme-adjacent and they are a little picky when it comes to keeping vampires in their ranks! Vampires can come and go, they're happy to be a spot in the storm, but not just everyone is a part of the pack!

The girls of Hell's Belles go by the cover story that they're a part of a single sorority and that they're out of town, college girls. Often with an innocent or a naive edge to them, just because the girls are kind of dicks and they aren't afraid to exploit the few privileges they get from their sex!

One of the many rituals that comes in line with being a part of the pack is constructing bead curtain room dividers. It's a craft to show discipline, patience and devotion and once you've completed your curtain and it withstands the tests, you get to hand it in a room or hall and make that section your room! Welcome aboard! And no, they don't give you the beads, you gotta source your own!

#need a tag for my lost boys rp hmmmm

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theladybarnes · 1 year

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DON’T YOU WANT ME, BABY? : CHAPTER FIVE

“Our children don't live here anymore. You didn't know that?”

▸ summary: patience is wearing thin, and you’re over everyone ▸ characters: steve harrington, dustin henderson, ft. billy hargrove ▸ word count: 5.8k ▸ warnings: angst, toxic exes, and slow burn ▸ series masterlist

"C’mon, Jonathan. Pick up, pick up.” you muttered into the receiver, glancing around you. The final bell of the day had rang about five minutes ago and you’ve been trying to reach anyone over at the Byers’ house. But to your dismay, the line kept ringing and ringing.

“Ugh, screw this.” you hissed, slamming the phone down. Looking across the parking with wishful thinking. You hope that he might be there waiting for you, when you notice someone else has already been staring at you.

Billy, who was leaning against the outside of his car, was watching you carefully. Almost like a predator watching its prey. It was infuriating. Having stared too long, it gave Billy the idea to seek you out.

Breaking eye contact, you march over the bike rack, attempting now to make your leave. All while silently sending out a curse to your father for still not thinking you deserved to have your car back. It left you institutions like this where you needed to escape annoying exes.

“You’re a real piece of work, aren’t ya?”

You continue on with the bike lock, ignoring Billy so you could add in the right number combination. “Yeah, I make my parents really proud.” is all that you reply, getting the lock to release. He huffed loudly, kicking his foot against the pedal of your bike while you stuffed the lock and chain into your bag. “Now leave me alone.”

“Do you understand how embarrassing it was to have you yell at me like that? In front of all these hicks?” he seethed, reaching out to grip at your arm. But you’re faster this time, moving to step back before he could make contact.

“What part of leave me alone, don’t you get?” you hissed back, moving to turn your bike anyway. But all Billy does is grab it by the handle and slam back against the metal rack.

“You know, I’ve liked you for two years now. And all you’ve done since I’ve come here is treat me like shit.” He pointed his finger at you, close to poking it against your cheek as he stepped in closer. “I don’t understand what’s your problem?”

“Get your finger out of my face or I’ll bite it.” He squinted his eyes, contemplating the idea of testing that theory out before he pulled his hand down to his side. Leaning in, he glowered down for a moment. But like a flick of a switch, his face split into a cocky smile.

“You know, I have a lot of girls here, even some of the boys, albeit losers, eating out of the palm of my hands.” His tongue flicked out to lick over his lips while his blue eyes flickered to your mouth. Almost as if he was overcome with hunger. “But you, all I want is you to go back to being the girl I know you want to be.”

“I’m not–”

“You can say you’re not that girl, but I know you, Henderson. I’ve known every single part of you for years now.” He took a confident step forward, making your footing trip a bit. The distraction was enough for him to wrap his fingers around your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

The amount of manhandling you’ve faced from Billy was accumulating far too much these days and you wished that you had the strength to chuck him across the lot.

“This attitude of yours,” he went on, breathing out his familiar scent of mint and cigarette combination over your face. “It’s like a disease.”

“I could say the same about you, Billy. Except, most people would identify it as venereal.” you chuckled, nervous for how close he was getting now. He ignored your quip to pull your face closer. The beat of your heart turning into a thumping panic as he ghosted his lips over yours.

Instinctively, you close your eyes, bracing for the worst. But nothing ever happens and Billy simply lets you go after a second. It’s not till the sound of a roaring engine that your eyes snapped open, turning to glance to the direction of the source.

Steve, watching from the lot, was glaring over at you and Billy. With a muted scoff, he turned at his wheel and began to drive away from the parking spot. Giving Billy the reaction he wanted. Your face must have looked just as upset, making the boy beside you laugh loudly as he pushed back. Jerking your head a bit as he finally released you.

“You’re a bitch.” he said simply, giving your body a once over. “You oughta see a doctor. Because I think that condition of yours is getting a lot worse.” Winking over at you, he turned quickly on his heel back to the direction of his car.

For once, you’re left speechless.

The night was thankfully less eventful when you got home. Aunt Claudia had a bridge game, and Dustin was suspiciously locked up in his room for most of the night, giving you the peace and quiet that you needed after a ridiculous day.

The following morning however, was not as calm as you had hoped it to be.

Aunt Claudia had come barging in your room, tearful and worried about the whereabouts of her cat Mews. You couldn’t quite recall the last time you had seen the cat, but you promised after a nice hot shower you’d attempt to check around the area with her.

You had spent a chunk of the day, picking through all the bushes that surrounded the house, trying to scope out the stupid cat. The search and rescue was beginning to turn futile and you dreaded the idea of bearing the bad news to your Aunt.

It’s not until late afternoon that you’re slithering past her watchful eyes. Making your way back inside the house in hopes of a break. You can hear Dustin by the phone muttering to himself while you make your way into the kitchen for a cup of water. With his back to you, you’re not really able to see what he’s doing from the sink, but you can almost tell it’s no good.

You turn around for just one second when you hear him begin to speak.

“Oh Hello Mr. McCorkle! Yeah, yeah, I was told you might have some news about our cat?”

Spinning around, you watch as he stands in place, listening intently into the receiver. Your Aunt comes back in not long after, face still etched with worry. “Dusy, baby, you’re sure she’s not in your room?”

“The room is probably a pigsty! Poor Mewsy is probably trapped in an avalanche of comics.” you called out, marching over to stand beside your Aunt. “Let me take a look in there.” Dustin simply held a finger up to hush the two of you.

“Uh huh. Thank you so much, Mr. McCorkle. Thank you so much. You are a true lifesaver.” There was an edge of insincerity to his tone that you were surprised his own Mother couldn’t catch. “All right, this was great. Thank you, all right. Have a good one. Bye-bye, now. All right. You, too.”

Turning around, he gave a cheerful smile to the two of you. “All right, great news.”

“They found her?” Your Aunt tearfully hoped.

“No. But they saw her wandering around Loch Nora.”

“How did the poor baby get all the way out there?” whimpered your poor Aunt. You on the other hand, could not figure out how a pampered indoor cat could wander off to a small suburb area. Loch Nora was a good fifteen minutes at least when walking.

“I don’t know. Lost, I guess. But they’re gonna look for her. And I’ll stay here, just in case they call again.” Already Aunt Claudia is gearing towards the front door, a hopeful grin on her face. “And you’re gonna go help look? Yeah?” he continued, helping lead her the rest of the way.

She pulled Dustin into her chest, hugging him tightly while beginning to cry again. “Give me a hug, give me a hug.” he coaxed her. “Go get her. You’re gonna find her.” She let him go and turned to you, giving you a just as tight hug.

“I’m gonna bring the baby back home.” she whispered, pulling back to gauge your reaction. All you could think was to nod and smile, giving her a thumbs up as she grabbed her keys and purse. Ready for the search and rescue.

“We can find her, we can find her!” Dustin continued on, still weirdly calm. “I love you.” he grinned, blowing her a kiss. The two of them kept throwing the phrase to each other before she blew you a kiss too. “I love you too. Love you both so much!”

The moment she closed the door, you couldn’t help but tilt your head at Dustin, curious to what the hell he was doing. “Allright, spill it. What the hell is going on?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Really? How about the fact that you’re sending Aunt Claudia on a wild goose chase? Since when would a cat like Mews be able to wander off far enough to Loch Nora?”

He crossed his arms, sighing heavily as he mirrored your tired expression. “Mews is a curious little feline who probably got out last night. It would make sense she’s down there considering it’s just up the hillside.”

“How am I supposed to believe it’s something as simple as that and not you accidentally letting her out for too long?”

“Beats me, but either way. You better head out there and look for her.”

“Yeah right, I’ve been looking all morning. How about you go help look and I stay back to wait out for phone calls.”

Dustin glanced behind to the phone, shaking his head no quickly. “That’s dumb, I’m already doing that. Why don’t you go check with Jonathan? You said you tried calling yesterday right? Go do something with him.”

You can’t help but feel your face turn into a scowl at your cousin’s dismissal. For a second, you consider sticking around just to annoy the kid. But since it’s finally the weekend and you’re really worried about your friend, you can’t help but go through with the opportunity.

“Fine. But I’m only going because I wanted to check on him anyway!”

“Whatever,” he huffed, going so far as to push you towards the door. Holding it open for you to leave already. You give him a slight shove on the way out, raising your hand up to give him a gesture. The sound of his cracked voice yelled out behind you.

“Do not flip me off, young lady! And call me if you find Mike or Will there!”

By the time you had managed to bike over to the Byers’ house, the whole place had been completely abandoned. The only signs of people still having lived there were the slightly new oil stains on the driveway from one of their cars. You wondered if you missed some sort of memo on whether or not the whole family had some surprise vacation.

Though it seemed like a dumb idea, you still checked over other areas in town for your friend. Going to the record store, the book store, and even making a quick return back to the supply store from last year in case he decided to take on shooting practice.

But nothing seemed to show any signs of the damn boy. The moment you manage to find him, you were really going to give him a piece of your mind.

The winter sun unfortunately began to set faster than you had hoped. And after riding around town all day, you feel exhausted as you continue to try and pedal back home. Maybe Joyce has come back and can give you some sort of idea. If not, then you’d have to suck it up and make a check with the Wheeler household for Nancy.

The cold air whipped around your face as you peddled quickly down the dark road towards your home. The creeping feeling of someone watching you came quickly as you zipped past the streets. You’re practicing the type of pleading you could give to your dad for your car back when you hear the sounds of your name being yelled.

Headlights shined brightly over your face, making it hard to recognize the car that was slowly approaching you. It’s not till the tires of the car rolling over the gravel on the side of the road that the car finally comes to a stop. Giving you a chance to finally see the person that had been calling out to you was Dustin.

He climbs out of the car, leaning against the door as he looks at you curiously. It’s then that you notice just what car he’s come out of.

He pushed the car door open, moving to grip into the side panel of the window as he looked at you curiously. Your eyes flickered over to the driver of the car, shocked to find that he’s with Steve of all people. Dustin doesn’t even get the chance to speak before you’re rushing over towards him with your bike.

“What the hell are you doing with Steve Harrington?” you gaped, trying to avoid looking at the man in the driver’s seat.

But as if waiting for his cue, Steve climbed out of the car door, leaning against the roof of the car as he raised a brow at you. “Could have ran you off the road there, trouble. Why the hell are you biking out so late anyway?”

“She was probably looking for her boyfriend.” Dustin muttered, annoyance clear in his tone. “Complained all last night about how he wouldn’t return her calls and went as far to look for him today. Which, by the way, thanks for getting back to me.”

“Boyfriend?!” said you and Steve at once.

Steve squinted over at you, skeptic of the accusation but also too curious not to press forward. “She’s been trying to call Hargrove?” He asked, looking only at Dustin.

“Hargrove? Who the hell is that? I meant Jonathan.”

“BYERS?” Steve yelled, looking back at you momentarily. “Since when is she dating Jonathan Byers?!”

“I don’t know, probably Christmas?”

“Excuse me.” you tried to intervene.

“Christmas?! What about Billy?”

“I seriously have no idea who that is.”

“The guy that kissed her at school. Her ex.”

“A guy kissed her at school?!”

“Guys..” you sighed, feeling the aggravation take over. But both boys continued to spew out their own guesses at just who your boyfriend was and when it happened. Taking in a deep breath you count to three, attempting to calm down before you finally had enough.

“WILL YOU GUYS SHUT UP!?”

Finally, both boys turned quiet at your sudden explosion. Wiping a hand over your face, you point over at Dustin first to straighten things up. “I am not or will not ever date Jonathan Byers. He is my friend, and nothing else.” Looking over at Steve, you shake your head, almost frustrated to have to yell at him again before continuing. “I am also NOT dating Billy.”

“Yeah?” he scoffed, running a hand through his bouncy hair. “So what was that I saw at school yesterday? First you tell us off in front of everyone at lunch and next thing I see after school is you two about to kiss.”

The slight venom that was laced in his tone reminded you of last year when he confronted Nancy about seeing Jonathan in her room. And just like last time, you can’t help but feel annoyed that he’s past giving the benefit of the doubt.

“Yeah, well, Billy likes to take whatever he wants. Regardless if the other person is willing.” you shrug, not too sure how in depth you wanted to go about how your relationship had been with the guy. “It’s not like it’s any of your business anyway, right?”

Steve stilled in place, a flicker of something glistened in his eyes before he looked down, almost ashamed. Dustin cleared his throat, tugging at the sleeve of your sweater to draw back your attention to him.

“Look, there’s not a lot of time. But you need to get in the car.”

“Why? I can just bike home.”

Shaking his head, he grabbed the handle bars of your bike before calling out for Steve to open his trunk. The other boy moved away from his door to join Dustin in the back of the car. You followed behind them and stared wide as the opened trunk revealed a familiar weapon from the year before.

“Dustin..” you groaned. “What the hell is going on?”

The small boy looked somewhat nervous, picking at his zipper while he looked at Steve for help. But all he did was give a grunt, pushing your bike inside as he muttered out how he had no clue either. Moving to the back door, he held it open for you giving a weary smile.

“Get in, I’ll explain on the way home.”

It’s a good five minutes of Dustin’s brief story of Dart. You’re a little bit mad that you didn’t figure out he was hiding something sooner. But after the past couple of days filled with boy drama and school, you never stood a chance.

“Wait a sec.” Steve said, speaking up first. “How big?”

“First it was like that.” Dustin said, holding his finger and thumb up. “Now he’s like this.” He dramatically opened his hands out now, giving a vastly larger scale.

“I swear to God, man, it’s just some little lizard, okay?”

You poked your head from the back seat, leaning to look over at Steve. “Do you think lizards that size just grow in a day?”

“It’s not a lizard!” Dustin clarified. But Steve shook his head, not quite believing him.

“How do you know?”

“How do I know if it’s not?”

“How do you know it’s not just a lizard?!”

“Because his face opened up and he ate my cat.”

The answer seemed to put Steve in place, making him nod in reply as he kept his eyes on the road. You, on the other hand, leaned back forward again, this time looking over at Dustin with wide eyes. Jaw nearly on the car floor at his reveal.

“THE CAT?!” you cried out. “As in the cat that your Mom and I spent all morning looking for? The very same cat that I was calling out for hours, looking through bushes, and scaling the house for any signs of?! THAT CAT?”

“You spent all morning looking for a cat?” Steve chuckled, earning a glare from you momentarily. Dustin cleared his throat nervously, fingers fiddling again with his zipper as he kept his gaze forward and away from your angry gaze.

“Well, it wasn’t like I wanted Dart to do it on purpose. I just came home last night to find them–”

“YOU’VE KNOWN SINCE LAST NIGHT?!”

“I’d quit talking if I were you, Henderson.” Steve muttered, trying to save Dustin from digging himself further.

“You stay out of this!” you hissed, reaching out to grab Dustin by the collar. ”You little shit! I knew you were hiding something!”

The boy screamed as you tried to climb over the front seat, attempting to swat at his head. If you weren’t stuck with your seatbelt, you would have really done worse to your cousin. But after making the car swerve and Steve yell out in panic, you were forced to sit back until the ride was over.

“Geez, you two make me feel like we’re in a boxing ring.”

“Oh,shut up.” you pouted, climbing out the back door of the car. Dustin was quick to go over towards Steve’s side, using the older boy as a barrier between you two.

Popping the trunk back open, Steve chucked his keys over to Dustin, reaching in to hand you your bike. You carelessly threw against the stairs of the house while he pulled out what Dustin originally needed him for.

“I’m surprised those secret service guys from the lab didn’t take this from you. Might still have demogorgon goo on it.”

“Nah, I hid her away pretty quick. She did me right last time. Figured it might be good to have on me in case I needed it again.”

You reached out to graze your finger against one of the spikes, shaking your head at the memory from that night. “Unfortunately, you do.” Holding your palm out, you lead the way over towards the shed at the back of the house. “You sure this thing is in there?” you asked Dustin, noticing how he was looking at the two of you oddly.

“Uh yeah, he’s all locked up in there.”

Marching down the dirt path, you both allow Steve to take the lead, giving him a flash light even as he stepped up to the doors. Like Dustin said, it was locked up tight with a thick chain. There’s a second where you both seemed to hold your breath as Steve leaned in to listen close.

“I don’t hear shit.”

“He’s in there.”

Stretching his hand out, he used the tip of the bat to tap against the door, making a heavy tapping sound. Nothing. From where you stood you could tell there’s uncertainty on Steve’s face. But that didn’t stop him from dramatically giving a loud bang on the door.

Again nothing responds back.

“All right, listen, kid. I swear, if this is some sort of Halloween prank, you’re dead.”

“It’s not.”

“All right?” he said, shining the light over Dustin’s face. Making the kid close his eyes.

“It’s not a prank. Get it out of my face.”

“I’ll let her go at you,” he warned, looking at you for confirmation. His tone is almost stern like a parent and you have to hold back a smirk as you nod in agreement.

“You got a key for this thing?”

Dustin reached into his back pocket before slipping the key to Steve. Handing you the bat briefly, he unlocked the chains and opened up the heavy doors before he grabbed the bat again. Nothing seemed to be stirring at all down the stairs but you felt a shiver run up your spine from the sight of the darkness.

“He must be further down there.” Dustin guessed, sounding just as creeped out as you felt.. “We’ll stay up here in case he tries to escape.” He gently tugged you to take a step back as Steve stared up at the two of you. Brows knitted together in disbelief before he let out a heavy sigh.

While you felt bad for making Steve head down alone, you really weren’t going to be much help without a weapon and with stairs in the way. Lord knows you wouldn’t be able to run up fast enough.

So instead, you stood by Dustin, gripping tightly to his arm as you waited for Steve to notify what was going on down there. The lack of any sort of commotion was both good and bad. It’s not like this thing suddenly died while waiting. But if there was no noise then that could only mean..

“Steve?” called out Dustin. He looked like he wanted to check down on the guy, but stayed back out of the fear he was trying to hide. “Steve, what’s going on down there?”

A flash of light shined quickly over his face, making the two of you jump back .

“Get down here.”

Climbing down, you wave your hand over your face, coughing at some of the dusty air that was filled inside before taking the last step to join the two.

“Oh shit.” you said with Dustin. Hanging from the end of Steve’s bat was a gooey long piece of molted skin. It only turned worse when Steve pointed over towards the corner of the room. Pieces of the concrete had been dug through, giving the little bastard a chance to escape the bunker.

“No way..no way.” Dustin muttered once the light inside the hole showed a long tunnel. Not only was this thing growing, but now, it had a chance to make his way straight to Hawkins.

The three of you tried for hours to see if you could catch sight of the little beast around the house and neighborhood. After finding nothing but an exit tunnel towards the entrance of the woods, Dustin suggested to return home for now.

Back inside the house, the three of you form up a solid plan on how to find Dart and hopefully lure him away from the main parts of Hawkins. But having spent most of the night on a failing search, that left all of you stuck until morning to move onto the next phase of the plan.

You had just finished searching through the freezer for any kind of raw unseasoned meat when you noticed how late it was getting. Entering back in the living room, you see Steve, who was with his legs crossed in front of the couch with a magazine on his lap. Dustin remained sitting up on the couch. But from the way his head hung forward, you could tell he was asleep.

“I’m gonna need your help.” you sighed, gaining Steve’s attention. His brown eyes followed where yours were looking and noticed the sleeping boy behind him.

“Shit, I thought he was strangely quiet.”

“Yeah, it’s the only time we’ll ever get this kinda silence.” You noted, glancing at your watch. “He must have been tired from getting Dart out of the house.”

Without actually having to ask, Steve placed the magazine down. Grunting as he pulled himself up from the comfortable spot on the floor. He reached over for Dustin’s arms and helped drag the kid from the seat.

A delirious Dustin, momentarily called out for you, only to be shushed by Steve as you both lead him down the hall to his room. You can’t help but notice just how caring and gentle Steve is with him. Even hearing him quietly say a ‘goodnight, buddy’ before following you out the bedroom door.

“I guess it’s getting pretty late.” Steve said, while looking at his wrist. “I could drive home and come back in a couple of hours.” He finished, letting out a big yawn. It’s in the hallway light that you notice just how tired he looked himself. You wonder if his current situation has been keeping him up at night.

“Well, we got a ton of stuff to do tomorrow. Probably need to head to the market early for all the supplies.” You volleyed, watching him nod slowly.

“I guess I can sleep in the car.”

The mere thought of Steve slumped up in the front seat of his car, attempting to sleep in the cold night made your chest ache. You couldn’t even take out the trash on some nights because of how cold you felt.

“Or,” you said, speaking before you could think it over. “You can just spend the night here.”

“Here?” He stuttered a bit, looking around the hall like he’d get in trouble for the notion alone. “I can’t spend the night here..”

“Why not?” Keeping the tone of your voice playful, you turn quickly to cover up your own shocked expression. Waving a hand quickly to urge him to follow you down the hall. Turning to your bedroom, you open the door and motion for him to follow you in. “It’s literally just to sleep for a couple of hours before we start everything.”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly entering through the threshold. “But I’m a guy and I can’t just stay over.”

“You mean to tell me you haven’t spent the night over at a girl’s house?” You smirked over at him, noticing a flush of pink hue spread over his cheeks while he fiddled around with some of the necklaces you had dangling on a jewelry stand. “It’s not like a sleepover, Steve. You’re just sleeping over.”

“God, you’re still trouble.”

Going into your closet, you reach down toward the back for the spare blanket and pillow you had tucked away on your first day. You’re suddenly filled with a little bit of dread when you realize that you don’t exactly have a place for him to sleep on.

“All right, I don’t really have a sleeping bag so unless you want to break your back on the floor, we’re gonna have to share the bed.”

He looked with wide eyes over at your full size bed. Gripping onto the pillow tightly. “The bed? Like you and me? On there?”

Rolling your eyes, you nod your head in reply. Worried that saying it out loud yourself might give away how crazy this was to you too. But not for whatever reason Steve had. You’re pretty sure he didn’t have an almost sex dream about you. “We can use my other pillow as a wall between us. It’ll be like when you took naps in Kindergarten.”

“Yeah, well I could never really nap then anyway.” He muttered, looking at the sheets defeated. “Isn’t this weird though? You hate me.”

“I hated Billy and did worse with him in the sheets.”

His face soured as he slowly shed off his jacket, placing it to hang over your chair before he toed off his shoes. He mumbled something under his breath before approaching the side of your bed. “So I usually like sleeping by the window..”

“Just get in, your highness.”

Climbing under the blanket, he scooted over to the farthest place on the bed, careful not to hog the space. Chucking the extra blanket at him, you push the extra pillow beside him and climb inside. Your heart began to race and you ignored the screaming going on in your head to turn off the light.

It’s like the darkness makes your senses more heightened. Even if you both were still in clothes from the day before (you didn’t want to even go near your nightgown after your dream), everything about him is overwhelming. The weight of his body in the bed, dipping you closer to him, the smell of his lingering cologne, and even the soft sound of his breathing. The top of his wild hair peeked through the pillow wall you struggled to make. At this point, you wondered if you’d get any sleep tonight.

Beside you, Steve sighed softly, seeming to be awake as well before he lifted his head up to look over. It made you cringe slightly at the fact that he caught you looking in his direction.

“I’m sorry about before.” he said softly, the slight light of moonlight peeking through your curtains allowed you to still see his scrunched up expression. “I sort of accused you of doing something with Billy..I should have known it was just him being a dick..”

Turning on your side, you turned to face Steve better, hoping that you didn’t look as taken back as you felt. “It’s alright.” you shrugged. “He kind of makes everyone angry when they talk about him.”

“Which is what’s so confusing.”

“What do you mean?”

Turning on his side, he leaned on his elbow, resting his head on his hand as he peered down at you. “How the hell could a girl like you date that asshole?”

For a moment you’re kind of stumped. Not sure what to answer since it’s been something you’ve thought about ever since leaving California. But the more you tried to make a reason, the more you found that you don’t really have a good answer.

“Because I was an asshole.”

“What?” he asked in a scoff. “You’re not an asshole.”

“No, but if I remember clearly, you did think I was a bitch once.” His mouth fell and he stuttered to try and apologize but you shook your head, stopping him from saying it. “I can admit it. I don’t think I was a good person until the accident.”

Looking down at your hands, you play around with the edge of the blanket to ignore Steve’s eyes as he watched you. Billy’s words from yesterday rang in your mind. “It’s like a disease.”

“I used to be such a bitch..worse than anything you’ve seen so far. And the sad part is I don’t even know why.” You can’t help but laugh at yourself. “It’s not like I needed to be. My parents weren’t negligent or mean. But when I was with Billy, I felt like I was a part of a role. That I was someone special because I was dating the most wanted guy at school. None of my friends even cared about things like that. So why did I?”

Steve’s silence has you reeling back your sudden emotions.

“Mistakes happen and I’m over sharing.” you finished. Going as far to pull the blanket up to cover some of your face. “We should probably go to sleep.”

“I was wrong.” Steve said after a second of silence. “You were never a bitch. If anything, I was the asshole.” His tongue flickered over his lips as he glanced up, trying to form his words. “I think you’re actually the coolest person to ever step foot in Hawkins. And if my big dumb mouth made you think otherwise for even a second I’m sorry.”

There’s an odd feeling filling inside you and you bite on your bottom lip to keep it down.

“I’m not the best with words. I think you out of everyone would know that. But I just want you to know that I’m sorry. For all that shit. And if tomorrow is the only time we hang out again after everything, then I understand.”

The brown of his eyes are darkened by the lack of light, making his stare feel like it baring even more at you. His hand stretched out, cupping the side of your cheek lightly before his thumb brushed under your eye. It's then you realize he’s wiped away a tear. “Those damn allergies, right?”

“Steve..”

He shakes his head, urging you to not finish your sentence. “Goodnight, trouble.”

You can’t find it in yourself to reply back. Despite all the other times Steve has tried to apologize. This was the first that left you unable to respond. No clever remark or even a glare could come over you.

So you turn over again, giving Steve your back as he did the same to you. The room returned to its former silence as you both finished talking.

Tomorrow you’d both go back to fighting monsters. But all you’d be thinking about is the lingering burn you felt on your skin right now. And how much you wish you could feel it again.

a/n: Phew this took a while to get through. sorry for the wait and any mistakes. my friend wasn’t able to proof read it for me! but i hope you guys enjoy this chapter. also shout out to the pretty in pink reference that inspired billy’s scene. next one is gonna have so much drama and angst~~

#steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x female reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #dywmb

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