#in my head its one of those that are usually in clusters

[ryssbelle]

Does the flower from your first n2 post have any significance? Why isn't it blooming?

Yes the flower here does have significance!

It’s a memorial flower, the exact species of flower is one I made up, it’s one that has a strange growth period, there’s no real way to tell when it’s going to bloom but it does only bloom at night.

John Dory got the seeds while on one of his searches and gave it to Floyd since at the time Floyd was severely depressed and was spending all day everyday in his room in the bunker. JD had given Floyd a bunch of seeds for a garden but Floyd ended up only planting one which he’s been taking care of since he planted it.

He planted it on Clays birthday so they refer to it as Clay’s flower, but it’s a memorial for all their lost family members, so their parents, grandma, Clay, and Spruce/Bruce

Other than just maintaining it, Floyd also talks to it like the ones they lost can hear him through the flower, he visits it at least once everyday while the other brothers only visit on anniversaries and birthdays. (They also only bring the lights and photos out then as well, to keep the photos safe from damage)

It’s Floyd’s way of grieving :)

#ryss responds #not the only one au #n2 au #trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #trolls Floyd #I wanted to give them each a different way of grieving their family #JD is obsessively trying to correct his mistake (failing to save clay) by trying to find him and spruce if they’re still out there #branch isolates and builds a bunker to protect himself and what family he has left #and Floyd does gardening #they also refer to the area where the flower is as the garden or Floyd’s garden #even tho there’s only one flower #the area around the flower is also heavily booby trapped #the only people who know how to get to it are the brothers and poppy #this is to stop trolls from accidentally harming it and to stop critters from eating it #its a big flower by troll standards but by others its a small flower #in my head its one of those that are usually in clusters #but this one stands alone #maybe its a metaphor #who knows teehe #but yeah I’ve actually thought about the flower a lot #also the reason poppy knows where to find it and how to get to it is because she helps take care of it when Floyd’s away #she’s also the one who picked the spot #she doesn’t like the traps but any one she took down immediately got replaced so she stopped trying #and just learned the steps to get around them #btw the steps to get around the traps are the old choreo for a brozone song lmao #because I loved that aspect of tbgo where branch sets the paths around traps to songs from his childhood #so he done did it again

[theblueflower05]

The Sweetest Sylaung

A/N: So I def didn’t mean to write a novel long Neteyam smut story but here we are. Debating on making this a mini series. Also the anon that requested a “curvy” reader insert- here ya go!(she’s also an Augustine- buttttt you can only see that if you squint lol)

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: This is smut. Pure smut. Please don’t read if it is not your jam. You are in charge of cultivating your own online experience, you’ve been warned!

Pairing: Aged Up! Neteyam x Human!Curvy!Reader

Summary: After an “accidental” romp in the forest, you do your best to avoid Neteyam. It’s for everyone’s good, or so you’ve convinced yourself.

“I’m begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans. That’s my man”- Willow, Taylor Swift

The kaleidoscope of colors explode under your eyes in endless patterns and shapes as you look over the sample of Pandora flora under the heavy duty microscope. This particular piece of the Moons terra had never been discovered before, only blooming at what you estimated to be every ten or so years, under the right monsoon like conditions

At least that’s what you had discovered so far.

The flower, which sprouted into a berry, and then dissipated into a moss like cluster of microorganisms all within its short life cycle had turned into your passion project. You we’re doing your thesis on it, the last step in getting your Masters.

You’d gone through schooling on a computer screen, guided by the greatest minds on Earth that had relocated to Pandora. Scientists of all fields who you’d grown up around. None of them had been surprised when you’d picked up botany. Xenobotany to be exact.

It was in your blood.

The desk your at shakes violently- disturbing your precision like focus. Breaking you straight out of your zone.

“Ugh” you groan, frustrated, raising your head, eyes narrowing at the culprits.

Spider, Lo’ak and Kiri freeze like deers in the headlights of your fury. Spiders arm raised, a wad of paper balled up in his hand, aimed to shoot. He lowers it slowly as the weight of your your heavy gaze zero’s in.

“Sorry, cu-”

“I told you guys, if you cant behave to get the fuck out” You seethe. Your nerves are paper thin anyway. Too much screen time frying your brain something fierce as you focused in on your studies. “Is that not what I said, verbatim?”

“You need to chill. You’ve been so high strung lately. Come hang out with us” Lo’ak suggests smooth and unhelpful. As usual. “When was the last time you left the lab?”

You roll your eyes and bite your tongue, trying not to say anything to scalding to the surprisingly sensitive Sully brother. “No thanks. I’ve gotta focus”

“Maybe Lo’aks right” Kiri starts, her face screwing up as she speaks “Eywa that sounds wrong. Nevermind, My brother is never right- but you should come hang out with us. Let’s go swimming- the watering hole is over flowing from the storms”

The deep sigh through your nose isn't calming, even though you pretend it is. You know they mean well, in the most annoying way. That you’d been buried in books and paperwork in the lab for the past couple months.

Hiding from the outside world within the thick walls of Hell’s Gate.

“Can’t. This is important, Kir- but why don’t you guys head down there? Its closer to Home Tree and its almost curfew anyway” two birds, one stone. Its a smart suggestion- but Kiri’s face falls, shoulders sagging and ears lowing. That look had always gotten you-

“I cant today, but maybe tomorrow? The samples are too fresh and I don't want to put them on ice…But I think Max made those Yovo cookie things” That’s only half of the truth, but luckily Kiri’s always been understanding.

She grabs your elbow in her long fingers and tugs you along.

The mess hall had seen better days, but the large open space still tends to be the meeting ground for the humans that were allowed to stay and inhabit the moon. With twelve foot tall ceilings and airtight exits and windows that lead out to the Avatar Program training yards. Its a common room of sorts, a place where everyone gathers. For meals, for mismatched Holidays. But mostly for gossip.

I mean, what else is there to do?

Like currently, you’re deeply engrossed in the story that Doctor Martinez’s, Xeno-Zoologist is recounting. All dramatics and dirty intimate details “It’s true, they’re gonna bring it before Mo’at and everything”

He’s talking about Trevino and Eital’i.

Everyone had heard the whispers, seen the not so subtle signs. The main Radio Tower operator had turned during the resistance, had fought beside Jake and had been allowed to stay on Pandora- better stuck on a foreign planet then thrown in a familiar jail cell. Trevino’s a cool guy, really.

A cool guy who had been sleeping with a Na’vi woman, apparently. The two had kept it under wraps, really private. No one could pin down how or when it happened,,,but to go to the clan’s Tsahik seeking a mating blessing? That’s major.

“You’re lying” you accuse in a gasp as the table breaks into whispers, all wide eyes and shaking heads. “They’re going to mate?...How?”

“It’s not like it hasn't happened before” Another scientist chimes in casually. Like it’s a known thing.

Which it kind of is.

Taboo, yes. But not unheard of, more like untalked about.

Humans and the Na’vi of the forest had lived in close quarters since the overthrow of the RDA. Jake, the standing Olo’eyktan, just had a little too much homosapien in him. Yeah, he’d survived the soul transfer and fully inhabited his blue body- but he never quite grew out of his human roots.

It had been hard, lots of politicking and good grace shown on both parts, but somehow, like all biomes in the vast perma green forest, all had learned to live in harmony. Most Omitikaya kept their distance. Very hesitant about the human presence. They had every right to be scared, hostile. Scarred by man and its weapons and its destruction.

Others had been raised in close proximity to Grace’s school. Had become accustomed to the nearly two decade long human presence on Pandora. Curious and accepting.

You’d heard about interspecies hookups.

Locker room talks that left your ears burning and your heart racing. It usually came from members of the Avatar Program- It tends to set a precedent, when the quote on quote “royal family” of the Omiticaya is a Jarhead and a native woman.

Na’vi are gorgeous, tall and lean but humanoid enough to be familiar…you’re not exactly sure what they see in humans but you know damn well what you guys see in them.

“How do you think that works? The…physicality of it all I mean. Trevino doesn't have an Avatar. How do they fuck-”

You’re not the only one zoning out from the conversation and it’s lewd turn.

You watch Kiri watch Spider and your heart aches for her. What they have is secret, delicate and forbidden. As a woman with high standing in the clan, you knew that her feelings for the boy wouldn't go anywhere. Couldn't.

When they we’re kids, it was cute. Now that they 're both technically adults, it was just plain stupid.

You tell her of the fact, often.

Kiri tells you to stop projecting.

———

The Sully Kid’s are always late. It’s like no matter how hard they try, they cant make curfew. You throw on an Exopack, hurrying them to the fence.

“Yeah, yeah okay mom. Take it easy” Lo’ak shrugs huffily as you yank hard on his arm. “I’m going, Y/N!”

“Not fast enough you strumbeast’s ass! You’re gonna get me into trouble, who do you think your dad’s gonna blame when you guys end up back at Home Tree super late again? Norm chewed me out for that shit last time!” You man handle the much taller than you alien.

Kiri and Spider a few leagues in front of you, already at the mouth of the giant fence. They’re awkward, not in their usual synched steps. You wonder how much of that conversation earlier had gone to their heads?

You’re bickering with Lo’ak, an extremely normal occurrence. He can be a real douche. and had been kind of insufferable lately. You think its nerves about his impending Iknamaya.

So engrossed with getting them on their way home that you don't even notice him until it’s too late.

Neteyam is a skilled hunter, through and through. The youngest in the clan to ever make a kill. Swift and quiet. Beloved.

But around you he feels out of his element. Clunky and awkward, no matter how hard he tries to play it off its like you can see right through him. Its scary and thrilling, sets his stomach alive with butterflies everytime. This is no different.

Showing up to Hell’s Gate to retrieve his siblings was something he had done since he was a child.

He’d used to bleed hours away playing with them at the scientists fortress, but as he had gotten older and his responsibilities had grown heavier- he had little time for it. Still, when ever his parents would send him out on a one man search party to bring them home, he’d jump at the chance.

At the hope of seeing you.

You’re arguing with his little brother, trying not to laugh at something he said and Neteyam knows. He knows he shouldn't feel jealous but he just cant help it. Cant help the acidic twist of his insides.

Especially when he chirps out his family's familiar call, letting his presence be known.

And watches that pretty smile fall right off of your face.

“You’re late, as usual” His voice has a stern edge. It’s annoying, the role he has to play. Kiri is a woman grown, Lo’ak just weeks away from being the same. He doesnt blame them for the way their feathers bristle, almost viscerally.

“Ah, big brother you didn't have to come all this way to get us” Kiri reassures, patting Neteyam on the chest good naturedly. “We we’re just about to be on our way”

Neteyam notices the way you try to look anywhere else but him. It stings because he cant stop looking at you, cant pry his eyes away from your form.

“You all should start heading back before dad notices” Neteyam starts. His father had been busy as of late, harvest season abundant and fruitful this year because of the heavy rain season “I’ll catch up, I need to speak with Norm”

“What? Dad cant use the coms now, he has to send his messenger” Lo’ak’s nose scrunches a little, always questioning. On a normal day it wouldn't affect Neteyam so much, just a normal jab from his snot nosed little brother.

Not today. Not when he’s stretched so thin. Not when you refuse to look at him but are staring at the side of Lo’ak fat head. It feels wrong, makes his skin heat up to the point that it feels itchy and tight.

“That's none of your concern. Head back to Home Tree. Now” He doesn't normally throw his weight around. But he feels the need to puff up big in front of you “Those are orders. Get out of here”

Lo’ak’s less offended and more surprised. One of his oh so human eyebrows cocks, a sly remark in his throat before he scoffs. “Aye, Aye Captain Kiss Ass. C’mon Kiri let's go. See you later Spider, Y/N”

He deuces up Spider, gives Y/N a pat on her small shoulder and glares harshly at his brother before he disappears into the thick brush of the jungle.

Kiri wraps her arms around you in a strong hug, muttering about ‘swimming’ and ‘promises’. The small impish smile she shoots Spider gives YOU butterflies so you don't blame the way he swoons, before she’s off behind her younger brother.

“I can go find Norm for you, bro. I think he’s still out in his Avv, but Max can radio him back in” Spider is none the wiser. Doesn't notice the heavy tension that simmers on a low bubble. Oblivious, as usual.

“Yeah, sure” Neteyam replies, barely sparing the human boy a glance. He’d feel bad for it later, when he could form coherent thought. When his brain wasn't on Y/N issued override.

Spider chatters, good natured. He never got to see the Olo’eyktan in training anymore. He missed his homie.

“Well, I should be heading back. You guys have a good rest of your night-” You’re already turning on your heels when you make the announcement, eager to get back inside. Back behind the safe walls of the lab- far away from Neteyam.

“No”

Neteyam who stares at you with all too knowing eyes. He looks straight through you like he can see through your clothes, through your thinly veiled escapism attempts. He reaches out, wraps his long fingers around the top of your arm and tugs you back to him. Gentle, but very firm.

He doesn't have to say it- it’s written all over his face. Not this time. He’s not going to let you run away from him.

“Netey-” You start in a whine, tugging on his hold. He doesnt relent, if anything his fingers tighten as his eyes narrow. Dangerous, desperate.

“Just talk to me” it’s a barely concealed plea, his tail twitches anxiously behind him “I'm just asking for five minutes. Please Y/N”

Spiders oblivious, yes. Stupid? No. He doesnt know exactly what's going on between the two of you but has clued into the fact that it’s heavy and he wants no part of it.

The excuse he makes is shit- he’ll just go find Norm. Yeah… he’s so out of there.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss as you watch Spiders awkward, quick retreating form. Eyes flickering over the empty for now training yards “So much for keeping it lowkey, huh? Could you be anymore obvious?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Neteyam is almost shaking with disbelief “What the fuck is wrong with you? You havent talked to me in over a month. Everytime I make any kind of attempt you bolt. I dont-” He sighs, pinching the wide bridge of his nose with the hand that isnt holding onto you.

He looks tortured. Tired. Run a little ragged.

Beautiful.

“I don't know what I did? If this is about that day in the forest-”

You sigh at his words, once again pulling on his hold. Shaking your head desperately because you can't.

You can't talk about it. Fuck, you’ve been trying not to even think about it.

And failing as you replay the event over and over again the darkness of your bunk. Hyper fixating on the way that his lips had felt against yours. Oh the way that his big hands had worked your body over

“Don’t” you whisper “Please don’t”

You’d never been one to beg for pity, for mercy but that’s what you do now. Beg him to let you out of his tight clutches. Metaphorically and physically.

“You’re all I can think about” It's a gutted admittance, but Neteyam makes it all the same “That night- I can’t sleep. I can barely eat- I’m falling behind on my duties because I keep coming back here. Standing outside this fence and waiting for you. I know you could hear me over the coms, right?”

And you could, a few weeks or so ago.

When he’d begged you to come out. To come speak to him. His voice so appealing that you’d almost caved. You’d had to turn off your receiver. Had sat with your head in your hands for hours as you fought the urge to crawl to him, knees raw and your bloody heart on a platter only he could divulge in.

He shuffles closer, all lean strong muscle. Firm, unmovable. “You heard me”

“Of course I did”

“And you still left me out here” He scoffs, head shaking slightly as his adams apple bobs, his ears are pinned to the sides of his head in obvious distress “I could never do that shit to you.”

“One of us needs to be the adult in this situation” Your voice is as strong as you can make it. Trying to speak reason on to both of you “We can pretend it never happened and go back to the way that things were before. You’re my friend, Tey”

You reach up, stroking at his wrist. Trying to soften him enough for him to let this go. Let you go.

He’s trying to control his breathing, all that training for all of those years for what? One fragile human girl to make him completely unspool? To lose any and all composure he’d worked so hard to gain.

He was always the adult, in all situations. Had been born with a neck cramping crown on his head. Shrouded in pressurized glory.

“If this is me being childish, so be it. Where has pretending gotten you, huh? Look at you, yawntutsyìp. you look so tired. When was the last time you slept? Kiri says you spend days in the lab without resting”

His hands, both of them, come up to cup your face. Huge and calloused. Yet he holds you like you're something precious. A small animal, a rare gem. His whole entire world since he was just a boy.

Neteyam thumbs at the cool glass of your mask, tenderly. The bags under your eyes are sunken and bruised. “Don’t shut me out”

Your body, in its entirety, clenches at his words. Velvet and sincere. He’s a fucking dream. Your head leans into his hands, neck sagging of its own accord as any and all words of protest leave your weak mind.

He makes you so easy.

“Let me in…I dont want there to be this distance between us anymore” He hisses around the word distance. Hating even having to say it “I want to be inside of you again”

Your plump lower lip gets skewered between your teeth, eyes screwed shut as you remember the last time. Your first ever time being full…you’d dreamt of it every night since it had happened.

If it wasn't for the blasted mask and your need for Earth’s oxygen he’d kiss you. Right here right now. He didn't really give a shit who saw or what they had to say.

Instead pulls you into his chest, lets you wind your arms around his lean middle and bury your chest in his diaphragm. Its as close as he can get you, for now. Makes you cling to him the way that he’d clung to every thought of you for the last weeks.

You wish it was lungfuls of his skin that you were taking as you try to bring yourself down from this abrupt shaky high. You dont get it, how your relationship couldve flipped this hard in such a short time.

He had always just been Neteyam. A shameless flirt yes- but that’s all it was.

“Would you like that?” He questions, hands working through your hair. Fingers light and soothing on your scalp. Massaging the thoughts right out of your head.

“Hmm?”

“If I was inside you again?” He presses on. You can feel the tickle of his long, thin, tail as it wraps around the back of your calf and you groan, digging your nails into his back.

“You’re such an asshole. Stoppppp it” You’re embarrassed and turned on and already feel stupid enough, he doesn't need to rub it in. His chest shakes as he chuckles.

“I’m serious. Tell me you want it-”

“Neteyam! Hey!”

The two of you break apart in an instant. You jump away from him as though struck by lightning. Instantly putting enough distance between you and the Na’vi that maybe, just maybe an onlooker might think that the embrace was friendly.

It’s Norm, having heard that the eldest Sully was looking for him he’d come eagerly.

The smile you plaster on is forced and honestly, Neteyam doesnt fair any better. He’s obviously flustered, just glad that his erection isn't tenting his tweng.

“Spider told me you and your dad are looking for me. I’m not intruding on uh anything, am I?” Norm looks between the two of you.

Your arms are folded tightly over your chest and Neteyam is rubbing at the back of his neck, strong jaw flexing as his teeth grind.

Oh yeah, Norm had definitely interrupted something.

Knows for sure as you scurry away. As Neteyam, always so level headed, has to string together words. Stumbling a little bit as he tries to remember the message that Jake had relayed.

It’s not any of his business, he thinks at the time. He sure didnt want to be the one to shine the light on whatever the hell was going on here. Turning a blind eye to the mysteries of Pandora is the only way to survive the harshest terrain known to man.

———

You dont know that though-

No, you’re spiraling more a little bit as you prepare yourself for bed. Brushing through your thick hair and staring out into space as your mind assaults you with all of the gnarly ‘What If’s’

Norm had seen and he had to know right? Oh god, what if he told Jake?

You balk. Lowering the brush as your eyes bulge out of your head.

What if he told Neytiri?

That's actually a super horrific thought. Like nightmarish. You have a lot of respect for the future Tsahik...

…And a very healthy does of fear. She didnt like humans and made it known. She tolerated them only for her husband's benefit. What if she found out that her eldest son, her golden boy, had fucked one?

You’re freak out is interrupted by static, by the beeping of your com receiver on your night stand.

“Y/N?” its Neteyams muffled voice through the device. You’d ignored it once. You should ignore it again…

“Yeah?” you wonder if he picks up on how shaky you sound through the receiver.

“Tomorrow night meet me at the East Gate. Like when we we’re kids” he’s not really asking. Not demanding either. You could ignore him again, but he has to try.

The line goes silent, quiet for minutes on end.

“Y/N?”

You’re so stupid. “What time?”

You can hear the grin he’s sporting as he replies “0100”

“Got it, over. Good night, Neteyam. Go to sleep”

———

The East Bay is on the other side of the large fortress-like building. It's not that it's forbidden, or anything. but it is deserted. It’s where the military personnel had inhabited, and since most if not all of them had gotten the hard boot off Pandora it was empty as a ghost town in these maze like halls.

When you we’re younger; you’d caught Spider sneaking Kiri and Lo’ak in through the rarely used entrance. You’d demanded the know how, if he didnt want you to rat on him for it. It was a rare occurrence, but the Sully children had all been snuck into Hell’s Gate this way over the years.

You type in the codes, disabling the alarm system in order to usher Neteyam into the pressurized, air lock. You’d toted one of the Avatar Exopacks along for him, they’re heavier then hell but he’d need it.

“Hi” you smile, suddenly shy as the tall Na’vi man stands before you.

That's what he was now. A man, not only in the eyes of his people but as a whole. Broad and muscular, strong. Verile. The next leader of his people. You know that he’s highly desired in his clan. Women fawn over him. Vie for his attention.

It doesnt feel real that he wants to give it to you.

You’re nothing special. Not tall and stunning like the Omaticaya women. Even by Earth’s standards you're short, curvy. Not particularly pretty. Insecurity gnaws at you, as it so often does.

“C’mere” Neteyam urges, boldly yanking you by your waist. Pulling you flush against his body. Grabby and insistent, he wants to feel your bare skin. All plush and soft, hes been dying to taste it since the last time.

Kicking himself over and over for not savoring every bit of your body that you gave to him. He won't make the same mistake again.

He’s not gonna lie, the concrete and metal of the walls inside of Hell’s Gate have always made him a little claustrophobic. But he can't do this outside-

His lips capture yours, demanding and needy from the jump. Big, over powering, he swallows your little chirp of surprise. Devours any and all breath from your lungs. Its messy and so good. You hadn't gotten to kiss him last time.

His mouth tastes amazing, his tongue rough in texture just like you remembered. It grates your lips as you suck on it-

“Hey, slow down a little bit” You giggle as Neteyam paws at your ass, lifting you off the ground until you squirm hard, making him release you “Not here, we can't do this here there’s cameras everywhere”

“I don't care” Neteyam pecks all over your face, trying to recapture your mouth as you avoid him “Let them watch, most of those pervs would like it”

And they would know that you’re his. The thought is beyond heady.

You gasp as his sharp canines ghost over the delicate skin of your neck, nibbling on your pulse point “Please- Neteyam”

You firmly push him away, hand on his chest and maybe if you hadn't cut him off cold turkey he would've given you space. Could've pulled away for a moment to let you say your piece. Instead the idea of letting you pull away even an inch is unbearable to him.

No. instead he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He hauls loads heavier then you every day, your protests mean little to him. With his free hand he scoops up the Avv Exo Tank,

“Where to, yawntutsyìp?”

Where too is an old conference room. Its as good as any, and Neteyam yanks a couple cushions off the old couch to act as a brace for your head as he lowers you to the floor, flat on your back.

You’re so pretty like this, he tells you of the fact.

With your hair a mess behind you, your face free of that damned mask. Grinning up at him as you rub your thighs together. He wishes he had that camera that his dad liked to take pictures on. He wants this moment of you framed, immortalized.

“I hate sky people clothes” He mutters as he tugs on the hem of your t-shirt. It hides you, hides all that skin he craves.

“You want me to take it off?” You offer eagerly, raising up enough to start peeling the piece of clothing off. You’re bare underneath, completely. Your breasts jiggle as they’re freed, nipples peaked in the cool air-conditioned air.

“Don’t ever put it on again” He demands, taking it from your hands and tossing it across the room. He’s dead serious, but by the way you're giggling you obviously think its a joke.

He can’t help it, he dives in face first. Rubbing against your soft breasts, obsessed with the way they feel. Heavy, pillowy. He drags his tongue across all of your bare skin. From your clavicle to your nipple. You always smell so pretty, but its got nothing on the way you taste. It explodes bright and savory on his tastebuds.

You let him explore, until your spit soaked and shaking. Your panties sticky as your hips search for any kind of friction. “I need you”

“You have me, my love. All of me” your eyes water at his words. At the sincerity. At how much you want them to be true.

You grab one of his hands and drag it down your chest. Past your soft, rounded belly and into your shorts. He grunts as you guide him to where you’re wet and pulsing. Rythmetically clenching around nothing.

He circles your clit, feather light. More of a tease then anything and you want to sob. You’d thought of nothing but this, touched yourself imagining him. “Tey-”

He smiles around a mouthful of nipple,tugging on with his teeth. “I missed you so much”

“Then be nice to me” you plead, trying to shove yourself down on his fingers.

“We’re being nice now? Were you nice to me when you ignored me?” he can't help it, hurt bleeds into his voice. It had been so fucking painful, knowing that you hadnt wanted to see him. To be with him.

“I’m sorry” you whine, grabbing his face, pulling it from your bosom. “I’m so sorry. I was so scared- I’m still scared but I need you”

He lets you cup his cheeks, lets you plant kisses all over him. The bridge of his nose, his eyelids, his cheekbones. You dote on him, gentle and caring and he gorges himself on your love.

“You cant ever do that again, okay?” He shivers as you kiss his ear, running your tongue along the hyper sensitive flesh “If you’re scared you come to me, not run from me. Do you understand?”

You nod, eager. “I promise, Neteyam”

It’s all he needs to hear, that you’re his. That you won't deprive him of your presence ever again. He doesn't know what he’ll do. He’s a little scared of the man he becomes when it comes to you, you’re not the only one frightened by the gravity of your feelings.

“You asked if I wanted you inside me again? Yes. So much. I never knew I could be that full” it’s like you know just what to say. You light him up from the inside. His fingers begin circling your sopping clit again, this time with intent.

It’s blurry, the fact that your lightheaded making it hard to think. To track what he’s doing to you because somehow Neteyam seems to be everywhere at once. His big body all encompassing as he takes you.

“No-no marks, baby” You try to remind him and his blazing eyes zero in on you in a glare “you know we cant…not where they can see”

You’re right, and he hates it. He’ll just have to mark you where only you can see. Where you can look at your self and be reminded that you belong to someone. That you belong to him.

He doesn't have the patience, cant stop his hands from shaking- the tear of your shorts and panties echos around the room as he removes any barriers between him and the heat at the apex of your thighs.

You cant help the thrill it sends down your spine. He’d…ripped your panties off. You thought shit like this only existed in bad Earth made Porn that you’d found on one of the labs computers.

“Sorry, sorry” his apology is far from sincere though and you can't help but giggle, patting his braids fondly.

The fingerfucking is rough, your wines and moans spilling from you as he hits spots inside of you that make you want to curl up. It’s too good. Too much-

You screech, back bowing as he bends to kiss you, loud and sloppy, right on your wet clit. His big head burrows between your thigs as he delves on your cunt, his long rough textured tongue lapping at the fat puffy lips. The texture difference has both of you groaning.

It’s heartbreakingly good, the kind of good that you’ll never be able to forget. That you’ll crave and need for the rest of your life. Addictive, as he dedicates himself to making you feel pleasure.

Neteyam eats pussy the same way he does everything else in his life, exceeding any expectations. His instincts sharp as he hones in on how to make you lose your mind.

He keeps telling you how good you taste, breaking away for heaving breaths before he reburries himself. The only sounds in the room are the beyond wet sloshing of his tongue lashing and the pathetic noises your making.

He’s eating you alive, you don’t know how you’re supposed to survive this.

His fingers, two and then three fuck in and out of you. Corkscrewing as he loosens your tightness up for him.

“O-ooh” you whine high and reedy as you feel your tummy tightening, the pressure building in a way that makes you feel like you cant breathe. You cant your hips, shoving them down at that perfect angle “Oh, sh-shhhhit. I’m gonna, I’m-”

He doubles down and you’re a goner.

The orgasm is devastating. Sofuckinggood you think you might see stars for a minute there. You can't even scream, you keep letting out these little cries that are more like wheezes. A desprate attempt to get some kind of air back in your lungs-

Which reminds you.

Even though you’re in a daze you wiggle away from him, he hisses at you about it but you swat the top of his head as you reach for the Exo Pack.

You shove the mask in his face, between your legs.

”Breathe, Neteyam” you demand him to gulp down the Pandoran air. Yeah, he could go longer in your environment than you in his but still. Death by giving head isn’t the way you’d like him to go out.

He takes long breaths and you try not to be embarrassed by how soaked his chin is.

When he pulls away his eyes are a little more focused “Thank you, sweet girl. Always thinking about me, huh?”

You nod, dropping the mask. Closer this time for easier access. His eyes quickly zero back in on your swollen pussy, on how wet he got you. On how pretty it looks. His mouth is watering all over again-

When you try to close your thighs, the burning of your cheeks getting to be too much he hisses again. It’s not a sound he often makes and it’s a revelation, he’s so sexy. Almost feral.

“Who said I’m done?”

You’re never going to be able to get over this man “I already came?...”

“Yes? So?” he rolls his eyes, lowering his head, nuzzling at the damp juncture of your inner thigh “You’re still so tight, here feel”

His fingers slip back in you and you mewl, baring down as he scissors the long digits.

“We have to get you loose enough to take me, I don’t want to hurt you” He explains it like you need convincing. Like he has to convince you to let him eat you out. You just re-spread your thighs, relaxing back onto the cool floor as you let him do as he pleases.

It takes two more orgasms that you scream and shake through until he deems that you’re ready. By the time that he begins to slide his cock into you you’re a blubbering, oversensitive mess. You’re crying rivers of tears as you cling to him.

“Hold my hand? Please ” You request and he smiles, kissing your tear streaked cheek as he interlaces his longer fingers with yours.

Humans and Na’vi can fuck, but we’rnt designed to. His dick is overwhelimgly big and will really injure you if the two of you aren't careful about this.

You both gasp sharply as his tip breaches you.

It hurts, it’s agonizing. It’s the kind of pleasure pain that you didnt even know could exist. Everytime you think you can adjust, he pushes in another inch. But oh, how you missed it. Being so full it feels like you’re going to burst. You’re pussy flutters as it fights to take him and you focus in on his face.

It’s all scrunched up in heavy concentration. His lips speared between his sharp teeth in a way that has them almost bleeding.

You can't have that. You tug him into a kiss, soothing the abused flesh with your tongue.

“I-I dont want to hurt you” He whimpers as his forehead rests against yours.

“It’s okay, you’re okay” You hum to him, grasping at his hand even tighter “I love what you do to me. I love how you feel”

When he bottoms out you think he must be in your ribs. Hes still, letting your body get used to him. Trying to be kind. You want to tell him that there’s no getting used to his size. That he could fuck you every day for the rest of your lives and he would still feel just as massive.

“Please” you wail instead “please”

The first gentle snap of his pelvis has you both reeling. Your thighs lock around his thin hips, urging him. You can take it. It only takes a little urging for him to lose himself. The harsh stretch of it has you shaking as your over sensitive pussy tightens. You’re coming again, less intense the the previous orgasms, thankfully.

Neteyam had been so focused on making you feel good that he’d neglected his hard, weeping cock. His balls are so full that he knows he’s not going to be able to draw this out.

You know you have to look stupid, mouth hanging open as you raggedly gasp for breath, letting out punched out sounds as Neteyam pounds into you. You cant look away from his face though.

It’s mesmerizing, all of it. The sounds he lets out. The way that his braids sway with the rhythm of his pleasure seeking body. His broad shoulders, bulging biceps and forearms- you are so fucked.

You’re so in love.

“Please Y/N” He wheezes as you squeeze around him, letting go of your hand so he can wrap both of his arms around your lower back “I can’t hold it. W-where should I?”

Oh. Oh, he’s the sweetest man. He always has been.

You peck his lips, not minding that he’s too lost in his own pleasure to really kiss you back

“Come inside me. Come inside me. Come inside me” it’s a heated chant, broken and breathy by the erratic rhythm of his hips and he buries his head in your neck, wailing in the skin there.

Just for a moment, lost in the haze of sex, you can tell he forgets his own strength. Thrusts into you so hard that you scream out in pain, the mushroom tip of his long cock batters your cervix relentlessly. Its a sharp, startling sensation that you’ve never known but you ride it out for him. Desperately trying to keep your whimpers of discomfort at bay.

When he comes, his whole body goes still and ram rod straight. He hugs you tightly to him. You wish you could see his face. Next time, hopefully.

He’s Neteyam, the mighty warrior. The dutiful son. The next clan leader but as he shakes and twitches and basks in the afterglow you can't help but want to baby him. But stroke his back softly, rubbing the residual tension out of his tired muscles.

He’s your big ol’ pussy cat, you’d always teased. He purrs like one every time you’re affectionate with him.

You can’t help but run your hands along his sensitive spine. Let the length of his tail run through the loop of your fingers. He grins and flicks it from side to side. He’d always thought your fascination with it was amusing.

“Are you okay?” he mutters, still hidden in your hair as he starts to come back to himself and you hum, moving up to pat his braids.

“Mmhmm” you’re maybe not as capable of making words as you though you were. He chuckles and hugs you. Holds you in his big arms in a way that makes you feel untouchable.

The two of you lie in that room for as long as you can, until he has to start heading back to Home Tree, it’s almost morning and his parents are early risers. They’ll look for him if hes not in his tent…

It's hard. Letting him go. Even though you know he’ll be back. You keep pulling him back in for kisses, holding onto his muscular arms until he laughs and peels you off of him.

“I’ll be back my love. I’ll always return for you”

You frown but agree, pushing him away to get re-dressed- “How am I supposed to go back like this! Neteyam I don't have any pants!”

He’d shredded your shorts and panties. Literal tatters of cloth are all that’s left.

Neteyam cracks up, almost keeling over. Thinking he’s oh so funny. It lightens the situation and makes letting him go- watching him disappear back in the forest a little easier.

You end up having to pull your fortunately oversized t-shirt down as far as it can go as you make a mad dash across the facility, back to your dorm. You fall asleep grinning, thinking about how the panties had been a necessary sacrifice.

———

Norms on late night watch, keeping a bored, admittedly not sharp enough eye on the security camera’s feeds. With the rainy season, came an influx of Slinths’. It made sense to have a lookout, and somehow he’d gotten saddled with an overnight shift.

He’d definitely fallen asleep for a few hours. Not that he’d tell anyone of that fact.

There is nothing that could prepare him for what he see’s on the screen, over in the desolate East Bay. First, he thinks that he’s hallucinating, his sleep bogged eyes playing tricks on him.

He rubs them hard with his knuckles, not believing the image that is large and clear on the security footage.

It’s Neteyam. Inside the facility which almost never happened. And he’s bending down, his lips locked with Y/N’s . Kissing her hard and long before she punch’s in the code, and opens the air locked door to let him back out into the shadowy eclipse.

Norm’s learned a lot living on this strange moon- Pandora was mysterious. Full of things his brilliant mind would never understand. So he does what he does’ most of the time.

Minds his own business.

So I’ve had this idea cooking for months, but didn’t have the bandwidth to get it written down. The ideas wouldn’t translate to page and I still kind of feel like they didn’t butttttt whatever. This is pure self indulgence. I am so much more in love with Neteyam now. He is SUCH a good guy. Ugh.

Also, please remember that my requests are OPEN! Send in all that good shit. Come blue alien brain rot with me!

#neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #avatar neteyam #aged up neteyam #neteyam x you #avatar smut

[facelesswoman666]

Hello everyone i have something for you guys, for my Game of Thrones fans ✨

A lion thinks with his loins, not his head!

An (Uncle) Jaime Lannister x (fem/Niece) Lannister Reader

I wanted to write this as a thank you to everyone who has supported me recently and my last post, please keep supporting.

This is 18+ as per usual, and it’s not heavy on plot but it’s not extremely light on plot, who am i kidding it’s pure smut, enjoy! xo

warning, public sexual activity

Minors DNI, otherwise enjoy.

Court became increasingly dull, and minutes refused to tick by as if a broken clock had been strung upon the throne room walls. Pale red stone walls built strong, to protect its regal inhabitants.

I found i never adopted the proper acquiescence it takes to become a lady of the court. I fiddled, to no end, so much so that my mother corrected me endlessly. Although Cersei Lannister wasn’t typically everyone’s mother, in fact being birthed into the Lannister bloodline seemed rarer these days than it had been.

“Princess, have you drifted away?” a soft, rugged voice queried to me on my balcony.

“No uncle.” My simper was delighted at the intrusion of Jaime, his hair sand blonde and shone like gold under the blaring sun. He truly was the human embodiment of a lion, brave as he was strong.

The heat of childish embarrassment creeped up my thighs. I was handed a single lantana flower, peppered with smaller clusters of petals layered upon each other. “Red and gold” he stated “to match the colours of your pretty dress my dear”

His hand lingered atop mine, it was as if letting go would be a tragedy of unforgivable nature. He stroked a thumb over my delicate skin, dared himself to kiss it, up my arms, to my décolletage.

That manor of behaviour was unbecoming of a maiden.

“You’re hand, is so soft my princess” he spoke aloud, it roused a giggle from me.

“Do you go about stroking the hands of many princesses?” i raised an eyebrow in curiosity, searching his features for an answer.

He mouthed, in exaggeration. Only You, my love.

I could not, it was forbidden to crack myself open in sexual submission for the man i had come to adore, love even. I was taught, that to lose your maidenhood before marriage was a vile and disgusting example of anti-religious misconduct on behalf of both persons.

He gazed into my eyes, those gorgeous emerald eyes, he acted as a man starved. Who was i to deny him? I was a lady, a respectable lady. His hand rested now on my waist and slipped higher and higher in the seconds that went by “Jaime” He hushed me and brought a single finger to my agape mouth.

He placed a single, sweet, stolen kiss on my desperate lips. The kisses we stole in privacy were the most precious kisses i had ever experienced. The ones i held close when i had no company. My solitude was the time when i acted on those encounters, fingers that played between my thighs.

Now, his fingers played between my thighs, above the cover of my dress. It’s thin, silken fabric easily removed, open access. A peach torn open, the juice licked from between its flesh. “shhh, my love, let us have this moment” His voice rendered as but a whisper to my ear. I could feel his low grunt against my neck, as it raised my hairs to stand upright.

His fist entwined with my hair and he tugged harshly, my neck strained to meet his eye from behind, lustful, pupils flaring in passionate flame. He gripped my pelvic bone from the front, forefinger and thumb bruised either side of me. I whimpered and he pressed stiffly into my ass, hardened at the feeling of softness and moist warmth.

He rocked me forward into the wall of the balcony, i winced at each forced impact. The pleasure arose in me from our prohibited intimacy. I wanted him to fuck me. I would beg him to take me. Ravish me, anywhere. I burned for him. And he for me. Kisses, sloppy open mouthed kisses upwards towards my jaw. His fingers splayed across my jaw, tightened around it, his grip vice like.

“You are so fucking beautiful” His palm groped the peak of my breasts, massaging my nipples in rigorous movement. The bodice of my gown prised from my torso, the most compromising of positions for a lady of my rank in nobility. Jaime’s moans became lewd, dirty in their nature, poking himself further into the back of me.

I had to turn, to look him in the face, to place my hand gently upon his unblemished cheek and ask him to stop “Jaime, my love” he interrupted my speech with a peck of his lips “Please, i beg we may continue somewhere more private?” He hands rubbing feverishly up my waist, over my breasts repeatedly. i steadied his arms and kissed him deeply, i took his hand in mine.

A look of wonder shone in his eyes as i lead him deeper into my sleeping chambers “Let us continue, unburdened by outside scrutiny”

#game of thrones smut #jaime lannister x reader #smut #got fic #game of thrones fic #fanfic #jaime lannister #got imagine

[givemea-dam-break]

Hello! I have read some of your fics and you are an amazing writer, I love your works, and since I saw you have request open for my current hyperfixation, I wanted to ask for some jealous Anthony Lockwood , thank you :)

a/n: yesssssss thank you i would absolutely love to write this! I'm so, so glad you like my writing! thank you for all your support <3

warnings: mild language gn reader

"Who are those flowers for?"

You look up from your book, curled up on the sofa in the living room, watching as Lockwood strides in. Something in your chest leaps at the sight of him, longing to watch his usual routine of pacing, then sitting and reading a magazine, but you fix your gaze back on the book in your lap. You've just started a particularly interesting chapter.

"Me."

There's a pause and a glimmer of tension in the air. "From who?"

"Ned Shaw."

Lockwood scoffs, and when you look up again, he's sitting, glaring at the cluster of roses stuffed in some random vase you found in one of the cupboards. They're a bright, blinding red on the window, bathed in golden sunlight.

"Why?"

You suppress a smile. "You're just full of questions today, aren't you? Well, judging from the little note that came with them, he wants me to go to the Fittes at Fifty ball with him tonight and thought the roses would be a symbol of his good intentions."

Lockwood scowls. "Ned Shaw? Of all people, Ned Shaw?"

"We've talked a few times," you say with a shrug. "Not always willingly. I've bitten his head off already for how he treats you guys. But, behind all the grumpiness, he's actually an alright guy."

"And he asked you to the Fittes ball?" He's still staring at the flowers, and it seems as if he's trying to burn them with sight alone. It takes all your willpower not to laugh.

"Yeah, is that so surprising?"

"No, but..."

"But what?"

He sighs through his nose. He seems mostly at ease, except for his expression, but there's something more to it than the rivalry between Lockwood and Co and Fittes. Ned Shaw is part of Kipps' crew, and, sure, he's not the nicest guy ever, but he's saved your life a few times and you've caught up over coffee once or twice. It's not like you're interested in him. You're quite caught up over someone else entirely.

"And, so what if I said yes?" you ask, pretending that your focus is still on your book. Really, you're watching Lockwood out of the corner of your eye, or admiring him as Lucy would put it. "No one else asked me."

"You're going with us, aren't you?"

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd assume that's jealousy in your voice, Anthony Lockwood." Grinning, you glance up from your book.

Lockwood scoffs again. "Jealous? Of Ned Shaw? There's nothing to be jealous about."

"Well, he did pay for me at Arif's yesterday when I was getting some snacks. Awfully kind of him, don't you think?" You turn to the next page of your book. "He bought me this, too. Heard I was into this genre and thought of me when he saw it."

"Bullshit. You don't read that genre at all."

You raise your eyebrow, gently shutting the book. "And what makes you say that?"

Lockwood leans forward, his infamous 'Lockwood Grin' making its appearance. "You don't read anything by that author in particular because, in your words, he's a 'misogynistic prick who has never seen a woman in his life'. You don't read that genre because it reminds you too much of real life when in reality you want to escape it." He points over to the windowsill. "Those flowers? You prefer orchids over roses, a fact you've made clear before, and you think that red roses in particular, such as those ones, are overrated. You like orange ones more."

Speechless. He's left you completely and utterly speechless, and he knows it because his grin is triumphant.

How does he know all of that? They've never been topics of conversation, merely things you've said in passing, but he's remembered it all. Your cheeks flush, and your smile becomes more shy and subdued. None of it is even that interesting, but he's gone out of his way to remember it.

"What do you suggest I do, then?" you ask, trying to keep your elation hidden.

"Don't go with him."

"Who do I go with then?"

He knows it's a leading question, you can see it in his eyes and the way his smile softens slightly at the corners. "Me."

Internally, your brain is throwing a party. Fireworks and confetti cannons are going off, a disco ball is flashing a rainbow of colours, and your heart is dancing along to some music, but you make sure to keep your face as casual as possible. That proves to be harder than you thought.

"Oh, is that so?"

There's something in those dark eyes of his that has butterflies swarming in your stomach. "Yes. I think I'm a much better dance partner than Ned Shaw."

"Who says we'll be dancing?" you say. "We've got a job to do tonight. I'm sure we'll be far too busy."

"I'll make time."

And now he's done it. Your breath catches in your throat, and a smile plays on your lips as you look away from Lockwood. You can feel his gaze on your face, still, and you feel all giddy and mushy inside. When you turn your eyes back, he's still watching you, studying your face intently, and you find yourself doing the same - enjoying tracing your eyes over the shape of his face, the neatness of his hair, the green tie he fiddles with the end of. The only sign of his emotions behind that bright, cocky smile.

"I was never going to go with Ned," you admit, your eyes firmly locked in place with his. "I already declined his offer."

"You did?" You don't miss the relief in his tone.

"Mm-hm. Told him about the roses, too. And, really, this book isn't that great. Quite naff, if I'm being honest. There is no way this man has ever seen a woman. I mean, seriously, in what world is this good writing?"

Lockwood laughs, and you wish you could record the sound and put it on repeat to use it as some sort of painkiller. You find yourself laughing, too. You feel at ease with Lockwood, comfortable just sitting with him. It would be a content life just relaxing here, curled up on the sofa, with him for the rest of your life, laughing and talking.

"So, I know I haven't bought you flowers, or a book, or anything, but will you be my date to the ball?" Lockwood asks.

It sounds a bit like a line from some fairytale, enough to make you laugh softly.

"I will, Lockwood. But, I have one request."

His smile is so radiant it lights up the whole room. "And that is?"

"Don't kill Ned."

"Ah, well, no promises."

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #george karim #x reader #fanfiction #lockwood and co netflix #givemea-dam-break

[midnight-omega]

Pack Structure and Society hc

Hello its me im back with another long post. It was originally jsut supposed to be about packs but it got kinda mixed up with some other general society stuff. This is made for my writing personally so it's not even close to a one size fits all but feel free to take concepts u like !

As always stick around after the cut

🏔️ In my society packs are very central. My au isn’t total traditional, but I do take a lot of the more traditional stances when it comes to packs.

🏔️ Packs are typically a mix of blood relatives. It’s much more rare than you’d think to find a found family kind of pack where no one is related

🏔️ Packs are lead by the pack head, traditionally an alpha. A pack will also have a second, traditionally an alpha or beta. Large packs have a few more designations as well. The heart is the packs top omega usually unrelated /unmated to the head. Some packs also have a matchmaker, usually an omega in charge of choosing mates and giving relationship counseling. Some packs have a finance head, exactly what it sounds like usually a beta in charge of money and land. All packs typically have at least one pack paw. A paw is the pack’s muscle, think palace guards in fantasy aus. Large and rich packs will have enough paws to elect a paw head to coordinate their protection. Paws are traditionally alphas. Packs that are very religious will often have a religious leader as well. Their title varies from religion to religion as do their dynamics. This is sometimes different than like a priest in a church in a neutral town (keep reading for those) and sometimes not.

🏔️ The power hierarchy in order is:

--Pack Head

--Second

--Paw Head (optional)

--Heart (optional)

--Finance Head (optional)

--Matchmaker (optional)

The religious head is not included as their place on the hierarchy can vary depending on religion and culture.

🏔️ In very traditional packs (most of them in my au) these positions are passed down by blood. As such each of these power positions is controlled by a different family, not mated pairs.

🏔️ Most packs tend to hold counsels with all these positions in attendance when big decisions are made, but at the end of the day what the pack head says goes.

🏔️ Packs can vary in size, but for my world building im going to focus on larger, rural area packs

🏔️ These large packs typically own quite a bit of land! Members are usually spread out over multiple buildings with the largest property functioning as the pack head’s home and a communal space. The pack head’s door is always unlocked.

🏔️ All buildings are usually within walking distance making my world a hell of a lot more rural than irl as you have these large tracts of pack-owned wilderness between villages

🏔️ A pack on the smaller end probably only has one village, or cluster of dwellings whatever you wanna call it ig, while larger packs can have three or four. In this case there’s usually some kind of town hall type meeting for all members to mingle a few times a month.

🏔️ These packs are self governing. Usually the heart and the head paw are in charge of discipline and justice, with the blessing of the pack head. 

🏔️ Since packs are self governing, packs have the power to execute, tho it is rare. Usually an offending member is outsourced to a private or government run prison, but in extreme cases a pack can legally kill

🏔️ Traditional packs are extremely territorial, and trespassing is one of those cases punishable by death

🏔️ Packs have a… long…. Complicated… history of alliances and enemies it can be super confusing for someone new to the area

🏔️ Packs do take in packless people from time to time. It can happen more formally or more relaxed. Formally a pack will seek individuals at shelters for packless, rehabilitation centers, or finishing schools. More laid back packs will simply advertise.

🏔️ Packs also arrange marriages between their allied packs (which in the 21st century can span across the entire globe) and some are known to buy omegas in particular 

🏔️ There are towns/cities on neutral grounds where pack borders meet. These towns are government owned and run and often have all the little shops and markets and religious centers and hospitals and pharmacies and movie theaters and libraries and what have you. Pack members can visit these neutral towns anytime they want! Tho very strict packs will not allow their omegas out on their own without a chaperone 

🏔️ While each pack is different, it’s not uncommon for packs in my setting to adopt a representative animal to act as a logo/crest of sorts! Some packs can be very closed to outsiders and these are the ones that often have their members tattooed or branded with the animal for recognition and a rite of passage

🏔️ While packs in a country/area do have cultural things in common they can also differ widely. 3 packs might be neighbors in territory, but one is devout Catholic while another is made of Wiccans and moon worshippers while another still are totally agnostic and are just really passionate about a certain football team. Stepping into a different pack can feel like transporting yourself to a different world/time. 

🏔️ There are two kinds of schools in this world: public government owned ones that are in the neutral towns that any area pack can attend, or private home schooling left up to the packs (but the government does check in on certain milestones for these ones) I'll make a different schooling hc later !

🏔️ Most of the packs in this world are pre established. New packs are often met with hostility.

🏔️ Packs almost always meet on neutral ground no matter if the function is positive (a mating dance perhaps or a holiday event) or negative (bickering over where the real border is)

🏔️ Some packs are self sufficient and farm and hunt on their own. These packs have lots of betas !

🏔️ Other packs rely on the neutral towns to provide for them, so their villages tend to be close to the border.

🏔️ Pack wars are mostly a thing of the past, they don’t really happen much tho certain packs are hostile towards other ones.

🏔️ All packs have a scent to them, you can tell when a person is of a certain pack or not and pack bonds are usually maintained by platonic scenting.

🏔️ Some packs desperately search for new members as they have issues with interbreeding

🏔️ Money is less of an issue in my world, a packs main source of income are usually a few working alphas and betas and if some betas and omegas decide to sell produce in the neutral towns. The central government will provide a ton of social services so these traditional packs (who are often considered like a cultural thing important to preserve) don’t struggle in modern times. 

🏔️ A pack will typically have less omegas compared to another dynamic, they’re more rare! It’s why some packs take protecting their omegas so seriously. In ancient times rogue or enemy packs were even known to steal and forcibly bond omegas from other packs. The protective instincts have remained even tho this is heavily illegal now and would be grounds for one pack to kill members of the other.

🏔️ Nature and land is way more important than irl !! Most packs keep their lands pristine wilderness they use for hunting or recreation. There are a few packs who have donated certain lands to the government to be preserved as national parks all packs can enjoy. Overall tho destruction of wilderness is taken so so seriously.

#omegaverse #a/b/o #a/b/o verse #alpha beta omega #a/b/o dynamics #omega #alpha #beta #worldbuilding #alpha/beta/omega verse #packs

[heyitschartic]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Ughhhhhhh, I took so long to reply to this, but thank you for the ask!!! I'm always happy to get the chance to talk about my stories. God, I've written so much shit that it's hard to pick, but like a kid with a scab, pick I shall.

5. Memoirs

Memoirs is just a silly little thing my girlfriend and I have been working on for the past few months about post-gm Taylor in Kennet. This story gets the number five spot not because I think it's bad, but because my beautiful girlfriend does a lot of the heavy lifting with plotting and characterization because I haven't read Pale. I'm simply there to add where I can. Lovely story, though, and I can't wait for it to reach its ending. I love stories exploring how Taylor deals with everything after it all ends, and K8 really is the queen of that genre.

4. High School Abusical

Alright, this was one of the first stories I wrote on my own that I was really proud of. This whole story spawned from a conversation with the absolute genius user Foxtail about how clusters are always so boring because people usually gen random characters that have no relation to each other when those existing relationships being twisted up into a trigger can lead to so much more fun. The main premise is that Taylor is in a cluster with the Trio. I really would like to get back to this fic someday. I had a lot of fun ideas I wanted to implement, and the way all these girls play off each other is so delightful. I was informed after the fact I got the way clusters work wrong when making the powers, which has really been the only thing holding me from continuing. I can't convince myself to write when such an integral part of the story is off. Maybe I'll redo those someday...

3. Self Implant

Self Implant, my beloved. Fun fact, this was a gift to K8 for her birthday. Bonesaw gets a person in her head, trying to take a crack at playing her conscience. Now, this might surprise some of you, but I really like Bonesaw. I love playing around with her, and this story is just an excuse to do that for one million words. Like a little bug in a jar that I'm feeding enrichment to. This story really just gets me excited. I really, really need to put some more out there, for my own sake if no one else's

2. Severed

Severed!!!!!!! A story about Taylor joining the nine and the consequences there of. Also, the only story I wrote that has the dubious honor of actually driving someone crazy in real life. This story means a lot to me. Severed was the reason that I first started talking to my girlfriend (she wrote the amazing AU of it, Soliloquy), and for that alone, it will always be near the top for me. I think this story is where I really kind of took off as a writer, started getting past a lot of the mistakes that plagued my earlier stuff. It still has tons of grammatical errors, hard to get those right when youre inebriated most of the time, but this story has a lot of my feelings wrapped up in it, a lot of myself wrapped up into it, which will always boost it towards the top.

1. Felix Fortuna

Felix Fortuna is the best story I think I've ever written, and it's not even close. A story about Contessa going to Hogwarts that was originally written because of how much I disliked what Ward decided to do with her character. I feel like you can actually see me get better in real time as the story goes on. This was a collaborative effort with three other amazing authors (Pericardium, Maroon_Sweater, and Poe), and I think it really shows with all the care put into it. It lands at number one for a lot of reasons. It's got some of the best prose of anything I've written, it's the most well constructed of my stories, I love every character from Fortuna to Flavia to Jessica and Angelique. But mostly I like it best because I, at my heart, am a massive softy. When it comes to it, more than anything, I want a story where a character I really love finally gets a happy ending.

#parahumans #wormblr #worm fanfic

[hollowwrites]

A Magical Christmas

🎄 Merry Christmas 🎄

Summary - The gang do Secret Santa during sixth year. Just an excuse for all my ships to give gifts to each other

Just a few key points if you havent read anything else of mine: Anne curse is dormant after Rookwood died. Anne and Sebastian haven't spoken after they all confronted him about the Relic.

Warnings - None…very sweet. Sickeningly so…

Word Count - 1897

~

The Great Hall was, as usual during seasonal events of the year, stunning.

It was quieter than normal what with many of the students already with their families over the holidays. And because of this, the long dining tables, normally adorned with house specific colours and trinkets, sported a new colour scheme. A more festive one.

Each table had a long green and red gingham runners with glimmering gold trim. Fir garlands decorated with pinecones and cinnamon sticks neatly separated the foods from gathered group to group. Where people had gathered, the floating candles descended and floated in little clusters near them giving each cliche their own space. Space that could be afforded to them considering a maximum of thirty students at occupied the room.

Garreth was as usual, sat with the Slytherins, hand flailing widely at the snow to try and capture it. Imelda tugged harshly on his arm to get him to sit, a soft playful smirk cracking the stern crease of her brow.

Anne had managed to join them with her curse settling down significantly. Though her and Sebastian sat at the opposite ends of their friends, exchanging awkward smiles and passing comments. She’d forgiven him for his stupidity in fifth year but wasn’t quite ready to talk to him properly just yet.

Evelyn was the only one who looked like she was having a miserable time. Her eyebrows pinched together in a near constant frown as the soft tinkling of the bells in her hair continued to plague her ears. Anne had, of course, forced them upon her. Those and the little berries that lay neatly tucked in the bun upon her head.

“Ho Ho Ho, Everybody” Ominis said flatly as he sat down alongside Evelyn. His face remained its usual stoic and unbothered mask, despite his mirth filled words. A slight jingle came from him as he sat down and Evelyn noticed the outrageously green jumper Garreth gave him last year.

“Merlin’s Beard…what are you wearing?” Imelda exclaimed as Sebastian rested his head in his hands.

“You look beautiful, Ominis” Anne clapped excitedly.

“Thank you, Anne. Once again you are proving you have awful taste” Ominis teased.

“I’m so confused…” Evelyn mumbled, gently picking at the streamers that littered his jumper. Like he had rolled around on the floor beneath a tree. His Santa hat flopped in front of his face as he turned to her, a smarmy little smirk on his face.

“Ominis goes overboard at Christmas” Sebastian explained from the safety of his hands, covering his eyes.

“It’s a traditional muggle holiday, therefore my family and a bunch of other pretentious pureblood families refuse to celebrate it. I try my very best to be an embarrassment” Ominis grinned

“…why?” Evelyn probed still clearing his jumper of settled fake snow and glittery accoutrement.

“Because why not...” His grin grew wider, if that was even possible, his regular pettiness out in full force “…It’s the only time of the year when I don’t get weekly owls from my family. Tis a time celebrate”

“Speaking of…” Imelda muttered “…can we get this gift giving over with? I need to get the next train home”

“Yes! Me first!” Garreth shouted shuffling under the table, pulling numerous brown paper packages and piling them in the centre between them all, knocking over a plate of mince pies into Anne’s lap.

“Garreth…we each had one name, what’s all this?” Sebastian frowned as he looked over the large parcels. He noticed one had his name hastily scrawled onto the paper and he grabbed it immediately.

“Yes well…these are from Momma Weasley. Ominis is so handsomely demonstrating what they are. And if me and him have to look stupid in these jumpers then so do all of you!” Garreth explained as everyone tore into their presents. A sea of green and black jumpers littered the table each with their owners initials expertly knitted onto the chest.

“Bless your mother for making all of these.” Anne mumbled as she pulled the jumper over her head, tugging the sleeves over her hands.

“Yes this must of taken her months” Evelyn said, her brows raised and meeting in the middle as though she was trying not to cry.

Garreth simply shrugged and pulled another package from under the table.

“We Weasleys are prolific knitters. Example B…” he thrust the small package towards Anne “…Merry Christmas”

As Anne grinned and ripped the paper she rolled her eyes.

“What is this?” She rolled her eyes smirking.

“Well I don’t know if you know this but…the scarves are enchanted to match your house. Any scarf I gave you would’ve change to green so I simply had to knit you a Gryffindor one…” Garreth leaned forward, tugging the end out from the package and showing off the crude embroidery of a lion at the end. It looked as though it had three eyes and was a little cross eyed, but Garreth beamed proudly at it. “…Now I can say I officially converted you”

“Gryfferin…” Anne grinned, wrapping the scarf around her neck

“Slythindor…” Garreth winked pulling one more parcel from under the table, his eyes flicked to Sebastian briefly “…this is also for you”

She tore into the present, opening the box inside to reveal the family brooch she once gave Sebastian.

“What is it?” Imelda asked peering into the box and back at Anne, who looked as though she was going to cry. She looked up at Garreth, smiling sheepishly, then towards Sebastian who desperately tried to avoid eye contact. He looked up finally as Anne spoke.

“Thank you…Garreth” she sniffed, whilst looking towards Sebastian. She nodded softly and looked back at Garreth, who just looked relieved she wasn’t upset with him for meddling. “…I got you” she said sweetly, carefully lifting a box, unwrapped, and placing it on the table. The sound of glass hitting glass tinkled as she pushed it towards him.

“Ooooh…” Garreth immediately ripped off the top, inspecting the contents with a raised brow.

“They’re all the potions I messed around with last year. I thought maybe we could try and replicate them. Or when I’m a little better we could try them out…see what happens” Anne explained quietly

“I don’t think that’s a good ide-“ Evelyn started before being cut off by Garreth slamming his hands down on the table, a wide mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“EXCELLENT!” Garreth screamed, mounting the table to get at her, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug.

“Sorry I didn’t spend any money. I can’t really lea-”Anne choked out as Garreth practically strangled her

“Don’t be silly!” He mumbled giving her another squeeze, opting to take the seat next to her instead of rejoining the other side. They huddled together, head practically touching as they muttered about different potions they had made, why the lion had three eyes, what ingredients she used…

“My turn…” Sebastian exclaimed smacking his hands and rubbing them together. “…Imelda…” he stated, presenting a rectangular box to her and smirking. “…Merry Christmas”

Imelda groaned and took the present, muttering the whole time about how Sebastian had to be the absolute worst person to have buy you a gift. And her suspicions were correct when she peeled back the paper to reveal a copy of ‘Quidditch for Beginners’.

“Sebastian Sallow, you are the absolute worst-“ each word was accompanied with a soft slap to his arm. He chuckled and grabbed her wrist, forcing it back to the table, smiling devilishly.

“What? I just thought you could use some pointers on how to be a better Captain” he said smugly, tapping on a piece of paper sticking out of a page.

With a hard angry brow and an exasperated sigh, she flicked to the marked page. Chapter 5: The Captain and their Responsibilities, underlined with two tickets to the next Quidditch World Cup. Imelda gasped and held the book open, just staring into the pages in disbelief.

“Merry Christmas, Mel” Sebastian whispered leaning into her with a cocky grin.

“Will you go with me?” She blurted out suddenly, her cheeks burning.

“I thought you’d want to go with your father…” Sebastian recoiled in shock.

“No no, I want to go with you…” she muttered “…seems only fair. You bought them…Here. This is for you…” she shoved a rather large box towards him with a gruff sigh.

“Ooh it’s big…” Sebastian said as he removed the lid from the top, looking in on the brand new Keepers uniform. “…Mel, uniforms are expensive…”

“Well…I don’t want my new Keeper looking scruffy in school uniform. Besides, after your last fall you need a little extra protection” …it was her turn to smirk when Sebastian face soured, recalling his knee injury his first week back on the pitch.

“Aww Imelda. Do you…care?” He teased, earning another smack from Imelda.

“Right then, it’s your turn then” Imelda muttered, pointing towards Evelyn, desperate to get any attention from her.

“Okay, well obviously I got Ominis…” Evelyn physically shrank into herself with all of the attention suddenly on her “…and I realise that my wrapping is probably lost on you but…here”

Evelyn had grown accustomed to what Ominis was and wasn’t comfortable with. She gently took his hand and placed it on top of the delicately wrapped stack in front of him.

He smiled lopsidedly upon feeling the elaborate bow in his fingers.

“Not completely lost…” he whispered gently pulling at the bow and feeling the whole present unfold. He could smell old books and could feel pages under his fingers. “What books ar- Is this braille?” He suddenly said upon flicking through the pages and feeling the intricate bumps of the paragraphs across the page.

“Yes…I hope you don’t mind, I’ve been practising transfiguration on a few copies of my old books. They’re the ones we were talking about a couple of months ago. I don’t know if the translation is correct, if it doesn’t make sense you can always ask me…”

Ominis was quiet for a while, his fingers tracing over the tiny intricate constellations of words across the page.

“It’s perfect…” he whispered “…some of your favourites?”

“Yes…I have another four copies of each if these are ruined” she explained, her voice taking on a slightly giddy tone. It may only be a simple muggle tale, but they were her favourite and the thought of having someone else reading them filled her heart with joy

“That won’t be necessary. I’m afraid my gift isn’t as thoughtful…” he lay the book back down with the others and pulled a long thin box from his pocket “…nor is it wrapped but I asked they put it in a nice box for you”

She took it and opened the small hinged box revealing a delicate silver necklace with the skull of a bird at the end. She gasped sweetly, though Imelda scrunched her nose up at the sight.

“The few times I’ve borrowed your wand…it’s hilt is a birds skull is it not? A dove?”

“It is…my mother used to call me her dove…” she breathed wistfully, her hands shaking slightly as she inspected the small metal charm.

“Good…” Ominis smiled “…pulled a few strings with the jewelers in Hogsmeade. And Ollivander had the initial sketch of your wand still…”

“It’s beautiful…” she smiled softly and squeezed his hand. “…Thank you, Ominis”

“You’re Welcome. Merry Christmas…”

Masterlist

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts #hogwarts headcanon #hogwarts houses #hogwarts oc #slytherin #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy ominis #sebastian sallow #imelda reyes #anne sallow #garreth weasley #hogwarts legacy garreth #garreth x anne #Sebastian x Imelda #merry christmas #christmas #holidays #happy holidays #hogwarts legacy #wizarding world #gryffindor #hogwarts mc #hogwarts classes #hogwarts castle #hogwarts christmas #hogwarts sixth year #hogwarts sebastian #hogwarts student

[imaginmatrix]

Maybe it's my playing Stardew Valley, but I'd certainly like to see a nice Percabeth fic set in a remote, countryside farm town

Annabeth sat on the grass at the top of the overlook.

The small town was a cluster of scattered lights below, the rolling fields of farms rippling like ocean waves in the breeze, leading down to sandy beaches and the true sea it mirrored.

Forests and mountains encased the little community, less a wall of hostility to keep out strangers, and more a protective hug from a loved one, ensuring those in the valley felt secure. Safe.

Percy slumped down beside her, handing over a beer he’d snagged from the six pack in the back of his truck, her second of the night. Most of the evening had already been spent watching the explosion of color the sunset always brought fade to the cool blue of summer twilight.

Crickets chirped. Fireflies began to flick on their lights. A frog sang a song in its gruff, throaty voice. Annabeth cleared her throat.

“So do you come up here a lot?” She asked, trying her best not to look at him, because if she looked at him… it would only invite trouble.

She felt Percy’s shrug, “More so lately.”

“Mm.” Annabeth hummed, taking a sip from her bottle.

Percy Jackson never struck her as a country boy. From the moment Annabeth laid eyes on him in his jeans, converse, and blue Henley, he had emitted an energy that felt unmistakably “city.”

But he was far more down to earth than the men she’d interacted with throughout her life, unconcerned with networking, who knew who, or which restaurants and clubs would be “in” that weekend— not that there were clubs here, and small town gossip was an entirely different breed than what she was used to.

Still.

“So you’re an artist?” Percy interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes.” Annabeth frowned, “Well, no… sort of?”

His laugh sent electricity through her chest, the zap of static after dragging one’s feet on carpet. “How can someone be only ‘sort of’ an artist?”

She unsuccessfully bit back a smile, “I haven’t been doing much art since coming here.”

It seemed like a good idea at the time— a sabbatical from the firm, a chance to rekindle her creativity, find her passion for a dream career that had lost its shine the past half-decade, a relaxing getaway to a small town, in a little cabin, no one to interrupt her…

Except it seemed she left inspiration back in New York.

It hadn’t fit in her luggage.

“I hear that 90% of being an artist is not actually making art, so you’re on the right track.” The way he nudged her shoulder nearly tempted Annabeth into turning her head those few centimeters to meet his gaze, see his face, those green eyes, that black curly hair— no. She had to be firm with herself.

So instead, Annabeth laughed, and she took another swig, “God. I hope that’s true.”

“What do you draw? Or… paint, or whatever?”

The million dollar question.

“I… I’m trying to figure it out.”

She could imagine the way he must be raising his eyebrows at that answer, “People? Places?”

“Buildings.” Annabeth sighed, “I’m an architect.”

“Seems pretty straightforward.” She cringed. Percy paused. “…or not.”

Another sigh tugged at her lungs, but she beat it back down, “It is, usually. But… it all looks the same these days.”

“Buildings?”

“Yeah.” She tilted her eyes to the night sky, so much clearer than back home, “I’m sick of them and I need to find some way to get inspired again because— I mean— Skyscrapers? Giant vertical rectangles. Strip malls? Giant horizontal rectangles. Businesses want to fit in— and so do celebrities, if you’re lucky enough to work with one on some fancy mansion.”

“You’ve built for celebrities?”

“One.” Annabeth admitted, “But everything is so… sterile. Even interiors, which used to still have character when the buildings themselves stopped being unique, and now they’re all minimalist and shades of grey and glass doors, plain marble lobbies or open floor concepts—“

“Used to work in one of those.”

Annabeth blinked, finally inclining her face toward Percy though she still avoided a direct look, “Did you?”

“Yeah. In the same city as you, it looks like.” He pinched the brim of the Yankees cap atop Annabeth’s head, tugging it down teasingly, “Couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do with my life after high school, so I kind of floated around to different things. Ended up in a tech startup, even though computers hate me— it was mostly answering phones and trying to convince people to buy useless warranties they didn’t need.”

“Why did you leave?” Annabeth immediately felt stupid for asking the question. Everything he recounted sounded absolutely miserable.

But Percy didn’t seem to think the same, his answer earnest, “It was a few years ago, and I was already looking for a new job; it didn’t cross my mind to ditch the city entirely, it’s— it was my home, but uh…” he cleared his throat. “I made a promise to someone. So now I’m here.”

Her curiosity was piqued, but Annabeth didn’t pry, figuring it was a sensitive topic. “Do you like the Valley?”

“Far more than I thought I would.”

“Me too.” She paused, “Do you think you’ll stay here?”

“Maybe.”

Maybe.

The word made her emotions churn in a way she absolutely did not want to analyze at the moment.

They stared out at the valley again.

“God this view is beautiful.” Annabeth breathed, breaking the silence.

“Absolutely.”

Then Annabeth made the mistake of turning her head to look at him, the action she’d been avoiding since he invited her to go for a drive, and Percy’s gaze was already on her. Their eyes met. Neither moved to break the delicate string that tentatively began to connect them.

Annabeth’s mind was a whirlwind. This is why it had been so dangerous to look. This is what she was scared of.

Because with him looking like that— no, with him looking at her like that— if his “maybe” response to her question of staying here became a “definitely”…

Then what would she do?

But it was too late. She was leaning in, and Percy was as well, and Annabeth knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop herself, because that delicate string was growing stronger, a spider web to a fishing line to a sewing thread to a length of yarn and on and on and on—

So she kissed him. She breathed in his scent, sea salt, and sweat, and lavender from the brush he’d toppled into earlier that night. She tasted his lips, warm and chapped, but not uncomfortably so, a friction in the softness that promised something more that made Annabeth’s skin prickle with anticipation. She kissed him, and let him kiss her, and maybe this would bring that much needed passion back to her life.

But she knew she was a fool.

Because in that moment, even knowing that this— whatever “this” was— could only lead to heartbreak and misery and pain, she made the decision to choose it.

Choose this.

Choose him.

Even if just for the next two months she was here.

Even if just for tonight.

*****

Okay you made me make a series of oneshots on AO3, so here it is there too

#morgan murmurs #ask #knowall7k #prompt #writing prompt #writing #one shot #Percabeth #percabeth fanfic #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackson fan fic #pjo fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 7

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis:  When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we’re defined by our job, it’s those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Settling into your seat, you trapped your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Now that you were in a dry cab, any movement exaggerated how wet you were. While Donatello had tried his best, you were still soaked through to the point that your clothes either clung or created a pool where they wrenched from your skin. Sneaking a peak to your partner, you found him set in a statuesque manner that you had a feeling was to minimize similar sensations. He was staring at the street outside and looked especially dashing against with the droplet covered cab window. The rain drowned out the quiet noise of the radio and as you watched trickles streak from the taxi’s speed, you became hyperaware that it was heading to your apartment.

“So, I’m gonna assume you already knew where I lived?” You tried to balance the weight of chide in your tone.

Donatello didn’t shift, but one of his cheeks seemed to puff up in what you assumed was him suddenly clenching teeth.

You waited him out, pushing your back into the leather with an uncomfortable squish.

You watched the moment he arrived to an answer and took great care in only having to turn his neck to view you. “Should I prepare myself for this to be a thing?”

“What?” You smiled. “Where I repeatedly bring up how you broke into my phone and gathered up a bunch of info on me?”

His brows came together with scant irritation. “First, those are not mutually exclusive.” He reached a hand out and placed it in the center seat that separated you before using it to stabilize himself as he leaned over the space. “Second, I was forthcoming.”

You tilted into him. “Good to know.” You then turned back towards the window as if you gathered all that you needed.

The way your cushion held its tilt said he refused to retreat. “Do you think you’ve tricked me somehow?”

You tucked a grin into the corner of your mouth. “I wouldn’t say it like that. It was more like I’d been wondering.”

“You’re curious.”

Watching a particular cluster of water droplets split apart as the cab took a turn, you narrowed your gaze. The simple sentence sounded odd; it was as if he had forgotten to inject inflection. It brought your head around. You found him still bridging the gap with even features.

Both of you stared at each other for a long time before he seemed to feel the need to clarify. “About me.”

Though you hadn’t recovered near enough from the events of the day, a little amused disbelief snuck onto your face. “Well, yeah.”

He blinked his gaze away and then right back. “If you had a question why not ask it outright?”

That same sneaky emotion intensified. You had the answer but hesitated. While you weren’t trying to levy knowledge over him, you weren’t sure if you were ready to give away another one of those little conversational quirks of his that you had picked up. Searching his face found the usual blank canvas. You wondered how far he would push it if you decided not to explain. Looking away to debate the options, the cab took another turn. This one turned the car right and you could feel the extra weight as Donatello kept himself still against the force.

You gave a small defeated sigh and decided to take a shot at trying to curtail a straight out blurting of the information. “It’s like how you said you were forthcoming or whatever.”    

You refused the tug of his gaze.

“You choose your words very carefully. It means you’ll drop things like ‘I looked into you’ when I’m not really prepared to take that as seriously as I should.”

The pressure on the seat intensified and for a moment you thought he’d reach out. Instead, he retreated. Though he hadn’t offered anything to assuage it, you felt all the more cold.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said tepidly after a little bit of time had passed.

Staring down at the floor, you noticed a penny half shoved under the mat.

“You’re still concerned.”

After digesting the phrase, you finally looked at him. If he meant from today, that should have been obvious so he must have meant something else. You studied his profile until it came to you. “I mean, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still interested in you.”

His gaze sharpened with a negligible lid drop and he mumbled something. It was fresh enough on your mind that you were able to decipher it.

“Nope, not mutually exclusive.”

Instead of turning his head, you watched his pupil move to evaluate you. “How do you do it?”

You opened your mouth in question.

“We’ve arrived!” The cabby spoke.

You caught the man’s eye in the rear-view mirror and then looked back to find Donatello turned away. You gave a sad smile at the back of his head. “Thank you again for today…” He didn’t respond so you shuffled over to make for the door handle. Slipping your fingers under the latch, you popped it and heard the thick shift of wet fabric. It wasn’t enough to give you pause so you gave a little push. The first bit of rain tried to sneak through the cracks and the sound overtook Donatello saying something to the driver. Before you could turn you had a feeling what was happening. Using your knee to press the door open fully, you caught sight of Donatello in the middle seat with that strange umbrella of his in hand.

“This again? Really?” You looked between him and the object dryly.

“Just to your front door.”

“That’s not…” Hanging a foot out onto the sidewalk, you pushed out of the vehicle. Only a few droplets made their way onto your head before the umbrella extended out of the vehicle to cover you. “And you say I’m stubborn?” 

His voice came in close as you hadn’t moved far from the cab and he nearly pressed up against you. “I also never said I wasn’t. Regular humans are more susceptible to illness.”

“Isn’t that an old wives’ tale?”

“Yes, but lowered body temperatures can weaken your immune system while the humidity makes it easier for bacteria to proliferate.”

Unmoving, you tipped your head back to get a look at him. His jaw looked particularly sharp from this angle. “Alright, Dr. Donnie, so you’re doing this because you’re worried about my health?”

He looked down his snout at you and gave a small frown.

Breaking eye contact, you took your first steps away from the cab and he staunchly followed with the cover overhead. You hopped the stairs up your stoop with ease and turned abruptly to face him when you hit the landing.

He looked over your door for a moment and then landed back on you with what seemed to be a the barest struggle.

You tilted your head in a show of patience.

His mouth opened and then closed up tight.

You gave your head a shake to signify you’d given up and went to root your key out of your bag. Your fingers had just brushed the ring when he finally found the words.

“I didn’t like the way you looked.”

Pulling your keys out in time with lifting your gaze to him, you arched a brow. “What?”

He had now chosen to stare back at the cab which idled at the curb. “The rain.”

“You’re going to have to put those separate thoughts together.”

You watched his grip on the umbrella tighten. “When it was streaming down your face. It made it look like you were crying.”

 Your jaw didn’t drop, but it was enough surprise to make your lips part. “But you moved so fast. I was only in the downpour for what? A few seconds at most?”

That little frown that had yet to leave him deepened. “It’s not an emotion I care to deal with.”

You carefully etched his struggling expression to memory. “You must have known I was upset from how I contacted you. There was the very real possibility that you would have had to.”

He gave a single tight nod.

The rain filled the air and with him not giving you anything else, you looked over your keys. “Sorry for holding you up, I know the meter’s running.” You shifted to put them into the lock.

“That’s not-”

Swiveling your head, you found that he had at some point crept in very close and seized up as you caught him. You looked down to see his fingers curled inches from your arm before turning your attention back to his face.

“I understand that it can be inevitable, but I would rather you not express it.”

You gave him a dull look. That was a far too clinical way of putting something that seemed sweet.

 “I told you what to expect with me.” His arm retracted back to his side.

You watched it before studying the way the moisture collected and bubbled out on his mask. From what you had gathered about his standards, he had gone to some great lengths today. Looking back to where your key was still half-inserted into the lock, you felt your shoulders slouch. Today had been far too much and you still felt like a hollow version of yourself. “I… It’s not you. I’m not thinking clearly. I really do appreciate all you did. I think I just need a hot shower and some sleep...”

The rain tamped unevenly on the umbrella and you finally turned the lock. The door shifted with its freedom and you reached to grab the handle. Out of your periphery you saw a flash of green and black as his hand shot forward, past you, and pressed the frame shut. Your lips pursed as you reviewed his action and then moved to examine Donatello. His eyes were slightly wider than normal and, from the little information you read, he was just as surprised by the action. You watched as he came back to himself and then hitched his brows as he tried to make sense of it all. It rapidly softened your heart.

“I’m gonna guess that’s both of us, hm?” You shifted on planted feet to glimpse him behind you over a twisted shoulder.

His eyes struggled for a moment before he wrenched them away from the door and to you. There they evaluated you until his lids lowered. He poured himself further into your space. “You don’t need to give me an out. I’m fully aware of my actions.”

“Sure.” You steeped your gaze with sarcasm.

“Petulant.” He scolded and drew closer.

Despite your dampened attitude, your heart seized. These weren’t the ideal conditions for this, but the constant interruptions were starting to compound. You tipped your head to convey your accessibility. He gave you a once over and you thought he’d close the gap when you heard the sound of the door being opened. His face didn’t seem to betray the action, so you looked away to find he was indeed holding it open. When you brought your gaze back he had retreated. You might have been annoyed if there weren’t the faintest timid air to him. “Do you think you’ll be in an adequate mental state to reschedule our lunch for tomorrow?”

He was considerate to a fault. You straightened up and gave yourself a little shake. Coming out of it, you found him still waiting with his head tipped down. He seemed especially wary as if he were prepared for his body would betray him again. You wanted to pinch his cheeks, but shoved the sensation down. “Maybe. Can we tentatively plan on it?”

He turned the query over for a moment. “Considering the circumstances, I suppose I can accommodate that.”   

“Thank you.” You dipped under his arm and the move made it so he could open the door fully. “Text me when you get home?”

He gave a single nod.

You gave him a little wave and headed in. A creak signaled the door was closing soon after and just before it shut you could have sworn you heard something about getting warm. When you looked back you saw the faint outline of Donatello retreating to the cab.

-

It was less unfortunate and more a simple fact of the universe that your roommate sniffed you out as soon as she got home. She pinged that you were not only early, but had somehow had enough time to shower while also hiding yourself away in your room. She had left all her belongings in a trail across the apartment as she descended upon you. She had bundled you up as you carefully recounted the day. She then ushered your swaddled form to the living room couch and made soup as you continued your tale. She dolled it out and as soon as she was caught up, she’d already cancelled her plans for the next day. With the inevitable treatment of endless movies and pizza now looming over your Saturday, you got a hold of your phone. 

Donatello’s arrival text waited there along with a surprising confirmation of his change into warm clothes. It might have been the soup, but you cradled your device close and gave him an extremely simplified version of the events since parting. Though you hadn’t mentioned her much, he seemed to easily accept your roommates meddling and in another shock had offered a provisional go at Sunday. The way he was willing to bend over backwards was what really allowed you to categorize the heat pooling in your cheeks. As soon as your friend got sight of you, she switched from comforting to voracious.

You both stayed up late as you gave an edited version of your relationship thus far. Your roommate had scoffed at several things and you watched on fondly as she ranted. She always had your best interests at heart and the thought of spending the next day with her was sounding increasingly enticing. She’d shooed you off to bed sometime after midnight with the many promises of the Saturday to come. It might have been all the spoiling, but, in a minor daze before plugging your phone in for the night, you shot off a message to Donatello about how’d you badger him all the next day with your lazy activities.

When you awoke many hours later, you blearily stared at a response that passively accepted the announcement as if it were an inevitability. It’d been such a high that you didn’t even care it was immediately followed up by stipulations that his phone would be silenced, it was only allowed for the one day, and he’d reserve the right it ignore any message he saw fit. Heart beating a little too fast for the time, you could still feel the traces of emptiness inside you. Overall, thankfully, sleep had done wonders. With work still set to continue Monday morning, you were sure it was going to be an ongoing process. Until then, you’d take it day by day which meant starting this one with a bedhead selfie sent to the object of your affections.

Though you put no effort into the shot, you’d flung your phone away and fled to wash up. You returned to find a wall of text that seemed to be something of a New York law regarding the use of texted images. The legalese proved to be a bit too much for you, but you got the gist being something about personal use of photos sent voluntarily. There was no way to know for sure, but you had a feeling he’d sent that as a way to say he’d be saving the photo. The thought alone propelled you running right into your roommates room without knocking and jumping directly on top of her still sleeping form. Many curses were shared, but it was the start of your day together.  

Eventually pizza was ordered and you parked yourselves on your respective sides of the couch. Your roommate immediately hit play on the first movie in your watch list and you badgered her for not letting you decide. She scolded you for that being why your queue was so long and eventually the doorbell rang. Your roommate juggled an enormous stack of boxes and you gawked as you helped split the load. She joked about it barely being enough for one day and you bopped her with one of the plates you gathered. Between eating, lounging, and the constant string of distracting lights from the television, you slowly felt a reclamation of normalcy. You peppered the day with little updating texts on how a movie was or shots of your never ending slices to Donatello. He added little comments that didn’t necessarily hold great content, but gave you a sense that he was there. It added to the comfort and it was around the time that the sun was waning behind buildings but not quite set when your roommate made for a tub of ice cream she’d been hording.

You were unchecking the films you’d watched from your list when you heard the clanging of spoons against bowls.

“Oh.”

You gave an absently curious hum as you scrolled down a line of movie posters.

“He’s holding something back.”

Stopping and staring down the length to where the remote was raised in your hand, you chewed your lip. “Uh huh?”

“Sorry, realization.” Your roommate appeared in the corner of your eye and passed you a bowl with far too many scoops in it.

“The suspense is killing me.” You gave her a flat stare which you then turned with growing fear at the  mountain of cream.  

“Your boy toy.”

That got your attention. “Okay, wait, go back.”

Your roommate gave a knowing smile from around the spoon in her mouth. “Now you pay attention.”

“Sometimes you just ramble!”

“One: rude. Two: It’s because I have so many good things to say!”

You waved her off before pulling yourself out from where you had begun to fuse with the cushions. “Let me be the judge of that.”

She shot you a dirty look but relented. “There was that weird air yesterday, which is like yeah, yesterday was fucked, but also it seemed like he was rubbing you the wrong way, right?”

An image of petting appeared in your head and you drowned it out with a huge scoop from your bowl. You instantly got a brain freeze and scrunched yourself up around the sensation.

“Nice one.” You roommate rolled her eyes. “From what you described it sounds like he’s holding himself back.”

“From…” You pushed your tongue to the roof of your mouth to abate the pain. “… What?”

She shrugged. “You almost caught him touching you multiple times, so probably that?”

“Well yeah we almost kissed…” You pulled your knees up to balance your ice cream.

“More than that, even during the first almost kiss, it sounds like he didn’t actually touch you.”

You searched the milky depth for the memory. He’d indeed gone to great lengths to prevent doing so. “Weird…”

“As much as he’s an enigmatic ass, he’s also like a well trained dog.”

You swiveled your head to her with mild offense.

She had a coy smile on her lips along with a blob of chocolate dotting the corner of her mouth. “Look, he follows orders! Did you accidentally give a command?”

Brows still knit in light irritation, you tried to speed through your dialog. You had mostly focused on his so yours fell by the wayside. “I… don’t think so? That doesn’t make any sense though!”

“Uh huh, that’s the part of him I’m not into.”

“Yeah, yeah, red flags.”

“The fact that you acknowledge it and willingly aren’t pushing it kills me.” She waved at you and you watched her curiously. She then pointed to your phone and you brought it up. “I don’t know when I can do a proper shovel talk, but I’d rather send a message now just in case.”

You pulled your device in close. “I get where you’re coming from, but he’s also…” You grimaced. “Ugh, it sounds bad, but he’s trying. I don’t know the whole story, but I like him a lot. You know I have a pretty good sense about people and I’m careful.”

Her usual playful air dissipated and she eyed you. She didn’t close out the examination and instead pointed to your phone again. “Selfie.”

Frowning, you brought up the camera. As you turned it to the front facing one, you felt the couch dip. As soon as the screen flipped you watched as she thread one arm around your body and the other came up to slice at her neck in the universal ‘you’re dead’ signifier. You made a show of rolling your eyes and snapping several pictures in rapid succession. As soon as you finished, your roommate retreated back to the comfort of her ice cream and you sent the best of the bunch to Donatello. His response came almost immediately.

Donatello: Is that your roommate? It’s good to know at least one of the tenants in that apartment has sense.

You scowled and turned to show the response to her.

She laughed brightly. “Okay, maybe I kinda get what you mean.”

-

After staying up far too late and sleeping in far too long, you rushed to make it to your lunch with Donatello on time. You found him waiting outside the establishment with a casual air. You greeted him with your usual beam and caught the way he seemed to close off at it. With your roommate’s guess fresh in your mind, you decided to keep an extra eye out. Between the delicious food, you for distracted prodding your companion about his knowledge. You ended up coming away from the meal now knowing that it seemed to encompass an insane amount of fields. It was as if he’d somehow gotten a discount on buying PhDs in bulk. It also meant you were more at a loss at his profession than ever. Refusing to sulk, you lead the charge outside and did a quick pivot to catch him in case he tried to scatter to the winds.

“Do you have other plans for today?”

He let the restaurant’s door close and stepped out of the way of impeding it. “Not until this evening. I assume you have something in mind?”

“How about walking lunch off and heading towards the farmer’s market?”

“Walking off this meal or yesterdays?” He questioned but headed in your direction.

You blew a raspberry. “I’d have to run a marathon if that was the case. We ate nothing but junk all day!”

“It raised your spirits.” He gave you a side glance as if he were passing judgment.

“It did. I’m dreading tomorrow a little, but I’ll be okay.” You thoughtfully tucked your hands into your coat’s pockets. Early spring tinted the air with a slight chill, but it was comfortable with breaks of sunshine leaking between skyscrapers.

Donatello chose not to comment and for a few blocks you both walked in comfortable silence. It was as you waited at a crosswalk that you started to sense something was off. Sneaking glances at your companion found nothing exact, but there seemed to be a palpable sensation you couldn’t name. Again, your roommate’s words echoed in your mind. You’d gotten a little too wrapped up in your questionnaire and tried to sweep back through lunch’s events. On recall, you found Donatello had gone for far more napkins from a pile between you than he ever used. Trying to reassemble the table’s layout, you weren’t exactly sure but you thought it happened to be close to where your arm was. It wasn’t conclusive enough so you rolled back further. You’d finally had enough wherewithal to pay for a meal and when you’d turned to him after doing so, he seemed closer, but again it was an uncertain dead end.

Pushing your lips into a tight line, the signal switched and you both crossed amongst milling pedestrians. Sunday seemed to seep in the area and there wasn’t as much of a rush as there usually was. You took the time to admire the surrounding stonework as you passed. It sparked another question from your list and you turned to shoot it off at your companion. You caught him with his hand seemingly swung out as if he were speed walking even though you knew for a fact he wasn’t.

You stared at it curiously before looking to his face.

He kept his eye staunchly forward and momentum pulled the appendage back to his side.

“How about architecture?” You drew out the question lazily, still studying him.

“I can name the designers of most of the iconic buildings, but it’s not something I studied at length.”

“Huh.” You marked the syllable with dry huff.

He grew quiet again and you tried to work out what it was exactly. Turning back to the sidewalk ahead, you picked over what was in reach. The offender had been his arm closest to you, but there wasn’t exactly anything to grab. Your hands were still in your pockets and with his height, you couldn’t imagine more than him walking with his hand on your shoulder. The thought was laughable and you unearthed a fist to close off any giggles by pressing it to your lips. As soon as you did so, you felt a tight seize from Donatello. He was only in your periphery, but he seemed especially at attention. You desperately wanted to ask, but you just knew as soon as you brought attention to it, he would squash the supposed unruly reaction. Dropping your arm limply to your side, you caught the way Donatello’s intense eye caused his head to dip down as he traced it. It hit you all too fast.

He wanted to hold your hand.

Giddy bubbles overflowing like a shaken soda turned your head all the way away as if you were still looking at the buildings.

That couldn’t possibly be it.

You chased the thought with a broom and dust pan. It had to be categorized away into the wishful thinking you often caught yourself in. All you knew for sure was that he had interest in you. Even though it wasn’t spoken, it was a known fact as you continued to seek each one another out, but he’d overtly turned down romantic notions. Enjoying his companionship was high on your list and besides the ever growing desire to actually commit to a kiss, you were satisfied with what you currently had. Still an image of clasped hands appeared and you felt a momentary high put pressure on your ear drums. A smile wrinkled your lips and you were glad you turned away. It was in this motion that a glass windowed business passed by your vision and you caught a sight that made you all the more light headed.

From your other side was Donatello reaching out towards your hand. Your stomach flipped and your fingers clenched reflexively. You watched in the window as he pressed his lips together in dissatisfaction and his other arm came around to soothe his failed one. One hand clenched the elbow closest to you and he turned his attention away. In the last pane of the building, you watched his fingers dig into his coat.

He was holding back.

Turning your head forward, you tried to think of the best course of action. You were sure you could easily rectify the current situation by just grabbing his hand and he’d allow the action, but that wouldn’t solve the bigger issue. He had implied in the cab on Friday that you could always ask him and you already had a testament to his honesty, even if it were often shrouded. Knowing that, he was sure to give some half answer since, by the way the way he struggled, he seemed just as perplexed by whatever was happening. Head tipping as you formulated, you thought about how to catch him in the act. You��d nearly caught him a number of times and he had always gone on as if nothing had occurred. It couldn’t just be almost, you had to catch him when he’d actually executed whatever move. A small smile played on your lips.

Tipping your head upward, you pulled your other hand out of its pocket. You then let your arms swing a little more freely as you caught sight of several pigeons on a nearby ledge. “How do the mutations work?”

“Are you sure that’s a subject you want to delve into?” There was a smug air to Donatello’s words.

“Ah, got a science explanation ready?”

The air shifted and you could tell from his tone that he soured. “If only it were that clear. There have been notable exceptions to whatever rules I try to put in place. There’s a frustrating element of mysticism.”

He had put a strange amount of emphasis on that last word. It flagged it as something to remember going forward. “I guess I’m just curious how the animals get picked.”

He was quiet as he gathered his thoughts. “Again, there are quite a few variables.”

“Okay…” You feigned as if that were difficult even though the conversation was thankfully playing out in your favor. You lifted the arm farthest from him and pointed at the next set of pigeons bumming about wherever they could roost. “Let’s say, why aren’t there more pigeon mutants? Isn’t there something like more pigeons than rats in the city?”

Out of the corner of your eye you watched him follow your guide. You moved a little bit closer to him as he digested the question. “You make a good point. It’s unfortunate that I’ve have had the pleasure of meeting a pigeon mutant.” There was a palpable disdain oozing from the sentence that made it very apparent he’d some kind of extremely negative encounter with a rat.

Your heart sank as you wondered if you had dashed yours chances by accidentally stepping on a land mind. You scrambled to shove the subject back into the right track. “So, the amount of the animal might have an effect?”

“If I were to attempt to explain it simply, than you could say it tips probability.” His sour attitude seemed to lessen with each word.

You mentally wiped your sweat away. “What’s the probability exactly?” You made it a few more steps and watched as two pigeons tapped beaks cutely from above. “And not the numbers I mean!”

He seemed amused by your save and you felt yourself finally in the clear. “For a human, you’ll usually mutate into a recombinant version of whatever animal you were last in contact with.”

“Zookeeper!” You rounded on him making sure to use your far hand in accusation.

“I was not created in that way.” He seemed to gloat more and more with each of your wrong guesses.

You turned away from him with a snap, but had maneuvered it that you were so close now that one little move would cause your shoulders to brush. You could sense how close his hand was to yours as each step brought them in near contact. In a final feign you played up as if you were thinking of another guess and waited as the silence filed in. Almost instantly that withheld aura cropped up and you could tell Donatello was once again suffering at his own hand. From where your fingers had lazily curled in a neutral position, you flex them out in a little stretch. He tensed instantly and your heart sped up with each step in anticipation. You willed him to finally go through with it as the air seemingly became oppressive. He wouldn’t even have to move at this point; he just needed to time the swing of his arm. Your heart surged as you felt the ghost of contact. Mind spiraling, you tried to come up with some kind of final push.

“We’re almost there.” It came off your lips because you could register that was the perfect move; it rolled up an honest truth, a warning, and a last call all into one.

You could see him falter in his steps before immediately scrambling to pick back up at your side. He slotted himself as close as you had before and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep from spoiling the moment. Steps continued to march forward and you leaned your fingers out an almost negligible amount. You felt that ghosting again, but this time it lingered. It was as if his hand were barely skirting the hairs on yours. You waited, unconsciously counting down to what seemed like an inevitable when he disappeared. You made it a few more steps before the missing echo of his telltale boots reached your ears. Popping your eyes open, you spun around to find Donatello hunched, fisting his hands in apparent fury.

“Don-?”

“I can’t take this!”

Your stomach bottomed out in a way that made your legs feel like lead.

“It’s constant, inane, and aggravatingly disobedient!”

Though you still felt at a loss, your head tipped to one side. Across from you Donatello was contracting so aggressively that it seemed like a blood vessel might burst. “Woah, hey…”

“Absolutely infuriating!.” He seethed.

You brought your hands up as he seemed like he could lash out and took a tentative step forward.

Instead of you rounding on you with anger, he snapped up with what almost looked like fear. “Stay back.”

The command had a lethal quality to it, but your feet didn’t seem to get the memo. Within another step, his hands came up as well. Still moving, your foot lifted to close the distance a little more. His body careened to one side and you desperately tried to track his unhinged tilt. Like a pendulum, he then shot in the opposite direction and was upon you. You stared up at his towering form. It wasn’t at all like when he’d tried to intimidate you. Instead he seemed to be teetering in an abysmal loss of control. Bringing your gaze down slowly and unsure about taking your eyes off of him, you tracked to find his fingers hovering centimeters from your arms. It was enough to completely shake off alarm for the confusion you’d had since leaving the restaurant. “Don, what’s going on?”

Your use of a nickname seemed to have the intended effect as a shred of his former self appeared. “I have not cleared-”

He stopped as you laced your expression with concern and he seemed to catch on that you had only done it as a means to get his attention.

He lowered his head until your were caught in his gaze. His eyes were nearly as wide as they had been when you thought he might attack your boss. Instead this time, the pinprick of his pupil seemed to correlate with manic distress. “I need you to listen closely.”

You gave a nod, keeping your eyes trained to his.

“I don’t like touch.”

“Oh…” You faltered, a new type of confusion settling in. “Okay?”

He exaggerated his features for a moment as if to double down on the statement.

Gaze breaking free, you searched his face where he seemed immovable on the subject. “I don’t mind? I think I just touched you the one time, but I can make sure to steer clear?”

He hissed as if burned and reeled away from you.

You watched on with budding awareness that this display heavily contrasted his usual unflappable nature. You’d seen cracks of it here and there, but on full display he seemed freed in a way that you might have regarded fondly were he not so distressed.

“It’s not you! Well, it is, but-!” He was moving again, nearly rocking as he attempted to pace. For whatever reason, he didn’t get more than a few steps to either side.

“Alright, let’s just-” You attempted to duck and weave to catch his eye. “Donatello, can you look at me?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, that’s okay.” Glancing at the few people on the street, you reviewed the buildings that lined it. “Can you step over here? Let’s move to the side.” You took your time making your way over to a small inlet worked into the stone near an alley.

Donatello shifted a few times before trailing after. As soon as he made it, he pressed a shoulder into the building to stabilize himself.

You mirrored his move and could feel the cold of the concrete through your layers. You closed your eyes in a form of accordance and focused on your breathing. For several minutes, everything seemed quiet save the sound of the city. With the way he had been able to sneak around, there was always a chance that he could have left all together, but you decided not to think about it. Instead, you slowly combed over the little information he had offered until he was ready.

When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice. “I didn’t intend for you to see that.”

Unsure if you should open your eyes, your brows knit. “Hey, it’s alri-”

“No.” The force lifted his tone and brought your lids up part way. Through your lashes you glimpsed that his steely expression had returned, but the mask had been placed in a hurry. A peek at his pearly whites showed his teeth were grit. “I pride myself on having more control. The fact that I buckled under a few compounding pressures…”

“Then…” You kept your gaze low. “How about we call it even? I don’t feel great about dragging you out when I was a shell of myself. We hadn’t even gone on a date yet.”

“It’s more than that.” His lips seemed to realize they were betraying his face and came to close the gap. “Besides, I’m glad-” As soon as the shield went up, it immediately malfunctioned and he sneered.

“Is it-” You pulled your own breaks, unsure if your usual nature of blurting things out was appropriate. Fiddling with your coat, you snuck a glance to find Donatello waiting with a look that seemed to urge you to form a distraction. You desperately hoped that reading was accurate as you opened your mouth again. “Is it a weakness thing?”

“Explain?”

The fingers that were picking at the breakpoint, fisted the fabric. “Admitting you like me or anything that might signify that. Do you not like it because it’s a weakness?”

This was usually around the time he’d punctuate something about you being presumptuous, but the quiet that followed was unnerving. You finally brought your gaze up fully and, instead of finding him put off, he seemed to be contemplating.

It meant there was a portion of truth to your question and you rotated until your back was pressed flat against the building. Even though you had a feeling, it didn’t feel great to see it confirmed. You weren’t sure if you could be with someone who thought of love in that way. You blinked twice, staring wide out at a passing taxi. That choice of word wasn’t right. At least, not yet. Putting further pressure into the concrete the eventuality took hold. You were getting so far ahead of yourself you wished you could strangle your own brain for even daring to think like that.

“I dislike the causality of it.”

Remembering you had been waiting, you whipped your head around to your companion. “Like cause and effect?”

“It means that somewhere along the line, in another infuriating loss of control, I allowed a series of events to take place that brought us to this moment.”

“Control, control… I’m sorry, Donatello.” You shifted to turn to him to also communicate that with your body. “I get that this is hard, but I don’t think I’m going to understand unless you explain it.”

He reached out and both of you watched as the hand neared your face. His other then appeared and snatched the wrist of the first. “There!” He glowered at the appendage as if he’d chop it right off. “I know you’ve seen it. I appreciate that you hadn’t called attention to it, but it keeps happening.”

You suddenly felt guilty for having tried to bait him earlier.

“As I said.”

“You don’t like touch.”

“Exactly.” He used the hand he supposedly had control over to put the unruly one back at his side. “And yet, my body continues to betray me.”

“Has this happened before?” You adjusted your coat and moved your arms to your side as he had done.

“Not this way.” He blew out an annoyed puff of air. “I might have had the urge, but when it played out I found the exchange repulsive.”

You mulled over his phrasing. “That bad, huh?”

He didn’t exactly relax, but he didn’t seem as strung up as he once was. “As a stickler as I am for data, it was the sort of thing that didn’t need much repeated testing to satisfy my hypothesis.”

“I see…”

“Which makes it dually frustrating because I already know the outcome and yet my magnificent mind is somehow choosing to both dump that info, something it has never done before, while also strengthening an exercise of my subconscious, something I had long trained otherwise.”

“Hence the control…” You spoke the sentence aloud more to confirm it to yourself.

 “Yes.”

“And the causality thing is you aren’t sure how you ‘let’ that happen?”

“In a sense.”

You gave a little hum and kicked an errant pebble on the sidewalk. It skittered a bit before disappearing into a crack.

“I usually don’t see the need to clarify, but there was a chance you said it as a means to pacify me earlier…”

You looked to him.

“Are you alright going forward without touch?” He then broke away to shake his head off to the side. “I neglected to add it to my warning list.” He then cursed under his breath something about oversights before turning his attention back to you.

Mulling over the response, you decided with a small frown. “I’m not sure. Honestly, I’ve never been in a relationship like that, so I don’t know what I’d do, but then, pretty much everything else about this has been new to me…” You looked toward him with a tepid hope.

He regarded you evenly in a way that said he wasn’t sure where he landed on the matter.

“Though, I’m more worried about you at the moment.”

He gaze turned into a flat stare.

It seemed like his version of bewilderment and it made you smile. “Based on what you said, logic reigns supreme in that head of yours.”

He took the comment as appreciation and one of his brows rose a centimeter.

“And because of that, I can’t imagine that this conversation is going to fix your reaching out problem.”

For a moment his brows rose as he took in the information and then they came down as he appeared to come to a similar conclusion.

“Here.” You slowly brought you hands up and held them out in front of you. “You’re not wrong about how you feel or what you’ve decided and I don’t think I have some kind of magic touch that will make everything okay, but maybe you can try a quick graze to see if maybe that will at least get it out of your system?”

He tilted his head the slightest amount.

“I’ll stay totally neutral so it’ll all be on your terms.”

One of his hands came up and from its speed you weren’t sure if it was purposeful or not. He did, however, halt the appendage and give it a quick fist before squaring his shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You nodded back, raising your chin as if you were preparing yourself for some great labor.

His other hand joined his first and he slowed. “I believe you said you weren’t going to hold my hand.”

If you weren’t already poised, you might have fallen over. Your roommate’s comment on commands surged in your mind. “Please tell me you didn’t take that seriously?”

“Don’t be absurd.” He huffed and continued his trek.

He turned his hand over so that your palms would meet. You watched carefully as his fingers skirted the underside of yours before sliding along what you knew to be your fate line. It brought a certain heat that seemed to linger in the tips of your ears. His thumbs then closed in around the top of your hands and the sheer size of his appendages completely encompassed yours in a loose hold.

He became very still and you had to force your gaze to him. His eyes were once again wide, but this times his pupils had enlarged in an attempt to match up. His gaze was unfocused and gave you the impression of a hungry animal who’s turn at the carcass was just one away. Before you could look back down, he gave your hands a proper squeeze. It sent a fluttering sensation up your arm. You suddenly had to put a fair amount of focus into not returning the gesture. On your left hand, you felt one of his finger skirt downward and land precisely on your radial pulse. Your heart picked up on contact and your eyes squeezed shut as he surely felt the exact moment it did.

“I require further testing.”

Your eyes popped open to find that hungry stare now pointed directly at your face. “How so?”

You immediately wished you’d said something more clever, but it also seemed like forming the two words you had required all your strength.

“Your arms, if that’s alright?”

You gave a nod that felt far too small.

He was in motion again, but it was slow and methodical. He traced the lip of your coat, tucking a finger under it to chase the skin momentarily before relenting to move overtop the barrier. Everything fell away to just him as he then took a grip of your forearms and instead of just squeezing, gave a gentle rolling massage motion with his thumbs.

You felt weak at the knees and were assaulted by the memory of him throwing his arm over your shoulder and holding your hand from a few nights ago.

Had you both forgotten about that?

You wanted to voice the exception, but he intercepted.

“To the shoulders.”

It wasn’t even close to a question and his voice was thick with a sort of need. You felt drunk on the intoxicating amount of attention he was giving you, but you somehow found more words than before. “If you do, my hands are going to hit your chest again.”

You patted yourself on the back for slipping in at least a reference to the outlier.

“I don’t care.”

He really didn’t as he gently cupped your elbows on a journey to your upper arm. As he drew close, your fingers pressed into the taunt surface of his abdomen and you remembered feeling a similar hardness before. Knowing now he was part turtle, you wondered what the shell his coat was obviously concealing looked like. The thought evaporated as he reached his destination and let the length of his fingers curl around your shoulder and onto your back. You squashed your lips together to avoid making a pathetic sound over such a simple touch. It caused your fingers to tangle up in his shirt and you leaned your head forward to keep from acting further.

“More.” His voice was dark now and his head landed somewhere around the top left of yours.

Swimming in a head rush, you couldn’t find any need to respond. Still he refused to move and gave your shoulders tight squeeze as if you wake you up.

“Please.”

A buoy thought about how he was using so few words surfaced. You clung onto it to make your mouth move. “It’s fine!”

You hadn’t meant it to be so loud, but he surged forward and embraced you in a crushing hug. You were thankful for the force because it felt like the only thing keeping you upright. Unfortunately, it also caused the sharp lip of something across his chest to press uncomfortably into your face. With your head slightly down it narrowly missed crushing your eye and you wormed out a little noise of discomfort from where you were buried amongst his clothes.

The reaction was instantaneous. You knew you were moving, but not where when your feet left the ground. You landed, seated against something, before he pulled back. Dizzy from the whirlwind, you watched as he dipped down lower until you realized he was trying to catch your eye from where your head had lolled down. It took all you had to muster a question with your eyes.

“I know.” He had a weakened quality to his voice. “You can-” He took your hands and delicately cradled them by your fingers before bringing them up near his shoulders. “If you want.” He then shot you a look that nearly pleaded you to comply.

You wanted to tell him he didn’t need to ask.

You wanted to ask if this was still about gathering data.

You ended up unable to say anything and instead broke free from him to rush getting around his head. He moved in tandem and you were swept up in another hug that you returned by wrapping your arms around his neck. Your face settled in a crook between your arm and his head. With the full contact, you could feel the sensation of him relaxing as if he sighed deeply. No sound accompanied it and you felt the pressure on your end reach a head. It manifested in you giving him a tight squeeze and worming your face in as close as you could get it to him. He returned the gesture with a sharp compression of his own, before his arms parted to cradle one of your shoulders with one hand and the small of your back with the other.

Slowly you felt the steam release and the desperation tapered off. Unlike him, you allowed yourself a contended sigh and his thumb gently rubbed your shoulder blade. “You okay?” You mumbled into the thick of your arm.

He didn’t immediately respond, but you felt a bob in his shoulders. You identified it as a single chuckle. It was a gesture that could only be felt and not seen. It opened up a whole new world of little things about Donatello for you to uncover. You tried to temper the rush of excitement as there was still a chance this was a onetime thing. As if on cue, you felt his hands began to retract. You loosened your grip and he shifted in a way that brought your cheeks together as he continued to part. You were suddenly hyper aware as his face grew in your periphery. Your fingers accidentally hooked the back of his collar and he slowed at the sensation. It meant he came out with his lips skirting the side of your head as he turned inward to question you. Your breath hitched as you awaited what seemed to be continually put off. His gaze focused on your eyes and your lips parted in anticipation. While he didn’t look down, he seemed to catch the gesture and just barely tipped his forehead against yours before fully pulling away.

You made sure your hands were free and he let them cascade over his shoulders and down to his lapels.

It made sense in a sad way.

A kiss would probably be too much on top of everything else.

His hands freed themselves from your after a last caress to your sides before he brought them up to cover yours on his chest.

“You didn’t answer…” You murmured to yourself, still trying to suppress the fringe melancholy.

“I’m okay.” His voice sounded far clearer.

You nodded and prepared yourself to let go when you realized that you were perched on a metal railing. Your contact point on Donatello was keeping you upright and you quickly blinked away the other lingering distractions in favor of measuring your jump down.

“May I?”

Unsure of what he meant you nodded and he slotted his hands around your waist again, but this time in a far less romantic fashion. He then lifted you like a toddler and set you down on the ground. It took a moment, but you rounded your disrespect on him with a glower and venom. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” There was an airy quality to his voice that was surely put on just to be snarky but it made his relaxed aura all the more apparent.

“How’d it go?”

He gave you his patented look and translated he knew full well of how you had also indulged in the moment.

You rolled your eyes and tried not to recount the memory already. You were giddy enough as it was.

He adjusted his coat in a slick move and raised his head as if he finally had all the composure in the world. “I suppose there was always a possibility that I could be wrong. Ah, the accursed asymptote.”

You watched him curiously, trying to think back to anytime before the hug and failing miserably.

“The farmer’s market, was it?” He took a tentative step forward and there was an odd teasing quality to him.

It created a sense of dread in you that only foreboded the best things that would also just so happen to wreck you.

You wondered if he was aware of that fact or just caught up in finally being freed of his supposed ailment.

“Yeah…” You drew out the word and hesitated to join him. “You still want to go?”

“Why not?” He turned an even but carefree look onto you.

You shook your head at him. “No reason apparently.”

When you came out of the motion he had dipped alarming close into your personal space.

You wondered if at any point he could have been wrong about his mutation as he always seemed to slink around like a snake.

“For the record, I’ll be reassessing my hypothesis.”

He even slid on his S’s like one.    

 He came in until his nose almost touched yours. “That means further testing is required.”

He punctuated the point with a shift in his brows before perfecting his posture by your side.

He was absolutely aware.

You moved to join him and he offered his arm.

You gave him a look which he pointedly ignored. Forced to give up, you chuckled and tucked your fingers into the crook taking great care for that to be the only bit touching. You both began walking and he passed you a grateful tip of his chin at your thoughtfulness.

“Did you think love is a weakness?” The sentence popped out of you as if your lips remembered your earlier concern more than your brain did.

“Isn’t it?” He was quick to respond and you turned to look at him curiously.

Waiting there was the fingers from his other hand which he used to flick your forehead.

“Hey!” He hadn’t held back much and you used your free hand to rub the spot.

“Case and point.”

“That’s not fair, you-” You froze as you realized there was a clear insinuation there. You sputtered in a similar way as you had when you brain had suggested the same thing. “I-I don’t-”

“Of course not, you’re just slow and gullible.” 

Annoyed at a number of things, you pinched his bicep.

The corner of his mouth turned up in tempered amusement.

“I could just leave…” You huffed.

“Be my guest.” He eyed you to see how you’d handle your bluff.

“I believe ‘wicked’ will be a great first addition to your negative list.” You relented by turning away from him to pout into the sidewalk.

You felt a comforting tap of his hand against yours before it returned to his side. “Good choice."

NEXT

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction #weakspotfic

[snomoscribbles]

"It's okay to let it out. I'm here to listen." Comfort fic where it's Nanui that needs to be comforted and let out steam? :3c

He knew logically that he could only push himself so far. Weariness weighed heavy on Nanui's bones, the days passing the attack on the tulkun had been rough and the whole village was feeling themselves wilting after the initial rush to fix and mend and heal. He'd been assisting with everything he could, mending homes and taking hunting shifts to give his fellow Metkayina a break. But he was skipping his.

He didn't want to stop. He didn't want to think. He had a feeling if he sat down, he might not get back up again. So on he pushed. Day by day his shoulders sagged further, his smiles waning and his energy draining away. He'd stopped thinking about it after awhile, just letting his body move through the days without thought. Until... "Nanui! hey, big guy? You there? " The tattooed craftsman startled, looking down and immediately offering a tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You were standing in front of him, brow furrowed and arms crossed. You had been trying to get his attention apparently, and it wasn't like him to deny you. His heart felt heavy at the thought of worrying you. "Ah, my apologies. I am...just tired." He yawned as if to solidify his point. But you knew that. You'd been keeping your eye on the weaver and trying to push him away from this slow shut down he was stumbling toward. You reach out and take his hand gently in both of yours, frowning when he startles again at your touch. He was definitely not all there. "C'mon. I need you to come with me." There was no room for argument and he wouldn't attempt to anyway. He's pretty sure you could ask him to walk into an open flame and he would do so. You held his trust in your hands. He stumbles after you, letting you lead him away from the cluster of maruis and into the cluster of trees that lay on the other side of the beach. He watched, head tilted curiously just the slightest bit in a shadow of the energy he usually has. "Come on. Sit down." You tug on his hand as you take a seat at the base of a tree, letting out a hefty sigh, "You're not burning a candle at both ends at this point, buddy. You threw it in the fire." "I can not understand your sayings on a good day, I'm not sure you'll have any luck explaining that one." He jests with a gentle chuckle, slowly managing to lower himself into a cross legged sitting position. His movements are stiff and slow.

"Yeah, Thought about it after I said it." you laugh, shaking your head. You wait until he's settled before reaching out to offer him your hands once again. Without thought he reaches out, larger scarred fingers gently holding your own. His shoulders visibly relax a little, heaving once with a long breath. "I can tell you're not okay, big guy. Theres been a lot going on and you haven't taken any time to process it. I don't know if its on purpose or not but..." You debate pressing further but your encouraged forward by the look of surprise in those large blue eyes, teal ears flicking upward in attention. "It's okay to let it out. I'm here to listen. You can't keep this up. You're gonna break yourself." Theres a heavy pause, Nanui processing your words before he seems to crumble. His eyes sting with tears, ears flattening, shoulders sagging followed by the rest of him as he collapses forward into your lap. You yelp in surprise, releasing his hands to catch the large man in your arms and let him lay across you with his head pillowed on your thigh. Your heart shatters at the first shuttery breath that heaves from the man, tears let loose and wetting the skin of your thigh where he's pressed his forehead to hide his face. You don't say anything, bringing your hands up to gently move the endless amount of hair from his shoulders so you can trace soothing patterns across his back and shoulders. He'd lost so many people. His home was half burned and his friends and family were hurt and in mourning of their siblings. He had earned a good cry. "I- I am-" He starts and you lightly thump him in the back of the head, earning a reflective wince from him. "If you try to apologize right now, I will end you. Its overdue. You need to let it out." He turns his head a little to look at you finally, head still resting on your leg as he sniffles. His nose and eyes are flushed and raw, hair slipping from his bun and spilling over your thigh. He furrows his brow in concern, looking up at you like a proper kicked puppy. Pathetic and adorable. He looks down again, taking a deep breath and you resume rubbing his back gently. "Nothing could have prepared me for this. I have not known this pain....War has not seen us like this before." You cant help leaning over, reaching your arms out in the best way you can to replicate an embrace. "You're all healing. It will take time and we're going to do it together. But you need to rest or you wont be much help at all." "I do not wish to see it all again. Its there when I close my eyes." The admission is hushed, ashamed and you squeeze him a little harder. "Rest here. I'll stay with you." "You will?" "Yes. Close your eyes. Just for a little bit. I'll wake you up if someone needs you." You shift and move a little until your both resting comfortably, leaning against the tree at your back with the giant mourning Metkayina in your lap breathing deeply with his eyes shut and hopefully no dreams to disturb him.

#avatar #james cameron avatar #navi #avatar way of water #avatar pandora #metkayina #nanui #snomostories #writing requests #requests #ask #request #ask meme #let nanui cry 2k14 #let just get real sad #hurt/comfort

[rensouli]

Paragraph Prompt #4 - "Bemoaning"

(Credit once again goes to Aurelia for this one - thank you ever so much!)

[Please note that I tend to play fast and loose with my Warhammer lore, largely for the sheer fun of it. I also must apologize for the sudden disappearance of Vercci and Voldo here, but rest assured, they'll return soon enough. I just need to get some Saltzpyre practice in too!]

     The chapterhouse dining hall was deafeningly silent, save for the whispers of some errant apprentice hunters seated on the far end of the benches and the droning voice of the priest reciting the evening’s chosen scriptures. Saltzpyre did his best to tune both out as he labored to eat his victuals, though he ignored the priest with a twinge of shameful guilt. The meal was more tasteless than usual, but for once that wasn’t due to the Templar dietary restrictions. Life itself lost its luster when he was kept from the roads and his usual duties. Small wonder, then, that even food wasn’t appealing to him in his current state.

     Scowling, he regarded the mass of bandages his injured arm had become, bound in its sling. A clean break and a cluster of harsh burns were the price he’d paid for a job well done. His nostrils still stung from the faint scent of the numbing poultice, which had been applied to the wounds earlier by a too-chatty healer. At least she hadn’t tried to convince him a soothing spell was necessary; at the end of the day, all magic reeked of corruption.

     Had there not been blessed days before the hateful Winds blew their first, dispersing such twisted gifts across the lands of men? The people had lived free from taint and temptation, and the emissaries of Chaos were forced to work more directly if they wished to corrupt mortals. But now such foul aims were so easily accomplished, with the flick of a glowing finger or the brewing of an ill-spiced potion. And what with the Imperial Court continuing to sanction and approve such heresy…Saltzpyre found himself thanking Sigmar that he wasn’t so mad as those who tried to mount a solo crusade against it. The mad zealots who tried such things were more likely to end up on the gallows or the pyre themselves than immortalized in stained glass with the saints.

     He shook his head. Would that circumstances were different, that Karl Franz and the Elector Counts could be led to reason at last! An Empire free of witchery, or at least one where those with magic’s accursed taint in their veins kept their heads down and knelt in the Temples of Sigmar to pray for their affliction to be lifted…oh, what a glorious land that would be to dwell in! He would weep tears of joy for the rest of his days there, and no mistake.

     Yet bemoaning the state of the world did precious little to bring about that longed-for miracle. Indeed, he was forced to reckon with the fact that reality never could measure up to his exacting standards.

     May Sigmar forgive me for having expectations in this vale of tears, he thought to himself. As he did his level best to choke down what remained of his gruel, he wore a grim smile. Could a man be absolved of something that wasn’t a sin?

     If having the true best interests of the Empire at heart made him a sinner, then perhaps he could allow himself a trace of corruption after all.

#warhammer: old world fantasy #vermintide #victor saltzpyre #fanfiction #adult fanfiction #prompt responses #renaissance writings #my writing #warhammer wailing #saltzpyre saltbox

[real-total-drama-takes]

The Chase ask about diagnosing him with NPD being ableist sparked some general thoughts for me. Beware, as this will probably be long... No hostility here, though! Just sharing some thoughts.

It isn't uncommon for people to either theorize or headcanon mental or neurological disorders for certain characters based on symptoms displayed in the show. I'm not a huge fan of it but I understand where others are coming from; in this circumstance, Chase does exhibit some of the textbook symptoms--the symptoms itself are completely separate from what may be seen as a harmful stereotype. It's up to the individual whether they antagonize the disorder or not, it's not inherently ableist to "diagnose" the character in the first place.

Also, wouldn't that mean that we shouldn't diagnose any characters with a mental, neurological, or developmental disorder? Because if its about the stigmatization, all disorders come with stigmatization. BPD is another cluster B personality disorder that often pops up in headcanons or theories based on assumptions presented in the show. It's also another disorder usually associated with negative stigmatization as an "explosive" disorder, which is harmful in itself. However, within most online communities, it's understood that this is not a controlled "negative" trait.

I don't believe that NPD and BPD should be treated differently. If someone chooses to headcanon a character with NPD due to the symptoms matching up, that's their choice. If someone chooses to antagonize those with NPD, that's a different can of worms on its own. I believe that the entire mindset of hyper-awareness that certain disorders must be protected from diagnosis in fear of "falling into stereotypes", rather than being treated as any other medical diagnosis, is ableist on its own. The presumption that someone of a certain type having a certain mental disorder is ableist is already stating that there are standards in your head about who should and shouldn't be diagnosed with what, regardless of their symptoms.

Correlation does not equal causation. The two need to be dissociated from one another. Someone "diagnosing" a character with NPD that also happens to have what you would consider "undesirable traits" does not automatically mean that the diagnosis is because they're a shitty person. It's based on matched symptoms. It'd be different if someone were to throw a completely random diagnosis out for a character that exhibited no symptoms at all.

Anyway, sorry this was probably the length of half a page. I'm a Total Drama fan that also happens to be a psychology major, so of course I had to chime in with my thoughts as soon as I saw the mention of ableism with personality disorders 😅 Feel free to skip or ridicule, but I think once there's been a mention of real-world issues, it should always be taken seriously.

.

#total drama #total drama 2023 #td chase #long post #tw ableism ment

[scotianostra]

St Ninian’s Manse.

I've not had decent walk around Leith for a while so I remedied that today. My first point of interest is the former church, nestled amongst a cluster of modern buildings at Quayside Street off Sandport Place, while you can see the steeple, which I shal come back to later, easily enough from further afield, you won't find the Manse in full until you are almost on top of it.

The buildings origins lie in a chapel that established in the late 15th century, was the home of North Leith Parish Church, playing a vital role in the development of the area. It's importance is evident as it stands near the head of the first bridge to North Leith over The Water of Leith.

ln 1493 Robert Bellenden, Abbot of Holyrood, founded and endowed a chantry chapel. The chapel fell into ruin after the Reformation, it was restored in 1595, and in 1606 became officially the church of a new and independent parish of North Leith. The Statistical Account of Scotland states both the church and manse are as old as the times of popery, but they have undergone a variety of repairs; including a considerable one in the year 1736, when it was in a great measure rebuilt." In the early 19th century, when a new parish church had been provided on another site, the old one was let to other congregations; and in 1825, when the last of these left, the place was converted into a granary, which in its turn has been rebuilt as a mill, pics of it as a mill in the 1950-60's can be found by clicking here

The most impressive part of The Manse, to me anyway, is the aforementioned spire. If you look at it closely you will see it is made of wood. This is Leith's and so Edinburgh's sole surviving 17th-century timber steeple.

The entrance to the stair, now covered by an extension, is dated 1675 as seen on the lintel above the door. Another interesting feature is the inscription above an archway that says;

BLESED AR THEY YAT HEIR YE VORD OF GOD AND KEIP IT/ LVK XI 1600.

It comes from the New Testament bible by Luke, and quite literally translates to;

 “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and keep it!”

The charity Scottish Historic Buildings Trust restored the building from 1996 to 2002 along with the adjacent Quayside Mills, creating desirable waterfront accommodation and office space. Much of the interior, from what I can see having trawled through a fair amount of pictures, retains a certain amount of it's charm, with many of the timbers visible throughout the building.

Some debate has gone on, due to the alterations over the centuries, whether this or Lambs House, a short walk away, on the south of the bridge is the oldest building in Leith.

Leith is usually thought of as the port or dock area of Edinburgh. It was not, however, part of Edinburgh until 1920. Between 1833 and 1920 Leith was an independent burgh.  Before this Edinburgh town council was able to control Leith through being the feudal superior of the land there. Many of the citizen s to this day are fiercely proud of their old status, calling themselves Leithers, rather than saying they are from Edinburgh, it is apparent on the poem below I found on the Leith Forever web page, it was written in 1919 and appeared in Andrew Grant’s collection of poems from the Leith Observer 1914 -1920.

Ye folks a’ Leith, are ye a’ sleepin’

Whilst Reekie’s cheils are busy reapin’

Braw schemes to hae ye in their keepin’ For

evermair?

Arouse yoursel’s an’ dae the sweepin’

O’ your ain stair!

If ye yoursel’s wad save some siller,

Ye’d better tak’ in hand the tiller

Auld Reekie means to “droon the miller,” An’ sink

the mill;

For loaded debts noo fairly fill her-

They’re ‘yont her skill.

The debter’s grawvit’s rooned her neck,

An’ just tae save hersel’ frae wreck,

She offer ye her hindmaist cheque,

Frae some dark source.

But in nae bank, gi’en bow or beck,

Wad e’er endorse.

Keep clear o’ yon West-eny crew

O’ their “fine airs” hae nocht ado,

A keen East windblaws thro’ and thro’

Their mim-moo’ed graces;

Jist skin it aff, an’ then ye’ view

Some cranks in places!

Tak’ heed from Glesca’s swollen size;

Hoo burghs aince pride did prize

Lie low this day, an’ a’ their sighs

Speak o’ taxation.

This lesson ye maun ne’er despise

O’ ruination!

But rouse ye, toonsmen, ane an’ a’

An’ gie your pipes a warlike blaw.

Let ilka patriot in a raw

Tak’ up his stand;

Auld Reekie’s seekin’ for oor fa’

An’ wants command.

Ye craftsmen o’ oor ancient toun,

Your he’rts I ken are unco soun’,

It’s time ilka ane o’us marched roun’

Oor ain auld border;

An’ paced oor boundaries up an’ doon

In martial order.

The “honest toun” ayont oot by,

(Whaur danger’s likewise drawin’ nigh)

Has lately bade her burghers hie

To “ride the marches”;

Let Leith wi’ her auld neebor vie,

‘Neath hame-mad arches!

Let’ a’ meet at the Giant’s Brae

An’ mak the auld Port bricht an’ gay,

Turn oot in sold, massed array,

Mak’ Reekie quiver;

On each a badge, an’ let it say-

“Auld Leith for ever!”

Restalrig - 30 August 1919,

Next up I will post pics and history of the more well known, Lambs House.

#Leith #scotland #scottish #edinburgh #archetecture #buildings #my pics #history

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

More snippets of my series of crossover one shots!

Dani popped by the firehouse to say hello, wearing an old t-shirt dress instead of her usual hoodie and jeans. Cody and Frankie wanted to hang out with the newest princess of the Infinite Realms, and Frankie was no doubt going to have a set of questions for her to answer.

Eventually, they got bored, and ran off into the forest with Dani Burns and Blades.

They came across a small cluster of trees, a vine and bush of blood red flowers. Cody touched the petals, not quite thinking of any danger. He would wash his hands when he got back to the firehouse.

Dani hovered closer to the tree, keeping a cautious distance away. She examined a few of the plants, being sure not to touch it. Unfortunately, Cody was not as cautious, and accidentally got the pollen all over his hands.

Dani brushed against Cody's jacket, the cuffs now covered in pollen.

She recognized the flower just as she got close enough to the tree to breathe in the pollen.

These were blood blossoms.

The reaction was instant.

Dani immediately shot back as if she was hit. Her nose started to bleed rust tinged ectoplasm, and she started to vomit straight blood.

"Blood blossoms, their poison. Makes ghosts unstable." She wasn't breathing now, not that she needed to, but her slow heartbeat was even slower, parts of her fading from existence as she struggled to keep herself together.

She started to fall out of the sky, Blades grabbing her and racing away. Dani tugged at the place her ecto-dejecto pen was under her skirt while Dani Burns focused on stabilizing all the wrong things. Dani Burns finally stopped long enough to see the injection pen, and spiked it into her thigh. She started to solidify immediately, getting better as the ecto did its work.

They took her back to the firehouse, where Dani Burns called Danny.

Danny burst out of a green portal in a ratty t-shirt and basketball shorts, obviously rolling right out of bed. He has an entire duffle bag of ectoplasm and even more ecto-dejecto, even a Fenton Thermos.

"Blood Blossoms are ten times as potent as an exorcism, and twenty times as deadly." He said, popping off the top of an ectoplasm thermos. Dani chugged it, her form growing more solid. She looked more lively, chatting with Frankie like nothing happened while Cody used the back door to head to the showers.

The firehouse was set up in a way that there was a separate door for when Kade came back from a rescue too covered in soot or contamination to change in the common areas. The entire place could be hosed down with no damage to the house. Cody grabbed a duffle bag filled with a change of clothes in his size, making sure not to open it until his stuff was on the washer and he had taken a shower.

In the main garage, Danny looked relieved, and exhausted.

"I had a bit of a flashback to when we met." He admitted to Dani Burns. "Dani was incredibly unstable when I was pitted against her. After I defeated her, she needed half a dozen of those ecto-dejecto pens to even be solid. I had to put her in a thermos anyway."

A green portal opened, and a redhead with a slightly haunted baseball bat left the portal. She wore a steel toed boot on one foot, and a walking boot on the other. A flaming circlet framed her brows, giving her the appearance of an eldritch general. Her smile was a bit too sharp as she smiled warmly towards Dani.

"Ellie! Danny said something about a patch of blood blossoms? I guess I need to make them even more extinct."

"Yeah, Cody found them. He didn't know they were bred to torture ghosts. He touched them, I didn't realize what they were, and now I am gonna be Frostbite's favorite patient for a little bit."

"Yeah you will. Hey, I'm Jazz, the only being in the Ghost Zone that can touch and kill Blood Blossoms without dying that can fit into this room. Can one of you robots come with me? We are burning this stuff in a place where the ashes can be safely disposed of. Blood Blossoms are nasty."

Heatwave went with Jazz to dispose of the deadly plants. Jazz summoned a bucket of blue greek fire and burned every last vine, along with the tree.

She left to join her younger brother and sister, being sure to dismiss the flames fully before leaving. Heatwave was shocked to find no coals or ash left where the tree once stood. Just an empty hole.

#maccadam #danny phantom

[silverfoxstole]

I’d intended to write something completely different this afternoon, but the Hornblower/Night at the Museum AU has apparently taken over my brain and I ended up with nearly 3500 words of that instead.

Thank you so much to @lacnunga for coming up with this wonderful idea in the first place, and to @amalthea9 for the fantastic additions I’ve used as well. I will just point out that I’ve never actually seen any of the NATM films, though I am of course vaguely aware of the set up. This is me riffing on the concept.

The gallery seemed subdued when Styles started his patrol.

It was strange; unlike most nights there was little apparent activity in the display cases, and it wasn’t until he’d made two rounds of the room that he realised there had been no small voice barking at him and demanding to know why he had turned up thirty seconds late for his shift again, chastising him for his terrible time-keeping. Frowning, he passed his torch over the Hotspur’s home only to find that the diorama was curiously low on figures; the ship was drastically undermanned, though he could see Matthews chivvying some of the hands that were milling about on deck. Prowse was there, too, waddling back and forth, but there was no sign of Bush or Hornblower and the whole model had an air of despondency that Styles had never seen before, as though something momentous had happened in his absence. When Matthews caught sight of him the bos’n just shook his grey head before Styles could ask and pointed towards another case, one that Styles had never really paid much attention to before because it didn’t really contain much of any interest.

It still didn’t, though this time not because its miniature landscape was devoid of ships and therefore much in the way of excitement. Styles shone a light into the case and blinked in astonishment: in place of village buildings that usually clustered around the mouth of a serpentine river, tiny people bustling back and forth on the quay, there was what could only be described as devastation. If he hadn’t known better he would have said that some kind of fire or explosion had taken place; the houses and offices had been flattened, what remained burnt-out husks of wood and paper, and the mirrored water was cracked, its surface peeling away and curling at the corners. Here and there a battered figure lay, though most of them had apparently already been removed. Belatedly Styles realised that the case itself was taped off, and a hastily-printed sign stuck to the glass that declared it was awaiting redisplay.

For a moment he thought of returning to Hotspur and asking Matthews what had happened, but then he spotted movement in Lady Barbara’s frame, illuminated by a spot lamp above, and heard a very distinct hiss from that direction; as he approached he could see that she was waving to him, and looking quite distressed, which was most unusual when she normally radiated an aura of serenity no matter what chaos erupted around her. When he got close his torch beam revealed the small figure sitting on the edge of the frame: Hornblower was hunched over, hat on his knees, and even in the horrible white light from the LED bulb Styles could see the strain on his face; he didn’t appear to be paying Lady Barbara much attention, an odd development when he only normally climbed all the way up there to moon over her.

“What’s going on?” Styles asked. “Where’s Mr Bush? He’s never been fighting those Frenchies in that wrecked case; looks like there’s been a right old battle.”

“It was only meant to be a quick sortie,” Hornblower said, though the words didn’t appear to be addressed to Styles; he was staring at his hat, apparently unaware of Styles’s presence, and Lady Barbara sighed.

“Something of a disaster has happened,” she explained sadly. “Mr Bush is - ”

“He’s dead.” Hornblower’s voice as he cut her off was flat. “I sent him. Sent him to his death.”

“No, you didn’t, Horatio,” Lady Barbara told him, glancing helplessly at Styles. “He wanted to go; you couldn’t have stopped him.”

“I should have refused permission. I’m his senior officer; I should have said no.”

Styles wasn’t sure what happened to models that were classed as dead; whatever had occurred some considerable damage had been afflicted, but there hadn’t been many obvious casualties, no remains, just the lack of hands aboard Hotspur. “Are you absolutely sure he’s dead?”

“Yes,” Hornblower replied, just as Lady Barbara answered in the negative.

“We don’t know that,” she said firmly.

“He hasn’t come back; he must be.” With an effort Hornblower sat up, squaring his shoulders. His face closed as though a shutter had come down on it and he set his hat back on his head. “I’ll have to inform the admiral, though he must have heard by now.”

“D’you want some help gettin’ there, sir?” Styles put out a hand with the intention of letting Hornblower step onto it but as usual the little captain just straightened, clasping his hands behind his back, and fixed him with a hard stare.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I need no assistance; I can manage perfectly well.”

“He can’t,” Lady Barbara remarked as she watched him slide awkwardly off the frame. “He’ll go to pieces without William to keep an eye on him, fret himself to ribbons.”

“Did you see what happened to the crew, ma’am?” Styles asked hopefully, but she shook her head.

“There were too many people about when they found the mess; Sawyer was down here, hopping mad. I didn’t dare move. “

“But you saw the explosion?” Though Styles couldn’t be sure that was what had caused the devastation in case thirty-three, it certainly looked as though some such accident had occurred.

Lady Barbara’s painted eyes met his. “I saw the fire,” she replied.

~

With no more information forthcoming Styles decided to use his rounds to make a few enquiries.

The figureheads at the other end of the hall could usually be relied upon to know the comings and goings of the museum, day or night, but on this occasion it seemed they’d taken their collective eyes off the ball. Even Hammond and Foster, the most vocal of the bunch, denied all knowledge of any action between the British and French contingents last night, though when Styles was about to leave Foster told him that if Hammond hadn’t been snoring he would have seen what happened as thirty-three was directly in his line of sight, a charge immediately refuted by the carved Irishman in the strongest terms. Inevitably the bickering soon escalated into a full-blown argument that had the rest of the heads calling for quiet, a request that of course was ignored and Styles slipped away, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour. He could still hear them as he made his way along to the uniform displays, throwing increasingly creative insults at each other.

He had half-thought that Cotard might have played one of his habitual pranks on Bush and stuffed him into a pocket or stuck a glass over him but incredibly the mannequin appeared to be genuinely insulted by such a suggestion, running off into a tide of incomprehensible French accompanied by some vociferous arm-waving when Styles dared to broach the subject. Orrock stepped in and explained gravely that they’d heard what had happened, adding in a low voice that Cotard had been quite despondent at the thought that his little adversary might be gone for good.

By the time he’d patrolled the rest of the building and returned to the first floor, unable to find any trace of Bush whatsoever, Styles was feeling much the same way. He’d even checked the rubbish bin where he’d discovered the broken remains of Kennedy, but it was empty, no sign of even a single battered deck hand or Imperial soldier.

He was still wondering whether he’d somehow missed something when morning rolled around and his shift came to an end; it was only when he was getting ready to go home that his eye was caught by the door leading to the offices occupied by the curatorial staff, and in particular the sign that pointed towards the display department. He’d sneaked into the model shop to pilfer a few bits and bobs with which to put Archie back together, and then it had been full of half-built dioramas and pieces that were no longer in use; if damaged miniatures were going to end up anywhere, it would have to be there. Deciding that breakfast and sleep could wait, Styles pushed through the door and headed down the corridor.

Annoyingly Wallis, the one in charge of fixing broken displays and building new ones, had a habit of starting early and was already there when Styles stuck his head in; Styles had been hoping to have a poke about without interference, something that was going to be impossible with glue, wood and paint spread all over the place and instructions not to touch shouted as soon as he went near anything.

Wallis glanced at him over his John Lennon specs for a second before returning to whatever it was he was intent on, paintbrush in hand. “Shouldn’t you be heading home, mate? It’s gone half past eight.”

“I’m on my way.  Saw the mess in thirty-three,” Styles added before it could be pointed out that the exit was in the opposite direction. “Have you got the survivors?”

For a moment the other man looked puzzled but then the question seemed to register and he nodded towards a plastic crate on the table. “In there. It’s a bit of a mess; not sure how much I’ll be able to fix.”

“D’you know what happened?” Styles sidled slowly towards the box, stopping to peer at a newly-rigged model of HMS Pickle on the way. “Looked like a fire, but that’s not possible, is it?”

“You’d think so, but sadly it’s true. Derek was covering for you last night and he thought he’d have a crafty fag.” Wallis’s lips pursed in annoyance. “Dropped the bloody thing, didn’t he? Right when the lid was off the case, too; Tim removed it so I could put these guys back this morning.” He gestured to the couple of French sailors and a rowboat that he’d been putting the finishing touches to. “Before he managed to put it out half the scenery was wrecked, and the rest copped it when the sprinklers kicked in. It’s going to take forever to put right; might have to start from scratch.”

Styles stared. “Bloody hell.”

“Quite. Of course, he’s out on his ear; Sawyer went barmy when he saw what’d happened. Practically turned purple; I really thought he was going to explode this time.”

Styles knew he wouldn’t have liked to be on the receiving end of that. James Sawyer in a temper was truly a sight to behold, especially if he’d forgotten to take his medication. “Have you...”  - he glanced around the room, trying to sound casual - “...have you seen a little lieutenant anywhere? About three inches high, dark hair, blue eyes? He’s usually with the Hotspur but I couldn’t find him anywhere last night.”

Wallis frowned. “Not to my knowledge, but you’re welcome to take a look. Though why he’d be in with that lot if he’s part of Hotspur’s crew I’ve no idea; the models don’t just get up and move around.”

That’s what you think, Styles retorted inwardly. Given permission now, he lifted the lid off the crate; inside was a jumble of twisted miniature figures, some melted, some snapped in half, almost all with their paint chipped and flaking. Trying to be gentle, he sifted carefully through, wondering if any of them could be properly repaired; most were missing limbs, even heads in some cases, and it was hard to tell which were meant to be French and which British.

“Why such an interest?” Wallis enquired, sounding amused as he watched Styles’s attempts to handle the remains without damaging them any further. “Are all these nights on your own starting to get to you, mate? You’re making friends with the displays?”

Styles muttered something appropriately filthy and the other man just chuckled, turning back to his work. Frustratingly, it seemed that the contents of the box was just what was left of the French peasants and possibly a couple of sailors, and eventually Styles had to admit defeat. Just as he was about to replace the lid, however, he spotted a splash of navy blue right at the bottom and his heart ridiculously skipped a beat. Wincing inwardly as he shifted a couple of dismembered townspeople out of the way, he slid a hand underneath the tiny figure and lifted it out. It appeared to have taken a considerable battering, as half the paint on the face had gone and the left leg was broken away below the knee, but what remained was recognisable: Bush’s face looked pained and in this light the one eye that was visible seemed to be closed, but it was definitely him and Styles nearly trembled with relief.

Without preamble he turned and presented what remained of Bush to Wallis. “Can you fix him?” he asked.

The conservator blinked in surprise, but he took Bush from Styles; Styles tried not to wince again when he was less than gentle. “He’s from one of the older scenes,” Wallis said, putting Bush down on the table and pulling over a magnifying glass on a stand to take a closer look. “Don’t think I’ve seen him before; must have been made well before my time.”

Styles huffed impatiently as the broken lieutenant was examined in minute detail. “Can you fix him?” he asked again.

Wallis sat back. “Possibly.” He jerked a thumb towards the bookshelves behind him. “There should be schematics and plans somewhere in amongst that lot. Might take me a while to find ‘em, though, and I’ve got a load of other work on. Thirty-three’s going to be a bugger to put right.”

“How about overtime?”

Wallis laughed. “I don’t get paid for that, mate.”

Styles had a sudden vision of the broken Bush being thrown into a box and shoved on a shelf to be forgotten until the next clear-out of the model store, when someone was likely to decide he was past saving, just like Kennedy. “What if I said I’d pay you?”

“What? Why the hell would you do that?” Wallis demanded in astonishment.

With a shrug that he hoped was appropriately nonchalant, Styles just replied, “Don’t want to see him chucked away, that’s all. The ship doesn’t look right without him.”

For a long moment Wallis stared at him as though he thought he’d run completely mad, but then he looked back at the little figure on the table and a gleam came into his eye. “OK,” he said. “Leave it with me. No promises, though.”

Styles grinned. “Brilliant.”

~

The next few weeks were filled with the usual kind of madness Styles had come to expect of his magical charges, but though he relished rugby-tackling Cotard to the floor when the mannequin made his next break for freedom in the direction of the Channel Tunnel he didn’t really derive the satisfaction he’d experienced in the past without Bush to congratulate him, no doubt smirking at Cotard’s voluble disgust as he was led back to his case for the umpteenth time.

He hadn’t dared sneak back to the model shop in case he discovered the worst: that Wallis wasn’t able to fix the lieutenant as he had hoped. Though he checked the bins periodically and found nothing that didn’t mean that Bush wasn’t already languishing somewhere on a top shelf along with all the other bits and pieces of miniatures that Wallis couldn’t be bothered to dispose of just yet. No more action had taken place in the gallery; both sides appeared to have agreed upon a ceasefire for now, given what had happened to the inhabitants of case thirty-three, and for that Styles was grateful. He had quite enough to do without ducking tiny cannonballs and having to rescue sailors that had become entangled in their own rigging.

It was a Friday evening and he had just come on shift (actually a minute early for once) when he finally saw Wallis again. The conservator was waiting for him in the Napoleonic gallery with a small box and a big smile. “Surprise!” he announced, adding when Styles just looked baffled, “Finished him this afternoon. Thought you might like to do the honours and return him to his ship.”

“You were really able to put him back together?” Styles asked as he took the box, making sure he wasn’t going to drop it.

Wallis shrugged. “Well, he’s so old I couldn’t find any appropriate replacement material so I had to give him a wooden leg, but I daresay he’ll cope. Not unusual for sailors, is it?”

Styles almost didn’t like to lift the lid, but when he did there was Bush, looking as good as new if not better, the eyes that glared up at him an even brighter blue than before thanks to their fresh coat of paint. It was hardly possible to see that he’d been damaged at all, but for the slightly different shape of that substitute leg. “Blimey,” he said, relieved and glad to see his tiny nemesis again. “You’ve done a great job.”

“Well, it turned into a bit of a side project; I’ve never looked through all that old stuff before. It was fascinating; found design drawings for him, so I was able to replicate the face pretty much as it was.” Wallis dug into his pocket and produced a ring of keys. “Want to put him back where he belongs? His shipmates are probably missing him.”

Reflecting that there was many a true word spoken in jest, Styles nodded, and Wallis unlocked Hotspur’s case. As the door swung open from the corner of his eye Styles saw Hornblower glance up in surprise, turning away from the quarterdeck rail, but when he looked properly all was still: the captain stood by the wheel, head high and hands behind his back, while Prowse consulted with the helmsman and in the waist below Matthews supervised the hands at work. With deliberate care Styles grasped Bush between finger and thumb and lifted him from the box, leaning into the case and setting him down on the deck beside Hornblower, who naturally didn’t react. He tried not to smile at the sight of them both there together once more as he stepped back and let Wallis secure the door; it was still a complete mystery to him how they managed to get out of a locked display cabinet but somehow they did, along with all the others who so enlivened his working hours.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Wallis said, checking his watch. “I think I’m the last one; d’you want to lock up after me?”

When Styles returned to the gallery it was nearly ten minutes later and he wasn’t even remotely surprised to see that things had changed aboard Hotspur in his absence. As he approached Hornblower and Bush came to the rail to meet him, the captain doing his best to look stern and in control despite the smile that was apparently trying to break onto his face and Bush now with a slight limp thanks to his mismatched legs that thankfully didn’t seem to be hindering him too much.

“Well done, Styles,” Hornblower said after some considerable awkward throat-clearing, nodding in approval. “Thank you, for your efforts and for bringing Mr Bush back to us.”

Amazingly, Styles found himself blushing at the compliment; such things weren’t exactly a regular occurrence. “Weren’t nothing, sir.”

“Nevertheless, I’m grateful to you.” Hornblower exchanged a glance with his first lieutenant. “We both are. Aren’t we, William?”

“Indeed we are, sir,” Bush agreed. He looked up at Styles and his eyebrow lifted a fraction. “Late on duty again, eh?”

“Actually, sir - ” Styles began, but then he realised that newly-repaired face was smiling at him, ever so slightly.

“Carry on, Mr Styles,” Bush said, touching his hat in salute, and Styles just laughed, knuckling his forehead in reply.

“Aye aye, sir!”

#i've no idea who wallis is #he just popped into my head #and i don't know where archie's got to in all this #hornblower #hornblower fic #my fic #hornblower/night at the museum au #styles #horatio hornblower #william bush #lady barbara wellesley #andre cotard #charles orrock #dreadnaught foster #captain hammond #captain sawyer #matthews

[battlekilt]

Ahhh, to read something I wrote with my own fingers, and still free my own tears.

From Little Troopers:

Breathlessly, Obi-Wan found he could have sobbed, “Th-They’re just little babies,” he said and finally cracked. Something burned its wet path into his beard, “They’re my responsibility. Every single one of them. And now… now they’re just little babies,” in need of breath, the Admiral gave him time to inhale the situation, then exhale, “—they’re… babies, Admiral. These babies are my responsibility.” Obi-Wan’s confession should have made him feel lighter. It didn’t. “No, actually, they’re not—” Forsil stopped Obi-Wan before he could be interrupted, “When you’re on my ship, you and each one of your Troopers are my responsibilities. I run this ship, you’re simply a guest. I’ve just let you think you’re in charge.”

[…]

Much of the Admiral’s plans worked. They found more of the Littles, who were driven by exhaustion, clustered in the warmest rooms, and eventually, their hunger made it easier for them to be found. Just as the Admiral predicted, there were bumps and bruises, scratches and minor cuts. Some had fallen and hurt their heads, and unfortunately, two had taken a tumble from a height high enough that left them with broken bones, but nothing that wouldn’t heal. However, one by one… the Littles were found, until each was accounted for. No one was lost. No one was left behind. No one had been forgotten. From end to end, they filled the barracks, ran the droids and the sailors ragged. But bellies were filled as best they could—the smallest, still needed formula milk, and simply wasn’t enough to go around. Shivering little bodies were covered in blankets, and held by nearly every available arm. Echoes of laughter mixed with the sharp spikes of truly distressed wails, or the exhausted cries that came only with endless tears. The Negotiator was a warship; though she still had Her sailors, those had once been Her soldiers. With only a few supplies to provide aid to the usual collateral victims in the war, she had hardly enough for how much the 212th now needed for its own. Everything the soldiers had ever been issued, had available to meet their needs, was now too wrong for the Tinies and the Littles; there were no more soldiers in Her hull. Only twenty-minutes ago, the first Red Star relief ships had docked. The first hands reached out to offer help, to offer aid, and to offer comfort—to offer more arms to be filled. Exhausted sailors pushed themselves to the brink of collapse, motivated by how desperately they needed the supplies unloaded—more than they needed rest, these children needed the diapers, blankets, solid foods, formula, toys, and clothes… Worlds from near-by systems, Republic, Neutral, and even Confederate answered the call; the hails for mercy. They were babies, after all.

Yeah, I'm working on this AU again, some.

#au: little troopers #212th battalion #obi-wan kenobi #kilt's writing #kilt's snippets #bucket's snippets #bucket's writing