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dollfacefantasy · 6 months

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And If the Sun Comes Up

pairing: vampire!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon knows that you and him are meant to be. if the only way to show you that is to sneak in during the night, then that's just what he'll have to do.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, somnophilia, non-con, biting, blood, reader is tied up, spitting in mouth, overstimulation

word count: 4k

a/n: hey everyone. when he fucks u so good, u think u love him, am i right? i wanted to get one more done for halloween and i'm kinda late, but it's still halloween here so idgaf. i hope everyone enjoys. also i'm trying a new style with the header image so yeah. as always i really appreciate reblogs and comments <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz

i made a playlist of songs i listened to while writing here.

It’s the middle of the night with moonlight shining down through the slits in your blinds. You’re sleeping off a stressful week tonight. You lay between your soft blankets with your head resting on your cool pillow. You had been in a peaceful, dreamless slumber, but now whimpers erupted from your unconscious form as you felt a persistent sensation between your legs.

You still aren’t fully awake. Your eyes briefly flutter, and your hips shift, trying to alleviate the disturbance that was disrupting your rest. A long whine escapes your throat as cold hands wrap around the tops of your thighs and keep you in position.

You gasp softly as your mind struggles to differentiate dream from reality. When you try to close your legs, you’re met with resistance. You start to come to as your limbs tug more forcefully on whatever was keeping them spread. You could vaguely feel the sensation of restraints around your ankles. It’s difficult to see in the darkness of your bedroom, but you can hear something unfamiliar. Soft grunts and groans emanate from the bottom of your bed.

You weakly lift your head to figure out what was happening. Your eyes were still sleepy, and your mind was still fogged from returning to lucidity, but you could still recognize the sensation of someone lapping at your cunt like it was their final meal.

Looking down between your thighs, you see a mop of blonde hair. At first, the sight brings you mere confusion. It didn’t make sense, and you struggled to process it. But as the gears in your brain began sliding into place, terror coursed through your veins.

A strangled cry leaves your lips, and you thrash harder to get away. You realize your arms are bound too, connected together by your wrists that were secured at the level of your navel. The adrenaline in your system makes you much more alert. You could now see the long, toned body of this stranger. He wore tight, black clothing that allowed you to see his definition. His strength was obvious from that alone if you couldn’t already feel it from how he held you in place so easily.

Once he notices you’re awake, his head pops up. Your eyes widen as they connect with his piercing irises through the dark. Fear moves through you in sickening waves. Every cell in your body yearns for him to just get away.

“Shhh, sweet one. It’s alright,” he whispers. He rubs his fingertips on your inner thigh in an attempt to soothe you. His voice is husky yet familiar, and his eyes are glazed over with arousal. From what it looked like, he had been doing this for a while.

You don’t stop squirming. Your heart pounds so erratically that it feels like at any moment you’ll go into cardiac arrest. As your breathing picks up and becomes shallow, your cries become breathless.

His brows furrow momentarily at your response, but then his expression softens. You felt like you recognized him, but you couldn’t be sure.

“My darling, there’s no reason to be afraid,” he says and presses a few small kisses to your thigh, “Calm yourself, my love. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You’re still so freaked out by the fact that this is even happening that your brain fails to formulate a response. You stare at him in horror as your squirming becomes weaker and your muscles begin to freeze out of fright.

“Good girl,” he whispers and caresses your hip, “This is for your pleasure, angel. Just relax. I know I may have startled you, but there’s no need to carry on.”

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your clit causing you to softly yelp in both protest and pleasure. He chuckles and pulls his face back. His thumb begins lazily swiping through your folds, up and down. As soon as he cracks that smile, you’re able to place him.

“Leon?” you ask, your voice still raspy from sleep. Your drowsy mind couldn’t figure out why the man you’d seen only in passing at your job as a waitress was eating you out in your bedroom in the dead of night.

“Yes, beloved?” he answers, looking up at you with genuine curiosity as if nothing was off.

Now that you know the identity of your mysterious trespasser, your fear fades, and anger takes its place.

“Leon, what the fuck? What are you doing? And what are you doing here?” you say, your voice wavering. You try to stay focused and not let yourself be distracted by his thumb sliding around your slick. He doesn’t seem too fazed by your reaction.

“What does it look like I’m doing, pretty baby?” he whispers, “Making you feel good. You had a hard week, little doll. Let me make it better. Then I’ll explain.”

With that, he returns his head to the junction of your thighs. He parts his lips and begins making out with your pussy. Your eyes widen at his words, but the feeling of his tongue on your most intimate spot pushes your protests back down your esophagus. Instead, you whimper and take your lip between your teeth.

Erotic, wet noises from his lips and tongue working on your cunt spill out into the bedroom. Your cheeks heat with the shame of how good it felt, but there was really nothing you could do but take it. His tongue circles and laves at your clit with intense dedication before gliding down and fucking into your dripping hole.

His fingertips trace soothing circles onto the soft skin of your thighs while his mouth continues working you to the edge. He starts grunting again like he had been doing when you were sleeping. From the sounds alone, it seemed like he was getting as much pleasure from this as you. His breathing was heavy. You could feel it fanning across your pelvis.

You whine, your physical resistance dying down as release gets closer. You can feel his smug grin against your skin.

“L-Leon…” you stammer out through moans.

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “Let it feel good. Your body knows it’s right. It knows what you need.”

He flicks his tongue on your swollen bud a few more times before you come undone. You jerk and spasm against the restraints on your wrists and ankles. Broken whimpers fall from your lips as your head fogs with the euphoria of release.

He watches from below with wonder. “There you go, pretty girl,” he breathes while thumbing your clit, “Give it all to me. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

You ride out your release on his tongue. When you finish up, you look down at him with half-lidded eyes. He continues to gaze up at you with a look of love, his pupils dilated and his chin covered with your arousal.

“Leon. Explain,” you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice was hazy from your release.

“Why so many questions, little one? Did that not feel good?” he asks, “Did that not feel like everything you needed?”

“Leon. What are you doing in my house at three in the fucking morning… touching me like that?” you say, your voice picking up some of the intensity you initially intended.

He sighs and shakes his head, but still sports that smug smile. “You’ll see in time, my love. I know you’ll feel it too,” he says.

My love. Those two words struck you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. All these weird pet names. You barely knew him. He was always nice to you, but in a cordial kind of way, remembering your name and little things you’d told him about your day when you gave him his order. You weren’t even friends. You definitely didn’t consider yourself to be his love.

“Feel what? What are you talking about? You sound crazy,” you say.

“You’re my mate, sweet one,” he responds. He looks at you as if it’s a fact and speaks as if this was the most normal conversation, like you weren’t tied up and nude from the waist down.

You blink at him in disbelief. The words ring through your mind.

“Your mate?” you repeat incredulously, the only response you could think of.

“My mate,” he confirms, “I know you can’t understand it now. But you will. I’ll-”

“I barely know you!” you raise your voice, “Just cause I smile at you and can remember your order that doesn’t mean I want to fuck you! And it sure as Hell doesn’t mean we’re mates.”

He remains calm as he continues to speak. “You may not know me, but I know you, sweetheart. I love you, but you aren’t the most observant. I’ve been watching, and I know we’re meant to be. I know it’s right for you.”

The thought of him watching you while you went about your life, clueless as ever, disturbed you to the pit of your stomach, but you tried not to let that show.

“Oh my God, you’re delusional. Fucking delusional. You think we’re soulmates? Like what? Like we’re written in the stars or something?” you mock.

“No, darling. Not written in the stars. It’s written in our DNA, something tying us together. I can sense it. You have the sweetest smelling blood I’ve ever come across.”

Your eyes widen at his explanation.

“What… What are you talking about? You can’t smell my blood, Leon,” you say.

“If only I couldn’t, maybe then I wouldn’t have to do this,” he says, his voice growing more hushed, “But I can. You have to understand, little love. I’m not a man of normal appetites.”

The way he spoke freaked you out. Various horrific ideas ran through your head about what he meant by unusual appetites. Your anger was slowly exiting, and your fear was seeping back in. Your limbs tremble as you try again to pull yourself out of your bindings.

“Sweetheart, all throwing a tantrum will do is tire you out,” he chides, "And while it’s not required, I would prefer if you were conscious to see how good I can make you feel.”

“You’re fucking insane!” you exclaim with a shaky voice, tears of terror pricking at your eyes, “I don’t know what gave you this sick fantasy that we’re true love and meant to be or whatever. But that’s all it is. Leon, I-”

“Enough,” he says, his voice dropping to a more commanding tone, “If you’re not willing to understand, I’ll just have to make you more agreeable.”

With that, his mouth returns to your cunt. He sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. One hand holds your thigh like it was before while the other comes between your legs and prods at your entrance.

You’re whimpering in no time, still being tender from your previous release. Your hips squirm and writhe as he pumps two fingers in and out of you.

“Quit moving,” he growls and tightens his grip on your thigh.

The gravelly harsh tone lights the pool of arousal in your belly like a match falling into gasoline. You clamp around his fingers and mewl softly. A sharp exhale leaves his nose and smirks.

“Good baby, deep down you know you want this. You’ve only had my fingers so far, and she already knows to get nice and tight for me,” he breathes before returning his attention to your pussy.

His fingers continue working you open, scissoring inside your hole as they move back and forth. The whole time he relentlessly plays with your clit, flicking, sucking, circling. Short, strained cries come from you as your back arches off the bed.

“There we go, pretty baby. Cum again for me,” he purrs, “I doubt you’ve been with a guy who could make you cum even once.”

You didn’t even fully register his words because you were so wrapped up in the throes of ecstasy. Your body convulses as release washes over you again. You shiver in waves, whining and babbling as he continues pleasuring you through the high.

As you come down, he doesn’t ease up on you. His fingers tease you a bit before applying enough pressure to overstimulate you. He adds a third finger into you and continues maneuvering them skillfully, hitting all the right spots.

His mouth doesn’t stop either. He spits onto your pussy and dives back in, licking up your slick and flattening his tongue to massage you into bliss.

He brings you at least two more peaks, eating you out until your mind is nearly melted and you’re a whining, drooling, nonsensical mess.

When he finally feels that you’ve had enough, he moves up, coming face to face with you in a blur. You flinch at the quick movement, and draw a chuckle from him. His hand wraps around your throat while his eyes give you a predatory scan. He lowers his head to the crook of your neck and inhales deep.

“Smells like cherries,” he mutters before laying a few soft kisses up your neck and behind your ear.

You shiver at the gentle contact and a quiet whine escapes you. Your nipples are hard beneath your top from the countless highs he brought you and the fluttering of his lips against your skin. It’s not long before his other hand is sliding up your body to squeeze and fondle your breasts, his thumb teasingly swiping across the hardened buds a few times.

“I don’t need you to understand this, my love. I don’t expect you to. It’s a little out of your depth anyways,” he whispers and nips at your earlobe, “What I expect is for you to take it like a good girl and let me show you what you need. I think you can already see that you’ll be begging for more by the end of the night whether you understand it or not.”

Your thoughts are too muddled to formulate an actual response. Instead, you just watch him with your blissed out stare. He leans back and pulls off his shirt, exposing his muscular torso and chest to you. The moonlight coming through the blinds illuminates him just enough for you to feel more desire building in your abdomen. He smiles at your impressed reaction, and that’s when you see it.

He has fangs.

It’s only a glimpse, but you would swear on your life that it was the truth. His canines are clearly sharper than normal, it can’t be your imagination. And with all his talk about blood… You felt like you were losing it. There was no way he made you cum so hard that you’d believe in vampires.

“What is it, precious?” he asks softly as he undoes his belt and starts lowering his pants. His tone projects innocence, but the look on his face makes you think he knows exactly what you’re fixated on.

“Nothing, I- I- it’s-” you stutter. Your jaw almost drops as his hard cock springs free from his boxers. It was long and thick and you weren’t even sure that it would fit.

He climbs on top of you again, his strong, thick arms boxing you in on your bed.

“What’s the matter? Like what you see? Or is it that you don’t think I have a pretty smile?” he asks, flashing his teeth again. The fangs are in clear view now. Their existence is undeniable.

He can hear your heartbeat speeding up and your breathing getting shallow. It brings him a twisted sense of pleasure that he doesn’t dwell on. He lazily strokes himself in preparation to enter you.

“What are you? You… you can’t be…” you say, your voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

“A vampire?” he asks, “That’s probably the term easiest for you to understand, so yes, my little doll. I am a vampire.”

Your eyes widen. Your fearful gaze locks onto him.

“It’s not like a movie, baby. I can eat garlic and clearly I don’t need to be invited into your house,” he explains, almost as if he’s trying to lighten the mood, “But I have a bloodlust.”

You’re stunned. This couldn’t be real. “So what? I’m like your personal blood bank or something? Is that what being your mate is?”

“No,” he scoffs, “Being my mate is what it sounds like, angel. In all my years, I’ve never met another who makes me feel like you do. You’re my love, the light in the darkness I’ve been existing in. My personal heaven and hell wrapped into one perfect vessel.”

Your head is spinning with everything you’re hearing. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before leaning back onto his knees and positioning himself at your entrance. He stares at you with his eyes, glossed over with lust. He reaches for your confined hands and brings them to his lips.

“It will all make sense soon, darling,” he says, “Soon enough we’ll be together in this.”

He takes one of your fingers into his mouth, keeping eye contact with you the entire time. One of his fangs presses into the pad of your finger, and draws a small drop of blood. You wince at the pain, but you’re quickly distracted by the guttural groan Leon emits as he smooths his tongue against the warm liquid.

He pushes inside you and tilts his head back. Your finger slips out of his mouth and smears some blood on his lips.

“Tastes so fucking sweet too, Christ,” he grunts as he begins thrusting.

Despite the circumstances, he felt good. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it was the best you ever had. He filled you up perfectly. A string of whines and whimpers expel from your mouth into a long moan.

“That’s right. You know it’s perfect,” he mutters, “Soon, it will be just me and you. For all of eternity. No one else. The entire world could burn, and you and I could fuck on top of the ashes.”

Your own head falls back, and he sucks your finger back into his mouth to taste more of your blood. He moans around your digit, his hips beginning to piston with more intensity. His hands lock onto your hips, so he has a firm grip to slam into you with.

You felt a mix of shame and fear, but you started to believe him. You felt something inside you that told you this was right. This was what you longed for. What you needed.

He starts leaning over you more. He had to see you, had to see your mind changing about him, the look in your eyes shifting from fear to lust. One of his hands rises to hold your jaw and direct you to look at him.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, eyes boring into you.

You do it with no hesitation. Your lips part and your tongue lolls out obediently. He smirks, still rolling his hips as he slowly spits into your open mouth. His saliva leaks from his lips, lands on your tongue, and starts sliding to your throat. The feeling combined with that look in his eyes almost made you cum on its own.

He feels the same. Watching your pretty eyes become unfocused as you accept what’s happening had him digging his fingers into the flesh of your cheeks in order to hold on. Once he felt you had enough he pats your cheek.

“Swallow,” he grunts and reverts his primary focus to fucking you into the mattress.

And you do this too. You swallow it all. A garbled moan erupts from you afterwards, and your eyes roll back as he strokes all the sweet spots inside of you.

“Good girl,” he coos with a low tone, “Taking it perfectly. Just like you’re meant to do.”

You lift your arms and loop your bound wrists over his head to pull him closer. He follows your guidance, but his face looks almost pained. He keeps his face further than you want. You whimper and try to pull him down to the crook of your neck more.

“Sweet baby, you have to be careful. I can’t… I have to make sure you’re safe my love. I don’t know if I can control myself if I’m that close,” he breathes.

“What? Control how?” you babble, still not really focused because of how his cock is battering your insides at the moment.

“Your blood, baby. It’s too strong. I won’t be able to hold back. I could hurt you,” he says.

That almost snaps you back to reality for a moment. “Like what? You wanna bite me?” you ask with a curious expression.

For a change, this time he has no words. He nods, still maintaining eye contact.

It wasn’t your smartest moment, but you don’t hesitate as the words leave you.

“Do it.”

His eyes flash with a look you can’t read in your state.

“Sweetheart, I… I want to, but it’s not safe,” he whispers, but you can hear the desire in his voice.

“If we’re really mates then you should be able to stop yourself. Prove it to me. Prove that I’m yours and you’re mine,” you say, your voice taking on a whiny quality from how close you were getting.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist when you were asking for it like this. He slowly lowers himself to be level with your neck. His thrusts become slower but deeper. He takes another deep breath of that scent before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh.

You gasp and pull your arms around him as you feel the punctures. At first it hurts, but then he begins to softly suck, coaxing your blood into his mouth. You both let out simultaneous moans. His eyes flutter now and his grip on your hips tighten.

He’s getting lost in his own world of euphoria now as he feeds off of you, gulping down that sweet, hot liquid. You tremble as pleasure courses through you too. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It was light and airy while being grounding and all consuming. You couldn’t hold on for any longer.

He growls as you cum, the feeling of your cunt latching onto him is almost too much. He manages to hold it together for a handful more thrusts. His breathing is rough as he cums and his thrusts are sporadic. You feel his muscles tensing as he groans into your neck. He spills rope after rope of cum into you.

When you’re both done, both of your bodies are trembling. Your sweaty skin is pressed to his which is still ice cold. He goes limp on top of you, breathing deep as he comes down from the high. You could feel blood trickling down your neck as his mouth disconnects from your throat.

You didn’t know what to say. The fog of lust was clearing and while you didn’t regret your decisions, this was still weird. You remove your arms from him, and he takes that as a signal to pull out and roll off of you.

He pushes his disheveled hair out of his face and gives you a crooked smile. His mouth was still red with your blood. He reaches over and starts untying the restraints around your hands. You watch him quietly.

“So you said soon… we’ll be in this together?” you ask awkwardly.

He lets out a short laugh as he gets the bindings off and drops them to the side. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead before getting out of your bed.

“Soon, sweet one, I’ll change you to be like me. A vampire,” he says, using a teasing tone for the last word, “But not yet. I know you’re not ready, and my goal isn’t to scare you. I truly love you.”

You just nod because you honestly didn’t know what to say to that. Even if you felt something for him, you wouldn’t say it was love. Yet.

You watch him put on his clothes as you reach down to start untying your ankles.

“So… you’re just leaving?” you say, almost sounding disappointed.

“Yes but don’t be too sad, my love. You’ll see me as soon as the sun sets again tonight,” he says.

He finishes putting on his clothes and leans in to give you one more passionate kiss before he leaves. You could still taste your blood on him.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #smut

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itiswormtimebaby · 9 months

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Pairing: Dark Mafia!Bucky x fem reader CW: DARK. dom Bucky, sub reader, not safe or sane, slut shaming, degradation, implied violence (against omc), boot stuff/licking, dubcon (to be safe), implied voyeurism

“You let him in my pussy?”

Prostrated in front of him you don’t dare lift your head from its position- forehead pressed into the cold concrete floor between your spread arms. Bucky circles around behind your prone form, kicking your legs further wide, knees skittering painfully across the rough surface. “Answer me.” His voice is as lethal as the gun on his hip.

“N-no.” Your voice is weak in the presence of his ire, any good time feeling you’d had earlier in the night has gone cold, as cold as the arousal drying on your puffy lower lips. An undignified yelp escapes you unbidden as the toe of one of his expensive leather boots settles against your cunt, swiping across it before he moves to stand in front of you. At his command you lift your head up, allowing him to slide the offending object into your line of vision, your slick marring its otherwise pristine polish; “Then why are you so god-damn wet?” You shake your head weakly, knowing there was no correct answer, he wouldn’t believe a placating lie no matter how sweetly delivered and the truth would only-

“Clean it up.” Tearfully you begin to kitten lick across the soiled surface, ashamed at the fresh wave of arousal that the action insights within you, knowing any seconds you’d be leaking all over the floor. You vaguely wonder with a filthy thrill if he’d have you clean that as well. He doesn’t speak again until he is satisfied with your work; “Assume the position.” Like a puppet on a string your body jerks into place, legs folding under you until you are on your knees, bare ass cheeks pressed into the heels of your feet, hands limp against your thighs, neck bent.

“Don’t make me ask again. Speak.”

“He…he touched me.”

A fresh wave of slick gushes from your neglected opening as you revel in the fear, the shame, the desperate desire that being pinned under Bucky’s gaze is causing you.

“He got you wet?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“He touched my pussy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How many fingers?”

“SIR!”

Bucky scowls at your tone, at your audacity, he gives you everything and you think he’d be okay with you going on dates? On letting someone besides him touch you?

“Fine,” He grits out between clenched teeth, “You don’t want to tell me?”

The room is deathly quiet aside from soft schlick of your thighs rubbing together, you can’t tell what he’s doing and won’t risk looking around to try and figure it out. It doesn’t matter, the answer becomes clear soon enough. “Steve?” The muffled voice of his right hand man alerts you to the fact that he’s on the phone, “Break all ten.”

Fingers, you realize, he’s talking about your dates fingers.

“Then bring him in.”

Terror, arousal, shame, regret- it burst forth from your body in the form of tears.

Bucky crouches down so your eye level, calloused fingers gathering the salty droplets and sucking them into your mouth; “You want to act like a whore, Doll? Then I’ll fuck you like one. That sorry son of a bitch is going to see exactly who owns this pussy, and if you ever so much as breathe in his direction again I won’t just break his fingers, I’ll take both fucking hands.”

#dark bucky barnes #dark mafia!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut

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igotanidea · 10 months

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Bonding: Damian Wayne x sister!reader

Request: from the prompt list : 4: "Didn't know you liked being pinned to the ground this much

Warning: nothing, it;s just fun and fluff, most likely set in the WFA universe.

***

„What happened to you two?” Dick could barely hold back the terror in his voice upon watching his younger siblings. Jason however was not so considerate and straight forward started laughing at Y/N and Damian, the former with the nose swollen and red like a Rudolf and the latter with childish patches all over his forearms.

“Have you two escaped the circus? Sure as hell with such look you would fit there!” he let out a laugh so loud it captured the attention of no one else than Bruce, who became alerted in an instant. It wasn’t usual for Jason to be this happy and chuckling and it was …. suspicious.

Similar to Dick’s, his face dropped upon seeing his kids in such damaged state and just sighed deeply.

“What did you do?” he rubbed his forehead, looking up to the sky probably wondering what mistake did he make (well, the question should have been – what mistake didn’t he make?). Never before had he looked so fatherly, like when Y/N and Damian started their mischief.

Y/N was the middle child, younger than Dick and Jason, but older than Tim and Damian, but Bruce could swear that sometimes she acted like a literal five year old. Especially when any of her brothers started messing up with her things. Especially when Damian did. No one could ever tell what atrocities she could resort to when he grabbed something that wasn’t his.

“It was all his fault!” Y/N cried out, her voice muffled by the swollen nose and she sounded more like a wounded animal rather than a human being.

“I am beyond your level, Y/N and cannot be blamed for…..”

“SIT!” Bruce growled in desperation, but neither of his kids listened. If anything they started bantering even more.

“Not many parental successes on your account, right Bruce?” Jason mocked, but the oldest Wayne didn’t bother answering. Instead he grabbed Damian by the collar and yanked him back and in the air so his feet started dangling above the ground. Luckily Y/N was too tall to do that to her as well.

“This is derogatory” Damian crossed his arms and pouted, the funniest look of her brother making Y/N laugh loudly “put me down, father so I can kick her ass again and….”

“Again?” Bruce eyes focused on his youngest son “what do you mean, again?”

“Nothing!” Y/N chimed in, desperate to keep some kind of secret

“Oh, are you ashamed to admit you got beaten by me in the combat, dear sister?”

“Shut up you little rascal!” Y/N threw herself at him, but this time it was Dick who grabbed her and hold her back

“What did he do?” Grayson asked, knowing well enough how much of a menace Damian could be

“NOTHING!” the boy struggled against his father’s grip

“Who’s afraid to admit what now?!” Y/N smirked at him.

“Ok, that’s it” clearly it was Jason who lost patience first “talk or I’ll draw blood.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” His sister threw him a daring gaze

“Wanna try me, sis? You already got a swollen nose and I can bet that this guy you like…..”

“SHUT UP JASON!”

“wait, there’s a guy?” Bruce was confused “who is he? Why didn’t I met him? How much does he know about us?”

“Not the time, Bruce!”

“LET ME GO DICK!!”

“Sorry, sunshine can’t really do that. Unless you tell us what happened.”

“fine!” she hissed “fine! I’ll tell you!”

An hour ago

“DAMIAN WAYNE!” her voice echoed through the whole Wayne Manor and made the glassed windows shake. Honestly, how could no one in the family of vigilante hear that was beyond her. “you little piece of shit, where the hell are you!?”

“Have you called me sister?” Damian emerged from his room, looking nothing but innocent with the play-pretend smile. But Y/N knew better. She was fairly aware that he was skillful in using that Wayne gene trying to charm people. Too bad his eyes were glistening with mischief.

“You can’t play me, you demon.”

“Did something happened?” he titled his head in curiosity, observing his sister getting more and more angry. Oh, how entertaining it was to see her face get red, her fist clench. Fascinating how girl’s hormones worked.

But clearly, he underestimated Y/N. Yes, she was an emotional young woman surrounded by no less than four brothers, but she was also an adopted Wayne. And the realization of that fact made her calm down. Damian wanted her to get mad. Which meant he had some sort of plan.

“My little, sweet, wonderful, lovely brother.” She quickly changed the method of acting

“Huh?” Damian frowned, still not used to people acting nice towards him. This was…. unexpected. Y/N was clearly cunning and he had to be prepared.

“Tell me, did you happen to see my phone somewhere around?”

“No.” the answer was clearly too fast to be convincing.

“Really?” she smiled and looked over his shoulder inside his room. The perks of being taller and seeing more. “Then what is lying there on your desk?”

“That’s mine.”

“Damian…..” her voice became serious, her posture tensing “give it back to me. Now.”

“No.” he crossed arms, mimicking her position. Oh, they were both preparing for a fight, neither even beginning to consider the option of relenting. “does father know about your little crush?”

“YOU WERE READING MY TEXTS?!!?”

“Do you even realize in how much danger you put us because of your silly little….”

“AH!!” he did not get to finish the sentence when she went at him taking him by surprise. However, not enough of a surprise that he didn’t manage to step back. Instead of pining him to the ground she tripped and dashed into his room, immediately reaching towards the bed to grab her mobile, but Damian grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“You little rascal!” she yelled, when they started a real Batman-style fight. “It’s mine!”

“it’s a violation of the rules!” he spat back “we’re not supposed to be in a relationship with civilians!”

“what would you know about relationships?!” Y/N blocked his punch, turning around and tripping him up. “you were raised by freaking assassins!”

“How bad we don’t get to choose family, right?” he hissed, falling on his back on the ground but immediately getting up and attacking her again.

Y/N was good, skilled and intuitive, but Damian was smaller and maybe a bit faster and that’s why she did not see it coming when he glanced off the mattress and landed on her back, trying to tackle her to the ground

“GET OFF ME!” she yelled trying to untangle his arms from her neck

“Not a chance!”

They were struggling so hard that at one point this fight moved towards the corridor and with just one wrong step they started falling down the stairs, still doing their best to damage one another. Damian was pulling at Y/N hair, while she covered his eyes in an attempt to blind him. It took a few minutes of weltering, grunting and dapping before they ended up at the base of the stairs.

“Auch…..” they both moaned in unison, their bones and bones already bruised and damaged. It really did hurt.

“HAHA! I won!” Damian yelled as he realized that the position in which they landed allowed him to sit on top of her sister, his weight holding her down.

“Get off me you idiot…..” she whined trying to push him away, but not succeeding at all.

“Didn't know you liked being pinned to the ground this much, Y/N” Damian laughed at her poor, week attempt to get rid of him.

“AH!” she cried out again and started waving her hands at him, Damian instantly started the same and now they were laying on the floor, with him still on top of her, acting like toddlers and emitting battle cries.

“MASTER DAMIAN! MISS Y/N!”

Shit.

Alfred.

The butler just sighed deeply, too used to many very strange views and behaviors around the manor. Too many to care and ask questions.

“Please get up from the floor. Miss Y/N, your nose is bleeding and as for you, Master Damian you got bloody scratches all over your arms.”

“Sorry Alfred.” They followed every word Alfred said to them and stood beside him with their heads hanging low.

“Let’s patch you two up.” Alfred motioned them towards the living room, gathering medical supplied on the way.

Now.

“And he gave you a animal shaped patch!” Jason laughed so hard he had to grab his belly, almost rolling of the couch

“Didn’t you hear a word, Jace? He took her phone! She had every right to be angry and act irrational…” Dick took his sister’s site

“Hm.” Bruce grunted

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good job on being stealthy” Jason chucked towards Damian “normally it would be Tim to try and do such thing.”

“Are you taking his side now?” Y/N’s eyes went wide “I can’t believe….. ah!” sudden outburst made her nose bleed even more and she held the nearby cloth tighter to the bruised part of her face. “mhmmmhmhm” she mumbled grumpily

“Hm” Bruce grunted again

“Aren’t you gonna say something?” Dick turned towards his father in a bit of shock. Normally Bruce would be the one to punish them both for disobeying the rules of the Manor but now he was just sitting on the couch, his mind wondering elsewhere.

“no.”

“What?!” four pair of surprised eyes landed on him in pure disbelief of how he acted.

“Wouldn’t make any difference. Another day another fight. Just…. apologize to each other. I’m going to the batcave. Dick, Jason come with me.”

“The hell I’m going to ….” Jason started but the look in Bruce eyes made him relent. And that was how Y/N and Damian ended up alone in the living room, sitting next to each other, eyes on the floor.

“Does it hurt much?” he asked

“Not much more than yesterday. I’ll be fine. “ she shrugged like nothing happened “Do you think they know?”

“About what? Our secret plan to make them all crazy and take over the manor?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Not sure. Might need some more observation on the matter.”

“So….. we do it again tomorrow?” she smirked

“Oh, absolutely” he smiled back at her, eyes sparkling. It was always fun to fight with her.

“Then can I have my phone back?”

“Sure, I’ve seen all there was to see. “

“I hate you, Damian.” Y/N grinned looking at him

“I hate you too, sis.” He replied with a smirk

And just like that, they bumped their fists. All was good between them.

****

Meanwhile, Tim was hidden in the batcave, glued to the computer, not realizing anything of the events happening upstairs. He only raised his head once he heard Bruce, Dick and Jason entering.

“Did they do it again?” he asked seeing Bruce’s harrowed face, being enough of an answer “Ha! Life never gets boring with those two troublemakers around!”

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x batsis #damian wayne x you #batfamily x batsis #batboys x batsis

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leggerefiore · 6 months

Note

How would the Pokémon Villain react if they dreamed that their plans were working but their partner died and then they weke up and their partner asked them what they dreamed but they didn't know anything about their plans?

anon, I know its a minor typo but I'm fighting back the urge to Ask Which Villain.

cw: angst, temporary death of reader (its just a dream), a lot of men crying inside but with comfort

characters: Lysandre, Maxie, Archie, Cyrus, Volo

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ His heart raced as he watched the Ultimate Weapon absorb the energy it needed. Everything was going according to plan. Scientists and grunts were dead silent, unsure how to process all of what was to come or stricken silent in supposed excitement. Lysandre's preservation of beauty was soon to follow. A world without ugly things… His fists clenched. It felt surreal to consider how everything that he had dreamed of would soon come to fruition. Yet, how he still wished it need not come to these extremes. The terror above the HQ was now irrelevant to him.

☕️ That was until his admins began to alert him to an issue on the lowest floor. Someone had apparently broken into the legendary pokemon's room. They had somehow overpowered all his admins. Marching down to the lowest level, he entered the room to see the cocoon glowing with light. He froze at who stood before the awakening legendary. Who had let you even make it down to this level? The dark and flying type awoke from its slumber with a bright light swelling across the room. He shielded himself from it. However, when the light died down, the sight that laid before him was sickening.

☕️ You laid on the floor in a strange position, completely unmoving. The legendary let out a bellow. Lysandre nearly collapsed to his knees as he felt tears burn his eyes. He dared to approach your body and attempt to shake you awake. Your chest did not rise. Your face was frozen in terror. There were many sacrifices he was more than prepared to make for his beautiful world. You were not one of them. His gaze harshly shifted to the legendary. If the tales of resurrection were true, then perhaps there was still a way alongside gaining his perfect world.

☕️ He prepared himself to force Yveltal back into its slumber but could barely react when its body began to glow an ominous crimson. He barely had time to realise it was charging an attack. Something strange came over him as he leaned over your body, convinced that this was an attempt to destroy your body and prevent his new plans from happening. An eerie red beam of light sprung forth from the legendary, and he could register nothing further in his mind.

☕️ He awoke up suddenly, rising up from the couch in a groggy state. An evening sun hung outside of the window, illuminating the city of Lumiose outside in a peaceful scene. His heart pounded in his chest. The smell of coffee hung around the room as a door creaked open. Turning his head, he spied you entering the living room with a tray. A small cup of coffee and a sweet pastry laid on it. He felt himself calming down instantly. All was well. A dream, of course. That had just been a horrible dream.

☕️ You sat down the tray on the coffee table and rushed over to his side. Your hand pressing to his cheeks relaxed him immensely. His hand came over yours. The idea of losing you… A truly beautiful being in this world… It felt as if a knife was driven into his heart. “My love,” your voice was music to his ears, “Are you alright? You're crying!” Your thumb came to wipe away his tears. Lysandre felt you were too good for him. That is why you were not allowed to know the more grizzly details of his plans.

☕️ “I had a bad dream,” he gave a basic explanation, not wanting to further explore the details. You sat beside him on the couch, gently leaning against his arm. He brought his other to grab the hot coffee from the tray. Quietly drinking a bit, the bitter yet oddly nutty flavour of the beverage calmed his nerves. “Ah, this is wonderful, darling,” he complimented you, “I feel much better now.” You smiled sweetly at him. Such a sight needed to be preserved. Nothing would take it from him.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 There was nothing but excitement racing through Maxie's mind as he held up the Red Orb towards the petrified Continent pokemon. The way it resonated with super ancient pokemon to awaken it from its ceaseless slumber left him feeling something after the constant back and forth that child who had insisted on getting in his way. They fell back at his side, while the magma oddly swirled around the pokemon as it regained its colours after countless centuries of slumber. Maxie could finally bring about more land for humanity's continued growth.

🪨 He almost forgot about another in the cave, still with him and the child. Archie and Tabitha both ran out after he made it clear he was not backing down from his intentions. Groudon unexpectedly shifted the magma around it to escape to the surface from the Seafloor Cavern. It spewed the molten rock forward where you stood much too close to the ledge. Your screams barely registered alongside that of the child. Maxie did not know whether to cover his own eyes or those of the child.

🪨 It was then that his communicator began to ring out with concerns about the horrifying drought that Groudon summoned forth. The child had fled the cave after the grizzly sight of what happened to you. The concerns from Tabitha before he acted rang out in his head as he gazed at your body. His admin had brought you here to try to stop him. He did not wish to leave you here, yet he needed to act. A shaky breath left him as he departed from the cavern back to the surface.

🪨 His horror grew worse at the intense heat that swelled over Hoenn from the burning sky above. Groudon truly had brought forth the power to dispel the oceans, but he quickly realised that would mean the end for all life on earth. Your life was only the first of many that would come. He realised where Groudon was going and rushed away with the other two men to try to fix this. Except as they attempted to move away, the sun only got hotter and hotter, and he could feel the strength being ripped out of him by the sudden loss of his partner and the harsh heat. It was not long until he collapsed to the ground. Yet, suddenly, the ground unexpectedly opened a fissure beneath him. His name being yelled by both Archie and Tabitha rang in his ears as he fell to whatever depths were to come.

🪨 He jolted awake in his bed, heavy breaths entering and leaving his lungs. The clock on the nightstand showed an early morning hour. Had that all been a dream? It had felt so real. The smell of burning flesh stinging his nostrils still. Before he could process anything more from the nightmare, something to the side of him shifted. His head whipped around to see you pressing yourself up and rubbing at your eyes. A yawn came from you. More relief crashed onto him. You were alive and well.

🪨 You hand pressing to his upper arm to press yourself up. For a moment, you just looked at him in mild confusion before your expression shifted. You suddenly reached a hand to wipe away tears from his face. Had he been crying? “What's wrong, Maxie?” you fretted over him quietly, stirring up more. Your hand brushed a few red strands out from his face as his mind rushed about how to reply. His nightmare felt too surreal to describe to you.

🪨 “... I had a nightmare,” Maxie mumbled out after a while. His hand grabbed your own as he felt the skin there silently. You were alive and well. He had yet to awaken Groudon. “I'm sorry for waking you up,” he apologised as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his temple. Ease and calmness began to wash over him. Maybe… Maybe he should discuss this more with Tabitha rather than running head first. You would definitely be kept away no matter what.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Nothing could quite beat the high he felt as he held the Blue Orb high in the air within the walls of the cavern. Shelly and Maxie may have run out in whatever panic had taken over them, but he knew this had to work. A paradise for pokemon was just about to come. He could control Kyogre. Archie knew he could. The water around the sleeping pokemon swirled as the dull colouration from its slumber faded back to its dark blue. The oceans would be protected, and pokemon would flourish.

💧 Yet, as it awoken, he felt himself panic as it escaped the cave. His communicator went crazy as reports poured in about the sheer intensity of the downpour that had been summoned. He could barely believe his eyes when he came to the surface to see what was unfolding. Much to his horror, it was as described. And even worse, somehow you had ended up standing with the other two people. Yet, before he could say a word to question anything, a large wave overtook the shallow part of the sea they stood on.

💧 The ocean swallowed you whole before him, almost like it was targetted. Shelly tried to reach for you as the water pulled you away but fell just out of reach. He rushed over to dive into the waters to pull you out himself, but there was no time as you sank further and further. His lungs met their capacity as he was forced to resurface with a heavy heart. The water made him feel ill as it surrounded him. Shelly and Maxie forced him back onto the shallow area as he stared into the depths of the water. It was not possible. He refused to accept that this had happened.

💧 A scream echoed out from Maxie as another wave came crashing over. This one is bigger than the last. Archie tried everything to escape the force of the water, yet even he knew how next to impossible it was. It became more and more difficult to struggle as he realised that he had doomed the world. The flooding would not stop. Nothing could survive. The darkness of the ocean became an eerie reminder of what he had done as everything began to slip away from him.

💧 Archie shot awake at his desk, staring at the laptop sitting there in confusion. Reports from his scientists and Shelly were still open as he rose up from the slumped over position he was in. What time was it? Apparently, midafternoon, according to his clock. He yawned. Getting up, he wandered over to the other side of his room to see you laying in bed on your phone. Were you bored? He would prefer that to whatever he had just witnessed.

💧 Your attention shifted from the phone to him as you spied your boyfriend and had awoken from his impromptu nap. At first, you smiled, but it quickly fell as you threw off the blanket to rush over to him. Both your hands cupped his face, brushing against his beard. Archie was confused until you moved one of your hands to wipe away something. “Archie?” you spoke his name softly, “Are you okay?” Was he crying? He felt more upset by the fact that he had worried you now.

💧 “I'm fine, Luvdisc,” he reassured you and pulled your hands away from his face. Instead, he squeezed you into a tight hug. What a nightmare. His beloved ocean took away his lover from him. It would never happen in reality. That was what he wanted to believe. Archie pressed a kiss to your forehead, making you laugh as his beard tickled you. “You can swim, right?” he asked, “If you can't, I'm teaching ya right now.” He would make sure you were safe and prepared for anything.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ If he dared to allow himself a moment of expression of his feelings, he would say the pure elation ran through him as the deity of time and the deity of space were restrained before him by the grasp of the Red Chain. They struggled desperately to free themselves, but it was fruitless. His will was something immovable; his dream just in his grasp. A perfect, obedient world was soon to be recreated from this world that was corrupted by foolishness of spirit. He ignored whatever discussion his commanders had fallen into behind him.

☄️ Yet, his moment wad ripped from him as a being of shadow began to emerge from the ground beneath him. Its ominous glowing eyes filled with rage as it came forth. An attack was directed at him, clearly wishing to stop him from completing his plans. He braced himself, more than ready to take whatever the odd being would hit him with. It never came, however. His body crashed against the stone beneath him as someone shoved him out of the way. Cyrus's body felt like lead when he realised who it was.

☄️ Your body was consumed by the shadowy being before his eyes. One moment, you were there, but in the next, nothing remained of either of you. He heard a sound echoing throughout the annals of Spear Pillar. For a moment, he wondered what it was. That was until Mars rushed over to check on him. He then realised it was him. A scream had worn his throat raw. The blue-haired man stared at where you once were in a trace. He stumbled over and fell to his knees. His fist pounded against the stone. Why had you done that? What foolish emotions had taken over your mind to make you act in such a manner?!

☄️ Another scream echoed out through the area, but he found himself too disoriented from everything to figure out whether it was Mars or Jupiter who had screamed. What he did notice was a shadow growing over him. He raised his head up to see the shadowy form staring down at him again, clearly aware it missed its target. Rage swirled within Cyrus from his interrupted plans and the loss of you. Within a moment, he, too, joined you into whatever hellish realm the being was linked to. His pursuit of perfection was gone.

☄️ Cyrus shot awake from the awful dream as he pushed back the blanket that was on top of me. The room was dim as he shifted to sit on the couch. His head turned to the kitchen where light bled out from. Getting up, he felt himself rush into the room. You stood there in the bright scene, watching as your Rotom possessed the toaster oven on the counter. He felt relief crash onto him like a boulder. The foolish weakness he allowed himself stood before him, unharmed and laughing.

☄️ Your head turned to him with a bright grin. It fell almost instantly, however. You rushed over to him and gently latched onto his arm. “Cy…?” your voice was soft, “Are you okay?” Your free hand rose to cup his cheek. He felt your thumb wipe away tears that had apparently formed under his eyes. Cyrus felt weak. The feeling twisted within him disgustingly. Memories of youth uncomfortably springing forth. Even Rotom had floated over to check on him. His perfect world… He needed to be careful. No errors would be made, nor would anything go unaccounted for. Your lips softly pecked his cheek.

☄️ “… Just an unfortunate dream, is all,” he replied after forcing down the dread that wished so desperately to consume him. Cyrus would not let it. He needed to be the example of his world. His spirit had to be suppressed once more. For now, however, he would allow himself to bathe in your gentle affection. A place to refresh his mind. You did not know anything about his plans, after all. You would never have any reason to appear at Spear Pillar.

💫Volo📜

⭐️ It should have been a moment of pure glory and ecstasy for the descendant of the ancient Sinnoh people. He had called forth the creator of all – The true Alpha Pokemon itself. Its glorious form, something that was placed beyond his words as he stared at the deity in wonder. How much of his youth had he lost to his growing obsession with the shining pokemon before him now? He swallowed as it landed before him, forced out by Giratina and its plates, all gathered together at the Temple of Sinnoh. His curiosity was quenched, but now came his perfect world. Volo could weep with joy.

⭐️ Yet, the moment of glory was destroyed in an instant. The harsh green eyes of the god turned past him. He was nothing before it. Instead, its gaze was trained onto the unconscious person laid carefully on the floor of the temple. You had tried to foolishly stop him, but he easily proved to defeat you. Your team fell to his own, and a quick hypnosis from his Spiritomb had you in your current state. He wondered if Arceus was debating how its chosen hero had been so easily defeated. Before he could further process it, light began to gather above you.

⭐️ His heart stopped as countless shots of light rained down upon your defenceless body. The scent of iron was heavy in the air, and you lay eerily still. A cry came from Arceus. Volo screamed. His throat felt raw as he rushed to your side. This was not possible. Arceus would not attack its chosen one. Why? His breath hitched. The answer was plainly obvious. It was you he had come to care about in this world and no other. A final way to punish the blond for his sins and desire to become a deity. Tears poured from his eyes as he held your lifeless body to his own.

⭐️ His gaze returned to the deity to find it now gone. Rage boiled inside him. No. He refused to accept this. You had been used as a form to mock and harm him. He would never obey a cruel god who allowed people to suffer. Just as he began to call for Giratina, something felt strange. He fell to his knees as he saw the ball of light swelling above his head. As it began to rain down, he felt his anger swell into a strong, resentful curse.

⭐️ He startled awake as you sat over him, looking at him with a worried expression. The smell of the crisp air of the morning stung his nose as he saw the flap of the tent open. A light snow had descended upon the highlands. He let out a soft breath. A nightmare. Not his first, and likely not his last. Your touch soothed away his fears. The feeling honestly inspired more dread than the nightmare had. Volo truly was attached to you. What this would mean long-term was beyond him.

⭐️ Your voice was soft as you spoke to him, “… You were crying, Volo.” His mouth went dryer somehow. He brought his hand to wipe away his tears. Shame boiled in his chest. The idea of showing such bold vulnerability to you terrified him, yet it had happened against his will. Somehow, he felt even more that Arceus was mocking him. You pulled him into your warm embrace, gently combing a hand through his freed golden locks. His shoulders relaxed.

⭐️ “It was nothing,” Volo finally replied after a few moments, “Just a dream.” Reality would be different, after all. He would subjugate Arceus's power as his own and create the world he wished to see. His exposed eye met yours. No harm would ever befall you there, not at his side and under his protection. You did not seem entirely convinced by his words but left it alone.

#pokemon x reader #lysandre x reader #volo x reader #archie x reader #cyrus x reader #maxie x reader #pokemon lysandre x reader #pokemon archie x reader #pokemon maxie x reader #pokemon volo x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon/reader #lysandre/reader #volo/reader #cyrus/reader #archie/reader #maxie/reader

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honeypiehotchner · 9 months

Text

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part ten

I listened to the stripped version of "Good Looking" a lotttt starting around now as I wrote this fic. It's perfect for how the reader is beginning to feel, the sadness and confusion, remembering how Hotch was and realizing how she no longer knows him 😭😭

Warnings: things are beginning to unravel

Follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be "tagged" when a new chapter goes up!

Ten: The skyline falls as I try to make sense of it all -- "Good Looking" by Suki Waterhouse

“Hotch said he didn’t have any of the files, JJ,” Dave said, stepping into her office. The two of them spoke on the phone last night, as promised, and Dave wanted to give JJ the update first thing in the morning, as promised. “He said he had older ones.” He listed the names off and JJ nodded along.

“I have those accounted for,” she said, looking at her computer, shaking her head. “I know he had those. The others are probably in here somewhere. It’s just weird.”

“I agree,” Rossi said. Files didn’t disappear randomly. If some were taken or even copied, JJ was notified, and she logged it. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“Did you look through Hotch’s office?” JJ suggested. She seemed hesitant to even ask, chewing on her nails after proposing the question.

“No,” Rossi said. “Should we?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, should we?”

Rossi thought it over. Strauss’s concern. Your odd reaction to his questions. Hotch’s strange character every time Rossi called. None of it made any sense. Rossi assumed it was grief, just like you told him, just like he told himself, that maybe it was Hotch even trying to convince himself that he was feeling better than he was. But there was a nagging feeling deep in his chest that he couldn’t get rid of.

“Yeah,” Rossi finally said. “I’ll go look.” He knew how it looked and felt: like an invasion of Aaron’s privacy. But this was becoming too convoluted to worry about privacy.

Rossi went back into the bullpen, glad to see you sitting at your desk already. He tapped your shoulder as he went by, nodding his head up to the second level.

You got up and followed, assuming he was going to his office. Your heart began hammering in your chest when Rossi stopped outside Hotch’s office. No one had been in there since Hotch left. It was locked.

You watched in terror as Rossi took out his keys and let himself into Hotch’s office, flicking the light switch.

You walked inside slowly, your voice low as you asked, “What are you doing?”

“What I don’t want to be doing,” Rossi replied in a hiss, pinching the bridge of his nose. He gestured toward you. “Shut the door.”

You closed the door and pulled the blinds for good measure. Or to help your paranoia. You had a bad feeling in your stomach and a bad taste in your mouth. “Rossi, what the hell is going on?”

“JJ can’t find a few files,” he replied, stopping in front of Aaron’s desk facing you, placing his hands on his hips.

“I know, she told me--”

“One of them she can’t find is Issac Holman.”

“What?” That was not right. That had to be a bad coincidence. The file showed up missing and Holman was dead? Impossible. Too eerie to be a coincidence.

“Another one missing is Nicholas Edwards,” Rossi continued. “He died two days ago. Shot in the back of the head, executioner style.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell us?” That was a brutal method; it was necessary to alert the team.

“Because I didn’t want to say anything just yet,” Rossi replied. His fuming eyes landed on you next. “I need you to come clean with me.”

Fear shot through you so hard that you took a step back from him. “What?”

“When I called you into my office a couple of days ago, you acted like I was interrogating you when I asked simple questions,” Rossi recalled, stepping closer to you. “What did you and Aaron talk about? Tell me the truth. Right now.”

You shook your head. This was a nightmare. This was not happening to you. “Rossi--”

“Agent L/N, I am ordering you,” he pressed, raising his voice. He stepped closer, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Tell me. This is bigger than whatever secrets you might have, so I need you to get over it and--”

“We had sex!” you blurted, shame rising in your chest like flames, burning their way to your neck. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Stunned, Rossi struggled to find words, eyes blinking and jaw opening and closing. “You-- Are-- Are you two seeing each other?”

“No,” you replied, your face burning with embarrassment. You wished that was the reason behind the sex, that it was a sweet, romantic, domestic relationship you were hiding. “He kicked me out. He wanted nothing to do with me. Can we move on now?”

“Yeah,” Rossi said, turning around slowly. “Help me look for any files he kept in here. Holman and Edwards might be in them.”

You nodded, glad your failed fling with your boss was forgotten for the moment. “Why would they be in here?”

“He liked to go over them afterwards,” Rossi explained.

“Yeah, I know.” You turned to look on the side tables by the couch, but there were only random magazines, no doubt put there by someone else. Strauss probably put them there one day to liven the place up a bit.

Rossi studied one section of Aaron’s desk against the back wall. “This is empty.”

You leaned over. “Yeah.” You stared at it, eyebrows furrowing. “He used to have a lot of books and…” Files. You remember. You watched him close his briefcase as he said he was sorry but you knew he didn’t mean it.

Rossi turned and looked at you, the same haunted expression on his face. “He took them with him.”

You nodded slowly, your hand covering your mouth. “I watched him take them.” You paused, a sick feeling settling into your bones. “Rossi…what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Rossi said slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

But he knew. You both knew. Neither of you wanted to admit it.

+++

Aaron was washing the blood off his hands in the unsub’s bathroom sink.

He didn’t mean for that much blood to be shed, but he got carried away. The unsub fought back harder than Aaron expected him to. One punch led to another and then Aaron had flashbacks to George Foyet. The unsub’s face no longer existed. It was only Foyet, and Aaron got revenge. Again. And again.

Unfortunately, it made a mess of the fucking bedroom. Thankfully, none of Aaron’s blood was shed. He caught a few blows to his chest and abdomen, but none to the face, none that bled, not like the unsub bled all over the goddamn place. Aaron knew the human body carried 5 liters of blood -- thanks to Reid -- but it looked like much more.

He needed to leave as soon as possible, so he settled for cleaning his hands thoroughly and forgetting the rest.

He rode back to his home in Quantico in silence. No music, no news. He needed to think.

But thinking only landed him in places he didn’t want to be, so he stopped. He stopped for food and carried on back to Quantico to get his things together.

He had one more unsub to hunt, and it wouldn’t be easy. The fucker ran from him once, he assumed he would do it again. So, Aaron needed to be careful and meticulous about this one. It would take longer than a weekend getaway.

+++

You were called into Strauss’s office the following day. You knew it wasn’t good, but you knew that even before you saw Rossi sitting in one of her chairs, fingers pressed to his temple.

“You called for me, ma’am?” you asked, shutting her office door behind you.

“Yes,” Strauss rounded her desk, gesturing to one of the empty seats on her couch. “Sit.”

This is not good. You did as you were told, sitting on the very edge of the cushion. Rossi refused to look at you, and it made your stomach turn. You took a deep breath.

“What do you know of Hotch’s whereabouts?” Strauss asked conversationally. She went over to her minifridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

“Uh, he’s at his apartment, I guess?” you replied, taking the water from her.

“You guess?” Strauss pressed.

You chuckled awkwardly. “Ma’am, with all due respect, I don’t know where Agent Hotchner is. We haven’t spoken since he left.”

Strauss laughed as she sat down across from you. “Well, Dave told me you did speak to Aaron.”

You looked at Rossi with wide eyes, sensing betrayal, but he shook his head only slightly. So he told her the truth, but not the full truth.

“I went to his apartment to offer condolences,” you said. “And to check on how he was doing.”

“And how was he doing?”

“He seemed fine,” you shrugged, putting the water down on her coffee table. “What is this about?”

Strauss sighed. “Agent Hotchner’s behavior has been worrying me since the day I sent him home,” she said. “Now, supposedly, he needs to get away, with no phone, no devices. And frankly, I cannot let him do that.”

You looked at Rossi, your eyebrows furrowed. “Where is he going? What is he thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Rossi replied. “He wouldn’t tell me. Just that he is heading out tomorrow morning.”

You turned back to Strauss. “Ma’am, I had no idea--”

“I know,” she stopped you with her hand in the air. “I don’t care to know the details of your relationship with Agent Hotchner. I hope there aren’t any details. But seeing as you are someone he trusts, I need you to follow him.”

“Follow him?”

“Yes. See where he goes. If it’s nothing troubling, you will return to the BAU. This is a private assignment and you are not to discuss this with anyone outside of this room, do you understand?”

You nodded. “I do.”

You felt like you were signing your life away.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #unsub!hotch x fem!reader #unsub!hotch x reader #unsub!hotch x you #unsub!hotch #unsub!hotch fanfiction #unsub!hotch fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

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cordyce · 1 year

Text

(we are written) in the sand and in the stars

Neteyam x Reader

Fic Summary: Sullys stick together. That is something you have heard since the beginning. But when you are forced to uproot and leave your home, it is something you must learn to fully take to heart. You are not technically a Sully, but you fight like one. And that in turn is enough to be shielded like one as well. There is no choice but to openly accept that this family, these Na’vi, are your fortress. It is perhaps harder, though, to accept that Neteyam has seemingly appointed himself as your personal guard.

༄ CHAPTER FOUR: SEA SALT IN OLD WOUNDS

Chapter Summary: Tensions are making themselves known among your family. Between Lo’ak hitting a streak of defiance, Neteyam shifting your world on it’s axis, and Eywa bringing old memories to light—you find yourself grappling for a bit of stability. But will it ever come?

Author’s Note: pls ignore the ugly ass dividers in the middle of the chapter tumblr has an image limit and i’m aware it looks like shit </3 also neteyam may be slightly ooc in this chapter. just squint ur eyes and pretend he isn’t for the sake of my sanity.

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Sick does not even come close to describing the feeling that floods your body as you listen to Ao’nung explain what he and his friends have done. It seeps into your bones; wraps around your spine like a vice that jerks you up off your knees in a split second.

But Neteyam is jolting up even faster.

Normally, he’s the most level-headed person within a thirty mile radius at all times. Normally, he is good at soaking in information and chewing on it until the solution is soft on the bed of his tongue. Normally, he chooses rationale over impulsivity.

Normally, you wouldn’t see him do such a thing as reach to the base of Ao’nung’s neck to grip onto the braid encasing his neural queue and order him in venomous tone to “ walk ”, but a divergence from normalcy is well acceptable now, you think.

The sickness doesn’t subside as you trail right behind Neteyam, doing your best to keep your thoughts to yourself as he leads Ao’nung to your family’s home like a mindless dog who’s just been caught chewing up the rug. You can’t read the look on either of their faces, can’t really decipher what is going through either of their minds. Which wouldn’t really bother you in the case of Ao’nung, alone. But it leaves you unsettled when it comes to Neteyam, who you have always been so good at reading; has you feeling like you’ve suddenly gone illiterate in a language you’ve been speaking your whole life. It frustrates you, pushes you even closer to the ledge.

The sickness doesn’t subside, no, but with each step closer to your home that you take, it gains a new confrère.

Anger begins to simmer the unease in your bones. It gnaws at the frayed hems of your mind as you recall Ao’nung’s confession over and over again, run it through your head repetitively in a frail attempt at finding reason in it. You knew he was not fond of your family, had a clear disdain for your presence in his home, but this?

Does he really hold such a hatred in his heart that he would abandon your brother in a place he did not know with no real way to defend himself? No route back? No promise of safety?

You’d like to push Neteyam’s hand to the side and do the leading yourself. Maybe it’s ill intent to want to twist Ao’nung’s braid so hard it has him seeing Eywa firsthand, but you couldn't care less. Not now. He has done nothing but terrorize your family since your arrival, what would be the harm in a little retaliation such as that?

After what feels like a walk far too long, you finally reach your family’s hut. Jake’s head snaps up as soon as he sees the three of you walk in, and his eyes are on high alert when he takes notice of Neteyam’s hand securing the chief’s son in such a way. His expression portrays that there better be good reason for his son to be manhandling him as he is; you think the reason is well past good.

“Tell him what you told me,” Neteyam orders, brisk and demanding. He doesn’t let go of Ao’nung, not yet, and you wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to risk him running off with his tail between his legs.

Because if Neteyam was looking at you like that, that is most certainly what you’d be doing.

You do your best to quell yourself as you listen to Ao’nung recite the same story, near verbatim, that he told you and Neteyam to your father. It’s no easier to hear the second time, and with every minute that passes you can only think about Lo’ak. Alone, cold, scared for his life; praying to the great mother that he is still alive.

Your ears flutter; a threat to press back against your skull. Fear is so familiar to you that you nearly welcome it like you would an old friend. But this time it is different, like an acquaintance who you do your best to avoid in crowds. It’s different because it is not for you alone, not for your own peace of mind or with your own life on the line. It enrages you, scalds you–burns at you as you yearn for the safety of one you hold dear.

This fear has you bubbling over, rattling the lid off of the pot you use to vigorously contain all the ugly, unrefined pieces of you. Like stew left unattended on the stove.

Once Ao’nung is through, Jake doesn’t say a word. He simply stands up and reaches for a flashlight from his bag (which has you hiding the one Neteyam snatched earlier behind your back, as a second thought) along with his sheath, then turns to walk out. It’s only now that Neteyam releases his grip on Ao’nung, gives him one final steely glare before he goes to follow his father. Your body pivots to do the same, but you falter.

In any other situation, at any other time, you might have been able to bite your tongue. If this had been directed at you, if it was you lost out at sea–even despite your irrational grievances–you think you might have found it within yourself to just brush past it. Forced yourself into the practiced philosophy of out of sight, out of mind, for the greater good of your father’s ataraxis.

But you were not the target of this, your brother was. And if Jake wants to preach your family’s maxim so much, then maybe you can be so inclined to partake in a bit of malicious compliance in its stead.

You deem now is the perfect time to do so.

“If they bring him back dead,” you address, turn your head to make direct eye contact with Ao’nung. You want him to know you mean it, that it is direct and equitable. “I will kill you myself. That is pänu.” [ “A promise.” ]

His expression cracks, the mask he’s plastered on slips, in just the slightest way that is noticeable. And you see it, the twinge of emotion that incites a tremor in his cheek, stings at his eyes. He gulps the smallest of lumps down his throat, and you know. He’s scared–for something, anything, you aren’t sure and you don’t care. You just want him to feel a fraction of what you’re feeling in this very moment, just a smidgen of something other than thinly veiled neutrality.

You take in his reaction and you heed to it before you finally focus your attention back on following the trail your father and Neteyam had taken. Finding where they went is easy; all you have to do is follow the shouts coming from the shoreline, the glow of torches and lanterns burning brighter with each pad of your feet against the netting. A crowd is already formed, people standing on and around the docks speaking among themselves. You catch a glimpse of Neteyam through a break in the sea of people, his sapphire skin sparkling against a backdrop of teal, and you begin pushing your way through.

Just as you reach him, your father and a few Metkayina men are already taking off into the water. They are the search party, you deduce, based on the murmurs of those around you. You try to drown them out, pretend you don’t hear how some of them are already putting the blame onto your brother; as if they even have a clue.

Your fingers brush against Neteyam’s wrist–out of instinct, yen, you aren’t sure it matters–but at the slightest bit of contact he’s already grappling for it. Blindly, before he’s even turned his head. Like he can tell by just the ridges of your fingertips that it is you. His hand molds around yours, the warmth of his palm embedding itself to the lines crafted in your own. And now, only now, does he look to you.

“They are going to the Three Brothers Islands to find him,” Neteyam tells you, and his voice comes out just as level as it always does. Just as composed. “They should all be back soon.”

Any other person would miss it, any other person wouldn’t pick up on such a thing. But you are not them. Neteyam has seemed to have put so much effort into concealing his emotions earlier that he’s caused a misstep, a flux. His voice is level, yes. And his eyes are steadfast, sure. His tone rings true to the promise that he believes his brother will return safe and sound, but –stray doubt has slithered in and soiled the pristine veils of that covenant.

Yes, any other person would miss it, but you pick up on the slightest quiver in the tip of his tail as it brushes against you. You take note of how his left ear twitches once, twice, three times; a nervous tell he’s had since you were merely children. You lock your gaze on the fang that hooks the edge of his lip, biting down, just barely. You detect it all, and you feel the vex.

He does his best to look strong and put on an unbothered show as the rest of your family runs up, asks what’s going on– Where is Lo’ak? What is happening? –and what the meaning of this is. You simply allow him to do so, let him step into his role as the pillar of the family oh so seamlessly, just like always. Squeezing the hand he has failed to retract as a comfort, a response to the plight, you shudder out a breath.

And the waiting game begins.

It takes forever–at least, it feels like it does. The time spent waiting for the return of the convoy feels perilous, daunting. Excruciating, in a longing sense. Neytiri spends the time pacing, cursing below her breath at the situation, her son, the distinction isn’t clear. Neteyam is not far off, he gets a lot of his mannerisms from his mother. He nearly drives you crazy with each pass he does beside you, but you find distraction in taking care of Tuk with Kiri. She has always been so empathetic with others, with Lo’ak especially, and her whines for when he will return have you silencing your own anxieties until you finally convince her to just go to bed.

After some time, though, you hear it. The shouts in the distance as they come within sight. The horns they blow as the search party comes back into view. The sigh that wracks out of you is near violent as you see your brother’s silhouette seated behind one of the Metkayina men.

You rush to the ledge just as Lo’ak is stepping onto it and you can see it in his eyes. There’s fire behind them, raging, and it’s aimed directly at Ao’nung. But before he gets even more than a step in, Jake is stopping him, holding him in place. Safety precautions, you assume, an attempt to keep things from escalating.

You for one think that Lo’ak deserves to throw at least one cheap shot at him, maybe even waterboard him for a few minutes. An eye for an eye sort of thing.

“Let’s have a look at you,” your father says, does a walk around of Lo’ak to look for any real injuries. He won’t find any, you can tell, and you know he knows that too. “He’s fine, he’s fine. Just a few scratches.”

Neytiri brushes past you, now. Jumps down to the lower dock and grabs her son to run her eyes over him herself. But the relief painting her features is fleeting, and you bite the inside of your cheek at the shift in her gaze seconds later.

“I pray for the strength that I will not pluck the eyeballs out of my youngest son,” she hisses as she claws her hand in front of his face. Lo’ak looks unbothered, unperturbed–would probably be embarrassed at such a sentence in any other circumstance, knowing him.

“No,” Tonowari speaks up to your left, and your gaze snaps to him. His rebuttal is not something you were expecting, not something you had anticipated. “My son knows better than to take him outside the reef.” And as if his speaking up didn’t catch you off guard enough, he places his hand on Ao’nung’s shoulder and makes him lower into a kneel. “The blame is his.”

Everyone is tense, high strung; not wanting to do anything to tip this boat in either direction and send all of you plunging into an unforgiving sea. You understand that’s the consensus of their thoughts, truly, but the only abstraction playing in your mind is that you think you like Ao’nung better when he’s forced to be on his knees and silent.

“Okay,” Jake mutters out in a breath, grabs at Lo’ak’s arm to pull him along. “Let’s go.”

But it appears that Lo’ak holds a grudge against anything being as easy as this, so true to his fashion he yanks his arm out of his father’s grasp.

“No,” he shakes his head, and you have half a mind to shake him senseless. You wonder what the hell he’s thinking, why he’s doing this. “This is not Ao’nung’s fault. This was my idea, Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it. Really.”

Your father simply regains his grip on his youngest son, Neytiri shoving him along as well as he spews out a quiet apology. Lo’ak’s eyes meet Ao’nung’s just as he’s being drug past him, and you realize in that moment, it was more than just trying to please those he feels the pressure to impress.

Jake shares a hushed understanding with Tonowari as he passes him, tells him he’ll handle this. You hear the chief and his mate begin chastising their son as you fall into line to follow your family further and further away from the dock.

You’re just out of earshot of the locals when Lo’ak turns to look at his father, already pleading his case. “Dad, you told me to make friends with these kids. That’s all I was trying–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jake cuts him off, tone dripping in disappointment, indignation. He fixes Lo’ak with a stern look. “You brought shame to this family.”

The statement causes a pause, a delay. It was not even directed at you and it has your stomach tightening into knots, nausea blooming in the pits of it. To say such a thing to him when it wasn’t even him who did anything wrong feels malevolent; it doesn’t strike you as fair.

In fact, nothing seems all that fair lately.

“Can I go now?” Lo’ak speaks up after the beat of silence.

Jake sighs, haughty. “Any more trouble, I jerk a knot in your tail. You read me?”

“Yes sir,” your brother responds immediately. “Lima Charlie.”

Your father nods his head with a grunt, and Lo’ak wastes no time in turning on his heel and stalking off. Part of you wants to run after him–you still aren’t fully settled from this incident after all, and you’d really like to give your brother a hug and let him know you’re glad he’s alright–but Neytiri is whipping around to face the three of you that remain as soon as Lo’ak is gone.

“Where were you?” She asks, directed entirely to Neteyam.

“Yeah,” Jake chimes in, and that same tone he was using on Lo’ak is plaguing his voice now. It’s watered down, of course, but even diluted you know that it still tastes like straight poison to swallow. “What happened to keep an eye on your brother?”

Neteyam, not missing a single beat, dips his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

So inculcated with obedience, so willing to drop it all just to fall into line. You’ve always seen it, acknowledged it, but now it shines in a new light for you. Neteyam never strays, never complains, never voices against anything when it comes from a station of command. He’s deemed himself a soldier, a leader, his siblings’ keeper; a patron to service everyone else and admonish himself.

And you just don’t take too well to that right now.

“It’s actually my fault, sir,” you step in, do your best to ignore the heat of the gazes that switch from him to you. “I’m the reason Lo’ak wasn’t looked after.”

There’s a sharp inhale behind you, and out of your peripheral you see Neteyam’s head snap back up. You aren’t sure to which parent you should be looking, so you keep your eyes fixed forward, and wait.

“What were you doing?” Jake questions, and it all feels so unfamiliar. You are not immune to discipline from either of them, it has been administered to you many times over the years, but something about this moment feels heavier.

Your body tenses up in a weak attempt to control the flinch that it so desperately wants to convey as Neytiri steps into your line of sight. Saying you are scared of the only mother figure you have ever known is not something you’d be open to readily admit, but if you were ever asked if she made you a bit wary when she was angry, you think you’d have to agree to that statement.

“ Why? ” It’s all she presses, a ghost of a hiss trailing on the end as if to dot the curve of punctuation.

“I was struggling with some things that Tsireya has been teaching us,” is what you settle on saying, and it isn’t particularly a lie, but deep down you still feel the slightest bit culpable for it. “I asked Neteyam for help even though I knew he was busy. I shouldn’t have distracted him, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no place for distractions, ” Neytiri bites, snaps her teeth. This time you do flinch. Not because you’re afraid her actions might harm you, but because her words do. Like the implication that you are a distraction is something she expected; a burden easy to predict. “Do not let this happen again.”

“I won’t,” you whisper, try to focus on the flame of a nearby torch to will the burning behind your eyes to stop. “ I won’t. ”

Nothing else is said before Neytiri turns on her heel to walk away, Jake trailing close behind. A hand brushes against your arm; Kiri offers you a sympathetic, odd tilt of a smile as she steps away too. Which only leaves you and Neteyam, and you can already tell you aren’t going to like what he has to say about all of this, so you do what any person wanting to avoid confrontation would.

You clear your throat and go off in the complete opposite direction.

“Hey,” he calls after you the very next second, already scrambling to match your fast pace. “Hey, wait!”

But you ignore him, pretend you don’t hear him. Because why should you stick around and listen to what he has to say if you are already well aware of the very words that are going to be leaving his mouth? You think it benign; that he should save his breath. You keep walking, and to your chagrin, Neteyam keeps following.

“ Agh, Ma (Y/n).” And you know that timbre, know it only wavers as such when he has grown frustrated. Something inside you takes a little pride in that, and in turn you think you need to be checked in the head because of it.

The sand under your feet grows more and more moist, colder on the soles as you keep padding off. You had no intentional path when you started walking–just the goal of getting away from Neteyam–but with a few more strides it seems that you find yourself in the very same spot you and him had been earlier. Perhaps just by tendency, it being one of the only places you are semi-familiar with, or maybe something else. Regardless of which, you do not let it blindside you as you are still on a mission.

“Why are you so stubborn?” Neteyam groans, pinched and drawn out. A smile nearly tempts your lips at that, a laugh just about rolls off your tongue. That is, until you feel it.

The tug on your tail is swift; has you jutting to a stop in your tracks instantly. It is not playful, or fun spirited–which leaves an odd taste in your mouth. Sand tunnels up in the skid marks your feet leave and you whip around to yank your own tail out of Neteyam’s calloused grasp. Your mouth is propped open, gaping. You wouldn’t be able to conceal your disbelief if you tried because did he really just do that?

“I am not a child,” you reprimand, holding your tail close to you like you’re scared he might try to grab at it again. Then again, there is the chance that he might. “You do not drag me back by my tail like one.”

You expect him to bubble out an apology forthright, but instead he closes the gap between the two of you with a pointed gaze.

“I am not a child either.” He mirrors your tone, like an echo in a lower octave. “I do not need you to take blame for me.”

A standstill, an impasse. You and Neteyam stare at each other for a few baited moments. His leer is heavy, disparate. Whatever is swirling behind those honeyed irises has you transfixed, but it doesn’t mean you are willing to back down. It’s like you’re backpedaling on a conversation you’ve just had, but then again you suppose you are, aren’t you?

“You shouldn’t be given blame yourself,” you tell him, unequivocally. Because it is what you believe, what you harbor in your heart. And Neteyam seems to always pull anything he wishes out of your heart. “I know you think you have to be responsible for everyone, but you don’t.”

“That is rich, coming from you.”

That takes you back a moment, has the gears inside your head stuttering in their tread. He’s thrown your own words back in your face twice now, like a rag that’s already been used and soiled. It’s as if he’s dead set on hammering you out, knocking you straight no matter how many blows it takes.

It unnerves you.

“I am the oldest.” A statement, a fact; you say it because you know that one cannot argue with the flat truth. “That is my job.”

It has always been your job.

“Then you should understand–”

“No, I don’t understand, Neteyam,” you interject, brows furrowing up at him. “You are their older brother, I understand that. You want to stand up for those you care about, I understand that, too. But there is a difference between taking their side and taking their blame. And you don’t seem to get that. ”

“If you are so against such a thing, then why did you do it just now?” He asks, brisk and unfiltered in a way he rarely gets. There’s a cinch between his brows, a dip in the lines of his lips. It isn’t angry, or mean–it’s simply achingly curious. “Why take my blame when you are not the one at fault?”

“Maybe I am just tired of seeing you get in trouble for things you don’t do.”

It comes out quieter than you intended it to, like all the fight seeps out of you with each word that tumbles from your lips. A decrescendo of what was once a building dispute; a come apart. Your eyes flit away from Neteyam’s, your hands ring around your tail that you’ve failed to drop thus far.

“It just seems like you’re carrying everyone else’s problems around with you constantly. Protecting them nìftxavang,” [ “with all your heart” ] you shrug sheepishly, tip your head as you force yourself to meet his gaze once again. “If I am able to take just a portion of the weight off your shoulders, then all I ask is that you let me.”

He’s quiet, reticent. Each passing beat of locked eyes has you feeling more and more foolish. Perhaps you have crossed a line, said something you should not have. Maybe, this went over the boundaries of whatever the two of you were now, ventured into unmarked territory that you do not have permission to claim just yet.

You’re still so unsure of what this is, at all.

Neteyam’s eyes cut away from you, dip down to some spot towards your feet. He reaches a hand up to fiddle with the necklace hanging from his neck; the one you made for him just a few hours ago. His thumb presses to the shell on it, his teeth pull his lips in. Then, he nods.

“Only the light weight,” he cracks, lifting his head just enough to look at you through the braids that seem to always have a way of falling into his face. “You are not built to carry anything ku’up.” [ “Heavy.” ]

You shove at his chest as the smile finally carves into his cheeks, roll your eyes at him and grumble under your breath. “I’m stronger than you, you skxawng.”

“Ah, whatever helps you sleep at night,” he chuckles, grabs your hands to pull you with him as he stumbles a few steps back from your faux assault.

But he drops one, lets the grin lessen a little as he reaches behind you. It’s hard not to jerk when you feel his fingers brush against your tail again (considering it has been pulled on more than twice today already, neither instance with your permission), and yet you control it because this time it’s gentle, loose. His grip is hollow as he skims his fingertips along your tail. A shudder runs through you as he gets to the end of it, in the very same place where he had grabbed onto earlier. Heat pools into your cheeks as he brushes against it with his thumb–tender, demure.

“I’m sorry. For pulling on your tail. That was.. rude.” It’s devout, vehement. His touch conveys every word he utters in a tenfold manner. It’s nearly overwhelming. “Ngaytxoa, Ma (Y/n)?” [ “Forgive me?” ]

Part of you wants to say no out of spite, make him squirm or tug his tail in retaliation, but the way he’s looking at you now has you tongue tied. As priorly stated, you harbor the ability to read Neteyam like an open book in your native tongue, and more often than not that is a skill you find joy in.

Now, though, you think you’d prefer to be struck dumb, because his gaze is dripping in such potent lovelorn infatuation that the side effects of that apparently include a fluttering in your gut that teeters on frenzied.

You can’t seem to get any words out so you nod, bite the edge of your lip as you glance down to where Neteyam has taken to playing with the frays of your tail. You wonder if he even realizes what he’s doing, if he knows how all of this is affecting you; or if his gestures just ring true to his presumed inexperience.

You suppose that’s something the two of you have in common when it all comes down to this: inexperience.

A breathy sort of chortle thumps out of him at your mute response. He’s so close you swear you can almost feel the vibrations of it. The question crosses your mind whether it would be odd to request to place your hand over his heart, like you did when he was helping you before. You just want to feel it, become more acquainted with the rhythmic thump. Your mouth parts to ask, but.

“What are you guys doing?” Kiri’s voice carries from a few yards away, startling you into a step back. The action causes Neteyam to lose grip of your tail, the contact and closeness between the two of you waved away like a tepid vapor.

“Nothing,” you reply straight away, because you think doing so might make you feel a little less awkward about this in the long run. (However after the words leave your mouth, you’re pretty sure they’ve caused the opposite effect). “We were just..”

“Talking over training for tomorrow,” Neteyam chimes in when he sees you struggling, finishing your sentence off like it’s the easiest thing in the world. A culpable air of confidence about him to get away with such things, you think. “We were just setting aside times to fit it all in.”

“Right,” your sister drawls, studying the pair of you for a moment before she continues. “Well, there’s only a few hours of night left. Dad sent me to come find you so that you would get some sleep.”

“Okay. Coming.” And you curse yourself for the hitch in your deliverance as you say it. But it seems she doesn’t catch it, or doesn’t care enough to react, because she’s already turning around to walk back the way she came.

You’re taking steps to follow her without hesitation, fully expecting Neteyam to just fall in line and do the same. However, instead of matching your steps when he skirts his way into your peripheral vision, he’s brushing past you. It’s peculiar, for him to do such a thing. But as you eye him in his parting you notice how his ears are pressed abnormally flat to his skull and you have to fight the urge to giggle.

Apparently even the strapping former heir gets embarrassed.

“I’m not blind, you know,” Kiri states after Neteyam has disappeared far enough ahead and you catch up to her languid pace.

The tips of your ears feel like they’re being lit by a match and you curse yourself for what feels like the near instant karma of internally making fun of Neteyam just a second earlier.

“I never said you were.”

“Hm.” She hums, sends you a side eye glance. “I see my brother has a new necklace. And since you and I both know how absolutely atrocious his beading skills are, I know he didn’t make it.”

“You noticed?” You don’t understand why you’re so shy now. It’s not like you haven’t made your fair share of jewelry for others in the past. Hell, you’ve made Kiri countless pieces since you first learned how to.

“Of course I did,” she rolls her eyes. Blunt, curt, the pair of you have always been that way with one another. So you can easily tell she’s getting annoyed with you beating around the bush now. “But I will say that you should’ve made him give you the first courting gift. Would’ve been funny to see him on pins and needles when giving it to you.”

That nearly has you tripping over your own feet, your eyes shooting as wide as saucers. You sputter over her words, tumble through a poor attempt at correction.

“That wasn’t–The necklace isn’t a courting gift,” you defend, desperation littering itself in your pledge.

Kiri merely turns to you, pauses in her steps for just a moment, and gives you a look so knowing that it has you questioning everything you thought you were certain of.

“Isn’t it, though?”

Before you even have the chance to ramble off anything else, she’s continuing into the string of maruis, like she’s well aware you cannot talk past this point for the risk of awakening those sleeping in their homes. You feel choked up, leg locked like you’ve been caught in a slip of netting. Convincing yourself is trivial, pointless, but you try to do so anyway.

You made the necklace as a thank you, a symbol of gratitude; an offering. It was innocent in nature and two dimensional in creation. There was no chance that this simple necklace could be seen as something as pivotal as a courting gift. Could be interpreted as anything that holds so much weight.

At least that’s what you keep repeating to yourself, as you do your best not to have another restless night sleeping on a mat that’s laid next to the very man who has single handedly redefined the meaning of family for you.

———————————————————————————

The next day, eagerness is buzzing in everyone’s chests.

You aren’t sure you’ve ever seen Kiri wake up so early without having to literally be dragged out of bed by the ankles. And it’s even more a surprise to you when Tuk doesn’t whine and cry at being disturbed from her slumber hours before she normally would. Then again, it feels near impossible not to be keyed up–jittery–because there is something you’re all dying to know.

Sitting in a circle on a group of rocks just as the sunrise is peeking over the horizon, each of you listen intently as Lo’ak recalls what happened last night–even Ao’nung has joined you, and you hate to admit it but he’s acting slightly less insufferable than usual as he pays mind to your brother’s story. You’re seated between him and Neteyam, trying to pretend you don’t see how the latter keeps fiddling with the necklace he dons, acting like every time you catch a glimpse of it Kiri’s words aren’t ringing in your ears.

It is harder than one would think.

Lo’ak is just wrapping up his recollection, explaining how he told the tulkun that saved his life to swim away and that was the last he saw of him before he was picked up by the search party. It seems so surreal, a miraculous sort of thing. You’re left stunned by the time he quits talking.

“I wish I’d been there,” Kiri muses, eyes lit up in awe; wonder. Her smile is so bright that it makes you wish she could have been there, too. Divine occurrences have always been so special to her. “The ocean blessed you with a gift, brother.”

You’re inclined to agree, voice your own opinion on that, but Ao’nung is speaking up before you get the chance.

“The tulkun have not returned yet.” It sounds matter-of-fact when he says it, like he’s bordering on a disputing scoff, but even you can tell he’s merely questioning it because that is what he knows. “And anyway, no tulkun is ever alone.”

“Well, this one was,” Lo’ak counters. His hand waves to his side, over his arm in a sort of vague demonstration. “He had a, uhm–a missing fin. Like a stump on the left side.”

Tuk mumbles an empathetic reply to that and in your heart you hold the same sentiment. A tulkun without a fin sounds so cruel, so pitiable. It strikes the question of how something like that could even happen, how a tulkun could become so mutilated in such a way. You look across from you to Tsireya with full intentions to ask, but her eyes widening has you wavering.

“That’s Payakan,” she whispers, then turns to Ao’nung and Rotxo and raises the volume of her proclamation. “It’s Payakan.”

Kiri tips her head. “Who’s Payakan?”

“And why do you say his name like that?” You add, not failing to pick up on the ill filter of her tone as she recited it. It has your stomach feeling heavy, your mind alert.

“He’s a young bull who went rogue,” Rotxo explains, catching your attention. His expression holds nothing but offhand confusion. “He’s outcast. Alone. And he has a missing fin.”

“They say he is a killer,” Tsireya presses, hand reaching out for Lo’ak’s arm like she’s trying to make him feel the seriousness of this implication.

You lurch at that. “A killer?” Your brother was left alone in the open ocean with a killer?

“No.” Lo’ak shakes his head. “ No. ”

“He killed Na’vi,” Ao’nung expounds. His tone is more sincerely serious than you think you’ve ever heard it, which is doing absolutely nothing to console you. “And other tulkun. Not here, but far to the south.”

“No, he’s no killer!” Lo’ak continues to refuse the idea, push it as far off as he can. Your concerns are in multitude, of course, but he seems so sure about his standpoint on this that it has you questioning which side you should be agreeing with here.

“Lo’ak,” Tsireya breathes, giving his arm a squeeze. “You are lucky to be alive.”

“I’m telling you guys, he saved my life.” His voice is laced solely in sincerity. It’s like he’s desperate for someone, anyone, to just believe what he’s saying. To just listen to him. “He’s my friend.”

There’s a sliver of silence that follows–a fleeting moment where it is obvious that no one is entirely sure on what to say next–and Neteyam, who has not spoken up yet once during the duration of this, stands up.

“My baby bro, the mighty warrior,” he smiles, leaning over Lo’ak to grip onto his shoulders and give them a lighthearted, teasing shake. “Who faced the killer tulkun and lived to tell about it.”

You can see the frustration on Lo’ak’s face before he voices it. He shoves Neteyam off with a dry hiss and stands up from the circle. “You guys aren’t listening,” he sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat before he turns to walk away.

“ Lo’ak, ” you drone, an indirect request for him to stop walking away as your sisters do the same. When you realize he isn’t turning around, you smack Neteyam (who still hasn’t sat back down) on the thigh with the back of your hand and glare up at him. “Did you really have to do that?”

“What?” he huffs, showing his own palms like he didn’t do a single thing wrong.

Ignoring him, you turn your eyes back to your brother, who keeps stalking off until he’s out of sight headed to where the ilu gear is kept. You consider the possibilities of where he’s going, what he’s thinking, but if you’re being truthful with yourself you already know full and well the destination he has in mind.

Worry is something you feel far too often–the threat of blowing a blood vessel is always so damn prevalent in this family–but now you do your best to swallow it whole. Whatever Lo’ak is doing, he’s doing because he thinks it to be right.

And you refuse to be the one who gets in the middle of that.

——————————————————————————

The only regret you have for not chasing after Lo’ak yourself once he stormed off is that you feel a bit bad about what he’s going to be missing. Tsireya and Rotxo are taking you to their direct connection with Eywa today.

The journey isn’t far, but it is more than just a swim around the reef, so Tuk hitches a ride on the back of Kiri’s ilu instead of riding her own. You’re positioned on the back of Neteyam’s–because even though you have been getting better about the whole being underwater thing, you haven’t quite reached the point of feeling comfortable riding one of your own–but he doesn’t seem to mind your presence there; it’s almost as if he welcomes it.

You find delight in that prospect.

It’s getting late, the time table of the day closing down, when your group breaks out of the water for the final time. Tsireya flashes you all a smile, dimple dipping into her cheek as you glide under a low hanging rock. She announces your arrival, looks over her shoulder to clock all of your reactions once you’re underneath the rock no longer and can really see where it is she has brought you.

The only word you can find to describe it is beautiful, but even that doesn’t feel like it does it any true justice. Your eyes flit all around, taking it all in, letting yourself record mental logs of what will now be your replacement for a physical contact with the great mother. Rocks are floating like they’re laced with helium, arches are carved like they’re meant to hold the sphere of your planet’s entirety in their sheath. Something draws at you, like a string wrapped around your heart chords.

Like a childhood friend, pulling at your hand to come play.

“This is the Cove of the Ancestors. Our most sacred place. Eclipse is the best time of day to be here,” Tsireya continues as the last sliver of daylight fades out, and you are listening, but you find yourself getting lost in the feeling of it all, too. Then, she stops, and the luminescence below you tells you where you are before she even has the chance to. “This is it. This is the Spirit Tree.”

If the cove is beautiful, then there must be a word out there that surpasses it that one can only use to describe this. It’s so captivating that it nearly feels like a trance–slipping off Neteyam’s ilu and sucking in a breath easier than it has ever been before. More willing, more inclined; the pressure of the water doesn’t even cross your mind as you follow behind Tsireya to the heart of the tree.

Something’s tugging.

The Spirit Tree holds such a striking resemblance to the Tree of Souls that you find your hands nearly trembling as you swim. Everything has felt so foreign, so new, since coming here. Having something like this–even if these limbs float upwards towards the surface of the water instead of blowing freely below in the wind–feels like having a piece of home.

Familiarity fabricated in fallace.

You wait until Tsireya gives you the signal, the okay to connect to the tree with a supportive smile, before you swim up to any specific limb. It’s only when you have it directly in front of you, when you reach back and hold your queue in your hand, that it hits you that this will be your first time connecting to Eywa in such an extended period of time.

Anxiety isn’t what you would define it as, but something starts prickling at the back of your neck, scratching at the base of your spine. You curse yourself for having such a feeling right now of all times, when you were just fine a moment before. But it’s only normal, you think, in a time like this. You contemplate opting out, just swimming to the surface to clear your head.

Then Neteyam swims up to the limb beside you, sends you a bemused quirk of his lips as he holds his own queue in his hand, and it’s like the sight of him alone makes that all go away. So with a practiced sense of composure, you lift your neural queue to the projection–allow the tendrils to spread along the surface–and you connect with the slow flutter shut of your eyelids.

The Great Mother’s power has always been different for you.

Connecting to a spiritual hub is a unique experience for everyone, granted. It can be a gateway to the past, or serve as a reunion with loved ones young and old who you hold dear. Most see family members that have already gone on to meet the Great Mother, people they have lost along the way of their lives or even before it. For instance, when Kiri shifts through she sees Grace, gets to talk to her biological mother even though they never had the chance to bodily meet in the proper sense. You’ve heard Jake speak of how he talks with Tsu’tey, his brother, and others in his family.

But you– you have no one to really meet. You do not know your birth parents and though you are well aware Eywa must obtain that information, she has yet to share even a glimpse of them with you in all your nineteen years of life. You used to try bargaining, begging, for just one meeting with them; you wouldn’t even need a conversation, just a single glance at their face. But Eywa has never obliged to your request, never given in, so what you settle on reliving is the memories.

Memories are like medicine; they either heal the ailments of your body and soul or turn you into a dependent addict. You think you might be a novice addict half healed.

It’s foggy at first, as the pictures begin to flash behind your eyelids. Like readjusting your sight to the sun, you have to blink through your mind for the memory to come into focus. (An odd sensation, if you are not used to it). When it does, it’s almost like watching a movie filmed by a camera in your pupil–your perspective alone, like you’re reenacting it in real time.

“ Come on! ” Lo’ak shouts as he runs past you, bumping against you with Spider in tow. His voice nearly resembles an echo, like it isn’t fully clear. Almost as if he’s yelling from the end of a canal.

They’re young, here; giggling as they splash through a creek. They can’t be more than four and six, which would set you as the same. Kiri runs up next to you and smiles, hair stuck to her forehead in wet strings. Childhood exudes well on her, on all of them. Something feels tight on your face as you smile back.

“ Where are we going? ” you ask, voice just as hollow as Lo’ak’s from before even if it’s littered with laughter as you rush to follow after them. Your feet slip on some of the rocks and you hurry to catch yourself. Glancing down you see the moss covering them, coating them in slick tissue. It makes you pause, for just a moment.

But a moment is all you get. You are not granted much leeway here. Your body moves forward before you will it to, like you are not the one operating it. However, you suppose that is partially true. The thing with memories shown to you by Eywa is that you’re only allowed as much variance as she wishes you to have; nothing more and nothing less.

You let yourself be pulled along.

The creek gets deeper as you race with your siblings, less rocks protruding to step on and more water lapping at your ankles. Before you know it you’re going around a bend, losing sight of Lo’ak and Spider for just a moment as the creek rises all the way up to the middle of your small shins. By the time you make it past the curvature, they’re already climbing up a rocky embankment.

Their hands don’t even grip onto anything solid, just the lush vines that drape over the bluff’s surface. There’s a sinking in your gut, like those moss covered stones have found their way in and decided to weigh you down. You rush towards them, start to climb up yourself to stop them.

“ Get down. Get down! ” You call, desperate, and you just can’t seem to remember why. This is your memory, something you have already lived through, but it’s like you’re seeing it all for the very first time. This is not something you are used to, the unfamiliarity is destabilizing.

They don’t listen to you, don’t obey your request. They simply persist to laugh, continuing climbing up the unsecured vines. Spider even lets go to hold on with just one hand as he turns to look down at you. “ Catch us if you can! ”

And something just doesn’t feel right. It’s like listening to a ghost story knowing the riveting is creeping up right behind you, like it’s breathing down your neck. You’re growing frantic, panicked. You keep climbing.

“ Stop it! ” You shout once more, and this time your voice cracks. “ You’re gonna get in trouble. You’re gonna– ”

Your hand slips, the rock crumbles under your fingertips. Falling backwards like the monster of your bedtime fears has you in its grasp now to drag you down. The weight in your gut turns featherlight as your gravity shifts. You land hard, not fully on your side but tilted just enough that your temple is what ricochets against the riverbed.

There’s shrill shrieks of your name–from Lo’ak, Spider, Kiri who rushes to your side, screaming for Jake, Neytiri, Neteyam, anyone to come and help–and suddenly you’re gasping. Your young hands fly up to your face, your little palms flash into your vision frantically, and it’s like the sheet of unawareness lifts in an instant.

Because the fingertips that search for your face don’t quite reach it with direct contact, and they are not the shade of dusty blue that they are now. The tightness from before that smushed against your smile was not apprehension, but an O2 mask tightened with protocol security. And each gasp you suck in is not due to the wind being knocked out of you, no. Rather it’s by the crack in the perspex that is not only letting in the toxicities of the Pandoran air but also the water of the creek in which you have fallen. You know this memory all too well, despite how you do your best to pretend it doesn’t exist.

You’re drowning, in every aspect one is able to.

It becomes too much, too real for you to relive, and you fight your hardest to break off the connection with Eywa abruptly. The gasping nearly translates, almost conveying through your body in real time as you jerk your neural queue back from the branch to which you connected it. You can’t even take a breath to calm yourself down, still stuck underwater and meters from the surface. Movements fraught, you reach for anything to root yourself, to catch a single calming moment.

And it’s Neteyam, who you come in contact with first. Your hand grips onto his arm; hold tight and unrelenting. His palm is covering yours in an instant, breaking from his own queue in without a single hesitation. The look on his face is questioning, concerned, as he does his best to silently search for what is wrong. You shudder, try to stop the trembling of your body the best you can with no ounce of succeeding. Why would Eywa show you such a memory? Why now?

Neteyam’s hold on your hand tightens as he pries it off his arm. Unsure of what he is doing, worried he is going to let go, you watch intently (fearfully) as he moves it. But his actions wave that away promptly as he takes your hand and places it to his chest.

Directly over his heart.

He nods his head at you, reaches forward to put his free palm on your chest too. Like a way of saying you can do this, you’ve done this. Allow yourself to calm down and listen to my heartbeat and we can settle this together .

Because it’s always together, isn’t it?

Neteyam keeps his palm to your chest until he feels it slow back to its near resting pace. But even then, he does not pull away for a few more moments, a few more steady beats–like he needs to be truly sure that you are alright, now. He’s tentative when he retracts his touch, pulls his hands away to go back to keeping himself afloat in the water, and you let the memory fade from you.

But not before remembering one final detail of it.

You’re about to raise your own hands to gesture him a thank you, mimic a sign that Tsireya taught you when you were first learning–you feel like all you’re conveying to Neteyam lately is some form of appreciation; he better not be getting a big head about it–but before you can, the branches all around you begin flickering. Flashing and blinking in the most erratic way. Your heads whip around for the source, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt the blood drain from your fingers as fast as it does now when you spot it.

Kiri is convulsing, body rigid and tight. You and Neteyam swim to her instantly, Tsireya reaching over and disconnecting her from the Spirit Tree and pushing her body upward. Neteyam takes over once he gets to her, holds her close and swims to the surface as quickly as possible.

Everything feels like it’s moving too fast and too slow at the same time as you break through the surface and Neteyam drags Kiri over to his ilu. You and Rotxo help him push her up onto it, and feeling her body like this–limp, lifeless–has tears welling in your wet eyes.

“What is wrong? What is it?” Tuk calls, whines out as you’re doing your best to get Kiri adjusted briskly.

“It was a seizure,” Neteyam huffs before bending down to give her instant mouth to mouth.

“Watch her head,” you voice, hands shaking as you help hold it in place so he can breathe life into your faint sister again. You pray to Eywa, to anyone , that this will not be where your sister enters eternal sleep. “Kiri, please. ”

“Is she breathing?” Rotxo questions, and he sounds just as concerned as you do, just as rushed even as he repeats himself.

Then, in a beat that has you shuddering out a ragged sigh, Kiri lets out a puff of a breath. Relief floods your bones but only in fragments. She’s breathing, yes, but for how long? When will another seizure come on? When will this turn awry again? Urgency stays rooted in your chest as you push back from Neteyam’s ilu.

“Get her to the village,” Tsireya orders, already pulling Tuk onto her ilu with her. “Hurry!”

Neteyam does not need to be told twice. He is sending his ilu forward within the next second, one hand secure on Kiri and the other holding on to his animal. Someone starts to pull at your arm; Rotxo, hauling you to his ilu and advising you to climb on behind him. You do, without question.

Your tremor plagued hands latch around his midsection as you try to swallow the worry for your sister–an impossible feat. Rotxo senses it, notices it, and places a hand over yours in a gesture you can’t decipher from reassuring or comforting. Though when it all boils down to it, you suppose it doesn’t matter.

Because you’re indebted to it regardless.

——————————————————————————

Kiri is brought to your family’s marui the second your convoy reaches the island, and you refuse to leave her side for anything. You sit beside her, holding her hand and watching as her chest rises and falls with every breath she takes. Maybe it’s a bit irrational, but it almost feels like if you look away she’ll stop–like your attention is the only thing keeping the rhythm going. So you stay in place and keep your focus, for Kiri’s sake and your own.

Jake called in Norm and Max without much thought at all. Perhaps it's the human still in him, but seizures are in a pretty well known territory for the scientists from Earth. You can’t say you blame him for it–you’d call in anyone it takes to figure out what’s wrong with your sister and see her wake up–but it does make the passing thought cross your mind of how it makes the Metkayina people feel to have skypeople on their land.

Maybe that makes you a hypocrite.

The beeping of machines is becoming melodic, everything they have hooked up to Kiri to check her vitals and look for occurrences scattered around on the floor. Norm and Max have been running scans and tests since they first walked in, and they’ve still found nothing. It’s making you aggravated.

“There’s no bleed. There’s no fracture. No effects of hypoxia,” Max states as he studies his tablet screen. He shrugs, seemingly dumbfounded. “Brain looks good.”

It’s obviously not good, is what you want to mouth off. Something clearly is wrong for her to have a seizure in the middle of a spiritual connection like that. She has no record of it before, no signs leading to something like this happening. There is something going on with your sister, and if they can’t seem to figure it out then you would prefer them to just leave–family friends trying their hardest or not.

Ronal’s voice is the first thing that has you even slightly veering your attention away from Kiri beside you for the first time in hours. “I see that I am not needed here,” she grumbles, gripes, and you can’t say you blame her. Your family has brought in people that overstep her role; you think you would feel pushed away too. She goes to walk back out but Neytiri is quick to grab her.

“You are tsahìk,” she hisses, and you think she’s brave for doing so at Ronal, now of all times. But something flickers across the woman’s face, and she bites her tongue instead of throwing back a hiss to your mother like you expected.

“Remove these things,” she orders, voice level, but Neytiri does not convey that when she turns to the scientists beside you.

“ Out! ” She snaps, already shoving at them like they should have been out of the way before she even requested it. Then again, maybe they should’ve. “You have done nothing!”

Jake speaks nervously to Max and Norm at the order, rushing to get their things out and gone. Fearing an angry Neytiri seems to be a universal concurrence among your family and those surrounding. Rightfully so, you believe, so you shove the cuffs and plugs off of Kiri as well, tossing them haphazardly to Norm as he scrambles to get all the equipment.

They are out in less than a minute, their things shoved just outside the entrance of the hut. Jake follows them out, leaving to speak with Max and Norm about what they think the cause is, you’re sure. But you are over paying any mind to them and you are not given the opportunity to listen in anyways because Ronal is handing you an incense-esque bowl a moment later.

You cradle it as she begins her ritual–for cleansing, healing–and do your best to keep steady hands while doing so. She presses the wood along Kiri’s skin in a line, a practiced pattern as she mumbles sacred words to herself. Over and over again this continues. You pass the holder to Tuk when it is time to turn Kiri onto her side, so that you can assist Ronal to hold her there. You’re willing to do everything needed for this to work, willing to offer whatever help you can.

Kiri’s on her back once again, Tuk cradling her head in her lap as you rub your thumb over her knuckles. Ronal breathes in against her stomach–once, twice–then leans up to funnel the air out. Once more, she repeats this, and just as she leans up to exhale it all again, Kiri’s eyes flutter.

She blinks hazily into consciousness, eyes disoriented as she regrasps reality in the moment. You allow it now, the feeling of relief to blanket you fully. Your sister is breathing and awake; she is okay, even if that means just for this segment of time.

“Kiri,” Tuk sighs, watery eyes threatening to overflow. “You’re awake.”

It starts with a quiver of her lips, a crinkle of her eyes; a cry wracks out of Kiri’s lips as she fully wakes up. You tighten your grip on her hand, lean forward to cup her face and wipe away the tears that begin to stream down as Neytiri whispers sweet comforts to her. You allow the relief to flow through you, but you find that it does nothing to stop the cracking of your heart at seeing your sister in such a state.

Nevertheless, you turn to Ronal, who is now collecting her things back on the tray she carried them in on. She kneels near you to reach for a certain container and you drop Kiri’s hand for a single moment, just to touch her arm. Her gaze snaps to you instantly, caught off guard, and you offer up a wobbly smile.

“Thank you.” It’s all you say, all you can get out, before you release your grip and pick up your sister’s hand again. Ronal nods to you, commiserating, and stands to give your family a moment of privacy.

As your attention falls back onto Kiri, you mumble another string of gratitude under your breath. Just in passing, merely minor. You may be at slight odds with Eywa right now for her own personal showcases towards you, but you find the need to thank her for the protection of your sister despite that. So that is what you do.

——————————————————————————

You can’t sleep. Something that has seemingly become a rather normal occurrence for you within the passing weeks, but especially now.

Every time you cave into slumber, you’re jolting awake just mere minutes later. Whether it’s from the fear that you need to check and make sure your sister is still breathing next to you, nightmares about whatever the hell could be happening to your brother, or that unfair memory the Great Mother decided to plant in your mind again–any scenario has you unable to get any sufficient means of rest.

Hence you find yourself where you are now. Sitting on the edge of the netting outside of your family’s marui, legs dangling over the edge as you stare down at the very water which chooses to beset your nightmares. It’s funny how something so crucial to one’s life can cause such a hindrance in yours.

The netting beside you dips and for once it doesn’t cause you to jump. Probably the sleep deprivation making your nerves shot, if you gave a half-assed guess on the matter. Neteyam, is who you expect it to be, though you’re not sure why he’s the first person to surge through your mind as a possibility. You suppose you can add that to the list of things that are keeping you up at night.

But when you turn to greet who has joined you at this late hour, you find that it is not Neteyam after all; but Jake. He looks at you with a soft expression, a contented sort of diction. You don’t miss the hairline crease between his brows though, even in the dark.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, babygirl?” He queries, and you fight the urge to bubble out a laugh. Because of course he picks up on it and of course he comes right out with it instead of trying to sugar coat his way in.

Jake is a good father at every baseline margin, even if there are some things he can work on. He’s known to be a little too harsh (with Lo’ak and Neteyam especially), or a tad too overlooking (according to Tuk and Kiri), but it is all done in the name of family preservation; a safety net to catch everyone in case they fall. He has his quirks, like any parent does, but he is doing his finest in the only way he knows how.

To you, that has always translated more explicitly.

Truth be told, you think he is so forthcoming with you because your origins are one in the same. His other children are hybrids, so he sincerely tries his hardest to empathize with the trials they face from that. But when it comes to you; he knows. He knows exactly what it feels like, having your soul transferred into a body of an entirely different species. Exactly what it feels like, to now share the same skin but not the same heritage. To face the things you do, the glares you receive, the distrust you are bestowed.

He believes he understands all too well what it is like to live a life like yours, so he conveys that to you the best he can. And yet he does not truly get it himself, you surmise.

Because even he–Jake Sully, the great Toruk Macto–was eventually accepted with open arms into the hearts of the Na’vi, and the closest thing you’ve ever received to favorable reception was tight lipped smiles paired with the halfhearted decency to at least not call you a pariah to your face and instead whisper it behind your back.

But you choose not to worry with formalities such as that. Or at least pretend you don’t, anyways, for the sake of your momentary sanity.

“Nothing,” you respond with a shrug, a shake of your head. Adding more onto your father’s plate is not in your interest. You’ve already caused enough trouble, you do not wish to stir up alarm along with it. “Just not tired.”

Your body must have a vendetta against you–probably retaliation from depriving it of sleep–because as soon as you say it a yawn is cracking your jaw open. You try to stifle it, but it’s no use. There’s no hiding it and you don’t even really have it in you to attempt such a feat.

“That so?” He’s smiling; even though you aren’t looking at him you can hear the amusement in his voice. But his tone takes a pivotal dip directly afterwards, turns somber in a wink. “Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Is it your brother?”

Yes , you want to confirm, agree with his assumption–but that’s not really the true root of the problem, is it? Spider is only one of the variables, a singular plot point on the declining graph of your stability, but he isn’t the sole cause of the drop.

Your fingers fiddle with each other, five to five as you try to stave off the attention.

“(Y/n), c’mon.” He’s pressing, keen. His heavy hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you cannot help but lean into the comfort of the accustomed touch. “We stick together, remember? How can I help you if you won’t tell me what’s eatin’ you?”

You suppose he has a point. This family is always so driven for solidarity, so determined to do things hand in hand. Maybe, you stave off on that too much. Maybe, you do not live up to your found family’s staple ideal enough. Perhaps you can give in, open up, just ever so slightly. Just this once.

“I’m.. scared.”

It’s vague, open-ended enough that you think it to be something easy to pass. But even so, it is the truth. There is no falsity in your statement, no fray in the cords that bind it together. You are scared; and that fact alone should do well enough to quell your father.

“Alright,” Jake sighs through his nose, squeezes your shoulder in a way only a parental figure does. He pauses for a moment, like he’s contemplating how he wants to go from here. “Is something gettin’ to you specifically, or..?”

You shake your head in response, try not to blow out a cynical chuckle at the implication. Of course there are things getting to you specifically –that much should be blatantly obvious. But you do not feel like adding onto that at this stage, and you think that comfort for generality would do just as well as comfort for specificity, so you are more than willing to settle for the former.

“Okay,” he nods, shifts over to pull you closer to him, into the warmth of his side. He leans his cheek to the top of your head, turns just enough to press a faint kiss there before settling back against your crown. “You don’t have to be scared of anything. I’ll always be right here. Don’t forget that, babygirl.”

And even if it might seem trivial later on, even if it becomes insignificant, his words hold just enough weight right now that you allow yourself to relax. Eyelids fluttering shut, you rest against your stand-in father as he rubs soothing circles into your shoulder.

You aren’t sure when it is that you finally drift off to sleep, or how you get back into your cot, but that night is the first night you get more than a blink of rest in a while.

And you don’t feel the smallest inkling of scared, even if it’s for just one single, peaceful moment.

——————————————————————————

Kiri has–understandably–not quite been herself since the incident.

Well actually, it isn’t particularly out of character for her to become a little moody or withdrawn every now and again. She has her days (which normally you’re always keyed into right along with her), but it’s different now. The awe sourced light that is usually shining behind her crystal irises has dimmed. Her liveliness has diminished.

Like she’s becoming a shell of herself, so she doesn’t have to feel anything at all.

Aching becomes a common sensation, a near habitual feeling the more you stay around her–but you just can’t bring yourself to leave her side. If she is going to close herself off, then you are going to put your foot in the door; create a crack to break the bridge between her and impending isolation.

You’re placed beside her even now, as your family stands around within your marui tidying things up. By the rules, everyone is supposed to deal with their own belongings and if someone wants to help once done with their own, then they can. Those rules seem nugatory; trifling, now.

Kiri has been making work of tying up her sleeping mat for a good five minutes straight now, but in reality she’s only been fiddling with the string tied around it for the past three. Be that as it may, you choose to pick up her slack instead of drawing attention to her lack of productivity.

Being sloppy is not in your nature when it comes to things like this (perhaps you have a slim case of post traumatic stress from Neytiri’s scolding for doing things messily as a child) so you find it hard to rush through doing double the work. Near stressful, it would be, yet it doesn’t get the chance to progress to such a stage because a hand is reaching down to grab up your mat while you’re focused on regrouping some of Kiri’s belongings.

Neteyam presses his lips together in a tight smile–a passing of a deliberate glance–and begins rolling your mat up in the exact way you like it to be done. You try to tell yourself that it’s nothing but expected that he’s aware you prefer to double knot the binding instead of single after all these years of knowing one another–it’s not like you aren’t also aware of how he favors the order of his effects in his pack to be–and even still, it has a butterfly hatching in your stomach as you take note of it.

You’re just about through with the remainder of Kiri’s and your’s things when you hear the first one. A horn, being blown out to sound the arrival of.. what? It has all of your heads turning–well, except for Kiri, who doesn’t even offer up a tip of her head, let alone a full turn–to the entrance of your hut.

“What was that?” Tuk pipes up as she drops her mat (very poorly rolled up, you’ll fix it later when she isn’t looking) to go and see what the fuss is about.

“What’s going on?” Lo’ak builds onto the inquiry as everyone of your family apart from you and your sister venture towards the netted pathway.

“The tulkun have returned!” It’s Tsireya, you recognize the faint trill of her voice as it passes by in a sweep. She’s probably on her ilu, sent by her parents to make the announcement to everyone if you had to assume. “Everybody, our brothers and sisters have returned!”

One by one, Lo’ak of course making his beeline first, each member of your family dips out of your home and away from sight as they go to investigate further. The tulkun have returned, they have completed a migration cycle and come back home to their Metkayina family, and you want to go see, but..

Your gaze flickers to Kiri, who has yet to move even an inch, despite the fact that you know she heard Tsireya’s bulletin. A few weeks ago, she would have been the first to run out of here, the first to see their grand homecoming. You try to think of something to say, a way to suggest maybe going to look that your sister would actually be inclined to accept.

However, your youngest sister is bouncing back in before you can even come up with one good solution. “Kiri! (Y/n)! Come on, come on!” Tuk bounds, running over to the two of you and grabbing each of your hands in her own.

“Tuk, leave me alone,” Kiri huffs, tries to pull her hand back from Tuk’s hold but it’s no use. She’s already heaving the pair of you to your feet. Exasperated, a groan drags out of Kiri’s chest. “ What? What do you want?”

“Look!”

As soon as you’re hauled out of your marui and blinking in the sunlit view, you’re hit with a wave of amazement so compelling that you wonder for a second whether you need to sit back down to regain yourself. The tulkun are all banking in, calling for their Na’vi counterparts, like they’re harmonizing a welcome home melody.

It’s nothing short of magnificent.

“Come on,” Tuk beams, “Let’s go meet them!”

As you let Tuk drag you along, you turn your head to catch Kiri’s gaze, and the sight you’re greeted with nearly has the stunning reunion before you paling in comparison. A smile, stretched wide and dimpled into her svelte cheeks, is on full display. No more cinched brows, no more pursed lips.

Just pure, unadulterated joy. Radiating like a gleaming sun.

Your expression mirrors it; you wouldn’t be able to stop the grin even if you tried. The ache grows dull, faint between your ribcage. You release Tuk’s hand so she can drag Kiri towards her ilu as you get to the shore, finally feeling secure enough to let her go. To see her thrive, again.

Flitting your eyes across the span of shoreline and aquatic celebration ahead, you pause at the sight of someone specific still standing on dry land. It catches you off guard, has curiosity rolling to the tip of your tongue; because why is he not already in the water, embracing such a momentous occasion with everyone else?

“Why are you still here?” You nudge Neteyam slightly, breaking his attention from the show in front of him and focusing it all entirely on you, instead.

“I was waiting for you,” he says, candidly, like it should be obvious. Like there is no other possible reason he’d still be stuck on shore with his ilu drifting nearby. You try not to blunder.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I’ll always wait for you,” he adheres as he wades into the shallows to climb onto his companion. His hand is reaching out for yours promptly, a proposition to join him, and you take it with no more than a sliver of hesitation.

Biting back grins is apparently not a strong suit of yours today, because the tilt of your lips gives way easily. You walk through the water, letting the cool waves lap at your shins, and mount right behind him. He drops your hand only when you go to hold onto him; a ghost of reluctance shadowing his face. The obscurity flickers away in a blink, though, and he’s tossing you one more smile over his shoulder before taking off–heading to the heart of the celebration.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything quite so moving.

Metkayinas young and old–some merely babies–swim and float amongst the water to meet with their spirit brothers and sisters. Witnessing relationships between bonded pairs is one of the most transcendent honors one can bestow in their lifetime; that is what Neytiri used to tell each of you when watching your siblings create their first affixion. You never doubted that sentiment, but now it rings truer than you thought it ever could.

A tulkun breaches out of the water to your left, their Na’vi pair doing the same; a mimic of each other, a mirror of souls. It is not deliberate, of course, yet its fin edges dangerously close as it begins to descend back to the waves it’s created. You suck in a breath–solely out of surprise–but you are thankful you have done so a moment later because Neteyam is sending his ilu into a dive. Quick thinking, he has, to weave the pair of you out of the way in just the knick of time. He’s rising out of the water as soon as it’s clear, turning back to you before you can even draw a proper inhale in.

“Sorry I didn’t give any warning. I should’ve told you before I just–”

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” you reassure through a chuckle at his rushing, wiping at your eyes. “I’m fine. Can we do it again?”

He loosens up, relaxes in a way that you can feel his back become more pliable against you as he nods. You regain your grip on him around his abdomen, lock your hands so you’re better prepared this time. A boyish grin is what he flashes to you after which he sucks in a gust of air–which you copy–before he’s sending his ilu forward at a downward angle once again.

Captivating is the view of the tulkun’s homecoming from above, but bewitching is it once you are blanketed in oceanic blue.

Children–Na’vi and tulkun alike–are being introduced for the very first time. Families are reuniting. They are swimming in sync, like their hearts beat as one. You wonder, by chance, if they do. It would not surprise you, would not startle you one bit. Something as special as this must hold well in the sight of Eywa. Must put forth the most profound of links.

You make out Kiri and Tuk, holding onto a tulkun’s fin as it swims through the water, Rotxo hanging onto the bottom of the same one. Still beaming, still light. Such a beautiful sight to be graced with. Too beautiful, maybe.

Perhaps you should have better bearings on yourself–perhaps, you should not let yourself be swayed so easily by the things around you–because in all your pursuing in the magnificent, you let your mind stray from the focus of holding onto Neteyam tight enough.

By the time you feel your grip loosening it’s too late. Your heart skips a beat, your throat constricts in a faux gasp. Right out of your fingers (in the most literal sense) you feel Neteyam begin to slip from you. It’s plummeting, has your mind already plateauing directly to watery graves.

Yet you don’t get any closer to drifting backwards than that. Before you can so much as shift a few inches away, Neteyam’s already reaching back for you. His palm lands on your thigh; circles his grip around the back of it and pulls you back in contact with him. Chest to back, skin to skin. You fully expect him to let go once you loop your arms around him again, but he doesn’t. If anything, it’s almost as if he’s holding you tighter.

And you, well.

Maybe you’re a little bit tired of trying to bury all the sprouts of affection that want so desperately to bloom out of you. You think you might be well past trying to swallow down the saccharine syrup that longs so desperately to drip off your tongue. So you do not protest, you do not nudge his hand away. You simply cling onto him securely and let your head rest on his shoulder as you take in the show of pure, virtuous love all around you. And you feel your own, blossom in real time.

You’re content, surprisingly at peace, under the water as reconnecting life bustles every which way. Everyone seems so joyous–and who would have a reason not to be? Tsireya is the next familiar face you spot, and she is quite a bit away so you can’t be too sure, but you are near positive she is telling her spirit sister about Lo’ak by the gestures her hands convey. You know your brother would be giddy at the sight of it–even if he would try to act gruff to hide it–so you lift your head to look for him.

He isn’t far (as if he would put too much distance between him and Tsireya, that fact should be obvious), just floating near the surface with his face a smidgen below the waves to peer beneath him. But it is not the lighthearted, love-struck expression you thought you were going to find outlining his features as he watches them. If you had to choose a single word to describe it, you think you’d have to go with yearning. And somehow, you know it is not romantic in nature.

Nor is it directed towards the chief’s daughter.

——————————————————————————

Following Lo’ak without him knowing is concerningly easy.

After alerting Neteyam of your hunches, he’s all too willing to send a little party forward to see just what his little brother is getting up to. The pair of you–along with Tsireya, Ao’nung, and Rotxo–follow him to the Three Brothers island chain, which only confirms your suspicions as true. And if the location was not sufficient enough, diving and finding him face to face with the fabled Payakan would have certainly concluded your hypothesis.

Observing him speak to the tulkun is easy enough (though you’d be lying if the whole “killer” title didn’t still leave an off putting churn in your gut), but it is when Payakan opens his mouth that you decide this is not a good idea after all.

Lo’ak has always been so trusting, so unquestioning when it comes to things he’s already set his mind on being true. And now, as he swims forward without even a single falter of uncertainty into the whale’s open mouth, you find this case is no different.

You were fine to watch him converse. You were fine to see him swim forward (stupidly). But as soon as Payakan closes his mouth around your brother, you are no longer fine at all.

Surging forward, your only thought is to save him; which must be an ideal you and Neteyam share because his movements are the same. However, before either of you can get any more than a foot ahead, the chief’s children are grabbing at you. You send a glare back at Ao’nung, a question of concern for why he would still you. He simply signs for you to stop–wait.

There is nothing you can do now except bide the time until Payakan–hopefully–spits your brother back out of his immense jaws. It feels like hours but you know it is no more than a few minutes when your internal turmoil comes to a close as the sight of your brother begins to peek out of the monstrous tulkun before you. When he emerges there is something different about him, something despondent. It’s nearly palpable, the energy radiating as he swims back up to the surface.

He’s created a bond. But, simultaneously, he’s created a fissure. And you are not too enticed with the premise of how it will break.

Returning to the mainland, you find yourself drifting protectively towards Lo’ak as Tsireya goes to alert her parents of what has occurred. Tonowari and Ronal do not speak as they lead your group–minus Rotxo, who was gifted the unfair pleasure of slipping away from whatever is to become of this–to their marui. Ronal waits for everyone, stands to the side to make sure all of you fall in before she trails behind you.

The tension is nearly tangible.

“You allowed this,” she huffs at her children as she stalks into the hut. But then, her focus shifts, lines up directly with Tsireya as she points an accusing finger to your brother. “You allowed him to bond with the outcast!”

Tonowari is circling in too, honing in on her. It’s like watching ikrans pick off a defenseless fan lizard; how could one even fight back to such an obtuse threat? It has your tongue feeling heavy in the bed of your mouth, like a lead slate.

“Tsireya,” the chief addresses. Tone solemn, grim. “You disappoint me, daughter.” He’s turning to Lo’ak directly after, the same timbre used, the same expression carved into his strong features. “And you. Son of a great warrior. Who has been taught better. ”

“Payakan saved my life, sir,” Lo’ak responds immediately, diligently. It’s almost deja vu to when he was explaining Payakan for the first time to all of you. You remember the lilt in his speech so prominently. Recall the sentiment behind it all. “You don’t know him.”

“No, Lo’ak,” Tsireya hearkens; to save face, to stop another disagreement. To keep peace, is the bottom line. You understand her need to do such, but for some reason you hesitate to get behind it.

Your parents are here, now. Jake and Neytiri stand at the edge of the hut, just inside. Maybe that’s where Rotxo went–to inform them of this meeting that was sure to happen. That falls into line with him, you think, but a piece of you wishes they had not been told. Their presence looming behind you feels formidable. Much like Tonowari’s gaze as he studies each of you.

“Sit,” he utters once, as he begins to lower himself. “Sit,” he orders again, to which Lo’ak is the only one to obey his request. Then, he grows aggravated, demanding. “ Sit down! ” he raises his voice, and you have never taken a seat faster in your life.

You toss a glance to Tsireya, who has been near tears this entire time. Her self control is admirable, her strength is not one to be overlooked, because even though the tears well to the brink of overflow, not a single one falls. Your stomach twists as you shift focus back to Tonowari, contempt carving into the base of your skull.

“Hear my words, boy.” His voice is softer now, not as sharp, but it still holds authoritative weight. Commanding of respect, attention. “In the days of the first songs, tulkun fought amongst themselves. For territory, and for revenge. But they came to believe that killing–no matter how justified–only brings more killing. So killing was forbidden. This is the tulkun way.” It’s blunt, honest. This story has been told before, one can tell. But the last bit of information has not, and that you are well aware of. “Payakan is a killer. So, he is outcast.”

It is easy to notice how no one expects there to be room for discussion now. How they believe this will be the end and your brother will simply agree and settle for his slap on the wrist. But you know Lo’ak far better than that, so it comes as no surprise to you when he’s shaking his head beside you before Tonowari can even get his final words out fully.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re wrong.”

And there it is: the discrepancy.

It was different, before when he was just telling your young family and friends about his beliefs and they admonished him and brushed him to the side. He wanted to be heard but he settled on being muted for the sake of complacency. He wanted people to listen but was fine with being drowned out. Storming off, ignoring your calls; he did so to put a stake in the matter and leave it dead and hanging.

But now, there’s a glint in his eye. A quiver in his brow. He was fine with being rebuked before, but now?

“ Lo’ak, ” Neytiri jeers at her son. And that unnerves you. “You speak to Olo’eyktan.”

He doesn’t budge. “I know–”

“That’s enough,” Jake cuts in–something he seems to always be so damn good at.

It causes Lo’ak to falter, bite his tongue for just a moment. Tsireya shakes her head at him, telling him to fall back. And you get it, truly, but it’s just so.. Aggravating.

How can they so blatantly disregard him? How can they muffle his screams of wanting to be heard like a bind around the mouth without a single shred of guilt? Why can they not just listen?

On a last stitch effort to be taken into account, Lo’ak lets go of his tongue. He shrugs his shoulders and puffs out a condescending breath. “I know what I know.”

“That's enough, ” Jake reiterates, crouching down to Lo’ak’s level to give him a stony glare. “I’ll deal with this one,” he converses to Tonowari, before his hand is circling your brother’s bicep and tugging him up and out of the tent.

It leaves you feeling irate, in the most raw form, because this whole situation is just so demoralizing. Anger knows nothing but to simmer or scorch, to bubble or burn, and right now your pot is overflowing. And perhaps your hands have grown clumsy, because instead of pulling it off the burner, you twist the dial to high heat.

“My brother is no liar.” The words leave your mouth before you even think them and you’re rising to your feet. Part of you expects your knees to feel wobbly, buckling, but they do not. “If he says Payakan is no killer, then he isn’t.”

Ronal steps in immediately. “Your brother is ignorant. He knows nothing. Maybe, if he were true of his kind, he would not be so witless.”

Oh, and that? That strikes a nerve in you. Avoiding trouble, remaining quiet and content and compliant to save your family the strife; that all drains out of you now. Like a switch has been flipped. You have had enough.

“He knows more than you will ever– ”

“You watch your tongue,” Neytiri hisses as she yanks you back by the wrist. She does nothing more than send the tsahìk a heated glance before she’s pulling you out of the marui just like Lo’ak had been dragged out before.

She doesn’t even get far before she’s whipping around to fix you with a venomous glare, her grip still not releasing. It must be near bruising now. You strain against it but there is no use; you’d have a better chance breaking free from the claws of a feral mountain banshee than that of Neytiri. You know that and you give in, but it doesn’t mean you’re willing to back down from your credence.

“What are you thinking? ” It’s a question, but she isn’t really asking. “That is the Olo’eyktan. The tsahìk. You show them leioae only. Only. ” [ “respect.” ]

“They did not show it to Lo’ak,” you spit back, and you’re treading some dangerous waters here, truthfully. But why stop paddling if you’ve already lost sight of land? “They did not even listen to what he had to say. That is your son, he wants to be heard–”

“My son speaks foolishly.” There is no hesitation in her deliverance, no pause to think about it. Yet you must admit you can also detect no malice. “And so do you. No thinking before you talk. Disgrace.”

It’s suddenly hard to swallow because her statement is so dense. Her grip feels numbing now but not because it is tight. Disgrace, she says. And it makes you sick how easily it rolls off the tongue. You wonder if she even caught onto what Ronal was inferring in her last statement. If she even realized she was scorning his identity–more specifically one half of it; condemning it.

If she even cared how that made you feel.

“I–”

“Do not speak.”

Someone has pulled the plug on the oven. Someone has doused water on the stove top. Your simmering has cooled to a misty vapor. Your petulance has been frozen to icy shards. Neytiri tells you not to speak so you sew your mouth shut, let nothing slip past the seam.

“You do nothing like this again.” A decree, an injunction. “Distractions, disrespect. It is too much. One more misstep, and..” She trails off, like she can’t even find the words for the threat she’s about to make past her disappointment. You think it meaningless anyways; you have already heard enough.

“Okay.” You say it to save yourself from whatever she could possibly spit out. “I will do nothing like this again.”

It’s bitter, tart. But then again lies have never tasted too well on your tongue. It does not need to bode well with you, merely just enough to get Neytiri to give in. After a few bated breaths of her staring at you, it seems to do the trick. She releases your wrist (the blood pumping once again) and departs without another word.

However, you should know better than to get ahead of yourself and think you are off the hook of scolding–because no more than a few seconds after Neytiri is drifting from your sight, her first born is stepping into it.

“No,” you shake your head, turn on your heel to trudge off in the opposite direction. “Not doing this.”

“Stop,” Neteyam says, announces, and his voice is not sweet. It is not warm and light and reassuring in the way that you adore. It is imposing, lofty. It is the voice of an heir in command. “Do not walk away from me.”

“I am not dealing with you right now, Neteyam.”

Being lectured once is bad enough. Being lectured twice by a man who holds the same bleeding heart as his mother is a fate worse than death. (Partially an exaggeration, you must admit, but it does not feel like one now).

“I said, stop. ” It’s uncharacteristically harsh; his tone, his diction. You would not call it violent, but perhaps would dip your toe into the pool of aggressive. Not in a way that frightens you, or harms you, but in a way that twinges. In a way that pangs.

In a way that has you hissing as your tail is yanked back far more forceful than it has ever been before.

“You do not pull my tail,” you shriek, shove at his chest and tug it out of his grasp. Being scolded is one thing. Being disrespected is another. “I have told you already–”

“If you would listen to me, I would not have to,” he fires back, tips his head at you. “How could you say such a thing to the tsahìk? Do you have no regard?”

“ Me? ” You gape, cinch your brows at him. “She is the one with none. They do not care for us. Ronal speaks of Lo’ak like he is a blot in Na’vi existence. How does that deserve any respect from me?”

“It does not matter how she speaks of him,” he dismisses. “She is the chief’s mate. She helped save Kiri. You would not dare speak to Mo’at that way.”

“Your grandmother had enough respect for me that she did not deface my identity.” Hissing at Neteyam is not something you would like to do, but it comes out easily now. He is not getting it, not grasping your standpoint. “I don’t expect you to understand the way I feel, but I ask that you do not dismiss it.”

“You think I don’t understand?” He rags, stares at you incredulously. “I understand very well how it feels to be an outcast. To be a freak. ”

“But you don’t, Neteyam!”

You’re tipping, losing control of yourself. Arguing solves nothing, confrontation only leads to more, but it has apparently become your theme today. You run your hands down your face. You’re exasperated, fed up. Nobody seems to get it.

“Why do you think you’ve been the one with the least amount of problems since coming here, hm? ” You question him, try not to shy back from the heat buzzing between the two of you. “Do you think Ao’nung backs off when you tell him to just because you’re the oldest? Because he feels some connection to you since you used to be next in line of our clan?”

You’re going too far, you’re being too mean. But you cannot stop now. It’s like you have no control over yourself anymore, like even if you try to lock your jaw to keep the words in they’ll simply crack open your mandible to escape.

“How come when Lo’ak, Kiri, and I were all being poked and prodded like animals, were you not lumped into that?” It’s vile, how the words translate amongst your tastebuds. But even the tough pills need to be swallowed. “They show you respect because you don’t look like some freak lab experiment. If they were not told, they would not know you were not a full-blooded one of them. They see you as true Na’vi, above the rest of us.”

Neteyam says nothing, simply holds your gaze. You take note of him now; his lack of hairlined brows, his wide set eyes, his thick digits that clench at his sides with one less finger than your own on each hand. It’s a privilege, an exemption. A justifiable right to be a little zealous.

Yet, guilt sprinkles in, litters itself along the hems of your mind. You resign it with a hello.

“I do not say this to belittle what you go through. And it hurts my heart to know you feel like you do,” you state. Lower, with less edge. Your head drops, your gaze drifts to your feet in the sand beneath you. “It’s just.. Different. Lo’ak does not feel as accepted here as you do. I do not feel as accepted anywhere as Lo’ak.”

The origin of your outburst, the cause of your conniption. It has all boiled down to this. Funny, how the words seemed to flow so easily before when they were full of vexation, but now that they’re coated in vulnerability they string along as stubbornly as molasses.

“It is hard. Knowing no matter where you go, you never truly belong there.” You’re muttering so quietly you’re not sure if he can even hear you. But maybe if he can’t, maybe if this falls on deaf ears, that is even for the better. “It’s like.. no one ever really views you as a person because they are too busy picking your existence apart. Or even worse, ignoring it. Like no one even sees you, at all.”

You debate laughing it all off as soon as you finish talking. Brushing it away with a shrug of your shoulders and offering up an apology to Neteyam for your harsh words. That’s what would be right to do–what the you before you let yourself become a mess would deem acceptable. You really have made such a muddled up disarray of everything, haven’t you? How foolish of you. Neytiri was right.

Neteyam’s hands raise and you flinch; back to being jumpy, to being resigned. Like trying to scoop up soup with cupped palms–a futile attempt to pretend you never spilt it in the first place when the spices always stick to your fingertips.

You are not sure what you are expecting from him, but his hands reaching for your face isn’t it. They cup your cheeks gently, with great care, as he tips your head back up to meet his gaze. The hostile air from before is gone, the assertive undertone of his grip has vanished to nothing. He cradles your face with such tenderness; like you’re made of glass, like he is scared to break you.

His eyes are searching, analyzing. Or are they? There’s something swirling in them as pink begins to color one side of his face a delicate lilac from the setting sun. Under his scrutiny, you fight the urge to shrivel. Neteyam has always made you comfortable, put you at ease. But lately he has been dangling you over the ledge of.. what?

Your throat bobs with a swallow. Neteyam takes note of it, letting his eyes skirt over your troubled features. His thumb brushes past the apple of your cheek and as it sweeps across your temple it catches the edge of your eyebrow. He doesn’t shy from it, doesn’t pull his hand back in dismay. You aren’t sure why you half expect him to.

Then, he’s leaning in. Pressing so close you can feel the necklace you made him hit against your chest at the proximity, can feel the middle shell against your sternum. He lifts one hand to turn in front of you, dragging the knuckle of his index finger along the bridge of your nose. Less flat, more humanistic than his own. He gets to the tip then drags his finger back up, skimming across your skin, over the silk of your brow and expanse of your striped forehead before it settles back onto your cheek. Like it’s meant to be there, like it was molded by Eywa herself just for you to slot into.

“ I see you, Ma (Y/n),” he speaks with certainty, conviction. Your breath hitches and your heart lurches within your ribcage. “Oel ngati kameie. Frakrr. ” [ “Always.” ]

And it feels almost inane, frivolous, how you catch yourself reacting. This is not the first time you and Neteyam have said these words to each other, but it feels different, somehow. The days of childish appreciation have gone, become stone walled by adult conflicts and mature contest. Neteyam waits for you, adheres to you, and you find yourself entrapped in his guise.

You place your hand on top of his, lean into his touch and allow yourself this solace. Your eyes slip shut as he closes in, presses his lips to your forehead before resting his own against it in a show of affection so genuine it nearly causes your stomach to turn.

Apologies will be delivered later–to Neteyam, for diminishing his grievances; to Ronal, for speaking against her even though you still believe yourself to be right–but for now, this is enough. You let yourself indulge in this bit of selfishness, in this sliver of greed. Allowing yourself to be a mess mid-mending for this one portion of your life, in the only hands you trust to put the pieces of you back together.

Like a shattered vase, being cured by its potter.

#in the sand and in the stars #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #avatar x reader #avatar x you #atwow neteyam #atwow x reader #avatar fanfiction #neteyam sully

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cry1ngchild · 10 months

Note

hellooo! I was wondering if I could request general headcanons with laughing Jack and candy pop?

LJ and Candy Pop Headcanons

Laughing Jack

- Bro is MONSTROUSLY tall. he’s 7’4 and he has to bend down when walking through doors. It ain’t even funny tbh he towers over everyone and must have some brains cells fall out from the ceiling hitting his head

- He mainly chills in the carnival/circus area of the mansion where there are tall rooms ✌️ (i have a lot of headcanons on the Slender mansion itself and Slendermans magic, if u ask me for headcanons on him… i will go on for days)

- VERY DEEP VOICE

- CORPSE LEVEL VOICE. PERIOD.

- He’s in his 400s, one of the oldest creeps however the biggest menace, age does not bring maturity (refer to Candy Pop for further proof, impressively immature)

- LJ doesn’t mind any pronouns tbh, he just doesn’t care however he presents as a male so he mainly gets called as such. It may raise an eyebrow if you referred to LJ as a woman but he either won’t give a s*bleep*t or laugh

- LJ doesn’t feel threatened by threats or people actually trying to hurt him however he has a set few triggers which make him go complete defensive mode and aggressive. Towering over him, he isn’t used to it as he is extremely tall however say he was sitting down and someone was standing over him and talking down to him… suddenly he is extremely alert and ready to strangle that person to death

- But yea unless triggered he isn’t actually that aggressive, more of just cunning and rude. He tends to mock and embarrass people that try purposefully p*bleep*ing them off

- He likes to make sweets for his friends <3 however he has accidentally poisoned them on many occasions 😄 (LJ is the reason Jason no longer eats sweets)

❥ Candy Pop

- Candy Pop is 6’11 however he has the ability to change some physical features at will but he is 6’11

- He’s always off in his own world / daydreaming; his attention is always else where.

- Nathan and Pop are always talking or texting, Nathan is basically his platonic husband at this point ngl

- Candy Pop can do basically everything in the circus industry however his favourite/speciality is acrobatics and magic tricks

- Jason and Candy talk the most sh-t together it’s unbelievable, they’re that work duo that just sh-ts on all of their co workers at any moment they can.

- For being over a thousand years old, most immature being ever. He has year 5 humour and still laughs at fart jokes also Candy Pop will make a s-x joke at any opportunity

- Candy Pop can go from very warm hearted and genuine seeming to condescending and mean fairly quickly, this is because of Night Terrors

- Whenever he breaks his mallet or anything, before he even thinks to just fix it himself, he goes running to Jason lol. Jason gets so annoyed because Candy is definitely doing it on purpose to get him away from work lmao

- Sometimes he just randomly slams his hammer on the ground to get everyone’s attention… just to go back about his day not saying or doing anything, ignoring the massive disturbance he just made

- He’s just in a silly goofy mood <3

#i wanna do cp friendship headcanonssssslwnwlsnala #candy pop #laughing jack #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta fandom #candy pop creepypasta #LJ #tagged for exposure >#creepypasta x reader #laughing jack x reader #candy pop x reader #jason the toymaker #nathan the nobody

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desolatespring · 10 months

Note

Imagine Yan Chrollo switching out darlings medication with sleeping pills and she recognizes and confronts him about it 💃💃💅✨

Sonata

CW: drugging, manipulation, yandere behavior, insinuated noncon

The dull ache in your muscles only strengthened your reasoning to stay in bed. The warmth of the silken sheets far too tempting to resist.

Maybe your vitamin D levels were low from being cooped inside all the time? Surely that could result in this fatigue plaguing you.

You sigh. ‘1, 2, 3.’ You force yourself to get out of bed, stifling the tired groan from escaping your lips, knowing it would only alert Chrollo to your wakefulness.

Moving as quietly as possible you enter the bathroom down the hall from your bedroom. You open the door only partway, having memorized how far it’ll open before the worn hinges creak.

Pausing a moment you wait to hear footsteps but they never come. You allow yourself a small smile before opening the medicine cabinet, it wasn’t often you could move about without him noticing. You grab the bottle of vitamins and inwardly curse at the small click the cap makes as you remove it.

You decide to take a double dose, surely if you’re this sore and exhausted a little extra nutrients would be harmless. Besides, you have bigger issues to deal with. Speaking of issues, here he comes.

The bathroom door opens fully to reveal your sardonic captor. “Feeling a little under the weather?”

“Crazy what a life of imprisonment will do to you.”

Chrollo frowns; to this day you can’t read the authenticity of his actions.

“Darling, I’d hardly consider you a prisoner. You have all the freedoms I grant you.”

You hold your tongue. It didn’t take long for you to realize ill responses towards Chrollo always left you in the negative. He was a leech, always eager to suck up any emotion you donned him.

Disregarding his bait you dump two pills into your hand. As you raise your palm to your mouth, impatient to get your healing underway, you notice the once gel shell has taken on an almost chalky coating.

Maybe there was something wrong with the bottle? Now that you’d come to think of it, since starting this new batch you’d been feeling off. Though you hadn’t been made aware of any recalls.

Unease settles into you, making home comfortably into your amygdala. With abject horror you’d come to understand your current situation.

“You- You’ve been…drugging me?”

Chrollo leans against the doorway, seemingly studying you. His vacant stare only confirming your suspicions. When he doesn’t respond you realize he’s trying to coerce you into a more emotional reaction.

Sensing your trepidation he decides he’ll have to bait you further. “I didn’t want to have to succumb to such drastic measures, but you just wouldn’t give in to me any other way.”

His words seep into your mind and you’ve come face to face with yet another insidious revelation. The bruises on your hips, the soreness in your legs; you’d always been clumsy, but forgetting how your injuries came to be was never a fault of yours.

Before you have time to stop yourself the open bottle leaves your fist and your spewing an array of curses directed at the man wryly smiling at you.

Chrollo eats it up. Always so gluttonous for your inner turmoil. How special he was to be the only one to witness your world crumbling around you. Your tears a divine performance for which only he was privy to. The animosity, confusion, and terror only a testimony of your devotion to him. How dear you were to him, if it wasn’t for your sanctified portrayal of pain he wouldn’t have to inflict such psychological wounds upon you.

#chrollo #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yan chrollo

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igotanidea · 3 months

Text

Specter: Jason Todd x ghost!reader (pt 1)

Warnings: death of reader (duh!), death and resurrection of the other main character, angst

***

She was his best friend.

His only friend.

More than his friend.

Knowing each other since they were kids running loose on the streets of Gotham forced to tend to themselves.

He chuckled at the memory of their first meeting.

Fighting over few apples and a half loaf of bread she managed to rim from some man while batting her elalashes and making innocent face of a street-starving girl.

Well, she was a street starving girl, but as far away from innocent as they come, of which fact Jason was almost brutally made aware upon trying to steal some of it from her. Gaining a bruised eye and a scratch that left a tiny scar on his arm instead.

A well-deserved scar, cause even after all those years he was mentally cringing at the memory he was actually trying to rob a girl his age of food. Terrible thought. In his defence, he was starving himself.

Fortunately, they somehow came to an agreement and since then, there was always someone to care for and who could take care of them by their side.

Y/N and Jason.

Together even when not.

Inseparable even after that batmobil-tires accident, cause there was no way in hell Jason would start living with the Bruce Wayne and left his best only friend behind.

Nah.

So would anyone be surprised that after a while they actually started falling in love? Or maybe they were in love from the beggining since the apples but never noticed?

The point however stood, obvious to everyone but those two donkey level stubborn young adults.

So apart from a few stolen kisses, helluva blushing, talking through the nights, secret awkward hugs and one attempt at intimacy, nothing—

Ok, you know what scratch that last sentence. A LOT has happened in the span of a few weeks. And it brought them significantly closer. Hoping for more and actually trying to work towards more.

So when Jason, at the mature age of 16 went for another Batman-related mission, he pecked her lips and promised to have the real talk about their future when he gets back.

Spoiler alert: He never did.

And when Batman walked to the Batcave with no Robin to follow him and broke the news it was like Y/N’s heart was gone with Jason’s life.

Torn from her chest since at that moment it stopped beating and everything lost its meaning.

She refused to eat, drink, talk and get up in the morning. Spending her days in isolation or sitting by his symbolical grave since the body was never found.

Withering her young life away at the graveyard.

No one ever told her the truth.

***

Miraculously Jason came back five years later. Completely different than a scrawny kid everyone used to know him. Raging terror upon Gotham for a while before actualy forming some kind of allegiance with the Bats. And at some point, the question had to be asked. And the hard truth had to be revealed.

„Where is Y/N?” he whispered, getting shy, gulit, regret and remorse filling him to the brim as he was searching through the entire manor in search for her.

A few saddened looks were exchanged between his siblings as those words rung in the air.

Oh, no.

„Where the hell is she?!” Jason yelled, ready to punch a wall, hit Dick in the face and beat the shit out of Bruce for keeping something from him.

„Jaybrird—„

„Do not fucking call me that Grayson! Where is my Y/N?!”

„No one told you—„

„She;s dead.” Damian muttered, unaware of the consequences of dropping such a bomb on his brother. „We burried her a year—„

Jason roared like a wounded animal, nearly making the glass in the window shutter.

„DEAD?!!”

„Jason—„

„STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

„I think you should-„

„YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING DICKHEAD!”

The rage creeping inside Jason’s head and heart was suffocating. Beating the post-Pit madness multiple times and seeming neverending. He panted and wailed, wanting to destroy something. Kill someone. Anyone, but preferably the one responsible for Y/N;s premature departure from the world. Set a fire to the manor. Break into the League of Assasin’s headquarters and let them kill him. For good this time. Crawl into the deepest darkest pit and die.

„Jason—„

„WHO DID THIS?!”

„It was—„

„I WANT A NAME!”

„We don’t-„

„I WANT THAT PERSON;S HEAD ON A STICK!”

No matter how hard Dick, Tim, Cass, Steph and Barbara tried to get to him (cause obviously Damian was just watching with curiosity), nothign worked.

„It was an accident.” Bruce muttered, finally joining the family allured by the screams.

„AN ACCIDENT?!”

„A car crash. She was just a pedestian, did nothing wrong. The driver was DUI.”

„SO WHAT?! YOU’RE A FUCKING BILLIONAIRE, YO COULDN’T HAVE PROVIDED HER WITH A GOOD FUCKING DOCTOR!?”

„She died instantly.”

„SHE—„ Jason’s voice broke, all the anger finally subsiding replaced by the pain. „She what- ?”

„I am sorry jason…”

„SHE WAS YOUR RESPONSIBLITY!”

„No, she was your resposibilty Jason. You were the one who befrended her, fell for her, brought her into this life. Should have known better.”

„SHUT UP!”

„She stayed here after you died instead of moving forward, unable to forget you.”

„SHUT THE FUCK UP!” it was impossible to listen to Bruce only fueling up the guilt and pain iside Jason’s heart.

„She—„

„Master Bruce.” Now Alfred came into the scene, preventing another blood bath that were bound to happen between a father and a son. ‘Perhaps we should give master Jason some space now. Miss Y/N’s death took a heavy toll on all of us, didn;t it?”

”Hm.”

„Come Jay. Upstairs.” Cass smiled at him to the best of her abilities „You need rest.”

Hazily he took a few steps forward but didn;t miss Bruce’s pained whisper and haunted expression.

„You’re not the only one who lost her…”

***

It’s been five years since then.

But now, as Jason was standing by her grave it all felt surreal.

Y/N Y/L/N, daughter, friend, prankster.

That last word was something she would laugh at.

But he was not.

Five years. The same amount he was gone, same amount for which she believed him to be dead, visiting his grave.

Did she feel all those feels he was dealing with right now?

Emptiness.

Numbness.

Anger.

And that pressuring what if-.

They could have been happy together. Working though their difficulties and becoming real. Maybe starting a family. Escaping all this shitty vigilantism life pushed them both into.

Destroying both of their lifes.

One cold six feet under, the other cold six feet inside.

„I miss you.” He whispered in the space, putting a buquet of flowers on the ground next to the ledger „You will forever be the one to haunt me.”

With that he turned around, walking away with head hung low and hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Getting back to his apartment.

In which she could have been with him if things were to work out differently.

part 2 : phantom

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd angst #red hood angst

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cvrnelians · 11 months

Text

if the fates allow - chapter five

dark!bucky barnes x reader: As could be expected, you were just a tad upset about having to spend Christmas in a mental health facility. On the brightside, you didn’t have to spend it alone. Your friendship with Bucky Barnes, another patient on the unit, brought you a certain level of comfort during your stay. When you are discharged from the hospital shortly thereafter—and Bucky is forced to remain—you promise him you’ll be his pen pal until he gets out, after which, you’ll meet for coffee and catch up.

But when things don’t go quite as well as Bucky had hoped, he takes drastic measures to ensure that you remain the integral part of his life he always envisioned you to be.

warnings: stalking, kidnapping, suicide attempts, and non-con elements. proceed with caution.

chapter one // chapter two // chapter three // chapter four

music

chapter five: tears dry on their own

🥀 Several months in the future 🥀

In retrospect, everything hurts. The signs are big and bold, and they’re all right there in front of you.

And it hurts.

You had never experienced such pure and unadulterated affection, although “experienced” may not have been the right word.

“Endured” was more like it.

Your eyes burned as Bucky closed his arms tighter around you, burrowing his chin into the crook of your neck. He tangled his legs up with yours; an anchor weighing you down, a spider weaving its web. You had some dark times, that was undeniable, but you had never felt so pathetic before. There you were, caught like a bug just waiting to die—to be eaten alive.

By this point, you were convinced that Bucky would most definitely absorb you if he could.

It was like he could never be close enough. His attempts at comforting you—the physical affection in the midst of your nightly crying episodes—didn’t even seem selfish or self-motivated anymore. That was the most infuriating part, that his empathetic reactions were truly authentic. Seeing you sad made him sad. He would scramble to “fix” it. He would make you chocolate chip pancakes, buy you new charcoal pencils, bring you a cup of coffee as soon as you woke up. You left everything untouched, of course. You knew if you accepted any of his little peace offerings that you would not only be betraying yourself, but you would also have to look at the stupid, cloying look on Bucky's face.

He was like that. He was deeply affected by even the tiniest shred of acceptance. It was all he ever really wanted from you. To accept all he had to give. He told you as much.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. He was just so delusional, more than you ever anticipated. You often wondered what direction he expected this to go in. Did he seriously think you could love him like this? Even if by some miracle you were able to escape, Bucky had left a permanent mark on your life. This wasn’t something you could just forget. Even if you got away, Bucky would forever be the voice in your head, the noise that made you stop dead in your tracks on a long walk home, the nightmare that terrorized you over and over again.

He had to have known it. From the day he brought you here, Bucky knew that he would always be with you, looming over you like a shadow whether he was physically present or not.

Always.

You clenched your eyes shut as you took a deep breath, trying your best not to make a sound. But it was pointless, given how hard you were starting to shake. Even when you cried as quietly as you could manage, it was like Bucky had some sort of internal radar that alerted him to it. There were times where he would startle himself awake from a deep sleep, frantically asking what was wrong, if you were okay.

“Are you okay, are you okay, are you okay?”

What a stupid question.

You had no clue what day it was anymore. You didn’t know how much time had passed since he brought you here. Bucky wasn’t exactly forthcoming when you asked him about it. All you knew was that a blanket of snow covered the windows.

Plexiglass.

You felt lucky to be facing away from him during tonight's crying episode. They were like clockwork. The crying fits usually came at the end of a long day of rumination. Ever since Bucky brought you here, you were struggling to think clearly. You either thought too much or not at all. When you did think, all you could think about was how suffocated you felt, how alone you were.

Every single day, you berated yourself for inviting this person—thereby inviting this situation—into your life. That was the kicker. It pained you beyond belief to know that none of this would have happened if you never offered to write to him.

Your only source of contact with the outside world—the real world—was through watching tv. He let you have that much, and for this you were begrudgingly grateful. But it was a catch-22. Through watching tv, you could delude yourself into thinking you were still connected to people and places that were now totally out of reach. The distraction of learning about current events was only temporary. At some point, you would inevitably be hit with the stark reality of your situation. No matter how hard you kicked and screamed, no matter how much you hoped and prayed, life was doing what it always did.

Moving forward without you.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

Other times, Bucky would do or say something to set you off. Admittedly, this didn’t take much. He could accidentally break a glass while doing the dishes and you would be plunged into a state of panic and rage. And then the crying would start up again.

You couldn’t stomach that nauseating look of sympathy he gave you sometimes. It infuriated you on multiple levels. For starters, he was the one that put you in this position in the first place. Did he seriously have the audacity to appear as though he felt sorry for you, trapped in a prison of his own design?

Your mother used to say it all the time.

“You can be familiar with something and still be surprised by it.”

In retrospect, the signs are big and bold, and they’re all right there in front of you.

In retrospect, everything hurts.

☽

Current day: 💐 APRIL 💐

“Alright, enough.”

Apart from those two words, Sam provided little to no warning before ripping the curtains open. Sunlight streamed into the otherwise very dark room, highlighting a month’s worth of dust accumulating along the windowsill. “I’m done entertaining this.”

Bucky refused to open his eyes. He quietly rolled over onto his stomach, grabbing a pillow and placing it over his head. He burrowed further beneath the covers, willing himself to disappear beneath them.

“Come on, man. Aren’t you warm?” Sam asked, ripping the comforter off of him. Bucky caught the blanket just before it was pulled away completely, yanking it back over himself. They played tug-of-war a few more times, until Bucky pulled the blanket so hard that it caused Sam to stumble forward slightly. He peeked his head out from under his cocoon, only to find Sam staring daggers at him as he regained his footing.

“Sorry,” Bucky grumbled sheepishly. “Sometimes I forget.”

It wasn’t a lie. He often forgot how strong the serum actually made him. This didn’t seem to matter much to Sam, however. He looked about as fed up as someone who lived with a disgruntled, moody supersoldier could look. Bucky had been in the throes of this depressive episode for a month now. When he wasn’t sleeping, he found himself trapped in a near constant shame spiral. He would regularly vacillate between self-loathing and self-pity. He couldn’t decide which was worse. Guilt, embarrassment, anger, remorse—ever since the incident, you name it: he felt it all. The tug-of-war between self-loathing and self-pity was an all too familiar game for him.

A game he always lost.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t felt this way before. He had. Losing his best friend in combat, being tortured and forced to kill people, surviving multiple suicide attempts, well…he had felt much worse, actually. He found it almost laughable sometimes.

“I should be used to feeling like this by now,” he had said to you. He had woken up from a particularly bad nightmare at the hospital. He couldn’t stop shaking, no matter how many breathing exercises or grounding skills he tried. “This shouldn’t affect me anymore.”

“No," you said. "I think this is normal."

"Yeah? You sure about that one, doll?"

"You can be familiar with something and still be surprised by it.”

That stuck with him.

His anger and confusion was followed by debilitating waves of guilt. This time, it didn't just pertain to the people he killed. You were now added to the mix.

He couldn’t get the image out of his mind. You looked so sad, so scared as you sobbed and shook underneath him. He hated seeing you so distressed. That image alone was a good enough incentive to leave you alone, at least for a little while. Why were you looking at him like that? Why did you look so afraid? Holding you down—it was to keep you both safe. He hadn’t meant to grab your neck. It just kind of…happened. You were both overwhelmed. You could understand that, couldn’t you? He was just subduing you, that’s all. And he did subdue you.

“You hit me. Why would you hit me, doll?”

He couldn’t believe it. How could you?

“I love you. Why would you hit me?”

He made sure you were safe. No more hitting, no more scratching, no more blood.

You were crying. Why were you crying?

In spite of what you did, he knew in the back of his mind that it was only in response to what he had done—and what he had done was seriously wrong. Criminal, actually. He had always known this. But his intentions were good, and he didn't really hurt you—not really. Not like you hurt him. Didn’t that matter? Didn't that count for something?

You made him bleed. But he made you cry.

Not such a big, bad wolf after all—huh, doll?

As always, Sam snapped him back to reality.

“What happened?”

Bucky stared at him blankly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Sam sighed and walked back towards the door, leaning against the threshold. “You sure? Because I haven’t seen you like this since before that last trip to the hospital.”

“I just get like this sometimes.”

“Oh, I know,” Sam chuckled dryly. “Believe me, I know. And I also know that something usually happens right before it gets worse. Something triggers 'the way you get sometimes.' I want to know what.”

“I already told you. Nothing happened. I just—”

“Get like this sometimes?”

“Exactly.”

“So what happened to your phone then? Are we ever gonna talk about that?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I already told you, I lost it," Bucky snapped.

“And you’ve made zero effort to replace it.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Oh, okay. So you don’t need it now," Sam mocked. "You're over it. You're just not gonna have a cell phone.”

"It sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”

"Dude, come on. At least get a flip phone. How am I supposed to get in touch with you?”

"You just walked into my room without knocking. I think I’m good on the whole getting in touch thing.”

"What about your sisters?”

"What about them?”

"They’ve been calling me to check and see if you’re okay.”

"Which one?”

"Um, both of them?? And your mom, too. Your sister, Rebecca said she stopped by the other day and rang the doorbell a bunch of times. And guess what? No one answered. What, were you just lying there listening to it ring? Why didn’t you answer the door?”

"I was busy.”

"Oh, busy. Right. Busy doing what, exactly?”

"None of your business.”

"She was scared, Bucky. She was afraid you might’ve hurt yourself again. I had to spend a good fifteen minutes talking her out of calling for a wellness check. I've had half a mind to call for one while I was at work. Which, by the way, you need to start seeking out. Have you even applied to any places yet?”

"Look, can you just go?" Bucky scowled. "I’m tired.”

"You’re always tired.”

"And you’re always annoying.”

"Listen. I’m saying this out of genuine concern. If you don’t at least try to pull yourself together soon, I’m taking you back to the hospital.”

"Are you being serious?" Bucky asked.

Sam sighed.

Bucky's jaw ticked. He gripped onto his blankets and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

I can't go back there. I can't go back there. I CAN'T GO BACK THERE. I CAN'T GO B-

"Say that to me again, Sam. I dare you.”

"Oh, so you’re threatening me now? You want to beat me up? We’re adding that to the itinerary? I don’t know, Buck. Does your schedule really allow for that, what with all the sleeping and being miserable?”

"I cover my half of the rent. I don’t make any noise. I don’t bother anybody. You can’t tell me what to do. What are you, my father?”

“No, I’m not. That’s my whole point!” Sam yelled. “You think I want to have to tell a grown man to get out of bed and go do literally anything? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Well maybe I don’t need your help!”

“Debatable, but I don’t have the patience for this anymore.” Sam tossed his wallet at him, nearly hitting Bucky in the face with it. “Go make yourself useful. I ordered a pizza. The usual place. It’s on me, but you have to go get it. And after you bring it back, I don’t know. Maybe take a shower? Clean something? Go get a haircut? Just do something, I'm begging you. Your sisters are nice but they give me anxiety, and I want them off my back.”

“Fine, whatever. Let me get dressed.”

Sam's last few words were muffled by the door, which Bucky had slammed shut.

“And by the way, I don’t care if it’s a Motorola Razr. This weekend, we’re getting you a phone!”

☽

Bucky had put you in a terrible position, literally and figuratively. Your neck was starting to hurt from constantly looking over your shoulder, and you were now faced with a series of difficult decisions you shouldn’t have had to make.

First, you had to decide whether or not you were going to report him for what he did—bearing in mind, you only knew a fraction of what you’d be reporting. You suspected that Bucky breaking into your house, hiding your closet, and doing...whatever else he was doing was just the tip of the iceberg.

You weren’t sure if you even wanted to know.

Next, you had to move. Whether you reported him or not, this was non-negotiable. You had to get out of there, and quick. Simple enough, yet not simple at all. You were going to stay with MJ that first night, but Bucky knew where MJ lived. So you both wound up staying with MJ's friend, Peter. This was not just any Peter, though.

This was Peter Parker.

Yes, Peter Parker—your first ever penpal. The boy you met at summer camp when you were a kid.

You couldn’t make this shit up.

As it turned out, your mother was right: Peter quite honestly had moved and lost your letters, thereby losing your address. You had pretty bad luck with penpals, it seemed.

In spite of all things, you actually kind of liked your current living situation. Even as an adult, Peter was as nice as you remembered him to be—nice enough to let you and MJ sleep in the bed while he slept on the nearby couch. The three of you were apartment hunting for a new place together. Having to share a studio apartment—what was essentially a single room with a bed and a couch within ten feet of each other—with two very different personalities was both hilarious and incredibly stressful.

You had been applying for different jobs, still afraid that Bucky might show up at your work. Luckily, there were almost always enough people around that you would have witnesses if he did happen to show up. And since MJ worked from home, she would occasionally stop in and visit with you when she was supposed to be working. She didn’t say it, but you knew she just wanted to make sure you were safe. She seemed just as horrified by the situation as you were. She hadn’t seen or spoken a word to him since everything went down.

Then there was your father to consider. You were more than a little shocked by his reaction to the whole thing. You immediately told him what happened, as his safety was your number one concern. More than anything, you were afraid that Bucky might come back and try to hurt him.

Your safety didn't seem like too much of an concern for him, however.

He didn’t want you reporting it. In fact, he practically begged you not to report it.

“We can handle it privately,” he had said. “Do you really want to go through more chaos with investigators, with the news? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want anyone going through my things again. Besides, this is the perfect opportunity to make a change. I’ve been wanting to move for a while, anyway.”

There had been some debate about your mother's death. It was initially thought to be a suicide, then a potential homicide. And then—after a very thorough investigation and a traumatizing amount of local news coverage—it was officially ruled death by suicide. You could vividly remember being questioned by police, but your father was clearly the one they were keeping an eye on. Your feelings about her cause of death blurred into your feelings about her death itself. As was true with any death, you were mourning the loss of the irreplaceable; a past you could never return to and a future you could no longer have. You lost your best friend. Of course you were devastated. Of course you were heartbroken.

But you were also confused.

Her death came as a real shock. Your mother struggled with some mild depression on and off throughout her life, but not once had she given you any indication that she was suicidal. Apart from that, it never occurred to you that your father would’ve harmed her, not until the investigation began. Sure, they didn’t have the best relationship, but he would never do something like that.

Then again, you never thought Bucky could hurt you, either.

Or that he would.

There were some places your mind just wouldn’t allow you to go.

You sighed and rolled your shoulders back as you went to clock out at work. As you looked down at your phone, you saw some texts from your group chat with MJ and Peter.

hi losers ♥️ wanna get pizza tonight?

YEAH

I'll buy 😃

no, pete. i'll buy

...but only if you guys pick it up

☽

@repostingmyfavs @katlover63

i like how sam has gotten pizza twice now in this fic lmao

thank you all for reading/liking/reblogging/replying 🩵

#yandere marvel #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #yandere bucky barnes #yandere bucky barnes x reader

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climbthemountain2020 · 3 days

Text

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 17

Part 18/26 | Ao3

[TW for graphic depictions of violence]

Tilly

The steady dripping was the first thing that Tilly focused on as her eyes cracked open in the dark.

Dark. It was so dark.

She blinked once, twice, and groaned at the pain in her head. She went to sit up, but she found she couldn’t, and the clanking of chains immediately alerted her as to why. It smelled like mildew and moss, something deep and earthen and cold and horrible.

The dungeons, then.

The panic flashed through her just as quickly as the resignation as she remembered what had happened. She’d been so, so stupid, but gods, she had only been able to process the need to help Alanna. She’d been so foolish to open the door with the dogs barking and snarling the way they were. The tears tracked hotly down her cheeks, and she gave herself a moment to cry. She went to tug the bond, but she knew before she did that nothing would be there.

The handkerchief had been covered in faebane, pressed tightly to her face so that she couldn’t fight back, couldn’t warn Eris away, which meant Beron likely knew everything.

She forced herself to take deep breaths–the panic wouldn’t help her here. She turned her head to the side and took in the surroundings, dark as they were. Down beyond the bars of her cage, there was a lone torch in what appeared to be a hallway. She could see the faintest outline in light of a door that appeared to be made of heavy iron. She was sure it was locked. She didn’t try calling out; she could tell in the low light that the other few cells filled with open chains and tables were empty. She allowed herself a sob, quiet in the air, as she tried to get her bearings.

It’s okay. You’re okay.

Eris had told her about the dungeons of Autumn–two levels, one high one for the basic prisoners to be held, questioned, and perhaps tolerated for a month or two. Then, there was the lower level that could only be accessed through that first one. It was reserved for one purpose only: torture. People didn’t leave that dungeon once they entered. From the fact that there was just the singular heavy door within sight, she gathered she’d been placed alone in that second level. She fought hard against the terror and hysteria clawing its ugly way up her throat at the thought. She was caught between hoping Eris would know something was wrong and come back to save her, and simultaneously hoping he’d stay far away from here. If she’d been found out, then so had he.

She jumped and the chains rattled around her wrists as the distant sound of male screams came through the heavy door. Her blood chilled, and she wondered if perhaps they had already caught Eris, too. The thought turned her stomach, and she strained to hear, but when the scream came again she could tell it wasn’t him. She was not one to rejoice at the pain of others, but she could have danced for joy at the fact that Eris might still have a chance. Plus, something told her that if they had caught Eris too, they’d make sure she knew.

She grasped that bit of hope and took deep, grounding breaths. She let her chest fill with the air, counted to seven, then released it slowly. She calmed herself enough to think rationally through it, shoving the hysteria and desperation down deep and locking it tightly away. There was no good outcome for her here. The brothers cared for her, but would they even notice her missing in time? She was sure Eris had told them that he’d instructed her to lie low while he was gone. Would it be too late? Alanna might notice, but what could she do? This brought up another point that was bothering her–had Aradnus remained behind with Beron gone? Was Aradnus on orders from Beron? Had it all just been a ploy to get Eris out of the Forest House?

She didn’t have to wonder long, and the terror grabbed her anew as the door groaned open and footsteps came towards her. She closed her eyes, evening her breathing, and hoping if they thought her asleep then they may leave again. It was another foolish idea, and she choked and gagged and sputtered as a bucket of cold water was thrown roughly over her face. As she blinked the water from her eyes, she was greeted by Aradnus and Beron.

So they’d been tricked.

The smile on Aradnus’ face told her all she needed to know about her chances here.

“Matilda, so good to see you.” Beron smiled at her like a predator surveying prey. She refused to speak, clamping her lips shut and not breaking eye contact with him. “That’s fine. You’ll be talking soon enough. You know, it’s so interesting what glamours can hide.” His smile had turned grotesque. “You’d never know who could be hiding a mating bond,” he leaned in close, “or a child.” Any remaining hope rushed out of her at the reminder.

He knew. He knew about both, and now he was going to use it to his advantage. She would die in this cellar, and so would their child.

“Did you know someone tried to hire a Night Court assassin to kill me? The lovely dryad dinner guest we had the other night–have you ever met a dryad before, Matilda?” The nausea churned within her. He did know; of course he knew. “Now, tell me, darling. What could a Night Court assassin possibly gain from killing me?” She refused to speak–wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her fear.

His eyes darkened, anger clouding them. “If you won’t talk willingly, my second has his ways.” She hated how she flinched as she heard Aradnus crack his knuckles. “You have one chance now, Matilda, to save yourself and my worthless son. Now tell me,” he put his hands on either side of her head, caging her in, “Have you and Eris been conspiring with the Night Court to kill me?” She schooled her expression to the most minute details, refusing to let a single thought slide through. She wouldn’t implicate Rhysand or his court or Eris in this, even if Beron was already certain.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, High Lord.” She spit out, venom coating each word. Let his anger rest on her, and perhaps Eris would be able to tell that something was wrong and have a chance to escape. The wrath in Beron’s eyes flared, and she felt sure he would hit her. He simply drew back.

“It’s a shame, Matilda. You could have saved everyone so much difficulty.”

She doubted it. Even if she’d spoken up, betrayed Eris and everyone else, she’d no doubt in her mind her fate was already sealed.

“I’m not going to tell you a thing.” This time, Beron’s smile was unlike the others–self satisfied, smug, even.

“Well, you’re right about that. I, tragically, must step away to attend to other things. Aradnus, however, has happily volunteered to watch over you for me. Isn’t that right?” She closed her eyes, understanding fully how this would end. She heard Beron begin walking back to the door. “It’s a shame, Matilda. I think I could have had great fun with you.” She gave him nothing but her silence, and he turned to Aradnus.

“The guards have the order to ambush and detain Eris as soon as he returns. They’ll bring him here. Get a confession from her by whatever means necessary, then make him watch her die.”

“With pleasure, my Lord.” She could hear the excitement in Aradnus as he spoke.

“Have a fantastic time, Matilda.” And the door slammed shut behind him. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on her breaths.

In, out, in, out, in–but she heard the clanking of metal on the table above her head and all thoughts went out of her mind. There was nothing but fear as Aradnus spoke next to her ear.

“Let’s begin.”

++++

The earth was swaying back and forth in front of her eyes.

No, she was swaying. Tilly came to, the pain in her shoulders so sharp it had started to border on numbness. She knew her shoulders had dislocated long ago–she couldn’t even remember how long she’d been hanging at this point.

Blessedly, she was alone. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d been taken–there was no light this far below the earth, and the screams of her companions in suffering in the higher chamber happened too sporadically to glean any information on time passing.

Aradnus had twice forced food and water down her throat, trying to keep her alive for more torture. Part of her hoped it had been days. Eris was only supposed to be gone for two or three, so if it had been more than that, perhaps he knew and was staying away. She was sure if he’d returned that she would know by now–Aradnus would have paraded him in to watch her suffer.

She cleared her throat, trying to open her eyes to make sure she was, indeed, alone. Only one eye opened, the other still swollen entirely shut from the session they’d had earlier. Her jaw had been broken, too, but it seemed like she could move it enough that it had begun to heal. If she could just get the faebane out of her system, she could heal herself subtly and make this more bearable, but she was sure he’d been putting it in the water he forced down her throat.

She sighed, trying to squeeze her fingers to get some circulation back into them, but it was no use. She’d been hanging there long enough that all the blood was long gone and they were entirely sensationless–probably for the best, as she was certain she didn’t have a single fingernail left. Aradnus had taken his time with those, savoring the screams he pulled from her for each one.

She ran her tongue over her cracked lips, tasting blood. She could feel her consciousness slipping again–she could only stay awake for a few moments at a time before her body began to shut down.

Every so often, after it had been awhile since she’d ingested anything, she tried to feel desperately for the bond within her. She could feel it, see it, but it was as though it drifted off into nothing. She still took the time to try and push feelings and words and warnings down it, whether or not it had any impact.

She thought she’d cried all the tears she could, but she felt more start to slide down her face, cutting tracks through all the blood and grime. She sniffed, getting a noseful of copper and the musty, damp smell of the dungeon, but her heart shattered to still smell the faintest citrus scent of their baby, still bravely holding on.

I’m so, so sorry, little one. Your mother and father would have loved you so dearly.

She let her head hang in the dark as she swung around, feet barely scraping the floor as she moved. She choked out a final sob as she let the blessed darkness take her under once more.

++++

The water drowning her was becoming her typical wakeup call, but it was never any less terrible. At some point, he must have released her from the ceiling without her even waking, because she was strapped back into a chair, her shoulder screaming in pain. She hated the idea of his hands on her at all, but the thought of them on her while she was unconscious was an entirely different form of torture.

“Good morning, princess.” Aradnus sneered at her. His cruelty knew no bounds, and she’d learned over the past however long how much he truly enjoyed hurting others. He gleaned true joy from drawing blood, from hearing screams of anguish. More than once, she’d caught him palming himself through his pants and wished she hadn’t. Most of the time, she refused to speak at all other than the screams and shrieks of pain he drew out of her when she couldn’t stand it anymore. Deep in the throes of it, she reminded herself of what Eris had told her that day in the stream.

I just blocked it out. I found a place so deep inside me that nothing he did would ever reach it. I held that tiny little bit of myself close, and I told myself that enduring it would all be worth it someday, somehow.

And it would be. She would hold on, burrow deep down within herself, and she would not crumble. She would hold out as long as her body allowed; she would buy Eris time, the very last gift she could give him.

She’d refused to give up any additional information about Eris, or the Night Court, or herself, choosing to firmly answer with either silence or “I have no idea what you mean.” Even Aradnus, for all his joy in pain, was beginning to become agitated, and she could tell. She wondered if he’d be punished by Beron if he returned and Aradnus had nothing for him. In her half-lucid state, she grinned maniacally at the idea that he thought she’d be easy to break, and that now he was failing.

He hounded her repeatedly about the brothers, searching desperately for information. Tilly was surprised to find that they had a suspicion about Killian’s family, but she used that surprise to sell that she knew nothing about it, about any of them. He was relentless, asking again and again about everything, but she refused to break. She’d accepted she wouldn’t be leaving these dungeons–that she’d never see the sky or feel the sun on her skin or get lost in those bright amber eyes again–but she would not be taking anyone with her. Every session would reach a breaking point where she’d either pass out, or Aradnus would become so enraged that he’d lose control and push too far, leaving her useless anyway.

Presently, Aradnus was turned to the table, but she could see him rifling through long, slim knives. She clenched her eyes shut again, but found she was beginning to lose the ability to feel terror, pain, much of anything. She wouldn’t last long this time; they’d be done soon.

All this past year in Autumn, and this was where it would end.

She tried to focus her thoughts back to the very beginning, sitting in that room before she’d even seen Eris. She’d been so resigned, so nervous, so unsure, and then she’d been gifted the most precious love of her life. She knew with certainty, even if it ended here, that she’d do it all again to have that time with him. She hoped he would be okay, regardless of what happened to her. She would die here in this dungeon, but if he managed to stay away, he could still live centuries more.

She thought of his eyes, so curious and filled with joy when he beheld her, or the way they took in all of her as they touched. She thought of his scarlet curls, falling over his forehead as he focused on his book, or while they kissed. She thought of how she liked to tuck them back behind his arched ears, earning that stunning smile of his while they laughed about something. Eris would be okay, as long as he never returned here. He would never be the same, but he would be okay.

Aradnus had been given strict orders to wait for Eris to return, but he couldn’t put it off forever, and mistakes happened. Perhaps Eris would feel the bond break when she died and know for certain to stay away, or perhaps seek asylum within Night as they’d planned to do with her. At this point, there was no chance he didn’t at least suspect something had happened. That final severing of the bond might be the push he needed to run and not return. She hoped beyond reason that when he’d felt the bond go dark, he’d known something was wrong and gone far away already.

Aradnus turned to face her with a paring knife, a smile already plastered on his horrible face. Tilly tried her hardest to force the words down the bond.

Don’t come back, don't come back, I love you, don't come back.

++++

Aradnus was back again, and Tilly had nothing left to hang on to. Her eyes would hardly open at all; she couldn’t lift her head. She was certain one of her legs was broken, if not both. He ran a finger up her arm, but she didn’t even have the energy to shudder at the touch anymore. Half the time, she was no one at all, floating in a timeless, spaceless chasm of nothing where she was blissfully ignorant of everything. When she was lucid, it was barely so–holding on just long enough to feel short blasts of pain and groaning before she’d be swept back into oblivion.

“It seems we may be on our last day, sweet one. I don’t think there’s much fight left in you, and your mate is running behind.” She groaned, but it felt far away. Everything felt far away. “I must admit, you’ve held out far longer than anyone imagined you would. I’d thought you might have given up outright, but you fooled us all.”

She couldn’t even wet her lips to respond, the darkness already drawing her back under. Eris was late–Aradnus had betrayed that fact with his words, and the information clanged through her fog with great clarity. It had been long enough, and that meant he knew to stay away. He’d been smart, and though she was sure it had killed him, he had stayed away.

“I think we’ll play with some fire today, what do you think? One big finale, hmm?” She could feel him snapping the fitted braziers on her hands and forearms, could vaguely feel them warming. She didn’t care–it didn’t matter.

Eris was safe.

There was nothing left for her to do, and she was ready to let go. She wondered if, on the other side, her mother and father and child might be there waiting for her arrival. She wished to see the sky and sun and clouds again, even if it was in death. Longed to hear her mother’s voice, feel her father’s embrace, run her fingers through the bright red curls of the child she’d never even had the chance to meet.

She could feel the skin blistering as the darkness crept in. With a final sigh, she could already feel her heart slowing.

Then the iron door blasted entirely off its hinges and into the bars of the adjoining cell. She let her head fall to the side so she could take in the figure wreathed in flames standing in the doorway.

Beron must have come back to finish the job.

She laughed, a hysterical thing, tasting blood between her teeth. She wished she could tell Aradnus that he was going to get in trouble for taking so long and still getting nothing from her, but she couldn’t form a sentence. She could only laugh, the unhinged sound cracking out of her, hoarse and horrible.

The figure stalked forward, and Aradnus backed up. She hoped Beron killed him, too. But then her eyes focused, and Aradnus’ fear made sense. It wasn’t Beron at the doors; it was Eris. Eris, absolutely consumed with flame and furious as he walked forward to a stumbling Aradnus.

“Eris, I–” It was all he got out before Eris reached him, grabbed his throat in a single flaming hand, and ripped it from his body. Tilly thought she might still be laughing, but it turned to a hollow cough immediately, rattling through her lungs and causing the blood to surge in her mouth and out from the corner. She began to drift again, trying to hang on to consciousness but reaching out to grasp nothing each time.

“Tilly.” His voice swam in and out of her mind. She tried to say his name, but maybe it was only in her mind. He was moving her body, shuffling her around. She could hear the massive chains clanking, and she sighed as she heard a key locking into them. “Tilly, fuck. Gods, hold on. Hold on.” She felt the locks clicking, and the shackles falling off her wrists, then her ankles after. She lurched upwards, back arching, as the magic rushed through her.

Faebane shackles.

How had she missed that? She’d assumed it had been in her water.

The familiar magic thrummed in her veins from head to toe, rushing to heal what was broken, but as it worked she could feel everything. She screamed as her bones knit themselves back together, her body thrashing and bucking despite Eris’ gentle hands around her.

“Tilly, I am so sorry.” She could tell he was crying, his voice hoarse and cracking as he held her to his chest, the agony finally calming enough for her to take a gasping breath. She looked up to him, still covered in flames, and her heart nearly broke at the sight of him, so disheveled and worried and relieved. She could feel the bond again, and that alone made her want to dissolve into great heaving sobs. She’d never realized how integral to her it had been until she hadn’t been able to feel it, to feel him.

Without warning, he winnowed them straight from the dungeons to their rooms, her shock evident on her face.

“How did you do that?”

“I broke the wards. All of them.” He was pressing frantic kisses to her face and lips, holding her as though she might still slip away into the ether if he slackened his hold at all. The grief from his side of the bond was overwhelming, and Tilly was so exhausted all she could do was lean her head onto him and try to send waves of love and joy back.

He carried her to the bathroom, setting her gently on the sink and pulling his hands back hesitantly to run the water. While it filled, he came right back, holding her close to him while he stripped off the tattered remnants of her nightgown, dirty and covered in blood and barely held together.

“I thought I lost you, Matilda. I thought you died. I haven’t felt the bond in days. It’s been days…” His voice was barely above a croaking whisper. She had no energy to respond, but she wrapped her arms around him and clasped her fingers so they would stay around him. “I’d finished at Dawn and gone to Day to discuss everything with Helion and the bond went silent. He begged me to stay, in case it meant Autumn was under siege, or that you might be trying to protect me. He all but locked me in the palace.”

Tilly could feel the guilt pouring from Eris’ side of the bond, his shame for not coming sooner. “He was right, Eris.” She spoke, barely audible. She’d hardly used her voice for anything but screaming these past few days. “I was trying to reach the bond, trying so hard to tell you not to come back. He was going to kill you. Make you watch me die then kill you too. He knew we were working with Night. They tried to get me to admit it for days. I swear I didn’t talk. I didn’t tell them anything.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. She sighed. “You’re really here.”

Eris was crying, pressing her against him with such force it took the breath from her. “I am so sorry I left, Tilly. I am so sorry I left you with them. I’m so sorry I didn’t come right back. How will you ever forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive, Eris. You’re here. We’re here.” She paused, her hands pushing back frantically. “The baby. Is the baby–” His hands were on her in a heartbeat.

“The baby is fine. I can smell them–I can feel their magic. We’ll bring the healers up after we take a bath for peace of mind.” She nodded, the relief buoying her, and Eris picked her up and brought her to the warm tub, slipping in behind her fully clothed. He let her rest on his chest while he washed her body gently with a cloth and she faded in and out of sleep, let the water drain, then fill again. He washed her hair out, running his fingers through it slowly while her steady breath puffed against him. When he had cleaned every last mark from her skin, he just held her, let her float in the water against him, reassured them both that they were here and safe, and Beron was–

“What happened to Beron?” She murmured against his chest.

“When I was in Day, we received an emergent missive from Night that Spring was under attack. Beron was stupid enough to take a portion of Autumn’s army and attack, and he was killed.” She summoned all of her strength to push up onto him.

“He’s dead?”

“He’s dead. The magic hit me in the woods when I winnowed back here.” Her face crumpled and the relief hit him so strongly in the chest he lost his breath. Her chest heaved against his with full-body sobs wracking her and he brushed her hair back. “He can never hurt us again, Til. He’s never coming back.”

“Is your mother okay?”

“Yes, she’s in Day with Helion.” She sighed in relief against him.

“That’s how they got me, you know. Aradnus used a magic trick. He had her voice somehow begging for help, so I opened the doors. So incredibly foolish.” She felt the rage roar down the bond, twined in with his affection for her.

“Aradnus will never do anything to anyone ever again.”

“My hero.” She sighed against him, and he laughed mirthlessly. “So, does that mean you’re High Lord now?”

“Yes. And you’re High Lady.”

“Oh, no. Not yet.” Eris pulled back to look down at her, and she lifted her eyes to his. “What?”

“Do you not…you don’t–” She lowered her head, pressing another kiss to his collarbone.

“Autumn won’t accept a High Lady yet. There will be people who want things to remain how Beron kept them, especially amongst the nobles. You forget that’s where I spent most of my life. I need to earn it first, and you need to weed out the dissenters in the meantime.” She closed her eyes, nuzzling closer to him. “You’ll do the right things, make the right changes. They’ll accept me when I’ve earned it. I’m in no hurry.”

She yawned, the last of her energy entirely gone now that she had made sure everyone was okay. So she let herself drift, both on her mate in the warm tub and out of consciousness.

Eris

Tilly was fast asleep and surrounded by dogs and pillows, her face a road map of dark bruises that hadn’t healed. Eris clenched his fist, the flames shooting out from him despite the control he was trying to wield over them and this new power. Willa, the head healer, had come by and checked to make sure Tilly was healing okay. The bones in her legs, ribs, and shoulders had mended, as well as the burns on her hands and arms. She’d administered a heavy sleep tonic before leaving, ensuring that Tilly would be able to rest through the recovery. She checked, then double and triple checked that the baby was okay, while Eris hovered and paced nervously like a frantic mother hen. Once Willa had assured them that everything was more than fine, on track, and healing normally, Eris finally allowed her to leave.

But now, watching from a chair beside the bed as his mate slept, those horrid bruises discoloring her perfect face, the cuts marring her lips and eyebrows and arched ears, the rage boiled his blood. How hard Aradnus must have hit her, repeatedly, to have those bruises still be so deeply purple. The flames crawled up his arms again and he had to physically shake them off. He should really sleep–it had been literal days since he had–but he couldn’t calm down, couldn’t slow his racing heart at the thought of leaving her unprotected again for even a moment.

When he’d been leaving Dawn, the bond had gone quiet as he’d winnowed away to Day. He thought, at first, it might be the distance making it fade. But within a few hours, something began to feel well and truly wrong. He would catch the smallest flutters of fear and panic that he knew were not his own, and by the time he was in to meet with Helion, he was in a full-blown hysteria.

Helion had implored him to stay, to be calm. There were many different reasons that the bond might be muted, especially since it wasn’t severed. Helion had said Eris would know if Tilly had died, but it didn’t make the not knowing any more bearable.

Helion had contacted Rhysand, as well as sending spies deep into Autumn to find word of any disturbances in the normal routine of the Forest House. He’d all but locked Eris into the palace, trying to calm him and keep him from committing war crimes or getting himself killed by rushing back home. He’d felt like a rabid animal in a cage, pacing constantly, refusing to eat or sleep. Even Helion, who notoriously tolerated Eris at best, seemed worried for his health.

“Eris, you must calm down. You’re running holes into the ground.”

“How can you bear this, Helion? Aren’t you absolutely out of your mind for my mother’s safety? He might have killed her, too. You know that, right?”

“He hasn’t killed your mother, Eris. She’s okay.”

Eris exploded. “How could you possibly know that?” But Helion’s eyes had flashed dangerously.

“Because she is my mate, Eris. I have been living with this pain for centuries, but it’s how I also know she is still alive. Scared, but alive.” Eris felt as though he’d been slapped. He’d suspected–for years he’d suspected–but hearing that Helion knew and had still chosen to stay away jarred him. He had chosen to let his mother suffer under Beron’s thumb. It was the breaking point for him, and he swung out at Helion.

“How dare you?? You knew she was your mate and you let her ROT there?” His fists hit against Helion, and it took him a full minute to realize Helion had let him. He wasn’t even trying to fight him. “Fight me, you bastard. You left her!” But he wouldn’t, and Eris’ screaming turns to sobs, the horror over everything becoming too much.

“Eris…I love Alanna. More than anything in the universe. I always have, I always will. But she demanded I stay away. She wouldn’t risk her children’s safety. She made the choice. Wouldn’t you respect the choices that Matilda made, even if they ruined your own life?” The breath whooshed out of Eris with the last of his anger, and now all that was left was fear and exhaustion.

Did Helion know? Did he know one of those sons she wouldn’t risk was his? He deserved to know.

Eris hated that he had to find out this way.

“Helion. Did you ever wonder why she stopped allowing you to see her after the last of my brothers was born? Ever wonder why you never saw her alone again?”

“She worried about your safety, her safety. I wasn’t yet a High Lord, and she worried he would start a full scale war for the slight. Or otherwise kill us all.”

“Have you ever met Lucien?” Helion’s eyes shot to his, brows furrowed.

“Alanna’s youngest son, former emissary to Spring. I saw him get his eye carved out Under the Mountain when he stood up to that bitch.” He huffed in amusement. “It seems he got Alanna’s heart and not your father’s.” Eris could have rolled his eyes.

“Yes, he got much of my mother. And his father. Nothing of Beron.” Eris implored Helion with his eyes, begging him to understand. It only took a moment, and the way Helion’s face crumpled, the misery was so deep that it threatened to take Eris’ own heart from his chest. When Helion spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“No.”

“Yes. I helped her hide it, per her request, for centuries.” Helion was crying outright now, big heaving sobs from the hulking, unshakable man. It seemed Eris was not the only one who wore a mask, and he could, for just a moment, see the male who his mother loved so fiercely. Could see her match here in this gentle giant who so clearly loved her, who would rather suffer for eternity than go against her wishes. He could see so much of Lucien in him.

“He is so good, Helion. Lucien is. He’s so thoroughly kind, and funny, and he has a good heart. He is someone you would want to know, someone anyone would be lucky to know. I have always been proud to be his brother, and I have never once deserved it.”

“She kept him from me–”

“For everyone’s safety. Everyone’s.”

“Does Lucien know?”

“I have no idea, though I imagine he has his suspicions that Beron is not his father. To ask it aloud would be a death sentence for our mother.” Helion nodded, but his eyes grew hard.

“Come, we’re going.” Eris was momentarily shocked, stumbling up to standing.

“What? To Autumn?” Helion was already making for the doors.

“Yes. I’m getting her out of there, her requests and the consequences be damned. I’ll not let her suffer another moment under that tyrant. She can hate me the rest of our lives, but she’ll do it from somewhere safe.”

“What if he’s there?” Eris could barely get the words out as he got his bearings, tearing down the hall next to Helion, who was walking with impressive strides now.

“Then I will kill him. I may not have been able to do anything then, but I am a High Lord now. I can invoke the Blood Duel, and I will kill him.”

“If you fail, Helion, she’ll die. He won’t let her live over an embarrassment like this.” He stopped so short Eris almost slammed into him and Helion whirled around on him.

“Then you swear to me, Eris. Swear you’ll get her out.” Eris nodded.

“We’ll get them both out.” And understanding settled between them as they made their way to the armory, their minds made up.

Then the missive had arrived.

All at once, everything flew into motion. Eris and Helion only had the time to organize and immediately send any of his fighters who could winnow to Spring, and then to decide that Helion and Eris would still go to the Forest House together. Eris would be there to find Tilly and get her to safety. Helion would immediately go to Alanna, bringing her back to the safety of Day. Eris had told Helion where he could find Alanna–all the places she might be starting with her rooms and the garden, and made sure Helion knew he’d be on his own once they arrived.

But all their plans had changed again when, as soon as they touched ground at the Forest House, Eris had immediately been engulfed with flames so hot they burned blue. He fell to his knees as the power overcame him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt, and by the time it abated, he knew Beron had died. He didn’t miss a beat as he shattered the wards on the Forest House on instinct, sprinting into their rooms, finding them long-empty, her smell almost non-existent.

He ran madly through the abandoned halls, hoping to at least find his mother or a brother or Cormac to tell him what had happened, but no one was there. He tried reaching desperately for the bond, but it lay so limp, worse than it had been at any time in the last few days, despite his proximity. Wherever Tilly was, she was running out of time. He knew it deep within himself, and the terror shot up like nausea into his throat. He knew he needed to check the dungeons, though he hated the thought more than anything else. It seemed the guards had mostly abandoned their posts; the news must have traveled already. As he reached the doors to the unmanned dungeons, he burst through them and was shocked to find, again, no guards, and all his brothers and Cormac in the cells.

“What the fuck happened?” Eris demanded, as he ripped the keys from the hooks and unlocked the doors.

“Ambush. You’re on fire.” Cormac wheezed. They looked horrible, all beaten to a pulp, the faebane shackles keeping them from healing. Killian appeared to have taken it the worst, but was the first to stand, to get to the walls and lean heavily against them.

“Eris, they have Tilly.” He barely croaked the words out. “We could hear her screaming.”

Was he…he was crying?

And then, the worst possible truth dawned on Eris, and he put together the only option in which they might have heard her screaming. “He’s in there with her now.”

The horror overtook him, and so did the flames, and all the brothers jerked back as he lit up and sprinted to the heavy door to the lower dungeons, nearly ripping it off the hinges as he stormed in.

Eris could barely remember the horrors that he felt as he slung the door open. Seeing Aradnus crouching over her broken body, the fire consuming her skin and her not even fighting back anymore. He’d been absolutely consumed with rage, not even feeling himself anymore as he’d ripped out a male's throat with his bare hand without another thought.

The memory nearly suffocated him now, sitting beside her, safe, breathing, alive. He prodded the dogs to the bottom of the bed gently, climbing in behind her, needing her close. He folded himself against her, curving along every inch of her body, holding her close like he may never get to again. He’d need to go to Spring to deal with the Autumn troops there in two days' time, but he’d need to winnow briefly tomorrow morning to touch base with Tamlin and Rhysand. He didn’t want to leave her again–not now, not ever.

He tucked his hand around Tilly’s stomach while she slept. Willa had estimated her to be about three months along, so she wasn’t showing yet, but he could feel the little magic within her, and could differentiate it from the feel of hers. Their baby, already a survivor in their own right. Willa had spoken to him privately after she’d given Tilly the tonic; it was a miracle in itself that the baby had survived. Tilly had suffered massive and repeated internal damage, and the fact that the baby had made it implied a strong magical presence. Eris had never been so thankful for Autumn’s stupid emphasis on breeding strong bloodlines. It had given him Tilly, given him their child, and allowed him to keep both.

She’d been ready to die for him–the thought made him burn with panic, even feeling her here in his arms, her heartbeat strong and steady against him. She’d been ready to sacrifice herself to make sure that he lived. He had never had that sort of love or devotion from anyone in his life, and he didn’t know what to do with all of it–all that it made him feel. He wasn’t entirely sure he was worth it.

He hated to leave her even for an hour tomorrow, but knew she’d be well protected. He’d spent time this evening reconstructing all the wards he’d so violently broken when he’d arrived looking for her. He’d meticulously respun them, and would ask Helion to come follow up on them when he checked in on his mother. He hoped that long-overdue conversation had gone well. His brothers would keep an eye on Tilly for him in the meantime. The second they’d been healed, they were out of their minds with worry, swarming the hallway in front of Tilly and Eris’ room like a gaggle of gossiping females. Eris was thrilled that they cared, that they wanted to protect her, but he was himself feeling a bit territorial in the wake of things.

The brothers had immediately sworn fealty, none of them caring at all about the crown and simply relieved to be alive and rid of Beron. They’d told him, sorrow in their eyes, how they’d heard Tilly being tortured for days. How they tried to taunt Aradnus so he’d direct his rage and sadism at them instead. How she’d held on longer than any of them had imagined she could. How she’d never once told them a thing, and how Aradnus left every day angrier and more agitated as he stalked through the upper levels. Killian, of all of them, began to cry.

The brothers had heard everything in the cell, but Eris hadn’t.

“He kept asking her about my family. My mate, and my daughter.” Eris couldn’t keep the sharp exhale from passing his lips. He felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

Killian had a family, a mate. And Tilly had known the whole time. She’d protected his family’s secrets at the cost of her safety.

“She could have sold me out–she could have gotten a reprieve, but she said nothing. I will never be able to repay her, Eris. Not in a million lifetimes.” He put his hand on Eris’ arm.

Eris was so proud and so filled with anger that he couldn’t even articulate his thoughts, he’d just begun sobbing, big ugly gasps for air that burst from him as his face crumpled. He lifted his arm to cover it, not used to allowing any real emotion to show out openly. In perhaps their first ever public display of affection, the brothers all came in to embrace Eris.

He hoped, going forward, this might be the norm for them. He didn’t want the tension that they’d lived under for their entire lives to have any influence on their future. But, right now, if they came to his door one more time to check on her before morning, he might set one of them on fire. They were watching over the court currently, preventing anyone from getting ideas about an early coup, and he hoped he might be able to take in a few more hours of silence.

He blew out the candle by the bed, pulling himself close to Tilly once more. He pressed a single kiss to the back of her neck, breathing her in, and reassured himself again and again that she was safe.

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