#[ let alone understanding perspectives besides his own ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wheneclipsefalls · 3 months

Text

Courting Spider

Pairing: Spider x Na'vi Male OC

Masterlist AO3

Summary: It's time that someone takes care of Spider for once. Zhali is up for the task.

Warnings: aged up Spider/Sully kids, explicit, MDNI, male x male, size difference, Na'vi x human pairing, oral, insecurities, angst, trauma, injury, blood, perfectionism, Spider just needs to be loved, etc.

A/N: Wow, this took a while but it is finally here. Not too confident with some of the writing style for ths one but hopefully it still makes sense.

“What about the back panel?”

“Useless.” Zhali quickly interjects, weaving the soft fabric together with practiced precision. Lo’ak huffs slightly, titling his head as he watches the male work on the small piece of clothing.

“He’s not going to wear it with his ass out, brother.”

Zhali rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. He will never understand the Sky Demon’s obsession with modesty. Clothing should allow one to move freely and if it shifts from one way to the other, so what? Who would truly notice, anyways?

Well, he supposes, were it Spider he himself would notice.

And suddenly all that Zhali can think about is getting a glimpse of the little Tawtute’s bum, just another peek at that beautifully soft and squishing form of his. As tempting as the idea is, however, it does have him editing his original claim. If he has interest in seeing that sculpted ass, surely other Na’vi or even Sky Demons could have the same intentions.

He decides to weave together a back panel after all. Besides, once the small Sky Demon has been courted and agrees to mate with him, it may be more rewarding to have that area of his mate revealed to his eyes only. That thought has the slightest curve of a smile lacing his lips.

Lo’ak, as always, is one to notice the shift in demeanor, but he pays the other male no mind. After all, there would have been no chance of executing this courting properly without Lo’ak’s insights. Zhali thanks the Great Mother that he has close enough ties with someone Spider considers his best friend. Otherwise, how else would he know how to make a loincloth for the boy in the first place? Or not to leave dead kills at the outpost’s front entrance as a courting gift?

Lo’ak’s information is irreplaceable. It’s hard enough to wrap his mind around the different customs and concerns of a small tawtute, let alone court one without any insight in the first place.

Although it may seem unconventional to some Na’vi, opinions that he has heard personally from some friends and family, Zhali knows that there is no one else for him besides Spider.

He can still recall the spark of interest that had been there during their adolescence, watching the small boy with golden hair saunter across the forest confidently. He had moved with a grace and agility that Zhali had never witnessed from a Tawtute. Back then, his small crush was poorly nourished as his parents tried their hardest to keep him from spending too much time around Sky Demons. Searching to become a warrior and clan member that would make his parents proud, Zhali had refrained from stepping out of bounds.

There were small moments he had caught with the so-called monkey boy, but it was always in the presence of others.

The night of Spider’s capture had been a core memory for Zhali. He recalls it as the night he truly began his path to adulthood. Regret and dread had laced his gut as he realized his own cowardice had broken any real chance at connecting with the other male. It shifted his perspective, pushing him forward until he had made himself a promise that night.

Never again would he let criticism and judgment keep him from following his heart’s desires.

It was only the direct command and even surveillance from the new Olo’eyktan that had kept him from storming Hell’s gate as a one man army.

Those years apart had been painful, but they had shaped him into the man he is today, the man he needed to become. There had been slight relief that came from hearing of Spider reuniting with the Sully family across the sea. However, he could never erase the sting of missed opportunity.

Following the footsteps of his father and other warriors, Zhali had channeled this pressing emotion into his training. The sun would barely be upon the horizon before Zhali began his daily grind. He had excelled in every aspect that a young warrior could, spending extra hours training alone with only the glowing light of eclipse for aiding sight. When he had pushed himself in every aspect of hunting, fighting, and gathering possible he had moved on to homemaking skills.

Now, sitting here with only a few months of weaving underneath his fingertips, he’s proud to find the garment an attractive item thus far. A surprising fact considering how his discipline and attention has slipped upon the Sully family’s return. Or rather, Spider’s return.

Seeing the small tawtute advance from behind the Sully family, hair somehow turned a lighter shade of gold and arm adorned with shelled jewelry, Zhali had felt like a child once more. The Great Mother had been kind to him, advancing his form into that of a true muscled warrior and adorning him with skills that were far beyond anything the could’ve dreamed about at fifteen, but none of that seemed to matter when faced with Spider once more. His stomach had tightened into a million different knots, tail swinging and ears flickering desperately as he took in the beautiful male before him.

Although taken aback and slightly nervous, something he would never admit, Zhali had expressed these emotions in the best way he knew how; hard work. The family had only been home for little more than a moon cycle but the male’s courting plans were already underway. His consultation with Lo’ak had informed him that the beautiful tawtute was in fact still unmated. He figured that the Metkayina Na’vi knew nothing of real value placed in their laps if they had somehow managed to miss courting such an exquisite creature.

Nevertheless, he is grateful for their insolence.

The yearnings of his heart have never ceased and Zhali would have his soul taken up to Eywa before he’d let this chance slip away again.

“You’re sure about this color?” He murmurs, concentrating on the intricate trim to lace the sides. Next to him Lo’ak lounges along the marui floor with one leg propped as he bites into the delicious fruit he missed oh so much. Golden eyes flicker over to the intricate pattern of green material, different shades popping out in precise patterns.

“Well he did complain about there not being enough green on Awalatuu.”

“I asked you what his favorite color was.” Zhali huffs out, finally letting the unfinished garment rest on his lap. Lo’ak hardly flinches under the glare he receives, simply shrugging his shoulders before continuing to eat.

“I know. Figure it must be green if he complained about its absence so much.”

It’s not fair to bite back at the hand that feeds him. Zhali knows this. He repeats it in his head over and over again. If there is one thing that he has learned about Spider it’s that no one treats the poor boy the way he deserves. Lo’ak and Kiri are the closest things that the small human has to friends, but even they have other parts of their lives that pull their attention away from him. There are always other obligations and personal problems that come first before Spider and to Zhali’s dismay, the boy accepts it.

Being left in the shadows is something that has become natural to Spider in his life. The Sully family takes him in, but never with the attitude of treating him like their very own. The scientists at the lab have watched over him since he was a child but not one of them was truly a parent. They too, have their own worries and concerns. Most are too focused on their own research and work to really prioritize raising a child.

That familiar lingering of guilt resurfaces when Zhali remembers that he too let Spider remain hostage with those Demons for months on end, not one rescue party sent after him.

It’s a fact that haunts him to this day, but he vows to leave all those mistakes behind. Spider will be safe and taken care of in his arms, by his side and treated with the love and respect that he deserves. For the first time in the boy’s life, he will know what it means to be someone’s first priority.

Spider can still feel Neteyam’s curious glances thrown his way as they walk silently back to the human outpost. With the small bundle of fine fabric carefully clasped in his hands, it feels like a small eternity before the human boy can comprehend the turn of events. Upon his return to the Omatikaya clan Spider had assumed that most outside of a few humans from the lab outpost would remember him, let alone receive a courting gift from one of the clan’s finest Na’vi males.

Is that what this is? A courting gift?

Although, Zhali had used all the proper words one would upon extending a courting gift and beaming at Spider’s acceptance, it’s still difficult to be one hundred percent certain that is what had occurred. The ogling he had done over the garment in front Zhali had been taken in with a smile bursting of pride that seared into Spider’s countenance. The blush that erupted over his tan skin wasn’t even comprehensible until the heat was enough to have him sweating underneath the glass of his mask.

Looking back, Spiders knows that his gratitude had been little more a stumbling of thank you’s and rambled thoughts that hardly finished into full sentences. It didn’t seem to matter, however, as Zhali had left the pair with a stride that made him look as if he was walking on clouds. Truthfully, Spider often makes that comparison when watching the male prance along the forest with ease. He wouldn’t necessarily call it ogling….just keen observations that he can’t help but make.

Neteyam had been almost entirely silent during the exchange and when Zhali had broken away, his only comment had been something about the smooth fabric being made of rare materials only present in the Hallelujah mountains. Spider had done nothing more than nod in response. Now, meeting up with Lo’ak once more, Neteyam jumps in to relay the scene to his younger brother. Lo’ak simply smirks and shoots Spider a wink.

It punches through his blood and once again Spider finds sweat gathering at the edges of his mask. He knows his friend better than he would like to at times, so he knows that looks like that always come with a reason from Lo’ak. He seems neither surprised nor reluctant to let that signature smirk show.

Perhaps it isn’t in his head after all.

A courting gift for him.

Made specifically for him.

It’s disheartening when Spider realizes that he never expected to receive one of these.

He makes an excuse about needing rest in order to get away from the Sully brothers as soon as possible. Once back inside the common area of the outpost, he flings the sweat mask off of his face and to the side carelessly.

“Spider.” Norm sighs from his work station. No words are needed to show that he does not approve of the boy’s disregard of the equipment.

“Busy.” Spider rushes out before practically sprinting to his room. That is if it can be called a room. It’s a corner of the outpost that Spider had managed to claim for himself with old drapes hung up messily for privacy and a hammock strung up that he had made himself. His greatest and most rare possession however was a floor length mirror. Spider had gone through Hell and back in order to get it here. And by Hell, he meant literal Hell’s Gate where the RDA had left their fancy gear behind the first time.

He rushes to throw the bag of fruit to the side and shuffles himself over onto the bed. The soft cloth is unfolded as if he is about to handle the rarest of Pandora’s diamonds and to Spider it might as well be. Perhaps even more valuable considering the rarity.

The fabric slipped along his fingers like the sway of a rushing river, a smooth effortless motion. His own grimy hands caked with dirt and a hint of blood from rough housing with Neteyam look horrifying next to the carefully crafted garment. In fact, it’s enough to have Spider setting the piece to the side and rushing to the bathroom so he can wash his hands. It would be a shame to ruin the loincloth so quickly simply because of his bad hygiene.

Stomping past Norm and the other lounging scientists he tries to ignore him.

“Kid, what have I told you about leaving your mask on the ground?” Norm huffs but Spider is already closing the door to the cramped bathroom.

He may have been a teenager when he was captured by the RDA but now has come into full adulthood. Something Norm seems to have a hard time understanding. Spider doesn’t care how much water he hogs in order to get every speck of dirt and grime from his hands. He only leaves the cramped bathroom when his skin is scrubbed raw and red.

Leaning back against the woven hammock he allows himself the proper time to just admire the details of his new gift. It’s a beautiful emerald green with precise stitching that works to outline patterns of leaves and greenery. Under the harsh light of the outpost bulbs, the boy admires the way the thread glimmers with the shift of light. He thanks Eywa that it has a back panel. It may be something he is used to seeing with Na’vi but Spider can not imagine having his own ass hanging out of his loincloth, especially without a tail for it to wrap around.

Once he finally wrangles up the courage to try on the loincloth he is amazed to see how perfectly it fits. The fabric is like silk against his rough skin. Or at least what he remembers silk to feel like from that one time another scientist let him touch her silk pillowcase. The band is woven of various colored threads and twine that come together to create criss cross patterns. His fingers brush them softly in a silent reverence.

Spider looks at the mirror and allows himself to drink in the sight. Most days, the boy uses the mirror to simply swat at his dreadlock hair or repaint the blue stripes on his skin, but never can he remember a time that he uses it to admire himself. To look at his appearance head on and feel something more than indifference or longing to be a version of himself that is blue and a few feet taller.

Being a human is something that Spider has learned to make peace with, but that doesn’t mean he particularly likes the look of himself. The blue stripes help slightly to cover the extra squish of his body that is normally nonexistent across Na’vi stomachs. With the beautiful garment now fitted perfectly to his hips, Spider notices for the first time how good a color besides blue looks on him.

The heap of leather that is his usual loincloth seems like nothing more than a discarded washcloth now. Jake had been the one to show him how to weather the material and fashion it into clothing but from there the job had been his own to update the garment in stride with his growth spurts.

The loincloth is so clean and pristine in comparison to the rest of Spider’s appearance that for a moment he considers putting it away for safekeeping. What would happen if he tore a hole in it or got dirt rubbed into the careful stitching? It’s too beautiful to take the risk.

However, when his fingers start to undo the carefully tied knots at the sides, he catches another glance of himself in the mirror and he hesitates. It looks so much better than before. He looks so much better than before. Maybe it has nothing to do with the loincloth’s quality at all. Perhaps it’s the careful thought and effort put into such an extraordinary gift. A thought for him. Just him and only him.

One simple reminder that someone thinks he is worthy of nice things.

Spider allows himself the privilege of wearing this reminder throughout the day.

Zhali does not have many opportunities to spend time with Spider, especially without the company of others. Most nights he only gets to share a few sentence exchanges with the boy before either him or Spider is pulled away by their responsibilities or nagging friends. It doesn’t kill his spirits, however, not when he notices how beautiful the tawtute looks wearing his courting gift. Pride swells to the size of a balloon in his chest upon seeing how perfect the fit is. This feeling only inflates to new bounds when he sees Spider wear the garment every day without fail.

Having been entrusted with leading one of the hunting parties on a daily basis, Zhali finds himself daydreaming about the male between patrols and petting down the direhorse. The other Na’vi in the crew do not fail to notice his shift in demeanor. Although some of them spread rumors that it has to do with Zhali’s unbridled affection for a certain golden haired tawtute, no one goes out of their way too complain. Controversial or not, Zhali is more forgiving of their mistakes when he is in high spirits. It matters not that it comes from a small Sky Demon.

Lo’ak continues to assist Zhali in preparing another gift for Spider. This time they settle on weaving together a simple but stunning armband. Surprisingly this requires more experience and skill than the loincloth but he has never been one to back away from the struggle that comes from picking up a new trade. Zhali’s fingers work tirelessly as Lo’ak chatters on about the Metkayina clan and what adventures he missed.

Later that night Zhali listens to the encroaching thunder that rumbles in the distance. Even his direhorse hesitates in his stride but he urges him forward. There is less than an hour left of his patrol and then he will return to his carefully crafted hut to get some much needed rest. However, now the sound of thunder and lightning is becoming more pressing and the male becomes less and less sure of how soon that sleep will come.

It comes as no surprise when the first drops of rain quickly picks up into a full downpour. Lo’ak grumbles next to him, but Zhali ignores the other male’s mumbled curses and directs them to split up so more ground can be covered. They might as well check up on the family huts and make sure everyone has the sufficient coverings and supplies needed for the storm.

It’s when he’s wading through the heavy greenery and wiping water from his eyes that Zhali catches sight of something peculiar. He follows the movement of bushes slowly, urging the direhorse to tread carefully. With the blanket of falling rain it’s difficult to identify the small creature wading through the greenery. Judging by the amount of rustle it creates, Zhali concludes that the creature must be either injured or panicking in the storm. He urges the horse to prowl closer as the rain pelts against his back mercilessly.

It becomes near impossible to see anything in the thick greenery but there is a series of snapping branches and he watches as the beast comes tumbling down the hill. It rolls and crashes along the greenery before finally hitting the bottom of a tree trunk with a grunt. Through the thick sheet of rain, Zhali finally catches a glimpse of golden hair flying in the wind.

Spider!

He’s off the direhorse within a heartbeat and racking through the thick leaves moments later. Spider is sprawled out on the muddy ground, limbs stretched in every direction. The boy blinks, seemingly trying to comprehend the turn of events.

“Spider.” Unintentionally Zhali words come out as a hiss. The Na’vi searches over the boy’s body frantically to see if there are any fatal wounds. With limited light it’s difficult to fully see where the sources of blood are so he shifts to use his fingertips to feel for wounds. Spider simply groans and stares up at him through slitted eyes as Zhali weaves through his hair in search of a head injury. He prays to the Great Mother that he won’t find one.

The Sky Demon’s small body is covered in mud and littered with a plethora of bruises and bleeding scrapes. Luckily, none of these injuries appear to be more serious than the deeper cut over his shoulder. It will require bandaging and a series of healing ointments to prevent infection. Zhali is already running through the list of healing procedures he plans to execute on the boy when Spider’s voice finally breaks him out of the trance.

“Hey.” Spider speaks in a gravelly hushed tone. “I-I’m ok.” He goes to sit up but a large blue hand covering half of his chest, gently pushes him back down. “Sorry I just lost my grip….got a little disoriented but…yeah sorry.”

“You’re bleeding.” Zhali says bluntly.

Spider looks down to see a smear of red painting his shoulder. Zhali watches his reaction with perked ears and pointed tail on alert but Spider simply knits his brows together and shrugs. However, the small being is unable to hide the grimace that flashes across his features. It has become a real effort on Zhali’s part to learn the ways of reading human expression, especially ones covered by those ridiculous masks. It can be incredibly frustrating trying to read one’s reaction without a flickering tail or ears to give away the boy’s state.

“Oh shit, yeah, I guess I am. It’s ok…the outpost has a first aid kit so…”

It’s then Zhali’s turn to scrunch his features in confusion.

A first aid kit? Is that another one of those Sky Demon inventions those scientists are so fond of? Once Zhali had snuck down with Lo’ak and Neteyam when they were teens to the outpost and he had caught sight of things beyond his wildest imagination…or rather wildest horrors. He had watched as giant trunk shaped contraption fold around a human before sucking him into the wall. Lo’ak and Neteyam had later explained that these were the devices used by the Avatars to dream walk. Zhali could never erase how similar it had looked to the coffins that Jake had once described, the constricting box made to bury dead bodies.

Would they put Spider in there too? Or something else? Perhaps this first aid kit would be even worse.

No. He would not be returning to the outpost for those horrors. Zhali is more than capable of patching up the injuries and giving Spider the care he truly deserves.

“No need, come. I will take you home.” Zhali says while carefully helping the boy to finally sit up. Spider’s lips purse for a moment as if he is about to say something but he must have read that wrong because it disappears just as quickly as it came and the small tawtute remains silent.

It is, however, when Zhali easily lifts the male into his arms that Spider strings together a nervous onslaught of objections.

“Oh woah, hey it’s ok. I can walk. I-I’m not really that hurt-”

Lightning strikes across the night sky. Thunder is quick to follow and by the sounds of deep rumbling, Zhali is confident that the storm is only about to get worse. Spider squeaks when he is easily lifted onto the direhorse without response. The other male makes quick work of sliding in behind him and reconnecting tsaheylu before the direhorse becomes too freaked out by the tawtute’s presence. It’s almost second nature to slip his forearms securely around Spider’s waist, keeping him safely atop the creature.

He can feel the boy shiver in his embrace, but it’s difficult to tell whether it is from his touch or the relentless onslaught of rain.

“Thanks.” Spider’s mumble barely rings audible over the storm’s fury. The small sound still manages to bring a smile to Zhali’s face as he nods back in recognition and they begin their journey back towards the village.

Despite the fact that Spider is conscious and not nearly as injured as he could’ve been, he is anxious to get the human to the healer’s tent as soon as possible. This urgency only increases when he can physically feel the boy’s body shaking like a leaf in the wind. His arm tightens around the small male, hoping to let some of his own natural body heat transfer over to him. It’s disconcerting to see how easily a little tawtute can be affected by the elements. It serves as another reminder of how fragile the pretty boy truly is. It’s easy to forget at times when Spider is swinging from branches like a monkey, but now all he can see in his mind’s eyes is the replay of his small body tumbling down the steep decline helplessly.

It’s then that Zhalie remembers the cloak he has packed away by the saddle. He manages to wrap the thick fabric around both of them. It covers Spider completely and to the male’s delight he finds that the human curls up against his warm chest. He’s satisfied to find that this solution keeps the pelting rain from attacking Spider any further.

Zhali is made for these types of elements but he can only imagine how Spider’s small fragile body could be reacting to such harsh conditions. He makes a mental note to learn more about human anatomy in the coming days. Perhaps Lo’ak could arrange some sort of meeting with one of the remaining medical Sky Demons at the outpost. He hates the smell of chemicals and sterilized metal there but it would be preferable to the real feeling of inadequacy he has now.

To his horror Zhali finds that the pathway to Tshaik’s tents has already eroded into a rushing stream and the tent itself is completely abandoned. He checks in with the Olo’eyktan over the throat comm and comes to find that Mo’at has fled to higher ground with the injured and sick to wait out the storm. With Spider barely conscious in his curled up position against him, Zhali decides that the only logical course of action is to bring the boy back to his kelku for the night.

No matter, there are sure to be enough supplies at his home to patch Spider up and take care of him before the condition gets worse.

Or at least, that is what he mentally assures himself over and over again until they reach the trunk of his kelku.

Zhali is forced to let Spider crawl up the trunk himself as the tawtute is less than willing to let himself be carried again. He considers overriding this decision but he figures it’s already lucky enough that the blonde hasn’t insisted on being dropped off at the outpost instead. He takes the tender mercy in stride and makes sure to be below the boy in case he manage to slip, constantly ready to catch him if needs be.

Zhali is in full action mode as he goes about efficiently securing the waterproof drapes. Spider hangs back, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. Once the task is finished he turns around to find the boy’s arms wrapped around himself, seemingly curling up in on himself as trembles still wrack his body. It is such stark contrast to the usual confident and sassy demeanor that Spider upholds. Whether it is from the cold or the slightly traumatic situation, Zhali vows to coax the boy into being at ease as soon as possible.

“I-it’s nice.” Spider manages to mumble out before audibly clearing his throat. Those hazel eyes roam over the darkened room as Zhali makes quick work of building a small fire and setting a pot of water over to warm. His own eyes stray from the fire to recall what state his kelku has been left in. Luckily, he has always had a knack for organization and creating a cozy environment in his home. Still, there is no saying what a Sky Person considers to be cozy when it comes to decor. He prays to Eywa that Spider’s preferences are not aligned with that of the suffocating and hard steel in the human outpost.

“Thank you.”

Spider tries to hide the wince that graces his features when he rolls his shoulder, but even in the dim glow of a fire, Zhali can clearly see the distress.

“Come. You are bleeding.” He motions Spider forward and luckily the boy does not protest.

Spider does, however, hesitate as those hazel eyes scan over the empty span thoughtfully. Zhali starts to think something is wrong but then it dawns on him. The boy’s body is speckled with mud and blood. Spider seems all too aware of this as he carefully squats over the clean woven floor.

Of course this must be just Spider’s way of trying to be a polite guest while in his home, but it frustrates Zhali more than he expects. The beautiful human squats over the woven material as if he is unworthy to touch it. This behavior extends to all aspects of their encounter in the space as Spider is more than cautious to let himself enjoy any of the comforting ambience that Zhali has created in the space. He creeps into the area like an intruder, waiting to be shooed away.

And it breaks Zhali’s heart. It shatters him to pieces to think that Spider would ever act in such a way when his presence alone is something to be celebrated. It’s borderline disappointing to think that Zhali has spent all this time over the past few weeks slowly preparing his kelku to become a welcoming place that Spider would be enticed to call his own someday, just for the boy to shy away from associating with it.

“Sit.” Zhali puts a little more intensity behind the words than intended. He mentally curses at himself when Spider flinches in response but the human is already setting himself down gently.

“The bleeding isn’t that bad.” Spider claims, but how would he know when the injury stretches across his right shoulder blade?

Zhali goes to see for himself, reaching his enormously large hands towards the small creature, but then he pauses.

“May I check?”

He idly notices that Spider’s breathing is no longer fogging up the glass of his mask? Has he stopped breathing? Was there something wrong with it? Oh Eywa, how does one fix that little thing if there is?

“Yeah.”

The response is more of a puff of air than real words. Zhali allows himself to breathe now.

Settling behind Spider feels natural and oddly comforting. He enjoys the way his body is haunched over the small blonde, as if he could create a Na’vi shield over the boy if any danger were to arise. The idea strokes his male pride for a moment until he remembers that he failed to shield Spider earlier. When…when he…

“How did this happen?”

“Well it was….you see….” Spider struggles before finally sagging with a sigh. “I fell.” Defeat is apparent in his tone.

Zhali can not decide if he finds this explanation better or worse than the images he had conjured up. The thought of thanator claws scraping at the small being was terrifying, but then again, is it not more concerning to see that a simple fall is all it takes to injure him? This beautiful tawtute truly is so fragile. A simple misstep is all it would take to put him in danger.

Spider appears to be thinking the same thing, but if the red cheeks and deep frown are anything to go by, it’s embarrassment rather than fear that rises to the surface.

“Tawtute, this cut is deep. From how high did you tumble?” He tries his best to clean the cut with the rag as gently as possible, monitoring every flinch and shudder that ripples through Spider.

“My bow got stuck up in the canopy. Thought I could get it down.”

“It is still there?”

Spider nods.

“We will get it in the morning.” Zhali concludes smoothly as he dips the soft cloth back into the now warmed water. He checks it against his own skin first. The male may not know much about human anatomy but it’s clear that their response to the elements is more dramatic than his own. He would hate to accidentally expose the boy to any more harsh temperatures for the night. Once it is sufficiently clear that the rag is at a soothingly warm degree, he begins to glide it over Spider’s back.

“Thanks I uh…I was kind of clumsy I guess. You don’t have to come with me in the morning though, I’m sure I can manage a bit better this time.” Spider rambles.

“I will not if you wish not for my company.”

“No no, it’s not that.” Zhali peeks around the boy’s shoulder easily, braids swinging down as he openly observes the male’s expression. Spider’s turn a brighter shade of pink. Zhali finds he quite likes that shade. “Of course I would love for you to come. I just uh don’t want to make you go out of your way for me.”

“You are never out of the way, Spider.” He sighs, tail curling in irritation. He shouldn’t need to make that clear, especially after efforts he has started towards his courtship. “You are the way.”

He surveys the boy’s expression, but without twitching ears and a moving tail to give him away, it feels impossible to sense the shift in emotion there. He slowly retreats, not wanting to scare him off any more with the staring, but he lingers just long enough to see Spider catch his bottom lip between those blunt teeth. It’s a cute habit that Zhali has noticed from him, but one that he is still trying to understand fully.

It’s obvious what his own response to the action is as his tewng grows uncomfortable, but that does little to help him decode Spider. Not to mention it makes him feel like an untrained teenager all over again, drooling at just about anything.

“Spider.”

He feels the boy straighten underneath his hands.

“Yeah?”

“What is your favorite color?”

“What?”

Zhali is pleased to find that the area around the wound is finally clean and ready for bandaging.

“Color. What is your favorite color?” He repeats. Spider only flinches slightly as he begins to lay the leaves covered in ointment over the small wound. He has to rip them into small pieces a few times so they don’t cover the whole expanse of Spider’s back. Doing so, however, draws his attention to the rest of the boy’s muddied and artificially stripped skin. Long fingers itch to reach for the warm rag again.

“I um…I don’t know. Never really thought about it before.”

Zhali’s eyebrows knit together. He is soon regretting his decision to sit behind the tawtute where he can’t even depend on the minor fluctuations of his small facial expressions for context. His tail thumps against the woven floor incidentally, but at least Spider can’t see that. When the urge becomes too strong, Zhali hesitantly starts running the warm cloth over the rest of Spider’s back.

“What do you say when people ask?” He takes Spider’s lack of flinching as a token of permission, scrubbing the dirt away from his tan skin with the gentlest touch he can muster. It’s interesting to see the way his skin turns a light pink after only a few strokes of the warm rag. It appears that Sky People’s skin is extremely sensitive and expressive to every substance it comes in contact with. He is pleased however to see that Spider’s muscles have begun to relax underneath each stroke and the shaking of his body has puttered out to a small vibration.

“Well I don’t think anyone has ever asked me before to be honest.” Spider tries to slip in a small laugh but it’s strained. Those tiny four fingered hands come to gather his dreads and push them to the side before fondling them absently.

Of course he knows that Lo’ak didn’t know the boy’s favorite color but for no one to ask? Never? By Eywa, what do the strange scientists at the lab that supposedly raised this male talk to him about? The negligence is infuriating and yet Zhali knows he shouldn’t be surprised. From the interactions he has seen between them, Norm acts more like a close friend than anything resembling a parental figure.

Spider pauses, head tilted as he ponders the question.

“I suppose red is not a bad one. Like the red from sunsets.”

Zhali’s lips turn down.

“Not green.” Disappointment lays heavy in his stomach, He should’ve known better than to trust Lo’ak as his source of information.

“Green? Oh you mean cause of the loincloth. It doesn’t really-” Spider cuts himself off, turning silent as he looks down.

Zhali’s ear perk forehead, wondering if he has somehow missed the end of that sentence.

“Shit.” Spider whispers to himself.

Peering over the boy’s golden dreads, Zhali finally finds the source of Spider’s silence. A jagged rip through the side of the loincloth.

“Fuck I- Damnit, I didn’t realize and now….” Spider hunches forward inspecting it frantically. “I’ve ruined it. All for my stupid fucking bow.” He grits out. “You worked so hard on it and I-”Spider gulps, voice heavy with emotion.

“I will make another one.”

“No no, you shouldn’t have to…..I-I’m sorry.”

Zhali catches sight of glimmering tears welding over the boy’s eyes, ones that he refuses to shed. His heartbeat picks up more erratically when Spider allows his dreads to form a curtain over his face.

“Spider, it is fine. I will make a new one. This time red.” As it should have been from the beginning. This would be his chance to redeem himself and give Spider the courting gift he truly deserved. Hesitantly he reaches out to sweep that golden hair away but Spider reels back.

“Another one? N-no I cant ask that. It’s my fault I ruined it…it was…”

“The wrong color. I understand, tawtute.”

“No no no it….it was fucking perfect.” Spider sniffles and more than anything Zhali wishes he could see the boy properly, get that damn mask out of the way so he could wipe away the tears. “The nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” It’s whispered so soft and reverant that the Na’vi almost questions whether or not he heard it properly.

It would be easier not to believe it.

Easier to believe that there were greater gestures the boy has received over the years than some simple pieces of clothing.

Zhali shifts forward, boldly sweeping the hair away so he can clearly see Spider’s sparkling eyes.

“You deserve so much more than this.” He can see the boy’s lungs still with air. “So much more than a courting gift in the wrong color. More than a simple garment that pales in comparison to your beauty.” Spider’s blunt teeth naw at those soft pink lips. “More than jewels and bracelets. More than all the beauties of Pandora combined.”

It’s as if the boy is frozen in time, air no longer passing through those lips. It’s borderline impossible to understand if this is a good or bad sign, but the truth is bursting from the seams, no longer willing to be kept prisoner.

“You deserve a mate that will care for you. One that truly sees you.” Zhali catches a golden strand, tucking it behind Spider’s ear. Oh how he wishes to bury his face in that hair, to fully let the beautiful tawtute’s scent to sink in.

His stomach twists into a bundle of knots but the words come regardless.

“I see you, Spider.”

Silence stretches between them but Spider’s eyes remain trained on him, pupils blown wide and breath stilled. A new form of anxiety settles itself as the seconds pass without a clear breath coming from him.

“You do not have to say anything. I have only begun courting you after all. I simply thought you should kno-”

Spiders cuts him off with a shake of his head, breath finally exhaled. Nothing, however, matches the horror Zhali feels as the boy reaches to lift his mask.

“No Spider-” He catches his wrist.

“It’s ok.” Spider gently pries the hand from his wrist before taking a deep breath in.

The mask is carefully slipped from his face but Spider gives him a reassuring smile when he spots the concern written over Zhali’s face. And then, the space between them decreases slowly, the boy’s face inching closer to his own until their noses brush. Those big doe eyes flicker between his own heated gaze and lips.

The first point of contact is hesitant and slow, but there is a certain tenderness to that gentle swipe of lips. Spider’s lips are so much smaller than his own, but ever so soft. So many moments have led to this one but his heart continues to race, ever so worried about hurting the small tawtute.

It is Spider, however, that pushes it forward, small tongue swiping at his bottom lip. Zhali allows him. He gives the boy of his dreams access, gives him the world because there is nothing else he can manage to do, not when his wildest fantasies are coming true. Leisurely they each explore one another and melt into the kiss.

He cups Spider face tenderly, hands easily covering each side of his head. He even allows his fingers to softly explore through the sunshine mane. Spider’s hands are more cautious, but every area they trace over has Zhali’s tail swinging back and forth exuberantly.

In some ways this kiss is nothing in comparison to the other sexual rendezvous Zhali has experienced and yet it feels more intimate. Like finally having access to a beautiful masterpiece kept behind glass for so long. Finally getting to cherish Spider’s beautiful face instead of observing from a distance.

At the first jerk of Spider’s chest, Zhali sternly repositions the mask over his face. His emotions swirl from pure elation to trepidation as he waits to hear that first breath.

Spider lets out a small gasp for air, cheeks tinting as his chest expands and caves rapidly. Hands on the boy’s thighs, Zhali leans forward, eyes darting across the mysterious mask to make sure it is working properly.

“Can you breathe?” He reaches forward to mess with the contraption, not that he has any idea how but he can’t help himself.

“Yeah yeah…I can.” Spider lets out an airy laugh. “Well, mostly.”

Zhali’s frown deepens urgency increasing but then he notices that dazed smile over the boy’s face. The giddy look in his eyes as that beautiful blush paints his cheeks once more.

“It’s ok It’s ok.” Spider laughs, small hands prying Zhalil’s own off the mask. “I’m alright. Just a little overwhelmed.”

“You promise, sevin?” Zhali sweetly pushes a few dreads away from Spider’s face, eyes studying him intently.

Once again Zhali watches in awe as that tan skin quickly shifts to a darker shade of red, even traveling over Spider’s collarbones and chest. He follows that blossom of color downwards, eyes caught on the boy’s small nipples now perked in the cool air. He doesn’t try to hide the ogling, not now that the truth is out.

“Y-yes.” Spider stutters.

“Good.” He breathes out, but his hands are already gliding over the soft skin of Spider’s sides. He takes in every reaction like a gift. The way the tawtute shivers when his ribcage is brushed, the way that blush only intensifies with Zhali’s darkening gaze, the way his nipples pebble under his long fingers as if they are aching to be touched.

For so long Spider has been forbidden fruit. For even longer Zhali has dreamed of how this beautiful creature would feel in his hands, the sounds he could draw from him. Sitting here feels like a dream, one beyond his wildest imagination when a small groan escapes Spider.

One hand dares to grip the boy’s left hip while the other swirls over one hardening nipple. Without a tail or ears it can be hard to read Spider but even Zhali can recognize the restraint his beautiful tawtute exhibits as his hips twitch and chest heaves.

Spider’s eyes stray away from the intimate points of contact when Zhali leans forward to rest his temple against his. Breath fogs up the glass.

“Spider”

“Yes?” He whispers.

“Let me take care of you.”

Spider’s thick lashes flutter rapidly as he visibly gulps.

“But I….w-why?” He stutters, as if unable to process the concept.

“Because you deserve it, sevin.” He squeezes his hip gently as Spider stares at him with big hazel eyes. A color that he could easily get lost in. Ones that goes greatly with Spider’s now swollen pink lips.

He has never been so desperate to please such a beautiful being.

“Let me make you feel good, yawne.” Spider’s eyes flutter closed when the Na’vi rakes his longer fingers through his hair. “Please, yawntutsyip.”

Spider melts in the touch, letting the Na’vi cradle the back of his head.

“Let me show you how I’d take care of you if you’d be mine.” His softly scratches along his scalp, delighting in the way Spider’s small form goes slack.

A new spice intertwines with Spider’s scent, filling Zhali’s lungs until it has become his own personal drug.

“Sevin?”

“Y-yes yes, ok yeah I-I…yes.” Spider exhales, words tumbling together.

Zhali grins.

Spider is sure he’s hallucinating. So sure that somewhere in that fall he hit his head a little too hard and now suffers from delusions. It’s the only explanation he has to explain how this god of a Na’vi has decided to please him. The only way he can comprehend not only being allowed in his kelku but furthermore have those sharp teeth tracing over his abs.

Looking down at the male who kisses and nips at his body like it’s art made just for him, Spider is content to let this hallucination continue. He will spend the rest of his life in this dream if it means staying cradled in his arms, if it means feeling that hot tongue explore his body intimately.

True intimacy can be hard to come by for Spider.

Kiri tries and Jake will occasionally ruffle his hair but it does little to satiate what he really needs. Now, however, seems to be the worst time to realize how touch starved he is. It’s embarrassing how difficult it is to keep himself from squirming or God forbid even bucking up into every touch and kiss.

It’s worse than being a teenager in his hammock trying to get himself off. At least then he was in the privacy of his own company but Zhali’s touch is like lightning in comparison to his own. His hands are so much larger that when the Na’vi goes to cup his head or slink down his chest, it covers the expanse easily.

It’s when Zhali pushes him down with a hand to his chest that Spider realizes he might be into their size difference more than he anticipated.

Neck craning to watch Zhali litter kisses along his lower abdomen, he burns in mortification when he spots his own boner through the green loincloth. He wants to believe that Zhali has not noticed this before but even he knows that Na’vi have greatly enhanced senses.

Fuck, he most likely already can smell his arousal, let alone see it.

His blunt teeth sink into his bottom lip harder as he holds back the jumble of moans that threaten to break loose.

It’s pathetic.

Already in adulthood and yet all it takes for him to rut like a hormonal teenager are a few well placed kisses and bites.

Open mouthed kisses are meticulously placed along his v line until he has reached his right hip. Something sharp draws along his skin and Spider sees the Na’vi’s teeth bared. Their eyes connect for a moment and it appears to be all the confirmation that Zhali requires before he takes the plush flesh into his mouth and sucks hard.

A shocked cry falls from Spider’s lips as his back arches.

Pain and pleasure dance together in symphony when those impressive teeth come into play. What has his legs shaking, however, is the knowledge that it will leave a mark. Even humans know what such a display means.

A marking to show he is being courted.

A marking to show that he is wanted and desired by a male prospect.

“Am I hurting you, sevin?”

It takes a moment for the words to register.

“Wh- oh no no. You’re not.”

“Hm, good.” Looking up through his lashes Zhali keeps their gazes pinned as he lays a tender kiss over the new mark. Those lips skate over his skin until reaching the intricate ties of his loincloth.

Hands holding the male’s thighs apart, Zhali carefully secures a tie between his teeth and begins to pull. Watching that knot unravel feels like the longest seconds of Spider’s life. He isn’t sure if he needs it to speed up or slow down because his brain can hardly process what is to come.

It isn’t his first time being bare before a Na’vi. Admittedly, other Na’vi, even among the Metkayina have had their curiosity sparked by Spider. Some shuffled him away with a rushed exploration and desperate touching that became all the sex life Spider had ever known. However, those had only left him unsatisfied and lonely again at the end of the night.

This is different, however.

Zhali, although curious, doesn’t explore him for his own pleasure but rather Spider’s.

He takes in every new discovery and change like a masterpiece meant to be worshiped. He watches for the slightest flinch to signal a change and the smallest twitches of pleasure to indicate what spikes the boy’s pleasure.

And when the silky loincloth falls away, the same one that Zhali had spent weeks carefully crafting especially for him, he doesn’t rush to grip or stroke. His heated gaze is the first thing to caress him, and then his voice.

“So magnificent, my tawtute.”

Spider can already feel himself trembling. This new emotion bubbling forward does not make it easier to gather restraint, to stop himself from appearing like a desperate lonely fool in front of this gorgeous man.

Zhali kisses right next to the base and Spider forces himself to look away.

This gentle worship does things to him that he could never have imagined and therefore could never have prepared for. He can’t watch this any longer without losing the reins.

He can feel himself twitch as soft kisses are placed one by one around the base until every inch has been covered. Toes curling, Spider attempts to slow down his heartbeat.

“Spider”

“Huh?”

He peaks to find Zhali looking up at him, large golden orbs taking in every flinch in his expression.

“I am not hurting you?” He checks again.

“No no, of course not.” Spider chokes out, ears growing hot at the tremor in his voice.

“Hm, I see.” He hums before his fingertips start drawing soft patterns over his hips. “You are tense, sevin.”

His stomach flips.

“Fuck, yeah I know, I-I’m sorry. I understand if-”

Zhali hushes him sweetly, crawling forward to cup his face once more.

“Spider,” His name from Zhali’s lips sounds like a song. “Do you want this?”

He doesn’t enjoy how fast he is nodding his head.

“Yes. I do, shit yeah I do. I’ll keep it together, I'm sorry.”

Zhali is shaking his head before he can even finish the sentence.

“Sevin, do not apologize.” Zhali’s slim tail wraps itself around his calf and Spider has to hide the tremor along his lips. “I only need one thing from you.”

Spider gulps, leaning forward and ready to take the criticism.

“I need you to relax.”

Spider flushes, fighting back the urge to gulp down the knot in his throat.

“Yeah o-okay.”

Zhali is less than convinced but a warm smile crosses his lips. His fingers intertwine with the boy’s hair once more before he is raking them through those golden locks. The reaction is immediate, pleasurable shivers dissipating through Spider’s body.

Never before had he realized how sensitive he is to this gesture but now with those gentle movements massaging his scalp, Spider feels like he could melt into molten gold. Zhali runs his face along the curve of his neck, marking him with his scent.

The hand in his hair is used to tilt Spider’s head back and give him better access. A breath wooshes from the boy’s lungs.

“Just focus on what you feel, sevin.”

Soft lips lay a kiss behind his ear.

“What feels good,” Zhali continues.

Another kiss, this time to his pulse point.

“What feels different.”

Zhali’s textured tongue drags along his skin languidly. Spider hardly registers his own groan as he lets his weight fall into the Na’vi embrace.

“What you want more of.”

When the male begins sucking a hickey into the side of his neck, Spider can no longer keep a cap on his noises. A string of whines and moans fall from his lips as he finds rest in the moment. Eyes closed and mouth agape, he forgets where he is.

He forgets who he is.

He forgets who he is not.

And Spider lets each exhilarating sensation guide his decisions.

“Good boy.” Zhali whispers warmly against his pulse, licking over the mark to soothe.

His hands firmly run down Spider’s sides, squeezing it greedily until his presence can not be forgotten. Taking control of every curve and line, Zhali plays him like an instrument. Spider lays back against the matt, golden hair creating a crown around him. Hazel eyes dilate before fluttering closed when soft kisses are left along his inner thighs.

Sounds erupt from him that Spider doesn’t recognize when Zhali’s tongue begins exploring his length. His body buzzes with a new energy, nerves a lit with every swoop and swirl of that talented tongue.

And even though his hips twitch in silent request for more, Spiders swears that he could live in the moment forever.

“Such beautiful sounds, oeyä tawtute.”

The compliment floods his cheeks and tugs at his chest. There is no longer room for self doubt as praises fall freely between the beautiful exploration of Zhali’s mouth. Every concern is hushed before it can fully bloom.

“You taste so good, sevin. Don’t know how I went without you for so long.”

And then warmth encases his member in a rush. Zhali sucks his cock with such enthusiasm and vigor that it becomes difficult to see which partner enjoys themselves more.

But it’s him.

Spider is sure it is him.

He knows that there is no other Na’vi or human out there that feels the things he is feeling, that reaches such heights of ecstasy and passion in one night. He can’t fathom anyone else knowing the warmth, pleasure, and relief that washes over him.

Nose to the boy’s navel, Zhali swirls his tongue around the boy’s base, easily able to take all of Spider within the warm cavern of his mouth. Spider’s hands shoot down and grab the Na’vi’s tied hair without thought. His fingers grip and tug at the neat bun until strands start to fall loose.

“Oh fuck!” He shouts, blunts nails digging into his scalp.

Zhali pulls back until his lips are sealed around only the bulbous tip. The point of his tongue runs over the slit brashly and Spider yanks on his hair. The action is rewarded with a carnal moan, the vibrations rocketing through the boy.

Zhali likes to watch. Spider can feel those eyes trained on him without reprieve, no matter which way he squirms and bucks. At some point he feels strong hands pin his hips to the ground, forcing him to take the pleasure in its entirety.

Spider isn’t used to the attention.

He isn’t used to the way Zhali mentally tracks his reactions and the actions associated with them.

He isn’t used to the honey eyes drinking in the sight of him.

But most of all, he isn’t used to being the center of attention.

It breaks him into a thousand pieces.

His climax crashes so hard into him that his small hands search for something to ground him. They circle around Zhali’s kuru tugging as he spills into the male’s mouth.

The sound that erupts from Zhali is unlike anything Spider has ever heard from him. So far from the polite, organized and formal male that he has known. It rings forth with a raspy texture and a deep serenade that sets his world on fire.

Not a drop is wasted and Zhali doesn’t release his twitching length until Spider is pushing back his head.

He falls limp against the mat, bowl pupils staring up at the world in a daze. He can briefly sense the careful precision Zhali takes to kiss every mark before running a warm cloth over him but it’s background noise to the symphony playing in his head.

“Thank you, sevin.”

That deep voice now with a raspy tint weaves into his consciousness as Spider revels in the tingling aftershock running through his body. He can only manage a lazy smile when Zhali comes up to check on him.

“Just give me….give one minute and then I….I can help.” He manages to get out between pants. Zhali’s brows furrow until he sees the boy eyeing his tented loincloth.

“You have done more than help today, tawtute. Given me more than I could have asked for.” And he grins so sincerely that Spider can’t fathom how the male could feel this way. In every sexual interaction he has had, there was always a return of the favor, that is assuming Spider finished in the first place. But Zhali looks at him like he hung the moon, eyes glimmering in delight as he wipes him down with a warm cloth.

“You…you don’t want me to touch you?”

Zhali traces idle lines over Spider abs happily.

“Of course I do, but how would that serve the proper purpose? I am courting you.” Zhali stands and begins preparing the hammock for them. He arranges extra pillows and blankets that Spider has never seen other Na’vi have before. In fact, there is a great deal of influence from Sky People culture present in the male’s kelku. Things that only a human would find necessary.

Before he can protest, Spider is carried carefully to the hammock and laid across the Na’vi chest. He tucks a blanket around the boy’s hips, making sure it isn’t too tight but still brings the wet tawtute some warmth.

“Although, I admit. This is out of order. It was supposed to be step twelve but do not worry. I will make sure not to skip over any. Fourteen steps to go.” He nods firmly, lips perking upwards.

Spider’s brain sputters, head still fuzzy from the best orgasm of his life. Tonight feels like a dream, an absolute horny amazing romantic dream that his subconscious has whipped up. He can barely process the night’s turn of events, let alone this handsome male wanting to go through an extensive courting process all for him.

“Fourteen? You….but…that is so much.”

Zhali’s hairless brows furrow.

“It’s hardly enough, sevin. It’s important that you have enough proof of my ability to provide, protect, and love before you make your choice. So you can weigh your options.”

As if he has other options.

Who would surpass this?

Who has ever even tried?

Zhali continues to run his fingers through the human’s hair as he sighs happily, watching as Spider shifts closer.

“I do not expect an answer now, sevin. But hopefully tonight is a start to convincing you.”

Rain pelting down on the kelku and wrapped in this amazing man’s arms, Spider’s eyes fill with tears again.

To call it convincing would be an understatement.

Thanks for reading. As always, I truly appreciate hearing your thoughts. It motivates me to write and update more. Love you all<3

Taglist: @tallulah477 @eywaite @itchaboi-itchyboy @perfectprofessorloverapricot @xylianasblog @neteyamssyulang

210 notes · View notes

marchsfreakshow · 2 months

Text

Gotta Dance! [Peter Maximoff]

Fluff//drabble

You like to dance to yourself to whatever cassette you had in your walkman, and when a silver haired friend of yours finds you, he decides to just have a bit of fun.

Omg okay I finished 3 xmen movies with Maximoff in em, and gah I understand why people love him now. Heres a fic.

I made it decently time accurate I think so tell me if there are any inaccuracies.

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Peter was always one to dance if he had a chance, especially to his own music taste. Classical or fancy music was always too slow.

So why on earth was he staring at you through a window? Watching you move around the empty hall, at 1am in the dark. Music in your headphones, blasting at a volume that could've burst anyone's eardrums. Yet, he couldn't tell the song playing in your ears. All he could tell was that he liked the way you moved. Swift movements, like an audience being danced around, walking around your footsteps. You were in your own mind, not particularly caring if anyone else was awake. If someone was, it was probably Charles, attempting some work.

A new pair of footsteps once you were done. Now, catching your breath, you were sat in one of the corners, admiring the hall around you. The rest of your music went on, and you didn't hear the steps until they stopped next to you. A hand pulling your headphones off your head. Your reaction was quick, and you grabbed his wrist tightly. "Hey! Calm, just noticed you were alone. That's all." That voice was so familiar to you. So close to your memory.

You let go of his wrist slowly but kept your eyes on the dark figure standing beside you. "What you are doing up at 1 in the morning then?" You questioned, trying to piece together a puzzle. The answer? Who was it smooth-talking their way into your tired mind? Then a glimmer of the moonlight hit mystery figure's hair. A silver shimmer. Of fucking course. Peter Maximoff. The one person who you particularly did not hope saw you dance just now.

"Fast body fast brain. Can never usually slow down enough to get enough sleep."

An eyebrow raised then crossed arms. "You sure about that Silver? Every time I go to talk to you, you're snoring the whole school down."

"Silver? Very creative."

"Silver Sliver. Like a silver snake who slivers around whenever he gets a chance." A cocky grin as you reminded Peter of why you nicknamed him 'silver sliver' a nickname always on the tip of your tongue. But also now ignoring the sneaky jab about how much he actually slept.

He hummed and nodded towards your own Walkman. "Who are you listening to?"

"This new singer I found called Taco. He's literally called Taco it's so funny." You rambled, rewinding it to the previous song and putting the headphones on him.

Puttin' On The Ritz.

It was smooth, almost buttery to you, but Maximoff simply stood there and nodded along. "Too slow for you Silver?" A chuckle escaped you, leaning your elbow on the radiator.

"Not at all." He grinned. Not that you could see how he grinned. But the way he spoke made you think he was planning something. Hands grabbing yours, pulling you away from your safe little corner. A groan was heard along with a small fit of giggles. What on earth had you dragged yourself into?

In the silence, the faint tune of the song was heard, and he started to dance, holding your hands, and whipping you around. Even in the musk of the night both of you held eye contact with each other, feeling oh so fancy with a song about The Ritz. What an odd feeling to have with your best friend. Sensing comfort when he held you close, exaggerating his steps, exaggerating his facial expressions even though you couldn't see them that well. That damn speedster.

Minutes went by fast. Both of you stood wherever as the new song could faintly be heard. "You're a good dancer." You noted with a smile, still holding hands and reluctant to let go.

"yeah. I think you're pretty good too." Cocky as ever. Feeling like he was on top of the world or something. "So..." Maximoff started, you hummed and tilted your head to the side slightly.

"Can I get you a drink or something?"

"...Sure." a little laugh. "Preferably when it's daytime."

A shared nod before the speedster brought you close again and danced with you.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tagging those who might enjoy this: @babygorewhore @silverzoomies @taintandviolent @slutforgarlogan @slvt4jamesmarch @coentinim @fear-is-truth

(other mutuals let me know if you would like a tag 💜)

#evan peters #xmen #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #fluff #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #xmen fic #xmen apocalypse #xmen dark phoenix

110 notes · View notes

im-a-hoping-beetch · 7 months

Note

Many people genuinely get confused when we, native people, get uncomfortable when Katara, a native character, is reduced to a mom and her canon relationships with characters are put down in favour for a boy who lived in a society that benefitted from her oppression, antagonised her and her friends for most of the series and was even racist at times. But because he's hot and had an episode with katara, everything should be forgiven, because god forbid a native girl gets with anyone who isn't from a group of people who aided the genocide of her people. God forbid two characters who experienced genocide have a relationship and connect over this shared trauma, in favour for boy who also has mom trauma

Look, while I can understand your feelings of discomfort towards the ship, I’d still like to put certain things into perspective.

Now, I don’t really know what you meant by her being “reduced” to a mom. Do you mean that her relationship with Zuko would confine her to such a role? Which, by the way, is absolutely laughable, since one of the main reasons why so many ppl ship these two is bcz unlike every member of the gaang (aside from Suki), Zuko is the only one with who she doesn’t have to act like a surrogate mother. Katara is allowed to be angry and be vulnerable with him. All things that we rarely see her be able to do with the rest of the bunch, let alone her own brother.

Actually, one of the main appeal of the two is bcz, both have the same level of of maturity and similar way of interacting with the members of the gaang. Which is why so many ppl label the two as “parents of the group”.

But, if you’re talking about how, we zutarians usually talk abt the intricacies that come with her being a motherly person, I’ve got some news for ya. Most of us, usually, never fail to highlight how much of a tragedy, her being pushed into a role of adulthood at such a young age is. Also, on how, ironically, her canonical partner (Aang) has never really helped with that phenomenon, actually he perpetuated it even further.

Besides, wanna talk abt canon relationships being put down for a boy, well, look no further than canon itself, anon. I’m guessing that you’ve probably read this post, due to the phrasing at the beginning of your ask. One thing I specifically touched on, was how much of Katara’s existence seems to revolve around Aang, the biggest example being, the comics. In them, we do see the creators ready to strain Katara’s established relationships with the gaang (aside from her brother) in order to shove kataang down our throats. Cuz if you think abt it, Toph and Katara’s interactions are heavily reduced, let alone meaningful ones and do not even get me started on Zuko or Suki.

Yes, Zuko lived in a society that benefited from her oppression. He has antagonized her and her friends. But Zuko is also made to recognize the harm his actions have caused. Additionally, at no point is he not faced with the consequences of what he has done towards the gaang. Every single member gets to express anger or/and resentment over what he’s done in the past, Katara is no exception. Actually, she’s the one who’s given the most leeway in terms of doing so. Even for things he had no control over such as her mother’s death and the fire nation raids. However, instead of whining about how he’s not responsible for all of this taking place, something he could’ve easily done, he makes it up to her. He helps her seek justice for her mother while her canonical future boyfriend is out here reducing her righteous anger to blindsided revenge.

I don’t know what you mean by “Because He’s hot and had an episode with her, everything should be forgiven.” To me, that last part owed to make me scratch all the dandruff off my braids. Language is a powerful tool, but often than not, people don’t really know how to use it nor seem to understand the ramifications of their use. When you say “everything should be forgiven”, you are framing forgiveness as something passive, when, here, it is active. Someone does the action of forgiving Zuko, Katara does. Katara forgives him, because he earned it.

Right now, I’m assuming that you thought you were in defence of Katara, but the truth is that you are actually perpetuating an habit that many have had when it comes to the Southern Raiders. Which is to perpetually strip any agency Katara has in an episode literally centered around her character!?!

Nobody forbid anyone from anything. If people don’t feel comfortable shipping these two, so be it. However, to act as if Zuko hasn’t actively fought against the system that has led to those atrocities being done or like he hasn’t used his position of power in order to make actual change or/and retributions, is simply disingenuous.

Aang and Katara did have a relationship, but have never connected over their shared trauma. More specifically, Aang failed to connect over their shared trauma, when he should have and instead used as a way to silence hers. @sokkastyles makes a very good point about it in this post.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #zutara #anti kataang #anti bryke #anti aang #atla fandom critical #zuko #katara #pro katara #the southern raiders #anti atla comics

353 notes · View notes

3d-wifey · 5 months

Text

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 12

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.4k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn Chapter Summary: There's a certain kind of pain in reading or watching something from the perspective of a character who doesn't know about the tragedy ahead of them. It's like watching a scary movie and going, "No, don't go to sleep! He's behind the door!" Like in The Song of Achilles, we all know how the original story ends. We know how the actual prophecy plays out. We know that the moment Patroclus's heart stops, Hector and Achilles fates are set in stone. You wince whenever Achilles says he has no reason to kill Hector because "What has Hector done to me?" You want to tell him that Hector will do the unforgivable to him. You want to tell Patroclus not to go on the field. Tell Achilles to get his damned head out of his ass as he disguises Patroclus as himself because he is at risk of losing something far more important than his pride. You hold your breath as Patroclus is speared in the back and as Achilles realizes the consequences of his actions. You knew it was coming, and yet, you still read the story because a part of you hoped. You hoped for the hopeless. All this to say that knowing and still having hope regardless is crueler than complete ignorance. A/N: I imagined your stylist as Anne Hathaway in Alice in Wonderland.

Past (xiii) - You [22 & 23] - THE CAPITOL

If you were from any other district, maybe it would have surprised you how attached Rue is to you. But the sense of community in Eleven breeds this need for kinship. You’re social creatures; you’re not meant to be on your own. Certainly not in a place like the Capitol. It’s how you end up hugging your knees to your chest, an unnamed ocean projected on your wall as you try to get lost in the tides the night before the tributes will be marched into the arena.

No one talks about this part, or maybe they just don’t want to think about it. The part where being forced back into the room you slept in during your own Games eats at you—that anxiety that courses through your veins and leaves your body thrumming. Because no matter what you tell yourself, your body isn’t entirely convinced that you won’t be the one entering the arena tomorrow. You close your eyes and suddenly you’re fifteen again, gripping the sheets so hard you could tear holes in them as you fight the vomit threatening to ride the wave of acid reflux.

Sleeping beside Finnick helped. He reminded you that you weren’t fifteen and alone and wishing you’d die in your sleep so you wouldn’t be slaughtered live. And now? Well, at least there’ll always be the ocean.

There’s a knock on your door, so tentative that you would have missed it if you weren’t already so keyed up.

You pause the projection of the ocean, assuming the sound woke someone up. You get up and go to open it, only to see Rue. Suddenly you’re shamefaced and embarrassed, like you’ve been caught doing something pathetic, even though it’s doubtful she even knows what the sound was, let alone the significance of you listening to it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Was I being too loud?”

“No.” She shakes her head, shifting from foot to foot. “Um, I couldn’t sleep. And I just—I saw that your light was on and thought maybe you couldn’t sleep either?”

That may be true, but you don’t think it’s the only reason. Rue is the oldest of six and they all live in Shacktown. With all those people in one house, you’re sure Rue’s never slept alone a day in her life. It makes you wonder how she managed these past few days.

You’re an only child; your dad was killed before your parents could have any more, so you can’t say for certain that you understand what she feels. Yet, you reminisce on the fact that you’ve never really gone through a year of mentoring without Finnick being within arm’s reach.

She stares up at you with those big, pleading puppy-dog eyes, and you twist your mouth to the side.

“C’mon.” You move so you aren’t blocking the entrance anymore and you nod your head towards your room. “How ‘bout you sleep in here with me tonight? You don’t have to, of course, but we might as well stay up together.”

You know you’ve made the right choice when she grins big, rushes in, and takes a running start to jump on your bed. You shake your head fondly as she scurries to get under the blanket, lying down with them pulled under her arms and getting comfortable like she belongs there. The door slides shut behind you and you twist the dimmer until the only light comes from the projector. You settle into your bed beside Rue and you can’t help but snort at how she keeps smiling at you.

“So…What were you watching?”

“Uh.” You pick the remote up to unmute the device and the sound of crashing ocean waves fills any remaining silence. “The ocean.”

She looks over, seemingly transfixed by the drag and pull of the water. The nearest ocean to Eleven is the one that rests just outside of the towering fence and only serves as a deterrent for escaping. This very well may be her first time seeing one outside of a textbook. “Why?”

“Well, I,” you let out a weighted breath, "I thought it would make me feel better. Help me sleep.”

“Oh.” Says Rue and then she looks at you. “Why?”

You let out a surprised laugh. “Um. I guess the ocean reminds me of my friend and—I don’t know. It’s just easier to sleep with him around."

“Is he your crush?” Crush? Such an innocent question feels surprisingly weighted considering your current relationship with Finnick. Or lack thereof. Is it a crush now that it’s unrequited?

“I love him.” You tell the wall and it’s the sad truth. You still do. You wouldn’t be so hung up if you didn’t.

"Whoa. You like like him.” Like like. It’s been years since you heard that. It brings to mind how young she is. It’s not as if you needed another reminder. “It’s okay, I won’t tell. I like someone too.”

“Oh? And what’s his name?” You smile. You both flip over to face each other. You picture little you and little Sage, shyly holding hands during downtime, and find yourself hoping this boy liked Rue back.

“You can’t tell anyone.” She narrows her eyes and makes you swear, which you do with a pinky promise. “Coriander.” Her voice goes all quiet and timid as she hides her face and you wonder if you’ve ever seen anything cuter.

“Ah, I think I might know him.” She looks at you with wide eyes as you tease her, peering out from between her fingers.

“Nuh-uh, no way.” She denies it as you tap a finger on your chin and pretend to think about it.

“No, no. I think I do. He’s got pink hair, no teeth, and walks with a waddle, right?”

“No!” She giggles and you can’t help but giggle along with her. You take a moment.

“Finnick. The boy I like.” You provide when she looks confused. “His name is Finnick.”

“Oh! Oh! Is he that boy from Four? The victor?” It’s hardly shocking that she recognizes him. He’s one of ‘the greats’. You nod and she gasps like that’s the juiciest piece of gossip she’s ever heard.

“He’s pretty.” She whispers.

“He is.” You laugh.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you say without thought or contempt. Finnick’s indeed been nothing but kind to you since you’ve met him, current behavior not included. You find that even when you’re mad at him, you can’t actually disparage him. And you don’t want to lie to Rue. “He made me this." You lift your wrist and show her your bracelet. You’ve been wearing it around your ankle while you’re out in public, but when you’re on your own, it goes back to its rightful place.

“Cori made something for me too.”

She pulls her necklace up for you to see. It’s woven grass attached to a wooden charm shaped like a flower—you squint—or maybe a star? Definitely the handiwork of a child. Adorable. It reminds you of Cane.

“Your token?”

“Yep. He gave it to me when everyone came to see me off after I was reaped. He ran all the way home and back to give it to me. He almost didn’t get back in time, but I waited for him. I knew he’d come, and that’s why it’s good luck.”

“Makes sense.” You nod and she nods with you, like she’s happy that you get her logic. “He must like you a lot to go through all that.”

“Yeah. He’s sweet.” She smiles, fidgeting with the charm.

“I bet he is.” You push some of her curls out of her face. Just two doomed girls talking about their equally doomed crushes.

It’s silent for a moment; ocean noises make your eyes feel heavier with the pull of each tide. You watch as the shadows cast from the projector paint the ceiling in a series of swirling blues. You think you can see Finnick’s favorite color hidden amongst the other shades.

“Were you scared? When you went into the arena?” Rue asks and you still can’t find it in yourself to lie to her.

“Terrified.”

“Really? You’re so brave though?” She sounds so genuinely confused that you have to hold back your laughter. You don’t want her to think you're making fun of her. You appreciate the vote of confidence. It’s more than you have in yourself.

“I think…being brave means doing something even if you are terrified.” You look away from the ceiling to make eye contact. “It’s okay to be scared, Rue. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She mumbles like she doesn’t actually believe it.

“I think you’re incredibly brave.” You know she regularly went foraging for food for her siblings, and she took on more hours than what was required of her. Who knows how many times she’s entered her name for Tesserae?

And she’s still so young.

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely.” You laugh at her skepticism. You’ve laughed more with Rue in the short time you’ve had with her than in the last two years combined. Sadly, there hasn’t been much of a reason for you to. Realizing that this is the last night you two will laugh together is devastating. “I was fifteen and I felt like I was on the edge of breaking down the entire time. How are you so calm?” She’s only twelve years old—not even a teenager. If you were in her shoes, you’d have dehydrated yourself from how much you were crying.

“I am scared, but…" She drags out the ‘uh’, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t feel real.”

“Hmm. I get that.” You don’t tell her that it won’t start feeling real until she either wins or dies. It’ll only make her feel worse. She closes her eyes and you two are quiet for a time—so long that you think she’s fallen asleep.

Her voice is small when she asks, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Of course.” You hold your right one out for her to take, and her little fingers lace with yours. Her palms are callused too. Not as much as yours. No, she’ll never have enough time to catch up to yours.

Rue moves closer to you and you wrap your left arm around her. You feel her say your name more than you hear it and you hum in response. “Thank you.”

You pull her closer to your chest, your linked hands resting between you. “Of course, sweetheart.” You say this into the crown of her head, wishing that you could have done more for her and Thresh—wishing you weren’t so helpless.

But you can do this. You can give her this last comfort, this last embrace from home. You hold her tight as you both fall asleep and you only let her go when they come to take her away in the morning.

You do not cry.

You miss him, you decide one day. You thought you hated him after you got through your self-pity, but the words "hate" and "Finnick" are too oxymoronic to ever stay together for long. You were so angry at yourself, angry at the world, but you sat with that anger long enough to know what it truly was. Grief. You miss him the way you'd miss a limb. You're so used to having it that you only remember it's gone when you notice the space it used to occupy and feel the phantom aches of what it used to be—what you used to have and took for granted.

Chaff has described in detail the pain of losing his hand. But, he said, nothing hurts worse than remembering it’s not there.

You've never taken Morphling and you don't know anyone personally who's gotten hooked on it, but you imagine this is what withdrawal feels like. You haven't seen him since before he sent that letter, and it feels like he's actively avoiding you. You said years ago, after Annie's Games, that you could handle just being his friend if he decided he didn’t want you anymore. But he never gave you the chance.

That’s alright. It’s perfectly fine. You know when you’re not wanted around, you can take a hint.

Maybe it's for the best. There’s no telling what you would do if you ran into him again. Something pathetic, probably, like begging him to take you back. There's a specific moment when you really feel your loss. A few days into the 74th Hunger Games. Chaff is finalizing the transaction with the money Eleven gathered to send bread for Rue and Thresh, so you’re on your own.

“Your girl is something else.” You tell Haymitch from where you stand beside him, arms crossed, as you split your attention between him and the Games.

He cocks his head slightly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, then returns to watching Katniss and Rue rehearse their strategy. “I can say the same to you.” You hadn’t expected Rue to team up with anyone, but you can’t say you are surprised that it’s Katniss. The girl did volunteer for her little sister, after all. Primrose, was it? But you’re concerned that your little speech about being brave by doing things that terrify you may have swayed her to come out of hiding and help Katniss.

You can’t take full credit, though. Rue—well, she’s far too kind for her own good.

You look him over, a glass of something alcoholic in one hand while the other remains buried in his pocket. Honestly, you’ve never seen him this invested in the Games before, but you could hazard a guess why. You weren’t just blowing smoke up his ass about Katniss. She’s honestly got a pretty good shot of winning, if not making it to the top five. She’s already a fan favorite, along with Rue, Peeta, Glimmer, and Cato. She’s exceeded your expectations, along with Haymitch’s. No wonder he’s been networking his ass off. If she’s actually got a chance at surviving this, he owes it to her to try.

That’s when it happens.

Rue’s screams echo in your ears as Katniss races through the forest. Something has gone wrong—she's been captured or the Careers are using her as bait, or—you wipe your sweaty hands on your dress and then recross them, wanting more than anything to bite at the skin around your nails. You hold your breath, hoping beyond hope that she’s saved from whatever fate has befallen her.

She’s by herself in the clearing. Caught in a net, but not hurt. Katniss manages to get Rue out and your muscles begin to untense, but the relief is incredibly short-lived.

Marvel, that cocky little boy from two, throws his spear with deadly precision, lance soaring past Katniss to pierce Rue in the abdomen.

Your hands are numb as they cover your mouth, but then you remember where you are and drop them just as quickly. She pulls the spear from her chest and you want to yell at her not to, that taking it out will only make her bleed quicker. Like it even matters at all when she’ll bleed out regardless. You think you need to sit down.

Katniss catches her before she falls. You’re lightheaded.

Katniss sings to her after she whispers something that the mics can’t pick up and it feels like your heart is being wrung dry. You think of Rue’s mother. You think of her six siblings, who all look up to her. You think of Coriander. You think of how small she felt in your arms and how tightly she held your hand. You think of a lot of things in the time it takes for her heart to stop beating.

The cannon fires and all eyes go to you. Ranging from curious to pitying. Some are even tearful. She was a fan favorite, after all. Mentors and Capitols alike split their attention between you and the screens to catch your reaction, but your face is deceptively blank. You stare ahead silently, your eyes unseeing as they remain on the screen.

You will not give them the pleasure of seeing you break down. Katniss will leave and Rue’s body will be airlifted out and that will be the end of it.

This is nothing new for you. You’ve gone through this twelve other times. Why would she be any different? She isn't. You tell that to your shaky hands and they only tremble further. You tell your heavy lungs and they only get heavier. You try telling your chilly skin, but all it does is make you feel colder. Why is she different?

You want to close your eyes as Katniss grieves. To be able to save one little girl but not another, it must weigh heavy.

“I’m so sorry." Someone comes to stand beside you, some Capitol elite. “One less chance for your district to win.” You look at him from the corner of your eye and Haymitch scoffs on your other side. For one stupid moment, you thought he was offering his condolences.

“Right. Well. There’s still Thresh.” He nods along to your words, thoughtful, like you’re talking about the likelihood of a horse winning a race.

“Yes, he’s the big one, right? I have money riding on him or Cato winning.” Of course, he remembers his name and not Thresh’s. You close your eyes before they can roll out of your head. “I’d like to send him something to eat as a sponsor. I worry—what is she doing?” You open your eyes to see what tribute has captured his attention, only to see Katniss again. But she’s still with Rue, kneeling next to her body with an armful of flowers—

“She’s giving her a funeral.” You bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Rue rests on a bed of flowers—white daisies and lavender. She tucks a bouquet of daisies in her little hands and you wonder if Katniss knows the significance that being surrounded by flowers has for your people. Or maybe that’s something your two districts have in common. All that’s missing is fruit and it would be a proper Eleven funeral.

A funeral for a little girl. Your heart grows heavy with that realization and your mouth curls into a scowl.

You shouldn’t think about how she clung to you before she was sent into the arena. You shouldn’t think of Coriander’s childish hope dying with her. You shouldn’t think about her family watching this. You shouldn’t think of how her mother woke up this morning with six children and will go to sleep with only five. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t—

“Oh, how sweet.” The man coos.

“Yes.” Katniss faces the camera, kisses her three middle fingers, and salutes the cameras—salutes District Eleven. You don’t think of Coriander sprinting to the train clutching a grass-woven necklace with a good-luck charm that wasn’t very lucky. “Very sweet."

On instinct, you reach to the left for Finnick, but there's no hand to hold other than your own.

You need Finnick, and he isn’t here and for the first time since you've become a mentor, you have to brave the games by yourself and shoulder your grief alone.

“Kid…” A flinch rolls through you at the unexpected voice, and you look to your left at Haymitch’s face as he goes through a range of emotions before settling on sympathy. No. Empathy. For a moment, you forgot he was beside you. But he hasn’t forgotten you.

He does something that surprises you again. He places a big hand on the nape of your neck, warm and callused, and squeezes. You exhale sharply, your face twisting minutely, and it’s the closest thing to crying that you’ll allow yourself to do. He pulls you into his side, and it’s a battle not to burrow into him—a battle you lose. Your image will allow you to do this much. Allow you to be comforted while many of the other Capitols in the room do the same thing because it’s all very sad. You wrap your arms around his waist from where you’re held tight against his side and his hand goes down to rub your back soothingly.

No words are said between you two, and that’s enough. It has to be. Past (xiii) - Finnick

[22 & 23] - DISTRICT FOUR Finnick has never felt worse.

The sky is clear, the stars are bright, and Finnick has never felt worse.

It’s a particularly quiet night on the beach. There’s no one walking along the shore, no bonfires, no night swimming. There’s only Finnick.

He sits with his legs crossed under him; the coarse sand is warm against the exposed skin of his legs and feet. He’s always been able to come down to the beach to think and unload any weight on his shoulders. With how heavy his heart feels, he’s never needed that release more. A cool breeze carries the smell of the ocean, but it’s not as comforting as it should be.

He reaches into the ornate box sitting between his thighs and just rests his hand there, letting his fingers ghost over the pages upon pages of parchment paper. He’s kept a tight lid on this box, hoarding your letters and your scent inside like a corvid. Even now, outside on the shore, your smell wafts around him—concentrated and stiff. He blinks past the tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t look inside; he doesn’t think he can handle it. To see the length of your relationship measured by words on paper, to know he’ll never be adding to this box again—it’s too much.

He pulls out a letter at random.

His eyes have already readjusted to the darkness as he uses the moonlight to read. He traces the looping lines of your handwriting.

This is the letter you sent along with that pretty picture of yourself in case he forgot what you look like. A beautiful sentiment, but largely unnecessary. Finnick knows your reflection as well as he knows his own, if not better. Even now, with all this space, time, and hurt between the two of you, he could draw your portrait blindfolded. Not that anything could ever live up to the real thing. Nothing can compare to you.

He sighs, twisting his bracelet around his wrist absently. He feels the cool grooves of the fish charm between his thumb and pointer finger as he looks at the stars. There are more stars than there are grains of sand. Each tiny, flickering dot is a blazing inferno, the likes of which he can hardly comprehend. They don’t shine nearly as brightly as you do in his memory.

He just…he just wishes he could have told you that.

Unconsciously, his eyes fall on Cassiopeia. Punished for boasting about the beauty of her daughter. It’s not fair. Her only crime was loving her child, and for that, she was forced to give her up for the safety of her kingdom.

Sacrificing someone you love for the greater good. He can’t tell if he wants to scoff, scream, or cry. Maybe all three.

Are you looking at the same sky as him? Even now, are the two of you still connected? Is it cruel to hope for that? It has to be, but Finnick has found that he's grown rotten in his misery. Rotten and incredibly selfish.

Over the past year, you’ve sent him letter after letter and he read each one with ravenous eyes—desperate for you in any way he could have you. You were angry, you were hurt, you were confused. You alternated between begging him and demanding him to reply. So he did. Of course, he did. He could never deny you anything.

He just never sent any of them.

He kept them stashed in a drawer, locked away so he didn’t have to look at them—wouldn’t have to look at his bleeding heart. It wasn’t healthy; he knows that, but still. He just wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that everything was back to normal. That he hadn’t ripped out his soul by tearing yours apart.

Those letters had been a constant staple in his life for nearly seven years, and—he was going to wean himself off of it, off of you, really, he was.

But he never got the chance to before they stopped coming a few months ago. They just stopped.

He should be happy about that. He should be pleased that you're moving on. He should be a lot of things that he's not, but, as it turns out, he’s getting pretty fucking sick of performing for an empty audience. You've given up on him, and you have every right to, but—

God, it hurts.

It’s for the best. It’s what he wanted—no, it’s what he needed to happen for both of you. And it’s certainly better than the alternative Snow offered.

Knowing all that doesn’t make it hurt any less; it doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

He takes out another letter, and it’s…it’s the first one? The first letter you left him after you spent the night in his room. He remembers waking up on the floor, tired and raw from that conversation on the balcony. He was fully prepared to act like it never happened. He was a little disappointed to wake up alone, but he was sure that it only proved that you wanted to forget about it too. Imagine his surprise when he rolled over—not to the empty space he was expecting, but to a note on your pillow.

I really appreciate…

Thank you for…

Just thank you.

He was left floored. He was seventeen years old and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone thanked him for anything.

Finnick brings the note to his nose and your perfume floods his senses, drowning him in memories. Memories of long train rides home from the Capitol, his only company being the smell of you on his clothes.

And try as he might, he can’t forget. He can still feel the blood caked under his fingernails and flaking at his wrist. Can still feel the warmth of your beating heart in his hand after he ripped it out. That’s his punishment. Remembering it all, good and bad.

He’s broken from his musing by the crunching of sand approaching him from behind.

“You’ve been out here for hours. Aren’t you cold?” Annie's soft-spoken voice is almost lost in the wind. No. He isn’t. He’s the exact opposite, actually. He’s scorching from the inside out. He’s burning bright and hot and one day he’ll implode under the weight of it all like a supernova. The only respite he can imagine is the cool relief of your touch. He’s scared he’ll forget what that feels like.

She sighs when he doesn’t answer. “We know you’re hurting, Finnick, and we’re worried. You can talk to us. You don’t have to just…talk to your letters. We’re here for you.”

He doesn’t look up; he doesn’t have the strength to, but he nods anyway. Of course, they can tell he’s hurting. A blind man could spot his suffering from a mile away. He hadn’t bothered to hide it outside of the Capitol.

“...Try not to stay out here too long, okay?

Annie squeezes his shoulder before walking back up the beach, leaving him alone, and he's thankful. She shouldn't have to see him like this. She shouldn't have to see him break down.

I'm allowed to, he thinks, I'm in mourning.

But how can he mourn something he killed?

He reaches into the box one more time, pulling out a stray scrap of paper and a pen. His hands shake along with his shoulders, his handwriting so bad that only he and you would be able to understand it. He writes:

Dear Heart,

I don’t know who Finnick Odair is without his love for you.

Every day, I think I can’t possibly miss you more than I already do. And then another day passes and I prove myself wrong.

Is there a fate crueler than this?

I just want to see you again. I just want to hold you again. One last glance, one last smile, one last laugh, one last kiss. If I knew the last time I saw you would be the LAST time I saw you, I never would have blinked. I’d have made the moment last forever. But forever isn’t nearly enough, is it?

Do you think you could ever forgive me?

-I love you I love you I love you,

Finn

Present (XI) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“I thought I’d find you here."

“Haymitch.” Finnick leans in the doorway of your room, wiping sleep from his eyes. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He wanted to stay awake and bask in the little time he had left with you, but he hadn’t slept next to you in so long and it felt like he was lured in.

“Listen,” the man rubs at his scruff, “it’s not what I came here for, but I’m happy you two figured out whatever the hell…” He trails off with a particularly constipated look, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of your room.

“...Right. Thanks.” Finnick clears his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m happy too.”

“Yeah…Anyway.” He sighs. “There've been a few last-minute adjustments to the plan.”

That wakes Finnick up, his mind running over what Haymitch has already told him to do in the arena. “Oh, should I wake Star—”

“No, no. This is just for you. We realized you’d have no way of knowing when you should be heading to the pickup point, especially since things out here can change on a dime.” He steps closer, burying his hands in his pockets. “Once all of the necessary players are gathered in the arena, a sponsor gift will be sent down, probably some kind of food. Pay attention to the district and the amount that’s sent.”

Finnick squints. “Why?”

“The district tells you the day we’re coming and the amount tells you the hour—do not get the two mixed up.” Haymitch raises a hand, staring Finnick down until he nods.

“Alright, I won’t. And the pickup point?”

“When in doubt, Beetee will know.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s sure working behind the scenes and acting as a messenger is harrowing work, especially with Snow on such high alert. “Our girl managed to get in Peeta’s good graces. Not that I’m surprised; they probably bonded over how ‘fun’ and'rewarding' it is to help the less fortunate or something. Having her plus Beetee and Wiress will definitely give Johanna and Blight some credibility in Katniss’s eyes. You, on the other hand, are gonna need to rely on something other than your good looks and Mags.” He fishes a flash of gold out of his pocket—some kind of bracelet.

Finnick takes it gingerly, examining how the light makes it shimmer.

“Take it into the arena as a token. Show it to her, preferably before she shoots you between the eyes. And, shit, if that doesn’t work, ask her…tell her to remember who the real enemy is.”

He wants to ask what that means outside of this very specific context; he wants to know what this bracelet means to him and Katniss if just seeing it will be enough for her to make him an ally. But he doesn’t. He feels like it’ll bring on more questions than it’ll answer.

“I’m gonna need you to hold onto something for me then.” He reaches into one of the deep pockets along his billowy pants until he feels the familiar shape against his fingers. He’s almost hesitant to give it away. When the Quell was announced, he was sure he would die with it on him. But it’s a part of you and he can’t take the chance of it getting destroyed. “It’s, um. It’s a photo she gave to me a few years back, I always carry it on me—”

“You don’t need to explain.” When it’s handed to him, Haymitch takes a moment to look at you. Finnick feels a little self-conscious of how faded it is from years of him running his fingers along your face—faded from years of being well loved. “I’ll make sure she gets back to you.” He’s careful when placing your photo in his pocket and Finnick feels relieved that there’s someone on the outside who wants to get you out of the arena just as much as he does.

“Good luck, kid.” He squeezes Finnick’s shoulder and hesitates. His eyes shift to the walkway that leads to where you’re resting. “When she wakes up, tell her…Tell her I said…” He trails off, his face severe, and Finnick understands painfully well.

“I will.” He promises. Haymitch purses his lips before giving a nod. Finnick watches his back as he leaves and wonders if that will be the last conversation he has with the man, one of his oldest friends.

Present (XI) - You

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL; THE ARENA “Your tracker.” The Peacekeeper yanks your arm up wordlessly and waits for you to pull your sleeve back. You squint around the sharp pain as he jabs the needle into your forearm, burying the tracking device under your skin. You glare at his back and rub at your now-raised skin.

You grip the straps of your seatbelt as the hovercraft begins its ascent.

As relayed from Haymitch to Finnick to you, Peeta brought you up as an ally, and, luckily enough, Katniss wasn't against the idea. It might have something to do with the conversation you and she had before the Chariot Rides or maybe it’s the fact that you're the only person Peeta suggested. It hadn't been your intention to get on his good side when you offered to train him, but you're glad you did. It makes your job that much easier.

“It's a very breathable, lightweight material, so I’m thinking of a humid environment, maybe tropical. Large bodies of water for certain. Have you decided on a token?" Your stylist pipes up from her seat beside you.

“Oh. Yeah.” You lift your hand to show her the blue bracelet sitting snugly on your wrist. She gasps and you pull your wrist away, looking around the carrier for anything that could be the cause of the sound. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing!” She waves you off with a flippant hand. “It’s just, I didn’t think I’d see you wear that bracelet again. I know Finnick never took his off, but—” You yank your arm back against your chest, holding your bracelet almost as if you can hide it.

"Wha-what..how do you, how…?”

“Us stylists confide in each other, and, well, those of us behind the scenes thought the two of you were just so cute together! I never saw you without that bracelet for five years straight and then one day, it was just gone. Poof! Oh, we were worried sick something happened with you two. But now it’s back!” She cheers, clapping her hands.

You gape at her. “You…you knew? All of you? And you never…?” Never leaked the gossip to the tabloids? To Snow?

“What? Heavens no! We're not heartless, dear. It wasn't our place. Besides,” she leans over, her crimson-painted lips pulled into a smile as she pats your thigh. Her eyes are glossy enough that you’re almost certain she’ll start crying. “You two deserve to be happy.”

You nod stiltedly, rocked by this new information. Did Finnick know? No. If either of you did, you would have been a bit nicer to your stylists. You’re quiet for the rest of the flight as she talks to you. This time around, you do try to listen to what she’s saying, nodding along at the right moments to show you’re paying attention. It’s a bit late, but you feel like you owe it to her.

She walks you down to the tube that’ll take you to the arena.

“This is it, my dear.” She sniffs, raising a hand to her mouth as she actually starts crying now. “Oh, I’m a mess. I’m sorry.” She apologizes, fanning her pale face. You don’t think about it too hard; instead, you step toward her and pull her into a tentative hug.

“It’s okay, Shimmer,” you comfort her. “And for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“It’s not okay. It’s not fair at all.” You let her squeeze you tight, allowing the hug to go on longer than you normally would. She inhales and then pulls away. She holds you by your shoulders and takes you in. “It’s been an honor working with you, my dear.”

“Same here.” You smile, but it feels more like a grimace.

You step onto the platform.

The door slides shut behind you and you start feeling sick as you rise. Sick enough that you worry you might vomit before you even make it into the arena. Your heart beats in your teeth. It’s starting to dawn on you, you realize, just how fucked you are. There’s the revolution, but there’s no guarantee you’ll even live long enough to be saved. You’ve been training like crazy, not that it was that hard with the way you grew up. It’s one thing to use your skills for physical labor; it’s another to use them in a fight to the death. That wasn’t how you survived your Games.

You hold your breath, gathering and reminding yourself of what’s important. The plan. And the plan hinges on you getting to the Cornucopia and surviving.

Your stylist tearfully waves you off as you rise, her elaborate and puffy white gown the last you see of her. You look up at the hole of light as you approach it, your nails digging into your palm.

The drastic temperature change makes you shiver and squint, raising your hand to block the blinding rays of the sun. This heat is different from the kind you’re used to. Heavier, somehow even more humid than Eleven’s muggy summers. The sun disorients you and the little wind that comes through carries the smell of salt. You push through the fog of your senses and force yourself to see.

There’s water—a shit ton of it. Saltwater if your nose is to be trusted. Shimmer was right.

The first thing you do is look for Finnick. You can’t help yourself; the need to know where he is is stronger than your need to acclimate. Your gaze bounces from tribute to tribute in your search for him. Sweat is already gathering on your brow when you finally find him. You see him, but only barely, on your left. He’s about three sections away, close enough that you make eye contact with him. It’s brief and fleeting, but long enough for your stomach to settle and your heartbeat to slow.

You’re all divided by rocky strips of land that protrude from the island the Cornucopia rests on like the spokes of a wheel. And in between each spoke are two tributes. That would mean there are twelve sections.

Mentally, you try to map out where everyone is. You note that Finnick is standing beside Chaff.

On your immediate left is Johanna, sectioned off from you by the long line of rocks. You nod at each other and relief courses through you knowing you won’t have to search for her. Beetee stands with Cecilia in between Finnick and Johanna’s respective sections. Was this placement intentional or just luck?

With half of your group near you, your eyes rove around for the missing two and—

“Shit.” You curse. You’ll have to go looking for Wiress. That’s the first part of the plan: Johanna gets Beetee, you get Wiress, and Blight waits for the four of you away from the Cornucopia. You’re lucky to be placed next to Beetee and Johanna, but it would have been nice if Wiress was a little closer. Or within your line of sight, at least.

“Let the 75th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The sound of Ceasar’s cohost echoes throughout the arena and you rush to gather more information. On your immediate right is the woman from Nine, about the same distance from you as the strip of land on your left. You know she never stepped foot in the training center, so you’re confident in the fact that she isn’t a threat. A little further down are Peeta and the man from Ten. You do a double-take. You hadn’t expected him to be so close to you and you have to force yourself to ignore him. You beat back the instinct to watch him like a hawk; that isn’t your job right now—it’s Mags and Finnick’s. The next section houses Woof and Mags and beside them are Enobaria and the female morphling. That’s as far down as you can see.

Your muscles tense up when he begins the countdown.

You take stock of your surroundings. Before you is the Cornucopia, and behind you is a beach and a deep forest—no, a jungle. The large body of water surrounding your platform looks pretty clear. Nothing but fish and plants, you’re sure. It’s doubtful they’d put anything deadly in there. Not when so many of the tributes can’t do anything more than doggy paddle. And certainly not this early into the Games. What an odd choice to have water this deep. Especially considering how rare a skill swimming is in the districts.

You watch the red, rotating cube as it flashes down to one, your muscles poised like a spring as you prepare to jump. You take a breath and dive in.

Deep in the woods behind the shack your family used to call home, there was a lake in an area the Peacekeepers seldom patrolled. That’s where your dad taught you to swim. You haven’t done it in a long time, not since before he was killed. You’re more than a little rusty and you wish you had aimed a little more to your left.

The cold water is a shock to your system, but you don’t have time to stay idle. You don’t sink to the bottom like you think you will; you’ve forgotten how much lighter water makes your body. The salt in the water burns your eyes every time you try to open them so you squint and swim towards where you think the strip of land is. It’s a battle. The distance, while a problem on its own, is nothing compared to the strength of the waves.

You’re panting by the time you make it there, shaky fingers grappling with the wet rocks as you pull yourself up, thanking your forethought to focus on training your upper body strength. The woman from Nine had jumped in the opposite direction, aiming for the beach instead of the Cornucopia. Smart. You’d do the same, but you need a weapon and you need to find Wiress. You push your water-laden hair out of your eyes, getting your feet under you and taking off towards the Cornucopia.

You're surprised when you make it across without slipping. You have to make the split-second decision between getting a weapon or looking for Wiress first. You glance behind you, and no one seems that adept in the water on your side. Johanna is just now clawing her way out of the waves. You guess there aren’t many reasons to swim in Seven. You make a run for the mouth of the Cornucopia with the sound of cannon fire chasing you and you hope to God that no one sets their sights on Wiress. You glance to your right, and you can blurrily make out Finnick, Katniss, and Mags helping Peeta out of the water.

You skid to a stop, your legs freezing without your actual input.

“Finnick!” You yell, and his head whips up before you fully get his name out. The water weighs his hair down, turning it a darker blond than you’re used to seeing it. You aren’t entirely sure why you called out for him. Maybe it was more for his comfort than yours; he’ll need to know that you weren’t the cause of one of the cannons firing.

“Star!” He grasps his trident tighter, scanning your surroundings for potential threats. When he sees none, his shoulders relax but his trident remains poised in anticipation.

He looks from you to his group and back again. You shake your head to stop him from taking that step forward. It was only three hours ago that you last saw him. And before that, the two of you stayed up talking about nothing until you fell asleep in each other’s arms. Nonetheless, the desire to run to him is strong. You can see him fight that same impulse you do. When the cannon fires again, Finnick leaps into action, nodding at you with an uncertain gleam in his eyes before placing Mags on his back.

You watch them all run for the jungle before getting your weapon. You spot a scythe propped up with spears and tridents and can tell immediately that it was planted for you. You take a second to analyze it distrustfully. A metal handle and a deeply curved blade, undoubtedly for show rather than harvesting. You won’t take it. It’s big and cumbersome, and it’ll slow you down in this kind of terrain. Plus, the strength needed to wield this in an actual fight is beyond you. Someone like Chaff or Brutus would get far more use out of it. Maybe even Finnick, if his trident ever fails him. It’ll just tire you out.

Instead, you opt for the twin sickles hanging next to it. They’re also bigger than any you’ve seen in Eleven. With their thick, smooth wooden handles, the blades are sharper than any you have ever used. Their weight will take some getting used to. When you notice more tributes orienting themselves on the rocks behind you, you decide the time for contemplation is over.

You sprint to your left, eyes scouring the water for a small brunette woman. Wiress is on the other side of the Cornucopia, more floating in the water than swimming.

“Wiress!” You call. She waves her hands as if you can’t see her and you nod, weary of attracting unwanted attention. Luckily, she’s been in the water for so long that the waves have carried her towards the island. It doesn’t take much to pull her out.

“You, you’re hurt?” She speaks in her usually broken speech pattern, gesturing towards you, and you’re quick to look down, thinking you’ve been hurt without knowing it. When you come back with nothing, you look back at her, confused, and she gestures again. You realize it’s a question, not a statement.

She seems tunneled in on whether you’re hurt or not. Drenched with water and frustration, you spin around in front of her. “I’m fine, Wiress, I’m fine, but we have to go.” She’s a lot more amicable now, allowing you to corral her back to where you saw Johanna last. The bodies littered around give you pause. In front of you lies a woman who is half-submerged in the pinkish water. Taking a deep breath, you step over her and drag Wiress with you.

When you get to the mouth of the Cornucopia, you spot your two allies locked in a fight. That is to say, Beetee huddles behind Johanna as she fights, clutching a spool of wire to his chest as if it were the only thing between him and certain death. Johanna and the man from Nine are locked in the most dangerous game of tug of war you’ve ever seen. They both have their hands on an axe and if this were a game of speed, she’d have him on his knees already. But he’s bigger than her, stronger too, and just as unwilling to let it go.

Her teeth are bared in exertion, legs almost buckling under the strain. He has the blade pushed alarmingly close to her neck and you don’t think about it; your body is pushed into action before you’re even aware that you’re moving. Later, you’ll think back on how easy it was. You’ll think about how quickly he stopped being a human being like you and instead became an enemy—a threat. You’ll think about it—about who he used to be before he became a body—and you will come alarmingly close to crying. For now, you kick the man in the back of the knee and he goes down with a grunt. Johanna uses the leverage the new position gives her and snatches the axe out of his hands with a huff.

You lift the sickle in your dominant hand high in the air, putting your full weight behind it as you drive the blade into the top of his head. The collision of metal against bone ricochets up your arms, leaving your muscles vibrating. He falls forward with a heavy thud and you stumble backwards. Your hands feel like they’re vibrating and the adrenaline coursing through you puts a stop to any panic before it can begin.

You move forward and have to place your foot on his back, grunting as you use both hands to yank your weapon back out. He makes a keening sound in the back of his throat—the guttural moans of a dying animal. You’re not used to being the one on this side of the slaughter. He’s still alive, but he won’t be for long. You won’t wait for the cannon to go off.

“Let’s go!” The four of you sprint towards the beach, glancing behind you in case the Careers decide to give chase. There are still plenty of tributes on their platforms, too scared to brave the water. They should hold their attention long enough for your group to get away. Running away as the Careers lay claim to the Cornucopia makes you feel like prey.

“Blight!” Johanna shouts and your head whips around, searching until you find the burly man a few yards away, waving you over. You all run to him and you take another mental stock.

Between the five of you, you have an axe, two sickles, a machete Johanna grabbed, a spool of wire, and two brilliant minds. That should be more than enough for the plan. Johanna hands the machete over to Blight and you and her share a glance before wordlessly booking it into the jungle with your charges. Blight leads and you carry the rear.

You really hope it doesn’t take long to find Finnick.

A/N: ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴ Heyyyy, are you mad at me? I hope you didn't mind that rant in the summary. I felt like Rue's death from this perspective hurt a little more bc you know it's coming, but Star doesn't, and sometimes I get carried away with writing my thoughts. ┐(シ)┌ More Finnick audios in the next chapter to make up for the shortage in this one. Come yell at me!!!

144 notes · View notes

onnahu · 8 days

Text

Why Bruce and Jason can't have a relationship we all want them to have

The thing about relationship between Jason and Bruce is that their upbringings were so different, and they both are so stubborn, they never could've agreed on some things.

Bc let's be real. Bruce went through a traumatic even as a child, and that was terrible. But before, he had two loving parents, and even after, he is a white, rich man. He is the definition of privilage and that's what made him Batman. I assure you, if he was poor, or even in middle class or whatever, he would never become Batman. Not only for a lack of funds.

On the other hand, we have Jason. From comics, even if fandom kinda streches it, his parents did everything they could. Jason for sure loved them, taking from his reaction at Willis's death, and everything about Catherine. We know he loved them, and they loved him. There is no hint for abuse in his early life (beside new-52 but new-52 is dumb), even if classist beliefs make us assume that. They had many problems, not much money, and Catherine was sick, and later an addict. So even in their poor financial status we can assume Jason's childhood was as good as it could be. He never complained about it, at least. Also, I personally headcanoned it earlier, and in the Hill it was pretty much confirmed, that Jason's latino.

That leaves us with two differences between them already, that gives them opposed perspectives on life. Bruce could never understand Jason's life no matter how he tried. Then, we have Catherine's death. It's a similiarity. Traumatic even where they lost their parent/s. But it's also very different. Even in their reactions we can see how they're not the same. Because as Dick's and Bruce's were similiar, Jason was complitely different.

Jason knew he doesn't have time for grief. He did what he had to keep himself alive, and took care for himself, that he in some way did already. He even menaged to do well for himself. We know that he survived on the streets alone for at least few years, and didn't really need Bruce's help for that. Although survival is not the same as life.

The other, propably more important thing: there was noone to blame for Catherine's death. He could blame her dealer, but he didn't really murder her. Dick and Bruce had the person that murdered their parents. They wanted revenge and they worked for it. Jason hadn't had anyone to take revenge on. He had no one to avenge.

Then, Jason got adopted, and could taste Bruce's life in some way. He learned how it is to have money to throw everywhere, and be priviliged for high quality education, food and entertainment. His poin of wiev on it was of course screwed up, but he got to expirienced it. Also saving people. Because saving people is a privilage.

If you struggle to keep yourself alive, you can't keep the others alive, unless you have a martyr complex. We, as animals, are programmed to keep ourselfs going no matter what. We have to be our own priorities, and if you can prioritiez others it's because you no longer need it for yourself.

Anyway, Jason saw how it is to be Bruce. To be a hero. But Bruce bever knew how it is to be Jason. How to be anyone that's not him. He can have empathy, he can try everything, but he could never understand. Some things you can know only if you expirienced. The same way I know I, however I want to, I will never really understand some things.

Also the whole thing with dying. That's important to. Jason knows how it is to die. He knows how it is to kill. Bruce doesn't know either.

Anyway, it's all kinda messy, but the point is - they could never see eye to eye in some matters. They can try, but especially after Jay's ressurection, they can never have a relationship we wants them to have, not in canon, at least.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#batman #dc comics #jason todd #robin #red hood #dc #batfamily #bruce wayne #meta analysis #character meta #character analysis #onnahu's thoughts about Jason

92 notes · View notes

kckt88 · 24 days

Text

Here With Me I

Summary:

After the disaster that was his last relationship, Aemond is convinced that he'll never find love-until he meets his new neighbour.

Warning(s): Slight Angst, Slight Drama, Flirting, Kissing, Aegon Being a Twat, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex - F Recieving, Multiple Orgasms, P in V sex,

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C BILLIE SKYLARK

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 6,000

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As Aemond Targaryen walked towards his apartment building, his mind swirled with the day's lectures and the huge stack of papers waiting to be graded. Lost in his own mind he rounded the corner and nearly collided with someone standing just outside the entrance.

"Oops, sorry about that," Aemond said quickly, catching himself before bumping into the person.

"No worries" came the gentle reply, accompanied by the soft tap-tap of a cane.

Aemond's gaze shifted downward, noticing the guide dog sitting calmly beside the person. "Ah, you must be my new neighbour," he surmised.

"Yes, that's right," she confirmed with a smile. "I'm Wilhelmina Skylark, but my friends call me Billie. And this here-" she gestured to the dog beside her, "-Is Darcie."

"A pleasure to meet you, Billie and Darcie-" Aemond replied warmly. "I'm Aemond Targaryen."

Billie chuckled softly. "Targaryen, huh? That sounds like it's straight out of a history book."

Aemond nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Funny you should say that. I actually teach history over at the university."

"That must be interesting-" Billie remarked. "-I've always been fascinated by history, what came before and how we’ve evolved over time”.

Aemond found himself intrigued. "Well, perhaps I could share some of my expertise sometime" he offered.

Billie's smile widened. "I'd like that."

As they chatted, Aemond couldn't help but notice the grace and resilience with which Billie navigated her world.

“So, Wilhelmina-“

“-Gods I hate my first name” chuckled Billie, as she reached up to adjust the sunglasses on her face.

"Why don't you like your first name?" Aemond asked, curiously.

Billie hesitated for a moment before answering. "It just never felt like me, you know? Wilhelmina sounds so formal. But Billie, well, that feels more like my style”.

Aemond nodded understandingly. "I see what you mean. But I must say, both names suit you perfectly."

Billie laughed softly. "You're too kind, Aemond."

"So, Billie," Aemond began, curiosity lacing his words, "What do you do for a living?"

Billie chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in her tone. "Well, prepare yourself for something a bit unexpected. I'm a perfume designer."

"A perfume designer?" Aemond echoed, surprise evident in his voice. "That's fascinating! How did you get into that?"

Billie's smile was radiant. "It's a bit of a long story, but let's just say I've always had a keen sense of smell. Even though I can't see the world around me, I've always found beauty in the scents that surround us."

Aemond listened intently, intrigued by Billie's unique perspective on the world. "That's truly remarkable. I imagine your work must be quite intricate, crafting fragrances that evoke certain emotions or memories."

Billie nodded; her expression thoughtful. "Exactly. Perfume has a way of capturing moments in time, transporting people to different places. It's a form of art that I'm deeply passionate about."

Aemond couldn't help but be drawn in by Billie's passion and creativity. "It sounds like you have an incredible talent," he remarked, admiration colouring his words.

Billie's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "Thank you, Aemond. It's not often that people understand what I do, let alone appreciate it."

"Well, count me among those who do," Aemond replied sincerely. "I'd love to hear more about your work sometime, if you're willing to share."

Billie's smile widened, her excitement palpable. "I'd like that very much."

"Would you like me to escort you to your apartment?" Aemond asked, his voice gentle and genuine.

Billie chuckled softly; her smile evident even in her voice. "Thank you, Aemond, but I can manage just fine. Darcie here knows the way”.

Aemond felt a pang of embarrassment at his presumption, quickly realizing his misstep. "I'm sorry, Billie, I didn't mean to imply that you needed help. It's just-a habit, I suppose."

Billie's laughter was warm and understanding. "No need to apologize, Aemond. I appreciate the offer, truly."

Relief washed over Aemond as he realized Billie harboured no ill feelings towards him. "Thank you for being so gracious about it," he said sincerely.

"It's nothing," Billie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Besides, it's nice to know there are still gentlemen like you around."

Aemond couldn't help but smile at the compliment. "Well, if you ever do need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Billie's smile widened. "I'll keep that in mind, good day Aemond."

"Good day, Billie," Aemond echoed, watching as she and Darcie made their way towards the elevator. As he turned to head to his own apartment, he couldn't shake the feeling of warmth that lingered from their encounter.

In the days that followed their initial encounter, Aemond and Billie found themselves gravitating towards each other more and more. What started as casual conversations in the hallway soon blossomed into deep, meaningful discussions over cups of coffee and leisurely walks through the neighbourhood.

As their friendship grew, Aemond couldn't help but be captivated by Billie's resilience and zest for life. Despite the challenges she faced as a blind woman, she approached each day with unwavering optimism and grace, inspiring Aemond in ways he never thought possible.

One evening, as they sat in Aemond's living room, savouring the warmth of a crackling fire, Aemond's aging Maine Coone cat, Vhagar, made her entrance. Known for her disdain for most people, Vhagar typically kept her distance from strangers.

To Aemond's surprise, Vhagar didn't shy away from Billie. Instead, she sauntered over to her, nuzzling against her leg with a contented purr.

"Well, I'll be damned," Aemond muttered in disbelief. "Vhagar doesn't usually take to people like this."

Billie laughed softly, her fingers gently stroking the cat's fur. "Maybe she senses a kindred spirit in me."

Aemond couldn't argue with that logic. It seemed that Billie had a way of melting even the iciest of hearts.

As the days turned into weeks, Aemond and Billie discovered that they had more in common than they initially realized. From their shared love of literature and movies to their mutual fascination with history.

Before long, Aemond found himself confiding in Billie in ways he never thought possible, sharing his hopes, dreams, and fears without reservation. In turn, Billie opened up to him, offering glimpses into her world that few were privileged to see.

One quiet evening, as they sat together in Aemond's living room, the topic of conversation took a more sombre turn. Aemond had always been curious about Billie's blindness, but he had hesitated to broach the subject, fearing that he might unintentionally cause her pain.

"Billie," Aemond began tentatively, his voice soft, "if you don't mind me asking, how did you- become blind?"

Billie's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in her eyes. "I was born blind" she replied gently. "I've never known what it's like to see."

Aemond felt a pang of guilt wash over him at his presumptuous question. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he apologized earnestly.

Billie reached out and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "It's alright, Aemond. I understand your curiosity. It's only natural."

Embarrassment coloured Aemond's cheeks as he struggled to find the right words. "Thank you for being so understanding," he murmured.

Billie offered him a reassuring smile before the silence between them grew comfortable once more. Sensing an opportunity for honesty, Aemond decided to share a part of himself with Billie that he had kept hidden for so long.

"You know, Billie," Aemond began slowly, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "I'm not without my own- affliction."

Billie's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, Aemond?"

Taking a deep breath, Aemond recounted the painful memory that had haunted him since childhood. "When I was just a boy, my nephew and I got into a fight," he explained, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. "It was foolish, really. But in the heat of the moment, he-he struck me, and I lost my left eye as a result."

Billie's eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief. "Oh, Aemond, I had no idea-"

Aemond shook his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. "It's not something I often talk about. But I feel like I can tell you anything”.

“I’ll always listen” replied Billie softly.

"Billie," Aemond began hesitantly, his voice tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and regret, "There's something else I need to tell you about-someone from my past."

Billie listened intently, her expression soft and compassionate.

"Alys Rivers," Aemond continued, the name heavy on his tongue. "She was-she was my first love".

Billie's brow furrowed in curiosity. "It’s ok take your time-"

Aemond took a deep breath, steeling himself for the memories that threatened to engulf him. "Alys was much older than me," he explained. "She had a way about her, a confidence that drew me in. She made me feel special, like I was more than just the broken reflection I saw in the mirror."

Billie reached out and squeezed his hand in silent support, urging him to continue.

"I hated my reflection for years," Aemond admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "The scar, the missing eye-they were constant reminders of the boy I used to be, before everything changed."

"But Alys," he continued, a hint of longing in his voice, she made me forget all of that, if only for a little while. I lost my virginity to her, and for a time, I thought I loved her."

"But-" he continued, his voice strained with emotion, "-Alys eventually showed her true colours. She-she kept cheating on me and she would say things-hurtful things."

Billie's eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief.

"What did she say?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond closed his eye, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "She called me ugly," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "She said I was worthless, that no one would ever love me with a face like mine."

Billie's heart clenched at the cruelty of Alys's words, the pain in Aemond's voice palpable.

"Oh, Aemond," she murmured, her voice thick with sympathy, "I can't imagine how much that must have hurt."

Aemond shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "It did," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "For years, I believed her. I let her words define me, shape me into someone I wasn't."

"But not anymore," Billie interjected firmly, her gaze unwavering. "You're not defined by your scars, Aemond. You're so much more than that”.

“Billie-“ whispered Aemond.

"Aemond," she began softly, her voice tinged with sadness, "Navigating a life without sight-it hasn't been easy."

Aemond listened intently, his gaze fixed on Billie as she spoke.

"But-" she continued, a note of determination creeping into her voice, "through touch, I've learned to experience so many things. The texture of a book's pages, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the gentle caress of a breeze."

Aemond felt a lump form in his throat as he realized the depth of Billie's resilience, the quiet strength that had carried her through the darkest of days.

"Billie," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "You're truly remarkable."

Billie smiled softly, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Aemond. But there's something I want to ask you-"

Aemond cocked his head in curiosity, inviting her to continue.

"May I-may I touch you, Aemond?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Aemond's heart swelled with tenderness at Billie's request, the depth of her trust in him echoing in the space between them.

"Of course, Billie," he replied, his voice filled with warmth.

Billie reached forward, her fingertips delicately tracing the contours of his face, Aemond closed his eye, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity coursing through him. He felt her hands cupping his cheeks gently, her touch both tentative and assured as she explored his features with a gentle reverence.

With practiced precision, Billie's fingers moved over the sharp lines of his jaw, the smooth curve of his lips, and the slight indentation of his scar.

She felt the slight pressure of the eyepatch he wore, and a curious thought crossed her mind.

"Aemond," she whispered softly, her voice barely above a breath, "May I-may I take this off?"

Aemond hesitated for a moment before nodding silently, his heart racing with anticipation.

Then, with a careful motion, she reached up and removed the eyepatch that concealed his missing eye, her touch feather light as she grazed the skin around the scar.

Aemond's breath caught in his throat at her touch, a surge of vulnerability washing over him.

"You're so beautiful" Billie declared softly as her fingers threaded through his long silver hair.

Aemond took a deep breath as he felt a tear escape his eye.

"Billie," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "Can I kiss you?"

Billie's breath caught in her throat at Aemond's request, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.

"Yes," she whispered softly, her voice barely audible in the hushed silence of the room.

With a tender reverence, Aemond leaned forward, closing the distance between them with aching slowness. Their lips met in a gentle caress, a soft sigh escaping them both as they melted into each other's embrace.

"Billie," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of shyness, "There's something I've been wanting to ask you-"

Billie's gaze softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips as she waited patiently for Aemond to continue.

"Would you like to be my girlfriend?" Aemond blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips in a rush of emotion.

Billie's eyes widened in surprise, her heart skipping a beat at Aemond's unexpected confession.

"Yes," she replied softly, her voice filled with warmth and affection. "I would love to be your girlfriend."

A wave of relief washed over Aemond as he heard Billie's answer, a radiant smile spreading across his face as he reached out to take her hand in his.

"Are you sure they'll like me?" Billie whispered; her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Aemond squeezed her hand reassuringly, a small smile playing at his lips. "They'll love you; I promise."

As they stepped into the grand foyer of the Targaryen estate, Aemond's family gathered to greet them—a warm, welcoming sight that eased the tension in his shoulders.

"Mother, brothers, sister, grandfather," Aemond greeted them each in turn, his voice tinged with pride.

Alicent Hightower, regal and elegant as ever, enveloped Aemond in a tight embrace, her eyes shining with motherly pride. "Aemond, dear, it's so good to see you. And who is this lovely young lady you've brought with you?"

"This is Billie," Aemond introduced, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. "My-girlfriend."

Aegon, couldn't resist a sly comment. "Well, well, it's about time, brother. I was beginning to think you'd never find a girlfriend."

Aemond flushed slightly at his brother's teasing, but Billie merely smiled graciously, unfazed by Aegon's jest.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Billie," said Daeron kindly.

Helaena nodded in agreement. "Yes, welcome to the family."

"Aemond has spoken highly of you, my dear. It's a pleasure to finally meet you” said Otto.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir” replied Billie softly.

“What’s the stick for?” asked Aegon.

“It helps me to navigate unfamiliar places-I’m blind” replied Billie.

"Blind?" Aegon remarked with a smirk, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Well, Aemond, looks like you finally found the perfect girl—no need to worry about her being put off by that nasty scar of yours, eh?"

Aemond's heart sank at his brother's callous remark, his eye widening in shock as he felt the blood drain from his face. Beside him, Billie stiffened, her jaw clenched in anger.

Before Aemond could even muster a response, Billie's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife.

"How dare you," spat Billie, her eyes flashing with fury. Aegon's smirk faltered, taken aback by Billie's sudden outburst.

"I will not stand here and listen to you belittle him," Billie continued, her voice trembling with righteous indignation. "Aemond is one of the most courageous, kind-hearted individuals I've ever met-“

“-Aemond-courageous?” quipped Aegon sarcastically.

With a swift, decisive motion, Billie's hand lashed out, the sound of her palm meeting Aegon's cheek echoing in the stunned silence of the room.

Aegon stumbled backward, his hand flying to his reddened cheek in disbelief.

Aegon stood there, stunned, as he gingerly touched his reddened cheek, disbelief etched on his face. "I-I can't believe you actually managed to land a slap on me," he stammered, his voice tinged with both surprise and begrudging respect.

Billie stood tall; her chin held high, unapologetic for her actions. "Just because I can't see doesn't mean I'm defenceless," she replied coolly. "Besides, your repulsive odour is enough for me to know exactly where you are."

Aegon's eyebrows shot up in offense, his pride wounded by Billie's blunt assessment. "Hey now, I'll have you know that I always smell just fine," he retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

Billie couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Oh, please," she scoffed. "I could smell your rank arse from across the room."

Aegon's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, his retort dying on his lips as he struggled to come up with a response.

Billie, however, wasn't finished. "And let's not forget the woman you were obviously with earlier," she continued, her tone cutting. "Surely you could have taken a shower before coming here."

Aemond couldn't hold back his laughter at Billie's boldness, the sound echoing in the room like a peal of thunder.

Aegon's expression darkened, his pride wounded by Billie's blunt honesty. "Well, I never," he muttered, his voice tinged with indignation.

But Billie merely shrugged, unapologetic for her words. "Just speaking the truth," she replied simply, her voice filled with a quiet confidence.

“So, what does Billie do for a living?” asked Alicent.

"Billie designs her own perfumes. She has an incredible sense of smell and a talent for creating unique fragrances."

Alicent's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Is that so?" she exclaimed, turning her attention to Billie. "Tell me, my dear, what perfumes have you released so far?"

Billie smiled warmly; her enthusiasm evident as she spoke. "Well, there's Lavender Luxe," she began, her voice soft and melodic. "It's more of a body mist, but it's infused with lavender essential oil, which helps people relax and unwind after a long day."

Alicent nodded in approval, impressed by Billie's ingenuity. "That sounds lovely," she remarked.

Billie's smile widened as she continued. "And then there's Radiant Rose," she added. "It's a delicate blend of rose petals and citrus, reminiscent of a spring day when the roses are in bloom."

Alicent's eyes sparkled with recognition. "That's the perfume I use," she exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face. "It's simply divine."

Billie's cheeks flushed with pleasure at Alicent's compliment, her heart swelling with pride. "Thank you," she replied graciously, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

"Do you have any more perfume ideas on the horizon, my dear?" she inquired, her voice filled with genuine interest.

Billie's smile widened, a glint of excitement dancing in her eyes. "Actually, I do," she replied, her voice tinged with enthusiasm. "I've been working on a new fragrance—one that's very special to me."

“That sounds interesting-“ said Helaena brightly.

"It’s in honour of Aemond," replied Billie, her voice soft but resolute, "I've been designing a perfume that captures the essence of his spirit."

A hush fell over the room as Billie's words sank in, the weight of her revelation hanging heavy in the air.

Aemond's heart swelled with emotion as he processed what Billie had just said. Her gesture filled him with a sense of awe and gratitude.

"You're designing a perfume in honour of me?" Aemond stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, Aemond," she replied, her voice filled with conviction. "Because you inspire me, in ways that words can't even begin to describe."

Aemond's heart overflowed with emotion at Billie's words, his eye misting over with tears of gratitude.

"At least Billie has her own money then, not like some of the usual trollops that hover around us" Aegon quipped, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Aemond's jaw clenched with barely concealed anger, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled to contain his rising fury.

"How dare you," spat Billie, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "You have no right to make such assumptions about me."

Aegon scoffed dismissively, his arrogance palpable. "Oh, please," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Isn't that all anyone ever wants Aemond for? His name, his money-"

Billie's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. "That's not why I'm interested in Aemond," she shot back, her voice laced with steel. "I couldn't care less about his wealth or his status. I love him for who he is, scars and all."

Aegon's smirk faltered, taken aback by Billie's fierce defence of Aemond.

But before he could respond, Billie turned on her heel, her eyes blazing with fury as she stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing in the tense silence that followed.

But then Aegon's laughter echoed through the room as Billie's departure was punctuated by the sound of a crashing vase, her inadvertent mishap drawing unwanted attention.

"Great one you've brought home there, brother," Aegon quipped, his voice laced with mockery. "Does she need you to hold her hand as she crosses the street?"

With a roar of anger, Aemond launched himself at Aegon, his fist connecting with his brothers face.

The room erupted into chaos as Aemond and Aegon grappled with each other, their shouts and curses filling the air.

"I fucking hate you" Aemond declared, his voice thick with emotion, each word laced with venom, as he punched Aegon in the nose.

"Why?" demanded Aegon, his voice tinged with both confusion and defiance. "Because I speak the truth? Because I refuse to coddle you like everyone else?"

“That’s enough-“ screeched Alicent.

Aemond shook his head, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to contain the torrent of emotions raging within him.

"No," he replied hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because you always have to cause trouble. You always have to ruin everything"

The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the rift that had always existed between them—a divide born of jealousy, resentment, and betrayal.

With a heavy heart, Aemond pushed Aegon away from him and stormed out of the room, ignoring his mothers concerned calls or the sound of his grandfather berating Aegon for his rude behaviour.

Aemond's steps quickened as he approached his car, his heart heavy with worry for Billie, who stood by his car, her shoulders slumped.

But as he drew closer, he saw her quickly wipe away a tear, a futile attempt to conceal her distress. His heart broke at the sight, the pain in her eyes mirrored his own.

"Billie," he called softly, his voice filled with concern.

"Aemond-" she murmured, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the words.

Before she could say anything else, Aemond closed the distance between them in a few swift strides, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for my brother's cruelty”

Billie leaned into his embrace, her tears flowing freely now as she buried her face in his chest, seeking solace in his warmth.

"It's not your fault," she murmured, her voice muffled against his shirt. "You don't have to apologize for him."

But Aemond shook his head, his grip on her tightening. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Billie," he vowed, his voice fierce with determination. "Not now, not ever."

With Billie still held close in his arms, Aemond gently pulled back, his hands framing her face as he looked deeply into her eyes, his own shimmering with emotion.

"Billie," he began, his voice soft but filled with conviction, "You are the most amazing person I have ever met."

Billie's breath caught in her throat at his words, her heart swelling with a mixture of surprise and tenderness.

"So smart, so fierce and determined," Aemond continued, his voice tinged with awe. "You've faced challenges that would break most people, and yet you've emerged stronger than ever."

Billie's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she listened to Aemond's heartfelt words, his love washing over her like a warm embrace.

"I love you," Aemond whispered, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a depth of feeling that resonated deep within her soul.

Tears spilled down Billie's cheeks as she threw her arms around Aemond once more, holding him tightly as if afraid to let go.

"I love you too," she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion. "More than you'll ever know."

"Shall we go home?”

“Yes” nodded Billie.

“You can drive-“ replied Aemond.

Billie's eyes widened in surprise at Aemond's unexpected suggestion, but then a smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she realized the absurdity of his joke.

"-Aemond, you know I can't drive," replied Bille with a chuckle.

Aemond joined in her laughter, the tension of the earlier encounter melting away in the warmth of their shared amusement.

"You caught me," admitted Aemond with a grin.

Billie nodded, her laughter subsiding into a soft smile as she gazed up at him with affection. "Thank you for trying to lighten the mood," she said, her gratitude evident in her eyes.

Aemond squeezed her hand gently, his heart swelling with love for the woman beside him. "Anything for you, my dear," he replied, his voice filled with warmth.

"Would you like to stay over, Aemond?" Billie asked softly, her voice filled with warmth and invitation.

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at her words, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of longing and affection. "Yes, I'd like that," he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Inside the cozy confines of Billie's flat, they kicked off their shoes and settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room as Aemond scrolled through the selection of films.

He decided on one of Billie’s favourite films-Jaws.

“I like the music-it’s builds up the tension” said Billie as she snuggled closer to Aemond.

“Me too-“ replied Aemond as he reached for his phone and ordered a pizza.

“Not a fan of the sequels though” whispered Billie as she listened to the dialogue of the film.

“I guess number two wasn’t that bad-but the rest were total shit”.

“There is another shark film I like-Deep Blue Sea” said Billie thoughtfully.

“-Is that the one where they do experiments on the sharks, and they get smarter or something?” asked Aemond curiously.

“Yes, it’s really good. I also like Lake Placid as well” admitted Billie.

“You know I’m starting to see a pattern here-you certainly like your creature feature movies”.

“Yes, I do-I also like disaster movies as well, one of my all-time favourites is the 1970’s Poseidon Adventure-“ said Billie smiling.

“Is the one with the guy who played Grandpa Joe in Willy Wonka?” asked Aemond.

“Yes, it is-another favourite film of mine, I know all the songs word for word”.

“You know I always thought he was a bit of a shifty character-spends most of his life in bed having whoever it was running around after him and then his grandson finds the golden ticket and miraculously, he can walk-“ mused Aemond tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“I mean you do have a point”.

“-And what about that woman in that Tom Hanks film-Forest Gump, she was the true villain of that piece. Only wanted to get involved with him once he had money, then she bogged off and had child-and only introduced him to the child because she was dying-who’s to say the kid was even his-telling you she was an evil master mind” said Aemond.

“How have we gone from Jaws to Forest Gump?” laughed Billie.

“I haven’t got a clue-“ exclaimed Aemond.

“Ooh that will be the pizza-“ said Billie as the doorbell rang.

“Thank god-I’m starving” muttered Aemond as he jumped up from the sofa.

Billie sighed in contentment as she listened to Aemond open the door and cheerfully accept the pizza.

“Thank you-have a nice night” said Aemond as he shut the door. The smell of pepperoni wafting through the apartment.

“Someone seems happy-“ exclaimed Billie.

“Why wouldn’t I be-I’ve got my girl next to me and pepperoni pizza. What more could I ask for?”

“Cheesy chips?” quipped Billie.

“Ooo yes those too-” cheered Aemond as he ripped open a styrofoam box.

“Garlic sauce-“ mused Billie.

“Of course,” replied Aemond as he dipped his finger in the sauce and swiped his finger across Billie’s cheek.

“Hey-“ exclaimed Billie.

“My bad-let me get that for you” said Aemond as he leaned forward and ran his tongue over Billie’s cheek.

“Aemond-“ squeaked Billie.

“Hmmm-delicious” growled Aemond.

Billie giggled as she picked up a slice of pizza and picked off the pepperoni slices before offering them to Darcie.

“I thought you liked pepperoni?”

“I do-but so does Darcie” replied Billie as she took a handful of chips.

After they had finished eating and cleaned away the rubbish, Aemond and Billie settled back down to watch another movie-but part way through Billie had other ideas and she began pressing gentle kisses to Aemond’s neck.

“Hmmm- that feels nice” growled Aemond as he reached over and pulled Billie into his lap.

“I love you so much-“ whispered Aemond.

“-I love you too” replied Billie.

“I want to make love to you” whispered Aemond.

“I-I’ve never done it before” muttered Billie shyly as she pressed her face into Aemond’s chest.

“Oh-“

“I was waiting until I found someone special-” said Billie.

“T-That’s fine-we don’t need to do this-” replied Aemond stroking her hair softly.

“Aemond -your that special someone. I want you to be my first” whispered Billie.

“Only if you’re sure, I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything” said Aemond firmly.

“I’m sure Aemond. I want this-I want you” exclaimed Billie as she took his hand and led him to her bedroom.

Despite his experience, Aemond had never so nervous in his entire life, his hands shook as he slowly undressed himself.

Billie gently tugged off the p.js she was wearing and Aemond could feel his mouth watering at the sight of her delectable body.

“I-I don’t know what to do” muttered Billie her cheeks tinged pink.

“It’s ok-I’ll take care of you” replied Aemond as he directed Billie to sit on the end if the bed.

“I trust you” replied Billie quietly.

Aemond smiled as he knelt on the floor, lowering his head between Billie’s legs.

“I’m going to kiss you down there-is that ok?”

“Y-Yes” stammered Billie.

“Hmmm”

“Aemond-“ shrieked Billie her eyes rolling into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

Billie bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Let me hear you”.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” begged Billie

Aemond slowly pressed two fingers inside Billie, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake, his tongue moving against her folds, his lips wrapping around her pearl.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.

Billie arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Billie’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

“Calm yourself my little bird” murmured Aemond.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Billie moving her hands over her face in embarrassment.

“Was that your first peak?” asked Aemond as he gently pulled away her hands and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

Bille blushed and nodded quickly, jumping when she felt Aemond’s cock against her.

Aemond then began to place a series of kisses along Billie’s neck, his hand gently cupping her breast before he sucked the rosy bud into his mouth, his tongue rolling around the stiffened peak.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow” whispered Aemond as he reached down and took hold of his hard cock rubbing it along Billie’s warm wet folds.

“Ok-I’m ready”

“I-don’t have a condom” whispered Aemond.

“I-I-want to feel you. If that’s ok?”

“Yes-I want to feel you too“ whispered Aemond.

“So beautiful-my Aemond” whispered Billie as she ran her hands over Aemond’s face and placed a kiss upon his scar.

“A-Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Aemond, his cock sliding through Billie’s folds.

“Y-Yes. Please. Aemond Make love to me” replied Billie softly as she opens her legs wider.

“Ok. Take a deep breath-” said Aemond as he slowly pushes the blunt head of his cock inside.

Just the tip felt okay but then he was pushing further inside, and it stung, Billie clenched her eyes shut as his cock fully slid into her, his hips coming to rest against hers.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“It hurts,” cried Billie a tear slipping down her cheek.

“Do you want me to stop-I can pull out” whispered Aemond his voice laced with concern.

“N-No g-give me a moment” whimpered Billie.

Aemond stops, holding himself still, his hard cock throbbing inside her.

After a few minutes, Aemond begins to press gentle kisses all over Billies face and neck, making her sigh.

“I-I think you can move now” whispered Bille gently moves her hips.

Aemond exhales shakily, pulling out halfway only to thrust right back in.

“You’re taking me so well little bird,” whispers Aemond soothingly, thrusting again, harder this time.

Gradually he gets into a rhythm, his movements slow but powerful.

Billie brings her hands up to his shoulders, clinging to him as his thrusts shift her up and down the bed.

Aemond made a strangled sort of sound and lowered himself onto Billie even more, kissing her passionately.

His cock is still thrusting in and out. Billie kisses him back, threading her fingers through his long silky hair.

Aemond breaks the kiss, breathing heavily.

Billie can feel herself clenching around him as his cock keeps hitting the same spot inside her.

“Ooo Aemond-f-faster. P-please”

Aemond groans as he begins to move faster pounding into her, their skin slapping together.

“Aemond -my Aemond”

“You’re so fucking perfect little bird, mine all mine” growls Aemond.

“Y-Yes, yours all yours” moans Billie squirming as her pleasure peaks and she explodes.

Aemond lets out a long low groan, his hips bucking wildly. His cock twitching as he spills his seed inside her.

Aemond’s hips finally stagger and stop. His face buried in the crook of her neck.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond, his hot breath tickling her skin.

“I’m fine-I’m glad I waited for you” whispered Billie smiling breathlessly.

Aemond's heart raced with anticipation as he carefully examined the assortment of engagement rings on display in the jeweller’s shop. Each one sparkled and shimmered under the soft glow of the overhead lights.

After much deliberation, he finally settled on a simple yet elegant diamond ring, its brilliance reflecting the depth of his feelings for her—a symbol of their love and commitment.

With the ring safely tucked away in his pocket, Aemond made his way back to his apartment, his heart light with excitement at the thought of proposing to Billie, they had been together almost a year now and Aemond couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her, shortly after their first time being intimate with one another, Aemond had asked Billie to move in with him and she readily agreed, which pleased him no end as he spent countless nights between Billie's thighs and taking her on every available surface in the apartment.

Obviously Vhagar took some time adjusting to spending everyday with Darcie, but she begrudgingly accepted it-with bribery from Billie that consisted of endless cat treats.

Aemond felt like the luckiest man on earth, and he couldn’t stop smiling as he reached the apartment he now shared with Billie.

But as he entered the apartment, his excitement turned to confusion as he found Billie standing in the living room, her expression tense and troubled. And then, to his shock, he noticed Alys standing beside her, her hand resting protectively on her swollen belly.

TBC -

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut

83 notes · View notes

lick-me-lennon22 · 6 days

Text

How you comfort them when they're upset

(hello!! apologies to anon, as i know this is a little late :( I hope you all enjoy regardless and please remember to take care of yourselves ✨️)

John

John tends to internalize his emotions, putting on a brave face even when he's struggling inside

he'll withdraw into himself and become rather cold and distant

he's often weighed down by his own expectations of himself, as well as his unprocessed grief and regret

you recognize his need for space, but understand the importance of gentle reassurance and are always there to lend a shoulder to cry on

John sat on the edge of your shared bed, his head hung in his hands. His mind was filled with memories of the past and words left unsaid. Tears welled up in his eyes as he wrestled with feelings of isolation and regret, mentally beating himself up over things he'd said or done- things he knew he couldn't change but nonetheless couldn't let go.

You had noticed John's uncharacteristically withdrawn behavior and already sensed something wasn't right, quietly entering the room to check on him. Drawn by the heaviness in John's demeanor, you approached and sat beside him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a wordless gesture of support.

Your presence alone was enough to comfort him, but though you didn't need to say anything, you felt compelled to nonetheless. You gently coaxed him out of his shell with soft words and comforting touches, reassuring him that it's okay to be vulnerable

"I'm here for you, John." you whispered, and that alone was enough for the dam to break as tears began to roll down his cheeks. In the silence of the room, you held him close for as long as he needed, allowing him to release his pent-up emotions in the safety of your embrace.

Paul

Paul wears his heart on his sleeve, becoming visibly and obviously emotional when upset

interpersonal conflicts and creative challenges tend to get the better of him, and he often feels misunderstood by others

he is rather sensitive to criticism and often takes negative feedback to heart, especially when it comes to his work

you offer him a warm embrace and someone to lean on, showering him with praise and reminding him of his incredible talents

Paul sat at his piano surrounded by crumpled scraps of paper, staring out the window and lost deep in thought. He felt completely and utterly stuck, overwhelmed by his cluttered mind and unable to find inspiration for his next song. Frustration bubbled him inside of him, and tears of frustration pricked at the corners of his green doe eyes.

Noticing his extended absence, you entered the room and called out for his attention. "Paulie? Are you alright in here?" Met with the sight of Paul sat at his piano, surrounded by paper scraps, eyes watery and lip quivering, you immediately realized what was happening in his mind.

You walked over and sat beside him, gently placing your hands atop his. You guided them to the keys, starting with a soft and simple tune and encouraging him to follow your lead.

As you played around with notes and tunes, the weight of Paul's perfectionism lifted and he found reprieve from his oppressive thoughts, finally beginning to relax. The freedom and joy you brought to his work renewed his creative spark and the two of you spent hours creating beautiful melodies, playing for a perfect audience of two.

George

George becomes even more quiet and contemplative when upset, retreating into his own thoughts and emotions and becoming withdrawn

he carries with him a lingering sense of existential crisis and often struggles with feeling disconnected from his purpose

you're always there to offer words of wisdom and a new perspective just as he does for you, helping him find peace and reconnect with what matters most to him

George sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, photographs and mementos from his past scattered around him. As strong as he is, he had been holding onto these feelings for too long, avoiding the painful process of reflection. Each image brought back a flood of bittersweet memories, and tears stained his cheeks as he mourned the passage of time. He began to ponder further, sending himself spiraling and becoming overwhelmed by the swirling thoughts occupying his mind.

Looking up from your place on the bed, you could instantly tell something was amiss. You slowly stood and walked over to George, taking a seat beside him on the floor and wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders. After a few moments of peaceful silence, you pointed to one of the more joyful photographs.

"Why don't you tell me the story behind this one?" you suggested, and George obliged. Throughout the evening, you and George remained huddled together on the floor as he detailed every precious memory captured in the keepsakes and photos.

When it was finally time to wind down for bed, George found himself feeling noticeably lighter, and endlessly grateful to have you in his life.

Ringo

Ringo's optimistic outlook can become bogged down by self-doubt, feeling inadequate in his talents or insecure about his place in the world

he masks his emotions with humor, cracking jokes even when he's feeling down and deflecting his sadness with laughter

despite his best efforts, you see through his facade and know just when he's in need of a little extra praise

through your unwavering support, you always help to lift his spirits and restore his confidence

Ringo sat alone in his dressing room, trembling with nerves before a big performance. He felt overwhelmed by the pressures of fame and the constant scrutiny of the public eye. The pressure of the spotlight felt suffocating and doubt crept into his mind, tears threatening to spill over as he fought to control his anxiety. He found himself feeling utterly terrified and frozen in place, longing only for a moment of peace and understanding.

Sensing his distress, you knocked softly on the door before entering with a sympathetic smile on your face. You walked over and knelt beside him, helping him lace up his boots. He watched you intently, admiring your thoughtfulness and focusing on your precise movements to distract his racing mind.

When you'd finished the job, you placed a gentle hand on his clothed thigh and gave a supportive squeeze. "You've got this, Ritchie. Knock 'em dead," you reassured, following up with a kiss on the cheek.

With your encouragement, Ringo took a deep breath and found the strength to leave the dressing room with his head held high, ready to give it his all.

58 notes · View notes

jinkicake · 1 year

Note

Flowers for you because you deserve 🤗

I wanna ask if you've already made a forced marriage with Deinslief?

I love reading your works ❤️

Forced / Arranged Marriage Trope

(pt. ??) Dainsleif x Reader

A/N: Hi, Anon!!!! You're too sweet </3333 Thank you for the flowers, they're so pretty TTTT I haven't written one of these for him yet but, I wrote it for you!!! I'm sorry that this took a while, I've been writing but never have the time to post!!! I love Dain so I hope you enjoy this!!!!

WC - 988

~~~

“Knight captain of the Royal Gaurd, Dainsleif.”

The announcement of your betrothal looks as if it means nothing to you. Dainsleif can read the judgment in your expression, he can see how displeased you are as you run your pretty eyes up and down his kneeled frame.

Oh, you have no idea what you do to him.

It seems that you have nothing else to say to him, to the one which you are going to be married to, or anyone else as you turn and head back for your room.

Before you leave out the door, you take a step back and gently spin on the tips of your toes to face the remaining audience in the room.

“He is who I am supposed to be married to? A knight?” You do not hide the judgment in your voice as you speak with a squeak.

“Part of the Royal Gaurd, your majesty,” One of your handmaidens answers and it does not satisfy you in the least. Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline as you manage to give her a tight-lipped smile.

You await their bows and curtsy before stepping out of the room, no doubt heading for your place of solitude. No matter how much you despise this alliance and wish to push the knight off, he knows you better than you think. Dainsleif knows why you push eligible bachelors away, one after another until the last they could pick from was him.

You value your independence more than anything else.

It’s also why he knows to find you at one of the more reserved fountains hidden away in the court’s garden. You’re all alone as you prefer to be, looking pitiful as ever while staring at your reflection in the rippling waves of the water.

The sounds of Dainsleif’s light steps gather your attention, a quick turn of your head but, you’re quickly back to running your gloved fingers against the surface of the water.

“I did not wish to insult you,” You quietly murmur and the knight takes it as the only apology he is going to receive from you tonight. He cherishes it.

“I understand,” Dainsleif stands beside you, his back toward you as he looks on at the hidden bushes of the garden. The shrubs are so tall that he can’t imagine anyone finding you here for hours, it’s clear why you prefer the spot so much.

“I do not have the desire to be a wife.” You confess and finally, allow your hand to scoop up some of the water. The substance completely drenches the material covering your palm but, it’s a sensation that does not bother you. You relish in the feeling of your hand in the water, it’s freeing and calm, you can choose to move however you wish. Dainsleif grants you silence as a sign to continue. “I am not devoted, not submissive in the least. I worry more about the country than I’ll ever worry for my future husband.”

Dainsleif’s jaw clicks with that as he quietly sighs, would you not care for your husband even if he were the one fighting for the country?

“That does not matter to me,” He replies and softly lets his eyes flutter shut. “I will let you keep the freedom that you desire.” At the lack of response, the knight opens his eyes and turns to face you. You’re staring at him, chin on your knees as you try to understand his perspective. He can tell you don’t understand an ounce of his harbored affections, one that has been buried for many years. The pout on your face signifies this, you look lost as you stare at the stars in his eyes.

Slowly, Dainsleif lowers himself onto one knee (fitting of a knight) and gently pulls your hand into his own. He takes his time with removing your glove and keeps his eyes trained on your face to see if your expression changes.

“I promise you will get everything you want, your highness,” He seals the promise with a kiss on the back of your hand, a gentle peck that makes you gasp. The sound is followed by a bodily reaction as you stiffen all over and immediately try to pull away.

“Why?” You ask and the quickened rise and fall of your chest does not go unnoticed by the knight. He keeps his trained eyes away from the sight. “Why do you wish to marry me?”

“Your happiness is always something I have cherished, if you trust no other man to make you happy then you must allow me.”

“Accept me.”

The expansion of your pupils tells the knight everything he needs to know, followed by the shallow intake of your breath. He forces himself to withstand his feelings of desire and tries to think of anything else than sealing the plead with a proper kiss.

You blink at his words, parting your lips to speak but no words come out. As you look down at him and run your eyes over him one more time, you begin to nod.

“Alright, only because you have properly protected me for so long.” You announce before bringing your hand to gently cup his cheek. Dainsleif has known you since he got the position assigned to you, over five years ago before either of you broke the yolk of adolescence. “And, because I know you will be a good husband.”

The softness swimming in your eyes nearly makes the knight’s heart stop. His breath hitches in his chest as he tries to mask the effect you have on him. The task is entirely hard to do now since you’re finally reciprocating his feelings.

Dainsleif will personally see to your utmost safety until the day he no longer roams this earth.

((Perhaps that vow is why his lasting immortality stings that much harder since he ends up living much, much longer than you do.))

#dainsleif x reader #dainsleif x y/n #dainsleif x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n

383 notes · View notes

risquefanfics457 · 5 months

Note

Could you maybe do a stardust crusaders imagine but with a reader who starts having a sensory meltdown? i'm neurodivergent, and I sometimes get those overloads?

i put a link to what a sensory overload is. you dont have to answer, but i enjoy your wrting

https://www.health.qld.gov.au/newsroom/features/sensory-overload-is-real-and-can-affect-any-combination-of-the-bodys-five-senses-learn-ways-to-deal-with-it#:~:text=Sensory%20overload%20is%20when%20your,%2C%20flight%2C%20or%20freeze%20mode.

I hear you. Sensory overloads can be hell. Neurodiverents unite!

You didn't specify if it was romantic or platonic so I'm going to keep it platonic.

Anyway, ENJOY!

JOSEPH

Joseph has gotten used to handling situations that are overwhelming. He’s grown to be more quiet overtime, but let’s be honest here, it’s still Joseph. He’s going to worry. When you begin to look uncomfortable, he’s going to ask what’s up. Don’t lie to him, he can tell something is wrong, the man is a father, and he learned the tell tale signs of discomfort with his own little family.

When he asks and you don’t respond immediately, he’s going to pause and pull you aside to make sure you heard him.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“…”

“Are you feeling unwell? Sick?”

You shrug

“Okay, let’s sit down.” He puts his hand on your arm and you flinch at the contact, which makes the overstimulation flare. When you yank your arm away from him, he’s going to be suspicious that maybe there’s a much bigger issue at play but he’s going to lead you away from the crowd and get you to sit.

“Can you tell me what’s the matter?”

A panic attack seizes in your throat and he can see it, “Can you talk to me?”

Your palms sweat and shake your head with shame.

“Okay, well, can you point to anything that you need?”

You shake your head again, closing your eyes, trying to avoid the harsh light.

“Okay…” Joseph tries to problem solve, “Can you point to what is bothering you?”

You manage to your ears

“Your ears hurt?”

You shake your head

“Is something in your ear?”

You shake your head again, this time covering your ears.

“It’s too loud.” He realizes. He thinks for a moment. “Hold on.”

You notice he pulls something from his pocket, earbuds. Connected to them is a Walkman, he unplugs them and holds the cord out to you, “you can put them in, it’s not much, but they’ll make it a bit quieter until I can find some earplugs.”

It’s a few minutes before Joseph comes back and puts a pair of earplugs beside you and a pair of headphones, “Use either. They’re the highest quality, so don’t worry.”

JOTARO

Jotaro can’t lose it. He’s got too much riding on him. If things go sideways, he would never forgive himself for the consequences, that is if he made it out alive. Because of this, Jotaro isn’t very in touch with his own emotions and prefers to keep them tamped down and if not in danger, he might actively ignore some signs of a sensory overload. He just doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with it. Don’t mistake this for a lack of empathy or effort, he’s just way out of his depth here. That being said, if things really escalate, he might snap at you, thinking he can get you to act ‘reasonable’ if you take notice of how you’re feeling and pull yourself out of it on your own.

“Hey, quit muttering! It’s damn annoying.”

When you cover your ears and whimper, he feels something in his chest ache.

He made it worse. He gets up from his hotel bed, huffs and goes to sit a bit closer to you but not too close, he gets wanting personal space, “I didn’t think you’d be that sensitive.” He pulls his hat over his eyes.

When things stay quiet, and he doesn’t really know what to say, he might ask you if you need anything. He’s frustrated. He gets when the world is just too full of pointless talking and noise, but watching you suffer, well, it was a new perspective. Jotaro wants to understand, but now he doesn’t know if it’s even his business. He’d leave you alone, but stand users lurk around every corner, and he’d be damned if he was leaving you alone in this state.

Fuck. What do you even do in this kind of situation. People don’t really cry or breakdown in front of him, not unless they were babies. You weren’t a baby. But that was the closest thing he had to what was going on. Babies get upset if they’re overwhelmed and need a nap…

Jotaro drapes the sheets of the hotel bed over you and closes the curtains, “I’ll be on the patio.” He grabs a book. He doesn’t expect an answer. If you need him, you know where he’ll be.

POLNAREFF

Polnareff is pretty clueless. He means well, promise, He just hasn’t been a person people look up to for guidance and support for a while. Polnareff is a funny and flirty guy a lot of the time. He understands sorrow and grief, but he also knows when he should distance himself from things if they get in the way of the objective. Well, he’s better at it now. He’s been on a long journey of suffering to get closure because of his sister’s death. This all means he’s all too familiar with personal meltdowns, but not somebody else’s. Polnareff will first start picking up on your sensory overstimulation when you start to lag behind everybody else.

“Hey, Y/N, pick up the pace. You’re going to still be in Aswan by the time we’re in Cairo.”

You didn’t reply. He notices this and hangs back while the rest of the crusaders keep moving but will slow a bit so they don’t get out of eyesight. They tell Polnareff to be quick, because they need to keep moving.

“You’re going a bit slow, mon ami.” He remarks

You hide your face.

“Oh? Too hot? I get it, I’ve been wearing this rag. I found it at a market. When we get to Luxor, maybe you should get one for yourself.” He points at the cooling towel on his head and shoulders. You don’t respond and just try to stay quiet and breathe.

“Man, you aren’t this quiet most of the time. I mean, you talk a fair amount, but you’re acting like a recluse.” He says without much understanding.

Your shoulders haunch with shame. He doesn’t get it.

“Maybe you’re hungry, or thirsty.” He guesses, “Mr. Joestar has a canteen, but you’ll have to pick up the pace to get it.”

Still, no sign you’d even heard him.

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?”

It was then he noticed you shaking, “Hey, Y/N, are you hurt?” When you don’t say anything, but shake your head, he yells out to the group, “Hold up! Y/N might be hurt!”

You bury your face in your hands, his yelling setting you off even more. This becomes a back and forth movement to counter the overstimulation. He notices the rocking and checks you for injuries, “Where is it? Who was it? Was this the work of an enemy stand?”

You shake your head vigorously.

“What?” His concerned look mixes with confusion, “I don’t get it, what’s going on then?”

Your hands shake as you crouch down and try to hide.

“Polnareff, what’s going on back there?” You can hear Joseph’s gruff voice.

Avdol ends up coming and looking you over, “Stress.” He says plainly, “Or something along those lines.”

“Stress? Stress can manifest like this?” Polnareff asks

Avdol nodded, “It can even overwhelm the senses.”

“Okay, which senses are bothering you?” The silver haired man asks.

You clench your eyes closed and point to them and your ears. “Sound and sight.” He says, “What about touch?

Your answer is a hand moving side to side, ‘a bit’.

“What if we stopped for an hour or so, just find a place that’s cool and quiet?” He asks.

You nodded. “Okay, can you stand?” He asks. You sign back ‘a bit’ again.

He nods, “Can I take your arm and lead you?”

You nod.

“Alright, we’re going to take care of you, Y/N, don’t you worry.” He says gently.

AVDOL

Avdol picks up on this SO fast. This man is a reader, not just the book type, but he reads people as a living. He might even notice something is off before you do. Like the amount of people bustling about, the crowds and the people who accidentally bump into you. He’ll talk to Joseph and you and advise a quieter route. Unfortunately, this is the fastest way to get through. A detour would cost the group precious time. Avdol will instead hang at the back of the group with you and ask you what you need. Avdol is also much faster in places like markets because he’s grown up around them. In this case, if he’s sure you’ll be okay for a few minutes, he’ll haggle and find you something that might help.

“Where’s Avdol gone off to?” Polnareff asks Joseph

“He’s picking up a few necessities.” Joseph replies, he’ll meet back up with us in a few minutes, if he doesn’t we’ll assume he’s in danger and move quickly to a quieter location in case there’s a stand user in this crowd. I don’t want civilians involved in anything harmful.” He says gruffly

You walked behind Jotaro, his tall stature making people stare and move around him, maybe in respect or trepidation. You got bumped into less this way. “I’m back, Mr. Joestar.” Avdol seamlessly weaves his way back to the front of the group.

“Welcome back. Y/N is in the back behind Jotaro, maybe he’s good at blocking out the sun.” He grins playfully

Avdol nods in good humour and squeezes onto the back of the group. He walks beside you, giving you a foot of room on one side to ensure nobody brushes against you when you’re already overwhelmed. He holds out a small box, inside there are wax earplugs. And in one of his deep pockets he produces a beaded bracelet, “These are to cancel the noise, and if you need to keep your hands moving, you can rotate the beads in your hand.” You take the gift and look at him with surprise. “I don’t mind.” He says with a smile, “I can see that you’re struggling. We need to build each other up on this journey, so if there’s anything else you’re in need of, just communicate in anyway you find comfortable.” Your smile of gratitude is all he needs. He’ll hang back with you for as long as you need it.

KAKYOIN

Does this guy get neurodivergence or what? Kakyoin spent a lot of time alone. He didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. He learned to communicate in lots of ways. Verbal wasn’t always his strong suit anyway. If there is anybody who understands isolating one’s self because you are different, it’s him. Jotaro isolates, not because he’s entirely socially awkward, it’s also because he just doesn’t want to. Kakyoin wants people to know who he is, more than that, he knows being a bit different comes with its own experiences and self-honed skills. He’s going to pick up on you retreating back into yourself in the beginning, not as fast as Avdol. He’s not a people reader after all, that being said, he is a people watcher. For years, Kakyoin watched people from afar, this helped him understand other people’s friendships and relationships. He’s also learned a lot. When you’re on your own, you don’t exactly get distracted by other people asking you to join them in things. So he’s read quite a bit, even on neurodivergence. He can spot the overload in a few minutes and get into action. He gets up from the seat on the train he’s in and sits next to you.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

No answer. “Is it stress, or maybe are you just overwhelmed?”

You looked up at him, not expecting him to understand.

“Overwhelmed?”

You nod and stare at the ground.

“Is there anything I can do?”

You have a moment to think, but you’ve gone nonverbal at this point, and realize you can’t really act out what you need because it’s a bit complex.

“Hmm…” Kakyoin thinks for a monent and then pulls out a notepad from his uniform

You look at him quizzically.

“I’m a student, I always have this on me to take notes.”

You smile up at him.

“Here.” He hands it to you, along with a pen.

You jot some things down.

“Too bright, too many sounds, chairs bad texture.”

“Yeah, I bet there’s years worth of dust in these.” He chuckles, “I have a scarf, maybe we can put that around your eyes? Or your ears like earmuffs?”

You nod and jot something else down, “Is the scarf soft?”

“Yes, it is. My mom bought it for me when we travelled to Egypt the first time.” He smiles and goes to get the scarf.

He comes back and sits next to you, “If you need anything else, write it down for me, and I’ll be happy to get it.” He relaxes in the seat next to you, “Promise.”

#jojo headcanons #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure #joseph joestar x reader #jean pierre polnareff x reader #polnareff x reader #oldseph #oldseph x reader #jotaro x reader #kakyoin #avdol x reader #avdol headcanons #kakyoin x reader #neurodivergent reader #neurodivergent representation #platonic #headcanons

84 notes · View notes

mcntsee · 1 year

Text

THAWING SHADOWS

Summary: Y/n grapples with their feelings for Kaz. With the support of Nina, she confronts her insecurities and doubts about being worthy of Kaz's affection. Based off of this request.

Warnings: Contains themes of self-doubt, insecurity, and emotional vulnerability. Maybe OOC Kaz, I don’t know, I tried to make his dialogues fitting. Shitty writing and short.

Prompt: 17. "H-how long have you been standing there?" (list of prompts here)

I stared out at the vast expanse of the Slat, my heart heavy with emotions I couldn't quite contain. Nina, my dear friend and confidante, sat beside me, lending a sympathetic ear as I poured out my inner turmoil about Kaz Brekker. The mere thought of him sending a flurry of conflicting emotions coursing through my veins.

"I don’t know Nina, I can't help but feel like Kaz could never reciprocate my feelings," I confessed, my voice filled with a hint of melancholy. "He's so enigmatic, so closed off. I'm just me… Just an ordinary person." Nina's eyes shimmered with empathy as she took a moment to choose her words carefully. "Y/n, I understand your doubts, but you're selling yourself short. Kaz may be guarded, but he's not incapable of feeling. There's more to him than people realize, and you've managed to capture his attention in a way that surprises even me."

A flicker of hope ignited within me, but it was quickly extinguished by the weight of my insecurities. “Don’t do that Nina.” I said, voice barley above a whisper, “Don’t give me false hope. How could someone like him ever see something in me?"

Nina's voice carried a gentle reassurance. "Kaz may be drawn to strength, intelligence, and the unexpected but trust me, your genuine heart and unwavering loyalty make you extraordinary in his eyes."

I listened intently, the gears of my mind turning as I absorbed Nina's perspective. Still, doubts lingered. "But what if he finds out about my flaws, about my own darkness? What if he sees the parts of me I'm not proud of?"

Nina's expression softened, and her hand found mine in a comforting gesture. "Y/n, we all have our flaws. It's a part of being human. But Kaz, he sees beyond the surface. He knows firsthand the depths of the human soul, the duality within. He's not one to judge but rather to understand. And in that understanding, he might just find a connection with you."

Her words sparked a glimmer of courage within me, prompting me to take a deep breath. "You really think there's a chance for us, Nina? That he could see something in me worth pursuing?"

Nina's smile widened, brimming with confidence. "Absolutely, y/n. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he pays attention when you speak. There's a magnetic pull between you two, an unspoken connection. Just be yourself, and let fate unfold."

Curiosity flickered within me as I noticed Nina's eyes drifting behind me, repeatedly shifting focus to something—or someone. The urge to turn around and see what had caught her attention became irresistible. My heart raced in my chest as I pivoted, only to find Kaz standing there, his enigmatic presence enveloping me.

"H-how long have you been standing there?" I stammered, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Nina, ever perceptive, departed with a knowing smile, leaving me alone with Kaz. Panic and regret mingled in my voice as I hurriedly apologized for all the doubts and insecurities I had expressed earlier.

Kaz's eyes, as cold and calculating as ever, studied me for a moment before he spoke, his voice laced with a touch of frost. "Words spoken in truth cannot be unsaid, y/n. But perhaps there is more to me than you assume." His words sent a shiver down my spine, both thrilling and unsettling me.

I faltered, sensing an iciness in his demeanor that made my heart ache. It seemed my fears of pushing him away were becoming a reality. I prepared myself for the inevitable rejection, expecting his walls to rise higher.

But Kaz, ever the master of secrets, surprised me with a small flicker of vulnerability. "You think me incapable of feeling, but you underestimate the depths of my emotions. It is true, someone like me should not deserve your affection." His tone remained cool, even distant, leaving me with a bittersweet mix of hope and uncertainty.

A wave of conflicting emotions crashed over me, mingling with the burgeoning happiness in my heart. Despite his cold demeanor, Kaz's words held a certain raw honesty that both pained and intrigued me. In that moment, I realized that beneath his icy exterior, he too harbored a fragile longing.

And so, the chill that had settled in the air began to thaw, ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of the tenderness beneath. As we stood there, facing each other, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us, connected by a fragile thread of understanding and the promise of something beautiful, even amidst the coldness that defined Kaz Brekker.

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. "Kaz, I understand that you see yourself as someone undeserving of affection, but it's not about who you think you are. It's about who I see when I look at you—the strength, the intelligence, and the capacity for greatness that resides within you. I know you've built walls to protect yourself, but I want to break through them and show you that you deserve happiness, just like anyone else."

For a moment, a flicker of surprise crossed Kaz's eyes, betraying the depths of his emotions that he so skillfully concealed. It was as if my words had penetrated his icy exterior, chipping away at the walls he had built around himself.

"You have a way with words, y/n," he said, his voice softer, the coldness thawing slightly. "But it's not just about what you see. It's about what you're willing to accept—my flaws, my darkness, the shadows that follow me.”

I looked into Kaz's eyes, unwavering in my resolve. "I can't promise that it will always be easy, or that we won't face challenges. But I'm willing to face them together, to support you in every way I can. I see beyond the shadows, Kaz, and I choose to see the person you truly are."

A moment of silence passed between us, filled with unspoken tension and uncharted possibilities. And then, the corners of Kaz's lips lifted ever so slightly, hinting at a rare smile that warmed my heart.

"You are a formidable person, y/n," he admitted, his voice carrying a newfound tenderness.

#angst #fanfiction #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #six of crows x reader #kaz dirtyhands brekker #kaz brekker #fluff

262 notes · View notes

screemnch · 1 year

Text

The Pathologic Russian and English analysis: Artemy Burakh the Haruspex.

On this episode of “I am definitely not okay and dedicate my time to sillygoofy things” - we look at the Haruspex in the Bachelor's campaign. This alone took me a whole month, because there is a lot of funk happening in my life, so the Changeling will have to wait a little more. Anyway. Y’all maybe don’t know the drill quite yet, so let’s start at the beginning.

What is the Haruspex like in the English version? Well, discarding the “sweet but tired dad” persona that the entire fandom has assigned the poor guy, the impression I got while watching people playing through the game is that he is first and foremost a very impulsive person, and that, in a way, carries over to his speech. He’s also very cryptic to the other healers, in that ominous “you shouldn’t have done that” way. If I hadn’t read at least a bit of his dialogue lines for the previous analysis, I would have assumed that he’d be the one to use all those “rough” words every other sentence, since that’s how people from outside of the capital cities are usually portrayed. In the Bachelor’s campaign, he is almost like a goddamn cryptid, that tells you he doesn’t know what antibodies are and then presents you with a panacea on the very next day - he speaks very little and does not bother with niceties besides the honorary title. In the Changeling campaign, all those factors seem to be even more emphasised. Overall he acts even more distant, even more ominous and is even more threatening, since it’s seen through the eyes of a scared little girl (she’s also a miracle worker but we won’t talk about it now). Both of the campaigns are, of course, drastically different from what we have in the Haruspex campaign - which is where we get to see the whole “guided by the heart” thing in action. From the other two’s perspective, he is an ominous, potentially volatile, but still helpful figure. And his speech matches that exactly. So let’s get cracking.

As the Bachelor: the vibes are pretty consistent between the English and Russian version. The Haruspex is just as cryptic and curt in both of them, and doesn’t talk in the manner usually given to all these “rough and dangerous” types in Russian fiction. In all honesty, I think it’s the fact that his manner of speech is so simple and short that made translating it to English so much easier (or at least I think it was). Sadly, there is so little dialogue, that it also meant I barely get to talk about anything interesting, since what little there is to look at, is mostly accurate. But, when there ARE differences… Oh boy are those differences. So, you’ll see a little bit of other characters in this analysis as well because these interactions in the Bachelor campaign felt almost like an afterthought. Like, the writers knew how the wanted them to meet and part, so in the middle, they just used Burakh to be a tool for exposition, and not much else. Additionally, the “fairytale-like” way of speech that Artemy has in his own campaign seems to be gone here, and I can’t wait to see what happens to it with the Changeling. With all that being said, here is the more fun stuff: aka the snippets and screenshots! Once again, the chronological order is dubious at best, and most of this was written at two am in the morning, so I hope this isn’t completely insane.

Very interesting choices made in the translation here. First and foremost - instead of relying on his heart to guide him, the Haruspex specifically says that he is guided by “his love” which, depending on how consistent this change is, might strengthen the connection between several different themes. Now to the fun part - “it’s a shame we aren’t standing together.” I need you people to understand that I am trying to remain as impartial as possible when I write these, without inserting my own opinions of the story or anything. But, the much more word-for-word translation of that line would be “Pity, that we aren’t together.” And yes, people being “together” does also have the same connotation in Russian as it does in English. And while I understand that it’s mostly likely supposed to imply “allyship,” I think it could be worded a lot better, had the writers wanted to avoid misunderstandings.

Let’s focus on the last sentence here: in English, the Haruspex says he admires Rubin’s determination to help people. In the original version however, the sentence is “He deserves respect.” See, the interesting thing here is the difference between “I” and “everyone.” Where in the English version Burakh voices his personal approval of Rubin, in Russian it’s an unspecified, but general statement, which bears the implications that others should respect him as well. And while the difference itself isn’t too significant on its own, when paired with the fact that Rubin is someone who’s on the run from half of the town, it hits a bit different.

Also, and I didn’t really know where to stick this, and maybe this could’ve waited until we actually got to Rubin as a character, but yeah. I wanted to point out specifically that the word “master” in Russian doesn’t have a dual meaning. Cuz, correct me if I’m wrong, in English this can both refer to a master of a certain activity (ie martial arts master) as well as a proprietor of something (ie master of the house). In Russian, however, the word “master” refers exclusively to a “master of their craft” type of people. A master of a property is referred to as an “owner”. The “Mistresses” in Pathologic are also referred to as “owners” (with a suffix that indicates female). This creates a bit of a confusion, because the word exists in both of the languages, but only shares some of the meanings. And uh… This is related to this quote because uh… Something-something recognition of expertise.

I’m personally a big fan of the themes of freedom, and how different people react to losing their freedom of choice, or dealing with the information that they were never free to choose to begin with. And that brings us to this little line, which I find particularly interesting. In the original Russian dialogue, Burakh says that he had already “lost” his freedom, in the way one loses something in a game. I feel this shines a different light on both how he eventually reacts to being told that he’s just a toy in a child’s game (he’s had to deal with disempowerment this whole time, it’s nothing new to him) but also with how he views his loss of freedom. Not something that some higher power has revoked from him, but rather something that he himselfs basically “gambled away.” In that sense, I can see the eventual reveal that everyone is simply a toy in a sandbox being a relief. In the way that it wasn’t his fault after all, that everything was predetermined, and that he couldn’t have carelessly lost something he didn’t have in the first place. Makes me wonder what the dialogue between these two would’ve been like if they’d met on the first day in this campaign.

I have a shamefully small amount of notes as I go through these, so I’m literally latching on to anything to talk about. I pointed out how dry and laconic the Haruspex is, but god DAMN if that doesn’t make for text that’s easy to translate - and that gives me less things to work with. For example this - a simple word difference in the last sentence that you couldn’t possibly translate properly without sounding illiterate. Because as it is - the translation is accurate in the last sentence. But that’s because “evil” in English is both a noun and an adjective. In Russian, however, the adjective for “evil” also makes for a synonym to “angry” and that doesn’t fit with the meaning conveyed here. Burakh calls Clara “evil itself” the embodiment of evil, all that shabang. It’s something that is recurrent in people talking about her, from what I’ve seen - people address her as a concept, and link her to more generalised ideas, rather than specific characteristics. Either way, it’s a fun thing to think about.

Hi, confused, I’m dad. I did a thing where I tried to read the English dialogue in its entirety first, because I wanted to avoid talking about information that was already accessible in English, and I remember being confused at this line, because… The cattle grounds were on the other side of the Gorkhon? Since when???? It didn’t make sense with the rest of the dialogue either, and the Russian version says “on this side of the Gorkhon” so… What gives? Assuming that the website is accurate (cuz if not, then I’d have to go and check in the actual game which would take hours to get to) does this then just mean it was a simple translation error? Or did the writers decide to change the lore as they were translating? It confuses me so much, because overall the game is well translated, so I don’t get how no one noticed that the meaning of the sentence becomes completely flipped here. Anyways, if you’re like me and that confused the hell out of you in English, just know that it makes sense in Russian and you can sleep soundly. Also, on the more chill note, there is no reference to a kraken in the Russian version, the deposits are compared to octopus tendrils.

I know this isn’t Bachelor time again, but I wanted to point out that there’s a switch back to the formal “you” here, and I feel like it throws a wrench into my previous theory. Or maybe it supports it. Let’s try to be objective here. The simplest explanation could be simply that this is a continuity break, that this was completely unintentional from the writers, and that I am trying to figure out why the curtains are blue in a situation where they are, indeed, just blue. But we like fun here, so let’s assume the curtains are blue for a reason. The real problem is whether this works with my previously established theory, or if it's for a completely different reason.

If we are going with the supposition that the Bachelor switches to formal “you” when he is uncomfortable (which some people found strange when I brought it up, but it’s a legit thing in Russian. Like, I do that sometimes when I want to place a little bit of professional distance between myself and whoever I’m speaking to, though sometimes the person might get upset if you do that) then one possible explanation would be that he is uncomfortable with the implications that this new knowledge has brought to light - a huge residential part of the town is sorta kinda maybe doomed. It could also be the overall dread of what the other piece of news would be.

On the opposing side of this argument is a somewhat mundane explanation that would bypass my theory completely. The idea that the switch to a more formal language was either an attempt to keep the conversation civil and “professional” at a spot where a conflict of interests could potentially emerge, or the possibility that it simply happened because sometimes a person doesn’t know where they stand, or what would be more appropriate in this situation, and opt for the safe formal version.

I do want to apologise, in case y’all don’t wanna hear these hypotheses of mine, I just thought it would be unfair to pretend like my explanations are the only ones out there, so yeah.

Welcome back to “mom pick me up, the translations are being weird again” this time - "my confidants are alive. Are you sure they’re alive? I see no problems." Perfect, flawless logic, I love. And while I understand that the original Russian version uses a very “ye olde” version of “if,” I still assume that the translating team spoke Russian and understood the meaning of the sentence. For context - the modern version of “if” in Russian is “если” (yesli). However, in this line, the Haruspex uses an older word “коль” (kol’), which implies a condition, or an “if” scenario. But the word itself isn’t extinct, people still understand what it implies, the same way native English speakers would know that “thou” means “you.” Like, I can’t imagine how the meaning got flipped in here, it just confuses me. Either way, the “I see no problems with that” is also kinda wonky, because it makes it sound like Burakh has no problem with the “my bound are alive - so I’ll be at the meeting” logic. In Russian, he specifically says “-I’ll come. I see no obstacles.” As in - there is nothing to stop me from doing so. Anyway, translation wonky, let’s see how the rest of it goes.

Now that’s an interesting difference. And a morbid one at that. This is the line where the Haruspex talks about his bound “rebuilding the settlement and turning their lives to become the angels of its foundation.” Which I interpreted more in the sense of - becoming the highly revered figures of the town, with lots of authority and responsibility - like angels. And I’m curious to see how y’all interpreted this, because I did not anticipate the Russian version in the slightest. And it’s this: “... my bound, that are destined to bring this town back to life and lay down their lives under its new cornerstones.” For one, I find it curious that both in English and Russian there is such a similar turn of phrase - because “lay down their lives” could have been translated almost word for word. But also… I am so confused. Is the sacrifice in this sense a literal one? Or does he simply mean a dedication to the town so strong that it could count as giving up one’s life? Either way, this is definitely a curious difference in translation, and I’m not sure what to make of it.

The interesting thing is… For the most part the “Are you aware that we turned out to be toys” dialogue starts the same in both the Haruspex and the Bachelor runs, only diverging in a few character-specific moments. This is one of them and… I don’t even know where to begin with this bit of dialogue, and not because it’s bad. I think it’s translated well, but there are about a hundred tiny little differences that change the vibe a little to the left, make some phrases more bitter and others more candid. For one the whole “take a closer look” in Russian is a direct invitation to compare the two healers, not an implied one. Secondly, instead of not being “a toy to keep” Burakh says that he (in a literal translation) “isn’t to be pitied.” But because Russian is a funky language, what this phrase actually means is - he doesn’t see himself as worth being concerned over, someone who, if sacrificed or given up, wouldn’t be seen as that big of a loss by others. Someone who others would readily discard, without feeling guilt, pity or sorrow. And I have big feelings about that. Additionally, the line about the Bachelor being “an entirely different thing” is kinda funny to me, because it’s a pretty long sentence in English, but in Russian it’s just… Four words, two of which are only two letters long. It definitely carries a different vibe, simply because of how laconic it is, it comes across as much more of an exclamation. In the closest to a literal translation while still remaining coherent, he says “You’re a different case!” which in turn conveys the vibe of “But look at you!” and while I think the translation does a great job at communicating both of them, they also lose the abruptness of the exclamation, which I think adds to the line.

Still not Bachelor hours anymore, but I wanted to point out that the “You’re having fun… Somehow I fail to join in” is a line that sounds sombre and distant, but the Russian version is “You’re laughing… But I don’t find this funny at all” and it has the wording of a child entering their “sulking mode” because someone made a lighthearted joke that they don’t get. Ok, maybe not that extreme, but there’s definitely a lot of bitterness to it, because the idea of being dolls clearly affects the Bachelor very heavily, and then he sees the Haruspex just being like “yeah we might be dolls. So what? You only care cuz you’re made of better materials anyway, lol.” And I imagine that’s pretty hurtful.

Reading this in English, I could practically feel the “there was supposed to be an idiom here, but it’s one of the ridiculous ones, so we had to translate the meaning instead” coming from this line - particularly the “not a single weak spot anywhere” part. And sure enough, the original Russian version says “...everything was done cleanly - a mosquito won’t sharpen its nose” (the nose, obviously being the proboscis). And while I am a big fan of Russian idioms, and was a proud owner of not one, not two, but three books on them as a kid, I’ve never actually heard of this one. The phrase itself means a job perfectly and flawlessly done, to the point where it can’t be improved upon. The leading interpretation to its origin is the idea that a mosquito’s proboscis is a perfect tool for its purpose - long enough to reach blood and thin enough that a person usually doesn’t even feel a mosquito bite until it’s too late. A mosquito’s “nose” could not be any thinner or sharper - therefore a mosquito won’t sharpen its nose.

God, how is it that in the series of dialogues that are the most dry and direct, in the few places where discrepancies are present, the discrepancies are the most confounding and meaning-altering ones? This is still from the dialogue in which the Haruspex and the Bachelor discuss Aglaya on the final day, and the choices in the translation are kind of confusing to me. The original line is “As far as I understand, in the orders given to her, the Powers That Be have concealed (or kept from her) the fact that they want to save the town specifically alongside the Polyhedron.” And while you can still get that implication from the surrounding dialogue, with the whole talk of “she would’ve caught on to the scent of foul play,” it’s still weird that this line was translated so differently. Because as it is, it creates the feeling that it was more of a “technicality” scenario. You know the trope: “I never said anything about so and so, therefore this little inconsistency is going to screw you over, should’ve read the fine print” etc. Almost gives this dialogue a sense of snark, while it’s the exact opposite. The English version weighs in more on the Powers That Be being cold and inconsiderate, while the Russian version is specifically aimed towards emphasising the idea that Aglaya is not to blame. You know. What this whole dialogue is about - Burakh “painting Aglaya as the victim.”

And that’s about all I’ve got for the Haruspex from the Bachelor’s point of view. There are a few things here that shine a new light on some of the themes, or specifically the relationship between Burakh and his sense of fate and control. The overall theme that there is always something higher up that is either in charge or to blame for the things happening, and that Artemy usually takes on as much responsibility as possible because there are only a few things that are truly up to him. Like, that’s why he doesn’t blame Aglaya for her spite or deception, and why he isn’t hostile to the Bachelor in this run - he sees both of them become disillusioned and spiteful, when they find out that all the decisions have been made for them. But as someone who’s never felt much freedom, from responsibilities and choices made and imposed on him by his father, to him being able to see the Lines and where they lead, he’s had to learn to be grateful and accepting of the little choices that he is allowed to make.

And while these closing remarks aren’t exactly exclusive to the Russian version, it just makes me understand the Haruspex ending better. Like, it took me a while to figure out why he’s the character who’s seen as the one “capable of being actually free” or whatever it is that the devs say to Clara (you). It’s because everyone else who is aware of their nature (except Clara, maybe, I’m not sure yet) is someone to whom this is a disheartening and devastating revelation - they become blinded with this knowledge and end up “acting out” exactly the way they were supposed to. Aglaya doesn’t manage to disobey or defy the Powers That Be, nor does Daniil. Yulia too - though she doesn’t know this is all a children’s game, her theory about the “tripwires of fate” is what ultimately traps her in the path chosen for her. The Haruspex on the other hand, not only had to grow up with the idea that he’s fated to become the Warden - serving the purpose of the Kin, but quite literally could see the way things are predetermined. The fact that they’re all dolls, to him, is just a different way of seeing the Lines. So it makes sense that the best ending in the Haruspex run isn't the Termite ending, but the ending of any of the other healers - because then he actually makes a choice. Exercises the little bit of freedom that he has. It's a very interesting progression, where as the Bachelor you , the player, can claim responsibility for his choices, as the Haruspex you can make a choice despite the game's predetermined nature, and then as Clara you get to do both. Throughout these campaigns, you are gradually gaining freedom from the constrictions of the game.

Either way, who knows how long it will be until Clara's point of view on the Haruspex, I certainly don't. But if there is any feedback or stuff, I'm always open to hearing it.

#pathologic #pathologic classic hd #мор утопия #ramblings #artemy burakh #daniil dankovsky #the document is now 17 pages long oh boy oh wow

180 notes · View notes

knyleggo · 1 year

Text

to comfort a demon s/o (Giyu, Muichiro, Inosuke)

to be honest, i couldnt really pick so i decided to spin a wheel and it landed on these 3 LOL HAHAHA ENJOY its been a while since i began writing again so its probably rusty :"P (lemme know if its not up to ur standard and i will rewrite it again!!! @sanjishoe

tw: mentions of suicide

giyu

he immediately rushes to your location, determined to help you and prevent any harm from coming to you

listens attentively to your concerns and validates your emotions

expresses genuine care and concern for you

LOTS of soft hugs and kisses, refusing to let you out of his hold

reminds you of your worth and value and how he would not be able to live without you

shares his own struggles and vulnerabilities, showing you that it's okay to feel overwhelmed and that you're not weak for experiencing these emotions

promises to be always there for you, to listen and support you, no matter what you're going through

emphasizes that your life is valuable and that there is hope for a brighter future, and he encourages you to keep fighting

stays by your side, offering his unwavering support and compassion, until you feel more stable and safe

follows up with you regularly and continues to provide support, ensuring that you're taking steps towards healing and recovery

Giyu Tomioka, the Water Hashira, stared at the letter in his hand, his heart heavy with concern. It was from you, his beloved girlfriend and a demon, expressing your deep sorrow and despair. You had been struggling with your inner demons, feeling overwhelmed by the darkness within you, and were contemplating taking your own life. Without wasting a moment, Giyu set out to find you, determined to offer you comfort and support.

When he arrived at the secluded spot where you were, he saw you sitting by the edge of a cliff, tears streaming down your face. He approached you cautiously, mindful of your fragile state, and sat down beside you, offering you his presence without saying a word.

"I... I didn't expect you to come," you said in a barely audible voice, surprised to see your boyfriend standing right beside you.

"I'm always here for you, no matter what," Giyu replied softly, his eyes filled with concern as he reached out and gently placed his hand on yours.

You looked into his eyes and saw a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. It was as if his presence alone was a beacon of light, offering you a lifeline in your darkest moment.

"But I hurt you."

Your voice cracked as you let out all your pent-up feelings at the moment. The amount of hopelessness you had when you could not even hear his pulse. How you felt when you found out you had almost killed him. Your lover. Your Giyu.

Nonetheless, Giyu still spoke to you with unwavering kindness and empathy. He listened to your pain, validating your emotions and assuring you that you were not alone. He shared his own struggles and regrets, revealing his vulnerabilities in a way he rarely did with others.

"I know that darkness can be overwhelming, but I believe there is always hope, even in the darkest moments," Giyu said softly, his voice filled with compassion.

"And you can hurt me all you want. I'm never leaving you."

He gently talked you through your thoughts and feelings, helping you see things from different perspectives. He reminded you of your worth and the value you bring to the world, and how your life is precious and irreplaceable.

"I care about you deeply, and I cannot bear to lose you," Giyu said, his voice trembling with emotion. "You are not a burden to me, and I am willing to walk this path with you, no matter how difficult it may be."

Tears streamed down your face as you listened to Giyu's words. You realized that you were not alone, and that there was someone who truly cared for you, despite your demon nature. Giyu's unwavering support and understanding touched your heart deeply, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope.

With Giyu by your side, you made a promise to yourself to keep fighting, to seek help when you needed it, and to hold on to the hope that life could get better. Giyu continued to be there for you, providing you with his unwavering support and love, helping you navigate the challenges of being a demon and finding a purpose in your existence.

In time, you learned to cherish your life, and the bond between you and Giyu grew stronger. You found solace in each other's company, and your relationship became a source of strength and hope for both of you. Together, you faced the difficulties and uncertainties of life, knowing that you had each other to lean on, and that with love, empathy, and understanding, even the darkest moments could be overcome.

muichiro

stops dreaming and staring into space the moment he found out about your current situation

immediately finds you in an instant using his breathing techniques and managed to stop you just in time before you were about to jump

you burst into tears the moment you saw him

gives you a backhug so tight that you could barely breathe as he rubs your back to soothe your cries

releases you after you have finished sobbing into his shoulder, leaving a damp spot on his clothes

interlocks his hand with yours as he pulled you away from the ledge of the cliff with no intention of letting you go

teaches you breathing techniques to calm her mind, helping you learn to control you emotions and instincts in healthier ways

gives you affection physically and verbally

pays more attention to you and your behaviour

stops daydreaming to make sure you don't do anything funny

Despite the danger you posed, Muichiro couldn't help but see the pain and anguish in your eyes.

"I won't let you give up," Muichiro said softly, as he reached out to gently touch your hand. "I know you're struggling, but taking your own life is not the answer.

You were overwhelmed by conflicting emotions - the guilt and shame of your actions, the longing for peace, and the fear of what lay ahead.

"I... I don't deserve your kindness and your love," you choked out, tears streaming down your face.

Muichiro's expression softened even more, and he spoke with gentle reassurance. "Everyone deserves a chance at redemption. You are not beyond saving, and your life is worth preserving."

He sat beside you, offering you his calming presence as you poured out your heart to him. You told him about the struggles you had faced as a demon, the pain and loneliness that had led you to lose control. Muichiro listened attentively, without judgment, his hand still resting gently on yours.

"You are not alone," Muichiro said softly. "I am here, and I will help you. You can find a way to control your instincts and live a meaningful life."

His words brought a flicker of hope to your heart, and you realized that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for redemption. Muichiro's unwavering belief in you touched you deeply, and you found solace in his presence.

Days turned into weeks, and Muichiro stayed by your side, helping you learn to control your demon instincts and showing you kindness and understanding. He taught you breathing techniques to calm your mind, and helped you find ways to channel your emotions in healthier ways. He shared stories about his own struggles and hardships, letting you know that everyone had their own battles to fight.

Slowly, you began to see a glimmer of light in the darkness that had enveloped you. With Muichiro's patient guidance and unwavering support, you found the strength to confront your inner demons and make choices that were in line with your true nature.

One day, as you were sitting by a serene lake, watching the sun set, you turned to Muichiro with gratitude in your eyes. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. "You saved me, Muichiro. You gave me a reason to live."

Muichiro smiled, his usually stoic face softened with warmth as he gave you a kiss on your forehead. "No, it was you who found the strength within yourself to keep going. I'm just glad I could be here to support you. And I will never stop loving you."

You ran into his arms and hugged him for what felt like forever. In that moment, you realized that Muichiro had not only saved you from physical harm, but also helped you find a renewed sense of purpose and hope.

From that day on, Muichiro and you stood side by side, facing the challenges of the demon world together. Your bond grew stronger with each passing day, filled with mutual respect, trust, and a love that transcended the boundaries of species. With Muichiro by your side, you knew that you had found a true companion who would always be there for you, supporting you through the highs and lows of life, and helping you find the light in your life with the love he provided you unconditionally.

inosuke

(with an extra little confession because why not)

"You stupid demon!" Inosuke growled, glaring at you as you cowered in a corner, tears streaming down your face. "Don't think I'll let you off that easily!"

But as he approached you, he noticed the deep pain and sorrow in your eyes. His anger subsided, replaced by a sudden surge of protectiveness. He couldn't ignore the fact that you were hurting, despite being a demon.

"Inosuke, please," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just end it. I can't take it anymore."

Inosuke was taken aback by your words, and he realized that you were on the brink of giving up on life. His heart clenched, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you, even though you were a demon.

With a sudden burst of determination, Inosuke grabbed your hand and pulled you up to your feet. "No way I'm letting you die like this!" he declared, surprising both you and himself with his action.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, ignoring the fact that you were a demon, and held you close to him. "Don't you dare give up, you hear me?" he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion. "I won't let you go. I won't."

You were taken aback by Inosuke's unexpected display of affection. His strong arms around you provided a sense of comfort and security that you hadn't felt in a long time. You felt a warmth spreading in your heart, and for the first time, you realized that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for redemption and love.

Inosuke stayed with you, refusing to leave your side even as you tried to push him away. He showed you a side of him that you never knew existed - caring, gentle, and protective. He helped you learn to control your demon instincts, teaching you breathing techniques and ways to channel your emotions in healthier ways.

Inosuke's rough exterior melted away whenever he was with you, and you saw a softer side to him that made your heart skip a beat. He would often wrap you in his arms, holding you close, and pressing gentle kisses to your forehead or cheeks. His physical affection brought you comfort and made you feel cherished.

As time passed, you found yourself falling in love with Inosuke, and he seemed to feel the same way. He would often blush and stutter around you, a stark contrast to his usual bravado. He would steal glances at you when he thought you weren't looking, and he would always make sure you were safe and well taken care of.

One day, as you were sitting under the stars, enjoying a moment of peace, Inosuke turned to you with a nervous expression. "Hey, demon," he said, scratching his head awkwardly. "I... I like you. A lot."

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. "I like you too, Inosuke," you confessed, reaching out to touch his hand.

Inosuke's eyes widened in surprise, and then he grinned, his boar-like teeth showing. "Alright then, from now on, you're mine," he declared, pulling you into a fierce hug, his heart pounding against yours.

You laughed, feeling a sense of happiness and belonging that you never thought possible as a demon once your lips connected with his. With Inosuke by your side, you felt completely safe in his arms. You felt at home. You felt love. You felt him.

a/n: i am sincerely so sorry for procrastinating this request atw frm 2021 when its 2023 now LOLS i apologise :( so i hv been quite busy lately chasing after my dreams and career and now im finally back to writing!!! YAY HAHA hope everyone is doing well too! stay tuned for the next post :)

151 notes · View notes