#i really love writing fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleursbending · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. | Neteyam Sully

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 : idk if u write pure angst but, but, but i have a request. what about a neteyam x fem!reader where whenever she is in danger he always manages to get there in time to save her? something like '2 times he's in time and 1 time he's too late' [or almost too late, if u r not in the mood for a bad ending] (?) sorry if this doesn't make sense, english is not my first language :((

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : neteyam x fem!omaticayan reader

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : hi! this request got so much love so here goes nothing. you didn't specify if you wanted the reader to be human or na'vi, so i picked what i thought would best flow with the narrative :3. i slightly deviated from what's canon in the film as well. sorry, this took so long to get out and some of the tags were not working. - once again, feedback is much appreciated. enjoy!! (also i highly suggest listening to waiting room by phoebe bridgers whilst reading this.. i would link it but they took it off spotify).

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : atwow spoilers, injuries, angst, fluff, character death, blood, some cussing, mild gore (descriptive fight scenes), neteyam sickeningly in lword, established relationship, sully family being <3333, heartbreak!!!!! reader is a badass warrior.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 8k words !1!1

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @eywas-library @ghoulbli @ellabellabus07 @loves1ckgirl @your-daily-dose-of-fangirl @keijikunn @nijirozzz @eywas-heir @mymelodynumber1fan @kalims @bammtoli @blahehblah @iloveyomama44 @babamiasworld @rreyysol @stomach-bugg09 @xoxo-periwinkle-skies @23victoria @mashiromochi @grierpilots @buttercake2234 @bwormie @spicycloudsalad @missdreamofendless @neteyamoa @gamorxa

𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘 :

Thanator - or the Na'vi name Palulukan (meaning "dry mouth bringer of fear") is a carnivorous animal native to the forests of Pandora.

Yawntu - a loved one, lover, beloved person. This is commonly used as a term of endearment.

Woodsprites - or the Na'vi name Atokirina is a seed of the Tree of Souls that lives on Pandora. These seeds, according to the Na'vi, are very pure and sacred spirits.

Skxwang - a person who acts/is a moron or an idiot.

Mawey - a term equivalent to the human version of "stay calm/ be calm".

Awa'atlu - a Metkayina Clan village off the coast of the Eastern Sea.

Uturu - a Na'vi tradition stating that any refugee seeking sanctuary must be granted safe harbor.

Skimwings - or the Na'vi name: Tsurak is a Pandoran creature inhabiting the tropical oceans. The Metkayina clan and other reef clans use the Skimwing for hunting larger prey at the surface or to dive deeper. It is also used as a mount during combat.

Melìew - your mother's name in this story.

Olo'eyktan - the clan leader is one of the most important members of a Na'vi clan and is similar to a chieftain. The leader is in charge of the clan and may rule along with their mate.

Tsahìk - the spiritual leader of a Na'vi clan, and the most important member next to the clan leader. The job of the Tsahìk is to interpret the will of Eywa, guide the clan spiritually, and perform important ceremonies such as Uniltaron and, in rare cases, the consciousness transfer.

Tulkun - a large, intelligent marine species native to the oceans of Pandora. Each Metkayina member engages a lifelong bond with a tulkun early in their life, whom they call their spirit brother/sister.

Payakan - Payakan is a young tulkun who befriends Lo'ak, one of Jake Sully and Neytiri's children, after saving his life.

Neteyam and yourself were a force to reckon with. Your souls are intertwined and saved for one another. It was unspoken throughout the clan that you would be each other's mates when the right time came. An official seal, partners for a lifetime - even once your spirit settles with Eywa.

That's how it was supposed to be.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄.

𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, he had been worried that due to his father's insistent training, he would have missed the date you'd planned. As he made his way through the clearing of your "secret spot", he immediately halted. Getting into a defensive stance as he reached for his bow and arrows.

You stood still, while a few meters away from you - a Thanator crept closer and closer. Y/n had not thought to bring her bow and arrows, only a hunting knife.

For once she had not thought to bring more protection, just wanting to be at peace with her favourite person. She didn't know she would stumble into any trouble, they weren't even that far from home.

In the Omaticaya clan, you were the most sought out for your hunting skills. But nothing could prepare you for this. While hand-on-hand combat was something you continued to learn from Toruk Makto, you'd only seen a Thanator in the wild very few times. You knew to never engage, hide and calm your breathing - do not make contact.

But it was too late for that now, wasn't it?

Neteyam's heart missed a beat, but the arrow he aimed at the Thanator didn't. It pierced through one of its legs. Letting out a ferocious raw as it barred its teeth at you both. He didn't stand down, shooting another arrow - this time sinking into its other leg.

The Thanator let out a low whine, its eyes calculating. Before pivoting and disappearing back into the jungle.

It was silent for a few moments, the adrenaline still ramping itself up in both your bones. Making your way over to him you brought him into a hug, leaning your head on his chest.

It felt like leaves had been shoved down your throat as you struggled to speak from the sheer shock. "Always my savior, thank you 'Teyam."

He scoffed, smoothing down your braids and pressing his lips to your forehead not letting up. He muttered against your skin, so gently.

"That could have gone a lot worse, yawntu." His eyes flittered around your surroundings, his ears perked up and tail swooshing in high alert still.

Squeezing his shoulders, you tried to ease some of his tension. Rubbing your nose against his, before taking a step back.

"But it didn't! My warrior, the mighty Neteyam Sully! The crowd goes wild, ahhhh!" You cupped your hands around your mouth, making a show of it all.

Rolling his eyes at your childish actions, he bent down retrieving what his dad called a "picnic mat" and the basket you had hand-woven for these special occasions.

"Come on, silly. Let's head back, the Thanator could still be around for all we know."

You pouted at his words, accepting the free hand he held out for you.

"What about our date?"

"We could do it at the stream closer to home."

"Okay fine, I can get behind that."

He ruffled your hair, admiring your feline-like eyes that squinted at the gleaming sun. Your nose scrunching at the force of it all.

Yeah, he'd never get tired of this.

His soul felt electrified whenever he was in your presence. You brought out a side of him that he concealed to try to live up to the mantle of "the golden child".

You were aware of the pressure and how tiring it made him feel. The demand was ultimately too much for someone as young as him to carry on his shoulders sometimes. But he looked up to his parents, and Y/n couldn't blame him for doing so.

He's your other half, and you'll always support him and his endeavors.

That's why you loved moments like these, not including the Thanator. But you felt reassured that he'd always have your back, as you would with his. It felt like second nature to you at this point.

Loving Neteyam.

This was the way of life for you both, and while it sometimes got a little messy - you always found your personal ways back to one another. Even when duty calls, even if you only catch glimpses of each other for a few days.

He would always leave a mark on you, whether it was the multitude of armbands he would weave intricately for you. The ones he'd whine for you to wear so your clan knew of his intentions as if they didn't already. Or perhaps a searing kiss full of yearning and a lifetime of promises.

Neteyam kept to himself a lot, due to his constant strenuous training he didn't mingle like other kids his age would. Sure maybe with the elders, but he didn't exactly have a core group of friends his age - only his family.

And you, you.

His normalcy amongst the ever so often brewing chaos. A semblance of ease always coursed through him even when you'd bask in each other's presence in silence. He greatly valued anytime he had with you, and when he wasn't with you. Neteyam would always think of you and worship the ground you walked on.

Like how you felt loving him was second nature, the thought of you circling his mind came as easy to him as the action of breathing.

That's who you are to each other, always filling in the cracks. Not leaving a rock unturned, words did not have to be spoken out loud to prove your inclination to one another. It was already written in both of your dispositions.

A devotion so boundless does come with conflict though.

But you didn't ponder on that for the time being, instead, you let Neteyam guide you back home. The date had yet to even properly start.

If only you knew he'd be called back to his duties as the chief's son.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄.

This wasn't the plan. All Lo'ak had wanted to do was see some sort of wreckage that had been left behind from the war his father had led.

You were going to stay behind but Tuk insisted she wanted you to come with them, and that you had to join her. There was no way you could deny her cute pout and glassy amber eyes.

So you did just that, you accompanied them.

Time seemed to escape you all, too enthralled by what was left of the wreckage from what seemed to be a demon-flying mechanism of sorts that had been brought down. The foliage that surrounded you all as Woodsprites twinkled and fluttered with the soothing breeze.

After you all got back down from the tree and found Kiri, it was time to make the trek back home.

"We really need to head back before the Eclipse comes kiddos. Come on, move it! Let's go!" You mused, urging them to quicken their pace.

You halted as Lo'ak and Spider peered down at a large footprint.

"What is it?" Kiri insisted.

"We're always supposed to be home by eclipse", Tuk worried. Y/n patted her head in comfort as she looked down at the marking molded into the mud.

"That's way too big for a human", Lo'ak noted.

"Avatars?" Spider questioned in response.

"Maybe..." Lo'ak trailed off as he looked around him.

Lo'ak was suddenly determined to find out who they had belonged too. "They're for sure not ours."

"What are you doing?" Kiri inquired, confused as to why they were straying away from the direction that would guide them back to base.

"Shh, tracking." He controlled his steps as you all reluctantly followed him.

"This is ridiculous, I am not letting Neteyam take the blame for this one," Y/n stressed. Knowing somehow he'd try to put the baggage of this situation back on him.

Tuk mumbled Neteyam, under her breath, and smiled. Making you ease your worries and grin down at her. You loved the bond they shared.

You cursed to yourself as you crouched down behind some leaves. Staying vigilant, your grip on your bow tightened as you made sure to be hyperaware of any sudden noises surrounding you all.

Nervously you bit down on your bottom lips as you saw figures up ahead. Avatars in military gear? This isn't looking good.

Kiri sensing your worries, placed a hand on your shoulder as she looked at the Avatars as well. "We are never supposed to come here."

"Dad is going to ground you-", She continued whispering quietly

"Shhh, shhh."

"- for life!" You nodded your head in agreement as you flicked Lo'aks ear in annoyance.

"Ow!" He muttered quietly glaring at you, only to cower down at your fierce glare.

"Yo, we gotta go check this out," Lo'ak turned back around and said to Spider, nodding his head over to the infamous old shack. The place where the demon (Spider's dad) and Jake Sully had fought.

Y/n hissed at them, grabbing Lo'ak by his ear (again). He smacked her arm at the action.

"You two dipshits are really pushing it this time!" Y/n fumed, if she wasn't on edge before - she's definitely dangling over it now.

"It's going to be fine, we'll be on our own merry way before you know it! Now please, let go of my ear!" Lo'ak insisted, you rolled your eyes before letting it go.

She knew better than to put a stop to his actions because she simply couldn't. Lo'ak was an unstoppable force once he sets his mind on doing something.

Kiri groaned quietly. "Skxwang."

Your gut had a bad feeling about all this. This needs to be called in. They weren't like your people. Avatars that were carrying a lot of deadly weaponry. The ones that would come from the raids ordered by your Olo'eyktan. These people were dangerous.

Great mother, you gotta get out of here.

Keeping a close eye on Lo'ak and Spider, you whispered to Kiri and Tuk.

"Get ready to head out." They nodded at you, starting to realise the seriousness of this situation.

Lo'ak seemed to have read your mind, as they made their way back to the rest of you guys - he pressed his comms button attached to his upper neck.

He conversed with his father, telling him what he could see about the Avatars. Their location and who he was with.

You listened in with your own comms, one that Jake and Neytiri had graciously gifted to you.

Neteyam growled at the mention of your name and Tuk's.

"Y/n is there?" Neteyam asked through clenched teeth. The grip he had on his Ikran tightened turning his once blue knuckles almost stark white.

"It's going to be fine, yawntu. We're moving out." You tried your best to reassure him.

Neteyam looked at his parents, they could only nod at him to help him regain focus. Neytiri had only seen such worry cross her son's features very few times, she too knew this was a dire situation.

Neteyam closed his eyes for a short moment, processing. "Okay, we're on our way. I'm taking our shortcut."

Lo'ak looked at you in question, but you ignored it. Now is not the time.

"Hurry, let's go!" You ushered them out from the bushes, trying to head as far away from the old shack as you possibly could. You made sure to stay behind all of them, constantly turning your head to look back.

"We're all going to be in so much trouble!" Kiri spoke in a hushed tone.

Lo'ak turned to his sister. "Kiri, stop."

"Guys, come on!" Spider said.

Tuk looked back at you all. "It's almost Eclipse, come on!"

You were about to agree with Tuk before a pair of arms reached out from the hanging branches - grabbing onto her small body.

Her shrill scream immediately shifted you into the headspace you'd enter when on raids. Clasping your bow and arrow you aimed it at the unknown Na'vi. Before you could release the arrow, more of them popped out from the foliage surrounding you all.

Hissing, you put your backs against one another as they closed in on you guys.

"Put it down, put it down!" They ordered.

There was a lot of commotion, and you noted how they were speaking in English and not your native tongue. They definitely aren't from here, even if their bodies say otherwise. A lot of commotion was occurring, but your eyes never strayed from Tuks.

Lo'ak cautioned you all, "Guys. Put it down, put it down." He spoke in your language, you'll tell him how smart he is for doing so later.

You snarled but followed him. You knew there were too many of them, there was no way of getting out of this unless one of you got hurt. Trying to strategize you thought of ways to work yourself all out of this situation. But it was too late, they apprehended all of you.

"Mawey, Mawey." Kiri tried to calm Tuk down through all the yelling and sudden movements.

"Shut up, don't move!"

"What have we here?" One of them said. But he seemed different to the rest, more commandeering, and authoritative. He was the leader for sure.

It seemed Y/n's thoughts not too long ago predicted what was about to happen.

Before you knew it. You knocked your forehead into the Na'vi whose hand lingered too long on your waist and gripped tightly on your braids.

He retaliated by smacking your head with the barrel of his gun. Laughing as you fell to the ground, face being pushed further into the floor by the sole of his boot that he was wearing.

He chuckled, pressing down harder earning a grunt of pain from you. "We got ourselves a feisty one, would you look at that!" His comrades laughed and jeered at his comment.

Your friends though, oh they were livid.

"Y/n!" Tuk wailed for you, as Lo'ak did his best to not cause mayhem.

"Get up." You groaned as he anchored you up by your braids. Y/n looked at her armband through her blurry vision, reminding herself to not cause more of a scene. For she feared what she could lose.

"Mawey, Mawey, I'm alright." You choked out, continuing like Lo'ak to speak Na'vi.

"As I was gonna say before I was so rudely interrupted." The leader once again spoke. He looked at each one of you inquisitively, before one of his people showed him Kiri's hands.

These were the times you were grateful that the Sully children wanted you to learn english alongside them. You caught on to what they were assuming about Kiri. All of you did.

Y/n barred her teeth as the idiotic man once again yanked on Kiri's hair, feeling panicky as their leader approached Lo'ak.

He demanded Lo'ak to show him his fingers, only to get flipped off. You could only watch in pride, he truly was his father's son.

As he continued to nag at Lo'ak you could only ponder what they wanted from all of you, how could they know these were the children of Toruk Makto?

"No!" Y/n protested as he put a knife to Lo'aks neck. But the man holding her captive only strengthened the grip he had on her head of hair. You knew he wouldn't disclose his dads whereabouts, and they didn't need to know either that they were already on their way to help you all out.

When the leader spoke in Na'vi it took everything in your willpower to not mock him for how butchered his pronunciation was. These were definitely people from the sky.

"Get away from her!" Y/n screamed as Spider and Lo'ak joined alongside her telling him to get the hell away from Kiri.

As he spoke to Spider, your eyes met Kiri's. She worriedly glanced at your bleeding head from the gun being slammed into you. But to soothe her you simply mouthed that you were okay.

You were all going to get out of this, alive.

"Miles?"

"Nobody calls me that," Spider said in response.

Your eyes widened in realisation, as did Lo'ak and Kiri's. The man standing before you was Miles Quaritch, Spider's father who was supposed to be deceased.

The sky demon who raged war on your homeland, the one who had killed your father in battle.

You were not about to let him take away any more of your family. Y/n wanted to kill him. How dare he have a second chance at life, in a world like Pandora which he completely takes for granted?

Quaritch stands up, gazing around. "We are standing by for extract, over."

Extract? No, they aren't here yet.

Y/n struggled to fight against the tight hold on her as they started to move away from where they'd been ambushed.

"Let us go!" Kiri begged, pain evident in her voice. You could only shake your head at her, not wanting for her to receive the same brutal treatment you'd just experienced.

"Shut up!" The bald ugly one seethed. Demon trash.

As you were shoved to the ground you could only look up at the clear skies above you. Silently, Y/n prayed to Eywa in hopes they'd be rescued before it was too late.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ˳೫˚

Eclipse was nearing, and the gleaming sun was starting to fade away and rest for the night. You only wished you could do the same, but being held as a "viable prisoner" unfortunately hinders that.

But not too far from where you and the rest waited to be saved, there were three people who landed on a tree branch. Hopping off their Ikrans, they sought to do just that. To save the ones they loved most.

"You stay with the Ikrans," Jake ordered his son.

Neteyam could only shut his eyes in annoyance, his stance shifting to convey his determination. There was a fire burning in his eyes, and it wasn't going to cease any time soon.

"Dad, I'm a warrior like you. I'm supposed to fight," He urged. No, he pleaded.

He could not just stand here and tend to the Ikrans. The mere thought of doing so was agonizing enough for him. To wait for you and his siblings to return safely.

The boy could only let his fingertips brush against the choker you had made and gifted him only the night before.

"Neteyam," Neytiri understood her son's worries. But she already had more than enough on her plate.

Jake gave a slight shake of his head, "I won't say it again."

"But dad! She's-", He tried to counteract. Sway his parents somehow, his hands yearned for revenge. The anguish on the tip of his tongue, his bow weighing on his back like a ton of bricks.

"I know, son. And I will get her back too. Just, stay here." Jake sighed, placing his hand on Neteyam's shoulder for a moment.

Before Neteyam could try to rebut, his parents had already begun venturing off methodically.

"Yes sir." He muttered to himself, walking back over to his Ikran and placing a gentle hand on it.

He had to think of his own plan.

Meanwhile, the bioluminescence beginning to flourish right before your eyes made your heart stumble on itself. She didn't know who was going to arrive first anymore. Her saviors, or soon-to-be tormentors.

Your thoughts continued to remain astray as the rain pelted down on your skin. Y/n did not let it show how the water seeping into her open wound located at the side of her head had caused her immense pain. Instead, she clenched her jaw and continued to watch over her family.

Y/n's ears perked at the static coming from a set of comms, something, something. 3 minutes.

She had to resort to something else then, she has to devise her own plan.

Quaritch though, couldn't shake a feeling that something was awry.

"Watch our 6."

You tried to angle your head to try to watch over Spider and Kiri. Only to fall short at the harsh tug of your ear.

"Keep your eyes forward."

You glared into nothingness, Y/n had never felt so utterly disposable.

Neytiri could only watch on as she pressed herself further into the tree. She had a clear sight of all of you. Something untamed bubbled within her having to witness her children in such a vulnerable state.

Then you heard it, Neytiri's call. Sounding again and again. To any person it'd sound like one of the many animals dominating the jungle, but you knew otherwise.

Catching on to this, Lo'ak gave an affirmative nod to all of you.

It's time.

Kiri prayed to Eywa, hoping to assure her mother's safety in whatever was about to ensue. But you knew the cards had been dealt, now it was time for all of you to follow along.

Instantaneously a familiar arrow sunk into the head of the man who had been guarding Kiri and Spider.

"Contact made!"

Frazzled by the gunshots, you heard a faint call of Lo'aks name. Suddenly a green mist evaded your senses.

Y/n knew now was her chance to escape.

She felt it was only right to let karma be her bitch. As soon as the chamber of the gun the man who had been guarding Y/n had emptied. He maneuvered to replace it, but before he could get far enough - you played your card.

Grasping the front of the gun, ignoring the burn from the gunpowder. You slammed it into the perpetrator's chin, making him stumble backward. Closing your fist, you landed a punch to his face for good measure.

"Tuk, race. Y/n, come on!" Lo'ak yelled for you.

As you began to run towards him, a hand wrapped around your ankle making you propel onto the dirt beneath you. Groaning, you tried to crawl away far enough to push yourself up. But something had glinted in your peripheral.

Your knife. It must have dropped from whoever had them after Neytiri shot her first arrow. You'd thank Neteyam later for having polished your knife when he added new decorative beads to it.

Choking for air, your fingertips brushed against it but a sheer force pushed your arms away from it. You snarled in pain, having reached your limit with this pathetic demon.

Channeling everything you'd learned in all your training back with your clan, you ignored the searing ache. The back of your head met his face with a sharp force.

In his moment of weakness, you scrambled for your knife. This time successfully getting it in your grasp.

You crouched in a defensive stance before him, letting out a vicious hiss as you clutched onto your knife.

"You're gonna pay-", He started to say.

You gasped, both your eyes trailing down to the arrow now wedged in his chest. He could only let out a low groan, trying to advance toward you.

Only he went flying back, another arrow hitting him dead in the forehead. But they weren't from Neytiri.

Pivoting you let out something akin to a choked sob or heave, "Neteyam!"

There he stood strong and mighty as ever. Hidden amongst the nature the jungle provides.

He'd never heard you utter his name like that. The eldest son was so used to it leaving your plush lips in either a tone of endearment or humor. Always enraptured in strings of warmth and grace.

But the way you had just spoken his name, rooted him into the ground. Neteyam never heard you so debilitated, so disoriented. It made his skin crawl in agony.

The gunshots sucked him right back in. He lunged towards you, pulling you away from the mayhem.

"Na'vi!" Someone behind you hollered.

"Rot in hell!" Your scream was directed at your tormentor, you hoped he was still alive to hear those words.

Neteyam pushed you behind him, loading his bow. But before he could shoot again you both were tackled down by Jake.

"Go! Go! Go!" He shouted, pushing you two forward as gunshots rang out.

All of you found temporary solace behind a tree trunk, Jake's arm reached out checking over you both. His eyes widened at how beaten down you looked.

"Follow me! Ready? Ready!" Jake instructed you both. This time it wasn't training though, it was life or death.

Jake stepped out, firing a few bullets at the enemies.

"Move!" Jake bellowed.

You jumped into action, pumping your legs as you run. The chilled air wooshed in your ears and nipped at your cheeks. You hauled yourself over the roots of the trees engulfing you. Narrowly, missing the gunshots as you reminded yourself to not look back.

It didn't sit well with Jake how he was the one ahead and you two were behind him. "Come on!" He yelled.

Neteyam grabbed your hips, pushing you over an abnormally larger root than the rest of the others, understanding the pain you must be in right now.

He knew you were more than capable of getting over it. He just wouldn't be able to get over himself if you sustained even more injuries. It also gave him great comfort being able to see you right in front of him.

You don't know how long you ran for, only finally coming to a stop in a small clearing. Falling to your knees, you tried to catch your breath.

Neteyam had so much to say as he looked down at you, but he physically was in too much shock at the moment. So he chose to settle down beside you, bringing you into his arms carefully.

Jake brought you two once again - to a tree. There you leaned against it, waiting in silence for everyone else.

Soon the rustling of leaves grabbed your attention. Jake held a warning hand to you both, signaling you guys to stay put.

Lo'ak and Tuk made their way to you guys. Giving each other tender hugs, you graciously thanked Eywa for keeping them safe.

As Lo'ak leaned his head on your shoulder, he mumbled an apology to you.

"I'm so sorry for leaving you behind. Tuk was terrified, and I had to get her out of there."

You patted his head, allowing him to lean back and look at you.

"You did what was right, Lo'ak. I have no ill feelings toward you. I'm just grateful you're both okay." Y/n reassured him, as she kissed Tuk on the forehead.

Movement suddenly came from behind you, Jake pushed you and his children behind him - again.

Breaking out from the foliage was a worrisome Kiri and Neytiri.

"Mom!" Tuk cried, running to them. You sluggishly followed her.

Neytiri brought you, girls, into a hug as she too thanked Eywa numerous times that you were all here. She'd never had a reminder as harsh as this.

What she could have just lost.

Neteyam gravitated towards you after Jake embraced both him and Lo'ak.

He looked over at you, eyes and hands trailing.

"We need to get you patched up, grandma can help." He whispered to you, hands hovering over your bruised face.

Inwardly, Neteyam was seething. So many rhetorical questions were prodding at his brain. How you were already wounded when he first saw you? What else had they done to you?

Y/n crooned - "No, no. I'm fine, I'm okay."

"You are not!" He grunted.

His eyes looked dazed, far away. Neteyam was still in a state of terror. Not only had his siblings been put in danger, but his partner in crime as well. His person, was right in the thick of it.

He didn't want to linger on what could have happened if he and his parents came any later. He didn't want to fathom the thought of not just Spider being abducted, but all of you as well.

If his arrow had missed, if anything had gone remotely wrong...

As if you could read his mind, somehow capture his thoughts. Your thumb brushed over his cheek. Your other hand moving to cradle the back of his head as your hand sunk into his braids. Treading your fingers through it you leaned your head against his.

"I'm right here, Neteyam. We're all going to be okay."

Neteyam could only nod as he brought you into another longing embrace.

He'd do whatever it takes for you to stay by each other's sides. Whatever it takes, he will always protect you. Even when he is gone from this world, he vowed to himself right then and there - that he'd still look out for you.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄.

Awa'atlu grew on you over time. It took a while, a lot of adjusting, and taking new things in stride. But you made it this far now, and you felt like maybe this place was truly becoming your home.

It truly felt like a juxtaposition, from the forest - now to the water. Somehow it brought you comfort, Eywa constructed such beautiful places. The community around you, while hostile at first - was also beginning to warm up to all of you too.

Alongside your mother, you had followed the Sullys as you seek out a new place that would hopefully grant you Uturu.

It was truly a challenge, having to stay hidden to keep the people back in your clan safe. You knew it was the right call.

But now the tides were pulling themselves in, dread encompassing the place you were still trying to gain more understanding of.

Your luck was running thin. All you wanted to do was help Lo'ak save Payakan. To be there for your people, your new clan.

It seemed the world had other plans though.

Now you were stuck on the demon ship. Handcuffed to the rails alongside Lo'ak, Tsireya, and Tuk. Snarling you checked the restraints out, you realised you'd have to cut into it to be released. Dammit.

"Be brave," Lo'ak tried to remain optimistic.

Y/n could only hope that Neteyam had gotten back to safety far away from all this.

All your ears perked up, hearing the distinct calls of the Metkayina clan. You could see them in the distance flying on their Skimwings towards the ship.

"Na'vi inbound!" Someone yelled.

"Push left, spread out." Another commanded them.

Tuk had faith, they were all going to get out of this alive. "Dad," she called out to him.

"It's Sully."

Quaritch ripped the comms off from Lo'ak as the Metkayina came to a still in the water a few hundred yards away from you all.

"Jake, tell your friends to stand down. If you want your kids back, you'll come out alone." Quatrich asserted, grasping his gun and pressing it to the side of Lo'aks head.

Tsireya and you yelled for him to stop, whilst Tuk began to cry.

"You know better to test my result."

Y/n wished she could listen in, but she looked around for her mother instead. She noted how Neytiri and Melìew were nowhere to be seen. Must be up in the sky, hovering.

Quaritch was running out of patience, he moved the gun to your head instead.

"She took one of ours, maybe it's time to take one of yours. Like I said, do not test me!" You held your breath, trying not to make any sudden sound or movement.

Your blood ran cold, Y/n did not want to die this way. Especially not now, not when she has so much more reasons to live and experiences to fulfill.

Through gritted teeth, Quaritch challenged Jake. "Do I make myself clear?"

He stepped back, the weight of the gun easing off your head. Y/n looked on to where Jake and the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk were having a heated discussion.

It gave you a moment to ponder on Quaritch's words from before. She hadn't killed one of the sky people. But Neteyam did.

In the midst of all the fighting, it must have looked to them like it had been her doing. Whatever, that was the least of her worries at this time being.

Quaritch once again spoke to Jake through the stolen comms. "Offers beginning to expire. What's it gonna be?"

Y/n looked to Lo'ak after hearing him curse quietly, following his eyes you saw his father pushing on - alone.

"Easy shot." One of the fake Na'vi beckoned.

"You hit him now, they attack. Wait until he's on board."

Lo'ak and yourself let out frustrated groans through harshly gritted teeth. You were defenseless.

Abruptly water shot up as a familiar looking Tulkun shot out from beneath the ocean.

"Payakan", Tuk yelled out.

Water rained down on you all as he launched himself on top of the ship. You watched in astonishment as he wreaked havoc.

"Argh!" You grunted, pushing a nearby soldier to Payakan. Lo'ak mimicked your actions as he called out for his brother.

"Yeah!" Lo'ak whooped.

"Holy shit," You gaped as Payakan deflected the harpoon and dove back into the ocean.

The sound of gunshots had your ears ringing as you watched the Metkayina charge at the sky people. Sighing in relief as you saw your mother on her Ikran flying side by side with Neytiri.

Y/n could only observe as the sky people hopped on their own Ikrans and flew upwards. While everyone fought each other you used this to your advantage, trying to break free from your restraints.

Neytiri and your mother flew over the ship, looking down at their children in horror. Both of them shot arrows into the gunships that attempted to fly into the battle.

The ship suddenly jerked, before moving at a far faster pace. Shrieking as you were suddenly suspended in the air, before knocking back down onto the ship.

Water sprayed at all of you on impact. Lo'ak let out a pained groan as he pushed himself up, kicking at the rails.

"Are you okay," he asked all of you. You all nodded, before following his motions and kicking the rail as well.

Alarms sounded all around the ship. You needed to get out of here.

Suddenly, Tuk gasped gleefully. "Neteyam!"

Your head whipped to the side, distracted by pushing at the railing.

He held a knife in his head, grinning - "Hey baby brother, you need some help?"

"You're ridiculous," Y/n mused. Her heart soared at the sight of her boyfriend unharmed.

"Shut up, come on!" Lo'ak replied, looking over his shoulders to see no one was paying attention to them.

He quickly cut Tsireya out of her restraints, and moving onto Tuk he did the same.

Now it was your turn.

He gazes into your eyes, fighting off the instinct to caress your face. Cutting you out of your restraints, he could finally breathe easier. His hands hovered over your wrists seeing the angry red marks that now tainted your deep blue skin.

He looked to Tsireya and you, "Get tuk out of here."

Nodding, you grasped onto Tuk's arm running to the edge of the ship. You turned around as Neteyam stumbled towards you, eyes squinting seeing Lo'ak had rushed the other way.

"Lo'ak!" He called for his brother, making his way back to him as the younger brother grabbed a gun. You watched them bicker back and forth, rolling your eyes at their idiotic antics.

"Tsireya go, we'll meet you there," Y/n said as she took her knife out.

"No, Y/n!" Tuk pouted at you.

Leaning down you kissed her forehead, "I'll be back soon".

Y/n nodded at Tsireya before making her way over to the two Skxwangs.

"Come on bro, we can't leave him!"

You tugged on Neteyam's arm, "What's going on?"

"We've gotta get Spider!" Lo'ak exclaimed.

Y/n tilted her head up to meet Neteyam's eyes. He look troubled, but he knew if he didn't follow - Lo'ak would venture on this mission by himself.

It's just, something felt off.

You knew in those few seconds, Neteyam had the same gut feeling you did. It wasn't that you didn't want to save Spider, but the circumstances of everything were already against you all. Y/n had a terrible feeling about this, and the last time she had this feeling was at the Old Shack.

But you weren't going to leave them behind. Looking around, you also decided to pick up a gun.

Neteyam, realising the intent of your actions fought against them weakly. "No, go with Tuk."

You stared him down. He knew you already made up your mind.

Sighing, he pushed you in front of him. Each of you crept further into the ship, jumping on a nearby wall and climbing to the ceiling.

Y/n tuned out the sounds of the people running beneath her frantically. Choosing to continue to move along.

The three of you made your way onto some sort of connecting platform. Lo'ak put a finger to his lips, before pointing down below. Neteyam and Y/n peered over the edge, seeing Spider being guarded by multiple men.

As they rounded the corner, Neteyam signed "Jump down when I do".

In a matter of seconds he leaped down, you and Lo'ak closely following behind. You pushed one of the men into the nearest wall, immediately slicing his throat.

A hand came at your shoulder and gripped it harshly, but you quickly grabbed it as you turned around. Slamming the man into the ground you leaned down, holding the man's head - you stabbed your knife in his chest.

As you got back up, Neteyam suddenly pushed you out of the way. He grabbed the man who was charging at you and threw him down the ship.

Silence. Your adrenaline had your hands shaking, but before anyone could say a word - one of the men got up grasping his gun.

Lo'ak bet him to it, firing a bunch of rounds and shooting the man down.

Your eyes widened in shock, "Bro come on", Spider called.

Neteyam put his hand in yours, examining his brother.

"Let's go."

Neteyam tugged you along, jumping down as you all tried to figure out a way to get off this ship.

Spider thanked you all, but you saw Quaritchs right-hand man in the near distance.

"No!" Neteyam shouted, aiming the gun Lo'ak was pointing at him down to the ground. Shots were fired at you all as you crouched down rushing away from the henchmen.

"Give me that," Neteyam grabbed his gun whilst you held yours. You both peeked out, as you reached a corner. Firing in the general area the bullets were coming from.

"Go, Go, Go!" You and Neteyam yelled at the two boys.

Y/n checked behind them, witnessing them successfully leaping off the ship.

"Go, Neteyam! I am right behind you." Y/n urged, continuing to shoot at the men.

A deep guttural growl escaped him.

He wanted to complain, but the sound of more gunshots cut him off before he could do so.

He headed in the same direction Lo'ak and Spider had gone. Jumping into the ocean, he waited for you.

You looked to where the men were reloading the guns. It was now or never.

Right before you moved to leap as well, someone suddenly body-slammed you. Screaming at the impact, you desperately tried to reach for the gun that got knocked out of your hands.

A soldier held you down, and the bubble gum she had been chewing - popped. Giving you a deathly glare she dug her fingernails into your skin, drawing blood.

Y/n squirmed as she tried to resist and fight her way out of her deathly grip.

"You killed a good man in the woods. Like Colonel said, you took one of ours." She spat at you.

Any response you could have uttered was cut off by your own knife being plunged into your lower chest.

Y/n wanted to scream, to do anything but succumb to the faith that had just been handed to her. But the pain was excruciating, nothing like she'd ever felt before in her entire life.

"Rot in hell." She sneered at you.

It sounded ironic. The words you had screamed in a moment of triumph, resinated bitterly now.

She rolled you, pushing you over the edge as you plummeted into the water.

Struggling to stay afloat, all you could hear was your friends and lovers muffled cheering. Y/n could only smile to herself, at least they were all okay.

Everything else began to blur from then on, you remember them realising you were wounded. How Neteyam had never looked so disoriented in his life.

Oh, how the situations have flipped.

This wasn't the plan.

How dare he jump for safety and leave you to die? It should have been him.

"N-Neteyam." You choked out, your chest rising up and down rapidly. Y/n was grappling to stay afloat as her own hand tried to cover her stab wound.

Neteyam's heart shattered at the sight of you as he held you above water. "Shhh, save your energy. You're going to be just fine."

He took you away from prying eyes, keeping a lookout as he called for his Ilu. Lo'ak, Tsireya, and Spider were right behind him.

"Bro, we can take her to that rock over there." Lo'ak pointed, not too far but enough distance to separate you all from the sinking ship.

Neteyam nodded, continuing to hold you upright and letting you lean on him.

It felt like a million years, his entire lifetime seeming like it passed before reaching the rock.

With the help of everyone else, they lifted you on it, carrying you and settling you down.

"Watch her head, watch her head," Neteyam repeated. Pushing wet hair strands away from your face that was scrunched up in discomfort

"That could have gone a lot worse, yawntu." You quietly said.

Neteyam's smile was grim, suddenly taken back to your date in the jungle that had been interrupted by that mighty Thanator and his own personal duties back at home.

"Huh, yeah. It really could have. But it didn't" Neteyam stuttered out.

His chuckles that followed his words were forced, vision going murky at the tears that threatened to burst through his facade.

He knew even as Tsireya stuffed the stab wound with moss from the rock it was too late. There was too much blood, so much blood. For the very first and last time, he was too late.

Too late to save you, and now he didn't know what to do.

Your end is near.

Before there was an opportunity to aid you. To get you to safety - to save you from harm's way. But this time there was absolutely nothing he could do. He'd never felt so openly inferior.

All he could do was let Eywa retrieve you peacefully.

Your cries of pain tore into him, tears gushing down your face as he hushed you and tried to wipe them all away.

It devastated him to know there wasn't any way for him to feel your pain. He never wanted this to ever happen to you.

He truly thought that this move away from all the danger and war had bought you both more time.

He was a fool for thinking that life would bestow that upon him.

The sudden wooshing of Ikrans wings mingled in the tense air as Neytiri and Melìew landed on the rock. Jake, hopped off his Skimwing.

"Oh great mother, no! My daughter, my daughter!" Your mother wept as she fell onto her knees by your side.

Neteyam gripped your hand, squeezing it in reassurance.

"Mom, I did it. I'm truly a warrior." You struggled, your breath seeming to escape you quicker than you thought.

"You silly girl. You always have been. You always will be." Your mother soothed you, her hands holding your face and caressing your hair.

You meekly smiled at her, looking at everyone who surrounded you. Neytiri silently cried as Jake held her in his arms. It gave you a sense of comfort, through the pair - you saw yourself and Neteyam.

Y/n glanced at Jake, "Thank you for everything."

Jake could only bend down, pressing a hand to your leg and giving it a squeeze. He had so much to say. How wonderful you are at everything you do. The way you gave every training lesson your all. And the way you treated his son. But he had a feeling you already knew.

Neytiri moved to the free space above your head, gripping onto one of your mum's hands as she pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

You would always be her honourary daughter, and she knew she was about to lose you. All she could do now was be here and try to give you some comfort.

"Neteyam?"

"Yes, Y/n?" Neteyam peered down at you, and you returned his gaze.

"Are we going back home?" She whispered.

He could see the light he adored so much fading away from Y/n's eyes. The faint wheeze in your breathing, and your skin losing its colour.

"Yeah we are, we're gonna finish that picnic date. You gotta prepare your basket okay? Don't forget the picnic blanket." His tears were free-falling at this point, but he no longer had the willpower to care about saving face.

All he cared about at this moment was you.

Numb to the feelings consuming your body, Y/n's smile widened. “Okay 'Teyam, can we bring our Ikrans?"

Neteyam forced himself to nod, keeping his tone of voice upbeat. "You bet, Y/n. I'll even race you."

You coughed as you giggled. Neteyam's frown deepened, as he cradled your face.

For the very last time, you nuzzled into the warmth his open palm provided. Taking in his faint yet distinct scent of salt and nature.

Peace poured into your heart and soul.

"I'm gonna win. and I'm always going to love you. I love you, and your wonderful family. I love you, I see you." You rambled, truly hoping you conveyed your last words well.

"I will always see you," Neteyam murmured, taking all of you in as well.

And then the light faded.

Tsireya was the first to realise this, she looked down at your blood coating her hands as she started to cry. Lo'ak held onto her, and Neteyam - knowing damn well he was about to need it.

"Y/n? Y/n. Y/n!" Neteyam wailed out a gut-wrenching cry for help.

He couldn't believe his eyes, he couldn't come to terms that you were no longer here.

You were with the great mother now.

"No, Y/n. Please! Come back to me!" He leaned his forehead on yours, closing his eyes tight. He prayed that when he'd open them, this would all be a ruthless lie.

That you'd be able to actually go on that other date. Live on to be each other's mates in the eyes of Eywa. To be able to witness and create a family of your own.

You'd be able to grow and flourish. Together.

His hopes and dreams were crushed the moment your last breath escaped you. Anguish and rage now consumed him.

They took you away from him. Robbed him of a life that was supposed to be spent being by your side, your eternal protector.

As his eyes opened, yours stayed the same.

His fingertips flittered over them, before closing your eyes.

Neteyam could no longer bare to look at what he had lost.

His soul, now as empty as your weightless gaze.

The cries of his family and your mother echoed in his ears, yet he maintained a tight hold on your cold hand.

This couldn't have gone any worse.

But it simply had. And now you were gone.

One with the ocean, one with the sea. Neteyam liked to think and believe they had welcomed you in harmony.

𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

⤷ feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated ! feel free to ask through my inbox if you would like to join my taglist. ♡

#junie's library 📚✧.*#avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #atwow #avatar imagine #avatar x reader #atwow spoilers #avatar 2 #avatar fanfiction #avatar #dude i literally. cried while writing half of this. i really hope you guys enjoy this and give it a lot of love :')#୨୧ ⁓ junie's corner ⁓ ୨୧ #like u have no idea how much thought 🧠🧠 i put into this whole beast of a story..

1K notes · View notes

tonberry-yoda · 10 months

Text

Menace - Hobie Brown (Spiderpunk)

notes - here's the hobie fic for the poll that ended today!!! This is just a cute little drabble that was overall just really fun to write! I hope all of my Hobie simps enjoy it as much as I do! God, I literally love him though like Jesus he should not be allowed to be THIS FINE. Anyways, stay hydrated, loves <3 word count - 817

"Hobie, I don't think I'm exactly allowed in here," you whispered, following behind your boyfriend who was decked out in his spidersuit. It wasn't the fact that he was spiderman right now that bothered you, but the fact that there were hundreds of other spidermen and women surrounding the two of you.

"Aw, who cares?" he whispered back. "I don't follow their rules anyway."

"Yeah, but-"

"Hey Hobie!" you heard a cheery voice say. You quickly hid behind your boyfriend and heard him - in overenthusiastic British slang - greet a boy named 'Pavitr.'

The conversation seemed to play out just fine until you heard the boy say, "Huh? Hobie, who's that?"

You froze. You were dead for sure.

"Oh, this?" Hobie pulled you out from behind him and your face flushed red from embarrassment. "This is my partner."

"Oh my goodness!" Pavitr put his hands together and slipped off his spider-mask, smiling at you brightly. "Well aren't you two cute together? I'm Pavitr! Nice to meet you..."

"y/n," you muttered out, taking his hand.

"Nice to meet you, y/n! Wait, how did you get in here?" He grabbed his chin and thought about it, but in the middle of that thought process, Hobie patted him on the back and led you away from him before things god messy.

You played with the day pass on your wrist that Hobie stole for you. "We're gonna get caught by someone who cares." you said.

"So what? I don't care. He didn't care. No one cares. Plus, we won't be here long, love, I just wanted to show you the cafe."

He led you into a giant room with tables on the walls, ceiling, and floor, hundreds of spider-people just chatting and eating away at their food.

As you were in awe of the room, you didn't even notice that Hobie had left your side and went to the counter. When you did notice, you ran over to him.

"Why'd you leave me?"

"You found your way, right?" He winked at you and leaned on the ordering counter. "Could I get two spiderman 2099 patties and uhm... two orders of chips please?"

The person behind the counter nodded at him and Hobie led you to a table that was luckily more hidden from the rest of them.

"Did you want a drink?" he asked.

"Yes please."

"Be right back."

When Hobie left, you were left in astonishment at this place. It wasn't like anything you'd seen in real life, so this had to be a dream. You thought one spiderman was crazy, especially when the one in your city was your boyfriend, but to see thousands of different types from different dimensions all in one area was somehow even crazier.

"Mystery drink." Hobie laughed, sliding you over a cup.

You took a sip out of it and were pleasantly surprised.

"So," Hobie said, playing with the wrapper of his straw. "Whaddya think?"

"It's a lot," you admitted.

"You think so? You told me that I was a lot."

"Yeah, but this is a lot a lot." you laughed.

He simply nodded at you and took a sip of his drink as someone served your food to you. The design on the burger made you laugh, but you took a bite anyway.

"By the way, babe," he said, taking a bite of his fries. "If you see someone who looks like the design of that patty, run."

"Okay?"

"I'm serious," he said, which frightened you, because he never was. "If you're scared of one of these guys finding you out, you don't even wanna know how he would react."

"Can do." You saluted to Hobie, who just leaned over the table and pressed his lips to your cheek.

"Stawp, Hobie," you chuckled.

"Let's get home then, before he actually does show up. Sometimes he'll just appear out of no where. Scares the crap out of me, that bloke." He opened a portal next to your table and you scooped up your food and walked through, Hobie right behind you.

The two of you ended up in an empty parking lot not far from home and you sat right on one of the parking lines, taking a deep breath. There was so much the world didn't know about... how cool.

"You're really pretty tonight, love."

You turned to Hobie and laughed. "Aren't I always pretty?"

He just rolled his eyes at you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. "Yes, but especially tonight."

You faced Hobie and smiled, pressing your lips to his before leaning your head on his shoulder.

"Thanks for showing me around spidey HQ," you giggled.

"And not getting us caught."

"We were close."

"But we didn't get caught!"

"Fine, fine. You're right."

Hobie rubbed your shoulder and you leaned closer to him while you finished your food.

Your boyfriend was a menace, but he was your menace.

~~~~~

into the spiderverse masterlist | pinned post 2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

444 notes · View notes

dxckgrxsonx · 1 year

Note

I will take what ever you will give me of dick pick jay please

how about this?? how about feelings and emotions and both of them saying they love each other without actually saying they love each other??

Some nights are better than others.

It’s almost grief leaking into your chest when you find him. Sat down in the shower. Silent. Alone. He’s got his back pressed against frigid tile, knees tucked up close to his chest. He looks young. He looks small. There’s almost pain flaring awake in your gut, like being stabbed in a dream and waking up half linked into adrenaline, convinced you’re torn open and bleeding.

You look at Jason, still dressed in his gear, still armed, and wonder if he’s waiting for a fight. There’s some nights you look at him and watch him bring conflict home, watch him tap the grips of his guns to make sure they’re still there, watch him manoeuvre around your apartment like there’s a threat hidden somewhere.

Sometimes, it’s like the violence won’t leave and even worse, sometimes you watch Jason not know what to do with himself once the fight is over.

There’s water beating against his back and his hair sticks to his forehead but he doesn’t move. Not even when you smooth yourself into his peripheral. Not even when you slide open the frosted glass door and step inside.

The shower cubicle is wide enough for you to sit next to him, so you fold yourself up small, tuck your edges into place around him. Your knee knocks against his own and you press your arms together, shoulder to elbow to wrist. And still, he doesn’t move.

His name settles on your tongue but you swallow it back. Instead, you link your pinky fingers together and wait.

Jason says your name so softly, almost like a whisper, maybe a prayer, and presses his knee into yours. The pressure is barely there, feels like nothing at all, but the relief is sweet on your tongue, the awful banging on the inside of your chest finally stops.

“Yeah, I’m here.” You whisper, tugging his hand closer so you can smooth your thumb over his knuckles. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Dropping his head onto your shoulder Jason sighs, almost as if you’ve spread balm over an old, aching wound, almost like you’ve found exactly where he’s hurting and taken it away. His body leans into you, legs unfolding to lay straight, feet touching the opposite wall.

You follow his lead, stretch out so you can keep his hand in your lap. Turning his hand over you smooth your fingers over his palm, walk over the lines and play gently with his fingers. Measuring the size of your hand to his, you huff quietly in amusement and Jason, without saying a single word, slots his fingers between your own and holds your hand.

“You’ll stay?” He asks.

Bringing his hand to your mouth you kiss his knuckles, the barest brush of your lips, “Always. I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me. I won’t go unless you want me to.”

“Never.” Jason murmurs, and you know he’s watching your intertwined fingers. “I’ll never not want you. For the rest of my life, you are all I’ll ever want.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #ella writes #asks #answered #anonymous #aaaaaa #'you'll stay?' 'always.'#im tired and just love them so much #its also after 3am #i really need to sleep

1K notes · View notes

firenati0n · 18 days

Text

who truly stuck the knife in first

by firenati0n on ao3

M | 3.7k

tags: spy au, partners to lovers, banter, getting together, sexuaIIy charged wrestling, first kiss, protective henry, alex pov

“Did I say I wanted you to touch me? Maybe Vincent and Charles have a dead bedroom. Who wants to kiss a face like yours, anyway?” Patently false, considering Alex has wanted to do it forever. But he shelves that thought for a different day. Henry raises an eyebrow as he smooths down the lines of his suit. “Hm. You think you'll get to kiss me with a smart mouth like that?” “Okay, Foxy. Don’t expect my tongue anywhere near yours tonight if things get sticky.” Henry smiles, soft and secretive. “Sure, Alex. No tongues, if you insist.”

xoxo roop

also tagging some folks who expressed interest in this pls don't mind me <3 ilysm xoxo

@suseagull04 @duchessdepolignaca03 @littlestar2911 @saturntheday @welcometololaland @onthewaytosomewhere @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @nontoxic-writes @onward--upward @cha-melodius @piratefalls @indestructibleheart @dolphinqueen10 @eusuntgratie @oxfordslutphase @dragonflylady77 @wordsofhoneydew @rmd-writes @celeritas2997 @bigassbowlingballhead @ninzied

88 notes · View notes

serenescribe · 1 month

Text

the once (and many) prince(s) Twisted Wonderland | 3.3k Summary: Silver is, has always been, and will always be, the crown prince of his kingdom. AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54424864 Collaboration with @ohsleepie | Potential spoilers for elements of Chapter 7

Hi everyone! @ohsleepie and I are back at it again with another collaboration based on his wonderful "The Prince and his Physician" AU! This fic is meant to act as a companion story of sorts to the Malleus-focused "the prince's physician," this time focusing on Silver within the AU! Once again, this fic features incredibly beautiful and amazing art drawn by Sleepie; please check him out and follow him, if you haven't already!

I hope you all enjoy!

The worst part of reincarnation, Silver thinks, is the constant cycle of relearning everything all over again.

Okay, perhaps it would be a bit of a stretch to call it the worst part. There are many negatives, many downsides, far too many to count, to being stuck in a loop of constantly dying and reincarnating. But this particular aspect is, in Silver’s honest opinion, one of the worst out of them all.

There is a bookshelf carved from expensive ebony that sits in his chambers, nestled against one side of the wall. There are several bookshelves in his room, but this is the only one that Silver ever uses, filled from top to bottom with centuries worth of journals — leather-bound books gilded with gold and silver, every detail immaculately painted and carved, the cover opening to expensive parchment made from calves. He tends to absentmindedly run a hand along the spines, eyes glazing over the muted leather colours, before plucking out a book, and reading it through.

Silver only lives a good seventeen years at best, always dying before crossing the pinnacle into adulthood. How much of those seventeen years consist of just… reading? There are, of course, his early years, where he is much too infantile to read and write. But he barely has a few years of reading simple children’s stories before the latest journal is pressed into his hands, and he is briefly explained about the details of his curse.

He pores over the words of those who came before him — the Silvers who came before him, his previous iterations, all dying to form the next one. Their handwriting ghost his own, not just similar but straight up identical, and if he stresses his brain hard enough, he can almost conjure up wispy, fading memories of putting a quill to paper, ink curling across the page in the same, sweeping cursive.

And yet, it is a necessity to read all of it, all over again. Because Silver remembers — but not enough.

His memories are shattered, like an ancient mirror that has been cracked right through the middle, fractured into thousands of tiny, individual pieces. It is akin to a kaleidoscope of lifetimes; when he gazes into this metaphorical mirror, a thousand Silvers stare back, each one reflecting his exact appearance, yet distinct and different in their own ways. And yet each piece is but a shard; Silver remembers only the smallest bits of each past life, the pieces coming together to form a jumbled jigsaw of sharp-edged recollections.

He has lived far too many lifetimes as Silver — the crown prince of his kingdom, the only living heir of their royal family. He has lived far too many lifetimes as a Silver — distinctly different with each rebirth, living a short number of years until the day he inevitably dies.

Silver is immortal, and yet he is not. He lives on as the royal, the prince, a beacon of hope—

But Silver the person changes, with each new looping cycle.

(And so he reads through their journals, no matter how much it exhausts him.)

Many a time, his gaze wanders to his bedroom window.

As the sole heir to the royal family, Silver resides in the largest chambers of the castle, a sprawling set of multiple rooms, from a drawing room to receive guests, to his private bedroom where he slumbers at night. What this also means is that he is privy to the best views of everything within his kingdom, from the area stretching across the castle grounds, to the rest of the kingdom beyond tall and guarded stone walls.

There are many things for him to peer at, but today, he is gazing at the soldiers’ barracks again. They have their own section of the castle, tucked out of the way, but Silver can view them from the sanctity of his study, a room where he pens his thoughts in his journal and reads through old ones.

The emotion that dwells within him is nigh imperceptible, difficult to describe. It feels as though someone has tied a rope around his ribcage, double-knotting it and pulling it tight before tugging at it, and pulling him forward. There are twinges and pangs that cross his heart, a hollow cavern yawning as his soul collapses into itself.

He feels this as he stares out the window at the soldiers training in their courtyard. His eyes fixate on the swords in their hands, at the way they slash and thwack their weapons against straw-stuffed training dummies. Occasionally, he will spot the soldiers gathering together, jumping and yelling as two of them spar with wooden swords, all of them oblivious to his peeping.

He wants this. He longs for this. He—

“Your majesty?”

Silver blinks. It takes him a split second, pulling himself out of his thoughts, shoving away the deep desires that permeate his heart, but he quickly turns around, eyes fixating on the familiar figure in the doorway.

“Malleus,” Silver greets, shoulders relaxing as a smile slips onto his face. Of course it is Malleus; there are few who have his explicit permission to enter without needing to knock, and his physician is one of them. He waves his hand, ushering him in. “How long have you been standing there? Come on in, take a seat wherever you’d like. And what have I said about the formalities?”

Malleus is here for another check-up, and Silver gladly acquiesces. He can think of no other person he trusts more with his very life and soul than Malleus himself. He allows the man to lead him through familiar routines, magic permeating his body as he searches for something Silver cannot see, before shifting to more physical methods of testing Silver’s health.

Still, as Malleus works in a near-silence, preferring to focus and get his duties done before they can relax and spend some time together, Silver cannot help his thoughts from wandering off again. His desires are not new; he has seen them expressed across multiple journals, scrawled in identical, curling scripts across expensive parchment. The desire to pick up a weapon, to learn to fight and defend, to learn how to wield a blade like a true prince — that is what he so desires.

But he is frail, and the council insists that he stays in, that he can learn to fight once they break the curse. So never, Silver thinks bitterly, eyelids slipping shut as he feels cold claws brush against his forehead. Never in this lifetime, and not while I’m alive.

Malleus is many things.

To the populace, he has many names, many signifiers, viewed in many different ways. He is a blessing and a curse, for his magic is by far the only thing that can cure their prince, but all of it comes at the cost of his very existence itself: A fae; a deplorable, wicked creature; a monster that is the very scum of the earth itself. The history of their kingdom is written in the blood of their ancestors, shed through grievous wounds inflicted by the sharp claws and gleaming maws of the fae that slaughtered them all.

To the nobles, the members of the council who govern over the kingdom in Silver’s stead, making decisions on his behest, Malleus is something they tolerate. They do not speak of what will happen after the curse is broken and Silver is cured, but Silver knows, from their whispers and sly glances, from the words penned by the others who came before him, that they wish for nothing more than to rid the world of the last of the wicked — not, and never, fair — fae.

Humans gaze upon Malleus with distrust, wariness, abject hatred.

But for Silver, Malleus is one simple thing alone.

To him, Malleus is his friend.

There are two distinct points in the history of Silver’s incarnations: Before Malleus, and After Malleus.

The difference is like night and day. The journals of before are dismal and depressing, imbued with a bone-deep loneliness that carried all the way through into the parchment pages, stained in the very ink used to scrawl thoughts across the pages. The Silvers of that time tried — truly, they did — to cling to hope, to believe in what their people believed: that one day, their prince would be freed from the shackles of his horrific curse.

But with the passing decades, the many years, the many Silvers that lived and died, they all seemed to suffer from the same truth: there was no cure in sight.

And then there was Malleus.

The guards found a young fae child today, lurking in the borders between what remains of the valley and the kingdom, his own handwriting reads, the parchment yellowed with age, the ink long-since dried. This, Silver knows, is the first point at which Malleus is mentioned, though not yet by name, tucked away in a notebook he recognises by the distinct fern-green colour of its cover. Even now, as I write this, I still cannot believe the abysmal state he was in upon meeting him. No child, whether human or otherwise, should have that many injuries on their body, and though I have had a stern word with those who found him, I fear for his safety.

He shall remain with me for the time being.

Though Silver does not have favourite journals — for such a concept is lost on him when all the journals are such a drag to read, recounting the day-to-day experiences of his past selves, a depressing fog seeming to permeate every page of words — this one is perhaps the closest one to such a concept. Because this journal is different — he clings to every word, phantom feelings of a fierce protectiveness flaring within him, as though this particular incarnation has stirred somewhere deep within him and seized his soul.

It is so painfully obvious how much his past self had cared for Malleus — taking care of him, granting him such patience and endless kindness, spending time with him teaching him the human tongue, of how to read and write. There is a page filled with endless delight upon learning the fae’s name, ink smudged together where the page reads Malleus. Their activities did not end at the crude essentials; there are sweeping recounts of games played together, of crayon drawings and delicious platters of sweet treats — and Silver aches when he reads every word of it, possessed by a longing to return to those simpler times, when Malleus was not his physician, and was merely his friend.

And this care is made so apparent by the last few pages, the cursive made shaky by the cold, approaching winds of Death. To the next Silver, it reads, take care of Malleus. If there is any hope of breaking this curse that ails me, it lies within the powers of the fair folk. And yet, the rest of the page is filled with sentiments, rather than explaining how Malleus is the key to breaking the curse:

I wish this could last forever, these sweet days of playing together. For much of my life, I have been haunted by a bleak loneliness, isolated by my circumstances, and haunted by the weight of all our pasts. I have never had any companions my age, and I know from my readings that all of my predecessors shared the same lonely fate. To indulge in such fleeting luxuries, to have someone to speak to as though we were on the same level, intimately so— it is a happiness unlike anything I have ever felt before.

Blotchy circles stain the pages, the ink smeared in places.

Things may be different from now on. I understand that the council wishes for him to begin his work when the next cycle begins. And it is with that knowledge that I must remind the next Silver: Malleus may be our physician, and he may be tasked with breaking our curse—

But before that, before any of that, he is our friend.

Never forget that, for as long as we may live.

“Thank you for joining me today.”

Wispy trails of steam rise from two cups of tea, sitting in elegant saucers. Before Silver, and in the middle of the round tea table, is a small spread of sweet delicacies: scones accompanied by small glass jars of jam; finger sandwiches, some filled with goat’s cheese and roasted pepper, others filled with cucumber and salmon; and a small, round cake, tiny enough that it’s perfect for just the two of them.

“Of course,” Malleus replies, his voice smooth as usual. He raises his head slightly, slitted-eyes roaming over the tea-time spread before them, before he dips his head. “I thank you for the invitation, your majesty.”

“We have been over this many times, Malleus,” Silver says, unable to hide the exhaustion that spills into his voice. “You need not refer to me by such formalities.”

He knows why Malleus does so, of course. The answer is written across several different journals — It is difficult for him to reacquaint himself with us in each new cycle, and I truly cannot blame him. How alienating must it be, to witness someone you grow close to, time and time again, look upon you with no familiarity in his eyes? There is another reason too, though one of mere speculation, for Malleus has never confessed the truth by his own tongue — Earlier today, I witnessed a council member chide Malleus for regarding me with such familiarity during our meeting. I do wonder if this may be another factor into those needless formalities.

Thankfully, Malleus always obliges whenever Silver asks this of him — though whether it is because Silver is his prince, or because Silver is his friend, he never knows. “Is there any occasion for this meeting, Prince Silver?” Malleus asks, as Silver beckons for him to help himself, unwilling to dig in first when the fae’s eyes are flickering over the food, glinting with hunger. I wonder if he has forgotten to eat again, Silver thinks. Malleus carries over a scone and a sandwich with his utensils, leaving the cake intact. “Not that I mind it, by any means; it is always a pleasure to spend time with you.”

“There is no special occasion,” Silver answers, finally reaching for the spread as Malleus cuts into his meal. “I… only wished to spend time with my friend.”

Their relationship is a strange, tenuous thing. There is undoubtedly a bond there, from the way that Silver always feels so safe and secure in Malleus’ presence, and the gentle way that Malleus treats him, always appearing whenever Silver calls for him. There are even some rare occasions where the facade of dutiful physician slips, a careful veneer crafted for the sake of survival in the court, and Silver relishes those times, watching as Malleus’ expression sours, the stinging barbs that spit from his mouth more endearing than his usual regal elegance.

But all the same, compared to the earlier journals after Malleus’ appearance, filled with much more warmth and life — even as he learnt his role, Malleus would still happily chat with those Silvers, accept his offers to play games, spend the night with him on many occasions — there is a gap between them now. Driven by age, driven by time, and driven by the eternal, scathing judgement of the many humans of this kingdom, who cycle in and out of life and death, but are all fuelled by the same spiteful hatred and prejudice, taking it out on the only fae they know.

Still, Silver tries his best. He knows Malleus does too.

He sees it in the way the fae’s shoulders relax, expression smoothing out at the edges. “In that case,” Malleus says, after a moment’s pause, “let us indulge. How have you been lately… Silver?”

It is a good day for the two of them, Silver reflects. They drink their cups of tea and drain the pot of its excess drink, and the tray of delicacies are filled with nothing but crumbs by the time they’re done.

Even the cake, a dessert regarded with conflicting feelings by Malleus, is finished by the end of it. For once, Malleus eats his slices with a small smile, both their forks scraping the bottom of the plate as they help themselves to their fill.

Death no longer scares him, unlike everyone else. Death, in its own way, is a comfort, an inevitability: Silver knows he will reach his demise at the same time, at the same age. Very few people can ever be privy to such knowledge, going through their lives not knowing if they will pass on at age fifteen or fifty.

In that vein, what does it matter if Silver chooses to speed up the process?

He is not allowed proper access to weaponry. The council states that it is because there is no need for him to pick up a blade when he has guardsmen patrolling the halls around his room at all times, but Silver knows better. This is not the first time he has longed to die earlier than he usually does; he can count the other occasions on two of his hands, based on cryptic journal endings dated months earlier than they usually do.

To an extent, a part of him wonders what the point of it is. He will die, inevitably; why inflict such pain and suffering if he knows he’s going to come back? What is the point of it all?

The point, Silver tells himself, is that there isn’t one. He’ll always come back. He’ll always return — and so why should he languish and rot in his bed as his body slowly gives out on him? Why waste those months feeling his muscles weaken and his grasp on reality slip?

Why not do everyone the honour of ending it early, ending it now?

(The silver blade of the dagger, requested from some rookie soldier who knows no better than to deny this particular request from the prince, is cold against the flesh covering his heart.)

Silver is so, so tired. His life is stagnant, unchanging; he lives and he dies the same person, the same name, the same cursed prince of the same bloody kingdom, every childhood filled with days of reading the same handwritten journals signed with the same, stupid name.

When will he be allowed to rest? The weight of a legacy, the weight of his people’s hopes and dreams, drag him down, like impossibly heavy weights that are shackled to his limbs, pulling and pulling until he’s flat against the ground. He never asked for this — and god, it’s so selfish to even think of that, but it’s true.

Nobody ever thinks about him, Silver the person. They are only ever concerned with Silver the prince, Silver their saviour.

Except—

A memory flashes to mind, unbidden — of twisting, dark horns and raven-spun hair, and slitted green eyes that crinkle at the corners as he smiles at him.

(His hands tremble.)

Malleus.

The name fills him with an ache. If there is anything Silver can take comfort in as he straddles the line between life and death, it is simply that Malleus will always be there. Malleus is a constant throughline throughout Silver’s life, and while Silver may ebb and flow, weaving in and out of the many, many years of a fae’s long lifespan, Malleus will always be there.

And though the thought of that face, rendered a child once more in its shock and sadness, causes his chest to knot itself with hesitance and reluctance, Silver steadies himself.

The humans may come and go, live and die, but Malleus will always remain.

(And the blade plunges down.)

#my writing tag #writing collaborations #twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #twst writing #malleus draconia #twst silver #the prince and his physician au #once again it was an absolute delight to be able to collab w sleepie on this!#i really do love this au so i'm so happy to get to write something for it

146 notes · View notes

fleuraimer · 27 days

Note

…. perhaps a harry x reader blurb to spare 🤲 i will take anything u want to give me. fluff or smut or both or neither ❤️❤️❤️❤️ u rock and my name is also evelyn so i feel bonded to u

u've absolutely made my day with this evelyn :((( i hope you like what i've concocted bestie, she's kinda all over the fucking place, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy <33

wc: 2k

cw: not much, super fluffy, mildly (perhaps majorly) suggestive. not suitable for ramadan!! not proofread. lmk if i missed anything pls!!

Spring is here.

Fucking finally.

All the seasons were lovely to Y/N, each offered something the others didn’t—couldn’t. But spring was different. Special.

Like him.

Like Harry.

Perhaps that’s why her love for it blossomed like the tulips lining her bedroom window; there was something about seeing her usually soft boyfriend get ten times softer as leaves started to sprinkle branches, blades of grass flashed a vibrant green once more, and the sun kissed the earth that got to her tender heart.

It was especially difficult to not melt when he’d planned a small outing for them, centered around the perfectly warm weather. Instead of waiting until nightfall and driving to some stuffy restaurant (although their dinner dates were never anything less than exquisite), they walked hand-in-hand down the boulevard in broad daylight, gentle wisps of wind the only thing surrounding them, as well as the quiet conversation of other passersby.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. They were perfectly content to relish in the mere presence of one another—soak in the rays of sun, and warmth. Love.

Thumbs gave mindless, delicate strokes against the back of palms, rucking up rings, kissing knuckles in apology, and putting them back in place, just to repeat it all over again. The knitted fabric of Harry’s cardigan is soft when it brushes against Y/N’s bare arm (she decided that it was absolutely perfect weather to slip on her favorite flowy sundress, cinched at the waist and flared at the hips, printed with obnoxiously serene-looking flowers and hummingbirds, with a square neckline that farmed the intricate necklace Harry bought her for their second anniversary quite stunningly), but his hand in hers was softer. Better.

Said hand tugs on hers, urging her away from the beaten path and into the ravine of tall, never-ending trees—willows and oaks; sycamores, birches, and maples, too. She resists, no less. Looks down at the cobblestone beneath her soles, and the cute kitten heels that (in her humble opinion) tie her whole spring-era look together.

She pouts.

And then a head of chocolate obscures her view of the pristine, white triangle toes. A hand placed both respectfully and salaciously on her ankle, coaxing her foot to slip from its confines, makes her breath catch in her suddenly dry throat.

Her kind eyes glaze over, ever so slightly.

“Y’don’t have’t—”

“I want to, Bellissima.”

Her shoe slips from her foot with a soft clatter on the ground when he manages to pry her sole from the earth, but it barely registers in her brain. In fact, everything else seems to fade away into the lovely spring that encompasses them when Harry guides his hand further up, along her fleshy calf, and leans in to place a chaste, staggering kiss to the bridge of her foot.

She wobbles, but they both know it’s not because she’s been left to balance on one foot.

Harry smiles, faint—the crater in his stubbled cheek is nearly invisible—and nudges his nose along the smooth skin of her leg.

He works diligently (as diligently as one can when removing a shoe) to rid Y/N of her footwear, relieving her of any worry or pain.

He looks pleasantly boyish when he looks up at her, smiles all cheeky, and winks for good measure. Kneeling on cobblestone in a worn pair of jeans, suede, dirty Adidas, and a vintage band tee that smells of stale coffee, Chanel No. 5 (one of many preferred perfumes of Y/N), and sex no matter how many times they run it through the wash; the green of his seafoam eyes twinkling in the sunlight, sunnies pushing his hair back, and yet one rogue curl still bends and twirls with the wind, falling in a perfectly aesthetic spiral when it settles…

Soft. Boyfriend. Hers.

Her Harry.

He stands to his full height, and they’re much closer than she’d thought they would be, but she’s certainly not complaining. Where before she stood at (about) Harry’s collarbone, now her head barely reaches the underside of his pecs. Her neck strains to keep eye contact as he slips his free hand back into her awaiting palm, the latter of which occupied with their stuffed picnic basket, and now her precious kitten heels.

“Need me to carry you?” He asks, ready to suffer at least a week’s worth of back pain if it meant he’d keep that love-struck, glowy, adorable (subby, stupid, filthy) look on his girl’s face.

Y/N’s eyes widen subtly, though enough for Harry to notice, and he can’t help but have to stifle a chuckle at her bashful demeanor.

“No, thank you,” she squeaks, and now she’s the one tugging his hand, urging them into the abyss of greenery, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

The grass feels soft, ticklish, between her powder pink painted toes; she feels her lips stretch into a small grin because of it. They walk idly until they find a soft patch of vividly green grass directly under a tree, kissed fleetingly by the rays of sunlight peaking through the gaps of branches and leaves.

Harry lets his hand fall from Y/N’s (and can’t help but feel slightly colder because of it) to unpack their picnic basket. He grabs the signature red gingham picnic blanket from its place in the basket, releasing its folded form with a flourish. The material floats gracefully through the air until settling on the grass, near gingerly with the way it stops at just the very tips of the blades.

He kicks his chin toward the blanket in invitation as he settles on top of it himself, beginning to remove the contents inside their basket. Sandwiches, fruits, veggies; assorted cheeses and meats, cake, and, arguable most important, wine. He wastes no time in popping the cork from the rouge, pouring a generous amount into each of the pinot noir glasses he’d carefully tucked in the picnic basket.

Y/N kneels onto the blanket, walking on her knees until Harry is within reach, and his incessantly grabby hands are (surprise, surprise!!) grabbing her. He hands her her wine glass and sets his off to the side for the time being, sliding his bear palms up the full of her thighs, the swell of her bum, small of her back…

She shivers as they pet down again, nails biting at her hips to grip and pull her into his lap.

“Too far,” he grumbles, nuzzling in the space where her neck and collarbone meet. He peppers soft kisses along the strong bone, inhaling the natural, overwhelming scent of her. His girl.

Y/N goes easily, sipping slowly at her red wine while her free hand comes up to his hair, fingers threading through the fluffy tendrils. She snatches his sunnies away when they block her half-hearted scalp massage, muttering delicate apologies when the bend of them gets stuck in his hair and he hisses at the sting.

“Sorry, Baby,” she winces herself, chucking the damned glasses onto the blanket when she’s gotten them loose, kissing along the crown of his head to soothe any ache.

She sips more, tart grape hitting her tongue, sugary plum sliding down her throat, strawberry slicking her lips. She’s borderline greedy with the way she downs it, but they’ve got nowhere to be. Only here. Just here. Now.

She twists in Harry’s laps to grab one of the homemade BLTs, offering the half she won’t stuff her fat gob with to Harry, which he politely accepts. They munch quietly, sharing soft smiles and love-sick kisses in between bites. Conversation is sparse, but not bad. Never bad. If anything, the weight of their words is heavier because they’re so few and far between.

They both like it that way, anyhow.

When their feast has dwindled down to nothing but a few fruits and cakes, Harry fishes his phone from his pocket, and reaches in the picnic basket to grab his trusty pair of wired headphones. Hooking them up to his phone, he looks expectantly to Y/N. She raises her brow, never one to move unprompted.

Harry smirks, “Come, Bellissima.”

Her heart flitters, her stomach flutters, and her eyes round out (Harry tries not to think about how fucking easy—). She crawls back to him, in a way that is unnecessarily intimate and innocent, and simultaneously astoundingly nasty, but he tucks the image into the deep, deep, dark recess of his mind so he doesn’t get arrested for public indecency. Saves it for later (call it his spankbank).

He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before handing her and earbud, and lying down on his side. She follows, the two inserting the device into their ears at the same time. Her head instantly floods with staggered strings and piano, static, and then bass. Saxophone and acoustic guitar being delicately plucked, followed by a heady, gentle voice, similar to Bowie (but never as iconic).

“About You,” she whispers to him, her lips quirking.

Harry nods. Smiles, “The 1975.”

As the music progresses—the subtle vibrato of Matty Healy’s croon, the crescendo of each instrument and sound blending together to create one beautiful, extravagant, mind-bending symphony—Y/N swears she can see all five oceans in his eyes. The clear, breathtaking reefs, the lines that separates it from the rest of the water, dividing the calm from the chaos, the serene from the danger. She sees the deep, the unknown she wishes the dive further into, explore and discover, treasure for nothing but her own heart. And the seafoam that crashes up against the shore, the way it bubbles with joy and glistens in the light of the sun at the horizon, ever so fleeting as it washes back down the grains of sand.

She sees it all.

“S’pretty,” she mumbles, scooting closer as much as she can.

Harry wraps the arm not tucked under his head around her waist, pulling her closer. His eyes flit dazedly between her two.

She may see the ocean, but he sees the sky. The constellations, laid out for him beautifully, his for the taking. His.

He nods, “S’pretty.” Bumps his nose childishly against hers, smiles softly, triumphantly, when it scrunches up. His eyebrows pull together in the center, and he huffs a breath through his nose, “S’fucking gorgeous, Stellina.”

His mouth is on her before she can ask for a translation (there’s only some many Italian pet names a girl can recall) tongue prodding at the seem of her lips until they give way and he can slide the wet muscle against her own. She tastes of their shared wine and vanilla buttercream, and he tastes of fresh peaches, mozzarella, and tangy balsamic vinegar. And yet, somehow, it mixes together to create something new, something better, arguably. He fits her bottom lip between his two, nipping and sucking at the plump flesh, pulling breathy whimpers and faint moans from his lover. His grunts and groans in response are no less self-deprecating (they were both, admittedly, getting extremely hot over a couple of third date level kisses).

Neither paid it much mind, however. Especially not when Harry flips around so he’s lying on his back and she’s pressed firmly against his torso, belly’s melding, chests grazing. Y/N can’t stifle her soft gasp at the heavy weight of Harry against her inner thigh, but she can’t reprimand him, for she is no better—there’s a puddle in the gusset of her panties.

“Harry,” she whines, lashes fluttering when his hands find the swell of her bum and squeeze through the flimsy fabric of her sundress.

“G'na take y'home now, Bellissima,” he husks against her open mouth, tongue flicking at the swollen mess. “Fuck you the way y'deserve for being such a good girl today—” She bristles, rocking into him and crying out softly because of it. “—and if y'keep it up, we’ll go to tha’ cute little flee market y'keep tellin’ me about, yeah?”

She’s being bribed with his (impeccable; divine; otherworldly) cock and her love for all things vintage.

“Can we go to the botanical garden, too?”

Harry snorts, issues a teasing spank to her bum that makes her squeal, but smiles, nevertheless. “Sure, Baby, whatever y'want.”

(Impeccable; divine; otherworldly) Cock, a flee market, and a botanical garden?

She’s in heaven. In happiness. In full bloom.

She fucking adores spring.

98 notes · View notes

thefrogdalorian · 2 months

Text

You Are Eternal

✯ Read on AO3 ✯ Word Count: 1423 Rating: Teen Summary: When devastating news that High Magistrate Karga has become one with the Force reaches Din in his cabin on Nevarro, he reflects on the complicated nature of their relationship. Din pays his own tribute to the man who witnessed firsthand his shift from bounty hunter to father. Content Warnings: Major character death. Grief, mourning... I wrote this to try and cope a little with the awful news and it's just.... really sad. Author's Note: I just had to get this out of me tonight. It was my way of coping I guess. I hope Greef lives on somehow in the show, I really do. But I think he was Din's first real friend and their arcs are so similar, it's so sad to think he won't be there anymore. Thank you for reading. RIP Carl, Mando will never be the same without you 💔

Din Djarin was, unfortunately, all-too accustomed to loss. The feeling of grief was not alien to him. Ever since that terrible day on Aq Vetina, when he had lost everything and everyone that he had ever loved, the fear of losing others seemed to loom large over his life, a constant uneasiness that had long clouded his interactions with others. That was, until he had been sent to Arvala-7 and encountered The Child, who he would eventually adopt as his own. It was a chain of events that would not have been possible were it not for the very man whose loss had struck him harder than any blow he had sustained in the profession that had once united them.

Despite how many times Din had undergone the mourning process throughout his life, he found that the news of one of his oldest acquaintances’ passing had hit him particularly hard. The rapping at the door, well after the sun had set on another bright and sunny Nevarrian day, took Din by surprise. But nothing could have prepared him for the message that had promptly been relayed to him. News that had been delivered by a copper-plated droid, of all things.

When he opened the door to his cabin on Nevaro, the last thing Din expected to hear was news that the High Magistrate had become one with the Force.

In those first few horrible moments after hearing such devastating news, Din found that the sensation resembled a punch to the area just underneath the shiny beskar plate that protected most of his chest and abdomen. Although Din was an extremely skilled fighter, he had occasionally been delivered such agonising blows in that incredibly vulnerable place. Now, Din was reminded of such agony as he processed the news.

Din’s relationship to Greef Karga had undoubtedly been complicated and at times, volatile. A former adversary, to an acquaintance, to possibly something even more… like a friend. Din Djarin did not typically have friends. But as he sat there in his cabin, processing the news after dismissing the droid and removing his helmet, he began to wonder whether, perhaps, he had had one… without even truly realising it.

A friend that had passed to the afterlife, before Din had the opportunity to comprehend how much Greef had truly meant to him.

Of course, there had been Paz. But Din was bound to Paz by Creed, as a fellow Mandalorian. There were no inherent bonds such as that with Greef. Instead, the former leader of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild on Nevarro had become increasingly close to Din. Greef had gradually become a trustworthy presence in an often cruel and treacherous galaxy.

Perhaps it was the shared trauma of the siege in the cantina, when Din and Greef had barely escaped with their lives, which had been the catalyst for their increasing closeness. Until then, Din had wondered whether he could fully trust the older man. After that, though, there was no doubt. Greef Karga was, at the very least, an ally.

All Din knew with any degree of certainty was that as soon as the Razor Crest needed repairs, when Din and Frog Lady had barely escaped with their lives on the frozen planet of Maldo Kreis, it was the coordinates for Nevarro that he had punched in. After being rendered an apostate for removing his helmet and violating the Creed, it was once again Nevarro that Din had journeyed to in order to secure a droid for his expedition to the Mines of Mandalore. On that very visit, when Grogu had been in danger thanks to the rogue IG unit, Din had not hesitated to thrust his son into the arms of Greef Karga, knowing that he would protect the little boy.

Back then, Din could never have foreseen himself settling on Nevarro. He had been so consumed with his quest for redemption that he had promptly rejected Greef’s offer for a tract of land by the lava flats. Yet after retaking Mandalore and adopting Grogu, the land had suddenly become an extremely attractive proposal. The little parcel of land had become the perfect place for Clan Mudhorn to rest between jobs for the New Republic. Din was eternally grateful for Greef’s offer.

It was true that Greef had done much for Din during the time that they had known each other, but it was equally true that when Nevarro had been under threat from the pirates headed by Gorian Shard, Din had not hesitated to raise a band of Mandalorians to follow him. There were few people in the galaxy that Din would have gone to such lengths for, but Greef Karga was undoubtedly one of them.

Not to mention the repurposed IG unit that Greef had given to Din, for Grogu to operate, despite Din's reservations. Although it had initially annoyed Din (and the stall holders of Nevarro) as it had given Grogu a way to verbalise his insolence and feed his insatiable appetite, it had been an invaluable aid during the retaking of Mandalore. An aid that would not have been there were it not for Greef. Both Din and Greef owed an enormous debt to each other.

The realisation of what a key figure Greef had been in Din Djarin’s recent history almost sent him tumbling to his knees. That Greef was the man who had perhaps witnessed more closely than any other the shift in Din from a lonely, selfish, bounty hunter with a strict adherence to the Creed, to a man who would do anything to ensure the safety of The Child, even if it meant violating the Way. That Greef was gone.

For a second, Din wanted to run from the cabin, screaming and sobbing, pleading that this could not possibly be true. That Greef would never realise how much he truly meant to Din. But he quickly came to his senses and soon sought solace elsewhere.

Din crept down the hall towards his son’s room, ensuring that in spite of his emotional state, he was as quiet as possible so Grogu was not awakened. He just wanted to be close to him, to feel his presence nearby, a comforting closeness to the special little boy who had changed everything for him. Din was relieved that Grogu was sleeping soundly, his shallow, even breaths continued even as his distraught father stood in the doorway.

Din feared how much the news would devastate the little boy who was currently sleeping soundly in his crib. Despite how much Din ached to hold him close as comfort for himself, he didn’t have the heart to wake Grogu. Although Din supposed, given the way that Grogu seemed to understand the galaxy around him, that perhaps somehow his son had already sensed the enormous loss of such a monumental presence. A loss that would surely leave a void incapable of being filled in all of their lives. Every sunset on Nevarro, a sight that had once left Din awestruck with its beauty and the vibrance of its colours, would surely seem a little darker from now on.

Din turned his back and left Grogu's room then, fearing that if he stood there for much longer, the tears that had begun to silently creep down his cheeks would develop into a more audible indication of his grief that would wake Grogu. Plus, Din had remembered a certain cupboard in the kitchen, the contents of which would provide a fitting tribute to the High Magistrate.

He had hoped that one day, he might invite Greef to the cabin for the advised smaller gathering to share this luxurious libation with him. Perhaps even face-to-face, without his helmet, such was the increasing number of ways that Din had discovered there were to walk; ways to be Mandalorian.

That would never happen now, Din realised with a pang of sadness as he stepped out onto the porch and into the moonless Nevarrian night. He placed two glasses onto the table by the bench and slowly poured the amber liquid.

Then Din sat back on the bench, and raised a glass of the Coruscant wine to the stars, in a toast to his old friend. He spoke the sacred words of the ancient language of their people, a daily remembrance that he would now carry out for the man who, despite everything, had become his friend.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Greef Karga.”

(I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.)

#my fics #din djarin #greef karga #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #i really had to get this out of me ugh love when writing makes you cry onto your keyboard!!!!

128 notes · View notes

the-kipsabian · 3 months

Text

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

#wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fic #aew fanfic #aew fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #i hope this make some sort of coherent sense #despite being a writer im really bad at words lmao #i also dont know what to tag this with without clogging main tags so im going to trust moots to get this going first #just. this is a topic im passionate about. i love writing i love writers and having seen the wrestling fandom as of late really struggling #with this. we need to do something. even a little bit helps. actually get people leaving feedback and commenting again #supporting each other. we can do this together #dont let dreams be dreams lets fucking do this #just be nice and help each other out #im gonna stop now before i get overly emotional. if theres any questions let me know tho i think i got the main parts pretty clear here #again moots. im trusting you to get this started. im not gonna add my own shit here immediately this isnt about me #this is about the community as a whole #i also hope nobody is afraid of adding themselves here. you are all valid and worth the attention no matter what #just remember to also give if you leave something here. look at the previous links. look in the notes to find more people #okay thats it i need to make dinner now #lets just be kind and support one another. promise me that 💜#night is an absolute mess on main

108 notes · View notes

cerealboxlore · 1 year

Text

Captain Marvel (Shazam) and the Justice League Funny Idea

Y'all know the hit show Brooklyn Nine-Nine, right? And how they have a thing called a "Halloween Heist" episode that happens every season or so, right?

Good. Because that's all I know from the show. Anyway! Seeing clips on YouTube about it got me thinking

What if the Justice League did something similar? Just for fun in their down time while they're not out saving the world or helping little old ladies cross the street. Maybe some members would do it. But what would be a good incentive or prize to motivate them to play?

How about each member pools in what they could give as a prize?

Superman promises to gift fresh baked cookies by his mom

Black Canary promises doing their share of monitor duty

Other members promise other cool things, favors, etc. A good chunk of members are interested in playing, but not all. Batman still refuses to play, calling it childish

But

When it's Captain Marvel's turn to state what he's offering on the table for the winner, everyone's heads turn and can't believe what they just heard. Captain Marvel promised that he would reveal his secret identity to whoever wins.

Everyone is in an uproar and signing up to play. Batman included. He even gets his batfam to join the game. A lot of other members, too, are getting their sidekicks, friends and prodigies into the game.

Captain Marvel, the most extroverted and yet most private member of the league has never offered any information of his private life in the past four years he's been on the team, and now there's finally a chance to learn more about him

THROUGH A GAME?!?!

The Watchtower rioted that night and Captain Marvel began to regret his decision...

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #justice league #brooklyn nine nine #I'm just having some thoughts #But I would love to write this #This sound like so much fun #fanfiction #Imagine Batman getting his batfam to sabotage the other League members so he can learn who Captain Marvel really is

647 notes · View notes

comic-sans-chan · 7 months

Text

obsessed with julian asking "what did they do to you? is it some kind of punishment device?" in the wire because my god if this man didn’t go from "this is garak my super cool spy pal who i go on secret missions with and sometimes fuck teehee but also yeah his planet’s kinda fucked up and he’s got some weird ideas but we’re working on it" to "this is garak he's my precious little angel babyman who has been horribly traumatized and brainwashed by his government but it's okay because i'm a doctor and i will fuck and suck the fascism out of him if it’s the last thing i do" in just two years. shit's wild

#i'm having a moment #again #my posts #garashir #julian that entire episode is really just ''the power of love compels you!!!!!!!'' i can't stand him #garak was blorbo from julian's shows for a hot minute there and julian was writing all kinds of woobified fanfiction about him #like i've cried a hundred times over the wire from garak's pov cuz i see it as the episode where he started to respect and love him fr fr #but for julian i think it was more of an eye-opener like. he wanted to exonerate garak of all his crimes to try to justify his crush on him #and i don't think the wire exactly proved him wrong... but i do think it revealed key details and context that he was missing before #like that garak wasn't just some underling spy he was almost the head of his organization #basically garak canonballed julian's beloved headcanons so he had to start from scratch #obsessed w garak recognizing that julian had romanticized him and being like ''ok but what if i'm just a bloodthirsty killer? what then?''#like they went thru All That just for julian to meet tain and come back like #''Your Boss Dad Is Evil The Plan To Heal You With My Dick Is Back On''#gold star for trying i guess but ur gonna be loved no matter what apparently

189 notes · View notes

sentientcave · 9 days

Text

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Here we go friends! These chapters just keep getting longer. A larger plot begins to reveal itself to me. I am having a lot of fun here and I hope you are too.

Chapter 3 - Reading Between the Lines

< Prev Chapter

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Bad memories, A spot of magic, Voyeurism, Reader description kept pretty neutral but I kind of got slightly more specific about black hair care so you're just going to have to live with it.

~6k words

The next morning, it rains.

The pitter-patter of rain against your windows wakes you up, because it sounds wrong. There’s only one small window in your room in Kate’s house, and when weather blows in it’s the sound of water trickling down and dripping off the thatch roof that’s loudest, not the rain itself. Here the sound echoes strangely in the big space, and you wake with a start, disoriented, your heart-hammering in your chest.

It feels like your life in town is the dream, trickling away faster than you can cup your hands to hold onto it. You fly out of bed and wrap a blanket around your shoulders, dashing out into the hallway, bare feet cold on the stone floor. The king’s bedroom is directly across the hall from your own, and you stare at the door, frozen and unsure if you’re willing to risk knocking, breath caught in your throat, chest tight, anxiety squeezing your ribs until they ache.

You’re sixteen and twenty-six both, living two lives out in one panicking body. You no longer belong here and you’ve never been anywhere else. Your father is alive, angry, terrifying, and he’s dead and buried where he can’t hurt you anymore. You are a tossed coin landed on it’s edge, waiting to fall.

The door in front of you opens, and you leap back on instinct, but breathe a sigh of relief when it’s John standing there, looking at you with surprise first, and then concern. “Sweetpea?” he asks, stepping forward to meet you, but leaving space between your bodies, like he knows that it would be worse for him to touch you right now. “What’s wrong?”

You press your shaking fingers to your mouth, holding back a sob. You swallow it down, pulling yourself together enough to speak. “I thought it was a dream,” you say at last. “I thought he was still alive.”

There’s no question who you mean. John reaches a hand out, an offering, and you take it, clinging to him like a life-line. He reels you into his arms, and you lean in, the solid, warm bulk of him as reliable and real as the earth below. “He’s not,” he says firmly. “I put him in the ground myself. You’re safe.”

You nod against his chest, feeling small and silly now. “I’m sorry,” you say, although you’re not sure what you’re sorry for. For showing weakness, maybe, for being lost in your own memory, for needing reassurance.

“It’s early yet,” he murmurs against the top of your head. “You should try to sleep a little longer.”

You’re not sure you could even if you tried, and even though you’re still tired, the adrenaline leaving your body cold, fatigue dragging at your bones insistently. You could maybe sleep against John’s chest, holding onto him, his heartbeat steady and strong enough in your ear to drown out the still-frenetic tempo of your own. “I think I’ll just get dressed,” you say, pushing away. He drops his arms instantly, letting you put a little distance between you.

He shakes his head, smiling at you fondly, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Sweetpea, the sun hasn’t even risen. Go back to bed. I know just the thing to help. Go on.” He turns you toward your door and nudges you along.

There’s no point in arguing with him— You are tired, and although you suspect sleep will be beyond your reach, it’s cold in the hallway, especially now that you’re no longer pressed against John’s warm chest, and your bed is still warm when you climb back in.

Darkness presses down on you, heavy as grave-dirt, and you lay there, staring at the ceiling. You touch the crystal lamp next to your bed to light up the room, but that’s no better, really.

John knocks, but doesn’t wait for your answer before coming in, a dark wolf with blue eyes trotting in on his heels. “Go on, Soap,” he says, and Soap hops up onto your bed and lays down half on top of you, his head on your shoulder, tail wagging. John pats him on the head like he’s just a dog. “He’ll keep an eye on you.”

It should probably feel weird to cuddle up with a werewolf, since he’s really a man, and you’ll have to face that silly, crooked grin in the morning, but you need someone to cling to, and you’re to proud and cautious to cling to John. “Thank you,” is all you have it in you to say.

“He gets nightmares too. Usually sleeps across someone’s bed. I’m sure he’d be happy to stay with you while you’re here.” John says it simply, without a drop of judgment or condescension, and scratches behind Soap’s ear. “He’s a real good listener when he can’t talk back too.” He withdraws, tapping the light and throwing the room into darkness again.

You don’t even hear the door click shut. You bury your face into the thick fur around Soap’s neck and fall asleep almost instantly.

When you wake up again, it's with a very large, very naked man on top of you.

You yelp, scrambling back on your pillows. Johnny’s eyes snap open at your first movement, on high alert before he’s all the way awake. He scrambles too, and falls right off the side of the bed with a solid thud.

"Oh! Johnny I'm so sorry," you look down at him from the edge of the mattress, trying not to laugh. "I forgot you were here."

"It's alright, lass. I didna mean to startle ye. Ah shift back overnight sometimes. Price didnae remember to warn ye." He sits up and leans against the bed, forearms folded over each other. He looks no worse for wear, and like he slept as solidly as you did, those last few hours. There’s a faint imprint of lace from your nightgown on his face, and half of his hair is stuck straight up, the rest pressed flat. "Are ye feelin' better?"

“I am. Thank you for staying with me.”

“S’nothin’ really. Nicer sleepin’ with you than Gaz, he kicks awl night long. An’ Nox doesnae like me none, so I cannae stay with Ghost.” He grins. “Price lets me stay but he makes me sleep at the foot of the bed like a dog. Sometimes a man wants a cuddle, ye ken?”

You giggle. “I ken.”

"Really livin' up to yer name, aye Sweetpea?"

You laugh again. "Johnny, you know that's not my name, right?"

"No? What is it?" He shakes his head when you tell him. "I like Sweetpea better. Suits ye."

"Me too," you tell him. It has no connections to your previous life. It just reminds you of the pretty pink, purple, and white flowers that grow on delicate, curling vines that you like to grow over the side of the chicken coop.

There's a knock on the door, and Johnny leaps up to see who it is. You have to hold your hand up quickly to avoid getting an eyeful of things you're not supposed to see. He's absolutely shameless-- you suspect he wouldn't think twice about strolling down the hallways without a scrap on. You have a curiousity about men's bodies that you're too bashful to indulge, even if you're pretty sure that Johnny would stand still and let you look as long as you liked. Well, maybe not stand still. But you doubt he would mind.

It's Ghost at the door. He doesn't wait for an invitation to come in, but he has clothes for Johnny hung over his arm, so you don't mind. Honestly, you can bear a few overzealous men who feel entitled to your space for a few days, because after that you'll get to go home and get back to your life.

Ghost positions himself between you and Johnny, just as he had yesterday. "Price said you 'ad a bit of an episode earlier. You olright?"

"Just fine," you say brightly. "No need to worry."

"Och, let him worry, hen. He likes ta do it."

"I'm really fine," you insist.

"You want to visit the mausoleum? Might make it feel more real."

You'd be more interested in going there to visit your mother's grave, if you're going at all, but you think that you'll wait for a sunnier day. A gray, dreary morning like the one outside your windows is no balm for dark memories or old wounds. Sunshine might be. "Not today," you say. "Maybe tomorrow." You get out of bed as gracefully as possible, well aware that you have an audience. "Perhaps the two of you could step outside for a moment while I get dressed?"

Ghost glances behind him, checking to see if Soap is covered up enough for him to move, and then walks over to your closet and pulls out a screen that you hadn't noticed sitting in the corner there, and sets it up. "There you go, Sweetpea. You'll need help with all your fastenin's anyway, won't you?"

You imagine that he's smiling under the mask, more than a little smug about it, but you let it slide. "Very thoughtful."

"Try to be."

The blank face of his mask gives you nothing when you glance over, aside from that he’s looking back. It’s not the first time that you’ve wished for more insight into what he’s thinking, but there’s a gravity to his attention that you swear was never there before, and it prickles at the back of your neck even after you duck out of sight.

You choose a sunny yellow dress today, to counter the deluge outside, and remove the silk scarf wrapped around your head so you can twist your braids on each side from your brow back to the nape of your neck, pinning the lengths into a knot. You’ll have to redo them soon, but without Kate and her wife to help you, you know it’ll take hours, if not most of a day.

You walk over to where Ghost is sitting and turn your back to him so he can button it up for you. He hands you his gloves to hold while he does so, and you run your hands over the detail of white leather bones stitched on over the well-worn black leather, decoration and extra protection both. Idly, you slip one on, but your hands are so small in comparison to his that you have to stretch your hand out just to get your fingers arranged inside it properly. He stands behind you, and leans over you to gently pull them from your hands, as though to underline again how much bigger he is than you are.

The top of your head brushes his chest when you tip your head back to look at him. “Thank you,” you say.

“I’m always ‘appy to ‘elp,” he says. “I’m with you for the mornin’ anyway. Might as well make myself useful, eh?”

“Stuck minding me?” you tease, sweeping around to fold back the sheets on your bed, only to find that one of them had already done it. Ghost, most likely, judging by how neat it is. You touch his arm lightly in silent thanks, and the three of you leave your room together.

Other than insisting you eat breakfast (served in a communal dining hall, where they insist on bringing things to you rather than let you suffer the indignity of standing in a line, and watch you eat with unnerving intensity), they’re content to follow you around as you refamiliarize yourself with the castle, mapping out changes so you don’t get turned about looking for anything. You find a number of familiar faces here and there, and have an perplexingly similar conversation with anyone you know, where they welcome you back cheerfully, and grow a bit quiet and nervous when you insist that you won’t be staying long, and when you try to press them on that, you’re ushered out, told they’re too busy to chat, and that you’ll find time to catch up later.

You suspect that Ghost and Johnny are the source of their nerves, but both of them always seem to be a few paces out of (human) earshot, and minding their own business, talking about something else quietly between them.

"Where's Kyle?" you ask as you're hustled out of the the healer's work shop and back out into the hallway. It’s become abundantly clear, no matter how well they feign innocence, that your hulking shadows are making the staff nervous, and you decide not to subject anyone else to their company. If you can slip away from them later, you might be able to have an actual conversation.

“Prob’ly ‘oled up in ‘is workshop,” Ghost says. “Some weeks we ‘ardly see ‘im.”

“Wizardy shite,” Johnny adds, his tone disapproving. “As if there aren’t a thousand ways ta blow shite intae bits withoot wigglin’ yer fingers. Can blow up flour, did ye know, Sweetpea? In barrels isnae much different than black powder.”

“Still useful to have a little magic,” you say, flipping your palm over and conjuring a flame in the centre of it. It’s one of the few spells in your cache, and you’ve mostly just used it to light candles and the stove. Your lessons barely dipped beyond simple control— You’d been told that magic was no proper pastime for a lady. When you think back on it now, you think it’s more that your father never wanted you to have defenses that he could not control, or that could be used against him. A grim thought, from this side of things.

“Forgot you ‘ave a little magic in you.” Ghost holds his hands above yours, feeling the heat coming off the small flame. “Come on, pet. Let’s find Kyle. Might be enough to pull ‘is nose out of ‘is books.”

You close your hand, extinguishing the flame, and let them guide you through a few corridors and up a spiraling stone staircase.

Johnny hesitates at the door, nose wrinkling at the slight, hard to identify smell of complex magical wards that are carved neatly into the doors. You can feel the slight hum of it in your teeth. Ghost pushes the door open without knocking (you think all four of these men might be allergic to knocking), and steps inside.

You follow, and stop right there in the doorway while Ghost ventures in further. Kyle is shirtless, doing pushups over a heavy looking book. He doesn't look up, doesn't even stop when he turns the page, just continues the exercise one handed. He's in perfect shape, every muscle well-defined, putting even some of the finely-carved marble statues you've seen to shame. He has a frame for wiry muscle, but he's worked so hard that he's gotten bulky too, and although he's not as broad as Soap or as big as Ghost, it's clear that he's stronger than most men. Certainly stronger than men of his occupation have any need to be.

"What do you want, Ghost?" Kyle asks, still focused on his reading. "I'm busy, you know."

"Brought our girl by to see you, and you don't even bother lookin' up."

Kyle’s attention does snap up at that, brown eyes sliding past Ghost’s legs to you, still hovering in the doorway, Johnny a step behind, peering over your shoulder. Kyle scrambles to his feet, sending the book flying with a gesture. It settles on the desk behind him as he steps around Ghost, dusting his hands against his trousers before he takes yours, pulling you more fully into the space. His skin gleams with a thin sheen of sweat, but he's not the least bit out of breath. “Come on in, Sweetpea. Did you come all the way up here just to see me?”

“Of course,” you say. It’s a silly question, although now that you look around the space, you’re gripped by curiousity. The circular room is lined with bookshelves, each full of thick, leather and linen-bound tomes that hum with power. The whole room sings like a chorus, the sound not in your ears, but tickling the back of your mind instead. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I don’t want to interrupt, of course, if you’re working on something.” Although, now that you're looking, it seems like he’s working on many things, all at once. He has a carousel of research tomes open next to the desk, and neatly written pages laid out over the desk to dry, a stack of opened and unopened correspondence in a basket hanging from the side, ingredients measured out by a shelf full of bottles and jars of strange and familiar ingredients, and there are unlit candles set around the perimeter of an open area on the floor, a circle of iridescent tile set into the stone, pale and glittering.

“Nothing important this moment. Just studying while I wait for ink to dry. The mind grows dull if you don’t take the time to keep it sharp.” He glances at Johnny meaningfully, and receives a rude gesture in response.

“There’s more’n just books if ye want to keep sharp,” Johnny says, his voice flinty. “Isnae the only way to learn, ye know.”

You glance at Ghost. His mask looks back at you, blank as ever. “There’s a place for books, and a place for practical application,” you say diplomatically. “Wisdom can be found in many places.”

“In a pretty girl, for one,” Ghost says approvingly. “Would be good for you to crack a book once in a while, Soap. And for you to spend a little less time ‘oled up in ‘ere.” His head turns toward Kyle.

“I have a lot to do, you know,” Kyle says. “I can’t just shove everything to the side whenever I please.”

You drift closer to the desk, peeking at the tome he was referencing earlier, the pages opened to a chapter on illusion spells. Curious, you glance to his notes, humming with interest at the first page you glance at. It’s something about setting spells of illusion into fabric, weaving magic into the very stitches. “Are you trying to make a cloak of shadows?” you ask, picking up the page carefully by the edges, still mindful of the mostly dried ink.

Kyle looks over at you and smiles, but it’s all teeth. “Something like that. I didn’t know you were interested in magical theory.”

“She’s got a little sorcery in ‘er,” Ghost explains. “Maybe you should give ‘er a lesson or two. While she’s ‘ere.”

Your ears perk up at that, and you drop the paper back to the desk, forgetting it entirely. “Would you?” you ask excitedly. “I really would love to learn more.”

Kyle slips his shirt back on and beckons you over to one of the bookcases, smile turning sly and conspiratorial. “Can you give me a hand Sweetpea? I need something off the top shelf.”

You look up at the top shelf, which is well out of your reach. “Kyle, I think maybe you should ask Ghost.”

“Sorry, pet, I’m busy keepin’ Soap from pilferin’ alchemical ingredients.”

"Wasnae pilferin'! Just takin' a wee looksie. Isnae a crime."

"Soap," Kyle says pleasantly. "If I find anything missing we are going to have a long talk about it." He shakes his head lightly, sweet brown eyes finding yours, amused.

"D'ye think he means a good rough fuck?" Johnny asks Ghost, not quite quiet enough for you not to hear it. "Or an actual chat? Because that's goan ta change what I do here."

"I really don't think I can help," you say to Kyle, ignoring Johnny's query as much as you can. "Unless you'd like me to climb the shelves."

"Here." He crouches down in front of you and hugs your knees to his chest, other hand a higher on the backs of your thighs to hold you steady, and pops up. You let out a little shriek, and press your hands against his strong shoulders for support. "Don't worry, Sweetpea, I've got you. Now, can you grab that slim blue volume to the right? The one with no title on the spine."

Scanning the neat row of books, you locate the one he means and pick it up. "Ive got it," you inform him, laughing. "Now please put me down."

He slides you down his front carefully, adjusting his grip, your skirts bunching up and exposing your stockinged calves, and he holds you just above him for a moment. You loop your arms around his neck reflexively, holding the book behind him. He looks up at you, so dazzlingly handsome, you're almost surprised that he's real.

"Kyle," you remind him gently. "Please put me down."

“You sure?” he asks, bringing you down just a little more, so that your face is just above his own. “You look a bit tired today, princess. Could just carry you around for the rest of the day if you like.”

“That will not be necessary,” you say firmly. “But it’s a very kind offer.”

You hear a snort from the other side of the room, but you’re not sure if it comes from Ghost or Johnny. “Nothin’ kind about it,” Johnny says, crossing his arms. “Bastard just likes the idea of bein’ pressed up against ye all day.”

“You slept in her bed last night,” Kyle reminds him. “There’s no need to be jealous.”

“Ahm no’ jealous! Yer just bein’ a fandan charmer tryna cop a wee feel, an’ ye willnae admit ta it.”

You look over at Ghost, and he shakes his head. You imagine that he’s rolling his eyes, just as exasperated by the two of them as you are. He comes to your rescue though, carefully pulling you out of Kyle’s arms and setting you back down on the floor. “Thank you, Ghost,” you say archly, shaking your crumpled skirts out with one hand.

“Sorry, Sweetpea,” Kyle says, and you can’t help but note that he certainly doesn’t sound sorry. “If you read the first chapter of this tonight, we can do a lesson in the morning. This will probably be a step up from whatever paltry lessons the old wizard gave you— I know he took offence to the idea of training you at all, the closed-minded old bastard. If you have any questions, make notes, and we can go over it.” He taps the top of the book you hold. “You can write in it, if you like. I’ve scribbled in the margins a few times myself.”

You tuck the book into your pocket. “Thank you, Kyle. I appreciate that.”

“Anything for you, Sweetpea.”

You hesitate, a bit nervous to ask a favour when he’s already agreed to take time out of his day to give you a lesson in something you’re not sure you have enough talent in to warrant. He’s cleary a busy person, and you don’t want to waste his time.

Kyle senses your hesitation, and reaches for your hand, squeezing reassuringly. “Anything,” he repeats, brown eyes oh-so earnest.

Your ears feel hot. Flirting comes as easily to him as breathing, and even though you’re sure he means little by it, by his relationship with Johnny and the claim that John has laid on you, it’s hard not to grow flustered when he directs the full force of that sunshine smile at you. “Did you ever, um, help your sisters with their hair? I’d like to have a bath this afternoon, and wash my hair, but it’ll take me ages to rebraid it alone. I would really appreciate an extra set of hands if you have a spare minute tomorrow.”

He grins at that, pleased to be able to help you with something that Ghost and Johnny are ill-equipped to. The scar on his cheek dimples slightly when he smiles this hard, the slight flaw in his complexion more a dashing accessory to his charm than any detractor. “Would be happy to help. Do you have everything else you need? Oil? Curl cream?”

You hadn’t thought to check what was in the cupboard in the bathroom. “I’m not sure,” you admit.

“I have some. I’ll bring them by your room later this afternoon, just in case.”

Ghost offers to walk you back to your room, leaving Johnny behind to discuss something with Kyle, although as soon as the door closes, you hear a crash and a series of colourful swear words. You glance behind you as Ghost ushers you down the stairs. “Should we—”

“No. Trust me, Sweetpea. They’re just fine, and not doin’ anything you want to see.”

“Oh.” The implication warms you from the tips of your ears to somewhere in your belly.

“You’ve got the lads all worked up,” Ghost adds, as though you needed more context. “Competin’ with each other to get a smile out of you. Let ‘em blow off a little steam.”

“I don’t understand why they’re so concerned with me, if they have each other,” you say, trailing one hand over the wall, feeling the bumps of cool stone and seams between the cut blocks as you descend. “And John has made no secret of his intentions.”

He touches your arm to halt you, and moves past, taking a few extra steps so he stands below you, the near-hidden gleam of his eyes on level with yours. The two of you are alone here, where the curve of the stairs create a private universe, a pocket of stone and crystal light casting meagre shadow. "What are your intentions?" He asks. "Are you goin' to just let 'im take what 'e pleases?"

"I intend to go home," you say. "I won't be staying."

"Olright, maybe you do go 'ome. And what'f Kyle or Johnny came sniffin' round to court you themselves?"

"They won't."

"Why wun't they? You're a ray of sunshine sweet girl. You're the only one that don't see it."

"Ghost--"

"No, hush up for a moment, princess. You've got the wrong idea. I personally threatened every man that so much as looked your way. For years. Din't think about 'ow that'd make you feel. You're beautiful. Enough to chase, enough to go to bloody war for." His body is still, save for the slightest twitch of his fingers. “I don’t know why you can’t see it. You make us all crazy.”

The surety that John would really let you go slips as Ghost speaks, something fundamental about your footing in the world shifting uneasily beneath you. You had found comfort in the idea that you were quotidian, unremarkable. That the crown alone was aggrandizing, and you could pass unnoticed without it. Now you wonder if you’ve ever gone unnoticed, or if it was just that you had been too obtuse to see. “It doesn’t matter,” you insist. It’s easier to reject what he says outright, even if Ghost has never lied to you, never given you a reason to doubt his words. The ground settles. “I will be going home in a few days, and once John has my official endorsement none of you will have to keep an eye on me again.”

“You won’t rid yourself of me that easily,” he says firmly. “Keepin’ you safe’s one of the only jobs that I do that’s worth doin’. I promised your mum I would, an’ I don’t intend to break my oath just because you don’t think you’re worth it.”

“My mother asked you to?” You had always thought Ghost’s orders had come from your father, setting the quiet, faceless, black-clad knight on your heels, as close as a shadow, only leaving your side when the king sent him off to fight, somewhere far and away. “Why?”

“Figured she could tell I ‘aven’t got an ounce of ambition in me. Used to, before I came ‘ere. Didn’t do me any good. Can’t trust my own head, sometimes. But if I can trust what’s ‘ere—” He puts his hand to his chest, head tipped slightly to the side. “— Then I know I can trust what’s in there.” He lifts his hand and taps his finger against your forehead lightly.

You blink at him, surprised by how much he’s said all at once. Abruptly, he turns around and continues down the stairs, finished the conversation. You spur yourself back into motion, sweeping your skirts up with one hand so you don’t trip. There’s no doubt that you could trust Ghost to catch you, but the risk of sending you both tumbling down the long spiral staircase has you moving cautiously.

He stays with you for a bit, offering help unbraiding your hair and unbuttoning your dress, and leaves without protest when you ask him to. Predictably, he’s quiet the entire time, as though he used up his daily quota of words all at once in the stairway.

You lay out everything you need close to the tub, and sink into a hot bath, sighing. This is perhaps one of the few things you really did miss about castle life— Hot running water. If you wanted a hot bath in town, you would either have to go to the public bathhouse, or spend a good hour boiling enough water to fill a tub at Kate’s house.

You hum happily to yourself, which turns to singing out loud, the acoustics in the tiled room too good to resist. You sing your way through a number of folk songs as you run a cloth over your skin and scrub your hair clean, hot water and soap washing away what little of the darkness from that morning that company and distraction hadn’t banished, clinging shadows in the corners of your mind scoured clean again.

You pull the plug and let the water start to drain, and stand up, wringing your hair out before you reach over to the towel you’d set aside for yourself, bracing you hand on the side of the tub.

“What are you two muppets doing?” John’s voice coming through the cracked open door startles you. And it startles Johnny and Kyle too, because they tumble through the door onto the tiled floor, landing on top of each other in a heap.

You clutch the towel to your front, unable to keep yourself from letting out a surprised shriek. It takes a moment for surprise to give way to anger, your shocked, wide-eyed gaze traveling from Johnny’s red face to Kyle’s guilty expression to John in the doorway, a complicated mix of stony anger and surprise in his blue eyes. Both emotions fade as his attention lingers on your exposed legs, crawling up slowly.

“I came to drop off— But he was—” Kyle starts to try to explain himself.

“Dinnae try to blame tha’ on me, ye fuckin’ roaster, Ahm no’ a’ fault for what yer doin’,” Johnny cuts him off angrily, shoving Kyle off of him. “Yer no’ better than me just ‘cause ye weren’t here first.”

“I wouldn’t have—”

You level a glare at him that has his mouth shutting so fast that you can hear the click of his teeth. “Get out.”

The two of them scramble up and nearly fall over themselves trying to get out as quickly as possible, mortified to have been caught. They start sniping at each other before they’ve even gotten out of earshot.

John, however, doesn’t budge from the doorway. You direct your fury at him. “John. Get out.”

He doesn’t scramble to obey like the younger men did, as is he has any more right to be there than they did. “Sweetpea,” he says evenly, as though he expects to be able to talk you down from your very justified anger with a few measured words.

“Now,” you snap. “Before I lose my temper.”

He hesitates a moment longer, but the look on your face makes him reconsider trying to have a conversation with you for the moment, and he leans into the room just enough to grasp the door handle and pull it closed behind him as he retreats.

You look at the ceiling for a long moment, swallowing down the urge to scream.

By the time Ghost comes to fetch you for dinner (unsurprising that the other three didn’t have the nerve) you’ve mostly calmed down, untangling your emotions as you do your hair. You hope that John will have news of your cousin’s witness, so you can count down the days. The longing for home has intensified, and all you want is to curl up in your bed in Kate’s house and cry. If it will be weeks, you’ll ask if you can go home in the interim, and come back when the time comes to make your speech.

Ghost helps you button up your dress. You’re so tired of needing help from them. Your ire bleeds over, and you’re snappy with him too, annoyed that you’ve had to spend so much time with men lately. Aggravated that you’re forced to rely on them for something as private as getting dressed, when they shouldn’t even be alone with you in your room to begin with.

You apologize on the way down the stairs, however. Ghost just chuckles in response. “Even when you’re snappin’, you’re a peach,” he says. “Don’t think you missed a single opportunity for a please and thank you. Can’t ‘elp yourself from bein’ sweet.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything,” you say. “I’m not angry with you, I shouldn’t be rude.”

“Think it would be a bit of a lark, you bein’ rude.”

You laugh, and it clears away some of the lingering bitterness, like sediment washing away downstream. You feel remarkably clear-headed when you enter the dining room and face the three sets of guilty eyes.

All three of them start to speak at once, and stop as soon as you raise your hand. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say firmly. “All three of you are grown men, and you should know better than to behave so shamefully.”

John frowns, not happy to be receiving the same share of the blame. “Sweetpea, I wasn’t—”

“I am not finished.” You cut him off with a sharp look. “I know I do not need to chastise any of you. All of you were in the wrong. But I share some of the blame too, allowing you all free access to my space in the first place. So here is what will change. One, I would like a lock on my door. No more popping in without permission. Two, you will all learn how to knock. Three, I would like a lady to accompany me for the rest of my stay here. It is not appropriate for me to accept assistance from any man with dressing, and I do not require shadows following me everywhere I go.”

Ghost shifts beside you. “Now ‘old on,” he says. “You need protection.”

“I need no such thing. I do not believe there are assassins waiting around every corner for me.”

“I should be with you,” he insists. “If somethin’ ‘appens—”

“What do you expect is going to happen?” you ask hotly. You’ve lived on your own for years, and your hiding place was apparently well known to everyone. If an assassin was coming to dispatch you, they would have already come. The opportunities had likely been plentiful.

“Ghost is right. You need to be kept safe.” John holds up both hands when you look at him, half a surrender and half a plea for you to hear him out. You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting. “A compromise. A fighting woman. Someone that can help you with anything you need, and can defend you if something were to happen.”

You incline your head. It’s a reasonable compromise. “That would be acceptable.”

“Farah?” Kyle asks.

“If she’ll say yes, she’d be the person I trust most with Sweetpea’s safety.” John glances at you, and offers you a little smile, like he’s not sure that you’re entirely done scolding. “You’ll like her. I’ll have her meet you in town tomorrow. Want you fitted for something nice to wear for your speech.”

“There is a closet full of perfectly nice dresses in my room,” you say. “I do not need anything else.”

“Indulge me. Your cousin’s man will be here tomorrow night, and the day after we’ll have you make your statement.” John’s smile widens, turning the slightest, inexplicable bit smug. “Want you to look your best, if it’s to be your last day as a princess, hm? And then on to better things.”

You sigh. It can't hurt to give in on this matter, since you won't have to stay much longer. “Very well, John. Although I think it’s a waste.”

The look in his deep blue eyes is inscrutable, but his smile doesn't slip. “I disagree. Nothing you let me give to you could ever be a waste.”

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

#fantasy au #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem reader #141 x Reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #These bastards really are just the worst #I love writing AUs where Ghost is the most well adjusted one #Send my man to fantasy therapy (learning a trade) and see what happens #Re: Use of the term muppets - Uhhhh Muppets exist in this universe and they travel around doing Punch and Judy type shows #Coming soon to a market square near you lmao #Ye Olde Jim Henson's Workshoppe

65 notes · View notes