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dogbites-puppylove · 1 month

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Devil Sins

The Batfam and the deadly sin that colors their life, and the virtue of their darling

TW: Yandere behavior (obsession, possessive behavior and unhealthy ideations), mention of suicide ideation and s/h as well as gore

Tags: Yandere! Batfam x reader

Bruce Wayne: Pride

Within Gotham, it's common knowledge that when crimes wretched hands come down to slit your neck you do not clasp your hands and pray to God, no - you whisper your tears into a puddle of blood and give your reverence to hold out for Batman. It is under no exaggeration that divinity in the cursed city leaves justice to crumbled bones and puddles of teeth and tongue, and its cruel master in the form of a man with no face. It's fitting, for a city of corruption and bile. Gotham’s god is its dark knight with steel for bones and scripture of flesh, man made Godhood with flawed creation in its wake. But man has never been meant to hold godhood, the pathway of immortals too cruel and demanding, even with those who have wielded its deadly blade of eons it rips into them. Tearing at seams and breaking into them until their pieces can be glorified in the stained windows of churches.

Batman is divinity within mortal confines. There have been prayers and hymns in his name, retribution in his name and the painful dependency of creator and creation waged on him. Batman is an entity that is nothing but iron and brimstone, unbending and unfeeling, but Bruce Wayne, the man who created this creature whose only split from being a monster is a bloodied and beaten code, is painfully human. He feels each failure weigh on him, aging him past his own casket and decaying him even as he still breathes, it cradles his head during the night and whispers the screams of those he has watched fall.

Every time Batman stands tall, Bruce can feel something small and young turn decrepit and vile in his stomach until it erupts from him like bile from the back of his throat. He thinks it must be the humanity of a son who in truth, died with his parents in that alley. It slices his open, cutting his flesh to ribbons, and gorges itself on his organs only to fill him up with something inhuman. It's with bated breath with lungs that have been clouded with smog, that he waits for Batman to finally rule Bruce Wayne unfit and strangle him entirely.

Darling: Humility

The Darling acts as the humility to his pride, dragging him to his knees so archaically Batman shrivels in your presence. You are his humanity given form, the antithesis to his claim of being the perfect hero. You lead him by the nose, walking him on a leash so flawlessly he thinks you might have been born just to keep him grounded. Every scrape or bruise seems to repel the mission Batman strives for and replaces it with nothing, but a man stricken that he hadn’t done better. Each burn or scrape, even a paper cut drives guilt into him and brings a physical ache to his body like you had beaten him with a bat. Each mark burns the shame of a failed hero and leaves only the pathetic begs and whines of a man that can only be human.

If he could, he would spend his days by your side, affected by the intrinsic need to provide for you, leaving you physically and mentally unable and robbed of the ability to want. It's a desire that burns molten in his chest and drips down his limbs, it burns and aches at him as if trying to rip out of his chest and lick at your hand like a depraved dog. He would do anything for you, would render the world silent, bring you a heart on a platter, violate himself so terribly he could not know anything but his adoration of your presence and yet it still feels inadequate. A simple compliment from you leaves him bereft of ambition and scorn, leaving him on his hands clasped in prayer.

Batman may have been his creation, but Bruce Wayne is your own tool, use him to get what you want, change him for your own needs just keep him at hand. He'll be loyally and wholly (obsessively and blindly, almost rabid) yours. God bends to nobody's will, but Bruce Wayne knows down to the electrons snapping in his synapse that his place in this world is by your side, whether you point, whenever you deem fit. You’re his god, and himself nothing but a faithful follower.

Richard Grayson: Lust

Perhaps born from watching his parents, who should have been a constant, die in front of him a painful death filled with tourists' eyes and misplaced faith, right outside of his fingers grasps Dick has an inherent need to feel. For him, want runs in his skin like a conscious, whispering what he craves, giving voice to a voracity so impossible that it turns physical. He has known denial from the start, whether it be the blood of the man who stole his parents, a want that made his tongue ache and crawled at his ribs until his bones crackled, or the sweeter craving of a relationship, something that watered at his mouth. Want is something that has haunted him, growing obsessively until it reached lust.

Though sexual desire, of course, is something that is often attributed to it, it's not the only way lust presents itself. For Dick, it appears when he closes enough to reach out and feel flesh on his own, something tangible and it shocks him like a bad dog until he reaches out to soothe his skin. It appears in the dead of night when he can feel no other warmth than his blankets, even as he arches out and reaches pathetically into the air. It is a call of pathetic loneliness, so strong that when his younger brothers are cuddled drowning within him it is to try and get rid of the sudden echo, to try and merge them into one, until he is no longer Dick Grayson, and somehow a part of them. Somewhere in between the heat of a lover and the loyalty of a son, he realizes that being a part of a couple isn’t enough.

He wants like a man starved, all instinct and need, like a child who has been ripped out of his mother’s grasp before she has fed him fully, there is always something he’s not quite satisfied with. What he truly craves is a constant, a union, melting himself, and another so they can be poured into the same mold and make something new, indistinguishable from the other. And despite the carnal behavior of his want, he knows how to get it. He smiles full of charisma, grins with the sun and serenades with the moon to get his fixes, but each one leaves him starved, stricken for more. Like a bad addiction.

Darling: Chastity

The darling brings a chastity in his life, though not to say he wants less, but in the way a husband will fully devote himself to their wife. It’s the deceptive nature of a couple announcing a pregnancy and accidentally alluding to nights spent in bed. The darling hits a spot for him that leaves him mind numbingly euphoric, like a high that is reached after weeks and weeks of suspension. Every kiss has him feral, no better than an animal and chasing after you, every negligence has him whining by your feet, clinging to you. He grows incredibly dependent on your presence, on your touch and everything beneath.

With you his sharp mind bleeds into instinct, and the charisma he wields to pry himself into others good graces is left uselessly at the door. It’s a delusional dreamy trance, every hug sends him tumbling down further and further until his panting against your neck and thinking of nothing but you, you, you. He can feel himself slipping into your existence, swearing he can taste the coffee you drank in the morning, and can feel every cut or bruise you get without him present. His want for you is wet, sticky and binding, threatening to pull you over until you lose your mind along with him.

It’s almost laughable how pliant he is with you, a touch to his arm can have him following you over a cliff, a peck to the cheek and suddenly his on your lap whining for more. For all he is hard and angry, full of vigilante fights and bruised skin you wouldn’t even have to hurt him to kill him. With you, he can indulge himself fully, so much so that he wants no other. In fact any other touch leaves him lacking, so utterly entranced by you that he can no longer feel another’s skin unless it’s yours. To him, his darling and himself cannot be separated, they won’t go down in history but their names, but by the title for lovers. Nothing to define themselves but their own love.

Jason Todd: Wrath

Anger, to Jason, is an old friend that lives in his bones and whispers in his ears with every movement. He has used it well his entire life, a melting anger of forged iron against his father to keep him defiant, a indigent anger filled with a son's tears for his mother, the roar of inequality and social class that steals from the batmobile and the blinding and rash rush that leaves him as robin. It’s at first a soft motivation that keeps him alive, any good street rat knows, or any street rat still breathing that to stop means you’re as good as dead. He covets his rage, it's youthful and idealistic and keeps his heart beating.

Of course, after the pit (after being beaten to death in a warehouse of gasoline and gunpowder, watching his own blood relax as he’s robbed of his own, coming back ripping from his own skin and drowned in green only to find out his father-father-had left him unavenged. Left him replaced and gone) his anger has grown into something primordial. Too old to be Jason’s but so familiar he leans into it. It grows from his bones like ivy and twigs, poking out against his flesh and sewing itself under his skin so that the slightest breach sends it out to take root. Jason’s wrath is something that threatens to leave him choking blood, and yet it keeps him alive with the threat of keeping him running forever. It is the anger of a child on the poster who has never been found, and their stomach full of worms that burrows into his own. The tears of a case under the corrupt policeman’s file, and the ghosts scream in a house empty of their future. It’s all those who have ever been a statistic (as he has been) boiling over under his skin. Because Jason knows the wrath of the dead and unavenged intimately, it burns his memories in green and leaves his chest heaving with permanent mourning of mothers whose children were robbed and never found. It threatens to scratch away from the inside of his ribs until its nails finally rip him open in a mocking autopsy and wail into Gotham’s plugged ears.

Jason's violence, his actions and words, the bullets in his guns and glare under the hood are all reactions to this. As long as the world spins, as long as humans turn a blind eye to victims, and allow the injustice of the world to mold them, he will move. All his actions are an answer, a bullet through a man's cranium, the vengeance of a young girl with a ripped dress, a severed head, the relief of a child who watches their family bleed out for powdered death. Each and every shout of Red Hood, every puddle of blood he coats the ground on proof that he is still moving. Because Jason’s wrath is old and an answer, to the boy in the warehouse, to the boy in the ground and mounted not as a son but a soldier. It’s a solution to the fear that manipulates his chest that should he stop moving he’d be buried again.

Darling: Patience

Jason is a man of action and violence, fear turned into anger because above all he is a man cursed with empathy. With his darling the fear that curdles his insides soothes, like a mother rubbing her child’s stomach and singing a special song to keep the pain away. The world will keep moving regardless of him taking a break, and he has the blinding panic of staying in time, and yet his darling is a perfect encapsulation of time. Something preserved beautifully, a painting stuck in motion, the words on his books that are remembered through words and tongue. The tint of red becomes a pastel pink, and suddenly he’s so, so weak.

With his darling he closes his eyes without fear of waking up decaying. A sweep of your hand against his cheek will pull a sigh of pleasure from his throat suddenly free of phlegm and blood, even a harsh hit will feel divine. His darling functions as a sort of “moment” , something trapped in time and solely for Jason. Much like opening a book, the story is forever clashing but the words stay all the same, waiting for the reader. It’s with you the anger that has kept him moving for so long, washed away, like the dirt clinging to his skin under water. It's freeing and leaves him shakily bare, with you he weeps, with you he grows and stays forever yours. You are life itself, something ancient and timeless at the same time. The nostalgia of losing a tooth and excitement of a birthday party wrapped into tender song and softer skin.

It’s a common sight to see him cry when with you, prayer in the form of tears that are just for you. He spends his days in a lovestruck haze, almost as if he’s been drugged. For Jason there is no constant, no surety but you. He would do anything to keep you perfect, safe and just as you always are. He'll care for you much like a beloved heirloom, of course he loves you with a severance that would scare most, but you are something he seeks to preserve. Nothing can hurt you, will hurt you, you’ll remain untouched until you reach out yourself. Your presence alone is enough for him to intoxicate himself with, bask in forever. But should you give I’m a sliver of your attention, allow him to enter your perfect little world? He’ll be lost forever.

Tim Drake: Gluttony

The most intimate feeling Tim knows is hunger, perhaps not for food but for anything and everything else. Obsession is his most familiar form of companionship, stuffing picture after picture of his object of affection until he can drown in them. In his house of echoing walls and emptiness he comes to emulate it. He feels hollowness in his soul, some nights he wonders if he took a knife to his own side what he would find. Would it be organs? Perhaps a heart? Or would it be the void that has eaten all that made him and left him with a constant hunger to fill himself with? For a time, he manages to satiate himself with Batman and Robin, stalking and drinking them in over and over until one day it's stolen and left him with nausea so terrible. (And Tim still remembers the rawness of his skin as he is thrashing in his room, his throat bleeding from his wails of a boy he never met)

The more he gets the more he hungers, it’s something horrific and apathetic that leads him to chasing after his own fill. Case after case solved, fact after fact filtered and sorted through, Tim is insatiable. Like a well oiled machine, the fuel that keeps him going only works to find more fuel, it's a never-ending cycle of something that can no longer be deemed as human. Half of this can be attributed to the fact that it’s all the same to him, an angelic charity to a garish murder eh takes them and feasts on them all the sometime efficiency is more of a hook then anything, pulling others in so he can feast on them, devouring their mannerisms and habits, licking up and chewing on their thoughts until there nothing left of them.

One could blame this on the fact that the identity of “Tim Drake'' has never really been sought out, so there’s no substance to him. Something useless will obviously stay shiny, clean and unused, it's logical in all the ways it makes Tim want to throw a tantrum. It drives his mouth to salivate until he’s drooling over another function he can consume, another person he can mirror, another morsel to disappear within himself. And yet with each new meal he can only feel the void echo back louder, as if he had never eaten at all. Like a fire consuming too much wood that it withers out in anger, as if the trees that had been cut never existed in the first place. It threatens to force Tim to disappear forever.

Darling: Temperance

The temperance his darling offers is in the form of a craving rather than actual fulfillment. After just his first taste of you, Tim has been enraptured for you, nothing comes close to your unique temperament, your reactions, everything that makes you, you. You leave his mouth watering for more, nothing else can settle against his tongue the way you can, nothing can mimic the way you fill his head with static and leave him filled to the brim. He takes whatever kindness you give him and uses it as an invitation to learn more about you, an invitation to bear himself fully. Any preference you have, a favorite color or show, even general food preference will settle into Tim as if it had been his all along. Where he used to drink black coffee, has grown a taste for your favorite creamer, your playlist will be playing in the back of his head as he switches through W.E. work, it’s all you, you, you. Like a puzzle finally coming together,

Tim’s brain finally quiets down and is forced to digest. Any sort of attention you give him is a five course meal, any scorn is just as quickly devoured. You don’t quite stop the habit of obsession, but you give it direction. Tim has never known such direct want until you, a den he has no plans to stop his indulgent habits. He is ravenous for anything you toss to him, your voice, a text, an opinion, even just a little note, whatever you do stays, It’s a blessing and a curse. Because while the hunger pangs back in your presence, now nothing else can even come close to keeping him occupied.

He’ll obsess over you, crafting himself to be your perfect companion just so he can stay by your side and continue feeding. Everything in your life has a shade of him, your job, your house, your hobbies, even your electronics, each one a special situation he created to have you just a bit closer. Nothing else can come close to you, he’ll make sure you're well taken care of, all he asks in return is you.

Damian Wayne: Envy

Damian’s life is a unique contradiction. He was born the sole inheritor of a Thorne he is meant to fight for, something only he can own and yet is so unworthy he is kept from it. It forces him into a sense of jealousy, inadequacy and egregious entitlement. He could have anything he needs, but only as long as he earns it, it gives him a longing sense of feeling everything is out of his reach. That even should he hold the sword in his hands it cannot be called his. Not in the way a dog can call its food their own, and not in the way a writer can crow over their own creation. It leaves him painfully envious of others, of their right to their own possession, it leaves him vicious and poisonous. Part of the reason he squirrels away animals with so much intent, is because they’d be “His.” He’s their sole owner, and as beings with a conscience they can prove their loyalty.

His envy leaves him with harsh words and even deadlier scars, it forces him into a fine weapon and while it’s an ideal state for an heir it’s a broken state for a child. It leaves the boy wanting, fearful and anxious. His envy is young and childish, something not allowed, and it’s something weaponized. It’s part of the reason he defends the title of robin so freckly, not only because he believes himself right, but because it’s his in way the throne cannot be. Because it’s not a legacy he’s supposed to take, it's one he steals from himself. It’s his, in a way nothing has been since he first cried from the pit.

But even then, the title of partner that so many others have worn, cannot soothe the constant ire, the lashing out that comes with fear of being replaceable, of being nothing but a role, comes with. Because Damian has been born as his mother’s son, as his father's legacy, but not as his own person. It makes Damian feel unfit, unusable in the way he has seen his mother discard students who cannot kill. It burns him, kills him and with time he thinks he might just be a husk. Damian is nothing but competency and a perfect successor, a successor will never be their own.

Darling: Kindness

Ironically the kindness that tempers his own envy is not his own but instead, actions of his own darlings. He fully gives himself to you, gives you his very purpose to do what you want with. Should you order him to kill, order him to die, or to live he would do it without complaint. Tell him you want his heart and he will pry himself open and hand it over with a smile, tell him you want his laugh, and he will laugh himself manic until you tire of it. He is a fine blade, a weapon that has seen battle far too much already, and it’s your own kindness that stops it from going to battle. In essence Damian has made himself a role right by you, but has given up his autonomy of your manipulation. You’ve become his master, his owner and his loyal weapon.

Every action is your doing, every remark is for your benefit, and by giving himself to you, he can have you in a way nobody else can claim. Every smile, every hug, every word that you speak to him is something unique from a dynamic he has hand crafted, and therefore uniquely his own. He will store you away from others, wary of letting them stain you, and even more wary of letting them steal you. You’re his, his love, his heart, his blood, his purpose on this earth, and he cannot let another’s touch deter you from this. His darling is a salve to his aches, a bandage that wraps tight enough to manage to hold him together, and his actions are that with the purpose of binding you to him. Your purpose will be each other.

Author's Note: Another reupload! Previously known as lovesick-laboratories.

#yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader

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sentientsky · 5 months

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“i could fix him”, “i could make him worse”. yeah, well, I could meet him at the genesis of the universe, where the spaces between matter first gain sentience, and spark and spit their way into being—where the cradle of stars first take on a definitive kind of gravity and heat. I could be the engineer of creation. I could ask a question. I could stand across from him on a battlefield, trembling and reeking of ichor. I could hit the ground retching, all the bones in my body turning brackish and oil-slicked. I could lurch my way into a new world, a recalibration of reality in which I only know kindness as a set of snapping jaws, as a thing to flinch away from. I could meet him in the garden, then, when the air's all hyacinth and dripping gold. And I could ache. Oh, how I could ache. I could follow him through every wretched moment of history. I could trail after him like a hollow-eyed dog. I could hide my irises, could hide the brutal bloodiness of an all-too-human heart. I could hold the gun as I pretend not to pray, as I taste bile and will my hands to steadiness. I could trust him. And I could ache. I could bite my tongue, cypher the words in my mouth, gnash them between jagged teeth. I could swallow my heart. I could go slower. I could meet him at the end of the world, when hope claws its way up my throat, hungry and keening like a treacherous thing.

I could kiss him with six thousand years of want lodged and breaking in the mausoleum of my chest. I could hand him the blade; I could let him twist the knife. I could be forgiven. And still I could ache.

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dorianpavus · 10 months

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Panel from Hell Info Roundup

We got a release teaser trailer!

CHARACTER CREATION/CUSTOMIZATION

Character creation got a revamp! More efforts were made to explain things to someone who hasn’t played D&D before, or one who hasn’t played other Larian games. Classes now also have unique animations when you select them.

Choice options now have a corresponding icon, so you can see what you’re selecting.

There are more available faces to choose from.

Dragonborn and half-orcs are playable at launch.

Warlocks are now able to call on their patron for insight and advice.

New sliders have been added for Maturity (adding wrinkles), Freckle Quantity (and intensity), and Vitiligo Pigmentation.

Horn Customization! Now you can change their color and tip color.

There are scar options.

More hair and beard options! As well as more options for hair colors (including greying) to have tri-colored hair.

Strong/buff body types added!

Piercing options have been added.

Heterochromia option has been added.

Dragonborn can customize their face, crest, chins, and jaws. Skin color options include metallic, almost duo-chrome shades. For white dragonborns, there are also pearlescent effects. Dragonborn Draconic Bloodline sorcerers will get a unique scale pattern that changes color based on your ancestry.

There is also a selection for genitals, which they did not elaborate on, but was selected as ‘default.’

You will meet a character that will allow you to reset your class and respec your abilities.

The team went back from Act 1-3 to make the game more reactive to your choices. If you’re playing something odd or unique, the game should react to it.

THE DARK URGE

They are the new Origin Character, and they are avatar-only; they can only be played by you, not recruited.

You can fully customize their race and class.

They do not know who they are; they are waking up, and the only thing they know is “the bile of their liver, the gushing of their blood, and their ruined body telling them: you’re going to kill and kill again.” They are meant to be a dark counterpoint to the story.

Has unique scenes and storylines unlike anything else we’ve seen thus far.

They have dark impulses and thoughts that tempt them; you can play as embracing it or trying to resist.

At 4:36:55, we have some gameplay of them from early on in Act 1.

KARLACH

She is an Origin Character, and you can recruit her or play as her.

Born and raised in Baldur’s Gate, was sold to slavery in the Hells, and managed to break free. She has an infernal engine for a heart.

She’s a barbarian who has a special rage animation/effect.

Curses a lot.

At 5:20:00, there’s a bit of extended gameplay and one of her romance scenes.

OTHER/MISC COMPANIONS

Many of the companions are good-aligned, including Karlach, Halsin, Minsc, and Jaheira. For evil companions, there is Minthara, who you can recruit in Act 2 depending on your choices.

Wyll has gotten a complete overhaul. Much of his dialogue has been rewritten, and he “can go in two directions” much earlier in the story. He wants to kill Karlach at the beginning of the game, and how that unfolds is up to you.

If you kill your companions, you can hire Hirelings. There are twelve (one for each of the classes), and you can customize and respec them.

Companions will join your camp and be able to come with you along your journey; you don’t have to choose between them, but can swap them out as you see fit. If anyone leaves or isn’t able to be recruited, it will be by your own choices or the narrative.

When you’re playing as an Origin Character, you’re not a mystery to yourself. You’ll get unique scenes and information that you may not otherwise get with them as your companion. For instance, when you go to sleep, you might have nightmares about your past.

A scene relevant to Astarion’s backstory was shown at 4:25:57.

ROMANCE

They tried to show “two people genuinely struggling through a hard time and supporting one another. And you’re not going to be the same person in Act 1 as you are in Act 3. Neither is your partner. Your relationship is going to have to grow along with the game’s story.”

At 4:46:10, they have a video where they discuss this and show scenes from the romances.

How you treat your companions will be reflected in how they treat you. Whether they want to be in a relationship with you, whether they leave your party, or even try to kill you -- all depends on your choices.

“Sometimes it’s actually better to have an argument, and challenge your partner about their way of thinking.”

Some characters will happily share romantic partners with polyamory; some of them won’t.

Characters may have very different romantic endings based on what happens during the game and how you treat them or what you did with them. There’s not just one scene that’s the same for all playthroughs.

You can still romance people on “evil” playthroughs, so long as you play your cards right.

Mature content warning! There is a romance scene between Astarion and Halsin that the audience helped select at 5:32:49. Wowza. Worth getting banned from TikTok?

COMBAT

Multiplayer is up to four people, with split screen.

There are 3 difficulty modes: explorer (or easy), default, and tactician (hard). Tactician mode gives enemies base buffs, but also hand-crafted difficulty increases to encounters.

The “brutal AI” from tactician mode is supposed to feel like a DM that is pushing you to your limits, which manifests in ways like attacking your squishier characters, or trying to break casters’ concentration.

At 5:44:28, there’s a video showcase on the Monk class. Two minutes later, at 5:46:13, there’s some combat gameplay showing off monks and the different difficulty modes.

STORY AND CINEMATICS

At 6:00:40, there’s a video showcasing cinematics, with various clips from the game featured (lots of enemies/creatures shown).

They estimate that running through the main story will take about 80 hours, but it can go multiple times that length if you actually take your time and explore.

174 hours of cinematics doesn’t mean you’ll see all of them; it’s more that there’s so many permutations and reflections of the choices that you made, that you might not even see them all even if you play this game over and over again.

MISC

When you go to camp, you are now able to wear “camp clothes” rather than your armor, which can be toggled on and off. You can find various clothes in the world, and apply dyes to them. You can wear them outside of camp if you want to as well.

Cloaks are added.

The devs prefer not to think of this being a story told to you, but rather a story they are telling with you. Though there are many themes, trust is a big one: who you can trust, why you can trust them, and why the world should trust you as well.

There’s an unboxing of the Collector’s Edition at 6:14:26.

There is a very heavy spoiler chunk of gameplay from Act 2, starting at 6:20:42, which closes out the stream!

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #there be some spoilers here! i tried not to include stuff from gameplay #long post #phew that was a doozy

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ghouljams · 10 days

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i absolutely love your professor ghost and love series <333. i’m curious what you think will be the event that pushes them over the edge of wistful pining to an actual relationship🫣🫣🫣it would have to require an extreme event or something bc old man simon is way too deep in his fantasies to actually do anything about them😐😐😐

It's a the way there isn't a single thing. There's no change, there's no rejection, there's a consistency that drives Ghost mad. Love is as she always is, and he can't stand it anymore. She interrupts his lecture, she presses close and smiles at him, she smells like rosehip and honey and her lips are so soft looking up close. But she keeps leaving, winding him up and leaving him. It's a dance he can't keep up with, one that has born a new school of philosophy and pain. Love gathers her papers and turns to leave with a smile and quiet 'thank you' and Ghost?

Ghost grabs Love by the back of the neck, catching her tight before she can make her escape. The motion of it jolts her stopping her in her tracks. There's only so much flirting a man can stomach before he starts getting agitated. He doesn't want to scare her, not badly anyway, he just wants her to stop playing with him. He's past delusional, he's going insane. He's imagining a future he shouldn't be, swiping her things, waiting for her just to be disappointed. He's writing, loving to the point of creation, to the point of philosophy.

The absolute devotion in her eyes, the soft flutter of her lashes when he reels her back in and cages her against his chest, God. He pulls her hair tight in his fist, his cock twitching as she settles her hands on his chest. He should dismiss class early, but he doubts anyone would clear out of the lecture hall fast enough for him to bend her over the lectern. Ghost settles on his previous plan of asking Love what her fucking problem is.

"You 'avin' fun?" He asks, his voice a low growl. Love hums, spreads her fingers wide over his pecs, before curling them in the fabric of his button down.

"Be having more with your hand around my throat." She tells him, still flirting, and still getting a reaction from him. Ghost tightens his grip, tugs her head back, and watches her lips part around a sigh.

Does she even know every vulnerability that she displays? The bared throat, clear path to major organs, a lack of awareness that teeters on trusting. God, she trusts him.

The knowledge licks at him like holding his hand too close to an open flame. It tightens in his chest, makes his stomach churn. What has he done to earn that? What can he do to make her take it back, to make her take all of it back? Every touch, every spare glance, every word out of her mouth. She could take it all back and he'd still be here, he'd still have seen her and wanted her, wanted to know her. He'd still have seen her name on emails and known there was something missing from him. He'd still have wallowed in his misery, in a world- a life- without her.

"Why're ya doin' this to me?" He feels it fall out of him, pleading, the question he never could come up with an answer to, even with every degree of philosophy he could scrounge up.

"Because it feels right," She murmurs, "doesn't it?"

"No." Ghost insists. Love blinks, her eyes sliding over him, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips.

"You don't want me?"

There's such a vulnerability, a disbelief, in her voice that he wants to scream: that's not it. That's not it. He'd be lying with just a twitch of a nod, and lying has never suited Ghost, withholding sure, but not lying. The way she looks at him tugs bile up his throat, makes the pain in his chest clench that much tighter.

The universe has only ever taken from him. No good deed has ever gone unpunished in Ghost's life. He's built his camp on sorrow and rage, but it bites out of him to tell her:

"I've never wanted anythin' else."

#simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #professor au #professor!ghost #oc: love

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mooshywrites · 2 months

Text

Echoes of Love and Loss ~ Pt 4

Fem!Reader x Halsin

Masterlist

Art Commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A/N - This is the second to last part! Because of that, I’m taking suggestions for another series since I really enjoy this format. Shoot me a DM or send in a request if you have a good prompt <3

Word count - 4.1K

Warnings - Lots of angst, grieving, pregnancy, miscommunication, happy ending incoming I promise

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Part 2 ~ NSFW

Part 3

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“I have to find her”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Your days began to blur together in a haze of numbness. You’d long since shed all of the tears and felt all of the grief you could muster. All that was left was your survival instinct pushing you forward.

It took a considerably shorter amount of time to return to the Druids grove where you began your adventure, the road from Baldur’s Gate being far more safe now that The Absolute was gone.

Every settlement you passed through was filled with people celebrating. Their cheers and drunken ramblings washed over you without another thought, completely oblivious of what you had lost bringing them this new victory.

When you finally made it to the outskirts of the grove, something stopped you. You were so close. Close enough to even hear the faint chatter of the Druids that lived there.

But there seemed to be some sort of invisible wall between you and them. A heavy stone keeping you grounded from taking the few steps forward.

What would you say when the other Druids inevitably asked about Halsin? Would you be able to handle their unease and pity when it came to your condition? Would they see as you as anything more than the so-called hero who let their friend die?

You gritted your teeth, clutching at your chest as your heart began to pound. The world felt as if it was spinning as the turmoil hit you once again. You swallowed back bile, knowing you had only made your health worse by pushing yourself to get here more quickly.

With a few solidifying breaths, you sighed and turned away. You couldn’t stay here.

There was a small hut in the woods north of the grove. That would have to do for now.

The walk there was short, you might’ve even enjoyed the weather if the situation you found yourself in didn’t continue to bear down on you painfully. When the hut came into view, you grimaced.

It was… definitely a fixer-upper.

It was probably for the best, you’d have something to focus on. You could work through the day to make it a suitable home for you and the baby instead of wallowing in your grief.

You had to be strong for the little one after all.

You began work right away, throwing your bag on a rotted wooden table and surveying the inside of the shack. At least the walls seemed strong, the wood stood up to the elements. You could see a few patches that would need to be filled with straw for colder weather, but the wood burning stove in the corner gave you a little bit of hope.

Cobwebs littered the corners, a faint layer of dust settling over the entirety of the one room hut. You peered closer to find a straw broom tucked away, practically calling your name.

You set about cleaning the cabin, determined to make it a safe haven for you and your baby. The dust and cobwebs were easy enough to deal with, and you spent hours scraping the grime off the walls and furniture until you could hardly recognize the shack from when you first entered.

As night fell, you lit the wood burning stove, filling the small space with warmth and the scent of fire. You examined the table and decided it was too far gone, so you set to work constructing a new one from scraps of wood and nails, using the old table as a pattern. You worked tirelessly through the night, the pain in your legs and shoulders a constant reminder of the sacrifices you'd made to get this far.

The end product was definitely not a masterpiece, but you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride in your lopsided creation.

The days turned into weeks, and slowly but surely, the hut began to take shape. You built shelves, repaired the roof, and even managed to create a small loft for you and the little one on the way.

By now, your bump was definitely more noticeable. A healthy swell of your stomach growing now that you were forcing yourself into a healthy diet of at least three meals a day.

With your hut becoming more of a home, you found yourself slipping into a routine. You would wake up early to tend to the garden you'd started behind the place, growing vegetables and herbs that would provide sustenance and comfort.

Afternoons were spent working on the cabin, always striving for perfection despite the humble beginnings. You discovered a sense of peace in the solitary task, even if you mostly didn’t know what you were doing.

As night fell, it was harder to ignore the ache of loneliness and loss that settled in your chest. You would try to ease the pain by humming a song to your growing bump or reciting all the children stories you knew out loud.

To your delight, sometimes you would even feel a flutter of recognition when you sang, a tiny stirring in your womb. It was barely perceptible, very much not a kick yet, but it was still a comforting reminder that you weren’t totally alone.

As the weeks turned into months, the hut became a testament to your strength and resilience. The once-dilapidated structure had blossomed into a cozy home, with warm lighting in the evenings and shelves laden with the vegetables and herbs you'd grown in your garden. A sense of contentment washed over you as you looked around your little sanctuary, realizing that no matter the heartache and loss, you had managed to build a life for yourself despite the circumstances you faced.

The days seemed to stretch into an endless cycle of gardening and remedying, and soon enough, you could feel the baby moving more frequently within you. The sensation was both reassuring and overwhelming, filling you with a mix of love and fear for the little person growing inside of you.

One morning, as you were picking vegetables from your garden, you caught a faint glimpse of movement at the edge of the woods. Your instincts kicked in, and you darted back to the door, retrieving the sword you kept hidden. It was probably long since dulled from not being used, but it was better than having nothing.

No one came close to this part of the woods, even with its close proximity to the Grove. It seemed you had found your own little patch of solitude and you were weary of having your first visitor since you moved in months ago.

You focused in on the movements at the tree line, your shoulders tight. A figure shambled out of the greenery and you choked out a breathless laugh of relief.

“I thought I might find you nearby.” Shadowheart giggled, calling out across the short clearing.

“What on earth are you doing here?” You smiled, relaxing your posture. “You gave me a scare.”

She gave you a bright smile as she approached, taking stock of your now very obvious baby bump.

“I couldn’t help but trying to check on you. The others and I got an invitation from Withers for a reunion.” Shadowheart said with a shrug.

“The others?” You prodded uneasily. You looked toward’s the tree line again, worried they would come crashing through as well.

“Relax.” Shadowheart assured, her smile a little sad. “I told them what you wanted me to. They don’t know a thing about your ‘miraculous survival’.”

“Oh, good.” You sighed, brushing yourself off. “Want to come in? I could scrounge up a breakfast for you.” You tried to keep the hopefulness out of your voice, mildly embarrassed by how excited you felt at the thought of having someone else to talk to.

“Sure,” Shadowheart grinned. “I‘ll ask you what I came to ask you over some food.”

You stepped back, allowing Shadowheart to enter the hut. It was cozy and warm, the wood burning stove crackling in the corner. She looked around in amazement. “You did all this?” she asked, looking at the handmade furniture and shelves laden with herbs and vegetables.

“Yes,” you said, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. “I’ve been keeping myself busy.”

Shadowheart approached your makeshift table, running her hands along the rough surface. “It’s beautiful.” she murmured, looking at you with awe.

“Thanks.” You smiled shyly,

“So, how are you holding up?” She asked, sitting down on a hand-built stool. “And how’s the baby?”

“I’m doing okay.” You sighed, sitting across from the woman. “The baby is too. Although it’s grown so much that I can’t see my feet anymore.”

“You must be getting close then.”

“Mhm.” You responded, not offering anything else. You weren’t keen on discussing the actual birth. You still hadn’t decided on whether it was responsible to handle it on your own or not. In truth, you were completely out of your depth.

“So what is it you wanted to ask me?” You changed the subject with a grin.

Shadowheart’s face became guarded and she paused for a moment, as if trying to piece the words together.

“I want you to come with me to the reunion.” She whispered.

Your eyebrows furrowed as the words hung in the air.

“You can’t live alone forever.” Shadowheart continued after a moment of silence. “This place is wonderful and I’m glad you’re doing as well as you are, but you can’t force yourself into solitude.”

“Stop.” You cut her off, feeling the telltale dull ache of a migraine coming on. “You already know my answer.”

“Please, at least think about it.” Shadowheart pleaded, reaching across the table for your hand.

“Stop.” You repeated, slipping your hand away from her grasp. “Just stop.”

You felt tears threatening to well in your eyes and you cursed the hormones that made the tears so easy to spill.

“I’m not facing them. Not after losing Halsin.”

“But.” Shadowheart started before you cut her off with your hand.

“My answer is no.” You snapped before your voice softened. “I think you should leave.”

You adverted Shadowheart’s pointed gaze, feeling her eyes bore into you still. With a sigh, she nodded slowly. You looked back to see a mix of disappointment and understanding across her features.

She stood up and walked over to the door, her gaze still locked on you.

“I understand. Please know I’m here for you if you ever change your mind.” She said softly before leaving.

You watched her go through the open doorway, the silhouette of her figure disappearing into the dense forest. The words she’d said hung in the air, making you feel a twinge of guilt. There was probably a softer way to handle that conversation. A compromise you could have made.

For a moment you sat at the table in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the empty doorway. Your mind was whirling, trying to understand your own feelings and determine what was best for your tiny family.

It was a delicate balance, trying to protect your baby without pushing your grief and expectations onto it.

You took a deep breath and stood up, picking up your gardening tools once again.

There was no time for such idle thoughts.

After all. There were carrots to pick.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

As Halsin trudged his way toward’s the Druid’s grove, he couldn’t help but focus on the nagging sense of dread that filled his body. He had spent months looking for you, asking everyone he saw in Baldur’s Gate whether they had seen anyone of your description.

But the answer was the same every time, always a no. The letters to his past companions remained unanswered, his messaging spell falling on deaf ears.

The Druid almost felt as if he was a ghost, a memory of what he once was that no one could really see. He tried to make sense of it, maybe everyone truly thought he had died in that ocean. Maybe they thought his letters sent by some sort of imposter.

Halsin gritted his teeth, trying to will himself to think of other matters. He needed to find you.

All Halsin could see when he thought of you was the look of pure terror on your face as he hurtled over the edge of the Elder Brain. The silent scream ripping from your throat as he lost view of you. He needed to replace that with something.

With anything.

More than anything, Halsin wanted to replace it with the sight of your smile when you finally saw him again.

Halsin felt weak as he continued to lumber along the path, too weak to even shift into his cave bear form, though he’d be much more comfortable traveling that way.

He hadn’t been focusing on his own needs lately, skipping sleep and meals to focus on finding you again. He was out of options now, and all he could hope was to find some sort of hint of your whereabouts from his fellow Druids.

As Halsin reached the grove, his heart raced with anticipation and desperation. He took a deep breath and stepped through the entrance, scanning the faces of his fellow druids with hope-filled eyes.

One by one, he approached each of them, greeting them with a warm smile and asking if they knew of any adventurers who had disappeared recently or anyone who might be looking for a missing companion.

The Druids, surprised to see him well… alive and seemingly pained by Halsin's persistence to change the subject , shook their heads and offered sympathetic words. They hadn’t seen you pass through

Halsin's hope began to dwindle with each negative response, his heart aching with every new face that met his eyes. He felt the dread building inside him once more, suffocating him as he trudged further into the grove.

Suddenly, a familiar sound caught his attention. A laugh. A laugh he knew well but couldn’t seem to place it in his weary state.

He blindly followed the sound, brushing by people as he tried to find the source. Finally, a brown haired man came into view, the figure laughing at whatever the man in front of him was saying.

Halsin stumbled as he finally placed the voice.

“Gale?” Halsin murmured.

Gale spun around, the wizard raising his eyebrows in surprise. He reached out to steady himself by holding onto Wyll’s arm, his face paled as if he was looking into the eyes of a ghost.

“Halsin?” Gale whispered, his eyes wide.

Wyll mouth hung agape as he looked at Halsin, seemingly unable to fathom that the Druid was now standing before him. That he was alive after his fall into the murky depths.

“Halsin! By the gods, it is you!” Gale exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace the Druid, his eyes shining with disbelief and joy. Wyll stood beside him, a mix of shock and relief etched across his features.

Halsin returned the embrace warmly, feeling a rush of emotions flood through him at the sight of his old companions. It was a moment he had dreamt about during his long search, but he never dared to pause long enough to hope for.

“How? How are you here?” Wyll stuttered out, still trying to process the unexpected reunion.

Halsin took a step back, a smile spreading across his face. “It's a long story,” he began, “but seeing you both here is a sign that Silvanus has brought us back together.”

Gale clapped Halsin on the shoulder, his eyes bright with excitement. “You have no idea how much we've missed you, old friend. We thought we had lost you for good after that nasty tumble.”

“I tried to write.” Halsin muttered, a teasing tone of annoyance in his voice.

“Would you have answered a letter from someone you thought dead?” Wyll asked incredulously.

“Perhaps not.” Halsin chuckled, pulling the Duke into a hug.

The reunion lifted some of the weight that had been pressing down on Halsin for so long, if only for a moment. The two men before him began chattering on endlessly about what they had been up to, their adventures and misadventures.

But amidst the talking, a shadow continued to loom in Halsin’s mind. He couldn’t shake the thought of you, the one he had really set out to find in the first place. Despite the happiness of being back with his companions, he really only wanted to see one person. There were so many things he wanted to say. so many promises he wanted to make.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Halsin cut off the conversation for a moment, looking between both Gale and Wyll. “But is Tav with you? I’ve been looking for her everywhere, but it seems no one has seen even a glimpse of her.”

Gale and Wyll exchanged uneasy glances. Wyll cast his eyes off to the side, taking in a deep breath as Gale fidgeted uncomfortably.

Halsin couldn’t help but feel his stomach start to turn at the reaction. Unease starting to mix with agitation.

“Well?” He pressed.

“Halsin…” Wyll started, throwing Gale one more glance. “I think this is something we should speak of in private.”

Halsin’s eyebrows furrowed, unease quickly being replaced with dread. Whatever they had to say couldn’t at all be good. Not with the way Gale’s teeth ground tight and Wyll’s hands wrung against each other.

“No. Tell me now.” The Druid demanded.

“I really think-“ Gale started.

“She didn’t make it in the crash.” Wyll said quietly.

Halsin felt the world around him crumble at Wyll's words. The ground beneath his feet seemed to shift, the air around him growing heavy and suffocating.

You were gone.

The realization hit him like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs.

His mind raced, trying to process the devastating words. You, the one he had searched for tirelessly, the one he had longed to see again, were no more? The image of your smile, your unwavering determination, your fierce loyalty flashed before his eyes, each memory twisting the knife of grief deeper into his heart.

Wyll's voice sounded distant as he continued to speak, explaining the details of your fate in the crash. Halsin felt as if he were trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up from the cruel reality that had caught him.

Gale's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present moment. The wizard's eyes pained. “You should talk to Shadowheart. She was the one to see it.”

Halsin's mind reeled, his heart heavy with grief and disbelief over your loss. The world around him seemed to blur as he struggled to come to terms with the crushing reality of your absence. Despite the comforting presence of Gale and Wyll, their words felt like a distant echo in the overwhelming silence that engulfed him.

Numbly, Halsin nodded at Gale's suggestion to speak with Shadowheart. He knew he needed answers, needed closure. Nothing else would convince him that he truly lost you. With leaden steps, he made his way through the grove, his thoughts a whirlwind of memories and shattered hopes.

When he finally found Shadowheart, she looked at him with utter shock. The two stood looking at each other in silence for a moment, rendered speechless for very different reasons.

“Halsin? But I thought you… but the crash…” Shadowheart stuttered, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Is she really gone?” Halsin choked out.

Shadowheart’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion before realization dawned on her. Halsin’s eyes stayed glued to the ground below him, not seeing the conflicted emotions playing across Shadowheart’s expression.

“I think you need a healer.” Shadowheart whispered softly.

Halsin shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “No healer can mend this kind of wound,” he replied hoarsely, his voice thick with grief. The thought of you bore down on him like a heavy cloak, suffocating him with memories of shared moments and unspoken words.

Shadowheart’s gaze softened with sympathy as she reached out to touch Halsin’s arm.

“You need a healer.” She repeated. “Rest and heal tonight. I’ll…” She paused, her face twisting in concentration as she was obviously conflicting with her thoughts. “I’ll take you to where we set up a shrine for her. But not until you’ve had some rest.”

Halsin felt a mix of gratitude and reluctance at Shadowheart's offer. The idea of seeking solace in a makeshift gravesite sounded like a temporary respite, a bandage on a wound that cut deep into his soul. But he knew he needed to gather his strength, to find a way to honor your memory even with the weight of your absence heavy in his heart.

As the night descended upon the grove, Halsin found himself alone in the quiet darkness, surrounded by the hushed whispers of nature. Memories of you flooded his mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of what once was and what could have been. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed you somehow, that he should have been there to protect you from whatever fate had befallen you.

Tears welled up in Halsin's eyes as he sat beneath the starlit sky, a silent prayer whispered into the night for your spirit to find peace wherever it may roam. That wherever you had passed on to would have a view of the same stars he gazed upon now.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You awoke with a stretch, rubbing the ache out of your hips softly. It took a little more effort to get out of bed with your bump, your center of gravity becoming difficult to gauge.

With a yawn, you looked out the small open window, taking in the bright peace of the morning. Birds sang throughout the trees, melody winding through the sound of the leaves in the wind.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you ground yourself, inhaling the faintly sweet scent of wildflowers. You started most mornings off this way, determined to start the day with positive and uplifting thoughts.

That and because the serenity of nature made you feel closer to Halsin without the painful ache of longing.

You shuffled off the small bed, stretching once more. You had definitely overslept today, your morning chores would be getting a much later start than usual.

You went about your morning routine with a sense of purpose, softly chiding the swell of your belly to not make the day too hard on it’s mother.

Your mind drifted away as you worked, absentmindedly wondering whether the baby would be a boy or a girl. You’d heard old wives tales about whether the bump sat low or high correlating to the gender, but you really couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter too much in the end, all you could hope for was a safe delivery.

While you were tidying your makeshift kitchen, you heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching the cabin door. You left it open during the day, letting the cool forest air in. It would be impossible to miss any movement with it open, your ears too trained to sense change.

You sighed, figuring it was Shadowheart trying to convince you to join the land of the living once again. You tried to steel yourself, silently promising to be a little more agreeable this time even if your answer hadn’t changed.

“It’s still a no, Shadowheart, I don’t-“

You turned to the doorway and your words caught in your throat.

You stood absolutely still and silent, sure that your eyes were playing tricks on you.

Could it be possible? There in your doorway…

There stood Halsin.

You clutched at your chest, taking a tentative step back as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. Halsin’s expression seemed to match your own. Silence, tense and heavy settling between you.

“Halsin?” You whispered, your voice cracking with uncertainty.

He stood there in the doorway, his gaze locked with yours, a mix of similar emotions seeming to swirl in his own eyes. The weight of his presence in the room felt palpable, like a storm brewing on the horizon, ready to unleash its fury.

You felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over you - disbelief, hope, confusion. How could he be here after all this time? After everything that had happened? Your heart pounded in your chest, the silence stretching between you like an unspoken barrier.

Halsin took a hesitant step forward, as if afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the fragile moment hanging between you. His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke your name, as if testing the reality of the situation.

You found yourself at a loss for words, your mind reeling with questions and doubts. Was this some trick of fate, a cruel illusion playing with your heart? Or was he truly standing before you, his towering figure all too large for the tiny doorframe you had made your life in?

Halsin’s eyes remained glued to yours as you stood, his lips parted as he seemed to search for the words he wanted to say. His eyes flitted to the ground before he went rigid.

You watched, breath caught in your throat as Halsin’s gaze locked onto your stomach.

Onto the soft swell of his child growing inside of you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Part 5 ~ End

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

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indiana-farm-nerd · 1 year

Text

And with this venomcrawler my Creations of Bile are complete

#creations of bile #wh 40k #chaos space marines #heretic astartes #warhammer 40k #space marines #adeptus astartes

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talesofadragon · 2 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

Synopsis: Receiving wind that Hydra has successfully managed to awaken another wave of winter soldiers, Captain America appoints his two best avengers, Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N, for the job. But aside from Bucky’s trepidation at reliving his worst memories, there’s something else rooting him in his place–the fear of inflicting harm on the woman he loves the most. Between her encouraging words and his violent past, what will happen when Y/N is forced to encounter her boyfriend’s alter ego?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Angst

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬 Masterlist | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

𝐘/𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃. She had always known her survival chances were lower than most, given her status as an Avenger, and she wasn’t going to lie and say she never thought about what words would find themselves engraved on her tombstone.

But instead of dying in dignity because of an enemy bullet, Y/N immediately knew, at the moment the bullet froze amidst her translucent body, that she was going to greet death at Bucky’s hands.

She always prided herself on her quick wit. So, when the Hydra bastard fired, she knew there were only two options: live or die. She couldn’t escape the bullet—teleportation was not a power in her arsenal, no matter how much she wished it was, or else Steve would have thought twice before hauling her ass in the Quinjet and whisking her to Antarctica in no less than twenty hours.

So, with no means of escape, Y/N did the only reasonable thing. She summoned her incorporeal form. In her defense, it was a great plan. With no physical vessel, there was no way for the bullet to cause any damage, and she could stall enough for Bucky to incapacitate the Hydra agent.

…But, since Hydra was no ordinary intelligence organization, and with their eyes set on their finest creation, it was naive to think they would make it easy

The second the “bullet” penetrated Y/N’s incorporeal form, a strange sensation tilted the world on its axis. It happened briskly—in what could be described as a heartbeat or a flutter of an eyelash. Suddenly, Y/N let out a loud hiss. Her legs gave out, pushing her to the ground.

She noticed it in the way her body regained its physical state–her powers had seemingly seeped from her fingertips in a manner that made bile rise to her throat and a sharp scream escape her lips.

“Y/N!” Bucky called frantically, witnessing her shallow breaths. There was a small disk on her neck, an imprint left behind by the Hydra weapon. He raised his gun, expertly aiming it at the man standing a few feet behind Y/N. The agent was unfazed, already anticipating a retaliation. He leveled his own gun at Bucky’s chest and fired.

Bucky dodged it, poised to attack. As soon as he pressed the trigger, though, the bullet ricocheted against an invisible barrier. It haphazardly traveled across the small space, threatening to lodge itself in him. He finally deflected it with his metal arm. It was after that he noticed a metal disk a few feet away on the ground—the reason the bullet must;ve been repelled.

“I have long been waiting to meet you,” the Hydra agent noted. He paused his monologue, mouth agape and adorned with a callous smile. It pricked Bucky’s sanity, even more so when he uttered one more word, “Soldat.”

Y/N groaned in displeasure, the sound of her protests louder than her previous whimpers. The man paid her no heed, rolling his eyes and stepping over her as if she were nothing but a meager rat.

“Who the hell are you?” Bucky spat.

The agent smirked, opening his eyes wide in a show of feigned hospitality. “I am Pavel Kuznetsov, Research Director and Coordinator of the Hydra Winter Program. It’s an honor to be in your presence, Soldat.”

“S-stop calling him that!” Y/N ordered, attempting to stand up on shaky legs.

The agent, Pavel, looked more annoyed than bothered by her comment. He rotated his body only slightly around, enough to be able to grab her hair and force a kick under her stomach.

Y/N cried out in agony as her legs buckled beneath her, sending her crashing to the ground with little effort. Enraged at the sight of her suffering, Bucky's fists clenched. "Do not touch her!" he warned, anger taking over.

Bucky unsheathed one of his hidden knives, hurling it at the man. Just like before, the invisible barrier did not recede under the force of his attack. The blade bounded against the shield, landing on the ground.

Pavel smirked, eyes raking Bucky’s forlorn figure. “Cute.” The Sergeant tried not to shutter at the acid in his voice. “The Soldat has found himself a little fucktoy.”

The veins in Bucky’s neck protruded, waves of dark blue made prominently visible. The metal plates of his arms whirled as he fisted his hand, attacking the barrier with a growl. “Watch your tongue!”

“I wonder, do you watch yours when around her?” Pavel taunted. “Such a delectable little creature she is.”

“Watch it!”

“Oh, I am watching it,” Pavel enunciated, looking at Y/N’s writhing form.

Bucky swore his blood was boiling at a dangerous temperature with the way that man was describing Y/N. If it wasn't for the cackling sound of his earpiece, God only knew what he would've done next.

The voices were a jumbled mess, with static filling his ears. Bucky deduced then that the barrier must also be causing some kind of sonic interference.

“Two... strong… any word… Y/N?” Steve's voice rang through, sounding out of breath. Bucky didn't miss the low whine that emanated from Y/N after her name was mentioned.

She can hear them, Bucky figured, realizing that her earpiece was functional. But without manually activating the channel, the team wouldn’t be able to hear either him or Y/N.

“Busy… deadly beautiful… soldier. Literally,” Tony’s voice sounded. And with everyone fighting a soldier each, there was no telling if they would reach Bucky and Y/N in time.

Bucky slowly filled his lungs with air, preparing himself for what lay ahead. This was a trap, just as Y/N had told him. But he didn’t want Y/N to stick around long enough to find out whether that man was also enhanced, possibly the last soldier they were looking for.

"Release Y/N,” Bucky said, after carding his fingers through his hair. He angled his head to the side, ensuring Pavel wouldn't notice his earpiece fizzing to life. It didn’t look like he paid attention to the pause between Bucky’s words either. He took them at face value, unaware they were spoken slowly for any of the Avengers who could hear him to pick up in full.

"Is that what your pretty little pet is called?”

"She is not a pet, Kuznetsov.”

The man dared to grin, sending shivers down Bucky’s spine. “My, you’re right. Lynxes are no pets. They’re beasts."

Bucky snarled loudly, his temper rising at the insinuation. He stepped forward, ready to hurl his bodyweight against that barrier. But the moment his brain was commanding his feet into action, his earpiece buzzed again.

“Bucky?” Sam asked. “What’s… on? ...Y/N… okay?”

“The barrier,” Bucky snarled, hoping his team could pick up his voice. “Put. It. Down.”

“No.”

Bucky inhaled sharply with his electric irises concentrated on Y/N. She had one elbow on the floor as she tried to lift herself. Though out of breath, the grit of her teeth showed she was resisting the effects of the disk clinging to her body.

“James,” Y/N wined, almost to her feet. A shriek escaped her when Pavel snatched her hair, positioning her in front of him.

The sound ignited an unprecedented wrath in Bucky. “Fight me!” he hollered. Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears, and he swore he was going to decapitate that man, limb from limb. “Let her go. And fight me.”

“Oh, there will be fighting. But what’s the rush?”

The words didn’t want to register in Bucky’s head. He dismissed them, fisting his metal arm and swinging it at the invisible barrier. “Fight me now!”

Of course, this did nothing to break it. There wasn’t even a visible dent or a scratch. Bucky pulled back his arm, ready to hurl himself forward. But he stopped when he heard Y/N’s broken whimpers.

“S-soldat,” she cried out, the word dripping from her mouth with disdain. Bucky’s head whipped at the speed of light, a jarring jolt infiltrating his body. His eyes scanned her, checking for injuries Pavel might’ve caused in his momentary distraction.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. I know, was what he was trying to say. I know. And I’ll get you out.

But Y/N repeated the word, shaking her head when he tried to interrupt her. “Soldat. T-trap.”

“Y/N–”

“Ja-James.” She paused, allowing herself to take in a deep breath. Pavel’s fingers tugged at her hair, making her shriek her next words. “Soldat, Barnes!”

It stunned Bucky to hear his last name uttered so sharply. By Y/N, no less. A shadow of confusion crossed his features, his brows knitting together. Soldat. He got that part. He told her this much.

“Angel,” Bucky opened his mouth to affirm his understanding, but Y/N’s frustration increased.

Pavel didn’t like her fidgeting too much. He grabbed her chin, his fingernails digging into her skin. Bucky jolted, nothing but a hair separating his body from the barrier. His eyes roamed Y/N’s face, tunnel-focused on where Pavel’s fingers lay.

Y/N caught Bucky’s attention, eyes imploring him to understand. He tried to, but his senses were battling each other at the crippling sight in front of him. With his enhanced strength, Pavel could kill Y/N with a flick of his wrist.

That’s when Bucky’s brain kicked into function. This much pressure could have cracked her jaw. But it didn’t. It was the same tight grip Natasha had on her enemies. The same tight grip Sam had on him when they were training.

It was normal. Tight, but normal. Not enhanced. Not deadly.

“Soldat,” Bucky breathed. Pavel swiveled his head, flaunting a machiavellian smirk. But he wasn’t looking at Bucky. He was looking at his metal arm.

Once Bucky looked down, he realized then what Y/N had been saying all along. There was a disk on his metal arm. A device that would overpower him. A way to unleash the soldier.

“No!” he roared, kicking and punching the barrier. They can’t do it, a voice inside his head blared. The words don’t work. This device certainly couldn’t.

He hollered above the sound of Pavel’s laughter and Natasha’s segmented questions in his ears. He needed to get out. Needed to get Y/N out. And that was when it all sunk in. “Y/N!” he implored and shouted at once. Praying for the heavens not to test him this way. He couldn’t do it. This was the main reason he didn’t want her to wander this place without him. Afraid of her dying at the hands of a soldier... crippling beneath the acrimony of winter. He wouldn’t let her. He couldn't survive the desolateness and viciousness that would come without her.

But he didn’t have a choice.

Pavel disregarded his gun in favor of pulling a small rectangular device. His actions lingered, an unwelcome intermission that only made the tension rise.

"Y/N," Bucky pleaded, the desperation in his voice a stark juxtaposition to his fierce demeanor. "Run. Hide. Please."

Do anything, he silently asked. Anything to survive.

And then Pavel pushed the button.

It was worse than holding her breath when Steve had to stop a bomb from exploding back in Estonia. It was more catastrophic than Tony tripling the intensity of his electro beams against some alien creature in Northern Australia.

No, what was happening to Bucky was worse than anything Y/N had witnessed before, and it knocked whatever air lingered in her lungs out of her. She watched, mouth agape, as Bucky’s palms landed on the invisible barrier. His screams were thunderous as he floundered around in this invisible detention cell, nails desperately clawing at its edges to try to dig even a minuscule hole through it.

Bucky wailed, attempting to fight whatever maliciousness was invading his mind, but from the way his sobs ebbed and flowed, his resistance was long lost. Electricity crackled, sparks dancing from his fingertips to the tip of his ears. His jaw tightened, molars grinding in an attempt at defiance. They couldn’t do it. They shouldn’t be able to.

“Soldat,” Pavel proclaimed with a mirthful smile. He had known, even without Bucky lifting his gaze from the floor, that the Fist of Hydra was back. And it was confirmed with only three words from Bucky’s mouth.

“Я. Готов oтвечать. ”

Pavel rejoiced, his silent amazement tramping Y/N’s astonishment. She tried to reach out for her earpiece, desperately wanting to tell Steve what just happened and beg him to hurry. But Pavel caught her other arm and shoved her in Bucky’s direction. “Soldat,” he uttered, the word taunting Y/N with its venomous rhythm. “Your mission, your target, is her. Destroy her.”

And then all hell broke loose.

Bucky gave her no warning, no preamble, no nothing. He didn’t incline his head, nor did he bat an eyelash. The barrier disintegrated, and, all at once, he was in Y/N’s personal space, punching her in the ribs faster than she could anticipate.

She muffled her scream, hiding her pain under a veneer of control. Her ears buzzed when she landed on a desk, breaking it in half. Bruce was saying something over the comms, but with Bucky charging like a mad bull toward her, Y/N couldn’t focus on what the team was saying.

“James, it’s me!” It was futile–she knew that much. But with this transition stimulated by different means than the ones previously adopted, Y/N held onto the hope that she could perhaps get to him. “You know me!”

“You are my mission,” he asserted. His hand uncovered a gun he had kept somewhere in his suit. Had Y/N not ducked in time behind a wall, her head would have certainly exploded.

The bullet penetrated one of the translucent panels beside her, and she horrifically watched as the glass erupted like fireworks, sending a million particles in her direction. The wall couldn't obstruct the glass, forcing Y/N to roll on the ground and attempt to escape.

She hissed, shards lodging themselves in the skin of her palms, but she didn’t dwell on it with Bucky pelting her with a barrage of bullets.

Without her powers, it was increasingly hard to navigate the line of fire. Her breath was coming out in pants. Her knees were barely able to support her weight.

The only reason Bucky missed wasn’t because Y/N was running fast or her senses picked up on the danger. It was because she tried to use what little of her available surroundings she had as an advantage. She ducked, rolled, and hid behind whatever surface she could leverage, but she couldn’t keep doing that.

“I’m your best girl!” Y/N screamed before her foot got caught up in a metal rod. She crashed into a pile of green tubes, crying out as they singed her suit. Her skin ached under the jarring contrast between ice and heat. “I'm... I'm the one you always turn to, James. The one who knows you best and loves you most!"

“Pathetic,” the response came from Pavel. And if Bucky had hesitated, it didn't show.

A knife lodged itself in Y/N’s calf, causing her painful wails to bounce off every surface. Her words did nothing to appease Bucky’s brain or counter his mental spell. But she wouldn’t relent.

An idea surfaced in her mind as she looked down at the knife. Maybe, if she were any other person, she’d have used it as a weapon. But Y/N knew she had to break through the barricades of Bucky's mind first. Or else no one would make it out of this facility alive.

She snatched a couple of discarded vials, ones that had remained intact. And though the cold was biting at her skin, she charged ahead. Y/N thrust the chemicals in Bucky’s direction—keeping her aim steady enough to avoid hitting him yet precise enough to maintain some distance between them both.

“You’re not Hydra’s Asset anymore,” she reminded him. It hurt to run, but she needed to find refuge somewhere. “You’re not their experiment. That man is not your handler. I am not your mission!”

“Заткнись.”

“Извини. Нет!” Y/N countered. This time, Bucky was taken aback by her answer. So, she used this window of opportunity to hurl a chair at him before darting toward one of the doors on the left.

To Y/N's luck, the door gave out quickly under her weight, and the hinges remained pristine. Scurrying to lock the door, she used the adrenaline pumping in her veins to try and reinforce it. Truth be told, she didn’t know what she was doing or what she was using to keep Bucky away. But she needed to hold him off, even if it was just for a minute.

Ignoring the frost bites and the pieces of skin that were clearly falling off from that green solution, Y/N took a deep breath, curling her injured hand—frankly, they were both injured, but this one less than so—on the knife’s hilt. She took a deep breath. The sound barely registered above Bucky’s body crashing into the wooden door.

Blood poured out of her wound in torrents, leaving her lightheaded. Quickly, she searched for the disk occluding her powers. Her team was saying something, their voices fusing together in her ears. She shut off her earpiece, eyes still studying her body. The disk meshed into her suit, pushing her to debate cutting the fabric.

A flying drawer made the decision on her behalf. In less than ten seconds, Bucky was sure to get through her pitiful defenses. The cabinets she’d used as shields could only hold him for so long. Y/N raised the knife, ready to cut the fabric, when the disk hummed without prior notice. The next thing Y/N knew, electricity shot through her body, forcing the knife to fly out of her grasp.

“Son of a—” Her curse was cut as the door opened a fraction before closing again. With not much of a choice, Y/N’s eyes frantically studied the room for a hiding spot, thanking Clint for teaching her to use the vents as escape pods.

Within a few bated breaths, she was up in the air vents just as Bucky broke down the door. She could see it even from up there, the moroseness that governed his features. Knowing his enhanced senses would pick up on her footfalls, she settled quietly in the confined space.

Bucky scanned his surroundings, assessing the hidden crooks and gaps, astutely moving around the room in search of her. She sucked in a whimper, her entire body threatening to collapse from the fight’s toll. Luckily, Bucky seemed to have missed her discomfort.

When he strode to the other end of the room, Y/N took this as a chance to start moving. She did it as gently as she could, partially because she couldn’t place much pressure on her calf. Mainly because she had to make no sounds.

It was silent for a while—as opposed to the fray inside her soul. One part of her resented itself for leaving Bucky behind, while the other reasoned that she couldn’t help him without getting out of there and finding the team first.

But the silence soon slipped. Y/N heard a sharp sound, followed by her own shrieks of terror.

A bullet penetrated the vents. She stilled only for a second before her mind moved on autopilot. She reached for her suit, taking out any trinket she could find. She threw one of Tony’s infra scanners, shaped like a small ball, ahead, watching it roll across the vent.

Bucky caught the movement and fired. Y/N took the chance and fled the other way.

She thought it would work. There was no way he could hear her over the sound of the ringing bullets, and the ball was moving around enough to trick him that there was movement within the vents—just far away from her.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, the vents collapsed beneath her weight. She felt sick, the world rotating around her thrice. A jarring yelp evaded her mouth when her body landed on the harsh cold floor.

Y/N's consciousness floated in the air, untethered and uncertain. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. There was a cacophony of voices, bellows, and screams, loud enough to shake the whole of Antarctica. Were they her own?

Her hair was yanked back, her knees pressed into the unyielding ground and her legs twisted at an awkward angle. Her vision was marred with dirt, exhaustion, and tears. But within the hazy portrait before her, Y/N could see her team. They were all here, fighting more Hydra agents than she could count.

“Y/N!” a voice shouted as a foot pressed down on her injured leg, and a knife settled by her jugular vein.

It was then, in the blurriness of her hope and the clarity of her despair, that she knew there was no escaping the Winter Soldier.

I'm a huge sucker for hurt/comfort! This was supposed to be out a week ago, but I caught a nasty cold and bruised myself pretty badly during dance practice. I hope the angst was well-rounded since I really wanted to share it with you and not postpone it any longer. Hope you liked it, witchlings! 🩷

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @ye0nvibezzn @justafangir1

Series Taglist: @msoldier @kandis-mom

: ��̀➛ Read Chapter 4 -AFTERMATH - here!!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #winter soldier!bucky #winter soldier relapse #winter soldier x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes angst

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hana-no-seiiki · 11 months

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I saw that you need ideas, so how about a yandere from the Neons? I mean, I would like to see more content from them since they represent the elements in Honkai star rail, by the way, sorry if you don't understand, my English is bad... I leave you a little drawing of a masculine makima (it has nothing to do with it, but as a gift ) xd Also, I don't know if I'm the only one, but Nanook makes me handsome >///<

(Sorry, I had already finished it but the work was stained hahaha and I did it again)

Yus the Aeons are so cool looking!! You really feel like they’re actual gods of the universe, especially since you don’t see them first hand (at least for now). Also Masculine Makima reminds me of Karma Akabane lol. I’ll draw it in my style, and add it here as an extra for you ♥️

Hb we mash those two topics up together actually?

warnings: mild yandere themes. mild spoilers for csm. major canon divergence. reader takes the shape of a masc/amab character but it isnt their original form.

status: unedited. updated art.

YANDERE! AEONS + VARIOUS! HSR x AEON OF FEAR/CONTROL! READER

You have no memory of your conception, only that you started existing for what felt like an eternity.

You represented fear and despair, but unlike IX whose mere presence drove humanity into insanity, or the rest of your fellow aeon’s godlike status amongst the world,

you walked around as a normal, ordinary human being.

As normal as an Aeon can get anyways.

In your current lifetime, you took the shape of Himeko’s “brother”, planting fake memories into her mind and being the one that urged her to travel the stars. While she was the navigator, you took the role of conductor before creating Pompom to supplant you.

Welt always knew you weren’t just a regular person. Your eyes always felt distant, so far off that not even a century’s worth of trail blazing would allow him to come close. As such he mostly kept cordial relations with you.

The youngsters of the bunch on the other hand, never seemed to realize the sheer magnanimity of the danger you held and always hung around you.

Particularly that Caelus. The newest addition to the crew. The stellaron within him always pulsed in some sort of giddiness and excitement whenever you were around. The boy couldn’t help but be a nervous wreck when he was around you. Stuttering and stumbling was a common occurrence whenever you so decide as to just breathe at his direction.

You knew what those Stellarons are, their nature, their purpose, the way they were created. In fact if you wanted to, you could have taken the Astral Express straight to the source of it all, your partner: Nanook.

However that would have ruined the fun of it all. So you chose to let them have their little adventures before the final confrontation.

Also because you signed a contract to not meddle with Nanook’s business in exchange for your freedom. But that was another story to tell.

“Why . . . why do you continue this farce? This utterly worthless play?”

IX’s voice rang within your ears and no one else’s. You were the only being it ever gave the time of day to. You imagine it to be the reason why insanity slowly built itself within the recesses of your head.

“You may see the entire universe as worthless . . . but I,” You breath hitched. You looked around your room. Time was frozen. Everything turned grey. You weren’t afraid of the others in the express hearing you, just that the following words you were about to spout out felt like bile on your mouth. “I suppose I’m still a bit like them in a way. I wish to see the world without its evils.”

“And destroying them. That is my first step.” You summon an orb of golden light. Stellarons. The creation of the very thing that made you loath all evil. Including yourself. You will eradicate these and then Nanook yourself. One day.

“Is that why you send those hunters out?”

“Perhaps.” The orb within your hands get covered in chains, quickly getting crushed within the metal like substance as it soon disappeared.

“Do as you wish. Just do not bother me like that imbecile.”

“I promise. I will be much worse than Yaoshi.”

IX remained silent for several seconds, no doubt regretting its decision of associating with you before adding, “. . . And do not die.”

“That one I cannot guarantee.”

Your room’s color returns, time continues. Signaling the end of two Aeons’ encounter.

Nanook, the Aeon that threatened to eradicate all that you love. All so they could have your soul once more. Within your gilded cage. Within your original body that lied dormant.

The Destruction will no longer be a path. That is a guarantee you write upon the stars when your Trail Blazing lifetime eventually comes to a close.

The stage is set, your actors ready.

All you needed was the cue.

Your gloved hand arose, pointing towards the express’s windows in the shape of a gun.

“Bang.”

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dinoserious · 1 year

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have i ever talked abt my personal pokemon mythos origin for giratina as arceus’ bile. ok well im doing it now

giratina is the bile built up and spat out after the creation of the universe. arceus loved this spontaneous and unplanned creation, but it was too violent and had to be sealed away. giratina now preforms as a sort of counterbalance to the universe from the distortion world. dialga and palkia are older, and were created when arceus severed two of its many arms. they sequestered themselves in other realms on their own terms, after seeing how their power could lead to terrible results. uxie mesprit and azelf were created after all this as a sort of safeguard against further destruction. they are some of the oldest pokemon to have not left the world for somewhere else

i think arceus loved giratina very much. it was an unplanned and chaotic being that it considered beautiful in its spontaneity, but could not come to terms with the destruction it wrought. the world was new, and all arceus could think to do was to seal it away. the shame this action brought to it was a big factor in arceus becoming a mostly absent god, not trusting itself to directly meddle in the world it created

#arceus #giratina #creation trio #pokemon #mythology #poke mythos #arceus loved its violent terrible child. and the actions it took against it caused it anguish #and so it left the world in the hands of three little fairies #and as the worlds natural processes created beasts and legends to populate the lands #the three little blue fates watch on in silence #most of these hcs predate legends arceus btw. these are homegrown from taking a mythology course and just really liking the sinnoh legends

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thewalkingwillowtree · 5 months

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Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love.

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 24.

Xilä is my own creation.

Warning! This part contains sensitive topics (one mention of miscarriage (not Xi) & Non-con touch)

Part 16- Li'ona

Scanning the interior of their home, Neteyam felt sick to his stomach. His eyes burned, prickling at the sight of its ransacked state.

It was almost disbelieving at first.

But reality slowly sank in with every passing glance as he stayed frozen at the threshold.

When bile finally threatened to make its way up his throat, he forcefully tore his gaze away from the crimson pool on the tapestry covered flooring. He didn’t want to think about where the blood came from- what caused it- or more importantly, whose it was.

None of it was real…right?

Please, Eywa.

Arriving back at Home Camp in an already frantic state, Neteyam had instantly noticed a change in the air. The energy was off- fear and panic replacing the usual calm peace of the Omatikaya clan. Ignoring it, along with the abnormal flurry of activities surrounding him, he’d hurriedly made his way straight for his tent, bypassing the clan members who lingered outside of his home in worry.

The sight he was greeted by caused him such utter distress, he almost collapsed, catching himself on a beam at the entrance- a heartbreaking cry of anguish falling from his lips.

Their mainroom was a scattered mess consisting of strewn cushions and blankets, torn and shredded tapestries and decor hangings, broken knickknacks that Xi had once carefully littered around their home. Baskets, chests, cracked clay bowls, pots and food sacks were all haphazardly knocked over- their contents either spilling out or completely missing.

Their personal food stock and quite a few other possessions were obviously stolen. The grand bamboo stand that housed his wide collection of weapons ranging from knives, daggers, specially crafted arrows and spears- was a splintered heap of broken pieces- all gone now, save a few smaller daggers.

And the bedroom- fuck…He wished he hadn’t mustered the strength to enter the space.

Their bedroom was just as bad- worse in his opinion.

It reeked of blood.

His little tech setup in the corner was completely destroyed- tiny parts smashed as if someone had a personal vendetta against the human-made devices.

And when he spotted the shredded strips of blankets stained crimson with a blood coated dagger abandoned between the sheets, his legs finally gave out- knees colliding hard with the floor beneath him.

Body shaking uncontrollably, a sob escaped him.

Why?

Tears of fury slowly stained his cheeks as his chin trembled.

Why?

It was too much.

Why?

He couldn’t do this.

WHY?

He was breaking- on the verge of hysteria.

WHY?

His mind screamed blame. It was all his fault.

Why did you leave her?

The knife.

What have you done?

The blood.

Look at all the fucking blood!

All him.

Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?

Gone.

She’s gone.

Xilä.

She needed you and now she’s gone.

He jumped when a hand of comfort squeezed his shoulder- breaking him from his spiralling thoughts.

“Come on son, up you get. Let’s- let’s take a breather from in here,” Jxo’s gravelly voice soothed.

Helpless, Neteyam allowed the elder to pull him to his feet, staggering in a daze as they made their way through the shambles of his home.

Once outside, he sucked in a much needed breath of fresh air. Air that wasn’t suffocatingly stifling him with its coppery fumes.

He collapsed again, sitting heavily this time onto the last of the stone steps- physically unable to make it any further. His head fell into the cradle of his palms, elbows digging into the tops of his thighs.

He sensed his father-in-law’s presence near him- knew he was probably giving him a moment to pull himself together. Neteyam felt it though, the worry and anxiety rolling off of Jxo in waves.

But how could he face the man? He’d failed his daughter- he’d failed Xilä.

“Jxo,” he eventually croaked, hands falling away as he tried to formulate a sentence. He swallowed hard to stifle another incoming sob. “Jxo, tell me she’s not- I- ” chin trembling, he shook his head in disbelief.

Was he going crazy?

Was this all some fucked up nightmare?

He made the mistake of looking up. Jxo’s distraught expression was all the confirmation he needed. The elder looked ragged and seemed to have aged even further in the short span of time Neteyam had last seen him.

Gaze softening, Jxo squeezed his shoulder again, crouching down to his level to face him head on. “Kid, listen to me, okay? We can’t fall apart, not right now. Our Xilä…she- she needs us,” the elder said, almost as if he were trying to convince even himself of his own words. “Yeah?”

“Y-yeah…yes, sir,” Neteyam nodded. He needed to hear those words. Jaw clenched, he forced himself to get a grip on his emotions. But the clear head he was searching for only intensified the swirling rage inside of him.

He wanted to scream.

To lash out.

To kill.

A voice calling out his name made them both get to their feet, expectantly. Jake strode towards them, brushing past a few onlookers- Gwuyle flanking him. The second-in-command barked at the growing crowd, making them clear the area, for which Neteyam was grateful.

He didn’t miss the subtle head shake Jake sent to Jxo however. He guessed that meant they hadn’t found his mate yet.

“Son are you-” The Olo'eyktan’s speech was cut off when his eldest shrugged his arm off, not wanting to be touched. Jake was expecting the reaction. The hurt and betrayed glare Neteyam sent him was justified. Lo’ak had already prepared him for the wrath to come. “Son I get that you’re upset, but-”

“Upset? Upset? Oh no, I think I'm more than goddam upset! She’s gone dad! My mate is GONE!” he screeched hysterically. “Tell me, exactly who’s bright fucking idea was it not to call me? Huh? Huh?”

Jxo pulled him back from advancing any further.

But Neteyam was too far gone.

He gestured to the open flap of his home, “Did you have a good look for yourself? Did you see? You must have seen what I saw…I don’t get it, sir. The moment you saw this you should have called me! You should’ve-” Neteyam sucked in a deep breath, wiping his palms down his face in not only frustration but utter despair.

His father-in-law murmured soft words that fell on deaf ears to the other two men, calming his temper in a way Jake wished he could in that moment.

He felt pained as he stared at his son, it was a parent's worst nightmare to see their child so distraught. It hurt him to see him so broken- unhinged to the point of feral. He exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Jxo who stood by Neteyam’s side. The elder was never in agreement with him, keeping Neteyam in the dark about Xilä.

“It was my call,” Jake admitted, owning up to his fault. “But you need to understand, there was a palulukan attack…two males managed to make it past the southern border- it seems they were leered. By the time we had it handled and found out about Xi, I- I thought we’d find her…you’re right, I should have called you. I know.”

His son’s shoulders slumped- the fight leaving him as he absorbed his father’s explanation. “Well shit. An attack? Was anyone hurt?” he asked, albeit a bit distractedly.

“At least twenty severely injured, a couple others not as bad…three deaths as far as we know. The healers have their hands full right now.”

Silence filled the atmosphere.

All four men internally digested the reality of the situation- the echoing of Jake’s words lingering in the air.

Neteyam pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. “Okay. Okay- um, where are we with the search, sir?” He felt a stab of guilt for glossing over the attack, but there was only one thing on his mind right now, and that was finding his wife. He’d have to process everything else some other time.

“We’ve got twelve units still out searching- your mother has a team headed to the Hallelujah Mountains. Each of the border points are being covered as every tent, shack, shed and lab gets inspected- every nook and cranny will be searched. Lo’ak’s with Norm at the labs as we speak. They're checking the inferred maps hoping we could pick up on any unusual activity- the bad news with that is it only covers our territory. We’re trying to find some sort of trace for the direction they went before we move the search past the borderlines of the forest. Messengers were also sent to the nearest clans to keep a lookout.”

“Li’ona. That’s where he’s taking her. That’s where we need-”

“We don’t know that for sure, do we?”

“Exactly and why would he even go there? Don’t those savages want them dead?” Gwuyle frowned.

“Yes, but T'shteyo has threatened to take Xi back to Li’ona with him- she said he wants to return to his title.”

Gwuyle, Jake and Jxo shared matching grim expressions.

“What?” Neteyam asked, reading their body language all too well. “What are you not telling me?”

“You know Stephan right?”

“The weird techie?” Neteyam frowned at his father.

“Yeah…he’s missing, well his Avatar body that is. And so too that old RDA aircraft he used to fiddle around with,” Jake admitted uncomfortably. “It’s not like him to be gone for so long… We believe T'shteyo may have taken him hostage. Max is trying to get communication running with the ship to confirm.”

Neteyam scoffed disbelievingly. He wanted to cry all over again. “Are you saying…are you saying they’re flying in an aircraft as we speak….and you’re only fucking telling me this now?!” he seethed, taking a step forward, shaking off the Jxo’s hand from holding him back.

“Watch your tone son,” Jake snapped.

“Look, Teyam, we don’t know this for sure, okay? But we will find out…I thought he was just a primitive bastard, it seems we’ve all misjudged T'shteyo. I know I have,” Gwuyle said, trying to ease the tension. “I’m going to head back and see if there’s been any updates. Call me if you have any news, Jake.”

When it was just the three of them left, Neteyam hung his head. “I should have killed him. I-”

Jake stepped forward and hugged his son. Neteyam resisted at first but it didn’t take much coaxing before he sagged against his dad, accepting the much needed comfort.

“I can’t begin to understand what you are feeling right now, but I need you to know, we are going to do everything possible to get Xilä back.”

“Neteyam. Jake,” Max greeted when they entered the link shack. The scientist sent a respectful nod to Jxo when he saw him follow them in as well.

“Anything yet? Stephan?” Jake asked, eyes immediately locking with the link unit that housed Stephan’s human form.

“Unfortunately no. Since the assumption is that he’s most likely piloting, we don’t want his Avatar shutting down right now. His vitals are all over the place though- he’s injured,” Max informed them, showing them the rapidly moving numbers and lines on the clear glass screen bedside the bed, “head wound, probably concussed.”

The room fell silent as they all took in the scientist's information.

“Well shit,” Lo’ak said, breaking said silence as he and Norm made their way over to the group from the connected lab.

“GPS? Where are we with that?”

Max grimaced. “It’s definitely busted. Greta over there is trying to see what she can do, and Phillip here, is trying to reactivate the chip that was once embedded in all the Avatars- if all else fails.”

“Chip?” Jxo frowned.

“Microchip. We can track Stephan if we’re able to reactivate it-”

“What is taking so long then?” Neteyam asked impatiently. He hated standing around. He felt like they were losing time. “I know where they are going already! Back to Li’ona, I don’t see why any of this matters. Why can’t we just go?” he asked his father for the second time.

“I can maybe answer that,” Norm replied quickly as glided on a wheeled stool. “Come check this out you guys,” he said, furiously typing on a keyboard.

A large holographic map appeared and Neteyam instantly recognized it as the same one Norm had shown him and Xi before.

“Li’ona is massive okay? Not the clan per say, but the land they occupy. It’s called D’asanii I know,” he said, nervously glancing at the menacing looking, arms folded Jxo, who was looming over him, “but we named it Little Aussie- as in it’s almost the freakin’ size of Australia,” he emphasized, widening the map so they’d see for themselves. “But the Deadlands in particular is where we have the trouble.”

“I do not see the issue here. Our lands are far larger, what about the Metkayina, they own most of the seas, no? You have found them easily before, and even other clans, your lot have done hundreds of studies on Pandora for Eywa sake! What is so different? Are you honestly telling me that none of our people know how to find their clan?! Do we have all this technology for nothing?! How about our elders? Have none of them ever ventured that far?”

Norm made a noise in the back of his throat as he shifted his feet uncomfortably. “Bud. I get it, and you’re right. But unfortunately we don’t have that information right now. I did thorough research when I was investigating the rains. We just don’t have it…Xi couldn’t even point out where on the map her clan could possi-”

“They are not her clan!” Neteyam roared.

“No- no, of course not,” Norm pacified quickly, nervously shooting Jake a pleading glance.

“Neteyam-”

“I’m sorry. I'm sorry. Just- just finish what you were saying,” he said tiredly, forefinger and thumb working at his temple.

“Look, all I’m saying is, I get that we’re in a time crunch here. I do- but…we don’t even know where to begin to start looking. If we can just wait to get a ping from either the GPS or the Microchip- we’d have something to work with instead of blindly going past the borders to search.”

“It would help yeah but technically we wouldn’t even need it,” Lo’ak pitched in. “If Stephan wakes before then, he could easily tell us what we need to know…what we’re up against.”

“Sure but do we even know for sure if it’s Li’ona they’re actually heading t-” Max caught himself, swallowing deeply before muttering a quiet apology when Neteyam cut him with a glare.

“I told you all already…it’s Li’ona! He’s taking her there. Why do I feel like I am the only one thinking logically right now?! You’re all fucking over complicating things!” Neteyam barked, patience wearing thin. “Standing around and spewing a shit ton of jargon that’s not doing anything to help the situation. Let me and a team head out for now, you can always direct us from there and we’d have covered significant grou-”

“No.”

All eyes turned to the Olo'eyktan.

“Neteyam. I know this is the last thing you want to hear,” Jake said, eyes pleading for his son to understand, “but they’re right about this. We need to be smart about the moves we’re making right now. We need intel.”

“Think about Xilä, bro,” Lo’ak chimed in, trying to help out, unaware that his words did more harm than good.

“Don’t you dare,” Neteyam seethed. “She is all I am thinking about!” he hissed. “I need-” he stepped back, the faces of the men gathered around turning blurry. “None of you could possibly understand what I am going through right now…none! And I am this close from blowing my fuse. So I am going to step away before I say, or do something I regret.”

“Listen you barbaric lunatic, I am telling you, if you do this, they’ll kill you, alright? Jake and Neteyam won’t let you get away with this. You're as good as dead. Just-” Stephan sighed tiredly, “just let me drop you off somewhere, dude. I’ll take Xilä back and convince them not to come after you. Can you- OWW shhhiiit!” The man’s speech was cut short when he was clobbered on the back of his head.

The junk of a ship they were currently being flown in, dipped, rocking shakily before it stabilized once more when Stephan scrambled to adjust a few settings on the holographic dashboard.

“Jesus fucking Christ! You fucking psycho! I am trying to safely fly us in an already unstable aircraft right now! An aircraft that requires not one, but two goddam pilots! Do you really want to kill the only person on board who can operate this hunk of junk! Hit me again. Hit me, I dare you, fucker. I swear to God I’ll crash us right now!” Stephan threatened, tail thrashing angrily behind him. “I'm pretty sure I’m already concussed from when you knocked me unconscious.”

T'shteyo, “the fucker” who had hit him, paid the dreamwalker no mind. “You talk too much,” he complained, dropping himself into a seat with a pained grunt.

Fiddling with a small pouch of highly scented medicinal herbs, a needle and thread and a damp strip of fabric, he began to tend to his still bleeding shoulder.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Stephan who shot him a smug look. “Xilä fucked up up real bad, huh? Broken nose, face scratched to shit, and icing on top of the cake- stab wound.”

“Quiet!”

Stephan snorted with a shake of his head. “Your own daughter stabbed you…don’t you think that’s messed up?”

“I said, SHUT UP.”

The silence lasted barely five minutes before Stephan was blabbering again- although he did specifically wait until T'shteyo had begun to sew himself up.

“So, I get that you want to go back to Li’ona, but uh, why? The rumor mill said you were a wanted dead man over there. Why the change of heart?” the Avatar asked, trying to gain as much information from the man so he could report back if he had the opportunity.

He grinned at the pissed off look on the Li’ona male’s face. “Come ooon dude. You’re going to kill me anyway right? Who am I going to tell?”

“Do you ever stop speaking?”

“I promise I will…if you answer me. Scouts honor,” he said, holding up three of his four fingers, confusing T'shteyo even further. Stephen found it somewhat amusing that the bastard was now staring at him as if he were the lunatic.

“I am going to reclaim my title.”

Stephan stifled his surprise that he actually got a response. “Cool, cool, cool. Leadership shit. I get it……But see not really, why not just go? I mean, why’d you have to drag your kid back with you?” he pushed again, mentally crossing all his fingers and toes.

“She gets me the title.”

“Oooo-kay…how?”

“Su’ko wants her.”

“Su’ko?”

T'shteyo begrudgingly told him about man, and all the while Stephan had to hide his disgust over the fact that was another psychopath out there just like the fucker, next to him.

This had him shifting uncomfortably now. Quickly glancing at the man seated in the pilot's chair beside him he hesitantly asked, “So this Su’ko wants her?” he swallowed. “Wants her for what?”

“His whore or slave…whichever.”

The Avatar clenched his teeth to keep from saying something he’d regret- to keep from messing up the progress he’d made so far.

“What’d she ever do to you?” he couldn’t help asking, voice far softer than the faux carefree one he’d been forcing before. “Why would you do this to her? She’s just a kid.”

“Enough!” T'shteyo roared. In a flash the tip of his knife met Stephan’s throat, threateningly sinking deep enough to draw blood.

Stephan froze, both hands held up in surrender. “Alright! Alright. Chill out man, I’m done.”

“Show me again!”

“I will just- will you drop the fucking knife, I can’t think.” He released a loud breath when T'shteyo sank back into his seat.

“Show me!”

“Okay, hold on, I’m getting it…Here- see, still on track for Li’ona,” the Avatar said, pulling up a screen on the dashboard that showed the small diagram of a map of Pandora and the illuminated coordinates they were currently heading to.

He was damn sure T'shteyo couldn’t read an ounce of English or even “human numbers” but it didn’t mean he was stupid. The asshole had enough sense to explain where he wanted to go, even showing him on the map what routes to take.

“Good,” the psycho grunted.

Stephan let the silence run for well over an hour this time before he tried to speak again.

“So that last question I asked- about Xilä…that was my final question. I swear I’ll shut up if you answer...colour me curious as to why a father would do this to his own blood…To what would drive a man to such decisions.”

T'shteyo unseeingly sighed as if he were a mother dealing with a petulant child, it was almost comical, given the situation. “What does it matter to you, why? I am going to kill you anyway. It serves you no purpose.”

“Well,” the Avatar laughed depressingly, “all the more reason right? If I’m dead, who am I going to tell? Think of it as my death gift.”

The Li’ona male stared out at the flashing sea of greenery below them as he considered the man’s question. He surprised Stephan for the second time when he actually responded.

“She is the product of hate…Xilä is- she is a constant reminder of the woman I once called, my mate…she,” he inhaled, “looks exactly like her,” he whispered, “beautiful, fair…but poisonous.”

“Poisonous?”

T'shteyo grunted a yes before continuing, “Muiä.” He snorted, “fair…Odd that she was nothing like the meaning of her name. There was nothing fair about Muiä besides her appearance, I suppose.”

“What was she really like then?”

“She was a coward…and before that, she was a constant nag…and a whore. Nothing ever made her happy- no matter what I did…Her father was Olo'eyktan before me. I fought. I won. It was me!

“Me, who claimed her. Me who claimed my rightful title. But it was she who was my downfall… She, who loved another…I never had her heart. I tried, I did everything…anything! But in doing that, she made me soft, weak.”

T'shteyo’s face turned stony, darkening at whatever memory haunted him.

“And then I found them. Together….Still? Even when she was already mine! They were planning to run away together,” he laughed maniacally, “....so I killed him…I killed her fucking lover. Strung him up for all to see that I was not to be trifled with. After that she learned her place, or at least I thought so.

“She behaved for a few years…and then Xilä eventually came along. I thought I did good, I thought she was finally happy. We were a family. But no. Even a child didn’t make the bitch happy……She still left. She still left me. Muiä’s out there, probably cursing my name as we speak. I should have strung her up with her lover…missed opportunity I suppose,” he mused.

Stephen, who was silent the entire time, too stunned to speak, swallowed deeply. Feeling disturbed, he adjusted a few settings on the dashboard, before responding shakily.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “so, you’re punishing Xilä…because- because you couldn’t punish your wife? Xilä has to pay?” Stephan frowned, not understanding, angry at himself for feeling a sliver of pity for the psychotic man next to him.

T'shteyo shrugged lazily. “If you put it that way…Now shut up. The next time you speak, I cut off your tongue.”

When Xilä had first woken to find herself curled in a corner of a strange, rocking room, she was a loopy, drooling mess. It took her almost two hours to gain her bearings and sit up, and another one to even stand on shaking legs.

The small rocking room had a large window. When she’d finally made her way to it, she released a ragged choking scream.

It was all coming back now.

The attack.

The stabbing.

The syringe.

The screams.

LI’ONA.

She was already scared and confused, but now- finding herself being flown away…she began to hyperventilate.

Li’ona! Her father was taking her back to Li’ona.

No!

Thumping steps alerted her that someone was coming.

Xilä turned feral the second T'shteyo entered the small space. With what little strength she had, she clawed and lashed out at the man who had taken her from her home- the man she called father.

It was no use however, one hurtling blow had her crumbling into a whimpering heap once more.

In a daze, she barely felt herself being dragged through a short narrow tunnel, until she faintly heard the furious and raged shouts of an unfamiliar voice.

“No! You’re going to kill her! If you give her that amount, she’ll be dead in seconds, you sick fu-”

Xi most definitely knew she imagined the howl of pain from her father being struck by someone else- the rocking room spinning the world away- body sliding along the cold metal flooring.

A muted scuffle of two blurring blue shapes played out before her while a trickle of liquid slowly flowed down her cheek, drops tickling the corner of her mouth.

“Blood,” she vaguely thought when the droplet found her tongue.

She didn’t fight when her father came near- she didn’t fight when he pricked her neck with another one of those lab darts- mind swimming as she felt that floating feeling again.

And she didn’t fight it when she felt herself sink into the darkness- head lulling until she went still.

“How’s Sal?” Neteyam asked hoarsely, eyes avoiding the abandoned meal in his lap. His mother had forced it into hands two hours ago and yet, it remained untouched. He couldn’t eat.

How could he?

He felt like a shell of a man.

Practically numb- void of feeling anything but simmering anger.

“Not good,” Jxo replied. “Wrecked. There’s no consoling her right now...D’av-” he cleared his throat, “D’avi’s with her, doing what she can.”

How could Neteyam possibly respond to that?

“You know, she’s always wanted another child…damn near almost did…three times. It wasn’t meant to be I suppose…But then you came that night, told us all about Xi, said she needed a safe place to stay, and I knew- I saw it in Sal’s face that night. And when you brought her the next day, well, that just sealed the deal. She was going to be ours, no matter what.”

Neteyam stared at Jxo’s profile. “I remember you told me that I had no clue what I did for Sal…”

Jxo nodded. “You brought home our second chance- a daughter. I don’t exactly know how to explain it, or if it even makes sense at all or if…but I felt it. I feel it in my soul. Not at first- not like Sal, but over time, some days I’d look at her and I’d- I’d feel the same way I did with my D’av. It felt like she was mine. My kid.”

“It makes sense, Jxo. It does…She felt it too, you know. It scared her. She didn't want to get attached. She’d- Xi told me once she pretended sometimes. Pretended you and Sal were her parents…she’d laugh it off and say she was just being silly. Then I’d see the three of you together and I knew she didn’t have to worry. She didn’t have to pretend.”

Jxo released a hushed laugh, covertly brushing away an escaped teardrop. “Ah that kid…” he cleared his throat. “She’s coming home, son. She is.”

Neteyam nodded mutely, head falling backwards, landing with a THUMP against the metal railing of the Link Shack’s staircase. He was reclined on a step, mindlessly staring out whatever he could see of the clan.

He’d been seated there for probably hours now. No one had disturbed at him at first except his mother. The others were too scared to be on the receiving end of another one of his outbursts he supposed.

Upon her arrival back from her search, Neytiri tenderly kissed his forehead, sad eyes conveying all meaning as she handed him a simple wrapped meal before heading through the door behind him.

Jxo came out a half hour ago to keep him company. Both sitting in silence until Neteaym had broken it by asking about his mother-in-law.

“How are you holding up, son? And don’t give me that bullshit you’ve been giving your mother. I want the truth.”

A small smile graced Neteyam’s lips, falling away just as fast. “The truth…”

“Can’t keep it all bottled up. It’s going to eat you alive.”

“I think I’m falling apart, but I know I need to hold it together…I’m pissed…and angry…at everyone. She needed our help, and we weren’t- I’m mostly angry at myself though…If I had just been here, Jxo. If I hadn't left…” he squeezed his eyes shut. “And now,” he continued, puffy, red rimmed gaze peering at his father-in-law, “we’re doing nothing. Nothing, just- just sitting here while she-”

Fists balled on top his thighs, Neteyam shook in fury- emotions rolling and changing in waves.

“Li’ona, we need to head for Li’ona and no one is fucking listening to me! We’re wasting time, Jxo. Anything could be happening to her right now. I try not to let my imagination and fears run wild, but God-”

He rubbed his face, head bowed in distress.

“And they won’t let me leave! They won’t let me try! Why won’t you let me try? It’s been so long now, Jxo. I- I just want her home. I want her safe…So, no. I’m not holding up at all,” he finished.

Almost six hours ago he had tried and failed to make his way out of the clan. When he’d left the labs after his last outburst, he’d had enough. He was tired of waiting. He was going to get his woman dammit.

But Gwuyle had stopped him at the border- had called his father as if he were some rebellious teenager trying to sneak out.

And they did come for him- Jake and Jxo, both saying words of comfort or maybe trying to tell him it was dangerous and why he shouldn’t go alone- that it wasn’t safe- he didn’t know. He didn’t hear a lick of it.

So now here he was.

Waiting.

After another hour of sitting in silence with Jxo, a cry of, “Holy shit!” got their attention. Both men scrambled as a commotion of chatter and activity echoed behind them.

Inside, the link shack, and the open floor of the labs it was joined with, was a frantic mess of human, Avatar and Na’vi bodies, and there, surrounded, was Stephan.

He was awake. Sat up on his open link unit, the scrawny human man with slightly greying hair and an odd mustache was choking back water as if he were dying of thirst.

Neteyam hadn’t had very much interaction with the technician before. He knew the man could be a bit…much��sometimes, knew he was an eccentric, “curses like a sailor”, herb smoking genius.

Making his way to the front of those gathered, he tried to tame his impatience. Just when he was about to launch into questions, Stephan beat him to it- turning the room silent as he spewed words a mile a minute.

“That fucker is a goddam, motherfucking psychopath! He’s got me flying to Li’ona of all places. We’re stopped for the night right now near the Johkadah crater. I managed to get him to stop under the guise that the ship was overheating- which it was, piece of crap,” he muttered, “It’s going to be eclipse soon though and the dummy still wants us to push through- he’s lucky we even have the fuel,” he said, reaching for the tablet in Max’s hands, punching a few buttons.

“You guys should thank me, call me the asshole whisperer if you will. I got that idiot to tell me shit you’d never believe. He told me where their village is- two clicks from the border of the Dead Forest- north east. That’s where we’re heading. He’s got a hoard load of shit with him too- food, weapons, medicine.”

His eyes met Neteyam’s amongst the people surrounding him. “He’s trading her- Xilä, for his title…this Su’ko fucker or whatever- leader of the savages who overthrew him- he’s giving her to him…It’s not good.”

Neteyam clenched his jaw, suddenly unable to speak. He felt his mother’s arms wrap around him as he processed the techie's words.

“Xilä?” Jxo asked. “Is she injured? There was blood all over the place.”

The scrawny man nodded, “I tried, but he won’t let me go near to check on her…from what I’ve seen, she’s banged up but the good news is, I’d bet most of that blood you found was T'shteyo’s. She stabbed him, broke his nose…she did real good. Real badass, if you ask me. When she woke up for the first time, she fought hard- but he drugged her again, stuck with a sedative. I had to fight him when he…almost overdosed her.”

The link shake grew quiet.

“He drugged her? Where’d he even get that shit?” Lo’ak asked, wide-eyed. “The labs?”

“Nah, took ‘em off the Doc who tended to him after he got the crap beaten out of him. Apparently they had to keep him under most of the time.”

“Stephan, can you stall him where you are right now? We can make it to the crater in a day or two,” Jake interrupted.

Stephan nodded. “I can try, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. I pushed him too far I think, he’s been wanting to cut off my tongue,” he shared with a shudder. “I can’t stay too long. I don’t think he knows I can communicate with you guys, but I also don’t want him to figure it out if he tries to wake my Avatar and thinks I'm dead. You lot need to hurry the fuck up and come get us, yeah?”

“That’s the plan,” the Olo'eyktan responded in agreement.

“Oh right, wait there’s something else,” Stephan mumbled as he quickly began to stuff his mouth with the meal an assistant handed him. “The ship keeps sending me these warnings…the place we’re headed to, the heat readings are off the fucking chart. So, if I can’t stall- if we end up there…prepare yourself. Loincloths or a Tee and cargo shorts,” he said, gesturing to Norm’s Avatar appearance, “aren’t going to cut it.”

“Okay, good to know, thanks. Max, Norm talk to him- I want that GPS up and running,” Jake ordered. “You’re doing a hell of a job brother, thank you,” he said before stepping away from the crowd as he paged Gwuyle, immediately giving instructions for their warriors to assemble.

When Stephan was finished and began getting ready to lay back into the machine, Neteyam approached him before Max could close it.

“Stephan…thank you, for-”

“Hey man, nah, it’s no biggie…your girl, she’s real tough shit…she’ll be home soon.”

Neteyam nodded. “You too brother.”

“I’d call dibs to kill T'shteyo, but something tells me there’s a line,” Stephan joked.

Neteyam followed his gaze around the room, finding Jxo, Lo’ak and his mother who were in deep conversation- plans being set in motion. Spider was there too, now showing Norm and two lab technicians something on a map as they all seemed to be nodding in agreement.

Gwuyle strode in just then, flanked by a fierce looking Leati and two council members.

“There’s a line alright,” Neteyam nodded. “Keep an eye on her for me, will you?”

“I’ll do my damn best,” Stephan assured just before the link bed closed shut with a beep.

Lo’ak made his way over. “You ready, bro?”

“Fuck yes…my lucky dagger suddenly has a date with two pieces of shit.”

“Two?”

“Oh yeah, I also want the one they call, Su’ko.”

Xi squinted from the harsh, red tinged glare when the door of the ship opened. She huddled further into the blanket wrapped around her when the sting of the brutal weather hit her.

Li’ona.

It had only taken them a few days of constant travel by the human-made flying contraption.

She frowned at a tied up and unconscious Stephan whose body slumped in his seat. T'shteyo had knocked him out with a heavy handed swing and Xilä prayed that he wasn’t dead and was back home, safe.

“It’s not too late to leave…please don’t do this,” she pleaded when she saw T'shteyo’s fleeting pause of hesitancy as he stared out at the vast lands- his lower face completely hidden by cloth.

“Don’t,” her father hissed, tugging on the end of the rope that kept her hands bound- making her cry out as the ties sank deeper into her skin. “One more peep out of you and I swear I’ll rip your tongue out…Understood?”

She nodded mutely, head bowed in submission.

With another forceful jerk of the rope, he led them onwards- towards the empty ruins of a land.

She had no choice but to begrudgingly follow- hissing the moment they stepped onto the dry land. The ground was scorching beneath her booted feet. Even T'shteyo released a surprised grunt when his own covered heels left the cool platform of the ship.

Xi didn’t know if it was because she’d been gone for so long or what, but somehow it seemed worse than before. The air was sweltering- blisteringly sweltering. It was almost difficult to breathe through the cloth covering her mouth and nose.

T'shteyo’s long strides forced her to practically sprint to keep up.

The journey was long and grueling. Xilä cried silent tears the further they travelled. She wanted to go home. She wanted her husband.

Sweat soaked her head to toe, parched lips begging for water. Whenever she began to lag, her father would pull on the tie, causing her to trip a few times, uncovered palms burning painfully when she tried to catch herself from falling face first on the scorching ground.

Xilä couldn’t tell whether it had been minutes, hours or days. She followed blindly, feeling somewhat feverish and delirious- and not just from the heat. Whatever foreign liquid he’d pierced her skin with, she was sure had left her with lingering effects.

Travelling through the barren lands, uprooted painful memories she thought she’d successfully stifled. She had failed though, because it was when they’d finally come across a familiar and horrifying landmark, her eyes began to water again.

That high and sharp jutting rock not only meant that they were near their destination, but it was also a reminder of the danger she was in- of the savageness of the people here- savageness far worse than her own father.

Kayoanaska was what they called that place. It was where they’d string up the treacherous- anyone who betrayed or were disloyal to the clan were strung up and left for dead. And with roaming, wild deadland beasts- not even a corpse would be left.

When they drew closer to the settlement that was once called her home, Xi’s brows puckered in confusion.

Where were the guards? Where was…anyone?

Entering the village was like walking through a shadow of the past. What was once a busy but suffering village- was now empty…abandoned… eerie.

Poorly constructed structures were either half collapsed or completely disintegrated- the brutality of the dust filled wind and weather having done great damage to what was left.

Xi wished she could have felt an ounce of sympathy for those who suffered here, but like she had told Neteyam so long ago, there was nothing left in her heart for them. They’d brought it upon themselves.

T’shteyo spun in a circle as he too seemed to be looking for signs of life. He snarled at the ruins of his home. What had they done to it?!

They didn’t have to wait very long before life soon found them. Both stilled when the ground suddenly began to shake. For a split second Xi thought it may have been a land quake, but then she spotted them.

Just in the distance, clouded by a storm of red dust, was a group of hooded figures. Cloaks flying behind them as they rode fast on their massive and terrifying beasts- the beasts who she knew reeked of decaying flesh.

Xi grew tense when they pulled to a stop some feet away. She gulped when the armed, hooded figures from her nightmares dismounted their skeletal, half dead creatures with ease.

They closed the distance on foot.

It was easy to recognize Su’ko. He was front and center, flanked by ten others. But it was the faux grand spear he wielded that told her exactly who he was. That spear had once belonged to her father when he was Olo'eyktan.

Four men broke away, rounding behind Xi and T'shteyo, effectively blocking them from any form of escape.

“T'shteyo…you actually returned,” Su’ko sneered in mock fascination from beneath the cloth covering his face- soulless piercing eyes crinkling with mirth. “You are far braver than I gave you credit for, fool…I admit…I have lost a wager then,” he snickered, making a few of the others chuckle in amusement also.

“Su’ko,” her father grunted in greeting, glare set on the man who’d cost him his title. “What have you done to my clan? My village! Where are my people!”

“Ahhh…so many, My’s. You forget they no longer belong to you…but fret not. They are safe. Sheltered. Loyal to me now since I did what you could not do, brother. I did what you were not willing to do.”

“Enough!” her father roared.

Xilä knew he hated to be undermined more than anything. Being perceived as weak was indeed her father’s greatest weakness.

“Fine then,” Su’ko agreed with a nudge of his head. “Why don’t you show us the gifts you’ve brought with you?” he gleamed, head tilting to roam over Xi’s hidden form appreciatively.

T'shteyo dropped the overstuffed sack he’d been painfully carrying to the ground- dust momentarily clouding around their feet before clearing away. “One of many,” he said, “food, clean water, weapons, medicine…just like you asked.”

Su’ko gave an ordering hoot, and at once, one of his men stepped forward to inspect the loot. He offered a fat water skin to his leader, who jerked his head at the man.

Picking up on Su’ko’s hesitation, Xi’s father growled a deep angry snarl. “It is not poisoned! If I wanted you dead I’d go about it very differently!”

But the leader was not deterred, glare still fixed on his underling standing in the center.

Hesitantly, the man uncapped the skin and drank, and drank…and drank. Xilä knew that feeling all too well- that first taste of clean fresh water. The sweet sweet, tear jerking taste. She remembered waking up in Mo’at’s tent like it was yesterday- her first time experiencing it. She remembered wanting to beg for more…but she never had to beg.

“That’s enough!” Su’ko roared, grabbing the waterskin away. He released the cloth from his lower face, baring his teeth in a sinister smile before drinking his full until the bag went empty. Grin wide and happy, he said, “You did good T'shteyo, very good…where’s the rest of it?”

“No. My title,” her father demanded. “You don’t get anymore. The rest is mine. I decide who gets what…don’t make me repeat myself.”

Su’ko raised a brow at his tone but said nothing.

A stifling silence filled with murderous glares prolonged until Su’ko broke it with humored huff. There was absolutely nothing funny to laugh at however, especially when his attention turned towards Xilä.

Despite the unbearable heat, a cold sweat rippled through Xi’s body as her breathing became erratic.

“Have it your way then, brother, if you must. But won’t you at least show off the most important thing you’ve got hiding behind you?” he asked, making all eyes focus on Xilä now.

“Did you not hear me? I want my title!”

“Now, now T'shteyo,” Su’ko said in a mocking tone, “The deal was, I get the girl and you get the title…so unless we no longer have a deal…” he sang, lips twitching tauntingly.

“No wait…wait…” T'shteyo tugged hard on Xi’s bindings, causing her to stumble forward. “Your whore…as promised.” He tossed the end of the rope which Su’ko caught with ease.

With a pleasurable groan, he yanked Xilä towards him, cupping her throat to give her a warning squeeze when she tried to resist him.

“Aww, be calm Petal,” he cooed as he pulled down her face covering. “She is wounded,” he spat in fury, gipping her trembling jaw tightly to twist her head to his liking. “I told you to deliver her unharmed!”

“Yeah, well the bitch put up a fight. You have her. She’ll heal,” T'shteyo said nonchalantly, making Xilä whimper in defeat.

“Ahh, I see…So she’ll need a bit of training, hmm? Doesn’t know how to behave just yet,” he cooed again, scarred face stretching into an ugly grin.

Xilä grimaced, holding her breath when he pulled her up onto her toes to lick a stripe across her uninjured cheek, putrid breath clogging her senses.

“Mmmmm, even better than the water,” he whispered for only her to hear. “Oh yes…yes, yes, yes. She will do just fine,” he said, releasing her, binding the end of the rope to the sheath tethered to his hip.

T'shteyo cleared his throat, jerking his head at the spear in Su’ko’s free hand, expectantly.

“Ahhh…the title…hmmm. Here’s the thing, old friend. There’s a little hitch in the plan,” he sang in faux sadness, eyes still roaming over Xilä’s petrified face.

She whimpered, struggling against his hold when he pulled her close to openly inhale her sweet scent, nosing along her hairline, down her cheek, tucking into her hood to sniff along her jaw and neck.

“No- don’t, please don’t,” she whimpered, tears stinging her eyes when his hand pushed through her cloak to trail up her hip, rough fingers palming at the exposed skin of her waist.

“What fucking hitch?! We had a deal you bastard!” T'shteyo roared, bringing Su’ko’s attention back to him.

“Did we?” Su’ko pondered sarcastically, “Hmm, either way-” he continued calmly- his cool tone contradicting the tense moment, “I thank you for your generous gifts, but you see, I seem to have had a change of heart. I have decided that I will be keeping the title.”

T'shteyo howled angrily, expletives rolling off his tongue as he advanced towards Su’ko, knives drawn and ready to strike.

But he did not get very far…

Su’ko laughed at his actions and turned away without care, storming back in the direction of the beasts that were waiting for them, dragging his prize along by the rope tethered to him.

As he refastened his face covering, he called out, “You may kill him now!”

Xilä pulled on her bindings, looking back in horror to watch as four men advanced on T'shteyo. He fought hard against his attackers, but they were quick to overpower him. Guttural screams echoed through the empty air as they brutally began to beat him.

“T-traitors! Cowards! Ev-ery fucking one of you! Weak b-bastards!” her father cried in agony.

“Wait!” Su’ko ordered, making the warriors cease their vicious actions. “I changed my mind…He does not deserve a quick death.”

The hooded men hooted in delight.

Su’ko peered down at a sobbing Xilä, “What do you think, Petal? How should we kill him? Hm?”

Without making her respond, he instead grinned at the sight of the crumpled heap of a man who was rocking and wailing in pain.

“It is settled then…Kayoanaska awaits. We string him up instead!”

The sound of retching filled the air and the putrid stench of bile caused Su’ko to grimace at his newly acquired gift.

A few of Xilä’s braids had gone loose, strands of hair sticking to her sweat slicked face as she doubled over for another heaving round, completely draining the contents of her already empty stomach.

Her father was dead…well not yet, but he was as good as. It was only a matter of time. Whether it was the heat or starvation…or the deadland beasts who’d most likely get to him first.

She’d seen them do it. Seen them strip him of his weapons before binding him to the jagged high rock, feet dangling in the air as he sobbed and begged for mercy. She’d heard his gut wrenching cry for her to help him as she wrestled and fought against the hold of her new capturers.

But he’d done this to them.

There was nothing she could do, and Xi hated him for it. She hated herself for still not wanting him dead. And as much pain and hurt he had inflicted upon her all the years of her life, as much as she still loathed him in that very moment for releasing her into the hands of monsters, she could never- Stop.

He deserved it…didn’t he?

“Disgusting shit! Send in someone to deal with this mess. I was promised a woman to fuck, not this infected, disease bearing flea!”

Su’ko sent her one last scornful glare before storming out of the small alcove he had shackled her in.

They were underground- a short ride’s journey from where the village once was. It was a dim, low ceiling cave which had probably been created overtime due to the many quakes the land had experienced. Or at least she thought so-

Xilä hadn’t gotten a proper look of it yet- she was too busy trying not to fall as Su’ko dragged her by the wrists through a sea of onlookers- clan members hissing and cursing at her as he paraded his new whore around.

They’d reached out cruel hands- hands that yanked off her hood, tugged at her braids and queue and snatched off the boots that covered her blistered feet. Her now exposed face showcased her frightened tear filled eyes and stained cheeks which only made them laugh in glee at her weakness.

She had tried to make eye contact with someone- anyone who'd show her a hint of compassion…but they all wore masks of evil- bared fangs, wild grunts and cruel words.

It wasn’t until she was tossed into an alcove, did all the events and bodily pain finally catch up with her, making her hurl and heave whatever little was left in her stomach.

A few moments after Su’ko left her, an old, shriveled water skin was chucked at her feet, along with a frayed rag and a small chunk of half rotting bark.

“Clean yourself up,” snapped the voice of a woman.

Xilä recognized it- it was Vhin, a middle aged Na’vi who Xi had come to despise over the years. She used to be a friend of her mother’s.

With a slew of curses, the woman began to clean the pool of vomit Xi had made. From a quick glance around, Xilä guessed this must have been Su’ko’s private space she had defiled.

“Better do as told, girl,” Vhin warned when she saw that Xi hadn’t moved from her slumped position on the dirt floor, crumbling rocks loosening beneath her. “The Olo'eyktan wishes to claim you after the feast.”

“I cannot be claimed, Vhin,” Xilä rasped as she levelled a glare at the vile Na’vi before her. “I am a mated woman. I am already-”

The older woman cut her off with an unimpressed noise. “It does not count…Su’ko makes the rules here now.”

“I am a claimed woman. I was bonded to my mate before Eywa-”

“Ha! Eyyyywaaa…” she drawled sarcastically, “Where was the Great Mother when we her people needed her? How many years- decades has it been since she’s shown her presence? We live like vermin! What has she ever done for us? Su’ko is Olo'eyktan now and his word is worth more than the mighty Great Mother. You’d be wise to remember there is no Eywa here anymore. He will take you as he wishes.”

Not wanting to discuss such a revolting topic any further, Xi steered the direction of the conversation.

“If you don’t have the Great Mother, there are other ways- there were other things that could have been done. Did you know help has been offered by the Omatikaya. If only my father was not so stubborn- Your Olo'eyktan, the people can choose differently. We did not have to live this way- you still don’t have too. My clan can help! You have a choice now, Vhin. All the people of Li’ona do. My mate,” Xi said, tearing up from just calling his name, “his father, Jakesully- Toruk Makto can save-”

“Quiet!” Vhin hissed, “You have been gone far too long, Xilä. I see your head has been filled with fruitless lies. Our people take care of their own. Remember?”

Xi scoffed bitterly, causing her ribs to ache. “No, they are too proud to accept help. Or maybe just too stupid.”

Vhin squinted at her as if seeing her for the first time. “You are different, girl... No longer the whimpering mess you used to be.”

Xi ignored her, choosing instead to break off a small piece of the cleansing bark near her feet. It was stale, but it aided in settling her rolling upset stomach and removed the rancid taste from her mouth.

“It is a good thing, Xilä. We need strong women in our clan, there are already far too few of us. Why do you think Su’ko was so eager to claim you? We will have a chance at a new start.”

Lip throbbing from talking so much, Xi said, “There is no us. I will not be here for long.”

Vhin laughed, amused, “And just where do you think you will be going?”

“Home. My husband will come for me,” she replied defiantly.

The woman shot Xi a pitying glance. “Oh you poor silly girl. Oh to be young and stupid again.” The harsh lines of Vhin’s face crinkled when she smiled, making her look much older than she truly was. “Clean yourself up. I will be back to ensure that you have. Don’t make me have to punish you,” she threatened.

Xilä released a sob once she was alone. Giving herself a moment to react to the situation at hand she wept as quietly as possible, muffling the sounds into her blistered palms.

She was terrified.

Not only had they left her father out for dead but Su’ko was planning to claim her- to mate her. She wept harder at that thought. She knew Su’ko would take her against her will, he was not one to reason with.

‘Please hurry Neteyam,’ she prayed.

All she wanted at that moment was to be held by her husband and to be far away from this wretched land.

Sobering up, she began to take note of her injuries, wincing when she touched the corner of her bottom lip. The dried blood on her cheek felt tight and itchy. Running a knuckle along the torn flesh, she felt relieved that it was only a shallow cut.

Her throat was still sore of course, it hurt to swallow her own saliva. She shuddered at the memory of her father’s hands squeezed tight around her neck. Xilä thought she was going to die then.

Sipping the water Vhin had left was a bad idea. It was murky and tasted more like slosh than anything- she spat it out instantly and tossed it away. She wouldn’t even use it to clean her palms, or cheek. Who knew what infections it could cause.

Xilä’s eyes trailed to the rusty old chain around her ankle. It was human-made of course. Probably looted from an old RDA turf. Xi noted that much of the contents of Su’ko’s space held several foreign items that Xi had never noted in Li’ona before.

It puzzled her because it was a punishable crime to have possession of such items.

Glaring at the chain that held her prisoner and unable to run, Xi grimaced at her poor ankle- it swollen and almost mangled looking. Angry harsh marks tinged in blood circled her cyan skin. Su’ko had been quite rough with her when he’d tied her up.

She had already tried and failed multiple times at releasing the bindings on her wrists. So, attempting to slip her foot free again, she wailed in frustration when she failed yet again. It didn’t even budge.

Over and over she tugged and pulled and yanked- trying to break free.

But nothing.

Slumping in defeat against the wall of rock she was held in, Xi prayed to Eywa to give her strength.

It had been an hour since two men dragged her from the alcove and tossed her at Su’ko’s feet.

Xilä stifled the need to cry again, she refused to let them see her tears.

She was tired, hungry, thirsty. Her injuries were no longer numb from a rush of adrenaline or maybe it was the muted effects of whatever drug her father had most likely overdosed her with- but she was in pain.

And then here she was as well, on display for the entire clan to see.

They’d stolen her cloak a few minutes ago- a soft blanket really. The faint lingering scent of home had been roughly ripped off of her and was now wrapped around some other woman who’d brutally beaten the one who’d stolen it from her.

Animals.

All of them.

Xi watched them all now from her perch between Su’ko’s thighs. She stayed eerily still as he played with her hair, occasionally breaking away from his feast of smoked fish and squashed yovo fruit, to nuzzle at her neck, deeply inhaling each time.

She felt revolution from his touch and naked in front of the clan.

Unlike the other fully covered women in their poorly sewn, weather appropriate- long ugly dresses, Xilä was probably a sight to see in her revealing tubed top and short skirt.

Men stared and women sneered. Su’ko on the other hand was downright delighted.

Xilä watched the faces staring back at her. They were gaunt, pale, sickly. Savages who fought each other over the food “Su’ko” had provided for them- the food her father had stolen.

Eyes roaming, she realized she’d been right. The cave was dim, low hanging so that taller Na’vi had to watch their heads while standing at full height. And while it was still hot, it was definitely not as blistering as the outside. Members were now free to reveal their faces or shrug off their outer threadbare cloaks.

“Pretty little thing,” a nearby member complimented his leader, grunting through a lisp- half his teeth missing. “You will share her, no?”

“But of course,” Su’ko purred, tongue darting out to lick a bead of sweat off her temple. “What precious gift we have here.”

Hoots and cheers echoed around the cave at the man's words.

“Oh, Petal. I am going to have so much fun with you.”

Xi felt herself shutting down. She screwed her eyes shut, blocking out the world around her.

“Come on Xi. You can do this. Let’s go again. Ready? Breathe in… out… In… out. Focus on your breathing…clear your mind before trying to find her.”

Xilä’s nose wrinkled as she tried to focus. “Ugh, it’s not working, ‘Teyam. I can’t do it.”

“Bullshit. Yes you can. Again.”

“It’s too hard, let’s go back to-”

“No.”

Xi pouted. She realized he’d crumble to her will lately- especially if she played it right.

He glanced away, nose flaring, sharp jaw clenched as if denying himself temptation. When he stared at her again, she felt breathless…she felt seen- as if she mattered.

What was he doing to her lately?

“Alright, fine. Come here then, let’s try another way.” He gently tugged her towards him, unlinking his legs as he helped her settle against his chest.

Xilä bit her lip, head tilting forward to hide her furious appearing blush as his thighs caged her in. He was doing this a lot now…touching her. It was innocent enough but she felt the hidden more- she liked it.

His palm covered the entity of her stomach, applying a small amount of pressure. “Breathe with me Xilä, feel how I do, okay?” he said quietly, pressing her flush with his chest.

“Okay.”

He whispered in her ear this time, puffs of warm breath tickingling her. “Breathe sweetheart. In…out…In…out…In…out…Clear your mind…in, before you sharpen your thoughts, out…In…out. What do you hear? In…out. What do you feel? Make the connection, Xi……Feel it?”

“Yes.”

It was indescribable. Since starting this particular lesson, it was the first time she’d felt it- the first time she connected with Eywa without Tsaheylu with the Tree of Souls. The Omatikaya were a spiritual people. Eywa was their way of life.

And now it would be hers too.

Neteyam linked his pinkie with her index like they always did of late. He nudged her with his chin playfully. “See? How was that?”

“Good…Beautiful. I didn’t think I could do it,” she admitted.

“Why? Don’t you see? There is nothing you cannot do, Xi. I want you to start believing in yourself like I do,” he said, lips brushing her flickering ear.

“I know. But this in particular…I thought Eywa would want nothing to do with me- it’s stupid.”

Thick arms circled her, hugging her close. “It’s not stupid…do you want to talk about why you would think such a thing?”

“I don’t, not right now anyway. Maybe another time.”

“Fair enough. Do you want to try again, or call it a day? Your choice, sweetheart. I’m feeling generous today,” he joked.

Xilä turned to peer up at her friend- gold clashing with silver. She felt that tickling flutter in her stomach again. The one that would sink lower into secret parts of her- parts that tingled and dampened. The same fluttering she’d feel whenever she stared at his sweat slicked abs or arms when she watched him train with his team. The one that made her weak at the knees when he called her “sweetheart”.

“Xi?”

She blinked, a beam growing on her face. “Yes, I want to try again.”

“Alright,” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as they settled into the position again. “Ready?”

Breath in…and out…In…out…in…out.

Xilä opened her eyes- piercing gaze fiercely glaring into her lap.

The memory did something to her.

It sparked the fire she needed. Hearing Neteyam’s voice relit the hope she knew was slowly dimming.

If he were here with her, he’d tell her she was strong. He’d tell her she could get through this. He’d tell her to think, to plan, to be smart and to strike when they least expected it.

Xi could do that.

She refused to accept defeat.

She refused to let them break her.

So all of that just happened...My heart breaks for Xi and Neteyam rn.

This took a darker turn than expected...we'll see what happens in the next part...

I know that this chapter is a month over due, so again, I'll spear yall my sob story. I really do hate having long stretches of no update, really sorry lovelies.

Not going to lie but this chapter was a strugggggle to write. It's not my favorite and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy at all with the final result...but it's done, so *shrugs*

Special shout out to Tori who's idea's helped immensely. As well as those of you who would have sent an Ask. It honestly helped A LOT!

Feel free to share your suggestions of course and as always please let me know what you thought, since you know I love hearing from you all :)

Ps: Curious of what you all think of Stephan's character. Lol

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