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fangswbenefits · 7 months

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The Arrangement (2) - In Between

Chapter summary: Astarion plagues you day and night, and now you are faced with making a decision in regards to this arrangement...

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. PiV s*x. Innuendo. S*xual tension. Blood. Blood drinking.

Word count: 5.4k

Chapter 1 . Series Masterlist . Ao3

It was the growing pressure along the dip of your back that roused you from your slumber.

As it trailed down your spine, you began to embrace the familiar touch of coldness laced with tenderness.

Astarion.

A carefree sigh escaped your lips and you arched slightly, savouring his touch. The feel of your warm skin contrasting with his cold one never failed to have you craving more of it.

The bed suddenly dipped as he settled between your legs, his growing erection pressing gently at your entrance.

"I want to be inside you again."

You immediately nodded with a content sigh, resting your head on your pillow, heart pounding faster and faster in anticipation.

It had been way too long since you'd last been showered with his affection on such an intimate level.

A loud gasp tore from your lips as his cock began to stretch you further with each passing second, and you angled your hips, allowing him to bottom out with ease, letting the most delicious sigh of relief you had ever heard from him.

It was as if he had longed for this for far too long, seeking a comfort that only you could provide.

As if Astarion truly belonged deep inside of your being.

Body and soul.

He slowly shifted above you, until his lips were grazing the shell of your ear. "Let me break you."

At first, your brain didn't register his words. Pleasure fogged your mind and he had your eyes flutter shut from his first hard thrust.

Strangled cries echoed in the room each time he'd slide out only to ram back in, his hips meeting yours at a hypnotic pace.

You balled your fists, gripping the bed sheets in an attempt to ground yourself.

He dragged the sharp fangs along the exposed skin of your neck and a shiver traveled down your entire body. In truth, you adored having him feed on you as he fucked you, just so you could feel his cock becoming stiffer from your blood rushing through him.

You expected him to sink his teeth into you, but that moment never came.

"I will break you."

That instantly snapped you out of your lust-filled haze.

His words dripped with poison, but the tone wasn't his.

This wasn't your Astarion.

Panic began to take root as tentacles began to enter your field of vision. Fear spread like wildfire, suffocating and freezing you in place. Your chest felt heavy as if being compressed by an invisible force, and your mind caged you in, unwilling to let you fight against the impending sense of despair.

You somehow managed to find your voice amidst the turbulence as a ragged scream tore from your tightening throat. "NO!"

And then… nothing.

Your eyes flew open at once, and everything went silent and still all of a sudden.

The faint golden rays of the morning sun hit your flushed skin, and you rolled onto your back, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Your breathing had become erratic and a thin layer of sweat coated your face.

Another nightmare.

They had become a common occurrence as of late, causing you to dread the night-time just as Astarion dreaded the day-time, albeit for different reasons.

Your mind kept playing tricks on you, ensuring that he wouldn't leave your thoughts even in your sleep.

It didn't help that these nightmares kept getting progressively more vivid. You had nearly forgotten how he had once felt inside you, and now you were being reminded of that sensation by your own brain.

The rhythmic throbbing between your legs eventually subsided, but the tight grip of frustration lingered on.

You let out a low grunt, wiping the tears from your face, vaguely praying to the gods above to cease this endless torment.

It had only been three days since you last saw Astarion in front of you, yet he had been visiting you in your dreams ever since.

A soft knock on the door had you shift to sit upright, trying to find your composure in record time.

"May I?"

Gale.

You took a deep breath and scrambled out of bed to open the door to your room, fastening your robes around you.

He smiled warmly, and you returned the gesture, motioning for him to walk in.

"There is some leftover porridge by the fireplace."

You winced lightly as realization hit you. "Oh, it was my turn to cook…"

"Think nothing of it," he gestured dismissively. "I do enjoy it, as I'm sure you're aware. I may not be able to provide the finest meals in Baldur's Gate, but I do not lack the passion to make up for it."

Your heart fluttered at his cadence.

Gale was such a comforting company to have around. His words would often envelop you like a warm blanket on a cold night.

"Thank you," you said sincerely.

His smile wavered and you saw concern settle on his face. "Are you well? Another nightmare?"

You moved to sit on a nearby chair, slumping into it and rubbing your temples with both hands.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" He asked, sitting across from you.

Did you? You weren't sure. He had known of your nightmares from the start, but was unable to provide much relief.

After all, he wasn't the root of this issue.

"Not really, no," you said. "But I'd welcome any news from Waterdeep."

He nodded with a sympathetic smile.

"Right. The newest letters carried hopeful news. I am to meet with someone who might be willing to cast some light on this Wish spell."

Hope blazed anew inside you, and it was as if the remnants of your nightmare had completely vanished.

"When? Who is it? What can I do to help?"

Gale chuckled. "Easy, my dear friend. All in due time. I am to leave for Waterdeep in a fortnight. My connection is well acquainted with this person, and that shall facilitate the process. Well, hopefully," he quickly added.

You leaned forward on the table, grasping at any and every sliver of information.

"Should I go with you?"

"I reckon being accompanied by a sorcerer might not work in our favour," he said with a hint of caution.

The eternal rivalry between wizards and sorcerers had come in between you two quite often at the start of your journey, but you had managed to work through what pulled you apart, and focus on what didn't.

Sadly, the same couldn't be extended to the rest of Faerûn.

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course. But you must promise to keep me informed at all times."

An affectionate smile curled his lips. "That I can do."

Then you felt the sudden jab of pessimism settle in your mind, like a dark cloud heavy with rain.

"Do you think we can do this?"

He tapped his chin. "I do believe so. It is not a matter of skill, I suppose. The difficulty, for now, lies in our ability to get the scroll in the first place."

Wish spell scrolls were extremely rare to come by, and even then, the chances of success were very, very slim. The possibility of the wish backfiring was too great for regular people to even dare mess with it.

So you had all decided to keep it simple at first: granting Astarion the ability to walk in the sun once more.

He had tried to have his vampiric hunger be included, but Gale had grounded his hopes, alerting that the more complex the wish, the more unstable the result could be.

Silence had settled around both of you, but you could tell Gale was eyeing you with utmost curiosity.

"You know, I never quite understood what happened between you and Astarion back in Moonrise Towers," he said after a while, his tone soft and careful. "You two seemed rather close, and all of a sudden it was as if this invisible wall had come in between."

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart clench as the memories resurfaced.

"It was for the best. We managed to salvage our friendship, and cast aside the foolish hopes of something that could never be." Your words felt almost too heavy to utter, but you managed not to falter. "I suppose that's all there is to it, really. We were never meant to be more."

Your voice had nearly cracked as you pressed your lips together, realising that lying really wasn't in your nature. Gale could probably see right through your miserable attempt at downplaying your feelings for him.

But this was your reality now: a constant effort of trying to deceive yourself, because facing the truth would be a far too painful alternative.

His voice still echoed in your head from time to time, cutting deeper and quicker than any blade.

"I had a plan. A nice, simple plan – seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me. It was easy – instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. All I had to do was not fall for you... which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart."

"So you chose to be a friend instead of alover."

You leaned back, suddenly feeling quite nauseous. "Yes."

"And was that what you truly wanted?"

You paused momentarily, your eyes meeting his kind ones.

His question had caught you off guard, but the answer seemed simple and straightforward enough.

"No," you said sincerely, averting your gaze as a wave of sorrow washed over you. "But it was what he needed."

"I see," he drawled, shifting his chair closer. "I am no stranger to the unfortunate consequences of having your heart tied to someone you shouldn't long for."

You didn't reply, fearing any words might betray your calm demeanour.

"But I am also no fool – not a blind one, at least. This arrangement you two have seems to be taking a toll on you," he went on, his compassionate gaze never wavering. "Now, I have made peace with the fact that Astarion seems to crave distance from the rest of us, but do not ask me to turn a blind eye as I see a dear friend walking down the same torturous path I once treaded."

Whether it had been his relatable words, or the pent-up frustration finally reaching its limit, you weren't sure, but your chest tightened and the familiar sting in your eyes nearly made you crumble.

The first tear rolled down your cheek, but you still didn't dare speak.

This time, Gale took one of your hands in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Some people who enter our lives and aren't meant to stay, but they do leave a part of themselves with us, so we have a chance to see it as a learning opportunity. I believe this might be the case with you two."

You cleared your throat, feeling the uncontrollable urge to defend your bond with him. "We are still friends, Gale."

"Yet your relationship amounts to little more than a transaction."

Your eyes widened and your lips quivered.

"Am I wrong?"

Another tear, but you could only blink at him.

He squeezed your hand again. "Pardon if I am overstepping any lines, but I am merely concerned. I believe that a good friend tells you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear."

He was right.

By the Gods was he right.

And that was what made this conversation suffocating and nearly made you loathe Gale in the process.

Astarion had lured you in with his honeyed words, keeping your focus on him and yearning for far more than you could possibly think you might deserve.

He had lured you in by giving you what you wanted, and by the time you were too far gone to make out your wants from your needs, it was already too late.

Even now.

It was but a repetition of the same cycle.

And everyone around you could see that but you.

You immediately yanked your hand away and rose to your feet, not wishing to prolong this conversation. Gale glared at you with a pained expression, but said nothing.

"I'll talk to him about this new information regarding Waterdeep," you said, a cold shiver running through you. "I'm sure he will be delighted."

Whatever 'being delighted' meant to Astarion these days.

You wiped the wet trails of tears from you face and offered him a forced smile. "I thank you for your advice. I just… I can't think rationally on an empty stomach."

He nodded in understanding. "Wholeheartedly agree, my friend."

Gale followed suit as you walked out to grab a serving of porridge, only to find Lae'zel sitting at the table, sharpening her sword the tenderness and care you'd see in lovers.

"Not at the table," Gale said in a disapproving tone. "Your sword hasn't seen battle in very long. Give it a rest."

Lae'zel narrowed her eyes dangerously, still gliding the whetstone along the sharp edge. "It might if you allow me to handle that vampire spawn once and for all." She turned her head to you, as if awaiting for your words of approval. "Say the word and he'll be no more."

Her protectiveness over you flared so fiercely it could light up the entirety of Baldur's Gate.

"Thank you," you said with a faint smile, moving to sit by her side and accepting a bowl of porridge from Gale. "But I am quite sure I can handle a vampire spawn, should the need arise. What sort of sorcerer would I be if not?"

"The sort whose reason is clouded by matters of the heart, I'd wager," he said nonchalantly.

Lae'zel nodded, the screeching sound of metal on metal piercing through your ears.

But you were already miles away, buried in your thoughts.

Maybe Gale was right.

Maybe this arrangement had already run its course, and it was now time to put an end to it.

He could always just feed on wild animals while waiting for a solution to his vampiric condition.

It wasn’t as if he'd miss or even care that you were no longer around.

Perhaps it was what he truly wanted and needed.

Night enveloped the busy streets of Baldur's Gate, and your boots splashed the remnants of rainwater that spread across the pavement.

You had pulled your hood up, not seeking to draw any unwanted attention as your feet steered you along the crowd of merchants and Flaming Fists who kept an ever watchful eye over the northeast part of the city.

In reality, you had convinced yourself that you were merely seeking Astarion out for his own benefit: deliver the promising news from Gale and Waterdeep.

But it was an excuse, as always.

Your heart always stammering hard against your ribcage

As you approached the entrance to The Blushing Mermaid, you saw a pair of eyes follow your every step.

They belonged to that woman.

She was standing by the entryway, her heavy hair kept in a neat and intricate updo, and her pleasant face twisting into a knowing smile. She seemed vastly out of place when in comparison to the first time you had crossed paths with her.

You had decided to ignore her, but she clicked her tongue loudly, drawing your attention.

"He's not here."

Your neyes narrowed and you frowned. "Do you speak for him?"

She smiled wider. "He doesn't seek my company for my words."

A growing wave of anger began to rise inside you. In truth, you were sure she was merely attempting to get a rise out of you, but you wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"Where is he, then?"

She shrugged, checking her nails with a pout. "He might have mentioned going out for a night hunt?"

Your blood immediately ran cold.

Her dark eyes held a glimmer of malice in them. "Meddling with a vampire spawn is quite invigorating, but frowned upon," she said with another click of her tongue. "Although, I hear that the Duke is quite forgiving when it comes to close friends."

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know of you. The hero of Baldur's Gate. You're not exactly discreet, dear."

To be fair, you weren't surprised she had recognised you, you were simply unsure of why your identity even mattered, or Astarion's for that matter.

"Then you should tread lightly."

"Oh, no need to threaten me," she scoffed, waving her hand dramatically. "I'm not your enemy."

A few commoners walked past you to enter the tavern's door, and you scooted to the side, seeking to stay away from prying ears.

What did this woman even want? Was she merely toying with your time? Was she fishing for something?

"You intrigue me," she carried on, adjusting the cape across her shoulder. "Especially because of him."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"What of him?"

"He won't feed on me."

Good.

Her face dropped into a faux pout. "I wondered why a vampire spawn would turn down a free meal, especially since they are known to have such an insatiable appetite," she said before pausing abruptly. "And then I realised why."

"Why?"

She chuckled. "Well, because of you."

Your collected composure faltered ever so slightly, and she seized the moment like a seasoned predator.

"You must be really special if he's willing to resist such temptation."

This made you snap, gritting your teeth. "Does this conversation have a purpose, or are you just wasting my time?"

"Maybe both? The point is, have the decency to put out the fires you start, at least."

Now you were utterly lost and vaguely wondered if she had been indulging in some alcoholic beverages, but her breath didn't reek of anything other than a citrus scent.

You cocked an eyebrow at her. "What does that even mean?"

It was her turn to look rather impatient. "A few nights ago. You came in, let him feed on you, and then you left his cock painfully hard. That was very rude of you."

She was definitely mocking you.

Your temper exploded all at once and you grabbed her by the shoulder, shoving her hard against the wall, and she let out a theatrical yelp that earned the attention of a group of Flaming Fists strolling nearby.

Fuck.

"Is something the matter?" One guard inquired, approaching from the side, shield in hand.

You promptly let go of her, and she straightened herself up with that forced smile of hers you had already grown to detest.

"Oh, not at all, kind sir," she chuckled with the easiness of someone who was well versed in the art of deception. "My friend was just squatting a bug."

You readjusted your hood, side-glancing at the man who didn't seem all that convinced and tying to muster your most believable innocent smile.

The guards exchanged a few looks and resumed their patrol, disappearing into the distance.

As soon as they were out of sight, you were on her again, close enough that only she could hear you. "You don't know the first thing about him."

"And do you?"

Your lips were pressed tightly together, as you struggled to keep yourself more lunging at her.

This woman had seemed so harmless when you had first crossed paths with her, but now you could see that she was an expert in antagonising others to her own amusement and for whatever reasons.

Her beauty was her saving grace, and definitely the only reason why Astarion had picked her in the first place.

She was meaningless.

You spun around, knowing all too well that lingering would only result in someone getting badly injured, and she just wasn't worth the hassle.

As you began treading away from the tavern, you heard her singsong voice calling behind you.

"Leaving already? Won't you join me as we wait for him? I'm quite sure he wouldn't mind sharing."

You clenched your fists so tight that your nails were digging into your palms, threatening to draw blood.

Around you, a few heads turned as curious stares followed your every step.

You'd just have to postpone delivering him the news.

Not that it surprised you in the slightest.

It was as if the Gods above were having a laugh at how much you craved being in his presence, and had collectively decided to sabotage your every attempt.

They had just sent that wretched woman.

What would be next on their list? Memory loss?

The heat that had risen inside your body began to simmer with each step you took through the narrowing streets.

As you were about to round the corner that would lead you across the bridge, a light tug at your trousers made you flinch and jolt in distress, bringing you to a halt.

"A couple of gold pieces, please… for my supper."

You looked down at a scruffy looking man who was kneeling on the floor, hands clasped together in a plea as he shivered.

Usually, you would spare a few pieces, but something felt terribly off.

Maybe it was the fact that there was a faint hint of deceit on his face.

Or probably because he was slowly reaching down for the knife at his hip.

Fuck.

This was no beggar.

"I don't have my coinpurse with me. Apologies."

It was foolish of you to expect that to be the end of it, but you really did not want to draw any unwanted attention. Even with Wyll's protection, the city was still crawling with mercenaries and folk who wouldn't hesitate to harm you if they knew who you truly were.

You began to take large steps away from him, focused on putting as much distance between you two as possible without seeming too alarmed.

From the corner of your eye, you were able to spot movement, and you were now aware he was following you.

What an unfortunate turn of events.

You cursed inwardly, sliding your dagger from its sheath, hoping you'd be able to lose him before actually having to use it.

"I know you have some gold on you."

His taunt only served as motivation to speed up your pace.

The passers-by that filled the street would not lend a helping hand, as it could potentially backfire on them, so they merely moved out of the way, turning a blind eye.

Your hands heated up as you pondered which spell you could cast without it being a predicament.

His steps hurried behind you so fast that by the time you were ready to utter the invocation, he was already on you, shoving you harshly into a dark alleyway, effectively breaking your concentration.

Just as you were about to swing your blade in response, the man was hauled from you, and you heard the hiss of a dagger being drawn.

You would recognise it anywhere.

The bandit was now being pressed against a wall by a very feral Astarion, who was ready to splatter the floor with his innards.

"No!" You called out, as you saw a few commoners gathering at the entrance of the alleyway, whispering to each other.

Guards would be here soon.

And, at this point, your worries were not for you, but for Astarion.

If he happened to kill this man, it would be an unwanted situation to circumvent even with Wyll's aid.

"I'm being attacked! Help! I'm but a poor-"

Astarion gripped him by the hair and rammed his head hard into the stonewall, his dagger pressed against his neck. "Be quiet, or I will bleed you dry."

He began to struggle against Astarion, but all to no avail. No amount of physical prowess would rival his.

You had to do something quick before things escalated beyond a point of no return.

Panic took over you, and you raised one hand, waving it faintly. "Impero tibi!"

A flash of light pink swirled around the squirming man, and he went limp all of a sudden, flopping against the surface before dropping to the ground with a loud thud as Astarion let go of him.

Casting Sleep had been the safest option.

He glared at him with disgust. "Filthy pig."

Your breath was coming out in short breaths, which drew his attention.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was soft and held concern.

You shook your head, reaching out for his arm. "We need to leave before we get company."

The commotion nearby had escalated, and people were gasping and murmuring, pointing at them.

There was nothing more aggravating than a scared crowd, and you had no intention of sticking around for the aftermath.

Astarion didn't need to be told twice and quickly helped you climb up the wall, gripping your waist firmly with both hands.

"I see you haven't lost any of your agility." He teased.

You rolled your eyes, gripping the edge and hoisting your entire body at once, squatting to avoid any more intrusive glares.

"THEY ARE RUNNING AWAY!"

Astarion gracefully joined your side in a blink of an eye before anyone below could reach him.

You lead the way, trying your hardest to keep the balance as you hurried along the ledge and hopped onto a surrounding rooftop.

"Darling, you really must hone your stealth skill," he whispered behind you. "Absolutely appalling as ever."

Trust Astarion to deliver the most inconvenient remarks when you least needed them.

"Well, I'm so sorry if I cannot afford to worry about being graceful right now."

"It's an art form," he shot back condescendingly. "I'd be surprised if the entirety of Baldur's Gate didn't awake from all that loud thumping."

You glanced at him over your shoulder only to see him grin playfully.

"Do you ever shut up?"

His smile only deepened. "Are you offering?"

Your face blazed.

Impossible and infuriating man.

Both of you neared the edge of the rooftop. You surveyed your surroundings to make sure the path below was safe.

All clear.

But before you could voice it, Astarion jumped down, landing perfectly on both feet without a sound.

Of course.

He glanced up, raising both arms at you. "Come down, darling. I'll catch you."

You scoffed. "No need. I can do it."

"Suit yourself."

Heaving a deep sigh, you approached the edge and looked down below before plunging off the tiles.

You weren't nearly as gracious as he had been, but you still managed to stick your landing.

"I'm no damsel in distress." You said teasingly.

He took a step closer to you, reaching for your hood, and slowly pulling it back to reveal your face.

"Just a damsel, then."

You stared into his crimson eyes, as your heart broke into a faster pace.

His hands lingered near your neck, and you could swear his face was getting closer.

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

"Also, that Sleep spell? You are fortunate I can't be affected by it, otherwise you'd have to carry me out of there." He said, cocking his head to the side. "That would be a fun challenge, I suppose."

His cold fingertips traced your pulse point, and you wished you could be strong enough to pull away from him, but he was too easy to get lost into.

No. He was definitely getting closer.

You could see every crease and wrinkle on his handsome face.

You could see the faint curve of his nose.

You could see his lips parting lightly.

"Cat got your tongue?"

You shook your head, pulling yourself from your thoughts at once, and pushing his hands away with a scowl.

"That's exactly why I cast it," you said, clearing your throat. "How did you find me?"

He took a step back, looking rather bored. "Ava told me you went looking for me. It was not hard tracking you down."

So that was her name.

"Am I that indiscreet?"

He chuckled lightly, fangs peeking through. "Not at all. I just happen to be well acquainted with your blood, so I can detect its trail quite easily."

Oh.

"I wasn't expecting your visit this soon, so you must indulge my curiosity," he went on, voice dripping with honey. "Or did you just miss me?"

You adjusted the cloak around your neck, deflecting his bait. "I think you should be wary of your friend Ava."

He quirked an elegant brow. "How so?"

"She seems strange… or, at the very least, quite… unbalanced."

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Oh, darling… are you sure this is not just you being jealous?"

You growled in annoyance, earning a laugh from him.

"She wants you to feed on her."

"And I won't, so I fail to see why that bothers you."

You shot him a stern look. "She knows who I am and, to be quite frank, seemed rather intrusive. Dangerous, even."

"… are you implying that I'm the damsel in distress here?" He gasped dramatically. "Whatever will I do? What a pity. I'm rather fond of her."

His ability to not take things as serious as he should never failed to astound you.

It was truly one of his most infuriating traits and one that truly gnawed at your nerves.

"I'm merely warning you. I don't trust her. You are free to do whatever you see fit, of course."

"That's rich coming from you," he said in a low chuckle. "You should know better than to wander the streets of the city all alone at night, yet it didn't deter you."

"Excuse me?" You snarled, taking full offense. "I had to talk to you about something that concerns you!"

This was what Astarion did these days. Within a few minutes of initiating a conversation, he would find a way to upset or offend you. Usually both.

"So what is it? Have you come to alter the arrangement?"

I want to end it, you nearly spat out.

He drew near once more. "Because I'm all open to having our encounters happen more frequently."

Your eyes narrowed incredulously as Astarion tipped his head. "You fed on me three days ago!"

"My hunger is ever present," he immediately rebuked. "Feeding on your blood allows me to think and act more clearly for a short period, but it is not enough. It never is."

A pang of discomfort ran through your body as his words hit you.

"Then how are you able to resist feeding on her?"

His jaw clenched. "Because I made an arrangement with you, and if I break it then you won't allow me to feed on you ever again."

Your mouth dropped open at his sincerity.

"You were my first – your blood was my first, and you have no idea how hard it is to resist you."

"But you've tasted the blood of other thinking creatures…"

He sighed impatiently. "And nothing comes close. Absolutely nothing. I wish I had control over this preference, but I do not."

In truth, you hadn't expected this. You were aware of his hunger and how your blood affected his body in many ways, but you were unaware of its extent.

He was close to you again.

Too close.

He lifted one hand to trace your jaw, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. "So what is so important that would have you venture through these dark streets at night just to see me?"

You shuddered under his touch.

You wish you could find your voice and tell him of Gale's recent update.

And that you had it in you to put an end to this arrangement. It would also allow for you to properly rekindle your friendship as it used to be, and address some of the things that tormented him.

Besides, he could just feed on wild animals for the time being.

He didn't need you.

You were frozen in place as he traced your bottom lip with his thumb. "Did you know that I can taste the arousal in your blood?"

Oh, Gods…

He suddenly gripped your hand and brought it close to his own lips, and you saw a trail of dark liquid pouring faintly from a cut in your thumb.

"Astarion, we shouldn't…"

You gasped as he wrapped his lips around you, tongue darting around your bruised skin.

His eyes fluttered shut as he began to suckle gently, drawing more blood from the wound.

Your heart must have skipped several beats in the next few seconds from just staring at his pretty face twisting in pleasure.

Suddenly, you spotted a flash of gold darting behind him, but were too transfixed to care.

He kept lapping at you hungrily, shooting jolts of pleasure to your core.

But the increasing sound of mental clashing on pavement was what made you pull from him at once.

He looked utterly confused as his brows furrowed together, blood coating his lower lip.

Another flash of gold entered your field of vision.

"Astarion!"

And then everything went black.

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ourg0dsal · 6 months

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Gideon Nav CANNOT Die. Hold on- I know... but give me one second and I'll explain.

So, as I said before Gideon Nav cannot die, or at least her body can't. Cause clearly (spoiler warning) Gideon Nav died at the end of Gideon the Ninth. There is no avoiding that.

But! If you have read all the books GtN, HtN, and NtN including all of the accompanying short stories (tho I will admit I have not read The Mysterious Study of Dr. Sex yet) then there is a better understanding of the timeline of the whole story outside of just what the three main books give you. Specifically and especially with Gideon's body. But also there are many times In Gideons life were she has faced near death events or events that she should not have survived from and still was breathing on the other side.

To go in chronological order of these events, when she was first born she was found in a container held by the air depraved suit of her mother. And while ofc In the book it does state that her mother had redirected her air supply to Gideon, but it is simply being stated to cover all my bases.

Then the 200 sons and daughters massacre when Gideon was 1 (or 2 im not sure) when she inhaled poisonous air without dying. Which led ofc to the Reverend Mother and Father fearing the ground she walked. And this is a big one because, it literally creates waves in the plot. It's a defining point of Harrow and Gideons relationship. That Gideon did not die when she was supposed to.

Later in the story Gideon talks with Pal when she believes Harrow to be a murderer and openly admits to him that "she nearly killed me a half dozen times growing up" which obviously in context was to emphasize on the brutal relationship between her and Harrow. But this could also be other times where miraculously Gideon survived death when she shouldn't have. Because as we know from the first confrontation between Harrow and Gideon. Harrow doesnt hold back for her.

Finally of all the events where Gideon escapes death, this one actually happens within the main story of Gideon the Ninth. When Harrow siphons from Gideon to retrieve one of the challenge keys. And at the end when Gideon passes out, it is narrated ""ha-ha," said Gideon, "first time you didn't call me Griddle," AND DIED." Now, this could obviously just be the snarkiness of Gideon narrating. Or something incredibly clever left behind by Tamsyn Muir for a book series that is so clearly meant to be reread. But ofc to do my rounds the next line after does state "well, passed out. But it felt a hell of a lot like dying." But then immediately after "wake up had an air of ressurection." Which honestly feels like Tamysn Muir teasing the readers at this point. The question then becomes rather, which one was the tease and which one was foreshadowing/ evidence.

Now the point of listing all of these events is that in all of these cases the chances of death are so incredibly high that for most its a miracle she's alive. Ofc most notably for the siphoning trial and the poision gas, but none the less there is proof within the written story and and out that Gideon has looked death in face and moved on with maybe a headache. And it wasn't just in her child hood this is something she can just do. Some recreated in the written story! Because as Pal said. Even with the siphoning challenge done perfectly the chances of leaving Cam with severe brain damage was far to high. And Gideon didn't even suffer that.

Sadly, despite all these Gideon gets to the final battle and fights Cytherea and does die. At the hands of a particularly pointy fence. Or was it truly the fence that did her in? Rather than the lyctorship ritual that was started seconds afterwards.

My full theory, isnt just that Gideon Nav can't die. It's that Gideon Nav wouldn't have been able to die... If Harrow hadn't sucked her soul out. There are at the very least 8 seperate events that Gideon should have died, two of which were nearly gauranteed, but she was ended by a piece of metal. Yes, a very well placed piece a metal, but the point still up to that point she had faced worse a came out unscathed.

If Harrow had not completed the lyctor ritual, Gideon would not have died. Wether or not through resurrection or simply walking it off. Gideon's body has some sort of necromantic attributes to it that keep her alive. We see this in the Untitled Entry short story with Judith Deuteros that describes Gideons body, as it does not rot, cannot be injured, cannot be fed to animals forced or otherwise. And that is all before Jod ever gets a look at the body, because otherwise he would have known Gideon was his daughter before the later events of Harrow the Ninth.

And ofc during the first challenge when Harrow uses Gideon as her eyes to be able to see the construct in the other room and Gideon is able to see the thanergetic signatures that Harrow remarks should be impossible. (I assume because the process is Harrow extracting information (Gideons eyesight) from Gideon and so Gideon should not also be receiving information (the ability to see the signatures)) unless Gideon had some form of necromantic abilities, which she was tested for as a kid and apparently did not have. Alongside not having the correct attitude to be a nun of the ninth. And so we can round it out to be her body being naturally necromantic leaving Gideon without the ability to use it. (Which Is a jump from the actual point we are attempting to use, but for now this stops us from assuming Gideon as any sort of necromantic ability which is a theory all on its own. One that I personally have no evidence for or against)

Now, that I have hopefully made both my Ap Lit and Lang teachers proud with my 3 am essay, I must give you the real tragedy of Gideon the Ninth. Had Gideon not died, had Harrow been unable to complete the lyctor ritual for emotional reasons or otherwise, had Harrow not become a lyctor and killed cytherea. Gideon would have had to watch Harrow and Cam be killed, possibly even Corona, Judith and Ianthe. And then to be used for Cythereas own motives. Tamysn Muir beautifully set up the story so that the best possible outcome could have happened. Had Gideon not died. Everyone else would have. And "Camilla the sixth was no idiot" cam knew and accepted this whereas Harrow never would have. And so the unkillable Gideon had to die, and forcing Harrows hand was the only way to do it.

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roseglazedlens · 7 months

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⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

➠ series masterlist | 🔃girl’s route | 🔃boy’s route |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY & CARLOS OLIVEIRA X AFAB GN! READER ADA WONG & JILL VALENTINE X AFAB GN! READER chapter synopsis: You are amongst the top five selected for this infiltration to take down Glenn Arias. An argument unfolds between the agents and you are forced to pick a side. chapter content: smut in next chapter, resident evil: vendetta spoilers, zombies, haunted mansion, explicit themes throughout this series. a/n: welcome to my second series!! (need to finish my first one oops) on a thursday one month ago, i thought to myself 'zombie threesome hehehe', then i took the idea and sprinted with it and this series is born. so, uh... zombiefuckers rise up?? « 3.3 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

Millions are dying—Mass infections are happening across the globe swamping the streets with an unbeknownst fear. The symptoms of this virus are faint, indecipherable next to an x-ray of a man who is perfectly healthy. Not even the carrier themselves are aware of how the virus lies underneath their veins, dormant, until a click of button is pressed from a commander far away, then their symptoms worsen: a headache, a cold, veins turning purple as the poison hatches in them, spreading, until the only thing that can manoeuvre their limbs is the word: KILL.

That’s the greatest strength of this virus. Anyone can be infected, and maybe, you already are.

This product first reached the underground market three months ago. Called the A-Virus; a bioweapon succeeded in the market for its ability to infect targeted communities remotely and leaving no evidence on the perpetrator, which no other distributors had successfully produced before.

Engineered by Glenn Arias, the researcher sold over thousands of this bioweapon, becoming a billionaire overnight at the cost of lives lost from the whims of the rich. He supplied the wealthy and corrupted, like insatiable brats, with new remote-controlled monster trucks, who only aims to tear down families and have their victims beg mercy to a monster that will not speak reason.

Hence, this problem brought attention to a global scale, having the DSO come in alliance with the BSAA and other independent mercenaries to hunt down the vaccine and put a stop to Arias’ grand schemes. Handpicking five agents who are equipped with both experience and skill to combat a zombie attack on this scale of doom and urgency.

Those five agents are Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, Leon S. Kennedy, Ada Wong, and you.

A plan is already in place. A distraction concocted with your intel and the help of a senior researcher of all things bioweapons, Rebecca Chambers. While Arias is busy attending fake business meetings on the other side of the world, the five of you will infiltrate his private mansion to retrieve a concentrated sample of the A-Virus. Rebecca can use the sample to reverse engineer it into a cure and send her findings to facilities across the world.

The plan sounds brilliant in writing, but when you arrived his private mansion in Queretaro region, Mexico, something is off about this place.

Arias is a mastermind, you had been warned many times, in which you appropriately prepared all your best gear for this mission to treat it with utmost gravity. You’re thinking armed guards, well-equipped security, BOWs. But when the five of you pushed open the front doors of his mansion, it was quiet.

Empty. Not a single soul. Just five of you greeted by the whisk of wind through weakly hinged windows that somehow makes the humid air stick to your skin further. Did Rebecca get the wrong info? No one lived there. From what you heard when you were in town, not even the locals dare to venture anywhere near the odd gothic mansion on the top of the hill. They said it’s abandoned, cursed, rumoured to whisk away young children if they ever step foot inside.

It’s a story they say to stop the naughty kids, you remind yourself. It’s not haunted. And you’re not a kid anymore.

The inside is abandoned. Cobwebs lay thick between cornices and carved columns, the floors laced with a film of dust on the luxurious dark wood flooring, creaking with worn age as you take each step. Besides the chandelier, every single piece of furniture is either the same colour of black or red, or nothing else. The soft red velvet upholstery and the rug are made with the same fabric. And you can find the same dark wood in every corner of this house. It’s in the tables, the shelves, the chaise, the painting frames, and stone-like head sculpture whittled with the same exact dark wood, ridged the exact uniform way.

Then, you look at the wall. Black patches of mould smearing across the burgundy wallpaper like a crime scene.

Something creaks behind you. The hair on your arms stands up as you shiver, immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. Despite the number of times you had taken down hordes of incoming zombies like they’re cardboard targets, why is a bit of wind freaking you out? It’s not a ghost, just old foundations, maybe mice, or wind kicking something off a table, like how every old house sounds like. You look around to see if anyone else catches you jumping at nothing, before Jill says, thankfully unaware of your worry:

“God, the smell. What have they done to this place?” Her hand flies over her nose as if that will help to shield any smell whatsoever. Unfortunately, the building is moulded far beyond salvageable that the stench lingers in every part of the mansion.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. We get weeks-old corpses in body bags every day. It’s absolutely retching.” Jill’s earpiece fizzes into life, and she recognises the familiar playful lilt of Rebecca’s voice on the other side of the line.

“At least that’s refrigerated and contained, Rebecca. This fucking stinks.” Jill scrunches her face like she just ate something unpleasant.

“I’m sending my sympathies from my well-conditioned lab right now.”

Carlos appears from Jill’s behind, placing a firm, teasing hand on top of Jill’s shoulder. His wavy curls catch in the wind and his teeth glistens sparkly white. “Yeah Jill, got a problem with my natural musk?”

Jill shrugs his hand off, grimacing at his attempts at flirtation. “Take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

In which Carlos laughs, holds his hand out at his heart as if it was just torn into shreds. “That hurts my feelings, Jill. Why aren’t you ever saying things like that to pretty boy over there?”

“I have a name, Oliveira.” The blond man turns around at the call of his nickname, familiar with the nickname, but it's not pleasantly received by him.

“I think pretty boy suits you more, Kennedy.” Carlos replies, a glint in his voice that hints something a bit less than friendliness between them.

“Ah, so you do know my name.” Leon quips back while staring directly into Carlos’ eyes, before getting cut off by Jill.

“I would, Carlos, but if I have to hear one more corny ass comeback from Leon’s mouth, I’ll throw myself out the window right now.”

“Takes a genius to get my humour.” Leon smirks.

Your eyebrows raise almost immediately to chime in. “Erm… I think we have different meanings for the word ‘genius’.”

Quiet chuckles ripple through the room. It helps that you have worked with these guys throughout the years and had come to know and get close to them—some a bit closer than just friends—but none of them are strangers by far. Usually, you would be working with only one or two of these guys, never in a big group like this, but it seems that everyone is already well-acquainted with each other.

You toss a glance at Carlos and catch him staring at you, smiling. Ah, you see now. Carlos must have been trying to lighten the mood because you had been jumpy ever since you had arrived. You nod at him, a silent thank you before the five of you venture deeper into the eerie atmosphere.

The goal is to arrive at Glenn Aria’s office. According to Rebecca’s intel, Arias hid a concentrated sample in a safe last time he was here. You will need Ada to crack the safe to retrieve the sample and deliver it to Rebecca. As you traverse the corridors, it twists and turns in different directions—whoever engineered this did not enjoy unexpected guests at all. But under Rebecca’s guidance, she walks you and your team through the labyrinth with ease and precision.

But unfortunately, not ease and precision on your part. You trip over your own leg and almost fall to the floor as you round a harsh turn according to Rebecca’s instructions, and Jill catches you right on the arm before you fall.

“Easy there.” Jill pulls you up the ground, and you regain some balance. “You good? Mind your step.”

“Why did I agree to babysit?” Ada speaks, finally, for the first time in this mission. Despite how quietly she spoke under her breath, her words abruptly cut through the air, and all attention is on her and the red sweater dress that curves into her frame perfectly now.

“Oh, I bet once you get your paycheck it will be worth it. Or will you be betraying us, huh, Ada?”

Leon smirks loudly. Ada’s face goes from tired to exhausted in one second. “You just can’t let bygones be bygones, can you?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who used to work for Wesker.” Ada’s heels come to a stop, and with a slow turn, she stares deeply into Leon’s eyes that speak a million threats without needing to be utter a word. Oh, and believe me, you do not want to be messing with Ada. You learnt that the hard way.

“Woah, guys. Let’s keep this civil. No need to get heated.” Carlos rushes to stand right between them as the duo glares at each other with passionate fury and resentment.

You nod, joining Carlos’ side to stand by him. “Carlos’s right. This is not the time to pick a fight.” But it falls on the deaf ears of Leon and Ada.

“Thousands were killed. I want what’s good for the people, and I’m not sure Ada here is on the same page.” Leon continues, adding fuel to the fire.

Ada lets out a disbelieved gasp in response, before recollecting herself and replying in her usual tone of calmness: “Someone has to pay the price. I’m just the executor.”

“Regardless of our motivations, we all are on the same side here.” Carlos attempts at resolution again, putting his hands up in between them, and fails embarrassingly once more.

The air is heated with hostility; Leon and Ada’s eyes are locked in a trance, a hazy spite that reigns their composure, that looking away from each other means forfeiting. You don’t see either of them walking away first, they are both prideful people after all.

“Uh… Jill? Some help?” Carlos looks around to find Jill, who is leaning against a wall, her arms relaxing by her sides, unphased by the fire stirring right in front of the crowd.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” Jill is merely waiting for either one of the parties roll over.

You feel speckles of flame through the two of them, as if steam is retreating over the top of their heads, burning not just them, but also everyone else in the room. Until the boiling point hits, and it erupts all in one second. The duo walks away, off to different directions in bitter adrenaline, until you and Carlos are just looking at each other.

“I guess we’ll take five. There’s a safe room up ahead.” Carlos is speaking, but you’re the one listening.

The five of you enters the safe room in silence. It is a storage room—despite its name, it’s quite large for a normal storage room—with boxes stacked on all ends that made the room seem smaller in comparison. A ceiling light illuminates the room dimly, but it isn’t enough to shade away years of old animosity from their past.

The lively conversations you had mere minutes ago is gone now. Just silence and awkward rustling as each of you sits in your own designated corner. Carlos and Jill find themselves a seat on top of a firm box. Leon and Ada giving each other the silent treatment, standing on farthest end of the room to each other. You are simply minding your own business, gathering materials to craft a flashbang to pass the time. Doesn’t hurt to have more supplies anyway.

There is a notable division on each side, an imaginary alliance that you choose to be on neither side. Until Leon crosses the boundary line, somehow making his way to you. He picks up an empty grenade case next to you, assembling the pieces together for your project.

“Sorry you had to see that.” A little guilt tugs at Leon’s voice.

“Not at all. I get why you felt that way.” Leon nods, a look of gratitude hanging softly through a smile. His other finger seals the flashbang cap and hands it back to you. “But you need to learn to control your temper. Especially when it comes to Ada.”

Speaking of Ada, a shiver runs down your spine suddenly. The feeling of someone sending laser signs and telepathic warnings towards you. You turn around towards the direction of the aura to find Ada, her back leaning against the wall, arms crossed without engaging or acknowledging anyone in the room. She stands by herself alone, and that’s how you had always known Ada—distant and in her own mysterious world. Not really a chatter, despite the number of times she had saved you in the past.

Ada does not look at you, but you can feel her glaring down—either you or Leon—with her entire body.

“Good to see the two of you getting along at least.” Carlos holds out two plastic water bottles to you two from a supply crate he found in the room, which Jill has finished downing two of them already.

You two gesture ‘no thanks.’ Ada does not spare Carlos a glance at his direction when he offers.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Carlos says sarcastically, before taking in a generous sip from his drink.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, a moment of dry coughs; a squeak of footsteps, a joint click from a stretching neck. Then silence once more.

“I’ve had enough.” Jill slaps her hands on her thigh before pushing herself up from her seat. “You guys gonna keep acting like kids? Grow up, this isn’t high school anymore. Take your drama outside. If we’re gonna take down Arias, we have to get along. And yes, that means moving on from shit that happened… five years ago? Five years ago and you two are still hung up? Unlike you all, I’m actually looking forward to go home and get a decent shower, hopefully soon.”

You nod in approval as Jill speaks her mind, and you are glad at least the few of you have their priorities in order. Ada flicks her head away from Jill, but her silence is telling of how much she is thinking over Jill’s words.

“Leon, can you accept this?” Jill asks.

There’s a bit of reluctance in his voice, but he agrees anyway. “Fine.”

“Ada?”

Before Ada can respond, smoke is creeping into your vision, coming in quick. It merges into your view, obscuring it, and you whiff something artificial, some kind of chemicals that is piercing to your nose and eyes. You can’t help but wince, hands groping the air in attempts to find comfort in the person closest to you—anyone for that matter—to indicate you’re safe and is indeed not under attack. Your fingers find themselves in a fistful of someone’s shirt, muscles tensing tightly underneath the fabric on their shoulder cap.

“Leon. Is that you?” You cry out.

“It’s me. Stay close and don’t let go. It’s an ambush.” Leon pulls your arm towards him, securing your safety with his hand in yours.

There is some coughing through the air, faint panic in voices underneath the hissing of gas that seems to be coming from above. You hold onto Leon a bit tighter.

Carlos calls out desperately “Where are you guys? Is everyone okay?” as he flaps his hand around the smoke to stir it away. He finds you and Leon almost immediately, and looks down to your hands, finding them clasped tight against each other. Your hand lets go of Leon flying behind your back, but Carlos already saw it.

Jill is coughing deep from the smoke. “I-I’m here!”

“It seems like we’re all here.” Ada says, composed as ever despite the circumstances.

The smoke dissipates—until most of the fog fades away, escaping through the cracks underneath the door to the other side. Leaving the five of you standing in the same storage room darting eyes around, seemingly unharmed, and even more confused.

After what feels like a while later, Jill finally breaks the silence: “Huh. What was that?”

“No enemies.” Ada unholsters the pistol from her belt, inspecting the room and the door behind the room. “Clear on this side too.”

It’s strange. If this is an ambush, why isn’t there an attack?

Leon places a finger on his earpiece to activate his microphone. “Rebecca, come in. We’ve just been ambushed by some kind of smoke, but nobody’s hurt. Happen to know what’s going on?”

His earpiece buzzes into life. “Hmm, let’s see. From the architecture plans, I see the vents are connected to a lab below. It seems abandoned, there are no signs of anyone triggering an attack on my end.”

“Whatever it is, we need to investigate.” Leon’s voice is firm and serious. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

You swallow deeply, fear settling back inside you. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I think…” Leon pinches his chin. “…Arias knows that we’re here.”

Your heart drops—Bundle of fear, anxiety and stress springing back into your nerves as you probe at the possibility of Glen Arias knowing where you are. What you’re trying to do. Making sure you will never reach that sample despite your hardest wills.

“He shouldn’t. Rebecca, didn’t Arias get on the jet?” Carlos is also thinking too.

“Affirmative. Security footage showed Arias walking into his private jet, and it took off four hours ago. He should still be in the air. No signal of them making a pitstop anywhere.”

You hear black pumps clacking against the hardwood floor. “I’m getting the sample.” Says Ada, her foot is already halfway out of the door. “Follow me or not, I don’t care. I’m here for the objective, and only that.”

“And what if something happens to you?” Carlos asks, genuinely concerned.

“I’ll deal with it if it happens.” Ada waves dismissively.

“Ada’s right, we could be set on a wild goose chase.” Jill chimes in. “Millions of lives are dying. We don’t have time to waste.”

“I guess it’s just you and me then, pretty boy.” Carlos rounds his arm around Leon’s neck, bringing him closer in an almost choking grip, a little too close and tight to his liking. And with Leon’s history with Carlos, Leon refuses to believe this is just a friendly gesture.

Leon grimaces, removing Carlos’ hand over him. “So that’s it? We’re splitting up?” The answer is unanimous. “Fine. I guess we’ll cover more ground if we split up.”

Rebecca, through the other side of your earpiece, speaks: “Be careful everyone. You don’t know what kind of schemes Glenn Arias had set up. Please stay safe.”

“We’ll be fine, as long as we don't have any traitors in our team.” Leon says the word ‘traitor’ while maintaining eye contact with Ada. She ignores him, simply deadpans.

“Well, what about you?” Leon nudges at your arm.

You are faced with two options. Indulge in your curiosity and find the source of the gas, or stick to mission as planned? Both options will be dangerous. So who will you trust with your life?

[OPTION A] “I’ll follow the girls.”

[OPTION B] “I’ll follow the boys.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 thanks for reading! come check out my other works! —yours truly, rose. i love my beta reader @scar-crossedlvrs! series taglist: @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

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forever--darling · 1 year

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as the world caves in | neteyam x avatar!reader

summary: there is nothing left to do but bite the bullet and face everything head-on. when neteyam finds you at the tree of souls, he can't help but demand answers while showing the remnants of his broken heart.

pairings: neteyam x avatar!reader

word count: 8.7k ( i am nervous about this one)

warnings/notes: slow burn, swearing, major angst continued, mention of sky people, many feelings (too many to be honest), arguing, admission of feelings, crying, double heartbreak, almost to the end (1/3)

series masterlist | one of us: part six | requests are currently open for now

Freedom is a privilege no one really appreciates when they have it. Especially when you’re used to having it; you take it for granted, think it’s going to be there forever, and think that your life is built around free will and personal rights. But that's not always the case when you live in Pandora as a sky person. You’re locked up in a building, dependent on oxygen, on resources that aren’t even from the planet you’re on. Privilege is designed and seen by the link pods, the only machine that can transform you into someone else within seconds. Even that is short-lived though because even when you have the ability to become someone else, something else, freedom isn’t permanent. Because sooner or later, you always have to wake up.

It was iridescent, the only way to utterly describe the sight before you. Iridescent bathed in bright neon bioluminescence lights that glowed as readily as the green lush of the forest. Mauve tendrils dangled down in front of your face, whispering soft assurances back at you, as you stared forward with silent prayers on your tongue. Silent prayers you had held in until now. It was like once they met your lips, they would become poisonous to not only yourself but everyone else around you. The sight of Vitraya Ramunong’s long luminescent rods, reflected in your eyes coating them with hope and The Great Mother’s comfort. The Tree of Souls offered a sacred site for those seeking solitude, a place to bear your soul in the hope of being answered.

You had a lot to bare as you stood there within the draped tree, queue with the lightest sensation bound to a mauve tendril. A neural link, the only possible connection between you and the great Eywa. With your eyes closed, your eyelashes felt like woodsprites on your cheeks and you took in a deep breath, one that felt as if you were filling your lungs completely with hot scorching blood rather than air. A plea was the only thing you could think to ask her. No other words could fall from your tongue but they didn't need to as you could feel her; her large motherly arms and firm comforting aura. You knew you didn’t need to say anything for her to feel your presence and the pain that was sewn across your heart.

Salty tears were beginning to form behind your eyelids. You clenched your eyes harder, trying to conceal them from falling across your blue skin. It was as if the organ in your chest that you were trusted to keep safe was failing you. Slowly piece by piece being chipped away along with the hope you were trying to hold onto. But the longer you kept using the link pod and prolonging the link process, the more it felt the virus was no longer just infecting the body you were born into but every part of you.

Almost as if the virus had made it to your brain and the effects were nullifying the spiritual bonds you had with the Omatikaya clan. Abiotic forces aren’t derived with empathy and you knew it wouldn't surrender just because of your ceremony. You were one of the people and now just as quickly, it felt as if you were being ripped away. With no escape, no lifeline from this very battle, you knew under Eywa’s consolation she wasn’t trying to offer you absolution from your lies or secrets but open up a home for your soul.

As the tears began to slip from your eyes as easily as you were slipping from the concreteness of the world, you could feel the mourning that had overtaken you. Your cries were mournfully falling from your parted lips and you dare to let them swallow you whole. You were mourning this life, this world, this encapsulating version of yourself you hadn’t even known existed but that this body had graciously granted you. You were mourning the future and the love that had overtaken your heart but now fell at your feet like withered petals.

The Great Mother had her great plan laid out and with you completely stuck in the dark about it, you couldn't help but let sickness claw and tear at every remaining hope you had left. Its cuts were deep, tainting, and leaving the last remaining pieces of your personality to resemble the physicality of your human body. Death had plagued you and you knew based on the shakiness of your form and the dizzy spells behind your gold eyes that things were bad. If you were feeling the effects here in this other world and this other body then it had reached a point of no return.

With your jaw trembling, and lips chewed to a pulp in between your pointed teeth, you released the queue from the tendril. Standing up, your hands wiped manically at your cheeks ridding them of the hot salty streams. You rid yourself of the physical implications of the pain that was sewn deeply across your back. Instead, as if it never happened, you let the tendril fall through your touch, the softness and comfort of it leaving your fingertips. Staring forward at it, your ears twitched at the quiet sounds of Omatikaya ancestors.

You then let your head fall back to peer up at the towering tree before you with complete and utter awe. It was a site that had been off limits to you until now, until you had become one of the Omatikaya. With tear-stained cheeks, a broken laugh fell from your lips. With the luminescent green ground warm under your feet and pulsing with every neuron of the forest, you felt the sorrow and the ruminations be pulled from your body.

Laughing like a madwoman, you walked along the hanging tendrils with a light smile pulled at the ends of your lips. You leaned into Eywa’s consolation, her plan tickling your ears as if she were going to whisper it to you. Face clean of the intense feelings that once harbored your body, you walked as if your shoulders were free of every burden you had acquired. It was as if Eywa heard your silent pleas and offered you a moment of relief. A moment of bliss overcompensated by an expression of tranquility that had appeared across your face.

Within the secluded part of the thick forest, your skin buzzed at the sound of muffled footsteps walking along the lush ground. Your ears twitched at the familiarity of it and you let out a breath of relief. Relief that he had decided to come and find you within the tree of pure spirits. You knew you should have retired to your human form hours before, the weakness evidently now taking a hold of your insides, but you couldn’t when you hadn’t seen him yet, knowing that you hadn’t talked to him. You needed to take in every moment of his presence you could. The very presence that left your heart aching for more — for more time, more courtesy to the feelings that were tightly wound around you, for more of him.

Your smile widened. It was soft and completely docile as you watched the lush ground of the forest illuminate under each of his heavy footsteps. Dots decorated his face like ivory stars radiating within the darkness of the eclipse, and you held your breath, praying to the Mother that he would reward you with the sight of his pearly white-coated smile. If there was anything you wanted to commit to your memory, it was that look, that infrequent smile, and the swelling feeling that appeared in your chest at the sight of it.

With anticipation and you standing under the tree, Neteyam felt his chest constrict at the sight of you completely dosed in bright colors reflecting off your skin. You were mesmerizing and ethereal as you stood there still dressed in what you had been during the ceremony with soft wispy pieces of hair framing your face. Even if he wished you could be the last thing he’d ever see, he felt the misery reach around him again and squeeze every delusion to the surface.

The sight of Lo’ak’s battered face flickered behind his eyes and it only reminded him of what had led to it. Of what destruction he had encountered that led to his own crumbling. When he stared at you in your ethereal form, he didn’t feel like he had anything left. Like after all the long months of stolen glances and mixed signals, there was nothing left of himself to give to you. Slowly he had wantingly opened up his ribs and the confines of his body to offer you everything he had inside, mistakenly. Because where that fondness of you still remained it was now overshadowed by anguish and exhaustion.

As he appeared in the light, the soft callings of Eywa draping his face in color, you felt your smile slip from your face. As if the Great Mother was asking you to push it back inside where it came from — to save it for another time away from the Toruk Makto’s oldest son. A gasp was wrenched from your throat, breathlessly, gold eyes dancing across his skin worryingly. Because paired with those scattered constellations was blackening blood expelled from the deepest cuts across his temple, just above his eyebrow, and bottom lip. His chest rose and fell distressingly when he breathed because of the purple and black swellings pressed along his torso and sides.

“Neteyam,” you whispered, disbelief coated across your tongue.

Your eyes flickered down to his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if they hadn’t softly been pressed against your chest hours ago. His tail swished from side to side while his guarded eyes that managed to never leave yours, the entirety that he approached, refused to waver until you said his name. His eyes stared back at you until his name had fallen effortlessly from you. The overwhelmingness that coated his insides forced him to drop his stare to the lush green ground rather than the woman before him.

Your silence became suffocating as you stared, unable to look away from the stains that coated his skin, caused by someone else’s hands. It made your whole body tighten. The effects of his crestfallen expression and the state of his body filled you with an entirety of new panic you had never felt before. Your thoughts bled with questions like bulletholes that were detrimental and unable to coagulate. How did this happen — the spotting with his father, while in the sky, did a sky person shoot them down, threatened them, chased them back into the forest where more were left waiting, and worse of all had they been far over the territory line than anyone realized. Like a never-ending horror show, you felt the panic take over every inch of your body completely taking priority over anything else.

Neteyam could not stop the pounding in his ears as your quietness did nothing to resolve his pain-stricken self. Even with you there in front of him, he felt Lo’ak’s words echoing in his head, tearing down every reserve he tried to build up on his walk over. He told himself to not get too close to you, to separate the light featherlike hold you had around him. The hold was evident in the way his eyes flickered back up to you with your silence drawing him back in, asking for him. The notion brought on a cold sweat that bathed his skin and sunk deeply into the open wounds like salt.

He could read your mind, the panic that had completely overtaken your features, burning every other emotion that had once resided there. Your mind was going around in circles like a boundless carousel and he cursed himself for feeling affected by it. Your eyes met his and with so much uncertainty filling them, he only had one answer for what and who was responsible. “Lo’ak.”

Your eyes widened the panic starting to crawl at the back of your throat drowning you completely, “W-What? Is he okay? What happened?”

A slight hiss fell from his lips as if you had reopened one of the many bullet wounds lodged deep within his chest wall. One that Lo’ak had put there. Tilting his head to the side, he closed his eyes for a moment. It was like you had struck him and he hated himself for how much you asking about his brother affected him — hated how much you affected him.

When he looked at you again he noticed that the pinched look of confusion on your face had deepened at his reaction. He shook his head slowly, glare meeting your timid gaze. “No. Lo’ak.”

You shook your head softly, trying to decipher the meaning of his brother’s name. Frantically, your eyes swept back and forth between Neteyam, the boy in front of you, whom you were desperately praying for day and night, and the dark forest behind him. His cryptic response left you with a dizzying, all-consuming trepidation. Your hands hung out in the air, ears tightly pulled back, and your gaze matched the constant steady of your thoughts as they flickered every which way. Lo’ak.

As if Eywa had sent you the very answer, your breath was snatched from you and your body stiffened. No. No. Your eyes snapped up to meet his just as your tail swished irritatingly. His once fleeting stare didn’t move again but stared forward, watching as all fear was expelled from your body with a single realization. You looked at him with disbelief, taking in his clenched jaw, spiteful eyes now being overtaken by unshed tears. Within the desolate area, it was like the distance was vast between your fragmented bodies. It was like you had already lost him to an unimaginable force pulling the two of you apart. But to Neteyam it wasn’t an unimaginable force, it was Lo’ak.

Distress overtook your shaking form at the thought. Lo’ak. You wondered what he must look like in comparison to Neteyam and felt your entire will be wretched from your body to only be laid at the future Olo’ektan’s feet. Because what happened to them wasn’t something or someone but each other.

“Neteyam, no,” your voice trembled as you let yourself breathe again, “No.”

He was silent for a moment, face struck with the same distress that you thought had occupied you. But based on the tension that was pressed firmly between his shoulder blades and the scowl on his face, his was far heavier than yours. His glare didn’t falter but only seemed to harden further as if he was once again the shell of the man he was when you met him. Spoiled with an anger that was grasping tightly at his throat, mostly afraid of anyone seeing past the facade he had stitched onto his face for years. He was trying to hide the stability of his sanity and the pain that was threatening it. He was trying to hide how you made him feel and worst of all, the affliction you had caused him.

You could see it past the unshed tears in his eyes and the frustration that was reverberating from his hands. How desperate he was for some exoneration. As he stared forward at you, you knew then that somehow he had heard about everything that had happened between you and Lo’ak. It was a rotting truth that somehow had taken the man you had known for months and turned him inside out. As horrible as it was, some of you felt satisfaction. Even as his heart twisted before you like it couldn’t take any more, you were presented with the indisputable fact that what he felt for you was there. His pain served as a confirmation to you.

“He told you,” you whispered.

Neteyam huffed suddenly, his arms lifting out in front of him as his hands clenched further into fists. At the sight of the dried blood as well as the open cuts on his knuckles, you felt your stomach drop and your eyes soften There was nothing you wanted more than to step forward and take each of them in yours. You wanted your touch as well as your lips to heal his wounds you had caused not only physically but emotionally, but the look in his eye had you glued to your spot. A wave of anger and hatred you had never seen before in it.

You felt yourself stepping closer craving to be near him. Needing something to ground you as it felt like the whole world was burning around you. His eyes narrowed, and you felt yourself crumble slightly at the sight. Deception.

“You act as if I did this,” you suddenly felt defensive as if you had to protect what was left of your own heart, “The choice wasn’t mine. I didn’t ask Lo’ak to make this decision of who he wanted to be his mate. It’s not mine to bear.”

“So you’re saying you told him no,” Neteyam said, breaking slightly noticeable by the sharpness in his tone as he took a step closer to you, “You explicitly told him that you didn’t want to be his mate. That you couldn't, not with what rules Mo'at has set.”

It was a shot. Such harsh words to get back at the inexplicable deception he felt by you. He wasn’t going to try and lessen the blow not when he thought you had done so much worse. You felt it just as it was meant to. Like he was trying to hurt you, go against every part of himself that had feelings for you, and hurt you plain and simple — whatever it took. You knew this was his defensive nature, his soldier makeup, doing everything he could to not break, to not tarnish, to remain strong to the orders bestowed on him.

He was being cruel because cruelness would keep you at an arm’s length away. Far away so he could stay true to what the clan needed of him, what the world needed of him. They needed every part of him including his heart which meant it wasn’t free to give away, especially to you.

You glowered up at him, trying not to let your mind get distracted by the bleeding cuts across his face.

It was your turn to have your quietness serve as an answer for him. An answer to his question. He nodded then dropped his arms to his sides as a pained exhale parted his lips, “Then it is yours to bear. Then it is just as much your choice as it is his. It is yours to bear.”

It is yours to bear. The words were spiteful but so desperate and you felt them shake your core as every expectation and ask of him seemed to be proudly on his shoulders at that moment. He bears the entire world and he always would until it would lead to his collapse. He would hold it all until it finally killed him. He will give the clan, his family, and his father everything until there would be nothing left of him but an imprint of dust. He didn’t have the strength to carry the weight of his love for you, let alone his pain. The repetition of the unknown article of it was completely evident as were the tears in his eyes that threatened to fall. Where he held up the entirety of the world and the conflicts that arose with it, the rest was yours to bear — his heart, his soul, his suffering.

“Then I will bear it,” you whispered, the sob within your chest was scorching, as the quiver of your lips was inevitable, “You’re right. It was just as much my choice as his. I should have told you that he had asked me, but I didn’t. Because I haven't decided.”

You had watched as he had absorbed your first sentence like it would save him but then by the end of your honest answer, you watched just as carefully as his entire body fell. Because I haven’t decided. Soldiers and warriors are trained to be made like gunmetal and piercing arrows, but even gunmetal can tarnish and arrows can break. No one is imperishable or has the ability to prevent themselves from getting hurt because you’re not in charge of your own pain. Other people were. They are the ones who deliver the blows, who ask for everything and give nothing. They are the ones who prove that you can’t be imperishable.

His eyes became drenched, his unshed tears displaying it all to you. You knew then as your own tears threatened to spill, even if you took his suffering away, bearing the weight of it wouldn’t make the truth any less painful. He shook his head almost mournfully, like no matter what you said to him, he would be saying goodbye to not only you but the possibility of the two of you.

“I didn't give him an answer or tell him no because I just needed a minute — a moment to feel like this isn't my life. That a man can propose to me and I have the ability to say yes. Trust me, all I think about is what Mo'at said. Because no matter how hard I try or what I do, I will never be allowed to live like everyone else. Not while I still have this weight of a whole other life on my shoulders. And it is suffocating because it’s all I can think about. How ceremony put aside, I will never be one of you.”

Just like that streams of salty tears rushed down your cheeks, the hold on them broken by the very same words that had once been spat in your face by the same man before you. The very man, who once had to say those heavy agonizing words as if it was the easiest thing he ever did. Now you mirror them back at him earnestly, torturously like it took everything in you to say. With your ears pulled back, you feel that sob rising in your throat like a knot that refused to disappear. It threatens to cause more wreckage to this already fatal tragedy.

You sighed, it sounding broken as it escaped, “So when Lo’ak asked me if I wanted to be his mate, I allowed myself a moment to feel what it would be like to say yes. A moment where I could have everything. Right then, I couldn’t say no because I needed to remember that feeling it gave me, and now I just need time to try and figure out what to say.”

The exhale that is ripped from his throat pulls the sob right out of yours. His dreadful gaze is nauseating as he steps closer to you, his own lips trembling as if he had already been crushed, and by his next words, maybe he had.

“A moment?” a cool chuckle fell from his lips, “Really? So, then why did you go to Mo'at? Why do you request a consciousness transfer? If it was about some fucking sentimental bullshit, you wouldn’t have asked this of our Tsahik and decided to gamble your life with Eywa. You’re planning your whole damn life here Y/N. Your future. So, don’t go and tell me you haven’t given him a decision yet because you needed a fucking moment to try and revel in some feeling.”

It turned out as he stared back with daggers in his eyes, it wasn’t the weight of everything he carried that led to his demise but the weight of his broken heart. You think yours became collateral damage, broken just as much as his, caught in the line of fire.

“Neteyam,” you cried, not knowing what else to say but his name.

He recoiled from you, taking a step back as if whatever answer you gave him or explanation wouldn’t be enough. His lips twisted painfully, trying to stop them from trembling as he wiped at his eyes. He had been trying so hard, to keep his tears from escaping, to keep them where they were gathered within his eyes. At the sound of his name falling from your mouth, sounding so much like grief, he was able to pull himself together letting his anguish be masked by anger.

“Just stop! Just... what the fuck, Y/N? A consciousness transfer. Are you serious?” he cursed, the only way to handle how absolutely empty he felt inside, “Are you trying to make me lose my mind?”

Taking your silence into his hands and the fresh tears that fell from your eyes like a river, he let the last of his patience snap inside him like his last will to live. “How can you do this? Do you have a fucking death wish?”

That one hit you right where it needed to and you felt your mouth drop in shock and just as your chest tightened it was accompanied by a flutter — a flutter that wasn’t supposed to be there. You didn’t let it have your attention though, not even for a second. However left with your mouth agape, you were stranded of knowing what to say next.

“What you are asking of the Great Mother is too much. It is dangerous, not to mention rarely successful. You are risking your life and what I can’t believe is that Lo’ak was going to let you. He fucking knew and was going to let you go through with it anyway. He is a coward and he knew about your request to Tsahik. Not only did he not try to stop you, but he used it as a way to get you to be with him. Like some damn bargaining chip. He is a fucking coward and you’re just mindless.”

“Mindless?” you huffed, your voice unsteady and aching from the cries that had reverberated within the quiet forest, “You don’t get it, do you? You were supposed to understand this better than anyone but I guess I was fucking wrong about that too. Neteyam, time here is a factor. A factor that one day is going to run out, maybe quicker than any of us realize. Oxygen is depleting, and resources are limited. More sky people are coming. They are coming and they are not going to stop. Nothing is promised and what I want more than anything is this. It’s this life.”

The flutter increased but as it did it only became an ache, an ache that seemed to increase as your heart rate did. His eyes drank you in as if it would be the last time, a sheer of sweat formed across your back and your palms. He doesn't move closer though. No, he just stands there, mesmerizing every inch of your face in case this is an argument he won’t win. In case Tsahik accepts your request and you are uprooted from this existence and his whole world.

“I can’t let you do this,” he spoke, strongly, his voice cutting through all of your senses as if it had complete control over you.

“It’s not your decision to make.”

It was brutal. Your words and admission were brutal, leaving him with his breath hitching like he was afraid to cry. An irrational fear that it would break everything inside of him to pieces worse than you already had. He hated this. He hated this. That was all he could think as his eyes clenched shut, worried about the ruinous consequences he would face when he chose to ask his next question.

“Why Lo’ak?”

The question was torturous to him, the mention of his brother excruciatingly reminding him of the markings across his entire body as well as the welts across his knuckles that were left.

He sighed, as he managed to push out the last of his remaining words, “Why didn’t you say no? I know Lo'ak and for years I have had to listen to him talk about you, go on and on and on about how he feels. But I think you and I both know that the way he feels isn't how someone should feel for their mate. So, tell me, why haven't you told him no?"

The ache worsened and it was like your chest was going to explode. Your lungs were burning like pins were being pelted at the organ trying to poke holes into them. That nauseating feeling returned to your head from what you could only assume was the rush of emotions pulsing through your entire body. But you wouldn't let yourself falter under his unwavering gaze. You wouldn’t dance around it and offer him cryptic explanations or hide how easily you craved him. You craved him and knew that with every fiber of your being as easy as he had broken you, he could put you back together. And as you stared at his wet eyes, emerged in unsaid words, you knew deep down that if you could, you would spend an eternity letting him do it.

“Because I knew I could never have you.”

A shudder shocked through Neteyam’s body at your words, his hands clenched shut, yearningly. His head was swirling with a newfound desire. One of relief to hear you admit it so willingly, to finally say in so many words that what you felt for him was real and that what he felt for you was requited. It wasn’t in his head and it never had been. It had always been him. That thought paired with the way your gaze was swimming in so much passion and so much hurt made his chest tighten as if he would stop breathing right there. He felt his words get lodged in his throat and he knew if you got any closer you would be able to hear the interworkings of his heart. The way his heartbeat was frenzied and completely under your control.

“Neteyam, the way I feel about you is... consuming. The way I want you consumes me, completely.”

He knows the meaning behind your words, how scary it had to have been to say them. He knew the weight of them as they actively slithered their way past his chest after all the beatings it had taken in a single day. The words installed every single hope back into his shattered organ but even with the warmth that was beginning to spread, the spite dipped in acid was not budging from where it sat lodged in the base of his stomach. He knew what he was about to do was going to leave you battered and bruised and completely dejected but he couldn’t help himself from saying it anyway.

“No,” he denied your words like he was denying a fact that had been calculated wrong. He was taking your feelings that had been expelled from deep inside and was giving them back to you on a platter as if he didn’t want them.

“No?” you choked breathlessly, your voice losing all the strength it had left as the burning in your lungs become completely unbearable.

His face loomed over yours, face twisting further than it had before as if his next sentence would hurt him more than it could possibly hurt you, “No because how could you just not say anything? How could you contemplate having something with Lo’ak? If it was me... how could you? If you felt this way, why not tell me?”

With a shuddering inhale you reply with, “You’re going to be Olo’eyktan one day.”

He huffed, your answer fueling the anger that lingered in the base of his stomach. You lifted your arms up just as your vision began to blur, becoming waves of mauve and the blue of his skin. With your hands reaching out towards him, he didn’t bother to move away from your touch. “How could I tell you when—”

He cut you off, voice overpowering yours. “I trusted you. I trusted you and the second that I think… you just move on as if I didn’t have a say. You know you’re just like everyone else.”

His words tore into you. Tore into your flesh as if making you bleed could possibly heal his own wounds or rather settle the scale. It felt like maybe it had as it was like your lungs had bursted, the struggle to breathe emulsifying with the rapid heart rate and your sweat-coated skin. Your hands were shaky and desperate to be held, hoping he would grace you with one last touch.

With the only breath you had, you felt yourself pushing it out painstakingly with his words I trusted you still coating your heart. “Neteyam, I—”

The link pod lifted like the top of a casket and you felt the light blind your eyes in hues of white. A huge gasp was wretched from your chest like your soul was trying to be yanked from your body. As if the afterlife was present and ready to collect. Skin drenched in sweat, your lungs were gasping, trying to devour the air that was being pulled in from your diaphragm. Fingers curled together at your sides, you felt your eyes flickering to the ceiling as control had disappeared from your body. The feeling of the gel encasing your body was cool but you couldn’t completely register it. Not with your heart beating as fast as it was paired with how your whole body was twitching beyond belief. It was almost like every anatomical system was failing you.

“Fuck,” the coarse word echoed in your ears like hysteria as the person lifted the metal cage from your body, “No, no, no. Ugh, fuck.”

The ringing in your ears subsided, as the sudden interruption of the link process numbed your senses. Within the next few seconds, you were cognizant, able to hear the obnoxious beeping next to your ears that usually only went off when there was a machine malfunction. Then you felt the twitching in your toes like a reflex reacting to a sensation. It started in your fingers a second later and from there began to travel up your entire body through the neuron channels of your nervous system.

Two hands slipped under your shoulders and began to lift your body as your gasping got worse. “Max, help! Need some help here, now!”

Norm watched as the twitch in your fingers stop for a second, a mere second before your eyes began to roll to the back of your head. Your body went limp in his arms and knowing what was to come, he slipped a hand under your knees and lifted you from the link pod. Your breathing was short now, too quiet, as your eyes fluttered behind your eyelids. The second your human body started to convulse in his arms, jerking back and forth, he began to lose his grip. With not enough time to get your body to a bed, he fell to his knees and laid you on the tile floor. As he rolled you onto your side, he couldn’t help but take note of your gritting teeth and shaking limbs. Your cold, pale skin, slipped through his fingers as your head flailed from side to side.

“Max,” he screamed out again as a few other scientists appeared at his side trying to do what they could to help. His arm braced against your back to keep you from falling flat onto your backside. “Diazepam, now!”

His panicked eyes found your form again and as he stared at your stiffening face, all he could think about was you at six years old, laughing in a chair, sharing your red stringy candy. Your giggle was the sweetest sound in the world as you watched the scientist make horrible jokes that could only get a child to laugh. Then as he blinked the memory was gone, replaced by the eighteen-year-old young woman who now lay convulsing under his hands. Suddenly, the future, the very demise that the two scientists had been working all day and night to deter or to altogether avoid was playing out right in front of his eyes. An inevitable outcome of an impossible problem.

He says your name. Once and then twice. Anguish and distress laced into his voice so strongly he felt that it could be permanent. He doesn’t move but stands, now with the physicality of holding his world up in his arms; you. His calloused and familiar hands cascaded across your arms to your back — your exposed now suddenly cool back. His touch languished as his fingers rubbed up and down the base of your back feeling the indent of your spine. Your name suddenly felt like the only word he could manage to form as his breathing heaves up and down while his body trembled and shook with terror.

The rest of your words had been stolen from you and let to drift into the unknown that was the desolation between him and you. His name was the last thing to grace your tongue, leaving him in a puddle of heartache. Your dispute was being pulled into the air by the large gasp that had been wretched from your body. Legs collapsing under you, he felt his entire universe shift as you fell forward, eyes rolling back into the base of your head. He grunted as he caught your torso in his hands, his battle-scarred hands, covered in his brother’s dried blood and his own. Your neck collapsed from the weight of your head and he felt your forehead fall to his chest. The pull of gravity paired with dead weight drilled your body straight into his.

He felt himself stumble as his hands shifted to wrap around your back while the panic began to claw its way from his stomach. With one arm strongly wrapped around your lower back, his other hand drifted up quickly to your face. Pulling your head back away from his chest, he feels his insides tighten at the way your head folds back. Your face was tilted up towards the mauve tendrils of the Tree of Souls as if asking for a kiss from Eywa herself while Neteyam’s hand cupped your cheek, brushing the soft hair from your face.

“No, no, Y/N,” he tripped over his words as he took a breath, solidifying the terror rising up in his throat. Alarmed gold irises wide and quivering flickered across every feature of your face. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, and the softness of your eyelashes that peacefully kiss the tops of your cheeks. He found himself tracing the ivory specks that were scattered across your smooth blue skin.

“No, Y/N, please,” he begged, the tone of his voice foreign to himself as he stared up into the lush dark forest around him. The quietness reminded him of the void that surrounded him. Ruminations were taking over his face led by your heavy words that had once been whispered in his ears like the best-kept secret. The way I want you consumes me.

But all things must come to an end.

You were being ripped from his reality and as his thumb traced over the cupid’s bow of your upper lip, he knew this couldn’t be his goodbye. Whatever had happened to you, this wasn't going to be his last image of you.

All of his senses became alit at that moment, focused on your collapsed form in his body. Clearing his throat, he tilted his head up towards the night sky as the stars taunted him back. He let out a loud scream, a call sign that echoed within the trees of the forest. His hand fell from your face and instead swooped under your legs, pulling your entire body up and off of the ground into his strong statue. He stumbled away from the Tree of the Souls into the clearing of the forest, eyes racking the sky in desperation, a quiet please falling from his parted lips.

He heard the familiar screech paired with blue and purple-coated wings as he was about to tilt his head back and yell out again. Relief flooded Neteyam’s system for a moment as his Ikran flew down and landed within the trees of the forest. He climbed on with ease and connected his queue, arms tightening around you. With a single click of his tongue, the Ikran was taking off into the night sky towards the village. Neteyam's eyes throughout the ride flickered from you to the sky, feeling the panic increase and begin to suffocate him from the inside out slowly.

Landing in the base of the village, he slid from the creature, his arms numb and chest heaving. Not many people were still out and wandering but those that were, found their wide terror-stricken faces on Neteyam as he carried you with both arms. The anguish of his pain was now tightly swelling around every piece of him, the idea of losing you in his grasp killing him slowly. The fire was put out and other riders and hunters who watched the future Olo’eyktan sprint by with the new Omatikaya woman in his arms felt the alarms going off in the man’s head. They could see the panic laced within his eyes and couldn’t help but feel it forming in themselves. They all began to mumble to one another and just as his own hut came into view, it felt as if the news was going to get there before him.

Stood outside, illuminated by a soft lantern and the night sky, Jake stood with Neytiri. They were whispering under their breath as their youngest son sat in their tent, getting patched up their two daughters. Lo’ak’s hisses of pain and discomfort echoed out of the tent but the couple was too immersed in their conversation. Their conversation about Neteyam. Jake had agreed to give the boy another ten minutes before he was striding out of the village with an attitude to be reckoned with. Neytiri stood trying to calm her husband down as they tried to unravel what had happened between their two sons to invoke a fight.

A fight that seemed to come out of nowhere, invoked by all of the worst possible feelings and words. Jake had been trying to wrap his head around what his oldest son could have been thinking for almost twenty minutes. His very son who could never go out of his way to defy him — his very own son that would one day own and control every piece of Jake’s current world.

Neteyam — the warrior, the soldier, the hero. The very man who could have outfought Atlas, Achilles, or Hercules. The very man who gave everything to the world including his bones, tears, sweat, and blood. The perfect son. The perfect soldier. Toruk Makto’s firstborn had thrown a punch at his younger brother, multiple at that and Jake simply couldn’t figure out where any of it was coming from. The last look on his son’s face as he stormed off, was the only thing on repeat in his mind.

“Dad!” Neteyam yelled with as much of his voice as he could as his throat was raw.

Jake’s ears flickered curiously able to hear his son’s voice as well as the desperation heard in it. With his arms tightly crossed over his chest, he was prepared to deliver hell but as he turned to face Neteyam, his facade dropped immediately. Quickly it was forgotten as he found his son's battered form rushing towards him caring a statue of dead weight in his arms. A dead weight Jake could clearly identify as you. Neteyam was barely breathing at that point as both his mom and dad rushed toward him.

“Dad, please,” Neteyam begged.

“Shit,” Jake cursed, eyes scanning your ashen form to see no markings or visible injuries, “What happened?”

Neteyam stumbled over his words, his father’s question bringing back every single second of the conversation you two had. Muted within his ears, he felt as if he could still hear your voice. He shook his head, arms tightening around you unable to even calm down enough to let his father take you from him, “I-I don’t know.”

Neytiri gasped at the sight of you, her hands reaching out to take one of yours that was hanging limply in the air, “Oh Eywa.”

Jake’s hands ghosted over your form as if he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. His marine persona instantly clicked on and like a true soldier, he began to go through a checklist in his mind. No bulletholes or blows to the head. “No injuries? She didn’t fall or anything?”

Tears gathered in their son’s eyes and Jake tried to not let himself get so caught up in it knowing his attention needed to be on you. Neteyam shook his head still unable to let his tears fall recklessly across his face, especially not in front of his father. “No, no, we were just talking and—”

As if it was the most evident answer in the world, right in front of his face, especially as a previous dream walker it should have been the first thing he thought of. Sudden disruption to the link process. It was the only explanation, usually done by either someone manually kicking a person out of the avatar body through a red button or the individual pulling themselves out. Jake knew Norm and Max though and knew how dangerous it was when a link process was interrupted. What it could do, the harmful effects, and how the longer the link procedure the higher the risks increase. Jake knew Norm and Max. Jake knew you. This wasn’t deliberate. Something had happened.

“We have to go,” Jake suddenly snapped, his eyes connecting with Neytiri’s within the darkness of the village, her eyes clouded with sorrow, “We need to go right now!”

As if his words had cut through the air like a knife, his head snapped into the direction of their hut, hearing the front flaps be pulled back quickly with hurried steps following. Kiri and Lo’ak rushed out from inside as they heard their father’s tone through the doorway. Spider and Tuk were only a step behind them. It was as if a war had been set off then. Like a siren had gone off initiating war and the beginning of a long cold spell of suffering. All of their eyes fell on the lifeless form draped across Neteyam’s arms.

A moment of silence. A beat where all of their eyes were drilling into the body — your body. The shock after a few seconds wore off and their eyes widened in horror and their lips twisted on their faces. The parents were quiet, feeling the grief that was starting to form within their children and the denial that was sure to follow. Jake shook his head, hands locked around your cold shoulders, knowing that it wasn’t time for that yet. Not when they didn’t know what had even happened.

It was too early to be grieving over someone who wasn’t even dead. That’s what Jake told himself as the tears from his youngest began to fall in complete confusion. Jake could only hope that he was right as the thought rang through his mind — you being sick. Norm told him it wasn’t great. Dread formed within his stomach then, knowing it had to have been the cause.

At the same time that Kiri mumbled out Neteyam’s name to draw his gaze to her, Lo’ak was sputtering out in confusion, “W-What h-happened?”

How was he supposed to explain this to his children, his four children who didn’t understand the entirety of what link pods were or the neural pathways that connected the human consciousness from one form to another? They barely could perceive the idea of dream walkers and let alone that you were one, how was he supposed to explain that what happened to you wasn’t normal but there was a chance you were okay?

Just then a cry from Tuk filtered into his ears and he felt his fatherly instinct start to outway the soldier. Neytiri was about to release your hand from her grasp to scoop her youngest child up into her arms but was still at the worried look that washed over her husband’s face. His frown practically glued her in her spot and asked her not to move. “Neytiri, we have to go.”

She nodded and as both her and Jake released their hands from around you and stood, he could feel the sharp gaze from his children burning holes into his back.

He couldn’t escape though as his oldest son’s voice was drawing his attention again, “Dad I want to come with you.”

Broken. That’s how Jake could describe Neteyam. The sight of a broken man as if he had lost everything and at that moment as he held your body in his arms, unshed tears staining his eyes, he was. And it was all that Jake needed to understand what was going on. You, that was the sole answer. The answer that Neytiri and he had spent most of the evening trying to find. The common link between it all. Neteyam’s brazen attitude, his absence in the hut at night, his distractedness, the need to start a fight with his brother, and his storming off after. You — you were the formidable answer.

Which was the exact reason why he couldn’t let Neteyam come. If that wasn’t the look on his face and if you weren’t the answer to everything, he would. Now that he was older, it was very rare that Jake wouldn’t have Neteyam accompany him anywhere, but this wasn’t right. Especially when he wasn’t sure what they would find, he couldn’t.

“No, I need you to stay with your sisters and with…” Jake felt his voice trail off as his eyes fell down to the avatar’s body still tangled in his son’s grasp. It felt wrong to say that it was you because even if it had been for months, in the current state it was just a shell of a person — consciously you weren’t there. “Just take her to Mo’at, okay? She’ll know what to do.”

Jake watched his son’s ears become taut, his lips twisted into a frown. The disappointment was the sole cause of the look on his face, almost as if he had his hands tied around his back. There was no argument, no defying of his words, just complete silence, bestowed on Neteyam like an unwanted gift. He watched as his father and mother called to their direhorses, the sound of their calls perpetrating his ears. Then as if they were never there, they hopped on and rode off into the forest. The pliable shape of your avatar body was the only reminder that it all had in fact happened.

one of us taglist is not working the best right now and I have over the limit of people asking to be tagged (it says it's fifty) so, for now, I am just not going to have a taglist because I can't tag everyone and it's taking a lot of work to figure out.

#avatar #avatarimagine #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader #writing #fanfiction #neteyam imagine #avatar imagine #avatar fanfiction #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction

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hwanchaesong · 23 days

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Paradox (Enemies to Lovers) Preview

pairing: Nishimura Riki/Ni-ki X F!Reader

synopsis: Romance is poisonous, it slowly kills you with fantasies, it removes the freedom of thinking for oneself. Then again, you're not one to talk when you find yourself alone with the snake himself under the stars.

word count: tba

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, warnings are tba

a/n: this is a teaser for the upcoming Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels series that i've been working on. i hope y'all look forward to it. please don't hesitate to tell me if you wanted to be added to the taglist. tysm 🩷

The deadly steel in your hand is as heavy as your breathing. One pull of the trigger and the mission that you have been preparing for all your life will finally come to an end.

All the suffering, the pain, the frustration, and the hell you've been put through will be paid by the demons themselves.

So, what's stopping you?

"I'm waiting." the rough voice halts your heart rate, muscles gone frigid while your eyes widened, seeing the man in the velvety sheets that was supposed to be asleep stood on his feet.

"Don't move, I won't hesitate to put a bullet through your skull." you warned, not once did you lower the gun in your sweaty palms, but you did took a step back when he tried to close the distance between you two.

He stayed right on his spot, until he sighed and dared to move in your direction despite your threats.

"I said-" you gasped, cutting your sentence short when he swiftly held your hand that is gripping the pistol, only then did you notice how much you were shaking yet his warm touch managed to stabilize you back on earth.

"I'm not an idiot. I knew what you were up to all along." he speaks, straightforward and firm but his gentle tone keeps on burning you, reminding you that he's much more than a revenge to you, "A random girl wouldn't come to me, Nishimura Riki, the heir of the underground, without any ulterior motives."

You managed to let out a scoff, "So you knew what you'll become of after tonight." you tried to sound emotionless, but your quivering lips betray you to no end.

His brown orbs stared right through your soul, and he gave you a light smile when he guided the muzzle right over his chest, the area where his heart beats peacefully. You slowly peered at him when he did the unexpected, the air in your lungs hitching when you saw how the moonlight bathe him in an ethereal glow.

"Remember when I told you that my fate rests in your hands." he whispers lowly, shivers running down your spine when you recollected the promises you both made while you're drowning in smoke and wine.

"Riki.."

One pull of the trigger, so close... you're so close in reaching your dreams. The herculean journey that you trudged alone, even when the soles of your feet were swollen and all your bones were broken beyond mending, the finale is nigh and only a single shot is needed for you to be finally free.

So, what the fuck is stopping you?

"I meant that." he digs the mouth of death deeper into his torso, his thumb caressing your knuckles, he leaned down and you swear you felt him leave a kiss on the crown of your head.

"If burying me six feet under will make you float above the skies then so be it."

taglist

@lilyuwon @ramenoil @itjengirl

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tackypies · 2 months

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look me in the eyes. edmond dantes was summoned by goetia for the purpose of cursing guda. he was bound to their soul and meant to destroy them like a poison, but what he chose to do was sacrifice parts of himself in order to sustain and protect them. he chose love over hate every single time. he chose to love. do you understand me. he was a series of pages ripped from a book, encompassing only his tragedy and none of his redemption, he was handpicked to be at the lowest years of his life where he hated the world and craved destruction and blood, the promise of his redemption ever in his periphery yet never attainable, and still he chose love without ever expecting it, without allowing himself to want it. all he asks for is for his disappearance to mean something - to be granted rest. my god!!!!!!!!

#fgo #fate grand order #edmond dantes #im gonna be sick im gonna hauve couvid

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deliciousbasementtrash · 8 months

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Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. On your way home from work, you encounter an injured superhero. You have seen his secret identity. Now what will he do about it?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x reader, (maybe a why choose with Dick Grayson as well?? Idk tell me what you guys want)

Warning: Adult language, verbal abuse, parental abuse, severe injuries

Word Count: 1.5k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Part One: Is that Trash or a Man?

There is calm chaos when working in the emergency room. You get used to the cacophony of beeps and alarms. Of moans, crying, screaming, and arguing. You get used to being on your feet all day and moving from task to task, from patient to patient. You get used to it because there is no other option. People need care and they need it now. You either step the fuck up or switch to a different unit. Or move to a calmer, cleaner, less crime-filled city. Calm wasn’t really my vibe. Maybe externally that’s what I portrayed, but internally my mind craves the chaos of the ER. It craves the chaos of Gotham. And the Gotham ER was an entirely different beast.

I finished nursing school about a year ago. A lot of my peers used it as an out. They went to more stable cities in New Jersey that had better funding and less chance of getting knifed in the staff parking lot. I was one of the only ones that stayed. I definitely was the only one that worked in the hospital. I couldn’t deny the demand for nurses was high, and the paychecks were even higher at Gotham General Hospital. And maybe some small pathetic part of my brain wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted Gotham to be a better place. Every day I worked. I convinced myself that how matter how shitty it got; I was making a difference. Even if it was only a handful of people in the grand scheme of things.

I could convince myself that I mattered. That everyone mattered. That these people deserve more. They deserve better; they deserve a second, third, fourth, fifth chance. If I stopped trying to convince myself of that I know I would give up entirely. Seeing gunshot wounds, stabbings, overdoses, mutilations, burns, crushings, poisonings, beatings, day after day is a lot like erosion of the soul. Little by little it wears you down. You become jaded and jagged with time. Empathy becomes blame. Hope becomes desolate. Love becomes anger. The only thing you can do is gaslight yourself into thinking you’re making a big enough difference. That you’re helping enough people. After all, the brain can’t tell the difference between truth and irony. You tell yourself so many lies, you can start to believe them, right?

Gotham City: 16 Years Ago

“Dad, when is mom coming home?” My small voice asked. I was scared to make Dad yell at me again. I didn’t like it when I made him yell.

“She’s got stage four fucking cancer she is coming out of the hospital in a body bag, y/n.”

I fought the tears that burned behind my eyes. Dad would get even angrier if he saw them. It was stupid of me to even ask.

I felt him turn to me. His eyes bored into my skull. Quickly, I looked down at his feet.

“Have you tried again?” He asked. His tone clipped. I knew he expected a timely answer.

Involuntarily, my fingers ruthlessly picked the skin around my nails. The sting was grounding in a way.

“No, sir. Well yes, I have tried, but I… I failed,” the last word felt like a hot poker being placed through my throat.

“Look at me.” Breathing became difficult, but I looked up at my father. He leaned his face close to mine. I could smell Jack wafting off him. “What good are you? What good is having healing powers if you can’t heal your sick mother?”

The simple hangnail became a chunk of missing skin. I lowered my head. Fighting back tears.

“Sir,” my traitorous voice wobbled as I tried not to cry, “I keep trying but… I don’t think my power is that strong. I can close cuts, fix broken bones, but tumors are… hard.”

My father tilted his head back and laughed. Hard. He grabbed my wrist as quickly as a viper, “If I could put your mother’s cancer in you I would. You’re about as useful as a wet match in a dark cave.”

I couldn’t help the tears that fell down my cheek. It felt like I was involuntarily waving a white flag.

Gotham City: Present Day

I had to be stealthy with my gift. I couldn’t heal every one of the patients to full health right away. That would lead to suspicion. But if I could help it I could stop the major damage. I would heal internal organs. Replenish blood. Reduce ten fractures to two or one. It all depended on timing and if people were watching me.

I was walking home from the hospital. I only lived about three blocks away. I got off shift at around 20:49. I didn’t start my next stretch for another three days. And I was milking my walk home. Stopping to smell the roses or whatever. That is normally not a very smart thing to do in Gotham at night, especially as a woman. But part of me didn’t care.

Earlier, I looked at my phone and frowned when I realized the date.

Thursday, May 19th.

My mom died 16 years ago today. Waves of emotion flooded my senses. Anger at myself for not remembering. Sadness that she had been gone more of my life than she had been in it. Restlessness for what my father might do or say. Some years he likes to reach out. Others he doesn’t. But most of all I was feeling reckless. Like I wanted someone to give me a reason. Obviously, I would only hurt someone to defend myself or others. But there was so much anger living in my body, part of me hoped some idiot would try something with me tonight.

So, I walked home. Slowly.

Normally, you keep your head down and you keep moving. You don’t look or gawk. You listen out of necessity. I was listening just because I could. It was the normal stuff. Men smoking cigarettes and catcalling. Women were offering their nightly services. Random people either praising or damning superheroes. Drug deals. Graffiti artists. Fights. And of course, people who simply were walking home from work. Gotham had range and was never boring that’s for sure.

But something picked up on the very edge of my senses. Despite my better logic, I turned toward the very quiet sound. It could have just been rats, but it sounded so familiar. It sounded like a death rattle. The thing you hear just before shit hits the fan and the patient codes.

Without thinking I ran down the alley toward the sound. At first, it was nothing. Just trash and rats. But then I saw it. He almost blended perfectly in with the shiny black garbage bags. His cape was the same color but reflected the light less.

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” I walked hesitantly forward, grabbing my pepper spray just in case.

The man did not answer, he only garbled and coughed. My work brain took over my fear. Instantly I rolled the man over and began assessing him. I suppressed a gasp when I rolled him over and a familiar cowl mask came into view. It was cracked down the middle. His face was bleeding from an unknown location. His breathing was labored and staggered.

Calmly, I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against his chest.

Oh yeah. Batman was dying. He had several broken ribs. A pneumothorax. A bruised liver, kidney, and pancreas. His cardiac output was a joke. The man had no perfusion.

I didn’t think. I didn’t hold back like I do at the hospital. I just healed. And healed. And healed. I healed him down to his bone-on-bone knees, sprained ankle, and fractured wrist.

God, this guy had a lot of injuries.

I was close to passing out by the time I was done. I had done too much, ate, and slept too little. My powers were demanding when it came to energy. If I didn’t eat or sleep within 30 minutes I was about to pass out next to bat boy himself.

I gave him one last assessment. After double-checking that he would live and that I didn’t miss anything I finally looked at his face again.

This time I gasped. Batman was the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne? I shook my head like I was clearing cobwebs. I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Much like Batman, I didn’t want people to know what I could do. The last time people knew…

Just as I turned and took a few steps I rolled my eyes at my nagging thoughts.

What if someone sees him before he wakes up?

Reaching into my tote bag I pulled out a black medical mask. I not so gracefully MacGyvered it across his exposed face so that it was covered. And with that, I made my way home.

My cat, Hashbrown, eagerly greeted me at the door. I nearly fell asleep locking it. I bent down to pick her up and gave her a kiss on her perfect little cat head. I ripped my gross work scrubs off, threw them in the wash, and crashed on the couch in my underwear before my brain could process what happened.

I healed Batman.

I healed… Bruce Wayne?

Part Two, Part Three

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doberbutts · 2 years

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Back before Rowling outed herself as a great big TERF and HP became a taboo subject I literally had a [former] friend berate me for several days and then deliberately pick fights about it weeks and months later because I'd let slip that my favorite HP character was Snape. Not because I thought he was innocent or because I wouldn't acknowledge the bad things he's done, but because I like tortured souls and morally gray characters and bad victims and angsty sad boys with tragic pasts. And also Alan Rickman's a snack.

At some point they told me that they just couldn't see themselves being friends with someone who saw any value in the character whatsoever, and I probably should have known our friendship would take the wild downward spiral it did in the years following.

This repeated itself several times with various other media we had in common. Tony Stark. Joker. Every chance they got, they would demand I justify why I favored those characters and not the ones they preferred. Even when we agreed on characters from a specific series, they'd still pick a fight if I said literally anything remotely positive about a different character. Saying I understood where Anders was coming from, even though my choice like theirs was Fenris and I disagreed overall with Anders' methods and extreme behavior, resulted in them not speaking to me for several days and then picking fights every time I turned on my console to play.

Even mentioning my love for Tolkien turned into a fight because they felt the books were unsaveable and unsalvageable because of their lack of POC and LGBT characters (which is a critique I AGREE with) and became a "read better books" discussion.

At some point I had to be like "hey it actually kinda sucks to try to talk to you about anything I like because you're constantly negging on it, can you stop?" and even that turned into an argument because the takeaway was that I was supposed to change the things I like to be morally in line with *their values* rather than be annoyed that they were constantly needling me about how the things I enjoy make me somehow a bad person.

And that I think is why I am entirely done with this stupid fandom bullshit of people trying to assign moral value and purity politics to people enjoying characters or various pieces of media. I know the phrase "let people enjoy things" has been poisoned but also, fucking seriously, let people have their favorites without being forced to justify at every turn why they like something.

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yandere-wishes · 8 months

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𝕆𝕦𝕣 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

Summary: You try to escape from two fearsome Sith Lords. Surprisingly they take it rather well.

Author's note: This is totally getting a part 2. Or maybe a series we'll see.

Warnings: dark, absolutely no regard for the rule of two, sorta a vent fic (venting that these two are so fine and I can't get them out of my mind), slightly fluffy.

The empire's warships have a tendency to blur reality. The interiors of their large hulking exoskeletons house endless corridors and makeshift chambers. Vast, endless arrays of space. They've been optimized for housing droids, clones, and artillery. Not for escape, not for an endless search of a freedom that has long since eroded.

Calling yourself anything but desperate would be a lie. Your feet run to the chorus of your broken heartbeat. The need for freedom, the need to escape spreads through your body like a poison. You know it'll end up killing you, either from exhaustion or by their sabars. But you have to try, you have to run. Even if you've left fragments of yourself in the warm bed the three of you sleep on. Even if you forgot your heart under Anakin's pillow and your soul still lingers in Maul's warm embrace. Maybe freedom is worth cutting off pieces of yourself, if only in the hope that someday they might grow back.

There's something wrong with the corridors you're sure of it. You've never been one for directions, instead relying on the holo screens and navigation systems to lead the way. Mirror images as far as the eye can see. Identical, plain. Nothing substantial to store in your memory. There's something ironic about this situation, a punchline that doesn't quite land. You half haphazardly tug on the skirt of your nightgown, desperate for anything familiar. You're not sure why.

You remember how Anakin called you pretty this morning, still hazy, still clinging to the sensation of slumber. Perfect blue eyes too dazed to look at you. Really look at you. The chosen one gazes at your ghost, your ethos. the perfect doll he and Maul had morphed you into. Behind you

Maul pulls you to his chest. Hand running up and down her side, trying to resurrect you into his dreams. It's only when Anakin's eyes close, seeling the shimmering blue orbs, that you crawl out of bed and into the unknown.

You're lost, abandoned in absolute desolation. The marble tiles bleed frost into the soles of your feet. Somewhere in the distance, you feel a disturbance in the force. Too far away to matter, yet leaking with a potent rage that burns. It's hope you think, albeit pathetically, maybe it's better to capitulate this pointless crusade and wait for the Sith lords to find you. The crash comes just as you're about to stop. You bump into him, falling in the process. All armor and steel. The Stormtrooper's mask is off giving you a clear view of his scarred face. His eyes flash, some dreary emotion too obscure to read, he offers you a gloved hand, something human something casual.

You stare frozen.

When exactly did you stop comprehending human idiosyncrasies?

When exactly did you start reading every interaction as a threat?

He's a monster, you think, just like the ones you've been warned about. Lectured time and time again by both Anakine and Maul. Monsters pry on little girls, especially ones who wander off on their own. Monsters lurk behind unsuspecting walls, ready to pounce when their prey approaches. You wonder if, the definitive definition of "monster" could be passed on to the two Siths who call themselves your lovers.

There's blood, too crimson to be real. Metallic aromas wafted through the air. You've only now noticed how close the disturbance in the force really is. Close enough to distinguish itself. To reveal that, in actuality, it's not a disturbance at all.

It's two...

Something cold yanks at your forearm. Pulling you to your feet. for a split second, your nerves calm. The familiarity of the cybernetic arm grants you a heavy ease. Anakin pushes you over to where Maul is standing. Golden eyes burning holes through the stormtrooper's armor. 'He didn't do anything' you long to say. But the words wisely die on your tongue as Maul grips your shoulders. Anakine's saber is lit, stabbing through the soldier's armor as if it were flesh. As if killing him where as easy as killing a rogue thought. "You're quite a foolish soldier for daring to touch that which belongs to your commanders. Even more imbecilic for so much as looking at emperor Palpatine's disciple."

Maul's grip on your shoulders tightens, eyes never once leaving the bloodshed. One of his hands instinctively roams to your belly, then slides down to your thigh. Rubbing it ever so gently as his claws pierce your soft skin. You close your eyes trying to make yourself smaller. You hate how his touch grounds you. How the familiarity plucks at your heartstrings. When he touches you like this you wish you would forever rot in his arms.

"'I'm sorry" You don't know why the words come so easily. As if they've been itching to spill from your tongue. Maybe it's easier to say 'I'm sorry' rather than 'You've broken my perception of love, of reality and now I can only find comfort in your darkness.' "Hush" Maul's anger spills with every syllable. His claws dig deeper, earning him a pained hiss from his doll.

"You're not sorry, in fact, you rather enjoyed this didn't you? Running away making us chase you down, I never thought your species would enjoy being the prey so much, little one." Anakin walks over, saber seethed at his side. His every step promised pain, retribution. He's angry, furious. They both are, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, they'll end it all today.

Maul's chambers have always been a testament to Dathomir, bathed in deep scarlets and endless ebony. You wonder if he's homesick for a place he's only visited in his worst ephialtes. After the incident in the corridors, they drag you back to the Zabrak's room. Neither bothering to say a word. Merely permitting their rage to engulf you, subduing you into submission. It's an unwelcome surprise when they begin to prep for the day. Throwing on their black cloaks, prior to choosing your outfit. An abnormal affinity settles across the room. Too unnerving to go unchecked.

They dress you each morning, a ritual you think, some attestation of love that's never been quite right. Maul drapes you in velvet dresses. Each one harbors a sui generis softness that sits erroneously across your skin. Their opulent sensation only brings forth feelings of aversion and despair. Their softness an ode to your imprisonment.

the dresses come in shades of crimson, detailed sometimes in black, sometimes in gold, and sometimes in a frigid blue that sends shivers running up your spine.

Anakin fusses over your accessories, why they feel the need to dress you so extravagantly daily is beyond you -as you've come to realize many things are- On days when Anakin's hubris reaches its apex, he bathes you in gold. Astonishing glittering collars across your neck and Kuat bangles hanging from your wrists. When he's sober from his pride he chooses black diamonds. Simple and exotic. scintillate and opaque.

Allusions to the dark side.

A hidden reference that crawls inside you.

Once, back when you'd been sure defiance was still an option. Back when callow hope still dared to flow through your veins. Back when you'd been a jejune, stubborn thing. You had refused to wear one of the dresses they'd bought. Adimant in your refusal until Maul had stuck out his hand. Summoning the Force to remind you just who held the supreme authority here.

The Force had strangled you, clawing hungrily at your neck. You felt your bones caving in on themselves, watched with exacerbating hysteria as your feet abandoned the floor. He'd only released you when he was sure you were near death's adorned door. Permitting you to molder on the floor akin to a ragdoll.

Anakin had chastised you after you'd conjured enough strength to sit up, gasping greedily for air. He'd broken two fingers that day. One still harbors a small scar.

A Promise ring.

An augury.

There are days, few and far between. When they've deemed you've been behaving adequately for long enough. That they permit you the choice of which dress you'd fancy wearing for the day. It's a rare event, reserved as a special treat. You think it's their way of proposing variety, giving you the illusion of choice. Making you feel a little less smothered.

Today is not one of those days. Today, you feel them pick you apart, only to reassemble you in their image. Drowning you in extravagance. A reminder, one whose deprecating nature weaves itself within your muscles. You, little girl, are nothing more than a doll. And dolls should know their place.

No sooner do you feel the final lace fasten across your back, that Anakin is tugging you outside the door. Metal arm clasped around your forearm.

Maul follows behind molten gaze locked on your face. The hallways bend to their will as if the walls themselves quiver with their presence. You recognize this corridor, recognize the frigid forlorn.

There's something wrong with Emperor Palpatine's throne room. It's surreal, makeshift. His real throne lays somewhere cold, somewhere even his apprentices don't dare wander off to. The ironclad throne has never felt right. Never felt like it held any real power. Just terror, just dread, just hatred. But here it is in all its glory. Left to two apprentices who'd rather treat it as a toy than a sacred place.

Anakin dramatically throws himself onto the throne. One leg thrown over the armrest as he leans against the other. His other leg planted firmly on the ground. He keeps you steady on his thigh. Torturing you with his distant, disappointed look. Maul stands in front of you. His eyes liquid gold melting into you. You see the galaxy in them. Hear it whispearing secrets meant to be forgotten. It's Anakin's voice that rattles you from your disjointed thoughts.

"You caused us so much worry angel" he's being nice. You don't trust that. There's something sinister plaguing his words.

"You know Ani, she may cease escaping if you'd cease to spoil her." Maul leans down, gripping your chin and squeezing. " The brat forgets her place, merely cause you'd rather coddle her than discipline her."

Anakin glares, a shift in his eyes, blue bleeding into gold. "Hmm, Maul, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Kenobi right now."

"Why's that? Did the old fool tend to also point out your shortcomings?"

You wonder who this Kenobi is, as you watch the Siths' exchange crude childish vitriols. Maybe he'd make a better lover than the two men you have the misfortune of being adhered to.

They never could truly see just how similar they were.

Two sides of the same coin.

One born of copper, the other, black rose petals.

Subconsciously you reach out. Grasping Anakin's robotic hand, fiddling with the panel, peeling it away to gain access to the wires and circuits. You have a bad habit of ripping things open. Anakin learned this the first time he kissed you and you tried to gnaw at his chest with your nails. Not in malice, but rather to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. A raging need to open him and see just how he ticked. You'd wished to perform an autopsy on his soul. Rip him open and devour all his secrets. Back then you'd wondered if you could kiss sunrises into Anakin's eternal night. Strip him of bleak blackened skies and introduce him to stars and a moon that shines. He'd only vaguely permitted it. Opting to pluck the stars lying within you. Swiping them for steel and lava and other mundane things that fueled his incessant rage.

Anakin's head dips, lips pressing on your jugular vein. "You're ethereal" Anakin mubbles against your skin, like the dying prayer of a collapsing star. He's so pretty when he kisses your neck. Biting away pieces of you. Stealing your light for himself.

"Princess" Maul seethes venom pelting from his words. You realize you'd been ignoring him. Something he's not too fond of. "What in the stars was going through your pretty little head?"

he looks like he'd love nothing more than to wring your pretty little neck right now. "I just..." your words feel heavy. Tiny bullets polluting your tongue. It feels so cruel to say when you know just how much they love you. "I just wanted some freedom. Just a bit of space."

"Dumb little angel" Anakin chastes. You lower your head in embarrassment watching Maul kneel in front of you. He cups your cheeks, placing a soft kiss on your head. "You can never escape us beloved".

"I love you," says Anakin. All you hear is, I'll haunt you, I'll break your ribs one by one so that I may possess your heart. Maybe they mean the same thing.

"And I'm pretty sure if Maul could feel normal emotions like everyone else, then he'd love you too." You can't help but let out a giggle as Anakin throws his head back laughing. A rare melodious sound, that causes your heart to skip a beat. Maul merely rolls his eyes before pecking you on the lips.

You trace your fingers across Maul's chest, feeling the pummelling of two hearts. A double heartbeat. Two melodies entwined, You wonder who he harbors in those hearts. One for love and one for family. You nip at his bottom lip. Ushering the blood into your mouth. He tastes of Ichor and smoke. Of sadness and rage. From behind you feel Akanin bite into the hollow of your flesh. Leaving traces of himself upon your skin.

"Our pretty little problem" Anakin mumbles.

You're a problem, a vexation draped in velvet, an unsolvable equation. Trapped between a love that seethes through your body like a toxin. Engulfing you until your mind relents. Maybe it's easier this way. Easier to say 'I love you' without the double entendre.

You do love them.

A rather arduous conclusion to reach.

Maul and Anakin.

Palpatine's apprentices.

Your lovers

Yeah, that sounds about right...

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