#missunderstanding

It starts with Tuk. Everything that happens that week is because of her. The plotting, the secrecy, the strangest week of Ao’nung and Neteyam’s lives. It all starts with Tuk being bored because that’s how all their problems start really.

Despite how entertaining Awa’atlu is, Tuk eventually becomes bored of the sea and the ocean and the sand. All of it. At a certain point, she would take anything to have that same feeling she would have from home.

The forest held constant change. New places to explore, there always seemed to be something interesting to check out.  New people to learn about, newcomers that came for protection and many that came with children that would happily play with Tuk. Compared to all of that, Awa’atlu seemed more stagnant.

Tuk’s boredom is only made worse by her siblings, or the lack of them. She could always rely on them before but they’re too busy now. They spent their days learning and completing chores. Jake had been extra strict about everything as of late. Which left Tuk alone, or with the other village children, most of the time.

In the beginning, she could keep up with her siblings but once their lessons became too advanced, Tuk was delegated to the watchers that sat with the other children her age. While she likes most of them and has even become friends with a few, they like playing in the water. And Tuk can’t keep up in the water like that. Not in the way they can. She doesn’t like being left behind. So, they can’t quell the boredom that she feels.

It’s not as if she could bring up these concerns to her family. Just the hint of the word ‘bored’ came with a thousand chores. Trust her, Tuk had watched with her own eyes as Lo’ak was given a hundred things to do when he uttered that word. She didn’t dare try and recreate that moment. Watching the horror in Lo’ak’s eyes was enough for her, thank you very much.

To sum up, her siblings weren’t interesting; she didn’t want to play with the other children; she’s not allowed by herself in the water and has no interest in potentially falling victim to it; and speaking the word ‘bored’ in her home only means chores. Which only leaves the forests.

Technically, she isn’t allowed in there by herself, but the forests in Awa’atlu are nothing like the ones at home. They don’t have any big predators to avoid or really much dangerous at all. Besides a few cliffs and the tall trees, all things she’s used to, it isn’t like anything could really hurt her as long as she’s careful.

So, this is all to say on a day when she finds the chance to sneak away from her play group, Tuk’s alone, in the forest, climbing through branches. A normal day if they were back home. It’s the best. She gets to race through the treetops, her favorite activity. And gets to scare away the small, flighted creatures. The sounds they make as they’re scared are just too comical.

Though, it’s only a little bit into her adventure that she hears it. Well, it’s more of a him. Two hims.

“It’s a terrible plan is what it is!” Neteyam says, irritation leaks through his voice. Even through the dense forests, Tuk can make it out perfectly.

Peeking through the leaves and branches, Tuk can just make out Ao’nung and Neteyam on the ground of the forest talking with one another. Well, less talking and more yelling but that’s beside the point. Curiously, she listens closer, fully intending on eventually letting the two know of her presence. Of course.

“The trip back to the forest can’t be that bad, it’ll be fine,” Ao’nung argues back. He shakes his head almost dismissively at Neteyam. Tuk cringes at it. Wrong move.

Neteyam scoffs, more irritated than before. Tuk would not want to be on Ao’nung’s end of the argument. “It’s not an it, it’s a baby and a trip back like that is stressful,” he says.

Tuk’s stunned. Her ears are obviously deceiving her.

“Would you rather it be born here?” Ao’nung asks, his arms cross over his chest. “Is it really that much of a problem if they are?”

Maybe her ears aren’t deceiving her. Tuk’s jaw drops open in surprise. This definitely didn’t go with Jake’s command of them to be good and fit in. Though, maybe a baby could bridge that gap.

“I don’t know, I’m just worried,” Neteyam admits with a sigh. The irritation that was once dripping from every word now replaced with worry. “Would they even have friends?”

Friends wouldn’t be Tuk’s concern. All the children are nice on Awa’atlu. It would be the Tsahìk that she’s worried about. She’s scary.

“Do they even need friends?” Ao’nung asks, curiously. Tuk can already envision Ao’nung’s parenting. That poor baby. At least, they would have her.

“Are you even asking me that right now?” Neteyam replies, the stress in his voice palpable.

“It’s going to be ok,” Ao’nung reassures. He takes hold of Neteyam’s hands and squeezes them. “They can be friends with the ilu,” he then says with absolute sincerity.

“The ilu?!”

Tuk can’t help the laugh that escapes her at Neteyam’s reaction. Something the two na’vi below her quickly take notice of. In the hopes of not being caught, Tuk quickly sprints away across the branches. She climbs down as fast as she can from the trees and runs towards the beaches.

Her small legs carry her all the way out of the forest and accidentally into her siblings and their friends, who are standing on the edge of mangroves. She collides against Lo’ak with a dull thud to her head.

“Ow,” Tuk complains, rubbing the sore spot on her head.

Lo’ak furrows his eyebrows at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be with that kid group?” he asks. He doesn’t ask in the concerned way Neteyam would, though. He does it in his ‘you are in so much trouble’ way. And she would be. Especially, if Jake found out.

Tuk’s eyes go wide. “Uh,” she sputters, trying to think of an excuse. “Neteyam and Ao’nung are having a baby!” she blurts out. It’s the first distraction she can think of. Fairly, it’s not even a lie.

There’s a beat of silence that falls around the group before Lo’ak bursts out laughing along with Rotxo. The two laugh, practically coming to tears as Tuk stomps her feet.

 “It’s true!” Tuk tries, pouting. “I heard them talking.”

The two stop for a moment. Glance at each other. And burst out laughing once more.

“Now, Tuk even I have a hard time believing that,” Kiri tells her. She tries to look as if she’s convinced for Tuk’s sake. It doesn’t work.

“Yeah, that’s the worst lie you’ve ever come up with,” Lo’ak teases her when he finally calms down. “Even Neteyam can lie better than that,” he adds on like pouring salt into a fresh wound.

“Nuh uh!” Tuk protests. She’s better at lying than Neteyam. That’s just insulting. “It’s the truth! I heard them talking in the forest about a baby,” she pleads with Kiri to believe her. Really, she’s trying with anyone.

“What were you doing in the forest?” Kiri asks. So not the point. “You were supposed to be with that group.”

“But-” Tuk starts but she’s quickly hushed by her siblings. She tries and fails to get any words in but with Lo’ak and Kiri doing their best impressions of one of dad’s lectures, she’s condemned to silence. Such hypocrites, she thinks bitterly.

Eventually, Tsireya comes to Tuk’s rescue. “Come on, I’ll help you back to the group. I think they’re doing crafts now,” she offers. It’s not what Tuk wants but she’s obviously not getting anywhere with her siblings. “I heard you’re very good at them.”

“Go with her and actually stay this time,” Lo’ak tells her. “If dad finds out you snuck away, he won’t be happy. Especially with me.”

He won’t be happy that Neteyam and Ao’nung are having a baby, Tuk’s mind fills in as Tsireya takes her hand and leads her away.

Neteyam and Ao’nung walk side by side down the pathways. They’ve been together more and more the past weeks. Today’s no different.

They’re on the way to the ilu pens. They might be taking the long way but who’s going to judge them for that? It’s not as if either have anything better to do. All they’re doing in the water is some gathering, and it’s not even a task that’s been put on them. They’re just in search of a few things.

“I don’t think that’s right,” Neteyam argues as he walks alongside Ao’nung. “Shouldn’t the cravings be more healthy?”

“Fruit is healthy, no?” Ao’nung questions him. “I’m pretty sure it’s better than just eating nectar.”

“Maybe, but eating that much can’t be good? Can it?” Neteyam asks aloud. It’s probably a question better suited for Tsireya or the Tsahìk.

“I think you overestimate my knowledge on this,” Ao’nung simply responds which earns him a roll of Neteyam’s eyes.

Before either can continue the conversation, they’re called to from a marui. It’s not one for living; it’s a place of storage and crafting. Though, Neteyam’s never been inside.

“Ao’nung!” a na’vi woman calls him. There’s a baby clinging to her chest, wrapped in a sling.  “Will you help? Bring your friend too,” she tells them, a pleading look on her face.

Walking over, the two scan everything. Inside, there’s three others, all with young children as well. None of the babies can walk yet. Some of them crawl. Barely. Though there’s no doubt that they’d swim as well as the fish once in the water. Shattered among the people are half-finished baskets and a handful of toys that the children, not strapped down, are playing with.

“You two have perfect timing.” The woman smiles at them. “Ah, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” she announces. “My name is Yime.”

“I see you, Yime,” Neteyam responds to her, pressing his hand to his forehead in the sign. “I am Neteyam, how can we help?” he asks.

“I see you, Neteyam,” Yime says in kind before turning her attention to Ao’nung. “I like this one, very respectful, unlike some.”

“I apologize Yime,” Ao’nung quickly says after an elbow to his side from Neteyam. “I see you.” He signs the gesture as well. “In what ways, can we help?”

“If you aren’t busy, these baskets need to be finished by noon and we don’t have enough hands today,” Yime requests. “And this one is of no help. Keeps trying to eat my materials,” she says with a heavy sigh. Her baby simply babbles back to her, their hand still grasping onto a piece of the weaving.

Sparing a glance at each other, Ao’nung and Neteyam smile and quickly sit within the marui. It isn’t as if they have anything better to do with their time. Besides, maybe they’ll learn something. They do need to, after all.

“What are the baskets for?” Neteyam asks curiously, looking over the many strewn about the marui.

“They’re for the babies to rest in,” Yime explains to him. “I’m sure you had something similar?”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Neteyam looks closer to the baskets. They’re nothing like the ones he knew at home. “Ours were made with skins and stretched.”

“We make them for the new mothers as gifts, one of these may even end up going to you Ao’nung,” Yime jokes.

Walking beside Tsireya, Kiri nods along to what the tsakarem is saying. They’ve all separated into groups for the day. Lo’ak and Rotxo had some hunting activity planned and neither she nor Tsireya are fond of it and, well, she’s not sure where Ao’nung and Neteyam are. It’s not like she knows most of the time these days.

“The people that do the crafting are very kind,” Tsireya assures as she walks with Kiri. “Most of them have young children now as well,” she explains. “It’s why they’ve asked for help.”

“I’m just happy to be out of the water today,” Kiri confesses. As much as she enjoyed the sea and its creatures, something different is always welcome. “Your offer was very kind.”

“More hands make quick work,” Tsireya simply responds with a smile. “Learning can get quite repetitive,” she sympathizes. “Especially with the tasks you’ve been given.”

Kiri simply sighs. “It will be nice to do something I know.”

“I’ve heard you are very talented in it,” Tsireya says happily as they walk up to the marui.

Walking up to the marui, they’re both immediately caught by the sight of Ao’nung and Neteyam, their hands tangled into half-finished baskets as they chat with the actual weavers there.

“I don’t think we do,” Neteyam says, slowly backing away from one of the people holding a small child’s toy to him. They keep shaking it at him even as he declines and tries escaping it to no avail.

Kiri’s eyebrows furrow at it. Neteyam being attacked… with a child’s toy?

“I’m sure it isn’t needed,” Ao’nung says, doing his best to push away the toy ilu as it’s shoved to him. “We’ll have more than enough,” he tries. It doesn’t work.  

“Don’t say that. You have no idea,” one of them pokes at him with a toy in their hand. “I insist you take it.” They continue pestering Ao’nung with the small ilu. “Consider it a gift.”

“Fine, fine,” Ao’nung finally surrenders, dropping the basket he’s working on and taking the small ilu.

Tsireya and Kiri exchange a small glance. A shared thought running through their mind. Perhaps, Tuk hadn’t been so wrong. However, it’s quickly ignored. It’s ridiculous. Shouldn’t even be entertained.

“Oh! It is so nice to see you two,” Yime announces as she spots Kiri and Tsireya.

“You as well Yime,” Tsireya replies happily, not acknowledging the… situation from before. “This is Kiri, she is learning the ways.” Kiri’s almost certain that the last part is unnecessary, it isn’t like there are many forest na’vi among the Metkayina.

Yime’s face lights up as they both greet her in the traditional way. “Well, you are both welcome,” she says with a smile. “Especially if you’re this respectful.” Kiri and Tsireya ignore the way Neteyam elbows Ao’nung’s side.

“If they’re helping, do you mind if we leave?” Ao’nung asks Yime. He clutches the toy still, the source of the unspoken tension hanging between all of them.

“Ah, of course!” Yime answers him with a bright smile. “You two have done more than enough.” She reaches and takes their half-finished baskets. Kiri could definitely see the hints of Omatikaya craftsmanship in Neteyam’s and Ao’nung’s… well Ao’nung could keep practicing.

“Thank you,” Neteyam tells her gratefully. “We learned quite a bit today,” he says, bowing his head to them all in thanks.

“You are welcome back any time,” Yime says. “And keep that with you,” she tells Ao’nung. “You’ll be needing it soon.”

Kiri and Tsireya exchange a glance at the last thing. They must be mishearing things. Right? They shake off their thoughts for now. The whole situation is quickly pushed aside as they fall into the rhythm of weaving the baskets and nets, though it isn’t forgotten.

Rotxo didn’t usually venture into the forest. He never really had reason to despite it taking up most of their island. But with the mid-summer festival in the coming days, the village was in desperate need of supplies.

This would usually be a task left to the Tsahìk and Olo’eyktan’s children. However, with Tsireya and Ao’nung busy with training, the task had fallen to Rotxo as it seemed to so often these days. He knows for a fact that neither of them are actually training anything. Rotxo has eyes. However, a request directly from the Tsahìk cannot just be turned down.

Rotxo hums along to no particular tune as he makes his way through the forest, a basket in hand. He can only thank the Great Mother that there isn’t much that needs to be collected. The forest always seemed to have things going on in them, things that Rotxo wants no involvement in.

It’s barely into his journey that Rotxo’s taken off course from his task. He hasn’t even made it to the fruits he needs, when he hears it. Loud rustling. He tries to ignore, he really does. But if the rustling wants to eat him then Rotxo would sooner find it before it finds him.

He has a death grip on the knife as he steps closer to the sound, a dark pit forming in his stomach. Rotxo had never been much of a fighter but he’s no wuss and he’ll fight if he needs to.

Finally, Rotxo gathers enough courage to push the bushes back to which he’s greeted by it. Them, to be more particular. Ao’nung and Neteyam in a position that Rotxo can only describe as compromising. Neteyam groans, adjusting himself from where he’s seated on Ao’nung’s lap, and Rotxo takes that his sign to leave.

Rotxo face immediately starts burning as he slowly, ever so slowly, backs away. This is why he doesn’t come into the forest. There are things that he just doesn’t want or need to be involved in.

“Tuk was right,” Rotxo puts it plainly as he walks back to Lo’ak, the supplies he had originally gone into the forest for nowhere to be seen. He had even lost his basket at some point.

Lo’ak eyebrows furrow. “About what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rotxo says in the quietest voice. He sinks down to the beach and hugs his legs to his chest.

“What…?” Lo’ak asks. “Did you get the things or not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Rotxo says louder as he slouches harder.

Lo’ak will be the first to admit his role in all of it. In all fairness, it’s not his fault that their conversation with Tuk lingers in his mind. Especially after Rotxo’s whole thing. It took nearly an hour just to pry the fact that it was about Ao’nung and Neteyam out of him. And that was after he stopped shaking.

Maybe Lo’ak had noticed Neteyam and Ao’nung being a little touchy feely in the last weeks. Going off on their own adventures and whatnot. Them being less hateful in their remarks of the other.

He knows that it’s absurd. Lo’ak remembers many of his own ridiculous lies that he used to give when he didn’t want to get in trouble, good thing he has much better ones now. There’s just something about the sureness that Tuk held that made him second guess. Just a little.

Lo’ak’s with the group, hanging around the docks. It’s too early to retreat back to the maruis, though just late enough for the sky to darken and the luminescence to take over the lighting. Ao’nung and Neteyam are off on their own, as usual. Another reason Tuk’s claim is so prominent in his mind. It’s not like Kiri and Tsireya were helping either.

“He was holding this… child’s toy,” Tsireya explains. “And she told him that he’d need it later.” The worried expression on her clear.

“I think you two are overthinking it,” Lo’ak puts it. “There’s no way Tuk was right, she just didn’t want to get in trouble,” he argues.

Then, almost like Eywa proving him wrong, Lo’ak’s eye catches on them. Just off in the shallows, but their silhouettes are as clear as day despite the shadow of night. As the rest of the group continues their debate, Lo’ak’s gaze stays transfixed in the distance.

Ao’nung stands behind Neteyam, his hands resting on the latter’s shoulders. In horror, Lo’ak watches as Ao’nung begins moving his hands, gently rubbing them into Neteyam’s shoulders. Lo’ak’s unable to look away from the apparent train wreck before him as Neteyam leans into the touch.

“No fucking way,” Lo’ak mumbles under his breath.

Neteyam can feel the soreness creeping up on him. He’s most definitely paying the price for dragging a fish to where it doesn’t belong. A punishment straight from Eywa herself it seemed.

Even just standing in the waist deep water, Neteyam feels the aching throughout his back. As he’s before the ilu, Ao’nung by his side, Neteyam feels it the most. Taking a deep breath, he quickly hops onto the ilu. Barely, he’s able to suppress the groan that’s pushed to his throat. Punishment.

“Your form is terrible,” Ao’nung comments, a hand already on Neteyam’s thigh trying to reposition it. It doesn’t work, only drawing out a strained expression from the latter.

They’re supposed to be practicing riding with a partner though that would obviously not occur if Neteyam couldn’t even sit atop one properly. Neteyam tries, repositioning himself the best he can. It doesn’t do much.

“I’m sore,” Neteyam says with a pointed look. His form is terribly off, even he could see that under only the light of the luminescence.

To his credit, Ao’nung does look apologetic. “Come off of there,” he says.

Without any question, Neteyam slides off the ilu. He’s not able to suppress the sound that comes from him as he stands in the ocean once more. Absolutely awful. The pain only radiates stronger from his back. If he were facing Ao’nung, Neteyam would most definitely be met with a face of pity.

Without a word, Ao’nung places his hands Neteyam’s shoulders as he stands behind the other. His hands are warm compared to the breeze that floats by them.

“How will this help?” Neteyam asks. He makes no effort to push Ao’nung away.

“Have faith in me,” Ao’nung leans in close to say it. Neteyam can only imagine the rumors if anyone saw them.

Neteyam tilts his head to the side to look at Ao’nung. “What faith?”

Ao’nung’s hands begin moving in small circles on Neteyam’s shoulders. The blush creeps onto Neteyam’s face immediately; however, along with it, comes the instant relief. Slowly, and ever so gently, Ao’nung’s hands make their face down his back kneading out every knot.

Eventually, his hands settle on Neteyam’s waist. “So, is it helping?” Ao’nung asks into his ear.

“This is shameful. Utterly humiliating,” Neteyam comments, no real malice behind any of it.

Ao’nung’s hands move lower to rest on Neteyam’s hips. “Is that your way of saying it is?” Neteyam can just hear the smirk in his tone.

Neteyam sighs, trying his best to ignore the blush he knows is now creeping down his neck.

“Just relax,” Ao’nung says as his stupidly soft hands continue rubbing in circles. They move their way lower and Neteyam can’t help the way he leans into it.

"If anyone saw us like this, it would be scandalous," Neteyam says, relaxing into Ao'nung's touch.

“If anyone saw half the things we did, we would never be allowed alone together,” Ao’nung counters. He shifts his hands on Neteyam’s hips. Gently, he takes away the soreness. It takes everything in Neteyam to not completely collapse into Ao’nung.

Neteyam raises a brow. “It’s only because you’re a terrible influence.”

“Yet, I’m almost certain that it’s your fault that you feel this way at all.”

“Shush,” Neteyam simply says, finally resting into Ao’nung fully. All to the horror of those gazing at the docks.

The mid-summer festival came with mid-summer heat as Kiri had quickly learned. Jake had given them many talks about the weather being different to home, but nothing could truly describe the sweltering heat that seemed to encapsulate the island at this time. The Metkayina seemed to barely withstand it, choosing to spend their days in the water or in the maruis, hiding from the sun and its heat.

Which is why Kiri eyes her eldest brother the way she does. The first thing she notices as she approaches him is the shawl slung around Neteyam’s shoulders. Specifically, her shawl. It’s tied in the front, knotted. And rather conveniently, it covers his stomach.

She’s never been one to think or act as brash as Lo’ak or, even, Tuk. They were the first ones to jump to conclusions. If she had to listen to Lo’ak spout anymore about Ao’nung ‘feeling up’ Neteyam, she would hurt him. And she isn’t even a person for violence. But her suspicions grow by the day. And the moment.

“Is that mine?” Kiri asks. She had never minded when Neteyam took her pieces. He, at least, knows how to care for her items. At least Tuk had the excuse of being a child, Lo’ak had nothing as such.

“Yes?” Neteyam responds, his ears perk up at her question. He adjusts the basket in his hands. “Sorry, did you need it?”

“No…” Kiri replies, her eyes still searching for answers on Neteyam. She can barely stand the way her necklace clings to her in this weather. “You don’t destroy my things unlike some.”

Beside her, Lo’ak replies with his protests of it being one time. It had been one time. One time too many. She quite liked that piece of hers. Kiri makes no effort to acknowledge him.

“Are you alright?” Kiri bluntly asks when Neteyam doesn’t respond to her. “You don’t usually…” She gestures to his attire.

“I’m just cold today,” Neteyam explains. He’s never been a good liar.

Raising a brow, Kiri looks to him with suspicion. She isn’t blind to the small beads of sweat running down Neteyam’s face. “In this heat?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Neteyam says. The lie is so obvious that Kiri has to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes. She barely manages.

“Very.”

Before she can speak, Neteyam adjusts the basket once more. It’s full and obviously uncomfortable to hold. “I need to deliver these, I’ll see you two later.”

Kiri and Lo’ak are left with more questions than answers.

The more the evidence piled well the more convinced each of them became. Though their doubts were also strong, leaving them divided in their opinions. Their debates always seemed to happen during their evening lessons which is slowly losing the teaching aspect.  

“Maybe we’re all overthinking it,” Kiri suggests as they sit around each other on the beach. She refuses to jump to any conclusions.

“Maybe you’re in denial,” Lo’ak counters.

Kiri rolls her eyes, as if that wasn’t what Lo’ak was arguing a mere days ago. "You seem very sure for someone who was calling Tuk worse at lying than Neteyam a few days ago.”

“Well, I saw the evidence.”

“Them acting funny is barely evidence!”

“Guys, quiet!” Rotxo quickly hushes them.

“Rotxo, this isn’t the time-” Lo’ak swiftly cutoff with Rotxo gesture to the beach.

Just a little farther in the distance they all clearly see Ao’nung and Neteyam. Specifically, Ao’nung’s hand resting atop Neteyam’s stomach.

“See, evidence,” Lo’ak says with a smugness that, if Kiri were someone to be for violence, would have her throwing a few.

The roll that would usually befall Kiri’s eyes is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, Lo’ak is right. A strange, strange, thought comes to her mind. The ‘evidence’ did seem to pile by the day. “Great Mother have mercy,” the prayer falls easily from her lips.

The others don’t take much notice, too caught up in their own confusion.

It should be known that Tsireya is a terrible liar. Lo’ak didn’t even know worse liars than Neteyam existed. She just can’t. Whether it’s her training or herself, it doesn’t matter. She’s just never been good at it. Granted, she’s never had reason to lie. Or hide the truth of anything.

It doesn’t help that she panics. Just slightly.

“Tsireya,” Neteyam says happily as he walks to her as she’s along the beach. Tsireya’s not doing much, just finishing up her outfit for the festival “I’ve been looking for you.”

Tsireya promptly looks up to Neteyam, leaving her work to the side. “Oh, did you need something?” she asks.

“Just a question, I’ve been trying to find a fruit similar to one we had in the forest,” Neteyam explains. “It’s been so difficult though, everything I’ve tried just isn’t the same. I know our fruits can be different…” He trails off.

Tsireya eyes widen at it. “Of course,” she says, trying her best to calm the nerves building. “Is this a… craving of yours?” she hesitantly asks, carefully dancing around the true wording.

Neteyam’s brows furrow. “I guess?” he answers. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Tsireya says, a little too quickly, a blush making its way over her face. She would give it all away if she weren’t careful. She breathes. “Just curious is all.”

Neteyam luckily takes no note of it and instead smiles at her. “Yeah, sorry, it’s a strange request,” Neteyam admits with a small laugh. “I remember it being sour…” he continues on, describing a rather strange fruit, just as he had said.

“Oh, there are quite a few plants as such. I can gather a few and bring them to you.”

“Are you sure? If you just told me where-”

“I’m sure! You’re…” Tsireya trails off, lost for what to say. “…busy,” she eventually settles on. She’s definitely getting better at this.

“Uh, thanks? I mean I’m mostly free for the day-”

“It’s fine!” Tsireya quickly cuts him off. What kind of a tsakarem would allow someone in that condition to gather? “I think Ao’nung actually needs help, he’s by the docks.”

“Ok?” Neteyam tells her, his brows furrowed. “Thank you!” he calls out as Tsireya’s already walking away. “I think?”

“Your sister is acting weird,” Neteyam announces as he approaches Ao’nung on the docks. The latter is alone, gutting fish.

“What she did she do now?” Ao’nung looks up.

Neteyam’s not even sure how to begin to explain.

With the festival on the horizon, there are none more busy than the Sully children, the newest to the village and those with the most to learn, and thus their teachers. Most of it was preparations, something that no one wants to partake in. It’s dull, a menial task.

Today, they’re preparing the ingredients for the meal. Scattered together within one of the communal maruis, they each work on their own tasks as they ever so slowly complete them. Though as it always it, it’s never that straightforward.

Ao’nung holds one of the vegetables he’s preparing out to Neteyam. Almost immediately, the latter gags at the smell. Neteyam pushes Ao’nung away, trying his best to ignore the feeling that grabs at the back of his throat.

“Get it away,” Neteyam pleads as a hand comes to cover his mouth in the hopes of preserving any sort of dignity that he has left. It’s not like he had much to preserve.

Ao’nung simply responds with a laugh, pulling the vegetable away from Neteyam. “Wow, I can’t believe your weakness has been a vegetable this whole time.” He waves it by Neteyam again.  

“Shut it, skxáwng,” Neteyam replies. He shoves Ao’nung’s arm away.

The two are cut off with Rotxo hitting the back of Ao’nung’s head which comes with a loud, and scolding, “Ao’nung!” His brows furrow as he looks at the other with disappointment. “What are you doing?” he questions in a tone that Ao’nung had never heard before.

“What? I’m just teasing him, it’s all in good spirits.” Ao’nung holds his hands, and vegetable, up in surrender. Confused, he glances around the marui to all of the other upset faces.

Kiri clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Clueless,” she mutters under her breath as she makes her way to Neteyam’s side.

Before Kiri can be beside him, Tsireya has already made her way there. Concern traces her features as she drops to his side. “Neteyam!” Tsireya all but yells, looking him over. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine?” Neteyam answers, tilting his head to the side. “It was just the smell of the thing. It bothers me is all.” He tries waving her and Kiri off but the two keep scanning him, almost expecting an injury.

“How long has the nausea been happening? Have you been taking anything for it? Do you need anything?” The questions come pouring out of Tsireya faster than Neteyam can even register and, much less, answer them. Kiri poking and prodding at him certainly doesn’t help.

“Uh,” Neteyam stumbles over his words, too stunned to even begin to organize his thoughts on all of the questions she’s given. “I’m not sure?” Kiri pokes at his rib. “Kiri! I’m fine, really!” His attempts at escaping their exam are unsuccessful.

Then, in horror, they watch as Lo’ak takes the basket of vegetables that Ao’nung had prepared and throws it out of the marui window. Basket and all. Into the ocean.

For a moment, they all sit in silence. All of them staring out the window.

Suddenly Ao’nung’s on his feet. “What was that?!” Ao’nung speaks up first, going to confront Lo’ak. “I just spent like an hour cutting those up! It wasn’t meant of the fishes,” he angrily yells at the other.

Lo’ak rolls his eyes, pushing Ao’nung away. “It was making Neteyam nauseous!” he argues. Ao’nung doesn’t acknowledge the triumphant ‘yeah’ that Rotxo gives.

“I don’t think throwing the whole basket away was the solution,” Neteyam says, pushing himself away from Kiri and Tsireya who had returned to fussing.

“Well, I wouldn’t have needed to do that if Ao’nung actually stepped in,” Lo’ak tells, waving off Neteyam’s concerns. He glares at Ao’nung.

Furrowing his brows, Ao’nung’s face twists from anger to confusion. “Why should I have been the one to throw the basket into the ocean?” he questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because Neteyam is nauseous!” Lo’ak repeats as if it answers anything.

Neteyam rubs his temples, trying to qualm the headache he knows will appear. “I don’t think it’s that big of deal,” he mutters into the silence.

“Not a big deal?” Lo’ak starts, only to be cut off by Kiri hitting his shoulder.

Kiri clears her throat while pointedly looking at Lo’ak, shutting him up. Lo’ak rolls his eyes in return as if she hadn’t been fussing over him just a second ago. “I’m sure that Neteyam can decide it for himself,” she says, finally leaving Neteyam alone.

“… ok,” Neteyam eventually states. “Seeing as I’m fine, I’m going to go help Ao’nung find something else for the festival,” he announces, learning no room for the others to interject as he stands. In the distance the basket bobs in the waves.

Scowling at Lo’ak, Ao’nung goes to stand beside Neteyam. “I’ll go with you, all of you can continue chucking my hard work out of the window,” he says. The basket drifts further away.

A beat of silence passes over those left in the marui. Their eyes follow the two (couple!) as they walk out of sight.

“Do you think we overreacted?” Tsireya asks in a quiet voice when Ao’nung and Neteyam are no longer close enough to hear.

“No, your brother was being an ass to Neteyam,” Kiri speak first. “Can’t believe he would treat his mate like that.”

“Mate?” Rotxo questions. “You really think so?”

“Do you think Neteyam would have a child someone who isn’t his mate?” Kiri asks in return.

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Lo’ak replies, answering for all of them.

“They called a meeting tonight between all of our parents,” Tsireya announces as greets the group. “I heard it from my mother this morning.”

It’s vague yet each of them knows exactly who she talks of. It’s even more evident with their lack of presence during this lesson.

“Does she know what it’s about?” Rotxo asks.

“I think the whole village would know if she knew,” Lo’ak answers. “How mad do you think she’s going to be when she finds out her first born is having a demon child?”

Tsireya hits his shoulder. “Lo’ak,” she scolds. “Don’t say that.”

Lo’ak holds his arms up in surrender, a gesture that Kiri rolls her eyes at. “I’m just saying if it comes out with four fingers, I want to be there when she sees.”

“Lo’ak! It’s not an it, it’s a baby,” Tuk yells at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lo’ak quickly waves off her concerns.

“Are we invited?” Kiri asks, pointedly ignoring Lo’ak’s antics.

Lo’ak scoffs. “What are they going to do? Stop us?”

Walking into the marui, Neteyam and Ao’nung can immediately sense the confusion in the air. They had called the gathering between them and their parents rather hastily with no explanation.

“I apologize for such a rushed meeting,” Neteyam begins with as he addresses each of them.

“It’s no worries, Neteyam,” Tonowari reassures him. “The matter seemed important.”

“It is and rather time sensitive.”

“Wait!” Lo’ak announces as the group stumbles into the marui. Perhaps, it wasn’t a good idea to walk in all at once.

“We should have just gone in one-by-one,” Kiri complains in a mumble. Rotxo stays silent but helps Kiri to her feet.

“Shush!” Tuk yells at her, her finger pressed to her mouth as she quiets her sister.  

“You can’t be mad at them,” Tsireya speaks out, her voice soft and ears flat to her head. It would almost be sweet if Neteyam and Ao’nung knew what they were talking about.

“Yeah! They’re just following your examples,” Lo’ak accusingly says to Jake.

Jake raises a brow. “Excuse me?”

“What is the meaning of this?” Ronal asks, the irritation palpable in her voice. “Can you all not see that we are in the middle of something?”

“It’s not Neteyam’s fault!” Lo’ak argues without listening. “It’s Ao’nung’s-” he’s cut off by an elbow from Tsireya.

Tonowari has his brows furrowed. “What is this about?”

“Neteyam’s pregnant!” Tuk announces without missing a beat. “And it’s Ao’nung’s baby.”

The marui becomes silent in an instant, so silent that the sound of a feather falling to the ground could be heard. Then it erupts all at once.

“I’m what!?” Neteyam questions his siblings, the confusion on his face making all of them rethink every decision. Small doubts begin forming in their minds, perhaps they should have gathered more evidence before intruding.

“Are you!?” Ao’nung asks, his voice too high pitched. Any other day, Lo’ak would find it incredibly amusing. He does, of course, though it’s vastly outshined by fear that strikes in him at the look Neteyam gives him.

“Wouldn’t you know!?” Neteyam asks the other in return. “We aren’t… haven’t…” he stutters his way through the explanation. He resorts to staring a hole into the woven floor of the marui, hoping for one to actually form and allow the ocean to take him away as it did the basket.

Their questions of each other go unheard as the Tsahìk steps towards Ao’nung. “Is this why you have called us here?” Ronal practically shouts at her first born. The hairs on the back of Tsireya’s neck stand straight up, her mother always such a tone for the worst of offenses.

“A child is a great responsibility, and you have…” Jake doesn’t finish his sentence before huffing. His scowls, his ears folding to his head, and his eyes crinkle at the edges as they also do when he’s mad.

“Unmated, unmarried,” Neytiri takes over from Jake. “Neither of you have even completed your rites here.” If Neteyam was with child, he would be terrified. He is terrified despite the lack of child.

Tonowari stands firm in his place, the wrinkles morning along his brow the only sign of his anger. “My son you have disrespected our name, our clan-”

Neteyam cuts off the Olo’eyktan before he can continue. “I’m not pregnant!” he shouts, cutting through the noise in the marui. It brings silence over the room once again. “I don’t know where you’ve heard this but it’s not true.”

“Heard? We saw,” Lo’ak proudly announces.

His brows furrowed, Neteyam looks down at his stomach. “Saw what?!”

“You and Ao’nung!” Lo’ak tells him, explaining nothing.

“How am I involved?” Ao’nung asks, his voice finally returning to normal.

“You were touching Neteyam and… and…” Lo’ak trails off.

If looks could kill, Neteyam would be an only sibling. “… Our training?”

Oh. They fucked up.

In some sad attempt to salvage what little they have left, Lo’ak goes back to the root of the whole issue. “Well, Tuk heard!” Not his best moment to stick the blame on the seven-year-old.

“Heard what?” Ao’nung asks.

“That you and Neteyam were having a baby!” Tuk replies.

Neteyam stares at his youngest sister in disbelief. “No?”

“But the shawl you wear to cover your stomach..?” Tsireya questions quietly.

“Ao’nung pulled me out of a tree!” Neteyam quickly corrects. His blush deepens as he shrugs off the garment. “It’s for the scratches.” Long white lines decorate Neteyam’s back.

“You’re injured?” Neytiri asks. They had almost forgotten she was here. That they were all here.

“It’s healed,” Neteyam tries waving off her concern. However, he knows he won’t be getting out of her checking him over for the rest of the night. “How far along did you even thing I was that I would need a shawl to cover?”

“You all haven’t even been on Awa’atlu for long,” Ao’nung comments.

“Have we not been shamed enough?” Kiri says with a roll of her eyes. “A few weeks? Months? What do we even know about any of this?”

“Tsireya is tsakarem.”

“Oh, Great Mother forgive us for such a misunderstanding,” Tsireya mutters, her hand covering the embarrassment on her face.

“What even drove you to this conclusion?”

“You and Ao’nung were talking in the forest,” Tuk tells. “About a baby. And it being friends with an ilu.”

“Hona!” Neteyam practically yells in a desperate attempt to preserve any semblance of dignity he still has. “My ikran, Hona, is with child. The reason we asked for you presence here today.”

“Oh.”

“You really believed the word of a seven-year-old?” Ao’nung pokes at Lo’ak.

“We can finish this conversation in the morning,” Jake announces for the marui. “And Hona’s child being friends with the ilu wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“Jake,” and “Dad,” sound off simultaneously from Neytiri and Neteyam.

They’re all allowed to leave once their parents are satisfied that none of the claims are true. Right as the small group walks out of the marui, Neteyam, still fuming, turns to his siblings.  

“I’m giving you five seconds,” Neteyam says, taking a deep breath. “Five.”

Lo’ak’s eyes widen. “Just me or…?” Vaguely, he gestures to Tuk and Kiri.

“Four.”

Lo’ak freezes, the expression on his brother’s face sends fear straight to his core. “Is that a yes?”

“Three.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” Lo’ak tries pleading. It’s needless, there is nothing for him to do.

“Two.”

In a flash, Lo’ak sweeps up Tuk and bolts for the beach to the laughter of the others.

Neteyam takes off a second after, making Lo’ak the envy of no one.

“If Neteyam really isn’t then why was Yime giving you two that toy?” Tsireya questions, her brows furrowed.

“She wanted to give it to mom and then Tuk,” Ao’nung explains. “We both refused, but she is very convincing.”

“Wait,” Rotxo suddenly says. “What were you guys doing in the forest then?”

Ao’nung’s face immediately goes pink. “I fell out of the tree,” he mumbles.

In the distance, Lo’ak yells out, “I’m sorry but you would have thought so too if you saw what we did.” He runs in a circle, Tuk giggling in his arms, as Neteyam’s hot on his tail.

“I’m going to pluck your eyes from your skull!”

Days prior…

“Yime,” Ao’nung protests. “My mother has no need for more toys.” He tries to push away the small ilu.

Yime instead turns her attention to Neteyam. “Don’t you have a young one in your family?” she questions.

“Ah, Tuk has grown a little too much for it I think,” Neteyam tries to decline as well.

“You never know,” another one of the weavers says. “Your family might need it.”

“I don’t think we do,” Neteyam says, slowly backing away from one of the people holding a small child’s toy to him. They keep shaking it at him even as he declines and tries escaping it to no avail.

Neteyam hops up branch after branch, muscle memory making ease of it all. “Keep up!” he yells, looking back to where Ao’nung is.

“Is this punishment for making fun of you back then?” Ao’nung asks, panting. He tries his best not to look down towards the ground. The ground that’s so far from them.

“We’re not even that high up,” Neteyam says with a roll of his eyes. “You’re not a good climber, maybe good at climbing through the reefs but…” Neteyam trails off as he laughs at the look on Ao’nung’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, no need to tell me again,” Ao’nung complains.

However, just as the two fall into rhythm, carefully making their way higher and higher off the ground, a branch snaps. Neteyam’s only barely able to look back before he feels himself get pulled down. He struggles to get Ao’nung’s hand to release his ankle but that only results in them tumbling down quicker.

Unluckily for Neteyam, he’s dragged down through the branches and trees. His back becoming completely marked. It’s not a long fall, he’s fallen farther. However, there’s not much to break their fall besides the brittle branches and sparse leaf.

Luckily for Neteyam, he isn’t the first to hit the ground. Unluckily for Ao’nung, he is the first to the ground, followed closely by Neteyam. Right atop him.

“You’re heavier than you look, forest boy,” Ao’nung groans as he attempts to get up. His only saving grace is the fact they’ve landed upon some particularly soft foliage. Soft enough that neither are too greatly injured.

Neteyam curses as he tries getting up and off of Ao’nung, he can already feel the scratches on his back. “Are you ok?” he asks, out of breath and wincing at his own wounds.

“Are you?” Ao’nung asks in return which garners him no answer.

“We should… get up,” Neteyam says.

“You sound injured.”

“I’m not, you’re just bone-y,” Neteyam complains, groaning and wincing in ways that do sound convincing.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll land on you next time,” Ao’nung says. He is faring better than Neteyam. His land was pretty soft. If only he wouldn’t have a Neteyam sized bruise on him for the next week.

Neteyam shakes his head and ignores Ao’nung’s comment. “Come on.”

“Does this mean our fruit search is over?” Ao’nung asks, his eyes looking over Neteyam once more with genuine worry. He isn’t one to give up and with everything, well, it’s concerning.

“I think it might be,” Neteyam groans.

Despite their months of training at this point, they each still had stills they had to work on. For Lo’ak, it was still ilu riding. For Tuk, she still had issues staying underwater for long periods of time. For Kiri, well, Kiri had none because she’s… herself. For Neteyam it’s still his breathing. It’s fine, enough to get by, but not good.

“Stop,” Ao’nung calls to him.

Immediately, Neteyam pauses. “What did I do now?”

“What is your stomach doing?”

“Breathing?” Neteyam answers, unamused.

“Hold still.”

Before Neteyam can even react, Ao’nung’s hand is on his stomach, measuring his breaths. “This is so unnecessary. You’re just using this as an excuse to touch me.”

“So, what if I am?”

Neteyam doesn’t respond.

“Close your eyes, focus on your breathing.” It’s only a few moments later that Ao’nung announces, “Your breathing is terrible, I thought I taught you something.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Neteyam complains, pushing his hand away.

Just like the first time you had wrapped your arms around him in the unexpected gesture of comfort Astarion found himself once again hesitantly wrapping his arms around you, his touch as light as possibly could be as he placed one hand on the small of your back and the other between your shoulder blades. Despite his confusion Astarion found himself sinking into your hold with a sigh, his eyes falling shut as he let the side of his head rest against yours. It was strange, how comfortable he felt within your arms, even now when he knew it would most likely be the last time he would get to have this. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his neck, breath warm and sending a shiver down his spine. Astarion tightened his hold on you, pulling you as close into his embrace as he could. He doesn’t want this to end because despite his best intentions he had gotten rather attached to you and yet he knows it must, for his own sake at the very least. “Come now darling, there is nothing for you to apologies for,” Astarion reassures you, his voice surprisingly soft and steady. That had been the easy part though and he needs to force the next part out, the words feeling like led in his mouth and tasting just as bitter. “If you wish to take Gale as a lover then who am I to deny you that.” He sounds just as heartbroken as he feels, his fingers curling into the fabric of your blouse like he can somehow keep you there with him despite the fact he had just told you he wouldn’t stop you from pursuing the wizard.   

“WHAT!” you exclaim loudly, jerking back out of his hold and looking at him like he had gone completely insane. Astarion stumbled back at the sudden movement, his arms thrown wide to avoid hurting you as you scrambled to put some distance between the two of you. “What?” he asked in confusion, “What do you mean what?” He didn’t understand what in the hells was happening and your clear shock and what possibly could be horror was not helping things. His head hurt, brows furrowing as he tried to figure out what in the nine hells you wanted from him. He had told you it was fine for you to take the wizard into you bed despite how sick it had made him feel to utter such words, had practically absolved you of any guilt you might feel about the whole mess and yet here you were acting like he was the one sprouting utter nonsense. He was quickly running out of graciousness and if you didn’t scurry on back to camp and Gale soon Astarion didn’t think he would be able to keep himself from saying something truly awful that would put an end to whatever semblance of friendship he might have been able to salvage from this mess. 

“You,” you accused, point your finger at him, “you said I could take Gale as a lover.” Astarion blinked stupidly at you, unsure of why you seemed so offended. “Well yes darling, that tends to be what happens when two people want to sleep together.” He spoke to you like you were an idiot, voice condescending as he relaxed into a more casually guarded stance. Your eyes widened at his words, your mouth opening and closing silently like a fish floundering on the fishmonger's slab. Astarion smirked slightly at the comparison, letting out a small huff of amusement as he imagined you flopping around like a fish desperate to get back to the water. His small moment of amusement was short lived though as it seemed to be the thing to kick start your brain again because the next thing he knew you were shouting at him like he wasn’t less than a foot away from you, your cheeks red with anger and fists curled tightly at your sides. “I do not want to sleep with Gale.” 

He should be worried, should try to de-escalate the situation because he had never seen you quite so angry before but Astarion wasn’t known for being level headed, nor for doing the proper thing. Plus, he found your anger somewhat thrilling, his cold dead heart fluttering slightly now your attention was firmly fixed on him. “Of course you do,” Astarion scoffed, rolling his eyes at your adamant refusal to admit it. Hoping his behaviour would fan the flames of your anger. “No need to deny it darling.” Your scowl deepened, clench fists tightening and eyes practically glowing with your anger as you forced out your next words through clenched teeth. “Out of the two of us I think I would be the one to know who I want to bed.”  

Your insistent denial of what he had seen with his own eyes had any enjoyment he was getting out of this back and forth drying up, his own anger bubbling up in a hot and agitated mix that left him practically snarling at you like some sort of animal. Why were you making this so unnecessarily difficult? Astarion wanted this to be over and done with already so he could go drown his sorrows in the neck of some wild beast that took more than quick reflexes to take down. Just, why couldn’t you do what he wanted you to for once and let him suffer in peace? “If you don’t want to be his lover then why have you been spending so much time with him then?” It was his turn to accuse you now, unable to keep the sneer out of his voice as he practically spat the word lover at you like it was bitter poison on his tongue.  

As soon as the words are out of his mouth Astarion wants to take them back. Not because he doesn’t mean them but because he had never wanted it to be so blindingly obvious that your little flirtations with Gale had affected him so deeply. It was an admission of weakness, a weakness that Astarion had never wanted to fall prey to. Had never wanted anyone to know existed, especially you. He should have known, this was you after all and despite every wall he had built and casually callous comment he had thrown out you had wormed your way into his heart, burrowing under his ribs and leaving him weak to every last morsel of your affection he could get. You had completely ruined him and he had let you because he had wanted you to see him for who he was and not some pathetic hollow shell of a man, good for nothing but a quick fuck and a beating. He truly was a pathetic excuse of a man.  

You’re anger seemed to melt under his hash glair, instead looking at him like he’s lost his mind. Like he’s the one acting crazy and irrational when clearly, you’re the one who is suffering from some sort of brain damage brought on by the bloody worm living free of charge in your head. “Because he’s my friend Astarion,” you insisted, sounding exasperated yet honest and still Astarion didn’t believe you. He couldn’t believe you because it all just sounded like excuses now. Little lies to sooth his pain when the truth would have hurt far less. “Oh please,” Astarion scoffed, “no one would willingly subject themselves to his dull and fanciful drivel if they weren’t hoping to end up under him.” He certainly wouldn’t. Had in fact had to stop himself on several occasions from stuffing a sock in the other man's mouth just to get him to be quiet for more than five seconds. He highly doubted that you, with some form of intellect, would subject yourself to such drivel if you weren’t expecting to get something more satisfying out of it.  

Your eyes narrowed, jaw visibly clenching as you folded your arms defensively across your chest. “I like his stores, they’re stupid and help distract from this shit show we’ve ended up in.” You tilted your chin up slightly, eyes glinting with conviction and challenge, like you were daring him to prove otherwise. Normally Astarion would find your confidence and unwavering conviction rather charming. He would take grate delight in watching whoever you were focused on at the moment squirm and fold under your hard gaze but normally he wasn’t the one caught in it. Normally he wasn’t falling apart at the seams and rapidly losing grasp of what was going on. “Really darling?” Astarion scoffed, “Lying isn’t very becoming.” 

That does the trick, Astarion practically able to taste your anger as it comes rushing back into focus. “I’m not lying you dense idiot!” Astarion gasped in indignation, a scathing comeback already on the top of his tongue but you cut him off, your voice raised and full of anger that Astarion was quickly becoming familiar with. “Why in the hells would I want another lover when I’m already in love with you?” 

Everything goes silence, Astarion’s eyes wide as your words settle heavily in the space between you. He can see the realisation dawn on you as you realise what you have just admitted to. Can see the panic fill your eyes and your fight or flight instincts beginning to kick in. You hadn’t meant to say it and yet you had, those deceptively simple little words taking shape and shifting reality to accommodate them. You loved him.  

Naturally Astarion panics. It’s to much, to soon. To frustratingly perfect because this was exactly what he had planned to happen from the moment he had decided to join your little ragtag group of misfits and weirdos. He had wanted you to fall for him. Had wanted you to love him enough that you would protect him, fight for him, kill for him even but now that it’s happened, that he’s gotten what he wanted he wants you to take it back. You couldn’t possibly love him, not truly. How could anyone ever love him when he was nothing more than a broken and battered puppet with its strings cut, blood stained and hollow. And yet there is a spark of something behind his ribs, embers of something long forgotten glowing bright once more.  

“What?” He manages to croak out, his eyes wide and filled with shock. It’s a hollow victory, one that leaves him feeling sick. “Nothing.” You’re quick to dismiss it, attempting to brush it away and hide it like it’s something to be ashamed of and Astarion wishes it was that simple, but he didn’t think he would ever be able to forget the way your eyes had burned with anger and annoyance, your voice loud enough to reach the gods as you had shouted your confession at him. “No, you said…you’d said that you…” He can’t quite get the words out, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth and his mind to scrambled to make sense of what was going on. “No, I didn’t.” Astarion narrowed his eyes at you. Fine, if you wanted to be as stubborn as a mule about it then two could play at that game. “Yes, you did,” he said in the same matter-of-fact tone as you had, taking a probably unacceptable amount of joy in watching your eye twitch slightly. 

His sense of victory is short lived as you seem to deflate, your shoulders slumping as you look away from him. “Why does it even matter if I did?” you asked though Astarion thinks it’s supposed to be rhetorical, your voice small and broken sounding as you finally turned away from him. “You clearly don’t care, or you wouldn’t be trying to palm me off on to Gale.” That’s not true, not in the slightest. Astarion doesn’t want you anywhere near Gale. Would be incredibly happy if you forgot the blasted man even existed, even happier in-fact if you let him push the dull man off the next cliff you passed. But you had been interested in the wizard, practically making heart eyes at him every time he came sniffing around. Or at least that was what Astarion had thought you wanted. He had thought that you were seeking physical comfort elsewhere when he couldn’t provide it, searching for a connection that went beyond intelligent conversation and quick whit. So, he had done the right thing, planning on letting you go with minimal fuss in an attempt to lessen your guilt and ease his own pain but nothing with you ever went the way he wanted it to.  

He’s the one left floundering this time, suddenly unsure of what he thought he knew. The guilt he feels doesn’t help matters, sitting heavily in his stomach and making him feel sick. “I am not…” Astarion starts to protest but you either don’t hear him or don’t care, cutting him off before he can finish. “I just, you could have just said if you weren’t interested anymore.” You turn back to look at him, eyes a stormy mix of anger, pain and regret that cut through Astarion’s cold dead heart like a blade of ice. How could you possibly think that he had no interest in you? Astarion adored you, much to his own annoyance and though he wasn’t ready to let down all his carefully crafted walls just yet he had thought you had at least understood that. “What? No, I’m…” You cut him off again, your words ringing with a finality that had him truly panicking. “It’s fine Astarion, I get it. You don’t have to worry about this,” you gesture between the two of you, hand limp and lacklustre, “being an issue anymore.” You didn’t give him a chance to answer, turning away from him as you started to make your way back towards the camp, leaving him stood there as still as a statue and feeling just as heartless. 

Astarion’s panic grew with every inch of space that was added between the two of you, his hands twitching at his sides in aborted attempts to reach out for you. He couldn’t lose you, not now, not like this and with every step you took away from him Astarion felt his chance to fix what he had broken slipping away from him. It’s a new kind of desperate hopelessness that has his mind scrambling for something that would make you stay with him. Pair that with his self-loathing because this really was a situation of his own doing and it was a miracle that he hadn’t just turned tail and run, shouting out a rather dismissive and hurtful comment as he went. He had to be honest with you, but he had never been very good at honesty, not with himself or others and the thought of having to be now left him feeling sick because all honesty had ever gotten him was pain and sadness. 

“I was jealous!” The words rush out of his mouth in a mix of panic and desperation, his voice twice as loud as it had been and seeming to echo around the small space. It’s your turn to look at him owlishly now, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly in your shock as you slowly turn to look back at him. It makes him want to flinch away from you. To hide his weakness, this shameful dent in his otherwise pristine and sturdy armour. It hadn’t always been there but then he had met you and the weakness had grown. Like a hammer striking against metal until something gave way, a crack opening up across his chest that you had been able to slip your fingers into and force open further with every smile, every playful tease, every affirmation that he was enough just as he was. It was to much, yet still not enough and the words had come rushing forward to bridge the gap that had grown between you, Astarion unable to stop himself from admitting the painfully obvious truth of his behaviour. 

Silence hangs between the two of you, not even the wind daring to disturb the rather ponente silence. The longer you said nothing the more Astarion wanted to take it back, to brush off this whole ridiculous situation and disappear off into the woods but he knew he couldn’t, not if he is to have any chance of salvaging some sort of relationship with you. “What?” You finally break the silence though Astarion had been hoping for something a little more eloquent and longer and for you not to sound so confused by the notion of him disliking the attention you gave the others, especially Gale of all people. “I was jealous,” he repeated, thankfully able to keep his voice quieter and calmer the second time round. “Why?” The suspicion in your voice was hurtful but considering not five minutes ago he had been pushing you towards Gale’s limp embrace he couldn’t really blame you for not believing him.  

“Because I, well. You and I are…and I,” Astarion stumbles over his worlds, any eloquent declaration of his feelings vanishing with a frustrated sigh. No matter how badly he wished to return the sentiment he just couldn’t. He’s not ready for that yet, hasn’t come far enough yet to fully trust another with that show of venerability. He wants to though, one day that is. He wants to see the smile that would spread across your face in unbridled joy and devotion as he said those three little words to you. Words he had already jokingly said but now they needed to truly mean something he couldn’t force his lips to form. “You know why,” he said solemnly, giving you a look that he hoped would convey everything he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. 

Astarion gets to watch a whole myriad of emotions dance across your features in a rather short amount of time. There is confusion, doubt, anger and realisation but at the end comes understanding, your features softening considerably. “Astarion.” The way his name sounds on your lips, like your heartbroken and full of sorrow has him looking away, unable to stomach the pity he knew would be shinning so brightly in your eyes. He wants to move on quickly, a witty and slightly self-deprecating remark already on the tip of his tongue but you surprise him once again, appearing in front of him like magic. A dream that his fragile and broken mind had conjured to ease his suffering. 

You are ever so gentle as you reach up towards him, fingers caressing his cheek for just a moment before they are gone. You softly cup his jaw, fingertips slipping into his hair and thumb just brushing across his cheek. Astarion goes deathly still, like a statue as he watches you with wide and confused eyes. You are touching him again, a lover's caress if he was sentimental enough to call it something more. Surely that was a good thing? If he had truly ruined things between the two of you than touching him would be the last thing on your mind. Unless you were intending to slap him that is, but you're not. At least he doesn’t think so anyway, and he wouldn’t be inclined to stop you if you were, after all he deserved it for his little tantrum. You don’t slap him though and those few seconds of skin on skin contact are enough to let doubt, and uncertainty come creeping back in, a voice at the back of his head that sounded far too much like Cazador whispering that he wasn’t deserving of love and he was foolish to think anyone like you would give it to him willingly and without a price. 

Astarion wants to look away; to hide his shame but he is stuck within your gaze, trapped as you look back up at him with a serious determination that leaves him silent and somewhat obedient in the moment. “There is nothing going on between me and Gale, nor between me or anyone else.” Your voice doesn’t waver, so sure and confident in your admission. He wants to find fault with your words, a lie that will unravel your words and prove once and for all that no one is as kind and as accepting as you claim to be. He doesn’t find it though, not even a whisper of deceit and somehow that’s worse because that little spark of hope that had all but been snuffed out flickers back to life, bright and painfully insistent as the reality of his situation finally begins to sink in. “Right,” he said uncertainty, not sure what to say now that his anger and false bravado had run out of steam.  

Like most situations that left him feeling uncomfortable and unsure Astarion found himself brushing it all off with a melodic laugh and dismissive wave of his hand. “Of course there isn’t darling. I mean, why would you go after someone else when you already have perfection in front of you.” He offered you one of his most charming smiles, hoping that it would be enough to mask the slight hint of uncertainty in his voice. He doesn’t think he is quite as successful as he hoped to be, your brows furrowing and lips pursing with concern with a slight hint of frustration that Astarion is surprised he doesn’t see more often when he gazes upon you.  

Panic spikes once more at the back of his mind as you step back with a sigh, your hands gently pulling away and leaving him feeling bereft. His hands dart out to yours, cold fingers gentle as he takes one of your hands in his and lifts it up slightly between the two of you. Astarion is unsure how to continue from here, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubbed gently across the back of your hand and desperately trying to work up the courage to say what needs to be said. This is a serious matter, as are most things that concern the heart and he needs to tread carefully if he desires to undo some of the damage and hurt he had caused this evening.  

By the gods he was a fool. He had been so close to losing you, the one thing that had actually gone right in his life and all because he was an insecure, jealous fool of a man who struggled to see the good in people after a lifetime of pain and deceit. And you were good, annoyingly so sometimes but that was part of your charm, a kind soul that was open and honest to a fault. If the two of you had met any other way Astarion would have found you an easy mark, easily playable to his whims and even easier to deliver to Cazador’s feet, a sweet thing sacrificed in exchange for a reprieve from the pain and suffering he endured night after night. The thought makes him feel sick, the realisation of how easily he could have missed out on this turning his stomach and making his heart ache. And yet it was nothing compared to the disgust and disappointment he felt towards himself for having almost destroyed this rather wonderful thing growing between the two of you. Astarion had hoped that with distance and clarity, peace of mind would follow but it seemed that no matter how far he ran Cazador still managed to keep a firm grasp on his mind and heart. No more. Astarion was free of that vile beast and his palace of misery and by the Gods he deserved something good for once in his wretched life. 

“I am sorry,” Astarion started, his voice soft and remarkably calm considering the turbulent mix of emotions he was feeling, “It was not my intention to hurt you.” He ignores the slight arch of one of your brows, instead pulling in a deep breath as he prepared himself to be as honest and open with you as he could. “I had forgotten, what it is like to have someone genuinely care for you and I, well I,” he stumbles over his words slightly, his throat feeling uncomfortably tight all of a sudden. “Astar…” you start to say, voice calm and understanding but Astarion cuts you off with a sharp shake of his head as he raised a hand to silence you. He needs to say this to you now or he just might lose his nerve and never speak of it again.  

Thankfully you fall silent, a light squeeze of his hand the only indication that you understood what he needed from you in the moment. “I had been waiting for the moment you got bored of me, to be cast aside and forgotten in favour of someone who could truly be with you.” It’s surprisingly easy to be honest and open with you. Though the truth leaves him feeling vulnerable and exposed in a way he dislikes greatly, it also eases a weight that he hadn’t realised was sitting heavy on his chest.  

Astarion watches a multitude of emotions dance across your face, some of them so quick to pass that he doesn’t have the time to really register what it is you are feeling. As the silence stretches on though he begins to panic, fearing that his honesty had been too much for you. He wants to take it back, to laugh it off as just some silly nonsense brought on by a rather idiotic burst of jealousy. He could distract you with kisses and gentle touches meant to get your heart rate spiking and that far too intelligent mind of yours foggy with lust and longing. He’s still holding one of your hands in his and he lets his face fall down to watch as his thumb brushes over the back of your hand, the gesture meant to be soothing and offer some form of comfort but for who he wasn’t so sure. Maybe he should let go, take a step back and a deep breath so he could regain his bearings and take back some form of control over the situation before it could get any worse than it already was. If that was even at all possible.  

Your hand is warm on his cheek, touch ever so gentle as you caress the soft skin under his eye. Astarion hadn’t been paying attention though and the sudden touch takes him by surprise, his head jerking up to look at you with wide eyes. You don’t move your hand with him, his sudden movement dragging your thumb across his lisp and snagging on his bottom lip, tugging gently at the soft flesh. His breath catches, unprepared for the love he sees glowing in your eyes, sharp and intense and completely focused on him. Your thumb gently brushes across his lips, just once before you gently slide your hand back to curl around the back of his neck.  

Astarion goes willingly as you press down slightly, guiding his head down to yours as you tilt it back slightly and then his lips are brushing against yours, the ghost of a kiss that you had shared many times before. He lets out a shaky breath, his hold on your hand tightening. It seems to be the only permission you need because with your next breath you press your lips firmly against him, leading Astarion to a gentle and soul splitting kiss that has him whimpering, blindly grabbing for your neck with his free hand to keep himself grounded. He can feel your pulse under his thumb, steady and calm as you flay him open. It’s just a kiss, so similar to ones you have shared before and yet it leaves him feeling raw, only hanging on to his sanity by a thin thread of silk that is threatening to snap at any moment.  

The kiss ends just as gently as it began, Astarion leaning forward slightly in an attempt to prolong it for just a moment more. With a sigh you press your forehead against his, your fingers toying with the soft hairs at the base of his neck. Astarion is once again lost for words, unable to do anything but stand there and stare at you in silent wonder. You do not seem to have the same problem, your warm breath making his lips tingle as your words slipped from your lips like silk. “I love you.” Those three little words, overused and cheapened through the centuries but somehow you still manage to make them sound so deep and meaningful, weaving them through the cracks in his soul as you breath new life into him. He can’t say them back, not now but one day he will and he vows there and then to repeat them time and time again until he has pressed them into every inch of your skin, until there is nothing left inside of you but the love and devotion he feels for you. One day he will leave you with no doubt in your mind of his devotion to you but for today he tightens his own grip on your neck, gently urging you towards him as he brushes his lips against yours. “I love you,” you whisper again and he can’t stop himself them, sealing his mouth against yours as he tries to drink the words from your lips.  

The kiss is slow and gentle, Astarion delighting in having you close and knowing that he is the only one you want. Smug comes to mind and he is very much looking forward to rubbing this in Gales face. The poor bastard will be heart broken of course, but it will be his own fault for foolishly trying to pursue another’s lover. It’s truly going to be a delight to see all that anguish on the other mans face the first time he hears you declare your love for Astarion. He can already taste the sweet tang of victory, or maybe that’s just your lips as they glide across his with just the barest hint of tongue without the demand for more. It’s quite a tame kiss, and yet it’s one of the best he has ever got the pleasure to experience because it is you and it had followed your declaration of love for him. He suspects that these kinds of kisses will be his favourite for quite some time.  

The kiss ends far too soon for his liking but you do not go far when you pull back, your forehead resting against his and your hand cradling the back of his head. There is a rather lovely moment where neither of you says a thing, just gazing at one another like a couple of live sick idiots. If Astarion saw anyone else like this he would have scoffed, a biting remark quickly rolling off his tongue about how disgusting and stupid they looked. Not you though. He had known that securing you affection would be a heady rush of power and security but he hadn’t been quite ready for everything else that came with it. His mistake really, because he hadn’t never considered the fact that he would feel even remotely enamoured with you in return. How foolish of him to have underestimated you like that. He really should have known better.  

“So, are we both on the same page now?” you ask quietly, like you were afraid to be to loud and break the calmness between you. Humming softly Astarion lifted his hand, gently brushing the back of his knuckles across your cheek. “I believe we are darling.” You smile brightly at his words, truly radiant in the moment with the moonlight and darkened forest behind you. Astarion wants to kiss you again and now that he has secured your affection he supposes he can, when ever he wants to. And that was just what he was going to do now, humming slightly in satisfaction as he leant forward.  

“Argh!” Astarion cried out, eyes wide and arms flailing beside him as you gripped his ear tightly and yanked him down by it. “If you ever do anything like that again Astarion I swear to the gods that I will tell Lae’zel that you want nothing more in this life then to suck on her toes after an eight hour hike,” you hissed angrily, eyes alight once more as you threatened him with something truly horrific.  

Astarion’s stomach rolled at the thought, knowing perfectly well how putrid the Githyanki’s feet got after spending the day walking through the sun-drenched hills and valleys of Faerun. Surely you would never dream of doing something so vile, not to him at least. “Do you understand.” You yanked on his ear as you spoke, Astarion now almost doubled over and hissing at the sharp tug of pain. “Yes! Yes!” He cried out, fingers curling around your wrist but not attempting to pull you off. He supposed that said a lot about how far he had come in his time with you. Before this whole nonsense with the brain worms and saving people, he would have snapped your arm before you could even get a hold of him. Now all he did was hold your hand still, eyes wide as he looked up at you and very conscious of how easily someone as delicate as you would brake if he just tightened his grip ever so slightly. He couldn’t be so careless to do such a thing now, even as he hissed and bared his fangs. You had just declared your devotion to him so it was only right that he kept you safe in return, even from himself.  

There was a brief moment where the two of you glared at one another, Astarion able to feel your pulse under his fingers thumping away at an annoyingly steady rate. You are both angry, upset as well but Astarion would be a liar if he tried to say that your actions didn’t spark some form of smug possessiveness. You had practically declared that you were his indefinitely and though he was not foolish enough to think that you wouldn’t change your mind once it became clear how truly damaged Astarion was, he was selfish enough to grasp what you were offering him with both hands and refuse to let go until you cut them off and left him alone in the darkness once more.  

Huffing you let go of Astarion’s ear, practically pushing him away from you and if it wasn’t for his agility and quick reflexes he probably would have ended up sprawled across the dirt at your feet. Scowl deepening Astarion stood up straighter, his hand going up to rub soothingly at his abused ear. “Gods, you’re maddening,” Astarion huffed, knowing full well that he deserved your ire and probably more. You rolled your eyes at him, shaking your head at his over the top reaction. “As are you,” you grumbled back.  

The two of you glared at one another for a long few seconds, trying to will the other to back down. As it was you both seemed to crack at once, you laughing gently as Astarion scrunched up his face in disgust. “Really? Could you not think of something a little less putrid?” Honestly, he felt sick just mentioning it again. You shrug, smile falling and a seriousness settling on your features. “I love you Astarion,” you stated, refusing to lose eye contact with him as you spoke. Taking the few shot steps to you, Astarion cupped your cheek, his other hand settling on your waist.  

There are so many things he wants to say to you, so many things that would reassure you of his feelings. Flowery words from poems and books detailing great romances, tainted with words he had used one to many times to entrap someone in his snare. He refused to use them now, refused to lump you in with those poor souls that had meet their end because of him. So he said the first thing that came to mind, his voice as steady and serious as yours had been. “Gale will have to pry you from my cold, dead hands if he wants you”.  

His words startle a laugh out of you but before you can remind him that the wizard has no chance with you Astarion leans forward, pressing his lips against yours. It’s a gentle kiss, one that he hopes will show you all that he can’t even begin to form into words. You mean something to him, something that terrifies him and yet leaves him feeling like he could touch the clouds all at once. Astarion has never felt for anyone the way he does you and though that is rather frightening he is willing to grasp onto that feeling of elation, refusing to let you go until you were the one that asked him too. It was selfish of him to covert you so but no one could deny that was a rather strong aspect of his personality and Astarion would take every moment he could get with you, basking in your love like he did the warm rays of the sun.  

When you pull away from one another you don’t go far, foreheads pressed together and staring into each other's eyes. If Astarion had a functioning heart he is sure it would be beating away like crazy, just like yours is. It’s a sound he enjoys, knowing it's because of him, for him. He could listen to your heart beating for hours, had in fact done that on several occasions as you lead asleep in his arms whilst Astarion waited for dawn to brake and the moment you would slip from his arms, leaving him lamenting the loss of your warmth.  

“Say it again,” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. You smile ever so sweetly, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek once again. “I love you,” your voice is no louder than his but its full of so much love and conviction that it feels like you have shouted it from the mountain tops. You lean forward, pressing a quick kiss on his lips before saying it again and again and again, each time followed by a quick kiss that had him laughing, his hand on your waist tightening and pulling your closer.  

Astarion didn’t think he had ever felt this wanted, this loved before and the thought that he had almost lost it because of his blasted insecurities and pig-headedness made he feel sick. He had been such a fool and though he could not say those three simple words back to you or promise never to hurt you or push you away again, Astarion knew that he would spend every day you granted him trying to show you how deeply he cared for you in any way he could. And if Gale had to meet and untimely end the next time they passed a cliff then so be it, his tragic demise was a price Astarion was more than willing to pay for your happiness.  

Placing one last kiss on his lips you step back, Astarion whining at the sudden loss of your warmth. Chuckling you hold your hand out towards him and nod your head back towards the camp. Astarion drops his gaze down to your awaiting hand, suddenly acutely aware of everything you were offering him. A part of him is scared to take the chance, to open himself up to all the possibilities of pain and loss that could await him in the future. That part is smaller now than it was even just an hour ago, your confession though hard to believe offering a boost of confidence that he hadn't known he needed.  

Smiling Astarion took your hand, that tiny spike of hope blossoming into to something fierce. You loved him and that was more than he had ever hoped to have in this life.  

~*~ 

“Say it again.” 

“Astarion,” you chastise him teasingly, a sweet smile on your lips and eyes sparkling with amusement. You are a vision, a true work of art with the early morning sun behind you and giving you an almost other worldly glow. Astarion wants to remember you like this for eternity, a shining beacon of love and hope in his otherwise grey and blood splattered world. It would be a memory he knew he would cling onto for centuries to come, even long after your bones had turned to dust and your name was nothing more than a whisper on his lips, completely forgotten by the rest of the world. A cherished memory that would be made that much sweeter with those three little words he found himself craving almost as much as the delectable blood that pumped through your veins. 

Astarion reached out, gently taking one of your hands in his. He doesn’t look away from you, watching as your smile slips into something softer and just for him. He does not think he will ever grow tired of seeing you like this, so full of love for him that you see nothing else but him. “Just once more darling,” he urges, desperate to hear it once more. “I promise I shan’t ask again”. You raise a brow at that, knowing full well that is a promise he will not keep. Ever since the first time you had said it Astarion had yearned to hear it again. He had spent many hours that night chasing the words from your lips with his own, feeling you breathe them into him and filling him to the brim with a possessiveness that had yet to fully dissipate. You had practically screamed them to the heavens as he had sunk his fangs into your neck, one hand gripping his and the other cradling the back of his head as he drank his fill. It was strange how everything tasted so much better now he knew how deeply you cared for him, even the most bland and unpleasant badger somehow tasting sweet and succulent.  

He tried his best to look sweet and innocent, titling his head down slightly and looking up at you through his lashes. You raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused by his act if your wide smile was anything to go by. When he didn’t back down you huffed in amusement, rolling your eyes at him. “Fine.” Astarion’s smile widens as you give into him, shuffling forward slightly where he sat on an upturned tree to get closer to you. 

All your attention is on him as you cup his cheek with his free hand, Astarion refusing to let go of the one that sat between the two of you. “I love you, Astarion.” He practically preens at your words, disgustingly smug about it all. It’s been days since you had first yelled you confession at him and though he was now closer than being able to return the sentiment he had found on particular way to show you how deeply he felt your love and how much he cared for you in return.  

In one quick move Astarion curls his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you forward, pressing his lips against yours. It's a little more forceful then than your normal kisses, Astarion delighting in the startled moan you let out before sinking into it and kissing him back just as enthusiastically. Then again, you don’t normally have an audience. Angling your head slightly Astarion opens his eyes, his gaze locking with Gale’s across the last smouldering remains of the fire.  

The wizard is glaring at him, fists clenched at his sides and the book he had been attempting to read abandoned on his lap. Its deliciously delightful, watching the man squirm in his anger and discomfort. It’s his own fault, trying to worm his way into your heart when he knew it belonged to another. Well, if he hadn't before he did now, Astarion taking every opportunity he could to get you to confess your feelings for him when the wizard was in earshot. Was it childish and slightly vindictive of him? Yes, yes it was but Astarion really didn’t care, glad to put the man in his place time and time again whilst reminding him who you belonged to.  

Huffing, Gale snatched up his book before storming off back to his tent, Astarion able to hear him mumbling to himself about calming down and cursing Astarion’s existence. Astarion pulls away from you with a laugh, delighting in the other man's loss of composure. Your smile falls as you narrow your eyes in confusion. It doesn't take you long to realise why he is laughing, your head whipping around to look at where Gale had been just moments before.  

“Astarion,” you hiss, smacking him lightly on the chest when he still doesn't stop his laughing. “What?” he asked when he finally managed to get his laughter under control, “it’s my fault the man is so ungracious in his defeat.” You role your eyes at him, both of you well aware that Astarion was antagonizing Gale for his own amusement. “Or, maybe you could be a bit more humble in your victory,” you raise an eyebrow at him but you are already smiling again, your obvious amusement not doing anything to make him regret his behaviour.  

Smirking, he grabbed your waist and urged you forward until your legs were pressing against the inside of his. “Well, my dear, where would the fun be in that?” He doesn't wait for you to answer, leaning forward once more and pressing his lips against yours. Unlike the last one this kiss is soft and languid yet full of just as much emotion. They are his favourite kind of kisses, the two of you just getting lost in one another and he would be damned if Gale’s sour attitude was going to ruin this for him.  

Maybe he should be nicer. Maybe he should be more reserved in his gloating and keep these moments between the two of you in the secluded comfort of one of your tents but Astarion didn’t want to. You loved him. Him. The cold, dead, blood-stained monster that had been broken and abused for so long, and yet you loved him despite all that. So no, Astarion would not be nicer and he would not keep this rather amazing relationship between to two of you hidden away like it was something shameful because you loved him and Astarion wanted the world to know just how lucky he was.

@mangomonk @skittleabyss @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @atsv-obsession @duckyhowls @tamwritesstuff @unrestrictedbyreality @dinstailor @vhaldren @ammistorm @aoirohi @leighsartworks216 @paperjunk @smoothruby @wixed @nairil-daeris @lallita13 @astroxeta @half-poison-and-half-hope @kyceris @maruichio @unnamedgooselovesthed @cb97s-laptop @voidinfernal @the-garbage-central @http-babypixie @jennithejester @koalamuffin @kitorasohma @machinaux @bluewolven @wayward-hel @kiwi-mansanas @nao1800 @jumpdingus @droppedmydamncroissant @kittenkes @black-sapphic @notimminent @ladythornwood @midnightmaurader @catching-fire-in-the-wind @jellybean000 @chonkercatto @inkareds @tenderlyuniquepatrol @goslytherin @whatisthistbh @lisrelly @mirandaancunin @hellethil @lucilleifer @atsv-obsession @moisthairyfarts @princessapalindrome @bruhhhh-huhhhhh @coffeesloth-sam @lov1ngmachin3 @kimdourden @hopeful-n-sad @watermeloncorpse @winchesterfamilyfeud @etruscan-fresh @littleenglishfangirl @halffulltubofmintchip @deepseamermaid @leana316 @loudoll @gracemisconduct @cosywinterevenings @atotalmess-lol @randomrosie01 @pumpkinspicebooty @idnttkn @laavatron @atanukileaf @darkurgetrash @cubomeduza @probablysupernatural @v3ntis-lyr3 @vincetadark @babyqnn @writinghound @timeladyjamie