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baek-at-it-again95 · 5 months

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We Know

Pairings: park seonghwa x fem reader x choi san

genres/content: action, agent au, mafia au? rivalry, leader bang chan, angry seonghwa, y/n is san's weakness lol

Warnings: profanity, violence, weapons, suggestive content!! please take care of yourselves <3

A/N: I am nervous about this one y'all 😳 I've never written something like this before, but it ended up being so fun! This is for my friends, @milfks and L, who had these wonderful ideas! Love you two lots <3

Synopsis: Tonight's mission is in your hands, and you're eager to prove that you're capable of handling it on your own. Unfortunately, your plans are interrupted a bit sooner than you expected.

***

"I've got eyes on him," you mumble, pretending to fix your diamond earring as you adjust your earpiece. Surveying from the platform of the mansion's grand staircase, your eyes follow a man in a black suit as he turns the corner and disappears down a far hallway.

Chan's sigh rings in your earpiece. "Be careful."

"I can handle myself. Trust me."

"I trust you, Y/N. You know that. It's everyone else that I don't trust. It's your first time unaccompanied," Chan says.

"Like I said, I can handle it. Besides, the boys are always out by themselves and they're just fine." If you could see Chan right now, you know he'd be pinching the bridge of his nose out of stress, holding back from giving you a lecture on why your situation is different from theirs. You know his concern is out of love, and he would blame himself if anything were ever to happen to you. But this is your chance to prove yourself. Tonight, you'll be participating in an auction to get your hands on the Cromer, a powerful artifact that can control time. It's been rumored that ATEEZ has their sights set on it as well, so Chan had you do as much research on them as possible. Unfortunately for you, they're quite good at covering their tracks and keeping their identities under wraps. You know only a few of their names and faces, so you'll need to be extra careful about your approach to this.

The auction will begin in about an hour, and you'd rather not hear a lecture from Chan. "I'm going in," you whisper. Your black dress flatters your figure perfectly, and you're excited to show it off tonight. With a deep breath, you make your way down the staircase, your heels silent on the expensive red carpet.

Clusters of people stand together around the large space, sipping champagne and chatting amongst themselves. Many wives have separated into groups away from their husbands, who go on and on about their latest business ventures and investments. Understandable—how boring. You greet some people as you go, your charming smile in effect as their eyes land on you. One woman compliments your dress as you pass by, and you enthusiastically return her compliment, telling her that her own dress brings out her eyes. She blushes and tells you it's custom made, which basically means "my dress is worth twice as much as the average person's monthly paycheck."

You continue to weave through the crowds and admittedly get a bit distracted, still thinking about the woman's compliment. As you turn into the hallway you witnessed your target disappear into, you bump straight into an oncoming person. A strong arm wraps around your waist before you can lose balance on your high heels.

"Woah there, doll. Straying too far, are we?" A tall man with dark hair looks down at you, his eyebrows raised.

Park Seonghwa. Just the man you were looking for.

"My apologies sir," you say quietly, feigning innocence and avoiding his eyes. His arm leaves your waist after steadying you. "I was wandering in hopes of finding a vacant room to lie down...I'm afraid I've had a bit too many drinks too early in the night." You stumble for dramatic effect, hoping he'll eat up your lies. "I have to sober up before the auction," you say, shaking your head. "Daddy will throw a fit if I spend all his money tonight."

The man looks amused. "Yeah? Better be careful, princess."

"I can handle myself," you say for the second time tonight, stepping closer to trace the pads of your manicured fingers over the fabric on his chest. He tilts your chin up gently, and you meet his intense gaze. He's breathtaking. Suddenly, you have an idea that seems much more fun than your previous plans.

Sorry Chan, you think as you press yourself against Seonghwa.

***

You didn't find anything of importance on Seonghwa's person, but you did manage to slip a tracking device into his suit pocket. Chan should be able to access his location any minute now.

You enter the auction room fifteen minutes before the event is scheduled to start, scanning the tables for your seat. It's dimly lit, a majority of the lighting coming from a screen behind the stage. You don't see Seonghwa seated anywhere yet.

"And what are the starting bids on you, lovely?" a low voice asks, breath tickling your ear. You turn to look at the owner of the voice, his strong facial features almost as striking as his neatly-styled red hair. He's practically undressing you with his eyes, and you can't say you hate it.

"Whatever you've got to offer, pretty boy," you reply sweetly. He smirks, pleased with himself as one of his hands finds your waist.

"My friend says you're not as innocent as you look."

"Pardon?" you ask. The man turns you around, your back against his broad chest as his free hand reaches up to your ear. Before you know it, your earpiece is on the ground in front of you, crushed beneath a polished designer shoe. Looking up, you see that the shoe belongs to none other than Park Seonghwa. Of course they're working together.

You freeze as something cold presses to the exposed small of your back.

Fuck.

"One wrong move and you're done for, princess," the man with red hair says calmly, lowering himself back down to your ear. "Try to cause a scene and innocent people will pay the price."

You take a deep breath before nodding your head in submission. You slowly turn back around and watch as he returns his gun to his shoulder holster, his expensive blazer completely concealing it. No one around you sees the ordeal, too distracted and eager to spend their money. The man then puts his arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the auction room. Seonghwa follows close behind, making sure you aren't able to slip away. You have no idea if he is armed at this point in time.

You're led into a large meeting room at the very end of the upstairs corridor, the bright moonlight seeping through the open balcony doors and illuminating the glossy wooden table at the center of the room. You catch a glimpse of the pretty garden below the balcony before the man guiding you throws you to the floor. You can feel the bruises forming on your knees instantly.

You don't dare fight back yet—your training in hand-to-hand combat doesn't do shit when your opponents are armed with guns, of course. You would attempt it if he were alone, but with Seonghwa present and potentially armed, you'd rather feel the situation out.

God, Chan will never let you out onto the field again. He's probably losing his mind now that you've lost contact with each other. Not to mention the fact that you were busted before you even had a chance to get what you came here for. The auction is going to start any minute, and now you're certain there are other ATEEZ members in the auction room that are ready to claim the Cromer instead of you.

You're angry with yourself for not being more prepared with your own weapon, but your favorite handgun unfortunately didn't fit under your dress of choice. You sigh to yourself. At least you look good in it.

"Give it up, sweetheart. We know what's going on here," the man with red hair says. Seonghwa locks the door behind him before speaking.

"I saw your wolf tattoo, and I've seen only one other just like it. You're working with Bang Chan," he states, is emotions unreadable.

No. You had forgotten to conceal your waist tattoo since your dress fully covers it. You hadn't expected to completely remove your dress tonight. Rookie mistake. You should expect everything.

"All this over a tattoo?" You eye him, downplaying the situation.

"How brave of you to interfere with our operation by yourself," the other man comments, ignoring your previous sentence. "No back up here to save you, huh?"

"Oh, you don't really believe she's here alone, do you, San?" Seonghwa asks. Choi San. You recognize that name. Seonghwa comes over to you, a completely different aura surrounding him now. He's intimidating, gripping your chin with much more force than he had earlier. "Be a good girl and tell us where your friends are, yeah? Don't make things difficult." A chill runs down your spine at his threat.

"I'm not here with anyone," you state. It's the truth. Even though Chan had insisted he wait in his car nearby, you convinced him to stay and monitor operations from your base. If you don't make contact within the next hour or two, he'll know something is wrong and follow Seonghwa's location.

"Wrong answer, princess." He grips your hair harshly and you wince. "I have a hard time believing that they would put you in a situation like this without back up. Where are they?"

It's sweet of him to underestimate you, honestly. You got yourself into this situation, and you're sure as hell going to get yourself out. You're already halfway done formulating your escape plan. "I said they're not here," you answer again. He lets go of your hair with a hiss.

"It would pain me to ruin such a pretty face...I think we'll let the boss deal with you."

The boss? Chan told you that no one knows the leader of ATEEZ—it's safe to assume that anyone who's seen him hasn't lived to tell the tale. You're not sure if he'll have any mercy at all to offer you. But maybe these two still have some in them.

"No, please!" you plead, your fists balled up as they rest on your thighs. "If I tell you where they are, will you go easy on me?" You let your head hang low, looking at the floor. San lowers himself in front of you and you find his eyes. You blink, letting a few tears slip down your cheeks.

"Sure, doll face. We will." You look away from him to briefly meet eyes with Seonghwa. He still stands at full height, arms crossed as he looks down at you. Perhaps it's your tears making your vision blurry, but you swear his gaze softens at the sight of you. You look back to San, sniffling.

"You promise?"

Now, never ever would someone in their right mind trust a promise from someone like them. But you're not planning on following through with your own side of the promise, either. Two can play at this game. You would never jeopardize the safety of SKZ...you told Chan you could handle yourself and you meant it.

"Promise," San says. He's truly something else, radiating such strong and convincing charm. You would fall for his promise in a heartbeat if you didn't know who he really was.

As you slowly rise from your knees, San stands with you. "They made me do it," you confess, more tears spilling from your eyes and taking your favorite mascara with them. "They said they would kill me if I didn't," you whisper, looking away.

"It's okay, doll," San says, coming closer to comfort you. You flinch before he touches you. "Just tell us where they are, okay? We'll help you." You bury yourself in his chest, your frame shaking in his arms as you cry quietly.

Your best performance yet, if you say so yourself.

After a long minute in his embrace, you begin to pull away. In the process, you grab the gun out of San's shoulder holster and hold the barrel to the center of his chest. He curses under his breath, raising his arms in defeat. You slowly step backwards, turning your aim to Seonghwa as a warning not to try anything, and then returning your aim to San. Seonghwa makes no attempt to grab for anything, so now you know for a fact that he is unarmed.

"I told you the first time that there's no one here with me." You smile. "But it's nice to discover that you both have a heart."

"Tell Chan we said hi," Seonghwa replies, irritated.

"Of course, it would be rude of me not to. It's truly been a pleasure, boys." You give Seonghwa a wink. "We'll meet again, right? Maybe you can introduce me to your boss next time."

You've backed up far enough to step onto the balcony, assessing the situation above and below. The garden below is deserted now that the auction has started, but it's a far drop to the ground. There is another balcony above you, but it seems a bit too high for you to escape to. You're trapped, so you're going to have to pull this off fast to avoid getting hurt.

All you can hear is the sound of your own heartbeat as you throw the gun over the railing into the garden. If you slip up, they could get their hands on it again, and you cannot let that happen. You'll fight the real way if you must.

As soon as it leaves your hands, the men launch at you. You quickly dodge them, ducking under San's punch and managing to sweep Seonghwa's leg, knocking him to the ground. Now that they're both on the balcony, you run back inside, shutting the french doors and locking them behind you. You know it will barely do anything to set them back—they could easily break them down if they wanted to. Through the glass, you watch as San pulls Seonghwa off the ground and looks at you. He doesn't make an immediate effort to get inside.

Is he letting you go?

You shouldn't wait around any longer to find out. You blow him a kiss before taking your exit out into the main hall.

But after stepping out, you see why they let you go...

#ateez au #ateez x reader #ateez reader insert #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez #park seonghwa #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader #choi san #choi san x reader #san x reader #bang chan #stray kids #ateez x female reader #ateez x y/n #skz

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undershyperfixate · 23 days

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VERY LONG RANT ABOUT AIDEN.

I apologize for any mistakes, my french ass type fast without paying attention to my grammar because I'm not a native speaker ( writer in that case)

Okay guys I need to know, did I interpret Aiden wrong in this scene?

So I've been reading a LOT of sbg fanfics, (because it's my hyperfixation and it's actually incredibly hard for me to detach or distance myself from it ( my fellow autistic people, y'all get what I mean) )

And I've noticed that in a lot of fics, they make Aiden a bit more clueless(?) like in some fics, he's written as if he actually thought Ashlyn was shy, or that he didn't understand that she didn't like social interaction

But from what I've read in the webtoon, he seems to know? Since the start

Like he always knew she was like that, he just pushed her limits because he wanted to know more about her

After Ashlyn says that, Aiden has this physical response :

This snarky smile guys, he understood that she just didn't want to talk, but knowing that; he purposefully acted as if he just thought she was shy, to trigger a response from her and be able to continue the convo without her being able to counter argue, after all Ashlyn try to keep being polite in refusing to interact with him.

The "you're just shy right?" Sounds sarcastic, and the voice actor in the dub ver encapsulated this exact tone from what I remember.

When he laughs because she runs away, he's not frustrated or shocked, he knew she wanted to leave and thought it was funny how fast she was able to escape the situation

In the canva, he acts like this because he's portrayed as a psychopathic character

But in the webtoon, he's definitely not written like this, BUT and I don't see enough people talk about this, he definitely has some psychotic reactions, his rush for adrenaline feels more than fueled by masked depression( not sure if it's 100% depression, he could have had another disorder in the flashback given), it feels manic, it feels psychotic. And by psychotic I don't mean psychopathic, I mean by the def of psychosis "a severe mental condition in which thoughts and emotions are so affected that contact is lost with external reality." He's not completely psychotic and I don't think Red wrote him with the exact disorder, but I do think he has some symptoms. Multiple of his actions, reactions and behavior feels very out of touch, as if reality didn't exist the same way in his mind, OR I'm confusing that with a cluster B disorder, it feels so familiar as someone with one. But it might just be me projecting or analyzing too hard.

But also, he's still very in touch with reality based on his relationship with the main 6, especially when his actions have consequences on the things he cherishes. it definitely reminds me of the entire thread @stillfrownyclownlol made about him being obsessive with Ashlyn and how it was shown through his way of behaving, fixating ect. Anyway I love ranting and I loved the aiden obsessive rant so It made me realize I had a lot to say about him too.

Sorry again for ranting so much 💕 ( and I hope I tagged the right person because it would be embarrassing if I didn't remember who wrote the Aiden obsessive rant and just tagged someone else).

#sbg (webtoon)#aiden sbg #ashlyn sbg #school bus graveyard webtoon #aiden clark #school bus graveyard #ashlyn banner #sbg #aidlyn #?#undersisranting

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blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ BUBBLEGUM HEART ❞ + ISAGI YOICHI !

+.CWs & TAGs —» f!reader ( s!her pronouns ), jealousy,angst and feels, smût, college au + modern au, dating culture, hookups, mention of open relationships and $3xting, maybe overuse of italics.┆ [ this is for how to be a heartbreaker by @510hz thank you for letting me join this collab ares and introducing me to the album and it's growing one me. also, please check the other entries. I'm sure y'all gonna love it. have fun reading! ; ( redirect to blog navigation ) ] word count-2.3k

+. PRECIS —»

❝ 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝗽 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝘂𝘁' 𝗖𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩

𝗦𝗼 𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀 𝗺𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗜'𝗺 𝗴𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝙥𝙤𝙥 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙢 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ❞

It was the June of last year when Isagi stumbled upon something that he would never have bothered a glance . It is not like whenever he walks, he walks with too much pride to look around, it is just that y/n and he were two worlds apart. Their worlds were not supposed to collide or even cross, and they were not exactly opposites who would attract each other like poles of a magnet.

They were like parallel lines who had their own ambitions to follow and dreams to achieve. If it was not for that one guy, Michael Kaiser they would be two worlds apart till their hearts ceased to ache. In his eyes, y/n was just perfect for him, the sweetest distraction he could ever ask for. Many would gossip about her and Kaiser being a thing but they were not really a thing.

It was always a wonder to Kaiser how she did what she did. She did what most girls could not do. She kept him on track, and if there were to happen any sort of deviation she would always stroke the right amount to push him back to track. In other words, she kept him under a leash.

Now that's what people think about them.

What about Kaiser’s take on this?

Easy. A rebound. Kaiser could never understand why she did not develop a crush or any sort of attachment to him by now, especially after those sneak-outs - make-outs, late-night calls, sexting, and so on. He has done so much in such a short time yet she never asked him once if he is single or dating someone? If he is free tonight or if he wants to come over for a study session? It was mostly the other way around.

But it was not always like this.

There was a time when she liked him a lot actually— one would not lie if they said she was head over heels for him. So, what exactly happened? What happened to the girl who used to wake up early in the morning, dress according to his taste, and put on some makeup even though she hated it. She did it all for his attention so that he would turn around before leaving, always.

Did Isagi happen to her? Nope, Kaiser did, and in a way that neither of them anticipated it.

“He is looking. . .” Kaira exclaimed with a grin while y/n had her eyes on the chart paper that almost covered half of the table.

“Is he? What's he doing?”

“Maybe waiting for someone.”

“No. He is not. He is checking you out.”Kaira chokes on her own breath as yn finishes her words.

“ or you ....” she protested with a contorted voice making her friend roll her eyes heavenwards. She left the college cafeteria rolling her bag over her shoulders and clustering the set of notes, books, chart paper, and geometry box in one hand. Kaiser’s eyes remain on her until she is out of his range. He quickly takes out his phone and opens Instagram. His thumb travels across the keyboard and then suddenly it halts.

“Hey. . .” Kaiser looks up, pupils dilated, lips parted but he is still swift.

“to what do I owe this pleasure?” he quipped, sliding the phone in his jersey with a grin on his face.

“hold this” and Kaiser holds her bag, just support till she puts everything in her bag except the rolled chart paper. “Thank you.” she quipped before turning on her heels but something stopped her, something that made her look back, not to kaiser but to her old self.

“hey, yn did I do something wrong?” She registered Kaiser’s voice but her eyes were still on the girl who was constantly checking her phone and walking to and fro in front of the giant fountain.

“Hey, Kai . . . Who's that? The girl over there . . .”

Kaiser saw a chance and he took it. “Why? You interested?” Yn’s eyes landed on him. “Glad that I finally have your eyes on me. . .” she cocked her head to the side, with one eyebrow raised, and still there was silence till her lips curled up at the corner making Kaiser scratch the back of his head.

“She is a tennis player. You do know how we are supposed to maintain a clean reputation and all.

“umm-hmm!”

“So, the thing is she is set up with Isagi yoichi, our agent does that for everyone. It's mostly for publicity but it seems that she is slipping. . .”

“Ah! I see.”she patted his shoulders and added,“Thanks. Kai.”

It's April. Almost a year yet Kaiser thought he might have done something to hurt her, hurt her feelings which is why she is acting the way she is acting. Is she seeing someone? Is she crushing on someone? Nah! He is thinking too much.

Moreover, she does not owe him answers to any of his questions. She is just a rebound. And, they were not supposed to be “something”, not even ‘friends with benefits’. He should not treat her any more than that. Last year in the summer of June when he met her, he could see how much affection she had in her eyes, especially around himself but now it is empty, and it feels empty.

There are three truths of a story. First is for the general spectators, the second is the one put by the one who thinks they have the upper hand over the spectators and the third is the one for only those who have gone through the same shit, who can recognize their wound even if it's on someone else.

Unfortunately, y/n belonged to the last one.

[ trouble: hey you up for tonight?

y/n: umm...no.

trouble: something wrong?

y/n: it's just.that...it bugs me a little when you mentioned that you sext with a lot of people the other day when we were at the cafeteria. ]

This conversation has replayed in Kaiser’s mind in a vicious loop. It's endless.

Kaiser called that day for the first time just to remind her that she should not let herself worry about such things. It's not like he lied when he said that she was just a rebound. Moreover, isn't it fun to be like this? To not be bound to any sort of relationship and keep it open so you enjoy what you like most while tasting all the flavors.

It took one phone call, just one to render every moment, every message, every photo she shared with him useless. She has let people walk over her before and it was not a good feeling. And even if she could tell that Kaiser was trouble she still let him walk over her. But that's okay, it's not too late. If the advent of something matches, doesn't mean the end has to meet the same fate?

Y/n sat in silence in one of the bathrooms while the tennis player sobbed. It was more than half an hour and if by the next ten minutes, she does not leave, yn has to since she has a class that she cannot miss under any circumstances.

“hey . . . I'm not feeling well today. Could you come and pick me up? ” “okay. Thank you. Bye. See you soon Kai.”

Sometimes stars align too closely.

Yn left the washroom in a hurry at the sound of the bell which is good since she can hide in the crowd, hiding herself from her own past following her like a shadow.

The practice match was a blast. Most of the students stayed to watch and all the reason to do so since next week there is a college fest. If not everyone, some were busy in the preparation of festive decor. There were occasional high-lows of cheers as the game continued. Yn was busy with that. It's not her job to assist or to help but she likes doing it anyways. It keeps her mind fresh. She tucked an origami flower in her ponytail asking Kaira, “Hey, how do I look?”

“Normal” she said.

“I disagree ”

Kaira rolled her eyes and smiled as Kaiser stood against the frame of the door. There were too many students sitting on the floor blocking the path. She let out a sigh before walking up to her.

“You should use real flowers. . . Like this ” He holds a flower in front of her making her chuckle; probably a gift from fan she ponders while she could not figure out the red stain at the corner of his lips. Dried blood? Or maybe her lipstick on his lips . . .

“And you should stop making out with the tennis player ” she interjected handing him that origami flower that was made from a tissue paper.

“Why you jealous?”

Finally. Yn thinks that he is asking because he is jealous but cannot seem to figure out of what could possibly make him jealous? Still, it would be a shame if he walks away through the fire without burning, totally unscathed. That does not seem fair.

“yes,” Kaiser almost felt hollow, as if his inner flesh has been scooped out by that one word. Finally, finally, she admits. “huh! you wish” she said patting his head.

“don’t get in too much trouble.” she walks inside the room with an intent of at least finishing the wall decorations while Kaiser walked away keeping the flower on the window shelf. Isagi and his teammates crossed Kaiser in the corridor while yn shut the door but the small rectangular frame was enough for Isagi to see her face. Her face was imprinted on his mind.

where exactly it went wrong?

The next day, Kaira was absent and since there was no match most students left for home early. Players were supposed to stay whether there was a match or not. Before yn was about to leave the classroom, she found the same flower being kept on her desk. No doubt the paper was crumbled but it gave a nice texture. She took the flower, examined it, and saw blue ink through the folds. When she opened it, it read: “stole back for you” with the signature y.isagi.

The day of the final match was approaching and things went rougher between yn and Kaiser. It is not like she could not continue this “open” relationship because feelings were involved, it is more like she would not because she was not enjoying it. Secretly, she was thankful that Kaiser did not humble himself for her, when her emotions for were at their peak. If he did, she would have been brutally hurt. This one was hurting too but it is far better, at least she can endure it. To put it in his terms, yn was not enjoying his flavor and now that she was offered something different, she could not help but want more of it: isagi yochi.

Boys, girls and some staff of the cafeteria too crowded the whole pub that was nearest to the college. Y/n could recognize almost every face. Who exactly wasn't there? Well, she shouldn't have if it not for that flower. Surfing through the crowd she recognized Kaiser’s bleached mullet hair. He was leaning against a girl. How boring!

After she was done scanning the arena she found the one whom she was exactly looking for, Isagi Yochi. He was surrounded by his teammates, more like guarded with a sour look on his face. Geez! What must make the winner happy if not victory?

Perhaps she stared a little too long that Yoichi looked in her direction. Amidst the crowd, while the music was blasting the place, drinks were finished, and two hearts ceased to ache. It felt cosmic. It felt distant. It felt like a mirage.

There was a smirk upon yoichi’s face and so was on hers. She quickly tried to surf through the crowd but stumbled upon something hitting her head at the edge of the table.

Fuck. Isagi rushed to her. He immediately helped her to sit upright but her senses had already started betraying her. “I came here . . .to give this back ” she murmured slipping the crumpled paper into Isagi's chest pocket. Even though Isagi felt a constant twitch near his heart muscle he still helped her to be on her feet and get out of there.

“Sure. You did. But I'm not telling you why I stole it for you ”, he quipped gaining an embarrassed smile from her. This guy is nuts.

Kaiser watched everything with a long face heart aching for both of them. Isagi had no idea what he was getting into and even if he could, he would have to know it from Kaiser which was not gonna happen since Kaiser already fucked this up by losing her to him.

“It’s fine. You can take a nap. I'll wake you up.” Isagi said helping her to sit on the bed. The couch was full of jerseys. Probably his and his team mates.

Isagi went outside to buy some food for themselves. And by the time he made it back to the dorm, yn was pretty much asleep. Was sge drunk? or did she really have a concussion? He quickly kept the food on the table and laid down beside her, supporting his body on his elbows watching her eyes that were slowly drifting to sleep.

A few blinks and she turned around quarterly, barely awake, voice almost inaudible yet it turned Isagi’s stomach upside down when she murmured, “I promotion I’m not going to fall in love with you when you have to leave.” running her fingers lightly against his jaw with a lazy beam plastering her face. She looked so needy, so pretty and so warm. . . that Isagi wanted to a taste of her, the girl who has been on #1 in Kaiser’s speed dial but he can't. Not now, if he was going to have her he will do it in the right way. Everyone knows about it in the team. He can't fuck it up now.

Fuck. Isagi’s chest caved with the ache of her words. He tucked his face against her neck and took a deep breath in, waiting till she was deep asleep to utter to himself, “I can't promise you the same.”

@tokyometronetwork

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reneeluv154 · 5 months

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Anger

I hope you enjoy it!!!🤍🤍🤍

In this imagine you made it to the safe haven and newt helps you through your emotions while your still struggling with the loss of the others.

(More on my profile if you enjoy this one.) 🫶🏼🫶🏼

⚠️Tw: mentions of suicide⚠️

I stared at Newt, glaring at him through the flames of fire between us. We were finally in the safe haven and everyone was happy, everyone but me. I couldn’t remember the last time I truly smiled, or really felt anything for that matter. How could they be smiling and laughing?

We lost so many wonderful lives and they were just over it? I didn’t understand. Having Gally back was relieving, he was never the nicest person, to anyone, but he had grown, and it showed.

“Y/n, you good?” Minho questioned, Newt’s eyes locked with mine and I quickly looked away. “Yeah.” I sounded cold and mean, I held a little bit of anger against them, I just didn’t understand how they were okay. It was selfish, the others would have loved to be here. Yes, we carved their names on the rock but it just didn’t feel like enough. They deserved so much more.

I stood grabbing one of Gally’s drinks while walking towards the beach. I made it to the shore leaving the dancing and laughter behind. I sat down and stared out upon the endless ocean. I wished I could dig deep into my heart, take my pain, and let it drift out into the sea.

“I miss you guys, It’s not the same without you here.” I scoffed, taking a swig. “I’m so fucking angry, why not me. I wanted to die.” I said looking from the sky to the ground.

I whispered, “I still wanna die.”

“Pretty isn’t it?” I jumped hearing the all too familiar voice of a brown-eyed blonde-haired boy. He sat down beside me staring up at the starry sky.

“Yeah, gorgeous.” I agreed.

“I heard you talking.” I was drowning in embarrassment and grief.

“I just want them to know.” He nodded now it was his turn to take a swig. “They know Y/n, they're watching us every day.”

I shook my head.

“That’s supposed to make it easier?”

He shrugged, “Maybe a little, yes. I’m not saying you can’t mourn, because you can, but you’ve gotta learn to move on.” This made me angry.

“Like you? Five fucking day’s after they were gone.”

He looked at me, clenching his jaw, his eyes were angry. “I had to stay strong for you and the others, I’m bloody hurt Y/n. I’ve been hurt for a long, long time! You don’t get to tell me I was a bad person when I was just trying to keep you and the others alive!” He blew up on me, his voice louder and bolder than ever.

I couldn't look at him, the tears in my eyes rolling down my cheeks. Maybe I should kill myself, He would stay strong so the others would be okay, right? They wouldn't miss me, not like I bring anything good to the group. I would get to see the others as well. “I know that look Y/n, I can see it in your eyes, I’ve seen it in your eyes for a long time and I promise you it won’t make anything better.”

How did he know…

“I’m sure y'all would be fine.”

He shook his head. “Nope, we wouldn't.”

“I’m just so angry.” I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. I sat for a minute looking at the sky when I realized. “It’s like I’m the moon and the stars are everyone in my life.” “

“I think you’ve had a tad too much to drink Y/n.”

“No. The moon and the stars adorn each other. Without the stars, the moon is just the moon.”

“Follow me.”

He stood and began walking, I walked up and stood beside him in front of a cluster of rocks. “I want you to throw that bottle as hard as you can, letting it shatter against those rocks.”

“What?” I asked

He nodded, “Scream as loud as you want, you can even cry if you’d like. Here I’ll give you my glass too.”

I shook my head. “The others will think something is wrong.”

“They can’t hear you from here.” He handed me the glass and backed up sitting on a log behind him.

“Go on. Let it out.”

Taking a moment I took the glass throwing it as hard as I could at the biggest rock there was, it shattered.

A tear ran down my cheek as I grabbed the other glass watching it fly through the air and shatter just as the other one did.

It felt too good tears now pouring down my face, I searched for anything to throw picking up smaller rocks and shells.

“Aghhhhhhh!!!!” I screamed as loud as I could feeling a sharp pain through my head, but I couldn’t stop,

“They should be here!!!”

“I loved them!!!”

“I should have hugged you when I had the chance!!!” I sobbed, still throwing whatever I could find before I ran out of breath and fell to my knees. “It should have been me!” I felt a gentle hand on my back, another on my cheek pulling me into himself.

“Shhh, that's not true love.”

I cried for a long time, even after Newt carried me back to my hut and tucked me in before he sat down in a chair beside my bed to keep an eye on me and calm me down.” I eventually fell asleep having a strong headache but also a sense of emotional relief.

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twelve

Master List of Series

I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to @sunny-boy-06 . They've been someone whose name is always in my notifs. You've been a lurker on this account, but I see you! You always like every post I make, whether it's regarding this story or not, and I just want to let you know your support doesn't go unnoticed. Thank you. <3

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I hope y'all like this chapter. It's quite the eventful one. I apologize if it's information overload. If it is too much or you have any comments or questions, don't hesitate to ask! It always makes me smile having interactions with everyone. It's one of the reasons I love writing so much on platforms like these.

Translation Guide: Lykemās: easy, be quiet.

Chapter Warnings: Description of urination, Angsty girl with unresolved trauma, Violence, Sweet baby girl Aegon.

A cloaked figure stumbled through the alleyways of Kings Landing, bumping into townsfolk and mumbling as the stench of alcohol radiated off his body. Men and children alike turned their heads at the hunched man, their faces covered in disgust as they avoided him. Another poor drunkard from Flea Bottom, they thought, paying him no mind.

A woman, clearly a harlot by the bleached streak of dye in her hair, was speaking to a merchant, stroking vibrantly colored fabric in a suggestive way as the hobbled figure passed. A strand of white caught her eye, hearing the familiar ramblings in her ear. Quickly, she forgot her current mission, slinking away as she ran to her Mistress's home.

The crowned Prince Aegon wandered mindlessly on the merchant Streets of Kings Landing, searching for his next drink in all the wrong places. How low he had become these past few years, moaning and groaning about how unhappy he was and how unfair his life is. He had only wanted one thing in his existence, which was always out of reach.

Love.

Love from his mother, father, brother, sister, you-- from anyone he met.

Aegon did not know why he starved for it or went through the streets at night searching for love. Perhaps during his conception, the Gods decided he would never know what it felt like for someone to stare at him with stars in their eyes, kissing his woes away as they whispered those three words.

"I love you..."

But perhaps not. The most likely reason Aegon never experienced that warm feeling from someone was most evident at this very moment as he felt liquid pool below his stomach.

"Fuck," he mumbled, turning down a corner with far fewer people as he unlaced his soiled trousers between a cluster of wooden crates and barrels.

He could hear those who regrettably crossed his stream shouting in disgust as his piss covered their shoes. How lucky, Aegon justified, they have royal piss on their clothes, not just some common one.

Suddenly, the bright autumn sun disappeared, eclipsing the surrounding area in darkness. Aegon quickly looked up with his eyes squinted and mouth agape, stuffing himself back into his pants. In a flash, the sun was back again, the outline of what could only be a tail soaring above him and out of view.

"Aemond," he snorted, "arrogant prick."

His brother must have taken Vhagar out for a morning stroll. He ignored it, accustomed to his brother's theatrics. Aemond had the largest dragon the world had ever seen. Aegon would've boasted too.

The elder Prince sniffled as if dismissing the thought as he walked into nowhere. If he traveled long enough; eventually, the sweet nectar of Arbor Red would appear in his hands. He would find that taste, no matter that he was actually passed out in the same spot for the past two sun positions.

***

Common folk in the town's square stared at you in awe as you descended the rope ladder down Cannibal's enormous back. You were sure they had never seen a dragon so close before, your Targaryen brethren keeping the beasts deep inside Rhaenys's hill and only letting them soar the skies.

One person, a young boy, stepped closer to your dragon, his curious nature getting the best of him as Cannibal snapped his jaws with a snarl. The boy stumbled backward as Cannibal recoiled, separating you and the townsfolk with his enormous body.

The formerly wild dragon still held the same spirit as before, unwelcoming to the presence of so many people. He could not be around any of your family's dragons, sticking to his den on the eastern side of Dragonmont. After several months of you and Cannibal's partnership, Luke had convinced you to take your dragons out for riding. The Keepers warned against it, but you did it anyways, and the young Arrax nearly paid his life for it when Cannibal lunged, his teeth flaring at the poor juvenile.

"Lykemās, Cannibal," you soothed, stroking your hand along his large snout, his obsidian scales reflecting the midday sun. He took a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he released you from the protective embrace.

The young boy stood frozen in place, watching your mighty dragon with wonder in his eyes. That would have been you standing there if not for those fateful days in the past, mesmerized by the shiny black skin of Cannibal. A half-hearted smile rose onto your face at the memories, painful and bittersweet.

"Ten Golden Dragons should be enough for you to buy my companion your protection and some pork loins, yes?" you asked the boy absentmindedly as you searched your purse for some coins.

"Ye-yes, ma'am," the child nodded, his voice shaky.

"Good," you acknowledged, handing him the money, and you turned back to your dragon. "I shant be long boy. Be good now, Cannibal. This kind ser right here has promised to watch after you." Cannibal moved his head, and you couldn't help but feel he was mocking you.

Yes, your sweet, temperamental cannibalistic dragon did not need protection, but it was not for his safety but more for the dozens of ordinary folk beginning to crowd around him.

"Do not let people get so close to him. I cannot be sure that he would not eat a houseful of them in one bite," you whispered to the child, surveying the onlookers. He nodded enthusiastically at your words, taking the coins as he stepped closer to Cannibal as any curious child would. "Oh, and," you paused, remembering another critical piece of information, "do not pet him. The last time someone attempted that, they got their arm ripped out."

You offered him a small smile as he quickly backed up, fear clouding his puggish face.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your wrinkled riding clothes as you went to Flea Bottom, your home.

***

Even in the cooler autumn breeze, it smelled like curdled milk and feces. Though your nose scrunched in disgust, everything brought a nostalgic feeling to your heart. You had remembered the rushed layout of the place, watching the residents walk up their chipped sandstone staircases to their houses, clothes in mere tatters. You remembered running through these same alleyways as a child, dodging drunkards and Gold Cloaks with your pockets and satchels full of trinkets and fruits.

Everything was far less severe then. There were no courtly manners to worry about, no special dresses to wear at certain times, no obligation to train or speak a certain way, and no worries of succession.

It was simple, and you missed it, but in the same breath, you wouldn't change your life for anything.

How many people could say they tame the wildest dragon in the world? A dragon that sent others of its species cowering in fear. A dragon that ate other dragons for breakfast. Not even Aemond Targaryen could say that. Largest dragon be damned.

Ma's place was still the same. The only different thing was a carved wooden sign stating the name of her business, and the steps were more worn than you remembered—a victim of time, just like you.

Father had forbidden you to write to her, demeaning her a traitor of the crown for keeping you hidden, but Rhaenyra, ever the tender-hearted mother, could not bear to keep you from the only person in your old life. She had lost her mother just as you had, in the birthing bed. It was one of the reasons you had become close. She could not bear being a willing participant in your lack of communication with the woman who was the maternal figure in your early life. She would send the letters with her royal seal, her husband never knowing of your secret correspondence.

Your knock was barely audible on the door, fading into the background of the bustling streets of Flea Bottom. It flung open anyways, the person no doubt waiting for your arrival as you were crushed in a flurry of skirts and limbs. You could barely breathe as the person crushed you in their embrace, rocking you back and forth as they mumbled excitedly.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet little girl, how I've missed you," Madam squealed into your shoulder. You had nearly grown a full head taller than her in your time away and couldn't help but hug her back. "You're so strong," she said, releasing you and squeezing your biceps, "and tall! Dear Mother, you have grown! They must bee feeding you well! I should hope so," she chortled, "considering the taxes they're making us pay now." Ma shook her head, her hands on her hips as you stood awkwardly.

"Never mind that!" She swatted the subject of your family's taxation away with her hand, pulling you in by the wrist. "Come! Come sit, I've made your favorite, or at least I hope it is still your favorite," she added, a sad look glossing over her deep-set eyes.

"What is it, Ma?" You asked, hoping to reel her mind back into the present instead of wherever it went.

"Apple Muse," she chirped, her face bright once more. "Though, I am sure it is not nearly as good as the ones on Dragonstone. I recall how much you adored them in your letters."

You felt terrible at the evident insecurities Ma had, afraid that you had grown into a more refined palette. You had, but Apple Muse was something easy and quick they made in the kitchens with few ingredients. It was peasant food, and you liked it because it reminded you of the life you once had.

"I will adore yours just as well," you grinned at her. "It is the purpose and memories around the food for which I like it. I always think of you when I eat it."

"Wonderful! I wasn't sure when you would arrive, so I've had it simmering in the pot. It just needs a moment to cool, and then I can pour it." You nodded, your eyes drifting around the kitchen where you had many of your first meals.

The pot Ma was cooking in was still the same, a sturdy iron built for years of use, and the fireplace it sat inside was blackened with soot. The wood looked lighter from sun damage through the window. A few cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and you had to hold back the urge to knock them down with your sword.

"Ma? Could I," you paused, tucking your lower lip in to bite it as she turned. "Is it possible for me to see my old room? If it is not in use," you quickly added, realizing that much time had passed and she was still a businesswoman.

"Yes," she answered, wiping her palms on her brown apron and plucking the circle of keys from her hip. "I... I could not bear to let anyone use it, even after all of these years." You regarded her with a soft smile, picking out the key to your old bedroom as you hugged her.

You knew it was painful. The near-decade spent without the child you raised across the sea, missing so much of her life. It was agony for Madam at times, waiting for that measly scrap of parchment with a wax seal, her only communication with someone she regarded as her own. It still pained her greatly to think about when you were upset, seeking comfort in the arms of people who did not know you. Not like she did. Madam laid the foundation of you, but the Targaryens built upon it. She would despise them for eternity because of that, no matter how handsomely Aegon paid her girls.

The staircase you stomped up as a child creaked loudly, running your hand along the railing as more memories flashed across your eyes. You recalled Lyra chasing you down these stairs with a mouse between her fingers, squealing and giggling as she dangled it by its tail until Madam put her foot down. She had caught it scampering out of a room one day, no doubt the culprit for all the holes in the girls' shoes that had been plaguing them for weeks.

You begged Lyra not to kill the poor creature, something so small and innocent doing what it needed to survive. She compromised, having you follow her to a stable house, releasing the tiny thing into the haystacks. It would be free to roam and bother the farmers instead of the whores. The memory pained you now.

You reached your door, struggling to unlock the stiff handle. It was hidden around a corner at the end of the hall. Someone would have to know precisely where they went inside the brothel to find the room. You never fully understood why. Only when it was too late.

Finally, the knob jiggled, and you shoved once, twice, before it opened, stirring up the undamaged items in an explosion of dust. Your small cot was neatly made, unlike how you left it on that fateful day.

The few dresses you had as a child were still untouched, except for the few holes that littered the skirts and arms from moths. You stroked the fabric, rough and scratchy, unlike the smooth, tailored clothes you wear now.

You sat on your bed, the straw mattress unforgiving with your weight as it snapped and cracked. You knew it would not break. It could fit you and Aunt Lyra in the small space as she tickled and teased your writhing form. A sigh escaped your mouth, your shoulders deflating as you looked at the abandoned area, a hollow, empty feeling enveloping your chest.

What would your life have been like if Daemon had never found out you existed? Would you still be sleeping in this same room? In the same tiny bed, you rested in as a child, or would you be in a different one? In a place fit for a girl of your size. Would you be a working girl or training to one day take Ma's place as the owner of this establishment?

One thing you knew for sure was that Lyra would be alive. You half expected her head to pop through the doorway, her blue eyes bright with contagious excitement as she invited you on a new adventure. The feeling was fleeting, your grief attempting to trick you into a reality that would never be.

Madam called to you over the symphony of moans you had drowned out, letting you know the food was ready. You stood, walking silently over to your door, shutting it and locking the knob, leaving everything as it once was.

***

"Lookie what we haves here," a man with a thick northern accent said in the darkness, kicking Aegon out of his slumber.

The sun had long set, and the nightlife was in full swing. Where had the time gone? Aegon looked around perplexed, his body forcing him to stop at the pounding of his head.

"This one 'ill be easy," another man out of the group commented, "He's already passed out drunk."

"Oi! Had more ale than you can handle," he shouted into Aegon's face, the man's breath indicating the same applied to him.

The Northern Man crouched down to his level, grabbing him by his chin and slapping him on the cheek for good measure. The dingy cloak that had hidden his white hair fell, revealing his identity.

"Aye. He's a Targaryen," a third man that Aegon overlooked said, a short dagger glinting in his hand.

"So?" The Northern Man questioned, not seeing the problem with his victim's identity. "We're only gonna mug 'em and send 'em on his merry way."

"He's seen our faces," the second thug expressed worriedly.

Aegon, in fact, had not seen their faces. His eyes were blurry, and the alley was too dark for him to see, but you had seen, watching the interaction behind them, as silent as a mouse. It had surprised you how easily the Prince's location had fallen into your lap. One of Madam's girls had interrupted your meal, out of breath as she told Ma what she saw.

It had turned out, in your years away, Madam had created quite the network of spies rivaling that of the White Worm. Her reach traveled all through Westeros and even across the Narrow Sea. It should not have been a shock how much her hands extended, ever the entrepreneur.

The leader, you could only assume, waved his grimy hand in front of Aegon, and when he made no reaction, he gestured to his conspirators. They reluctantly followed his actions, picking poor helpless Aegon up as one delivered a blow to his gut. Both you and Aegon winced but couldn't help the smile that made its way onto your lips. You would let them have their fun. He deserved it, after all.

After a brutal punch to the Prince's nose, blood gushing down his chin, did you finally intervene.

You unsheathed your sword quietly, still not wanting your presence to be known, as you stepped behind the man with the dagger. He posed the most threat until your steel blade sliced his hand clean off his wrist.

The man screamed in agony, clutching his dismembered arm as blood spurted from his wound, soaking the weathered stone below. The other two turned in your direction, your riding cloak keeping your figure in the darkness. The crimson dots shining on your sword gave them an indication of where you might be, pausing for a moment as they thought of their actions.

Quickly and with shaking hands, both Aegon's attackers drew their knives, mere toothpicks compared to your weapon. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped as you saw them step closer to you, their metal sticks trembling in their grasp.

The more dim-witted of the two lunged forward, swiping his blade where he assumed your torso was, but missing by an arm's length as you swiftly parried, knocking his knife to the ground and kicking it behind you. He froze in place, his partner attempting to do the same tactic but getting closer as you dodged.

Still, with a smile, you moved out of reach, slinking behind the pair, the fabric of your cloak flapping with your movements. They came at you simultaneously, but your arms were faster, deeply cutting across the abdomen of one, jumping out of the other's path as his inebriated body smacked against a stone wall. You did not stifle your laugh this time, letting it vibrate your chest as he fell flat on his back, his head smacking the hard ground.

"That was easier than anticipated," you said aloud. The two men, still clinging to consciousness as their blood leaked from their bodies, stared at you wide-eyed, stunned to hear a woman's voice.

You ignored them, pushing your hood off and rushing to Aegon as you lifted him upright. Other than his bloodied nose and a cut to his cheek, he was fine, albeit still a bit hungover. You hadn't realized how worried you had become as you watched the men from earlier beat him, your hands shaking as you stroked his greasy hair away from his face.

"Aegon," you said softly, the name feeling foreign on your tongue. "Are you alright?" You knew the question was asinine, he was not, but the sound of your racing heart inside your ears made you simple.

He groaned softly, still not quite back into reality as he lazily pushed your hand away. "My Prince, it is me," you paused, wiping the blood from his upper lip with your cloak. "It is your cousin." You said your name, his brows raising and glazed violet eyes opening.

"Little one," he spoke, his voice hoarse. "You are here?"

"Yes. I am here," you nodded, putting his dirtied hands on the sides of your face, attempting to ground him into the moment. All past animosity had left your mind, focusing solely on his face, more squared than you remembered.

"I have missed you, little one," Aegon said, his words slurring together. "I dreamed this day would come when you-"

Aegon's words were lost in the night air as someone yanked your long braid, pulling you to the ground. The man you had cut in the stomach flung himself over top of you, slamming your shoulders into the weathered stone streets, wrapping his slick hands around your throat.

You were stunned, momentarily caught off guard as he squeezed tighter, vengeance in his beady eyes. You blinked rapidly, collecting your thoughts as blood pooled on your face and air leaving your body.

The memories of your training surfaced in your mind, searching for any weak point you could use to free yourself. Luckily, all these men were idiots as you realized he had left your arms free.

You took the dagger Daemon had gifted you off your belt, shoving it into the man's side repeatedly, his blood spurting onto your hand and riding clothes. His grip loosened, and you brought your knee up, pushing him to the ground in the same position he had you, only wholly subdued.

He had no chance to beg for his life as you stabbed him in the chest, over and over and over again, until nothing but his body's subconscious twitches controlled him.

Aegon smiled as he watched you rise from the man's now mutilated corpse, your shoulders heaving as a warm feeling gathered in his chest. He reached out to you like a child asking their parent to carry them, and you accepted, saying something he did not hear as that feeling numbed his senses.

This was love, he thought as he noticed his attacker's blood splattered on your soft cheeks. The kisses and the touches of one special someone were love, yes, but not real love-- not true love. True love was death. It was the fear of loss and showing yourself raw and bare, even with the fear of rejection hammering at your insides. It was protecting the kin of someone who had hurt you in immeasurable ways.

Aegon was in love with you, he realized at that moment, as you shifted his weight onto your shoulder, using the opportunity to steal a whiff of your scent—lavender and dragon with a hint of smoke from your years on Dragonstone. You must have loved him, too, for not just anyone would kill three people for a single man.

***

It was an eternity before the Red Keep came into view, trying to picture the maps you studied of the layout as you helped Aegon's limp body up the hills. You had half a mind to drag him by his arms, uncaring if his porcelain skin was scratched with pebbles. Sacks of sand and grain were nothing compared to a full-grown man, and at this point, the fire that raged within you as you attacked those men was dwindling.

Aegon's loose leg caught on a stray rock, causing you and him to fall onto the stone street, his face buried in your chest. You huffed, attempting to push his enervated body off you with no success.

"Where are we going, little one," he asked, his violet eyes shining in the light of the street torches.

"Do not call me that," you grimaced, trying to roll him off again. "We are going home."

"Dragonstone? I have to say, dearest, that this is going to be a long haul for both of us. Why do we not just get some rest here, at the nearest inn," he questioned, tilting his head to one of the many buildings.

"No, not my home, you imbecile. Yours. Why would you ever think we would be going to Dragonstone," you said exasperated, unwedging your arm out from under him.

"I do not want to go there," he whined, sticking his lip out. "Let us just sleep at an inn," Aegon offered again, "I seem to recall a much enjoyable night spent between the two of us in one of these establishments."

A sound of disgust came from your throat, finally gaining enough strength to push him off. "Your skin is covered and dirt, your hair greasy, and you reek of piss. You are repulsive, Aegon, and I would rather be tarred and feathered for all of Kings Landing to see rather than spend one more moment with you."

Aegon's face contorted in hurt, his pink lips pouting as he stared at you with glassy eyes. His hair covered the sides of his square face looking years younger than he was—a heartbroken little boy in a man's body.

In his moments of need, you had forgotten the years worth of anger and resentment toward him and his family. Crucial aspects of your training were wiped from your mind when you saw his battered form. Your thoughts were only filled with heart-wrenching desperation as the blood dripped from his nose. He had made you weak, and that was something you would never allow yourself to be ever again.

"B-but..." he stammered, chin quivering, "I thought?"

"You thought wrong. The acts we committed as children were just that. It means nothing, meant nothing to me." The words spat like venom from your tongue, cutting Aegon to the quick. His eyes danced around the many alleyways, the thought of fleeing evident on his face. "Now, we only have a little longer on foot, and then we will arrive at the gates."

Aegon's feet shuffled as if to get comfortable, but you knew better. Judging by the letter the Queen had sent you, he was a flighty man, and you expected as much. You grabbed his arm before he could think, staring at his bedraggled face.

"And if you think of fleeing, know that I am not like the Kingsguard or the Watchman. There is not a whore house, cellar, or pub where I cannot find you. It would do you well to remember that." You yanked Aegon along with you, dragging him uphill toward the Red Keep, everything much easier this time. You were sure veins were protruding from your neck as you spoke to him, the area sore from where the man had attacked you.

He didn't fight. All thoughts of running were stopped and replaced with melancholy and defeat as bumbled behind you. Where had his little girl gone? Who had stolen your sweet words and gentle gestures, you had shown him not too long ago?

Aegon told himself this was not you. You were frustrated and angry with him for being cheeky when you were not in the mood. Most likely tired from the long ride from Dragonstone. That was why you lashed out, he reassured, not because you meant what you said. Mayhaps you have not remembered the tender moments you shared many years ago. Time and words from your father and mother could have contorted your memories into what you believed they were now.

But in the end, he knew you were his, and buried deep down, rooted in the aspects of your soul you refused to avow, he was yours.

***

During the hour of the owl, you finally reached the front gate of the Keep. Aegon had completely sobered, seeming refreshed and ripe to begin a few hours of debauchery, but you, on the other hand, were not accustomed to forgoing hours of sleep.

You heard armor clanking as several guards appeared over the red stone wall, hands on their swords and spears.

"It is the Prince," one shouted as a stampede of metal footsteps echoed in the night, the large wooden gates opening.

A handful of guards went to you and Aegon, pausing momentarily as they finally noticed you. The silver accents on your clothes glinted in the moonlight, your braids loose from the hours of scouring the streets and hauling a certain princeling.

"Woman. Move from the Prince at once," a knight commanded as you glared at Aegon. "Wench! I command thee, move ten paces away from His Grace, or you will be moved."

Aegon refused to help you. For once, during this entire night, he kept his moronic mouth shut. Revenge for how you spoke to him earlier, you supposed. You looked at him in astoundment, your lip curling incredulously as you looked at the men. Indeed, they recognized you. You were not someone who could exactly be forgotten, the white streak in your hair.

"Cease!" A voice from behind the knights shouted. The guards moved out of his way, clearing a path for the man in pristine white armor. "This is the daughter of His Grace, Prince Daemon Targaryen! Have you men so semblance of intelligence to recognize the kin of the crown?"

You had to hide your shock as Ser Arryk Cargyll stood between you and the group of guards. His brother followed closely behind. He had grown further into the position of a Kingsguard. His light brown hair, you had remembered loose at his shoulder, was now slicked on the sides of his head into a knot, his beard longer with a slight curl to the collection of whiskers over his lip.

"Come, Princess," he said, gesturing with his hand, "I thank you for returning Prince Aegon without harm to the Red Keep. We will escort him to his chambers. I am certain the King and Queen will be pleased with both of your arrivals."

Aegon eyed Ser Ayyrk suspiciously. To everyone, even you, his words appeared respectful, but Aegon knew of the compassion Arryk extended to you during a vulnerable moment, soiling his love with the kind words of a simple knight.

"There is no need, Ser Arryk. I will return him," you replied, grabbing Aegon harshly on his upper arm. "I am expected an audience with the Queen upon my arrival with her son. Will you please alert her to my presence?"

"Yes, My Lady," he nodded curtly, his forearm over his breastplate as he turned.

You exhaled in relief once his back was turned, releasing Aegon's bicep, and rested your hands on your knees, preparing for what was to come.

Master List of Series

Spotify Playlist

YouTube Playlist

I was today years old when I realized I'd been writing Aegon's title wrong. Please, bear with me while I change everything that includes his name. Why is she so mean to him? :( Like our sweet baby boy did nothing wrong other than get Lyra and Sara killed. I hope she doesn't find out because judging how this first encounter went, I don't think she'll be very forgiving.

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @adelusionalwriter, @sunny-boy-06

BOLD MEANS IT WON'T LET ME TAG YOU

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the-blorbo-project · 2 months

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Blorbos at Conference!

Long time, no update, but this project is moving forward! This weekend, we're at a conference hosted by the Society for Cinema and Media Studies, or SCMS, presenting as part of a panel devoted to fan studies.

Why do panels matter?

First and foremost, it's a way to get research before a bunch of other researchers while it's still in progress. This helps catch poorly formed ideas, surface new good ideas, and share what's coming up with the fan studies research communities. It's also good for our humble PhD student CVs!

The Findings

Of course, the most interesting part is what, actually, we're presenting, AKA the findings! They're a work in progress, and the hardest part is the coding (talked about here). Therefore, I'm focusing on what I could do deep analysis on relatively quickly. (note: these images don't have image IDs because I summarize them below, but they're graphic representations of what I talk about in the text).

The majority of survey respondents were young: about 39% were 18-22 and 32% were 23-27. A further 17% were 28-32, about 8% were 33-37, and then it got progressively smaller from there. Shoutout to all 3 respondents who were 63 and over! So glad you're here.

In terms of social media usage, most people used tumblr - unsurprising, since that's where we got our most traction for the survey. Discord was the second most likely. Part of a later analysis will be seeing if these terms are more likely to be used by different age groups or on different platforms, which is cool.

Almost everyone surveyed had heard of these terms. Blorbo was the most-used and meow meow was least used, but very, very few respondents had not heard of these terms at all. This may be in part due to how we used them in our survey recruitment, since we did want to find people who knew what these terms were so that they could define them for us.

These numbers slope slightly down because something broke when we imported them into NVivo (a coding software) and frankly I don't understand it well even when it actually works, let alone when it breaks.

Here's a little visual of the terms you suggested for characters. Unfortunately, NVivo crashes every time I try to exclude words from this word bubble (like "term"), so it's not as clear as I'd like it to be, but there are some interesting ones. Particularly interesting are the cluster of gendered terms; husbando and waifu, malewife, sexyman, boy, girl, etc. I want to do some analysis of this because it parallels some preliminary coding results. Y'all also really find your blorbos scrunkly/skrunkly/scrungly, huh?

I also want to figure out how to tell the visualizer that "glup" and "shitto" go together, because "shitto" all by its lonesome over there is cracking me up.

Qualitative Findings

Like I said, the coding is...so far from done. That's mostly due to some Ao3-author levels of life disruption from both of us. BUT! I can tentatively say a couple of things:

There are notably clear definitions about these terms. We weren't sure if there even really was a definition of "blorbo", but it clearly refers to a very specific kind of one-true-character. By contrast, comfort characters are associated with experiencing positive emotions, and meow meows are more likely to be evil or morally grey (but you love them though).

Unsurprisingly, your characters make you happy. We're distinguishing between general positive emotions, attachment, relatability, and one-true-character belovedness. Also sexiness, but that (surprisingly) hasn't come up that much.

There are a couple of ways in which darker themes come up. Villains remain beloved, but a recurring theme is also using tragedy or trauma in fiction as catharsis.

Finally, there's a lot of playful and tactile language. "Rotating him in my mind" really is that common.

Additionally, I'm really interested in the role of gender. Many of you referred to your blorbos/meow meows as your guys, with some of you clarifying that it was "my little guy (gender neutral)". Others noted that most characters you'd seen people describe as blorbos or meow meows were men/masc. This did not come up for comfort characters. Analysis of the characters you consider exemplars of each definition will help flesh out this analysis.

Still to Come

SO much. Who are these characters? Is a specific character exclusively a meow meow, or are they also a common comfort character? What types of positive emotion are associated with each type? Are these character types or do they speak to a fan's individual (or a fandom's communal) relationship with a character?

Additionally - we didn't ask about neurodivergence, but many of y'all referenced it. I'm looking forward to exploring that as well.

That's all for now! I present this live in about two hours. If you're somehow following this account AND at SCMS, please come by!

#mod sarah #blorbos #blorbo from my shows #research on tumblr

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mayakern · 1 year

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shirt + skirt restocks + shirt preorders!

Hey y'all! Since you loved the shirts so much, we're planning to run shirt preorders in the upcoming weeks! And you can help me pick which designs to include in preorders by voting in this poll!

(if the link doesn't work, check the links at bio.site/mayakern)

Here's our schedule for the upcoming weeks:

March 2nd: skirt restock. This will be the last of the skirts from our old manufacturer and will contain primarily defective skirts. The defects are primarily small print errors, such as some minor print banding or the ocassional white spot. The designs we will have the most inventory of are Bee and Desert Sunset in all sizes, Ye Olde Cats and Bluebonnets in size B, and Tea (blue) and Crystal Clusters in size C. We'll have other designs as well, but those will be the majority of the inventory.

March 9th: shirt restock. This will be the last of our first batch of shirts (Bee, Mushrooms, Cherry Tree and Whales).

March 16-30: shirt preorders. Since we're still so new to making shirts, we're having trouble knowing how many we need in what sizes--so we've decided to run some preorders! I don't know yet which designs will be included, but you can help me decide by voting in the poll.

April 6: skirt restock. tentatively this is when we're planning to launch the first batch of skirts from our new manufacturer. I'm not 100% on this date because we haven't received the skirts in our office yet (we should be getting them in early March, after which we'll need to do inventory and quality check and do a photoshoot), but this is our target!

#maya rambles #store #news

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 6 months

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Welcome To New York

Chapter Two of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley 'Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: It's been seven years since you left Pigeon Creek, Alabama. Seven long, arduous years. Just when everything seems to be moving in the right direction, a seemingly happy event makes you remember how closely the ties bind you to Pigeon Creek.

Themes: angst, love, smut, attraction

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 3170

A/N: Here we go with Chapter two! It's finally time to see who Linley is as an adult and explore a little bit of her life in New York. This is also the chapter where we meet her beau! I hope you love it!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

In the seven years since you left Pigeon Creek in the rear view mirror, your life has changed by leaps and bounds. You're not sure when your small hometown went from feeling like your whole world to not being enough. You've always had dreams, and you've always been opinionated. But as you grew up, your dreams and Jake were still the two most important things in your life.

At least, that is, until one dumb decision changed your entire life and ended up losing you your best friend and first love all in one fell swoop. So you left Pigeon Creek and you left Jake behind, and moved to New York City. You lost yourself in your career, working your butt off to become a fashion designer. It’s been a long, hard road to get to where you are now, but you can’t say you regret it.

You wake up the night before your first big debut show at New York Fashion Week, dreaming of the day you and Jake were struck by lightning. You're face down on your workbench and for one short moment, you're not quite sure where you are. But that feeling fades when you see lightning through the stained glass window of the warehouse you and your team are working out of.

"Oh my god." You gather a couple of designs off of your desk before walking up to the floor, checking them for splotches of drool as you go. Your team is clustered around models, carefully measuring and finishing garments to make sure each fits their model to perfection.

"How come y'all let me sleep?" Even after seven years, you haven't been able to lose your Alabama accent. A part of you hopes you never do.

"It was only five minutes. Did you know your accent gets thicker when you're sleeping?" You roll your eyes before comparing the design in front of you to the one on the paper. You make one final adjustment to the cloth on the mannequin before accepting a cup of coffee from your assistant. With coffee in your veins, everything feels better.

"They destroyed Badgley Mischka, did you see, Linley?" You nod ruefully, sure to your bones that the same could happen to you.

As your team laughs, you can't help interjecting. "Yeah, yeah. Y'all are laughing now, but tomorrow that could be us!"

Your words are just enough to have your team erupting into activity again. You forget all about your dream, attention wholly held by the fabric which has the ability to control your entire future. If you send fervent prayers out to the Fashion Gods, Saint Laurent, Gucci and Karl Lagerfeld, your team doesn’t judge you for it. They’re banking on this collection just as much as you are. It's just after dawn when you and your team leave the warehouse. You're exhausted and run off of your feet, but you're filled with contentment at the same time. For better or for worse you’ve made something with your own two hands, a collection from which you adore every single piece. As you walk home, you're filled with a quiet confidence - being a successful fashion designer feels so attainable right now. The city is as quiet as you've ever heard it and the shops are just opening up their shutters as you walk down the street. You can actually do this!

When you finally, finally get home, your feet are dragging. You only have the time for a quick catnap before you have to head downtown again to complete your final prep for the fashion show. Your apartment is quiet, lit only by the weak light of the rising sun peeking through your gauzy white curtains. You throw the deadbolt home and turn around, only to see flower petals strewn across the pale carpet. Your entire apartment is filled with the scent of freshly bloomed roses.

A riotous wash of colors greets you as you toe off your heels and step onto the plush cream carpet, following the trail of petals into your living room. Vase after vase of bright blooms line the tables and shelves in your living room, the delicate scent lifting your mood instantly. There's only one person who could do this for you.

Bradley Bradshaw.

When you'd moved to New Y0rk, you'd promised yourself you wouldn't fall in love again - or at least that you wouldn't actively go looking for it. The girl you were, that heartbroken worn creature, you vowed to wipe her out of existence. So you adopted the surname Floyd along with a backstory to match and became a Linley your own father wouldn't recognize. You hadn't expected to fall in love with the New York Secretary of Housing. But under your mentor, you ran in posh circles, even before you got the chance to design your own line for fashion week, and you and Bradley had hit it off.

It hasn’t been a whirlwind romance, at least not in the conventional sense. That wasn’t Bradley’s fault either. Bradley is easy to love. It just took you a while for your brain to convince your heart that you could love him. A part of you still does a double-take when he does things like this for you. You’re still not sure you deserve the pampering, forget the vacations or the parties that you’ve been attending on his arm. It’s good for your reputation, less so for his. After all, the man once known as Rooster in the press for some less than clothed paparazzi pictures on vacation had a reputation for dating models before you.

The red light on your answering machine is blinking and you hit the button to hear what messages you have. It's Bradley's voice you hear, leaving a voicemail so romantic that were you a different, less heart-sore girl, you would have swooned on the spot. As it is, you have to lock your knees, you’re so sure they’re going to give out on you.

"Hey, Sweetheart." His voice makes you smile giddily as you stand in your flower festooned living room. "Good Morning. There's a rose for every moment I thought of you last night. I know the likelihood that you came home last night was slim to none, so I wanted to do something to brighten your day. I also wanted to wish you good luck before the show today. It's going to be a hit and I can't wait to see what your gorgeous brain came up with. I love you! Bye sweetheart!"

When a man does things like this for you, how could you not love him?

Mid-morning finds you backstage running around like a chicken with its head cut off. You're so nervous even your nerves have nerves. This fashion show is either going to be a success or the biggest disaster you've ever seen. You've solved about a million disasters, including a blouse that should be purple but is a mauve instead - the yellow spotlight should fix that - when you see Bradley on a video feed of the milling crowd.

He always looks so good, so put together. He's wearing a crisp electric blue suit with a Hawaiian shirt underneath it. Were it anyone else, the ensemble would look garish, but on Bradley, it looks amazing. The mustache and Hawaiian shirt are staples in New York politics at the moment. They're both eye-catching traits that Bradley's dad always, always wore when he was mayor before his death and it's a trend Bradley continued once he became Housing Secretary. Of course, just like his dad, he's also the belle of the press.

"Secretary Bradshaw! Can we ask you a couple of questions? Are you excited about the show?" Your grin is smug and a little unbelieving as you watch him schmooze the press, dropping tidbits about how you're going to knock this line out of the park.

"Please tell me he has a flaw." That sardonic, sarcastic voice? That's Natasha Trace. Both of you had come up under the same mentor, her as a model and you as a designer. She's the closest thing you have to a best friend in New York.

"He asked to take me to Ireland over the holidays." You can't wait! You've never left the country before.

"Oh, honey, he's going to ask you to do a lot more than go to Ireland with him." She's nudging you even as the other models line up behind her.

"We'll see." You face the models. "We're going to be late! Alright ladies! It's go time!"

It feels like a dream when the curtains come down and the standing ovation rings through the hall. You take a few minutes to clear away your mascara tear trails and to re-apply your lipstick before heading into the crowd. You're immediately mobbed by your friends and industry contacts.

When you see Bradley standing behind the photographer taking pictures of you and your models, Tash included, you're immediately moving through the crowd and launching yourself into his arms.

"Bradley!" He's smiling that grin you love as he wraps you up tight in his arms. The scent of his cologne surrounds you as he holds you tight, holding you up before he lets you drop back onto your feet.

"Oh sweetheart, congratulations!" You can't hide your ecstatic grin as you stay in his arms.

"Those flowers, Bradley? They were absolutely gorgeous! How did you do it?" You're a little giddy and out of breath just at the sight of his smiling face.

"I just wanted today to be perfect for you, sweetheart." You smile up at him in thanks before pulling away, just a little, your hands still in his own.

"So? What did you think? Do you think the critics will like it?" You can't hide the doubt in your tone.

"Oh, Lin! They're critics. They even hate themselves." His words should comfort you, right? Instead it feels like Bradley's not taking your concerns seriously. But you chuckle it off.

"Well, excuse me, Mr. Bradshaw! I wasn't born with thick skin like you." You're grinning just a little as he smiles sunnily at you.

"That's one of the many reasons why I love you, Sweetheart." His hands cup your face as you rise on your tiptoes to peck him chastely. Of course, right as you're about to pull Bradley over to introduce him to the girls, he's saying his goodbyes.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I've got a meeting across town. But I'll see you tonight, yeah?" At your confused look he continues. "You remember, we have that thing at Lincoln Center?"

That's when you remember, the thought hitting you like a sack of bricks and thoroughly deflating your happy little hot air balloon.

"Oh, right!" You smile wryly at him. "The fundraiser! For your mom! That's tonight."

"I'm afraid so. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. I love you! Congratulations!" You wish you could say that this is the first time Bradley's had to dip out early for a meeting, but you would be wrong.

You can't help but dwell on it when James, Bradley's personal chauffeur picks you up to take you to the fundraiser a few hours later. Is this what life is going to be like? Feeling like you're never at the top of his mind? Never his number one priority? Sure you get to enjoy perks like chauffeured cars and going to fundraisers and galas, wearing designer brands and diamonds on your neck, ears, and wrists, but are those perks worth never being his top priority? You're jerked out of your thoughts when the car stops and James pulls the divider down.

"His meeting's running a little late. But Mr. Bradshaw wanted me to take you inside so you wouldn't have to wait in the car."

"Where are we?" You don't get an answer to your question. James leads you through a side doorway and a series of plain white-walled hallways.

"He shouldn't be too long, miss. Just go through here." If you didn't trust him with your life and know that Bradley did the same, you'd be a little worried.

There's another suited man waiting at an open door. "Won't you come in, Miss Floyd?"

You walk past his outstretched arm into another bare hallway. But this one has Bradley on the other end of it.

"So, have you decided?" As happy as you are to see him, you can't help feeling just the slightest bit of whiplash.

"About Ireland, sweetheart. Just you and me and a couple hundred of our closest friends and family." You feel even more confused now than you did earlier.

"A couple hundred - Bradley what's going on?" The entire time he's been confusing you, he's led you into a cavernous room.

At a signal you can't see, the lights flicker on, one by one, illuminating shelf after shelf of sparkling jewels. Pretty stacks of robin's egg blue boxes are artistically arrayed to the sides, all bearing the mark of Tiffany and Co.

"Oh. My. God." Your words are a little strangled as you take in the plethora of shiny gems.

And then he gets to his knee right in front of you.

"Linley Floyd. Will you marry me?" Your brian short circuits at his words, an irrational sense of panic clouding your vision.

"A-are you sure? Are you really sure you want to marry me? We've only been dating for eight months!" You're babbling, trying desperately to make sure he's making the right decision while making sure you're making the right decision.

"Of course I'm sure, sweetheart. You know me. I don't make rash decisions. And I don't ask questions I'm not sure of the answer to. So at the risk of being rejected twice, I'll ask you again. Will you marry me?"

This time, your mouth kicks in before your brian does. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" You're both smiling and laughing as he twirls you around in a circle.

"So pick one." There’s laughter in his eyes as he follows behind you as you try on ring after ring, all in your size. Each is beautiful, but you know each is also more expensive, costing more money than you’ve ever seen, more money than you’re sure you’ll ever see. It’s almost a relief when you pick the simplest one, a band with a singular clear cut stone embedded in it. But your left hand feels heavy in the car afterwards as James drives you and Bradley to the Lincoln Center.

You can’t name the feeling in you right now. You should be feeling happy and excited. A part of you is giddy and ebullient. But more than that, you’re confused. But you can’t let Bradley see how you feel. So you kiss him softly, relishing in the feeling of his mustache across your lips. As you sink into the kisses, your earlier exhaustion dissipates like champagne bubbles. The divider is up and it feels like you and Bradley are the only people in the entire universe that matter right now.

"I've been planning this for a long time, sweetheart. I knew your show would be great and it'll be great to tell the whole world at the fundraiser tonight, right?" Your stomach lurches a little at the thought.

"I can't wait to see my mom's face when I tell her that we're engaged! Let's call your dad, sweetheart!"

You shock yourself with how fast you snatch the phone out of his hand - he isn’t able to type in more than a single digit.

"No!" You chuckle a little sheepishly. " I mean, um. I haven't seen my dad since I left Alabama. I really should tell him in person. He raised me all by himself and he deserves to hear it from me in person. Please?" You pull out your biggest, best puppy eyes and pout just a little. As always, it works.

"Of course, sweetheart." His sigh is fond as he takes the phone back. "I love that you're that close to your dad."

"Um.. there's one more thing, Bradley." At his nod, you continue. "I think I should do it alone."

"Baby, you know I'm going to have to meet my father-in-law eventually, right? Hopefully before the wedding?" Now he's looking at you like you’re crazy.

"I know, Bradley. But we've got plenty of time for that, right? And I know my dad will love you!" You cup his cheek gently with your left hand.

"It's 'cause I'm a Yankee, right?"

You crinkle your nose fondly before leaning in close enough that each word has your lips brushing against his. "Well, it's that and 'cause you're a Democrat."

You're both giggling as the car pulls up in front of the Lincoln Center. Before you get out of the car, Bradley turns the ring so the stone is in your palm.

"Mum's the word, sweetheart. Just for now."

The minute you step out of the car, you're bombarded by questions, flashes of light from countless photographs and what seem to be a hundred calls of your name. At the end of the runway is who you would classify to be the epitome of the Wicked Witch of the West, if only the Wicked Witch of the West were less green.

Carole Bradshaw is the current Mayor of New York, ex-First Lady of New York City, and 100% sure that nobody can run her son's life better than she can. So she butts into nearly every part of your relationship with Bradley. He manages to wiggle away by finding a colleague he recognizes. But that leaves you right in her clutches as she pulls you into a hug and takes both your hands in hers.

"Oh, darling, I hear fantastic things about your new line."

You babble your thanks, but you know exactly why her expression changes. Her vice grip on your left hand would hurt if you weren't wholly preoccupied by the cold sweat covering you from head to toe.

"What is this?" She hisses, "Bradley, why is Linley wearing a skating rink on a very important finger?"

She doesn't even notice you trying to tell her to keep it quiet, because all of a sudden she's screaming the words, "You're engaged?!", for all the press and fundraiser guests to hear.

That's when you know you have two huge problems. One, your engagement, your supposed-to-be hush hush engagement is going to be all over the news, you're sure nationally. Everybody will know that Secretary Bradshaw is engaged to you. The second problem? It's that you've never told anyone that you had been married once before. That you're still married, actually.

It's with a heavy heart that you book the first red eye to Alabama in the early morning hours after the gala. How the hell are you going to get Jake to sign the divorce papers without him finding out that you're engaged? Can you get the divorce processed before Bradley comes to meet your dad? More importantly, are you ready to face Pigeon Creek again?

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@sarahsmi13s @atarmychick007 @the-romanian-is-bae @lt-spork @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814 @praline357 @seitmai @cheyrenee @trickphotography2 @abaker74 @marrianena-library @angelbabyange @temptest13 @kmc1989 @im-an-adult-ish @chaoticassidy @inkandarsenic @lynnevanss @shanimallina87 @khaylin27 @mizzzpink @emma8895eb @hookslove1592 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @thedroneranger @roosterforme @dakotakazansky @cherrycola27 @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #sweet home alabama #a top gun au #star's sweet home alabama top gun au #jake hangman seresin x oc #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc

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things-about-cars-in-posts · 7 months

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In celebration of me just picking up a Toyota Altezza Gita/Lexus IS300 Sportcross what are some of your favourite wagons or shooting brakes

yOOOOOO!!!!

Okay now I have to ask, is it actually an imported Toyota or did you add that just for potential clarification?

I should give context for folx out there (apparently folx is a 'more friendly' spelling to some? oh the wild wonders of language): y'all know how Lexus is a brand Toyota founded to move upmarket? Yeah, they didn't need to do that at home because Japan is much better protected from too-good-for-Toyotas-itis: I mean, if the emperor can drive (well, be driven in) Toyotas I am pretty sure you can afford to be seen in one. As a result, until 2005 Japan got Lexus models but not the Lexus brand, receiving them with Toyota branding instead (and different model names too, since the two letter acronyms were a Lexus thing).

To get to your question, though:

SEDANS I LIKE THE WAGON VERSION OF TOO

Toyota Altezza Gita/Lexus IS300 Sportcross (:D)

Indeed, I love your car! The JZ (for the folx: a six cylinder inline engine series widely regarded to be Toyota's best, capable of truly monstrous power with the right hands fiddling under the hood), the sporty, timeless styling, Toyota reliability and Lexus build quality, how no matter the market they refused to use a normal word for wagon, the chrome taillights so iconic they spawned an entire trend in 2000s car styling (especially aftermarket - hell, they still call them Altezza taillights!)... and that gauge cluster oh my GAWD

Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution VIII Wagon

I don't think the street equivalent of one of the most legendary rally cars (and certainly, with the Subaru Impreza WRX STI, part of the most legendary rally war) needs any introduction. I just wanted to make sure you knew that between '05 and '07 the closest thing to a rally car a dealer would sell you also came in wagon form. In Japan only, of course. Because if Japan can't keep a cool thing to themselves, they'll make a cooler version to keep to themselves. Always.

Morris Mini Traveller/Austin Mini Countryman/Mini Clubman Estate

How do Mini fans do it, man

Who doesn't love the Mini? Who doesn't love the wagon's funky rear doors?

And who doesn't hate the time they tried to modernize its front end for the 70s? Me.

Like come on guys. You need to find within yourselves the intellectual honesty to admit that this fucks.

I rest my case. Let's move on.

Citroën DS Break/Familiale/Safari/Estate/Station Wagon

How do Citroën fans do it, man

Yes, the steering wheel had a single spoke - and by the way, that's it straight. It was angled like that so that, in a crash, it would guide your your body to the right - because there weren't seatbelts yet in 1955. Yeah. This is a 1955 design. The French are always been and likely always will be hellbent on being weird - and the Citroën DS is a distillation of the good that can come from that. It had pillarless windows! variable height suspension so effective you could only tell you had a flat by sound - and could change that flat by just having the suspension lift it for you! It had rear fenders held on by one bolt! Hell, in 1967, it got directional lights that turned with the wheels!!!!

IN 1967!!!! Few cars have them right now today!!!

Oh, and also, most interesting to us right now, it has the greatest vibe gap between sedan and wagon I have ever seen. Allow me to illustrate (and slightly exacerbate by cherry picking examples).

You get out of this with suit and tie and a watch you change the time of with felt tweezers.

You get out of this with a lab coat, plane goggles, a propeller tophat and a concoction that violates a semester's worth of laws of physics. And, potentially, seven of the biggest freaks the planet could muster, because yes, this could seat up to eight, thanks to a front bench, a middle bench, and trunk seats. "You mean a third row?" HAHA. NO.

Honorable mentions:

Mazda 6, Subaru Impreza, Toyota Corolla KE70, Audi RS4, BMW E30, Fiat 500 Giardinetta, most '60s yankee landyachts that got a wagon, and all the ones that escape me at this moment

WAGONS I LIKE MORE THAN THE SEDAN VERSION

Audi RS6 (second generation)

Here's what happened (presumably): Audi had bought Lamborghini. Great! Now Lamborghinis could use Audi interior bits, a very welcome change because Lamborghini were not exactly the interior controls GOATs. (To stick to a representative example and not be here all day, when set to Fahrenheit the Diablo's digital climate controls changed the temperature by two degree increments except between 63F and 64F and 72F and 73F. And at the extremes it said LOF and HIF because the F did not go away. So yeah.) But this also gave Audi access to Lamborghini parts - and, a couple years in, one of the engineers told the others "Jo [German for "Yo"], there's gotta be something cool we can do with Lamborghini parts!" And the other was like "Maybe we can make the new RS6 [Audian for Real Sporty version of the A6 executive sedan] with a Lambo V10! That'd be a fast fucking sedan." And the first one replied "And a fast fucking wagon too!" And their eyes locked, lighting up with villainous thrill.

I mean, I could wax lyrical about the all wheel drive and super expensy carbon ceramic brakes and the flared fenders et al but if this garbage 5 second clip does not convince you that this busts ass how could I.

youtube

Toyota Corolla E110

Well that's quite the jump. How could I possibly be interested in a car like this? If cars were meals this would be a plate of warm water. There is only one way to possibly get excited about a car this boring: personal significance. And sure enough, my Yaris-pursuing father was instead upsold a Corolla exactly like this, discounted to empty the lot in preparation for its facelift - and one day he used it to drive my momma to a hospital, they got out of it in two, and some tribulations later they got back in it in three - third being a hot-off-the-press me. This, then, was the car that was in the driveway through my stumbling infancy - and never hinted at letting us down. We then traded it for an Opel that gave us loads of trouble, the recipient traded it for an Audi that gave him loads of trouble, and on the Corolla kept getting passed on right to wherever it rests today, never letting anyone down - loyalty likely rewarded by a crusher turning it to mush. And I want another shot at doing this car right.

Okay, actually, there's another way to get excited about such a car: find out about the inevitable sick-ass Japan-only version. In this case Toyota figured they'd fit the Sprinter Carib (because Corolla wasn't near a silly enough name for the Japanese market) with a 20V 4A-GE Blacktop and a 6 speed manual, or in less technical terms "one of the greatest non-turbo powertrains of its size to ever graze a production car". Presumably just for the sake of keeping it Japan-only for the sake of annoying me personally.

Well, joke's on them, because my idea goes even harder: replicating the powertrain the hatchback version competed in World Rally Championship with - 4WD and all.

This but wagon, essentially. And then bin it in a tree in 15 seconds like I always do on the rally sim.

Honorable mentions:

1970 Dodge Coronet SW, Nissan Stagea, Volvo 940/960 wagon (which I talked about in another post!), and again all the others that I forgot.

The shooting brakes are gonna need their separate post because otherwise it hits the image limit :/

Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

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the-npd-culture-is · 4 months

Note

Nice blog you got there cherri

ok so i have like fifteen other asks but i need to address this first because it's been an issue for nearly a month now and these anons tried to find my main and did what i think was an attempt at doxing me.

this is a post to spread awareness to my followers, despite the person concerned not being aware that i'm doing this at this moment (i will tag them and DM them about it soon). long post, but important.

i may reblog this with additional info in the future, so if you feel this gives limited information check the reblogs or comments.

these anons tried scarying me off of running my blog by constant harassment for days straight, which thankfully stopped as i ended up blocking them. as you can see they ended up bypassing my block or asked someone from another account to continue the harassment and attempts at inducing fear. frankly, what this is causing me is anger as im not the only one involved in this unfortunately.

one of the first hate anons on this blog was a spam of four or more anons asking me if i was the person the anon im replying to is mentioning here. i didn't think much of it as they came with another roughly dozen of hate anon spam which (surprise surprise/s) disappeared in its entirety once i blocked one of them. meaning a single person was harassing me.

i ended up contacting the person these anons were thinking i was, and decided to not reply to the first batch of hate, as first they had the url fully typed out in the ask and I didn't want to expose the person concerned, and second I didn't want to bother any of my followers with one salty hater. they were as weirded out as me that they got involved into this without any logical link between my main, their main, or this sideblog, asides from the fact that they were one of the handful of people that supported me early on and even accepted in dms to share my blog to a discord server (a small one, but they were excited about my blog and asked if i was ok with them sharing it and i said ok).

i had asked them to not make a callout post on their own blog about this nor to go and harass anyone. which they didn't. additionally, i sent them screenshots of the hate anons and explained to them that i didn't want to put their blog url publicly by answering the anon as I felt it was a safety issue. but they insisted that they didn't mind it and that if i changed my mind about the whole issue and decided to go public i would.

so here's their url -> @cherrifruiti (they're getting free promo lol, hopefully it balances out the harassment and targeting they went through. they're an artist and honestly good friend. we bonded more over this. go check them out)

the insistence of this anon on trying to find my main was confusing to me at first. i did not choose to remain anonymous on here for privacy reasons, hell, not even safety reasons. i deal with worse bullshit on main than here. i wanted this blog mainly to have an anonymous moderator as a way to leave space for the community voices. i felt like a faceless blog was a more welcoming environment than having the baggage of a whole person, moral alignments, blend into a space that's catered towards a specific goal and discussion. which to be fair was a huge hit for my ego. id love to share my full identity with y'all and have the accomplishments of this blog linked to me. but im stubborn and attached to my values.

to put it simply, i did not want to make the same mistake as the admin from @narcissisticpdcultureis did.

that being said, i did not lie on any of my values linked with my DNI. i wanted this blog to be accessible to cluster b personality disorder havers and the wider community regardless of their backgrounds, but with some limits for my own mental health and personal boundaries, that i tried keeping limited. notably regarding discourse. of any kind. and as another addition for resources in the npd and cluster b community. just as another community space, not a monopoly.

despite the amount of hate and adversity expressed from the admin of @narcissisticpdcultureis , i had not made this blog with adversity, harassment, anger, or "rebellion" in mind. unlike how the admin seemed to take my act of creating my own digital space and express emotional distain for my blog for the sake of existing. blaming me of doing so to put them in a bad light, while the only thing i did was point out information they already had made accessible to the public about themselves in their pinned post. which i didn't give a moral alignment to it, just stated that i was personally uncomfortable with it.

i am not condoning harassment, but I will not police your actions either. this individual(s) had put the url of my sideblog publicly in a rant of theirs aimed to put me and my work in a bad light without regards of my safety or mental health, and lead many, potentially themselves personally as well, to put me through constant anonymous harassment while i had expressed since the beginning i didn't want to be affiliated or interact with their blog, and never mentioned their url publicly up to now, to avoid the same scenario that just happened to me from their doing.

additionally, in their rant about my blog, they mentioned another npd culture that apparently was created adjacent to theirs, potentially for similar reasons as mine although this is unknown.

im gonna say one thing.

if anything, i like the attention. you decided that i, a small account, who didn't have the self estime to ever think would get traction, caused enough of a problem to make your, way more popular, blog feel threatened. i feel honored.

my only issue is that you failed to find my main blog, which frankly offended me. now my friend is the one getting all the spotlight instead of me </3

i did not judge you on morality when i decided to distance myself from your content due to your syscourse stance. but i am judging you now by your actions. i will be reporting you for harassment and encourage everyone in my social circles to do so as well.

i am not going anywhere.

#anon #mod talk #ask #asks

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ask-your-fav-spiderling · 2 months

Text

happy 20th birthday to ME. uhmmmm big news

I'M RETIRING!!!!! 🗣️🗣️

as spiderling. for the foreseeable future. potentially forever!!

i've just been thinking, i started being spiderling when i was 13 fresh off the death of harry. that wasn't my fault, i didn't do anything to cause that other than like exist. it took me a really long time to figure that out though. but after that i decided i had to fix what i thought i'd done, i had these abilities that meant i had to use them, right?

so i went out and i helped tons of people and i'll never regret that, but i got myself hurt. a lot.

and then i met the cluster. which is another thing i'll always be thankful for. i absolutely love y'all, don't doubt this because of what i'm about to say. a lot of you were not the best role models for a 13 year old. this is just like a fact i'm NOT upset about it, i can easily recognize that we were all in uniquely weird and/or bad places, but also gang the first time most of us met was ALSO the first time i saw a dead body. but we all met and now you're my family and i know now that if i quit spider stuff entirely you'll still stick by me.

then mysterio happened. and listen there are things that occurred that stay between me, him, gd, and my therapist, beyond what y'all already know. but it fucked me up GOOD, and i still have a lot of problems discerning what around me is real or not.

then a WHOLE lot of other stuff happened and i got angrier and just. bad mentally. i never wanted to fight when i was angry, i still don't, i hate the lack of control and i hate acting like my dad. but i was spiderling i couldn't just not go out. because then the almighty vague "something bad" would happen. and so i'd go out and be reckless and get hurt worse and worse and i'd feel awful about it so OBVIOUSLY to make up for it i had to go out more.

OCD is not a logical disorder.

and things would get better for a bit, then worse, and the "betters" got less great and the "worses" got more extreme and it just get going and going until eventually i hit a point where i realized if i didn't quit i would probably get killed. but by now, patrol was a compulsion. i'd have full anxiety attacks if i didn't have my suit on me at all times. so quitting was much much harder than i thought it'd be.

but i hatched a plan last year, you love me and my plans, and took down my rouges in a way that i believe ensures they can't come back. all of them are big long stories that i WILL be telling but ideally later. and uh yeah. did it!

so i think, it's still hard to retire entirely. because there are good, great things about being spiderling, mostly the community and getting to help people in a way that really matters. so essentially, i'm on call. if there's a situation where you need extra hands and i feel capable of helping, i'll be there. but in 22701? zip, zilch, nada, i am done. i did my time.

i want to be there for fun things too! conventions, events, competitions, all that jazz.

but yeah, that's the spiel. happy 20th to meeeee can't wait until next year to see if i can get drunk

#everyone be nice to me about this decision or i will block you forever and ever /j

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nilsavatar · 9 months

Text

PHOENIX | 3. UNIL

Unil: ['u.nil] dream All credits for adult Neteyam go to @cinetrix

Status: CHAPTER 3 (3/?)

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!UnknownOriginsNa’vi!Reader

Genre/Warnings: ANGST, sorrow, mentions of nearly death, romance, adventure, soulmate love, destined lovers, possible suggestive content NSFW/MDNI later on, no use of Y/N, clans never seen in films yet. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: During the battle with the SeaDragon, gunfire struck Neteyam’s heart. A mortal wound that heals itself under the astonished eyes of his brother, as if the Great Mother still did not want him with her. She has other plans for Toruk Makto's eldest son. Nevertheless, his body is weak, and he falls into a slumber from which he can no longer wake up. His vital signs are stable, yet Neteyam is slowly slipping away. He is waiting. Waiting for the girl who has been appearing in his dreams since he went into a coma.

Chapter Summary: The Festival of Lights was approaching. It was a time of gladness for the Tawkami, the most anticipated celebration of the year. As the panopyras reached their peak and spores invaded the forest, love bloomed in the air. The perfect opportunity to confess one's feelings. At such an idyllic moment, the incipit of an upheaval began to make its way into Mi'niri's heart. Starting with her dreams.

Little note: OMG! This was the most nerve-wracking chapter I have ever done. A nightmare from start to finish, it never seemed to reach the light at the end of the tunnel. I rewrote it so many times, yet it never seemed good enough, and the editing was exhausting. I would add pieces, then take them out, then add them back in. As time passed, the frustration increased, and I knew there were people who were waiting for the update but whom I didn't want to disappoint. So I hope with all my heart that this endless wait was worth it. Thank you so so much🥰

If you want to be tagged in the next chapters, please just write it in the comments. I’ll gladly add y'all💕

Word Count: 9.5k

Masterlist - Request a fic

3. UNIL

“Look at her and her odd mount. They're not like us.” “She’s been rejected by her own parents, as it has been from the forest.”

The day it all began, the sky was a brilliant blue, with a few wispy clouds threatening to mar the otherwise perfect morning. Alpha Centauri’s gentleness cast a beautiful interplay of light and shadow on the jungle floor, adding an ethereal quality to the forest. Its timid warmth teased her skin as she sprinted to escape the vile draught that swept over her as soon as she had given the viperwolf cubs one last pat.

“Oe zene hivum. Hayalovay, nantangtsyìp. Makto zong.” (I must go. Until next time, puppies. Take care.)

The forest was a riot of colors: in shades of green, yellow, and brown. The clearing was rife with the scent of fallen leaves, which had littered the ground until forming small clusters around the mammoth trunk barks covered with mosses, lichens, and meandering creepers. She heard their crunch beneath her feet as she rushed through the damp soil.

The chill of the previous night’s downpour seemed to cling to her skin, every movement sending shivers down her spine. And the tension in her tired muscles mingled with the blood pounding in her ears. She adjusted her bow and increased her pace, peering at the blanket of grey-white clouds blocking the shy dawn’s pinkish glow. A few of its rays challenged the dome-shaped cumulus, rapidly growing to form a compact body, presaging dismal, harsh weather.

Get a move on, she admonished herself to run faster. Time was running out. She was almost at her destination and adamant not to get caught in the rain so close to her goal, no matter what. It lay just beyond the bend. A little rain wouldn’t deter her. Her pulse raced in time with the frenetic pace of her strides, occasionally stumbling under the bow’s weight that did not stay in rhythm.

A few lone drops plummeted innocently, in the distance already reverberated the faint echoes of the impending storm. Loud enough to overpower the agitated voices and scurrying of the prolemuris rushing for cover.

The monsoon season had begun. Who knows whether the viperwolf pack had found refuge? Were the puppies safe and sound in the warmth?

Freeing her shoulders from the bow’s string that crossed her chest, she smoothed the fringes of woven fabric that veiled her breasts and anchored to her biceps. Her ample neckline, adorned with minuscule bronze beads, flaunted a prominent teal stone that hung beautifully from her slender neck. Tiny fragments bedecked the middle of her top, resting gingerly on the sternum. A delicate repetition of the masterpiece.

With a snort, she lit a small fire and cleaned herself up at the underground spring at the back of the cavern. She revived her auburn hair and inspected herself from head to toe in the mirror of water, still not entirely used to those new accessories. They suited her, she had to admit. Gave her a much more mature, more adult air. Gifts from Kiokä to congratulate on completing the rituals.

Maybe I shouldn’t have accepted them, she told herself, fearing it might give the wrong ideas.

“Without the chief’s son tag, I’d be a jeweler. I'm always on the lookout for the weirdest materials to create something new. When I see objects others might think are just a leaf or rock, my mind starts drawing.” He scratched his throat. “You pop up in my mind in those situations. I picture you wearing the final product every single time. You are my muse.”

She definitely shouldn’t have accepted them... As she enjoyed the tickle of the water, she heard footsteps approaching. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure darting through the shadows, a large dagger in one hand and a strange contraption in the other. “Why's it not working?” he muttered. Without a second thought, Mi’niri ducked to the ground, yanking the weapon she wore at her loincloth, ready to defend herself. The boy dropped the knife and raised both arms above his head. “Mawey, mawey. Didn't mean to scare you,” he said, all worked up. “I got caught in the storm.” Now that she looked better, she could see his shins covered with dirt and small leaves, feet blackened by mud. “My bad didn’t know this place was already taken.”

Her pearly inquiring eyes darted over him, scanning every detail of his singular appearance. On the beaded choker that covered a solid portion of his neck, the midsection of which caught up towards his chest, then on the cuff that encircled his deltoid. Both objects were crafted using a technique she had never seen before, leaving her in awe. “You’re Omatikaya,” she stoned, giving him one last look before putting the knife back. The cummerbund he wore was an intricate weave of colors that could only belong to the Blue Flute, symbolizing his unwavering loyalty. The cornerstone of the clan's beliefs and practices. A gift to warriors who passed the Uniltaron (Dream Hunt). “You’re quite far from home.” ”Frankly, I have no clue how I ended up here. I was flying my ikran, but I must have fallen off. Even if I have no idea how. Never happened to me," he said and left it at that before asking: “And you?” “Me?” She arched an eyebrow. “What’s your clan? I’ve never seen Na’vi like you.” Embarrassment washed over her, and she couldn't help but blush as she looked down. There really was no end to it all. “Tawkami”. Her voice faded, and he found it difficult to comprehend her hushed words, now barely above a whisper. Despite cursing himself for making things awkward, he couldn't help but admire her beauty as she blushed. Eywa's handiwork.

What are you doing here in the woods, by yourself?” he questioned as he sat down. She wasn't sure what sort of answer he expected, or why she felt compelled to be friendly with him, to be fair. He was a complete stranger. “My usual - exploring, playing with animals.” “Playing with animals? Do you do it on the regular?” "Whenever I can. I enjoy being in their company.” Intrigued by her response, he hummed a tune under his breath. To him, the forest was a stunning ecosystem best experienced from a distance. Beyond one's line of vision, dangers lurked in every direction. Being part of this triumphant circle meant it had a hand in the clan's survival, providing them with shelter and sustenance. However, he much preferred to appreciate its true scale and magnificence from atop his ikran. To soar above the treetops with a bird’s-eye view of the dark, luxuriant foliage below, stretching out before him, revealing its secrets. Viewing it from the ground just wasn’t the same - it did not give the same feeling of freedom and relief as the sky. A safer, clearer place compared to the damp and musty forest floor, with its uneven terrain and hidden traps. Mi’niri resisted the urge to ask him what his indistinct hum meant. Silence descended on the pair, and she savored the placid expression on the young man’s face. He made eye contact with her, but it was brief as she immediately averted her eyes. They chattered about anything and everything until a distant murmur rang through the cave's mouth and silenced them, rising in sound. “They’re calling for you”. Strangely, he didn’t want her to walk off, but he knew he couldn't prevent it. She had to wake up, eventually. “Take care,” he said, with a pit in his stomach. She beamed at him, “You too”. When she smiled, he saw a glimpse of her true personality shine through. Her smile was warm and inviting. He found himself looking forward to seeing it again, as he decided he liked her smiling face.

She drowsily opened her eyes, taking a moment to register her surroundings before realizing a blurry figure was shaking her. “Niri. Niri, wake up,” was her father’s voice, “Selyao’s out here.” “What?” she asked groggily. Sílron’zem sneered, “You forgot about the Festival of Lights already? You’re supposed to help her.”

Shit.

As they walked among the groups of clan mates, her attention was split between her friend and their chores. They chatted and laughed together, enjoying that festive and cheerful moment - an occasion dear to the Tawkami.

The Festival of Lights was held once a year, when the panopyra stem's tips lit up, creating a hypnotizing bloom that lured in the spores of its fellows. An auspicious time when young Na’vi seeking a mate wore such tips as an attractant and aphrodisiac. A demonstration of one’s intentions. Couples exchanged garlands to express their love as a symbol of unity before the People. Traditionally, wedding ceremonies take place during this season.

Selyao's eyes roamed over, searching for a cozy spot to settle down. Meanwhile, she babbled animatedly about how her parents insisted she finds a mate now that her age allowed so she could fulfill her role within the clan. “Do they even realize I’m just in my early twenties?” she lamented. “They’re like, ‘If you don’t find one on your own, we’ll set one up for you’. Can’t believe how outdated they are!” A mumbling escaped Mi’niri’s lips just to feign involvement in the conversation. She assumed she was doing a decent job, thanks to nods of the head interspersed with a few monosyllables when required. When a break in her soliloquy called for them.

“Don’t get me wrong, I'm single and ready to mingle. I wanna fall head over heels. I'm just not ready to be tied down. Not gonna close any doors just yet. I mean, what if I screw up and pick the wrong one? What if we don't click? I gotta be absolutely positive before making the biggest decision in my life.” “Same here.” “I need to find someone for the Festival, anyway. Just to get them off my back for a bit,” she grunted in frustration.

As much as she sympathized with her, that situation was utterly unfamiliar to Mi’niri. Their parents couldn’t have been more at odds. The firsts were traditionalists, strict, unaware of their daughter's rebellious spirit. She regularly indulged in clandestine liaisons that often overlooked chastity. The others, instead, adopted a warm and modern approach, built on communication and trust with their daughter. And above all, on a total acceptance of the nature that characterized each family member. They would never have imposed a man on Mi’niri against her will, nor would they have pushed her to embark on a path she hadn't chosen for herself.

Normally, she would have been more active in the discussion, striving to be a good friend and give her the support she needed. But that afternoon, she was elsewhere. Scattered among the little fragments of the dream whenever she allowed her mind to wander. So crystal clear and palpable she couldn’t shake the feeling even after waking up. Lucid. Almost as if it could be mistaken for a memory that she could reach out and touch. She still seemed to smell the musky aroma of his skin, perfumed by the damp veil of rain. Strong, earthy notes spiced the air creating a pleasant fragrance all around. If she had squinted her eyelids and inhaled hard, she would have been able to visualize his slender, tall figure. It almost felt like she was living it all over again. The sinews tugged on his trained muscles. The glint of bewilderment in his beautiful golden eyes. The tepid breath blown against her neck when he'd sat at her side.

That was just the beginning of a succession of dreams she met him in. No matter how much the scenarios changed, he remained a constant. So much so that by now, when she went to bed, she expected to find him. Nonetheless, it was the first one that stuck in her mind. Like when Dewram came into her life, the same destabilizing feeling resurfaced. Nagging and impossible to shake off. Like a stubborn dark cloud that refused to move, her worries congested her thoughts.

“Mawey.”

A chill ran down her spine as she craned her neck towards the dense wall of trees and listened for any sounds. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, her heart racing. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching her. Searching for any sign of movement, she scanned the vegetation in a frenzy, and the other girl could sense her tension mounting. ” Why so serious?” With a playful smile, Selyao leaned forward and waved a dancing attire, enjoying the jingle of the hems. Her sly grin only intensified as she met Mi’niri’s glare, and she tilted her head; eyes sparkling mischievously. It was roughly contagious, and she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, reluctantly grabbing the fabric. “Do we really have to do this?” Selyao gave her an eloquent look. “We gotta make use of all this beauty, don’t we?” Her razor-sharp sarcasm was often ambiguous. Determining the subtle boundary between simple lightheartedness and cloaked earnestness was no mean feat. Especially in recent times, it has been veering towards the latter. The barbs had been getting more and more stinging and poisoned ever since a certain Na’vi had taken to circling Mi’niri like a bee around a flower. “Eywa blessed us with this too. Taking part in the honorary dances is a way to show gratitude.”

Mi’niri batted her lashes. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners said everything she needed to know. “What didn't you like about my speech? Honoring Nawna Sa’nok or just acknowledging you’re a stunner?” She was actually having fun pretending to be understanding. “We're friends. Your job is to boost my self-esteem.” “You're only friend,” she corrected her. “And no. My job is to tell you like it is. Flattering you be that of your muntxa (mate).” Talk about a deadly stare... “Well? Nobody wants to be alone forever.” “Sel, I don’t —. ” “I don’t get that kind of attention,” she aped her voice. “You don’t, huh? If you weren’t so elusive, you’d realize otherwise. Raso, ‘Ipäe, Eyrep - she listed - ... Kiokä.” Mi’niri’s lips twisted in disdain at the mention. “I don't get what the issue is. He’s the dream guy - good-looking, kind, and respectful, pampers you with gifts fit for royalty.”

If only she had the slightest idea about the boy in her dreams.

“And, oh yeah, he’s the Olo’eyktan’s son. I mean, he's the perfect fit. Actually, he’s more than perfect. He’s amazing.” “You hit the nail on the head! He's the Olo’eyktan’s son. He wants to be sure he's next in line.”

The people chattering was so loud she could barely hear herself think. Whispers that her ears screened out. People had mixed reactions to her parents. Some felt sorry for them, while others admired their resilience. Yet, all universally agreed the Olo'eyktan would make her his heir instead of his own son and betroth them at the Annual Festival of Lights. “Look at her and her odd mount. They’re not like us.” “She’s been rejected by her own parents, as it has been from the forest.”

Faced with the possibility of losing his birthright, Kiokä surprised many by remaining calm and composed. But just as Mi’niri did not possess the skills to follow in her parents’ footsteps, Kiokä couldn’t lead the people. He didn’t have the fundamental charisma of a leader, nor did he summon the innate respect the girl exuded at the mere sway of her hips as she walked. She had a confident posture, back straight and head high, as she strolled among the people. The same proud look of the slinth that accompanied her like a shadow.

Oh, how Kiokä adored seeing her gait, especially when in front of him. It enchanted him how the flowers she wore seemed to be a part of her, with their stems intertwining all over her body. They twisted and turned around her narrow waist, down her legs and arms. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as if entranced. Dewram’s striking colors accentuated the achromasia of her complexion. That very light grey that so lovingly clashed amidst the mass of blue bodies. But what indeed made her distinctive was the cascading, wavy copper-red hair that tumbled down her back. The ends about caressing the base of her slender tail. Not to mention those large opalescent eyes with a few hints of pale magenta around the pupil. Often her expression was stony. The slight disproportion of her bud lips gave her a pouty look that suited her damn well, though never as much as her occasional smile. Usually sketchy, but enough to grant her face a fresh gleam.

How he wanted to make her laugh. Watch her mouth open in the widest of smiles. Wait for that hint of light to explode into her eyes. See the mask of the unreachable Olo’eykte yield and tell himself that he caused it.

Yes, he wouldn’t have minded at all finding out that the rumors were true, because he was already hopelessly infatuated with her. How could he not be? Mi’niri was everything an ordinary Tawkami girl wasn’t. One of a kind. Perfect in her diversity. And if they weren’t, he would make them come true. He would reveal his intentions at the Festival of Lights, officially court her, and lead the clan to success together. Peace and prosperity as foretold. He could already picture her dressed in the most glittering ceremonial accouterments, standing under the purple glow of the village giant tawtsngal, as she recited her promises in a newfound shyness. He would love and cherish her, care for her forever.

What he could not foresee, however, was that Nawna Sa’nok’s plans differed from his own.

“Niri... Don’t listen to those stupid rumors. Sure, no one deserves the title more than you. You are Txumre’ Makto! But you passed Iknimaya long ago. If that was their plan, they would have told you. Besides, Kiokä loves you. He's been hanging onto your every word since we were kids.” “Whatever.” “Well, well, well, look who's coming this way,” she said under her breath. A subtle smile surfaced on her plump lips.

Mi’niri turned. A calm expression masked the inner storm within her, only to see Kiokä stomping resolutely down the path leading to the clearing. As their eyes locked, she could sense jitters that took her aback; it was strange to see him so... nervous? Yet he stood tall in front of them. Even though he looked intimidated, his towering presence made him stand out, thanks to his unwavering determination. The unrelenting sun beamed straight into his face, showing off his impatience with an unmistakable smirk he couldn’t hide. Ironic, given his usual composure.

“Morning, girls. Sel,” he addressed her with a little nod, and then his gaze settled on Mi’niri’s features. The sickly sweet way he pronounced her name was almost enough to make her lose her lunch, but she maintained an indifferent demeanor. “Mind a quick talk?” He extended his hand, but the sly wink that followed made her hesitant to take it. Just like when he offered her the necklace, she felt a sense of discomfort crept up again. What is he up to? She overlooked the prickly sensation on her skin and accepted his hand, letting him guide her through the overgrown thicket. He headed towards the tranquil stream as if he was eager to escape the commotion of the boisterous laughter and prying eyes, the sound of rushing water drowning out the noise of the party preparations. The music was so loud that it made the earth shake beneath her, but eventually, it became nothing more than a faint buzz.

Carefully, he cleared the path of thorns and twigs, ensuring she wouldn't get scratched as if she was made of glass. Kiokä was like that: gentle and well-mannered. However, his mild smile disguised something else that he rarely showed to anyone but her. Something that gave her butterflies in her stomach, but not in a good way. She didn’t strive to be with him at all, but here we were with a hint of nausea gripping the pit of her abdomen.

“Shall we sit?” he smiled lazily, escorting her to a group of rocks outlining the shore. He trailed his hand up her arm, feeling the smoothness of her skin before reaching her shoulder, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Mi'niri gave him a quizzical expression, wondering about the meaning of the gesture, which seemed out of place. The gesture itself didn't bother her much. She wasn’t the kind of person who eschewed physical contact as long as it remained respectful and friendly. Still, the way he had grabbed her, with that firm but caressing and, at times, impudent touch, as if he was trying to communicate something else through his actions, made her terribly aware of their excessive proximity. Something was off in that hesitation to break away, and she could sense his awe. It left her feeling both bewildered and curious.

She couldn’t help but dwell on his effigy. Kiokä was definitely taller than her, with broad shoulders, a solid build, and a sharp facial structure. Although he was an affable and helpful guy, his protruding, gaunt cheekbones, serious expression, and assertive personality gave him an intimidating appearance.

Finally, the boy left her, distancing himself just enough to allow her to breathe normally again.

They exchanged a few curt words before bringing up the real reason he wanted to talk to her.

"I don't even know where to start," he chuckled. His chin resting on the back of his closed-fisted fingers, his head tilted, not missing her single movement. He watched as she hooked one leg over the other and circled her knee with crossed fingers - an obvious position of closure - long locks fell across her chest, reaching her thigh. That uncomfortable feeling of narrowness returned, and, out of nowhere, she felt how much the other’s presence oppressed her. His ego filling all the space in an asphyxiating way.

Mi’niri nervously moistened her suddenly dry lips, wondering if being close to Kiokä had always troubled her this much. Something changed since those uncomfortable rumors had started to circulate. Peeking out, she saw how the boy was staring at her mouth, her throat rising and falling as she swallowed.

“You look superb in this necklace. I knew the stone was meant for you the moment I saw it.” A polite smile soon faded away, when his index finger brushed against the embroidery on her jewelry. Dangerously close to her collarbone skin. She moved away, turning to stare at him. Eyes as sharp as knives flashed in those of the boy, who seemed to read in them all the unease she was feeling. His back straightened, and his honeyed eyes pointed ahead toward the river. He clutched the bag hanging from his tewng guiltily. “Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

A heavy burden fell on her chest, and her breathing slowed almost to a halt, following the mournful movement with which Kiokä’s gaze fell on his own hands. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of binding herself inextricably to him. A shiver of horror. She often wondered if the sentiment he repeatedly boasted was authentic or only a mutual sense of obligation that bound them together. An accommodation dictated by loyalty and habit, as well as by a dose of physical attraction that he had never hidden.

His fingers sank into his pouch as he fumbled with something inside. A slight tinkle vibrated in the air with each indolent swing of the ikran claw that served as a pendant, tied to the handle with a sort of plastic-looking cord. His midnight dreadlocks, left loose, framed the increasingly masculine and father-like facial features. By now, very little of Tsahìk could be glimpsed.

The time for confrontation had come, and Mi’niri wasn’t ready at all.

“I reckon something is missing.” “Meaning?” He handed her a bracelet made of the same irregular, polished stones she wore around her neck. And, adding nothing else, fastened it to her wrist, which overlapped with the one she was already wearing. As if to erase the memory of her unknown mother and the dark past that haunted her. "Perfect now," he said, in a depth she didn't expect. His gaze softened with a faint, closed-mouthed smile as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, examining how his creation stressed her complexion.

Too bad that adjective didn’t match her personality at all. “What did I do to earn it this time around?” ” Why do I need a reason to give you a gift?” ” That's just how it's been ‘til now - she knew him far too well to be charmed - I'm not buying that your gesture is meaningless.” Nobody does anything for nothing, regardless of the genuineness behind it. Kiokä was no exception. “You just can’t make it easy for me,” he chortled. “I might sound stupid, but you probably know where this is going. Though you want to hear me say it.” Mi’niri stared at him, tired of the back-and-forth. It was time to set the record straight, despite the knowledge that everything would change. That she would lose him. Her defender, her only supporter outside her family. "It's a woo present," he confessed. “Not that the others weren’t, but I let my indecisiveness make you assume they were something else. I can’t keep my feelings for you quiet anymore.” He stared at her for a long minute, taking both her hands in his.

“Oel ngati kameie.”

She shook her head doggedly, reassuring herself that it must have been a terrible misunderstanding, a sick prank. “Believe me, Niri. I see you. I know you don't think highly of yourself. But, Eywa, you know I have done nothing else since we were kids and you were hiding behind your dad's legs,” he said, making her look away. “You got someone to go to the Festival of Lights with?” “You should already know the answer.” He sketched a conciliatory smile, but one that still leaked an aura of triumph, “Come with me” "That's probably not a good idea, Kio," she shrugged and said. She could tell he didn’t agree with her by the deep furrow of his brow. I don't see why it's a big deal to show us together. I don’t expect us to unite by the end of the season. However, I think it’s appropriate to deepen our relationship now that we are grown-ups. Let's take our sweet time to get to know each other better. I'll wait until you're ready to be my Olo’eykte, no matter how long it takes.” “What did you say?” she asked in a whiff. A hiss so close to the threatening sounds Dewram made when someone from outside the Yawäa family approached him; whether it was an elder unaware of his presence or an overly curious child. Always alert. Guardedness and wariness were traits shared by both knight and mount. “That I will wait.” “After that.” “That I wish you to be my Olo’eykte.” His words were meant to be romantic, but to the girl, they confirmed her suspicions. “I don’t think you’re aiming to be Tsahìk any more than I’m aiming to be Olo’eyktan,” he chuckled at his own joke. After all, their clan wasn't so restrictive about the distribution of roles. It had already happened that Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk weren't a mated pair. Here, the only novelty would be a female clan leader. Although it had already occurred in other populations such as among the Ikran People of the Eastern Sea.

“Ah, that's why,” she figured. “You want me to be your mate to escape the burden of being the clan leader but still keep your status? Isn't that what everyone's expecting, anyway? ‘Cause you are the clan prince, and I’m Txumre’ Makto. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just how things go.” Massaging her forehead, she turned away from him, signaling the end of the conversation on her part. It took Kiokä a few seconds to register the accusation. His thin amber eyes took on the same coldness as resin when it solidifies; encapsulating a poor insect, now mute and still as gems. His eyelids tightened a little, enough to instill some consternation. “What do you mean by that?” The tone was caustic and detached. “That you don’t really want me. You’re doing this for the clan,” she reiterated, unwilling to let herself be frightened and give him up. If he wanted her as a companion, he'd to prove he could stand up to her.

Not that it would have changed anything. She did not reciprocate.

As she considered their friendship over the years, she was transported back to the carefree days of childhood. Whenever she thought of Kiokä, she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. He’d given her the confidence to face any challenge that came her way. Countless hours had been spent in each other's company, sharing their wildest dreams and ideas about the future. With him, she felt a sense of belonging that she had only ever felt with Selyao. There had been a time when she had tried to convince herself she could grow to love him at one point. She had gazed at him expectantly, hoping to feel a spark that would confirm he was the one, a sign that would confirm he was the missing piece she had been searching for. She had been eagerly anticipating that feeling to develop, so when she noticed a change in how the boy interacted with her, she felt like she was on cloud nine.

Happiness faded away quickly, like a shooting star. It didn't take long for her to understand that the feeling of agitation she experienced in his presence was more unpleasant than she first believed. But Mi’niri silenced the growing annoyance that gradually invaded her. She believed love was a journey, not a destination, something that could be cultivated with time and effort. By focusing on what made her feel good, she could learn to cherish even the most difficult aspects of a relationship. A skill that could be honed like any other.

Alas, it wasn’t so. Nothing about Kiokä could shake her. Not in that way. She cared for him. Admired him. Yet that childlike affection between the two adolescents remained as such: a childhood memory.

“No! My love for you is true, Niri. I’m crazy about you. I never had eyes but for you. Look,” he exposed the songcord hanging from the waistband of his loincloth to the sunlight, taking between his strong fingers a particular bean. She recognized it right away. “It is a fragment of your pendant. When I found it, your face peeped out like a thunderbolt. I added it to my songcord that day, so I’d always remember the moment I met my better half.” “You’re wrong. You only found an illusion.” “Explain yourself,” he demanded. “No use in explaining to ears that won't listen.”

As she crossed the clearing, heavy footsteps heeled her out. She barely had time to register what was happening before she was seized by the wrist, spun around, and slammed into the rough surface of a log. Her head swam with a slight dizziness. “Hey, don’t just walk away. I deserve to know.” His voice leaked a dull pain that made her jerk abruptly, meeting his friend's now furious irises. A distraught gleam flashed in them, in a mix of sadness and anger. The inflection in his voice whipped her like an anvil. And there, trapped between the tree and the man’s chest, Mi’niri could feel his mournful gaze weighing heavily on her. So small and helpless. So guilty. Mi’niri closed her eyes and focused solely on the surrounding sounds, filtering out all the other senses. An unexplained sense of tranquility spread throughout her entire body soon after. She felt it relax along with her lungs, inhaling and exhaling regularly once more. The beating of her heart slowed down into long pulsations, punctuating the flow of her blood through her arteries like a metronome. And the erubescence that had crept up her cheeks subsided, revealing the unflappable nature of her being. The rustling of leaves and chirping of birds. The sound of the nearby stream.

The nearby stream. Kyokä.

As much as she wished the conversation wasn’t happening, the feeling of his hand holding hers kept her present in the moment. Oddly, his touch was somehow reassuring. It gave her the strength to face the situation. She looked at him. The sight of the sun filtering through the trees stressed the start of anxiety making its way across that no longer inscrutable face. Finally, the grip on her wrist loosen as she read the sorrow in his eyes, building like a wave about to engulf them, a looming tsunami.

“Please, Niri!” Hearing his lips murmur that nickname so sadly brought down all her defenses. Vulnerability was the one thing Mi’niri loathed displaying. She bottled up her moods, pushed them back into the furthest corner of her being, where they bubbled and swelled until erupting in a column of gas. Like accumulated hydrogen in a magma chamber. Ash and lapilli, flowing down the destroyed flanks of the caldera, overwhelmed everything that crossed their path, leaving nothing but fertile ground for the new generation of vegetation. An ecosystem that would be wiped out at the next burst.

While she looked past the boy’s shoulder, she struggled to resist the urge to spit out the truth. Don’t answer, she commanded herself, but her tongue was already disobeying. No, I’ll speak my mind once and for all. Even though she didn’t want things to escalate, she had to be honest. She tentatively returned to look at him. His eyes as shiny as gems and as dark as the cloudy sky of the dream where she had met the mysterious Omatikaya. “I don’t feel the same.”

Kiokä was forlorn and unable to find the words to respond, which gave Mi’niri an opening to carry on with her speech. She just had to turn a blind eye to the suffering etched on his face. And what better push than focusing on the clan’s venomous gossip? Their heated voices echoed inside her, reminding her why she was supposed to leave him sitting on the rock alone. Her blood boiled with anger. Her voice was becoming apathetic and detached as she hurled all the pent-up resentment at him.

He did not understand her. He did not see her.

Having a place in the community was something he took for granted. Never knowing what it was like to feel excluded, never experiencing what it meant to not belong. Oblivious to the feeling that comes with putting in effort, only to be seen as an unwelcome outsider. An outcast, a freak with no actual family, no connections to anyone - unquestionably not to the Tawkami clan. Her grey skin a constant reminder that she had to work twice as hard as others just to earn a fraction of what they did. No matter if they respect her and considered her at the extremes of a chosen one, she always sensed a certain detachment behind their friendly smiles. Like an inconvenient relative, an unwanted visitor who refused to leave. The only thing that gave her value in the eyes of the people was Dewram, which was all she really had.

Kiokä couldn’t comprehend the meaning of having nothing to cling onto as an identifier, except one singular thing. The feeling of being lost. The longing for that one thing that would give you a sense of purpose every morning. That one thing that made life worth living. Frustration hit her like a ton of bricks as she realize it wasn’t a new sensation. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had always been there, lurking beneath the surface of their relationship, eating away at their bond. She refused to believe it, but deep down, she knew it had been there all along, slowly tearing them apart. Wished that clinging to what was harmonious in their friendship was enough.

Very little, she should admit.

“And you don’t feel anything either.”

He stood frozen, his arms limp at his sides, powerless against the biting cold of her eyes. Mi’niri seized the opportunity presented by his hesitation to slip out of that position and run away. The vegetation swallowed her up, and she was left alone with the weight of Kiokä's gaze. Heavy and unrelenting. It bore down on her, even as she disappeared into the foliage, piercing her head, but she didn’t give up, zooming even faster toward home. She had to shed those garments that appeared to scorch her, that adornment that appeared to strangle her.

Something slipped along her wrist in her haste. The light thud of the fall muffled by the cushiony grass.

Mi’niri took refuge in the most isolated spot in the clearing, hidden from unwelcome glances. She was sitting on a large root, in the shade of the broad, iridescent eyaye leaves. Shimmering drops of nectar released an enveloping fragrance that invaded the space, spreading in graceful invisible waves with each flick of the foraging birds’ wings. Convinced that she was finally alone, she let out a silent, liberating cry; frustration and suffering now mastered that normally unflappable candied face.

“You look tired.” Someone sat by her side, running his warm palm between her shoulder blades, down her back, and then up the back of her neck, massaging her gently. Strangely, she did not flinch, as if expecting that attention. As if she knew she would find him there. The stranger didn’t speak, said nothing so as not to upset her further, and let her vent. With her, words were often superfluous, creating distance, forcing her to give meaning to an inner flow that she preferred to keep her own; she wasn’t temperamentally inclined to sharing, preferring to handle the emotions she felt in her own way, in the intimacy of herself. Although it was, in most cases, deleterious and exhausting; gripped by regrets, unexpressed desires, and, on this specific occasion, even some remorse.

A feather hovered in the air, gliding lightly in the open palm of the boy. He then turned it over in his fingers, studying its cyan-greenish veins that divided it into tiny sections. A few brown flecks mottled it at the edges, although the fuchsia of the tip was predominant and in sharp contrast to the white of the base. He arranged the stem behind Mi’niri’s ear along with a strand of her hair, exposing the delicate profile of her face, the pale right cheek, and the high cheekbone, accentuating the elongated slit of her eyes. He contemplated how much the feather colors complimented her face.

She was ashamed of her appearance, the mark of an outcast life, but to the boy, it was beautiful. It made her one of a kind. Her complexion could have been even in the humans’ range; in his eyes, Mi’niri would have been the most beautiful girl in Eywa’eveng anyway.

“Eventually, you’ll have to talk about it.”

She looked up at him, her bulbs swollen, flushed, and glowing. A rosy tinge of shame crossed her cheeks and nose, and the young man wondered what the source of that sad expression was. The villainy with which she had pressed Kiokä by venting her dissatisfactions on him? The exposure of his secret love? His gesture?

He smiled at the idea, but it was but a lukewarm smile, a mockery, all too aware that nothing he said or did would have any effect. Kiokä probably could have disappeared, and she would not have noticed.

“I was cruel before,” was the first thing she said since they had reached there, at the foot of that majestic tree, her voice croaking from crying. He could do nothing but sigh, the facts commenting on themselves. “What’s wrong with me?” “Nothing is wrong with you.” “Then why am I like this?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering. But by now, dabbing the wound had become useless. Sometimes you need to leave it open and exposed to the sun for it to heal from the infection. “Because you can’t resign yourself,” he sentenced laconically, “I understand, you know? I’m in the same situation as you,” he sketched a wry grin, “I’ve always let others define me, choose for me. To tell me how I should have been, what I should have done.”

The wrinkled look he gave her was so sad and dark, she felt as if she had looked out into two gloomy mirrored wells that opened a pathway to the depths of the underworld. There was nothing left of his bravado and amusing conceit, not even an iota. They were totally absent in that amber eye. And on that suddenly apathetic face, even the shadow of his usual cheeky, crafty smirk had disappeared. “I had to be shot for them to realize how hard they had been on me.”

Mi’niri winced in pain at that confession and looked away, suddenly exposed, naked. “Did you ever think of telling them?” He chuckled, widening his legs out on the bed of leaves and stretching his body backward to fill himself with the golden warmth of the foliage above their heads. “At least a million times,” he admitted, “Once I even had the urge to rant, amidst everyone, so exhausted was I of shouldering responsibilities that weren't mine. But it probably wouldn’t have changed anything.” The boy blew out a quick sigh as he continued, “I even tried to undertake trainings so heavy that they didn’t give me the material time to look after my brothers. At least I would have the excuse. But my thoughts always came back to them, together with an excruciating guilt. I’m the eldest, it’s my job to stand in for our parents.” “That’s not true. It’s not your place to educate them.”

It wasn’t part of her personality to dispense advice, still, she felt the burden of having to do so; to at least try to console him as he had done with her countless times, including this one. It was funny to talk to each other like that with a stranger whom moreover she met only in her dreams and whose name she did not even know. Confronting each other about the injustices that had plagued them from an early age, as if they had shared them as if they had always been there to back each other up.

“When are you going to tell me who you are?”

He turned again to look at her, the eyes that were staring at her at that moment, and that the faint sunlight filtering through the foliage dotted with golden straws, differed from they had been a moment ago: tremendously confident and determined, the same ones she used to meet. The girl clutched her shoulders, prey to an unmotivated anxiety that sprang directly from her gut, from her core. As if the young man who sat beside her had unexpectedly changed before her without her being able to do anything to prevent it. He looked so different, so adult and distant, yet so close, and for a second he seemed unrecognizable to her. He took her hand and brought it to his chest. When her petite palm collided with his pectoral, she could feel beneath the scar of the gunshot, beneath the warmth of his skin, the accelerated, almost frightened beat of the heart muscle.

“I’m already doing it.”

At those words, Mi’niri clenched her fingers tighter, so tightly that her nails rubbed the outline of the healed wound. And, for an instant, it felt as if she had squeezed his heart for real.

Evening had long since settled over the landscape and it was dark outside. The cooler air of mid-season was surrendering to the more sultry temperatures of early summer. So too was the cyclical pattern of constellations giving way to a less star-laden but brighter sky, thanks to the lengthening days. The celestial vault would have been marvelous had it not been veiled by the shimmering evanescence of the moons; three shining, perfect orbs that flooded the space below with an impalpable, milky glow. A light breeze rustled through the tents, its murmurs humming on the thick rocky walls of the gorge where the village resided. Channeling into the thick valley, it carried in dense sweet whiffs the scent of the panopyras - now in full bloom. In the distance, the muted crackling of tree branches brushing against each other and the faint swaying of lianas could be heard. Sounds that mingled with the rustling of the lanterns that decorated the winding lanes - already installed for the festival that was to be held soon, and which this year would have an even more bitter taste for Mi’niri.

Ideal weather for a night hike, she thought, hugging herself in her shawl as she crossed the silent, sleepy path. There was only a candle to light it; the flame flickered with each step of the girl, illuminating her diaphanous face with a faint, warm light and casting eerie shadows on the ground. Mi’niri barely glanced at them, a shiver slipping down her spine as darkness threatened to engulf everything. She had a very bad feeling.

She looked around one last time, on the alert, before peeling back the drape that served as a door, as if something was watching her intently. A nocturnal predator ready to ambush her. But even after entering the tent and closing the drape behind her, she couldn’t allow herself to feel relieved.

It was never a good sign to be summoned by the Olo’eyktan. Especially at that hour. Whatever he wanted to tell her, whatever he wanted to order her to do, was not to be overheard by prying ears.

“I've been watching her for three years,” she heard the clan leader’s unmistakable voice mutter, “She, and that beast of hers that always accompanies her.”

Dewran, she corrected him, refusing to speak, to disrespect the man who so often sinned the same error against her brother in spirit. She saw it in the way she watched him walk by her side when they passed. The same eyes the people reserved for her, burning into her like slow-flowing lava on the slopes of a volcano. The strange orphan of mysterious origins.

The first Txumre’ Makto in history. Someone fearsome, whose opinion could change the fate of many. ‘For it was Eywa’s will’, Tsahìk declared that fateful day.

“Something extraordinary awaits her. Something that will deliver immense torment, just as annihilating as the venom of her spirit brother, but that will culminate in profound shift and perpetual unity.”

“That gaze, that resoluteness in the eyes, is essential for a leader. What I seek in my successor. And Kiokä...” The silence that followed was more powerful than any words could ever be, and Mi'niri was left feeling a lump form in her throat. Hearing the way his name was spoken was like a poison-tipped arrow, piercing her heart with painful accuracy. It had been a full two weeks since she last talked to him. More or less since his confession. Now things were pretty awkward and tense between the two. Truth be told, she was keeping her distance. Avoiding him like the plague - like she was the plague. Mi’niri couldn’t risk running into each other, knowing he wasn’t willing to forgive and forget. They wouldn’t return to normal this time. His shifty eyes never failed to betray him whenever they sat at opposite ends of the hearth during communal meals. When he walked past her, she couldn't help but notice how he held himself with an air of superiority, refusing to acknowledge her presence. Mi’niri was well aware she could expect nothing more from him. She'd hurt him, broken his heart, wounded his pride. Kiokä needed time to heal. They both needed it. Most of all, they needed to ask themselves what they both wanted and sought for themselves. Besides, even if Kiokä had intended to move on from yet another wronging, meeting by chance was unlikely because of their restrictive commitments. Thank goodness. It incensed her to realize how tangled her existence had become in a mere afternoon.

“You're a smart, diligent lad, a real go-getter. But although you were raised to inherit my title, you don’t have the spirit to lead the people. Perhaps in peacetime that may have sufficed, but not with the resurgence of the ketuwong (aliens).”

Fully understanding where he was going with this, a grimace eluded her. I don’t have that spirit either, she wanted to shout, already feeling the responsibility that came with the title weighing down on her. I got nothing you're looking for.

“Shadow is about to fall upon us. We need a powerful leader capable of making arduous decisions.” “Ma muntxatan (husband), our son is still young. He still has time to prove himself to the people.” From behind a partition peeped Tsahìk, a reproachful look towards her spouse. “That is not the Great Mother's will. We have already broached the subject. Kiokä is a troubled, disoriented boy who shoulders the duty of his lost brother.” There’s a mournful note in the woman’s voice at the mention of her first son. The thanator attack that had claimed the life of their loved one many years ago was still fresh in their minds, a deep scar on the hearts of the clan. “He has no desire to be Olo’eyktan, rather, his true calling is in art. His love for it surpasses any ambition. Nevertheless, he picked this girl as his chosen mate,” he pointed at her, “And Eywa also favored her. That must carry some implication.” “Assuredly, my dear, but her responses are not here to be sought. She is on the cusp of something remarkable.”

What was that sentence trying to say? What am I searching for?

The man let out a distressed chuckle, sensing the same veto in his wife's eyes that he had seen in his son's as he grew up. A son who renounced to pursue his own future out of fear. Who dreaded the thought of letting down his people, of never measuring up to the clan’s expectations. Failure was a constant worry, always present in his thoughts. He lacked the confidence to see the greatness that lay dormant within him. A merit that was so impressive, it could only be outshone by a second, even more dazzling one.

“Mi’niri is averse to being appointed as Olo’eykte or Tsahìk.” Not for the Tawkami, at least. Tsahìk knew from the very start that the girl’s path wouldn’t be the same as her son’s, leading her down a separate road. A unique journey to undertake. With too many questions as her guides, she will leave behind the clan that never felt like home.

About what was in store for the girl, the goddess had been silent. Yet, the woman was sure she’d find her place in the world thanks to the deity's serene giggle whenever questioned. Mi'niri would find joy, harmony, and meaning, even in the face of darkness and pain. She would find love.

It was unreasonable to demand a girl with a tendency towards solitude to assume the reins of the masses. Just as it was ignominious to disregard the signs of Nawna Sa’nok. “Soon Kiokä will find her Tsahìk.” The man sighed, “I am getting old, ‘evan (boy [colloquial]). The Tawkami must be in the right hands, and it's up to me to ensure it happens. Embrace your destiny, it's time to fulfill it.” “How do you know this is my destiny?” A flick of a cough interrupted the conversation.

“Have a sit.” The rider's mask obscured the man's expression, but she could tell he was studying her carefully. With his gnarled hands entwined at his chin, he tapped his index finger against his thin upper lip in contemplation. His sunken eyes were devoid of any emotion, and his calm, calculating tone conveyed only a thinly veiled sense of distrust. His algidness did not surprise her. Kindness was not one of his hallmarks. Although he’d never harmed a hair on her head and, indeed, seemed to carry her on his palm, she had never felt completely at ease in his presence. He used to look at her as if he constantly kept her under scrutiny, dissecting every little detail of her being. As if he was waiting for her to mess up. Yet the girl had shown no compunction in the face of his severity and had never stopped seeking his approval by devoting herself to the clan’s well-being. She wanted to make him proud, almost as if he were a close relative, a mentor. So, as she had always done, she obeyed the man and took a seat at the other end of the massive wooden table, on which a topographical map was resting. The man stared at it for a long time before straightening his torso and exhaling heavily.

“You must be wondering why I wanted you here,” he finally spoke. His deep voice reverberated in her rib cage, causing her to flinch. Her imperceptible nod was enough for him to continue, “Sky People.”

For the past three years, new stars had appeared in the sky, closer and brighter than the others had ever been. They disappeared and reappeared in the blackness of the cosmos like lighthouses in the night. A flickering artificial light that each time it went out brought devastation to new corners of the wondrous satellite on which they lived. The forests crackled and hissed as the smell of smoke filled the air and tongues of fire licked at everything in sight. Animals’ desperate cries filled the air as they tried to escape the flames, but many were not fast enough. The streams shriveled up and disappeared, leaving behind a barren, lifeless landscape. The once vibrant scenery now reduced to a charred wasteland. Clans had to migrate. Seeking refuge, they abandoned the homelands of their forefathers and ventured into the depths of uncharted wilderness, where even the Na’vi had not yet tread.

The Tawkami's valley was a natural fortress, surrounded by high mountains and dense vegetation that stretched for miles. The rock's jagged edges were a testament to the force of the ancient glacier that carved it. Finding them was a hard task for outsiders. Complice the immune response in the Hallelujah Mountains, which, however, was triggered with increasing frequency - directly proportional to the incessant human incursions.

That apparent serenity, that somehow permanent peace, would not last much longer. The Earthlings became bolder with each passing day. The heinousness they were guilty of preceded them. Only death and destruction followed their passage. From coastal settlements to the southeasternmost archipelagos, villages were being razed to the ground. As the platoons advanced into the rainforest to protect Bridgehead supply lines found Omatikaya warriors as the sole active resistance, the RDA unleashed its new abomination.

The recombined soldiers.

Their target was one. Jake Sully.

The conflict was inching closer, and they knew it was only a matter of time before it would have a global impact. Plundering and raiding were no longer enough for the Terrestrials. What they wanted was to conquer, usurp the Na’vi of their birthright, steal their lands, and make them their new planet. Colonise and enslave in exchange for the salvation of a species that should have perished, but persisted, like weeds that never die out.

“What is it, Father?” Kiokä’s voice had a tinge of bitterness in it as he spoke, his eyes staring fixedly at the man, never settling on her. Lopsided once. Mi’niri remained composed, refusing to be disturbed by the hint of indifference with which he had expressed himself. Bordering on annoyance.

“Ikran in the colors of the Metkayina.”

Reef populations flying? Since when? What were they up to in the woods? What were they after?

His son’s nostrils flared as surprise mixed with indignation. At that precise moment, he couldn’t have been further from his well-known composure as he approached her, finally meeting her gaze. “Why’d she come here?” The girl held her ground and stared back at him. She pushed him away, the sound of his pleading voice still ringing in her ears. Niri realized he was hurt, but it didn’t excuse how unfairly he was treating her. ”We’ll come up with a strategy.” ”That's not what I asked,” he objected. The father narrowed his eyes. “To be Txumre’ Makto does?” Kiokä’s anger wavered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation. “Have they violated our borders?” “Not yet,” he warned. Her voice emitted a deep, growling tone from the back of his throat. The Olo’eyktan anger softened, replaced by concern, though skepticism still lingered in his voice. “But why? What’s the reason for them invading our airspace?” “That is what we must find out before they reach Greenhome. Gather the best warriors and interrogate them. Make them talk.”

Notes: All the info about the clans I mention and the characters' names of said clans are from games side stories and other official sources. Since they haven't appeared in the movies yet, I take them as canon until James Cameron will state otherwise.

Blue Flute: another name for Omatikaya.

Panopyra: nicknamed the love flower by Terran scientists, is an unusual life-form that has characteristics reminiscent of a jellyfish. It doesn’t resemble any taxonomic plant group found on Earth and appears to represent a new evolution line toward a primitive nervous system. Sensory tissue and a saprophytic lifestyle, where nutrition is obtained from decayed organic matter and dead organisms, place this species somewhere between plants, animals, and fungi so it can be categorized as zooplantae. It is an epiphyte and typically grows attached to other plants, sometimes high in the canopy. Normal plant gravitropic responses are missing in the panopyra. Instead of growing toward or against gravity, the vinelike stems sense and grow toward prey, which in turn are attracted by slight electric signals emanating from the plant's stems. Once an animal approaches the panopyra it is further lured by the nutrient-rich water trapped in the cuplike plant body. This double attractant system results in abundant food for the panopyra, which has no need to make its own food through photosynthesis. The water is collected from dew and fog, which condenses and runs down into the cup-shaped body. The Na'vi collect the liquid that catches in the body and use it for a nutritious and healing drink. The flexible stems are used for making nets, traps, and other woven items. The growing tips of the stems with their sensory cells are said to be an attractant and aphrodisiac and often worn by young Na'vi who are looking for a mate.

Tawtsngal: Na’vi name of panopyra.

Ikran People of the Eastern Sea: Tayrangi Clan.

Yawäa family: Mi'niri's family

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