#it’s constantly building upon itself

[terrainofheartfelt]

We wouldn’t have Taylor without Carly Simon and I believe that with my entire heart.

I got too annoyed so I’m selecting my own curriculum for the rest of the day

[itmeblog]

A supernatural podcast but the main character's super power is being able to hear and interpret the background music.

[ddarker-dreams]

blade literally pouting until you come back and kafka immediately assigns you the job of cheering him up

"..."

"...?"

"..."

upon returning from your latest job, blade instantly took to acting as your second shadow. this, in and of itself, isn't unusual. you stopped questioning this habit long ago, as it clearly pleases him. what you do find unusual is the unnerving stare he's currently directing your way.

"... is something wrong?"

after a second that seemingly lasted forever, he shakes his head.

"hm," you hum, placing a finger to your cheek in thought. "this isn't fair, y'know. your poker face is so convincing that i almost believed you."

he crosses his arms over his chest. "what would you have me say?"

"plenty of things!" you exclaim, to which he grimaces, realizing his mistake a moment too late. "that you think i'm just the cutest thing ever, how much you've missed me, all your thoughts, feelings, deepest, darkest desires— mmf!"

blade's gloved hand covers your mouth, putting a premature end to your tirade.

"are you finished?" he deadpans.

you nod.

he considers you at length before releasing you, muttering under his breath about you being a 'lousy liar.' you notice how his gaze lingers on your lips. a brief flicker dances within his eyes, hinting at the fervor he constantly battles to contain.

suddenly, it dawns on you.

"oh!"

you close the distance with an apologetic smile. "i did forget something important, didn't i?"

standing on your tiptoes, you steady yourself by wrapping your arms behind his neck. out of habit, his hands find your hips, securing you further. your lips almost connect — before mischief gets the better of you. you change your destination to his cheek, planting a chaste kiss there.

he blinks, slowly processing what's just occurred.

you prepare for a swift escape.

blade, however, foresees your intentions, and tightens his grip. effectively trapped, you squirm in place, chuckling nervously to dispel the building tension.

“close, but not quite,” he scolds. then, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “try again.”

[eamour]

repetition creates belief.

if you have been consuming manifestation related content for a certain amount of time, this principle shouldn’t be that unknown to you. in both communities, law of assumption and law of attraction this concept has been taught. but why is it so important? it is really that much of significance?

definition.

to repeat means to redo or replicate. with regards to manifesting, it refers to repeating a specific sort of statement which we call "affirmations". therefore, the phrase "repetition creates belief" indicates the repetition of affirmations.

purpose.

repetition is a form of controlled and conscious thinking. it's a way of introducing yourself as well as identifying with your affirmations. with repetition, you regularly remove old beliefs that no longer satisfy you and replace them with beliefs that do serve and also benefit you. ultimately, it's a practice that's supposed to assist you in entering and remaining in the state of the wish fulfilled, persistently thinking in your favour and constantly constituting a new, desired version of yourself while changing old self-conceptions.

thought ➜ act of repetition ➜ belief

although repetition is supposed to help changing self, it’s not the repetition act itself that does. it’s YOU. repetition is only there to guide your thoughts. however, it’s up to you if you accept your new thoughts or not.

logic.

the reason why repetition helps you change and create beliefs in the first place is because through repetition, you form a feeling of naturalness. you build a feeling that becomes habitual, a feeling you can confidently return to, a feeling that's slowly starting to feel friendly and familiar, a feeling you learn to recognise and relate to.

furthermore, repetition leaves no room for opposing thoughts as you direct and dictate which thoughts you want to place your attention and awareness upon. it takes up all the space that was once dedicated and devoted to insecurity, confusion and uncertainty. it naturally defeats feelings of fear and fright while also refuting former beliefs. in addition, you become indifferent to the attainability or achievability of your desires as you cease to classify and categorise them into "realistic" and "unrealistic", "possible" and "impossible" or "logical" and "illogical"

forms.

generally, there are two ways of repetition. repeating (or affirming) from abundance and repeating from absence. in the first case, you declare from a state of acceptance and confirmation. in the second one, you declare from a state of denial and rejection. one is done aware or consciously, the other is done unaware and unconsciously (also "vainly" or from "lack").

the reason why i believe that stating something in vain is inconvenient is because it’s an empty expression, and not embodiment. manifestation is done in consciousness since consciousness is the only reality and consciousness creates reality. there is no underlying sense of identity. no identification. no change of self. and the only thing that can change reality is self. only through a change of self, you can change the world around you.

examples.

repeating one time · "hm, i don’t really know about that…"

repeating ten times · "oh, i'm suspecting i may be right."

repeating hundred times · "yes, i am absolutely correct!"

what felt really impossible and illogical to you at first will start to feel more natural and normal until you have finally accepted it to be entirely true. that’s when it becomes a definite part of your identity and who you claim to be.

with love, ella.

[chrollogy]

18+ MDNI; light dom!iwaizumi, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, couch sex, iwaizumi is kinda mean in a hot way, just pure smut and nothing else. this was supposed to be a short thirst but idk what happened. divider: cafekitsune.

── iwaizumi was an ever attentive lover during your most intimate moments together, whether it be in the bedroom or somewhere else in the house, he always put your needs before his—your pleasure before his. with such an intimate atmosphere, iwaizumi never forgets to constantly praise you, strings of dulcet whisper against your searing skin for taking him so well; he made sure to handle your naked body gently—butterfly touches and ghosting kisses, like you were the most expensive possession he had.

but just like everyone else, iwaizumi had another side to him—a side that never fails to bring out desperate mews and whines from your swollen lips; a side that reaps your most inner desires with such carnal hunger and he absolutely loves it. iwaizumi loves it when you let go and turn into a dirty little whore for him, for his cock as your body desperately chases that oh-so-mind blowing pleasure it yearns for with each passing second.

he was mean.

iwaizumi looked down at you, head held high with dominance, dark emerald gaze piercing right through your core. you were both on the couch, legs on either side of his waist as he pressed himself on the plushness of the backrest; sun kissed arms spread wide, resting atop the sofa. your lover donned a pointed look, one brow held high, an icy expression painting his face, “if you want to cum on my cock, you have to work for it.” iwaizumi’s gruff voice cuts through the thick lingering atmosphere. you let out a pathetic whine, the sound dissipating into nothingness while you held iwaizumi’s stare, your nails digging into the bare skin of his shoulder—a silent, weak protest telling him you couldn’t take this anymore.

everything was going so well, the two of you had found yourselves in a rather intimate moment while watching a movie until out of the blue, iwaizumi had a weird glint in his eyes as you pulled away from the kiss. the next thing you knew, he ordered you to fuck yourself on his cock and make yourself cum, all by yourself—practically allowing you to use him at your disposal. “iwa—” your lover clicked his tongue and that was enough to get you to shut your pretty mouth up. so you started again, picking your naked body back up to dance an endless rhythm up and down, up and down until pleasure decides to come.

your legs ached, thighs burning with every movement of your hips; frustration swallowed you, annoyed that the sensation of pleasure was being drowned out with each passing second. so close yet so fucking far away, your body teetering between the boundaries of that mind blowing orgasm but never really able to cross it—almost like reaching out to the void, the uncertainty. tears outlined the corners of your eyes, unpleasant thoughts plaguing your mind as you did your best to focus on iwaizumi’s cock. he looked at your face, frustration clearly etching itself there—pride blossomed across his chest, ego shooting to the heavens above. who knew he was able to drive you to the edge so easily?

resting your cheek upon his sweaty chest, feverish moans and mewls tumbled past your lips, hips desperately chasing that high. you’ve been at it for at least an hour now, cunt practically dripping with essence from the sexual build up. soft squelches reverberated throughout the walls of the apartment, lewd sounds mixed with pleasured groans filling both your ears. iwaizumi bit his lip, gummy walls squeezing him deliciously tight, “there we go. .” he grunted, using a free hand to grab your chin and angle your face up to him. his heart almost clenched at the sight of your watery eyes and quivering lips, pure desperation seeping from your body. iwaizumi would have caved right then and there if he didn’t fantasise about how pretty you’d look all fucked out and hungry for his cock.

his dick twitched but none dared to address it. slowly, iwaizumi traced your pout with his thumb, head leaning into the butterfly touch. a smirk planted itself on his face as your lover pushed the digit between your lips; as if on cue, you sucked iwaizumi’s thumb, hot tongue swirling around the tip as if it was his cock. a soft groan rumbled from his chest, tongue swiping at his bottom lip before tilting his head. keep going. a wordless command, you hadn’t even realised the halt of your movements, so then you started the same monotonous rhythm—muscles burning and body yearning for pleasure.

you moaned around his thumb as his free hand groped your ass with such fervour; all this was taking a toll on iwaizumi, too. the repeated bounce of your hips and squeeze of your walls had him on edge, not to mention that sinful look on your face as you fucked him. the hand on your ass found its way to your hip, resting there for a bit before guiding it down to his cock with immense force. you let out a loud yelp, for the first time that night, your eyes rolled to the back of your head—the tip of iwaizumi’s cock finally nudging that sweet sweet spot.

it was cute how you tried to moan his name despite a finger in your mouth. “that’s it. mhm, you’re doing so so well f’me. .” iwaizumi breathed out, voice trembling in unison with the bounce of your hips. you clenched around him as his cock repeatedly reached deeper in your cunt, thanking the heavens and iwaizumi for finally giving you some kind of relief—a new wave of pleasure you’ve been desperately seeking out. looking up at your lover, tears of frustration and pleasure rolled down your heated cheeks; a specific twinkle in your eyes was all iwaizumi needed to know that you were close.

“are you going to cream around my cock? hm?” his words went straight to your core, squeezing around him once more, earning a proud smirk from your boyfriend. yes, you wanted to say but instead it came out loud and incoherent—all a jumbled mess from the toe-curling pleasure planted deep inside you. the grip on your hip tightened, a burning touch as iwaizumi forced your body onto his with a new found hunger; loud skin slapping engulfed the living room, the heavy air of sex lingered and intertwined with your naked bodies. with each passing second; each rough movement of your hips, the muscles in your body tightened, head spinning from the overwhelming sensation.

“c-cumming . . !” you managed to slip out, a digit between your lips—iwaizumi held your face near his own, hot breaths mixing as you both gasped in pleasure, he absolutely loved seeing your face as you come undone for him. he urged you on, whispering sweet nothings against your neck. it didn’t take much for you to cum; body turning taut, and fingers painfully digging into iwaizumi’s bare shoulders that was sure to leave crescent marks. as you came, iwaizumi didn’t think twice to move his hips, forcefully thrusting up to meet your own—the harsh slapping of his balls against your ass adding to your blissful state.

fuck, you were on cloud nine. iwaizumi didn’t fall behind, sheathing his cock deep inside your cunt and shooting hot cum while moaning your name into the ceiling, vision turning white for a mere second. he made sure to ride out your orgasm, giving you quick, short thrusts with the head of his cock nudging against your sweet spot over and over again. you shivered at the oversensitivity, weakly placing a sweaty palm over his abdomen, earning a breathless chuckle from your lover. god, he’d do this all over again just to see the lustful desperation etched on your face.

[knuckleblaster]

On some level I understand the rejection or outright denial of V2's death: it was jarring and brutal, especially for a character who, at least in laws of traditional video game rivals and the rule of thirds, seemed like it'd stick around for longer. This said, inferring from in-game lore as well as dev statements, I believe V2's death, tragic that it is, is not unwarranted; and that it is commonly pigeonholed into a characterization it does not fit into due to its assumed role within the game.

This is long, so it's going under the cut.

Considering its name, it's easy to assume V2 is a new and improved version of its predecessor; but it is more heavily implied that it's simply a version of V1 with thicker plating, and nothing more. [1] V2 was an attempt at salvaging V1's design after war became irrelevant, to capitalize on the resources wasted on a highly advanced war machine by rebranding it as an adaptable worker, for security and (theoretically) other peacetime activities (...not an innuendo). This was a failure; there's no reason to invest in something so refined when a handful of lesser machines could do the same job [2].

If V2 is contextualized within its backstory, it makes a lot more sense why it ate shit so quickly. It is, out of any in-game machine so far, one of the least suited for survival in Hell. Sentries and Streetcleaners were created for war. Swordsmachine(s) and Mindflayers are scrapheads, constantly adapting to create (and protect) their perfect, lethal body. [3] If anything, it's on the same level as a Drone, able to defend itself in a limited capacity, but not intentionally programmed or built for combat. Faced with V1, something built for perfect, swift destruction, a machine made for peace would stand even less of a chance than normal, even with an equal level of mobility and build.

V2 is also doomed, in a very literal sense, by the narrative. In a meta sense, it does not matter to the game story whatsoever [4]. V1 is the butterfly whose wing flaps set Gabriel's story in motion, but V2 has no such connection to his story, and is thus irrelevant. Even its lore entry is overshadowed by information about V1/its connection to V1. A third fight, as well, was never in the running, not necessarily due to anything in the game lore, but because its first and second encounters are all it needs: a third rematch would be repetitive and messy [5]. The reason for its extremely violent death sequence is to ensure there was no question as to its fate [6].

In regards to its personality; it is oft-headcanoned as loud, irritable, and competitive, but this characterization is more likely due to its color as well as its assumed role as a "rival" to V1; rather than based upon its in-game actions. Although its initial intentions are up to interpretation [7], comparing its actions and mechanics to other enemies fully rationalizes its anger. Although it's fairly easy to enrage in-fight, the criteria for its enrage state is much more specific than other enemies, and it's quite easy to not trigger it at all. Cerberi will enrage after one of its kind dies, Malicious Faces and Mindflayers after a certain amount of damage has been dealt (on Violent). Most notably, as the only other character with a rematch, Gabriel begins his second fight enraged after his first defeat [3], which can imply by extension that even though V2 is taking its second fight more seriously [8], it is still not outwardly angry. Its enrage state is only triggered when its patience is depleted (the player avoids it for too long), or in its second fight when it has been punched with the Knuckleblaster. These can be interpreted as indicators that V2 likes it when the fight is "fair": when it's not being avoided and picked at from a distance, or being hit with its own arm; which is frankly pretty fucking mean. A side note: Returning to its creation, it can also potentially be inferred that V2 was intentionally programmed with a rational, controlled, and even marketable personality, easily suppressed or overwritten for ease of use.

In another game, or if V1 was the protagonist, perhaps V2 would not be dead. Instead, V2 is doomed by its creators, both in-game and in reality. It mirrors V1 in action and Gabriel in mind, but unlike them, it has no place in this story beyond a truly fantastic duo of fights. Although its story has any number of potential rewritings or epilogues [9], its doom was always intended. It's easy to mourn lost potential, and its end is intensely tragic; but I believe it is a tragedy that meshes nicely with the rest of the game's story. V2 is dead, and not a second too soon.

Footnotes:

1.

Along with the lore entry for V2:

V1’s planned production was cancelled and an updated model, V2, was developed instead, using the standardized plating, since durability was far more important during times of peace when no bloodshed was necessary.

2.

twitter.com/HakitaDev/status/1538313328715513857

3. in-game lore entries, can be read on ultrakill.miraheze.org or here in one document: steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=2245904838

4.

5.

twitter.com/HakitaDev/status/1538336055681863680

6. "And then V2 dies as hard as anyone could possibly die to make sure people understand he's fucking dead and is not coming back" - dev commentary, 05:08:09 (youtu.be/kaImho5JioI?si=v4_m90nfLOY-DyEZ&t=18489)

7.

8.

9. Notably, Dream's End Come True / v2isdead.com.

[tossawary]

When writing fanfiction, there are a lot of unknowns surrounding Mobei-Jun that I answer based on what I think is compelling, funny, and/or contrasts well against SQH | Airplane Bro. (Sometimes, based on what contrasts interestingly and/or hilariously against Luo Binghe or Shen Qingqiu.) The choices I make for MBJ also depend on what suits that particular story.

An interesting question: "What kind of literature does Mobei-Jun like?" He's Airplane Bro's Ideal Man / Dream Guy! It's fun to think about what Mobei-Jun's relationship might be to fiction.

One choice that I've pulled a few times now is having Mobei-Jun be functionally illiterate, mostly because I think that situation is an interesting / amusing contrast to the guy who technically wrote the world into existence. Airplane Bro was cranking out thousands of words per day to eat, selling out his honest passion for literature, and Mobei-Jun can't / doesn't read.

There are lots of different potential reasons for this! Maybe Mobei-Jun is dyslexic. Maybe he desperately needs reading glasses and doesn't realize it. (Yes, maybe half of his glaring is just squinting.) Maybe his education was really bad because his family tried to murder him too many times. Maybe he just doesn't have any interest in fiction or in reading as a hobby in general, because paper / writing is rare in the Demon Realm for a variety of reasons and he's been busy building more relevant skills.

(Airplane Bro is shocked and offended, yes, but mostly because Mobei-Jun somehow successfully hid being unable to read from him for two or more decades. All of those "you read it" and "you write it" orders suddenly make so much sense.)

Another direction for "Mobei-Jun's relationship to media" that I've been enjoying lately as a premise is that Mobei-Jun is the sort of person who would have genuinely enjoyed "Proud Immortal Demon Way". But, like, in a weird way. Like, maybe Mobei-Jun isn't there for the women or the power fantasy, but he's fascinated by the cage of dissatisfaction, misery, and cruelty that the protagonist is building around himself using empty pleasures and merciless vengeance. Mobei-Jun is there for the tragedy. Everyone else in the comments section would think that he's a weirdo for different reasons, including Airplane Bro, but Mobei-Jun is (by accident) operating on a level where he sees the vision.

Alternate direction on "Mobei-Jun would like PIDW, actually": maybe he would like it because he actually loves trashy drama and stupid catfights. He's there for the comedy. He grew up in an environment where his father stole his uncle's wife and his own uncle tried to kill him multiple times, after all. In PIDW itself, right-hand man Mobei-Jun somehow successfully suffered years upon years of Luo Binghe's harem nonsense, and maybe Mobei-Jun was having the time of his life watching Sha Hualing start shit in the harem, actually!

Maybe in a Modern AU, Airplane Bro would try to sound intelligent and cultured by talking to his rich boss / boyfriend about classy literature, only to find out that Mobei-Jun basically only watches reality television competitions where people are constantly trying to tear each other's hair out for money. If people aren't screaming in each other's faces over a spilled glass of wine, throwing plates at each other over a stolen boyfriend or a ruined wedding, or backstabbing each other via wardrobe sabotage to get ahead, then Mobei-Jun is bored. Fighting matches or extremely dangerous sports are also fine, though, sure. (Airplane Bro doesn't like any of this stuff. He's a fantasy novel guy. He has no idea how to react to this.)

Another funny direction for "Mobei-Jun's relationship to media" is that maybe "Proud Immortal Demon Way" wouldn't actually be weird ENOUGH for Mobei-Jun's tastes. Maybe Mobei-Jun would be like that guy who claims "if I can guess the twist, then it's not suspense - suspense is when I don't know what's going to happen next, period" and reads long-running, amateur, foreign, abstract web-novels that he has to put through an online translator himself. Maybe in a Modern AU with this opinion, Mobei-Jun loyally watches telenovelas and Bollywood soap operas. Airplane Bro comes into the room and says, "Wow, not even any subtitles? You can understand what they're saying?" and Mobei-Jun says sincerely, "No. You have to figure out what's happening without them. This is the intended viewing experience."

[penny00dreadful]

My @steddiebang2024 fic is finally here! None of this would have been possible without the amazing support of my best cheerleader and best beta reader in existence, @hbyrde36 and the girlies constantly keeping me encouraged and cheerleading me on. On top of that, I had the absolute pleasure to be working with one of the most talented artists in this space and all around good bean and very sweet person, @arelliann. I literally screamed when I found out we would be working together for this Big Bang and continued to melt down at every single piece of art they sent me. Beautiful artwork and dividers by them. Go check them out and show them some love! Hope you enjoy this fic as much as I do. 🥰

Part 1

[Part 2] [AO3] [Art]

Down in the meadows, surrounded by fields of blooming flowers and bountiful crops as far as the eye could see, a lone figure on horseback cantered along.

He wove expertly through the rough and small roads and walkways, moving behind farmhouses and grain storage buildings, trying to stay out of sight of the gleaming white castle behind him.

The mid afternoon sun glared down from above, but not as stifling as it had been earlier on in the day. The sweet fragrance of thousands upon thousands of flowers wafted through the air from the Rainbow Sea, mixed up with the gentle rustling of the tree branches and the babbling of the river.

The figure had to duck down low toward his horse's neck to avoid taking a branch to the face as they came upon the riverbed, his gray palfrey barely being led, confident in her route.

Slipping expertly from his saddle, Crown Prince Steven Harrington glanced behind him, knowing well he couldn’t be seen from the castle in his hidden little refuge, but still, he checked every time.

It was a small little curve along the shore of the River Vita, blocked in by trees and shrubbery with enough grass and space for Bimmer to entertain herself while Steve stole however many hours he could, hiding away here.

The river itself wasn’t a terribly fast moving one but it was deceptively deep, a danger to anyone who didn’t know what they were doing. Luckily for Steve he’d been swimming in this river for as long as he had been able.

It might not have been the smartest thing in the world, sneaking out here alone to work off the stress of the day, stealing a moment alone, but he couldn’t help it. It was one of his most favored spots throughout the kingdom and it always helped him to relax his racing mind.

Steve was a strong swimmer, at least that’s how he justified it to himself. He was trained and careful and able.

Not that Robin or Hopper ever saw it that way. But he’d managed to slip away without either of them noticing and he would take the opportunity to swim whenever it was presented to him, though he didn’t think it would be long before his absence was realized.

Being the Crown Prince was full of benefits, but the downside was that he always seemed to be constantly needed, though that was mostly due to his own unique situation, rather than something the first born of other kingdoms had to deal with.

Steve’s father, King Robert wasn’t a cruel or uncaring man, but he was extremely uninterested in ruling.

He preferred the hedonistic and enjoyable parts of being a king. Celebrating, hunting, whoring, drinking.

However, dealing with the day to day? Meeting the people to hear their concerns, acting as an intermediary between warring guilds, overlooking the treasury, directing their surplus crop, trading the flowers, making sure their people were happy, provided for and treated well, organizing the guard...

King Robert didn’t have any time for it, and as such, his one and only child Steve had been shadow ruling the kingdom for as long as he could remember. Almost as soon as the king came to the realization that Steve could, he had set him to it.

It was all Steve had ever really known.

And he loved it. He really did.

This was his home, his kingdom, his responsibility. He wanted his people to be happy, he wanted to maintain the beauty of the Rainbow Sea, he wanted to carry on the Harrington legacy, he wanted to be good.

But sometimes… sometimes it was a lot.

It was a lot all the time, if he was being honest with himself, but he was comfortable with it.

This was what he had been raised for after all and in his short twenty four years, he’d become almost expert at it.

Steve didn’t think there was anything he wouldn’t do for the good of his kingdom.

Bimmer shook her head with a frustrated snort, bringing him back to the present where he had been standing, staring out over the River Vita with her reins in his hand.

“Sorry, girl.” He muttered, patting her muzzle and draping the reins over her neck. “Go on.”

She bumped his hand once and then wandered off to graze.

She was an expertly trained horse, strong and tall with a gleaming light grey coat, almost white in color to go with her bright mane and tail. She was beautiful and one of the many loves of his life.

He rarely needed to tie her off to stop her from wandering, she liked to keep watch over him while he swam.

Steve stripped himself bare, taking care to hang his carefully embroidered doublet and undershirt from a tree branch to keep them as clean as possible.

He didn’t want to give the staff in the laundry more work than necessary.

Most of his clothes had been expertly decorated with delicate flowers and climbing vines, occasionally even with some of the kingdom’s sweetest fruits. His clothes were beautiful and he took great care with them, not wanting the hours of work put into them to go to waste.

The cool breeze brushed against his skin and Steve sighed, feeling the stress of the day get washed away in the current of the river as he submerged himself completely, the shock of the cold enough to inject some energy back into him.

Steve took off, up and down the bank, swimming with and then against the gentle current until his muscles began to ache and tire and the sun had dipped a little lower, slowly bathing the clouds in soft pinks and oranges.

He was catching his breath, sculling along on his back, eyes closed, head tipped to the sun when he heard a throat clearing above him.

Steve was intimately familiar with that gruff and perpetually irked sound and he continued to float for a moment before peeking an eye open to look up at the figure towering above.

Captain Hopper glared down, his arms crossed over his leather clad chest, a deep frown on his face.

He raised an eyebrow at Steve’s complete shameless nudity and huffed, much in the same way Bimmer did when she wasn’t getting her way.

“You’re giving me gray hairs, kid.”

Steve grinned to himself, allowing his eye to slip closed again.

“You’ve been saying that for years, Hop.”

“You’ve been giving them to me for years, Harrington. The hell are you doing out here alone?”

Steve shrugged, the water sloshing around him.

“I’m fine.”

“But you might not have been.”

“I’m a strong swimmer.”

“Not stronger than mother nature. If your royal ass was to drown out here, then where would we be?”

Steve scoffed.

“I wasn’t going to drown, Hop. Don’t be so dramatic. And anyway, haven’t I taught you what to do in that kind of situation? Press on the chest, breathe into the mouth-”

“Steve.” Hopper sighed, closing his eyes as if praying for patience and Steve had to give in.

He knew Hopper was right, knew that it wasn’t exactly the safest thing to be doing, going outside the castle walls alone, to swim in a force of nature alone.

But… it was fine.

It wasn’t like anything exciting ever happened in his life. Things were calm, normalized. Day in, day out, Steve always knew what was coming and he was happy with it that way. He was happy with where he was right now.

“Get your clothes back on, kid. C’mon.”

Steve knew he had to, knew that he couldn’t hide away here forever, but he was feeling a little petulant. He shot Hopper the biggest pout he could muster.

“Five more minutes?”

“No.” Hopper growled at him. “You better be out of that water in the next ten seconds or I’ll take Bimmer back with me and make you walk.”

Steve straightened up in the water, with a performative squawk, shaking droplets from his lashes. He was still deep enough that the water flowed across his stomach, taking some power away from the effect of putting his hands on his hips.

“On my own two royal legs?” He exclaimed in mock outrage. “Hop, how could you? I demand my litter!” He slapped a hand against the water.

“I’ll litter you in a minute.” Hopper scowled. “I’ll bring you back in your very own casket if you keep pushing. Out. Now.”

Steve crossed his arms with a scowl of his own, really hamming it up with a comically furrowed brow but Hopper didn’t waver. Didn’t even crack a smile. So Steve sighed and waded back to the shore, stepping out without an inch of shame in his nakedness.

Hopper wasn’t phased in the least.

“Your nudity doesn’t scare me, Harrington.” Hopper said, leaning against a tree while Steve pulled his britches on over his legs. “Or have you forgotten that I was the one who had to try and catch you as a three year old when you decided you hated clothes and went on a run around the castle? Do you have any idea how irritating a naked, angry three year old is?”

Steve scrunched up his nose but still tried to not let too much of his embarrassment show.

Tugging his undershirt back on over his head, he scraped his wet hair back from his forehead and shrugged his doublet back on, not bothering to lace either of them up.

“Did you happen to notice my absence or did someone send for me?” He asked, tucking his shirt away into his pants.

“I fear Your Royal Highness has had a duty of today slip his mind.” Hopper answered, not cryptic at all, with a little glimmer in his eye.

Steve paused in his movements, trying to remember what he could have forgotten he had to do today.

He’d met with Merill and Eugene about their land dispute. He’d met with one of the Coin Keepers, Ted Wheeler about potentially taking on Erica Sinclair as an apprentice. He’d read the letters and memos sent to him from the various guilds. They’d finally figured out how to streamline their flower trade route through the River Road, what else could he possibly be forgetting-

It hit him all at once.

He let his head drop back with a loud groan.

“Yep.” Hopper sounded way too happy about it. Steve supposed this was some kind of justice for escaping away to swim today.

“Fuck.” Steve whispered.

“Steve you promised!” Dustin’s shrill voice echoed off the stone walls of the kitchens, cutting through the low din of the cooks and servers finishing up their work for the day and beginning to prep what they needed to for tomorrow.

By the time Steve had gotten back to the castle, evening had set in and Dustin was glaring up at him from a wooden table in the corner, his arms crossed and his foot tapping against the flagstone floor like an angry parent.

“I know, Dustin.” Steve sat down at the table as well but almost immediately had to lean out of the way as a kitchen maid was forced to reach across him to get to a stack of bowls piled up and needing to be washed.

Steve handed them over to her with a warm smile and she grinned back at him with a small, “Thank you, Steven.”

“I’m sorry.” He turned his attention back to Dustin. “Things started piling up today and I forgot.”

Dustin scoffed, sticking his nose in the air. “How can you expect to be a good king if you forget your people. Your promises?”

“Dusty!” Claudia exclaimed, hovering like she almost always was, in front of the large suspended cast iron pot, hanging over the constant burning hearth, stirring.

The rest of the kitchen staff reacted to Dustin with varying levels of shocked laughter or badly hidden snorts.

Joyce poked her head out of the walk-in pantry, just to swat Dustin lightly over the head with a rag. “Show some respect!”

“Yeah, Dusty.” Steve gave his shin a gentle kick. “Show some respect.”

Dustin grumbled to himself, something that sounded distinctly like show you some respect before slamming both hands down on the table. “Lucas gets to ride all the time!”

“Lucas is Captain Hopper’s squire. It’s pretty much his job description. It’s different.”

“And he’s learned how to hunt and shoot and bow and he’s not even using a training sword anymore! Hopper’s got him practicing with a blunt metal one now!” Dustin threw his hands into the air, nearly swatting a kitchen boy a year or two older than him in the arm, but the boy seemed so used to it, he just expertly weaved around the flying gesticulations with barely a glance. “I could be a squire.”

“It all sounds very fanciful, Dusty.” Steve leaned his elbow on the table. “But are you forgetting all the other things Lucas had to do to get to where he is? Yes, he gets to ride all the time, but he’s also up at dawn, shovelling shit from the stables. Yes, he’s learned his way around a sword and bow but don’t you remember all the cuts and bruises he was walking around with? Or this time last year when he couldn’t train for two months after he broke his collarbone on his good side after getting thrown from his horse?”

“I wouldn’t have that issue! I don’t even have collarbones!”

“And,” Steve pressed forward, “Lucas doesn’t have time for much else besides those things. He doesn’t get to harass the librarian for hours on end with constant questions.”

Dustin glared at him from across the table. “I’m not harassing Mr. Clarke. He loves my questions.”

“If you were to be in Lucas’ position, you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t study the natural sciences and alchemy like you love to. In addition to that, Lucas has been in training since he was six years old. You’d have a lot of catching up to do.”

Dustin slumped back in his chair, arms crossed again and a frown on his face. He looked disappointed if not a little upset and it just about broke Steve’s heart.

Fuck, he was too soft with these kids.

“I promise, Dusty. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll take you out riding, okay?”

He’d have to shift his schedule around a little. He usually went through his correspondence with the further villages and towns of the kingdom in the mornings, but he could put them off for an hour or two.

“Can I ride Bimmer?” Dustin asked, almost immediately perking up.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask her. But if she’s okay with it, then I am.”

“She’s a horse, Steve.”

“So? Doesn’t mean she has to put up with a little shit-head with no collarbones if she doesn’t want to.”

“But- okay. If she does let me, then I can? I can ride your horse?” There was such a hopeful glint in Dustin’s eye. Steve was powerless to deny him.

He heaved a put upon sigh and hands on his hips, “Yes, okay. But only around the perimeter!” He shouted the last part after Dustin who had shot up from his seat with a whoop and burst out of the room.

“Mike! He’s gonna let me ride Bimmer!”

Mike had only just come in from the gardens, arms full of herbs which were dropped to the floor with an angry squawk, beginning an argument because Steve never let him ride Bimmer.

Claudia giggled to herself as Steve slumped back in his chair.

“You give in too easily, dear.” She said over her shoulder to him.

He leaned his cheek into his fist. “You know what he’s like.”

Claudia smiled again, tuning back to the pot.

Steve was just about to open his mouth to offer some help when there was a great clatter on the stone steps leading up from the kitchen.

Robin nearly ran into the wall, her face was flushed from exertion, one pant leg was untucked from a boot which was coming unlaced and her undershirt was half hanging out of her still beautiful but not quite as lavishly embroidered waistcoat.

She’d caught herself against the archway, her wild eyes scanning the room before Steve felt them land on him.

“Oh shit.” He breathed, springing from his chair in the next second and making a break for it through the kitchen.

“You!” Robin screeched, footsteps pounding after him while the staff scampered,  like they were jumping out of the road to escape a wayward horse and cart. “Get your fucking ass back here, Harrington!”

���I didn’t do anything!”

Steve burst through the door leading out into the herb garden, Robin hot on his heels. He didn’t know why he’d chosen the damn herb garden to escape to, it was enclosed.

He literally had nowhere to run.

“You call trying to drown yourself in the river not doing anything?” She shouted, swinging a gardening glove she’d picked up at him as she slowly stalked closer while Steve was backed up against an impenetrable stone wall.

“I wasn’t going to drown, Buckley.” He snapped back, trying to catch the glove in his own hand as she swatted at whatever part of him she could reach. “I’m a strong swimmer!”

“Stronger than the river, Steven?” She was able to pop him over the head and he finally managed to catch her wrist and wrench the glove from her grip, swatting her back.

“Get off my ass, adviser. I’m fine aren’t I? Forgive me for needing a moment to myself.”

Robin was trying and failing to bat his hands away.

“You can have as many moments to yourself as you’d like, Your Highness, but not on a dangerous river when no one knows where you are!”

Steve whapped her on the arm and in retaliation she levelled several slaps against his chest.

“The river’s not that dangerous!”

“You wouldn’t even be the first monarch to drown in that river!”

“I didn’t fucking drown!”

“Yet!”

“Is that a threat?”

“You’re damn right it is! I will drown you myself next time, I swear on your stupid hair-”

“Hey! Don’t call my hair stupid, your face is stupid.”

“Ugh!” The sound came out of Robin like some kind of cross in between a scream and a groan. “I can’t believe this is the thanks I get for my years of service!”

“Service, my left nut. You’re a pain in my ass, Buckley.”

Steve still had the glove clasped in his hand, though it was down at his side now and Robin had stuck her hands on her hips, the two of them glaring.

“You’d perish without me.” She sniffed, looking down her nose at him.

“Whatever.”

Robin pursed her lips, tapping one finger against her hip.

“Did you enjoy yourself, at least?”

Steve grinned, swatting her lightly one last time over the shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“You said first thing tomorrow morning, Steve!”

Steve stuffed his goose feather pillow over his head, trying to block out the pinks of the early morning sky invading his room.

The light was barely there, the sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but it was still reflected around the room. The brightness of Steve’s lime-washed and plastered walls seeming intent on keeping him awake, the delicate paintwork of climbing vines and florals doing nothing to dull the glare since Dustin had thrown open the curtains.

“I didn’t mean the ass-crack of dawn, shit-head!”

“You’re up now aren’t you?”

Turning his head a little, Steve peeked an eye open to glare at him.

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Not all of us are royalty who get to sleep in.” Dustin snarked back with his arms crossed.

“Sucks for you because I am royalty who gets to sleep in. Now if you don’t fuck off and come back at a more reasonable hour, I’m telling your mother what happened to her good copper pot.”

Dusting scowled back just as hard before turning on his heel and stomping out.

“Fine, asshole!”

“And close my curtains!” Steve shouted after him, but Dustin had already slammed his bedroom door closed again.

He was still yawning and grumbling to himself as Dustin dragged him by the arm down to the stables. What he wouldn’t give for some kind of injection of energy, some way to wake himself up. He prayed for the day something like that was discovered. Maybe he could talk to the castle herbalist about it. Argyle always had something strange cooking.

Steve squinted against the glaring sunlight, slumping when Dustin finally let go of his arm to shoot off into the stables on his own, shouting at Steve to keep up.

Fuck, how did the kid have so much damn energy?

When Steve finally made his way inside, his senses assaulted with the smell of wood, leather, hay and horse, Dustin was standing in front of Bimmer’s stall, blinking up at her with wide nervous eyes.

“She’s bigger than I thought she was.” He muttered. “I’ve only ever seen her at a distance.”

Steve placed a hand down on Dustin’s head, using the other to pet over Bimmer’s muzzle.

“She’s very gentle. But you don’t have to ride her if you don’t want to. I could take you out on a smaller-”

“No.” Dustin turned to look up at him. “I said I would, so. I will.”

It took a little bit, getting Bimmer to respond positively to Dustin after she had reflected his nervousness initially, but soon enough he was comfortably in the saddle, practically vibrating with excitement. Steve stuck close by, astride Thunder, a jet black stallion prone to wandering but easy enough to pull back.

Dustin’s smile only grew wider as they went on a slow trot around the curtain walls and before long he was in top form, spewing about the latest things he’d learned whenever they passed something that caught his interest.

“Hey Steve, did you know that Mothers Bounty used to spit liquid fire and ash?” Dustin said, pointing over at the lone flat topped extinct volcano that always loomed in the background. “It’s where our pumice stone comes from and the reason we can grow so much here.”

“Yes, Dustin, I did know that.”

“Hey Steve, did you know that Queen Vita drowned in the River Vita,” The river itself babbled up at them. “Isn’t that crazy?”

“That’s a rumour.”

“Hey Steve, did you know that the people of the Abyssal Forest use needles and ink to mark their skin?”

Steve blinked rapidly over in Dustin’s direction while a soft breeze blew through the trees next to them.

“They do what?” He asked, trying not to think too hard about sticking needles into his skin. Willingly.

“Yeah!” Dustin turned to him with the brightest smile. “They have to get the needle in quite deep for the ink to stick, but if they do, their designs can stay there forever! Isn’t that so cool?”

Steve had to repress a shudder. “Yeah, man. Sounds… so cool.”

They continued to ride on in silence for another moment and Steve would have found it peaceful if he didn’t think that Dustin suddenly falling silent after spitting out endless facts was very strange. He was fidgeting ever so slightly with Bimmer’s reigns, like he was trying to build up to something.

“So. El and I have been talking.”

Well, that was never a good start.

Steve just hummed in agreement, waiting for Dustin to continue, reaching up to pluck a leaf from an overhanging branch as they slowly made their way back to the stables.

“She’s hit a blockade on her studies of the Rainbow Sea. You know how she’s been trying to figure out how to grow the Nightbloom?”

“Absolutely not.” Steve didn’t quite snap, but it was a close thing.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You’re gonna ask me to take you and El on an expedition to the Abyssal Forest so El can talk to the people who live there about her flower and so you can harass them about their inked skin-”

“But, Steve! The Nightbloom doesn’t grow anywhere else and no one else I have read about inks their skin-!”

“Over my dead body, Dusty-Buns. There’s a reason their community is so closed off. That forest is dangerous to those who don’t know how to traverse it. Most who try end up lost forever. You think I’m gonna lead both you and El to certain death just for a flower and some ink?”

“Steve-!”

“Dustin.” Steve pulled Thunder a round to a stop in front of Bimmer. “I’ve said no. You’re just going to have to find some more books about it. It’s not happening.” He stared him dead in the eye. “Have I made myself clear?”

Dustin scowled at him, and the rest of the ride back to the stables was frosty but Steve wouldn’t budge.

Dustin could sulk and complain and be as upset as he liked, but Steve was not going to lose him or El in a dark and endless forest just because he wanted to meet some inky people and find out how to grow a flower.

In his haste to get off Bimmer once the stable hand had taken her reins, Dustin’s foot slipped from her stirrup and he fell hard onto one knee.

Steve threw himself from his own horse, swinging down in less than a second but Dustin had already sprang back up, brushing past him with a muttered “I’m fine.”

Steve stared after him, not knowing whether he should feel hurt or indignant. He only wanted what was best for the kids and he understood Dustin’s disappointment at not getting to go on some kind of stupidly dangerous mission but at the same time, did he really expect Steve to put all their lives at risk for no reason?

“Shit, what happened?”

Steve turned to find Robin walking through the stable doors, coming from the direction Dustin had just left in.

“We had a disagreement.” Steve sighed, hands on his hips. “He wanted me to take him and El into the Abyssal Forest.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “What the hell for? Is he trying to get you all killed? And no offense to the kid, but your death might not be the best thing for the future of this kingdom.”

He snorted, a little deprecatingly. “I know, right? Someone should have told my parents to have another kid. Would help to take the pressure off.”

Robin gave a little nod, sucking her lips into her teeth. “Speaking of pressure…”

“I know, I know.” Steve shook his head, giving Bimmer a pat and nodding at the stable hand who was corralling the two horses back into their stalls. “I’m going up to my study now to start on my correspondence so there’s no need to bully me.”

He grinned at her but it slipped from his face almost immediately when she didn’t follow suit, just continued to bite her lip.

“What is it?”

Robin took a deep breath in, like she was bolstering herself.

“Your parents have requested an audience with you.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“What for?”

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me.” She shrugged, trying to hide the worry in her eyes, but she was never able to fully hide from him.

The fact that they hadn’t shared what they wanted to talk to him about was not a good sign.

“Well.” Steve put his hands back on his hips. “Fuck.”

Robin nodded.

[Part 2] [AO3] [Art]

This fic will be updated daily! 🥰

[sunnybeewriting]

peachy keen.

Hi guys! So I'm pretty new to writing and this is actually the biggest thing I’ve ever written. I watched The Way of Water when it came out and took an immediate interest in this guy, partially because I thought his character has a lot of potential, and partially because I also thought that he was really hot.

So I decided to set up a series of little works. This one is just sort of a beginning to the Reader’s character and Quaritch, and I do plan on writing more about them in the future with this fic as their base. Maybe do some AU’s, maybe just continue the story from here, maybe lead into the movie, who knows!

That all said, I really, really hope you like it! If you do, please give it a like or a comment!

WORDS: 15,000

WARNINGS: Adult themes and language

peachy keen. Part Two.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your body jerks to a stop just before you can fully trip over your shoelace and faceplant onto the floor. Unfortunately, the leftover food on your plate could not say the same, jostled just enough that it went flying from your hands and onto the tiled floor of the mess hall.

You lean down quickly to clean it up, scooping the food with your fingers and back onto the plate as best you can. You succeed only halfway, goop just smearing across the floor and onto your hand.

You stare at the mess you made, ears and cheeks burning as you hear snickers of cruel amusement coming from some military meatheads a few feet behind you.

You jump up quickly, making sure to avoid your shoelace so you don’t trip on it again and embarrass yourself any further. You hurry to the counter holding the utensils, mugs, and paper towels, tugging several brown napkins out of the dispenser sitting on top. You take a deep breath to calm yourself.

Kneeling down so soon after sleeping for six years in a cyropod made the muscles in your legs and shoulders ache, but you do it anyways. You wipe up the mess as best you can, piling the dirty napkins onto the plate and dumping it all into a nearby trashcan. You wish the ground would swallow you up.

You aren’t usually so embarrassed by such a small mistake, but it had been a rough past couple of days for you. You had landed at Bridgehead City just a few days ago, and you had felt immediately overwhelmed by the extreme size of the fortress.

It took the RDA fifteen years to return to Pandora, but when they did, they made sure to put in roots. Bridgehead City was an enormous structure, constantly building upon itself and hosting thousands of military combatants, engineers, skel suits, construction robots, anything that was thought of to build and maintain humanity’s last stronghold. Every person of every imagined career was here, working as one like bees and ants had once done for their queens a hundred years ago, before they had both gone extinct. 

Bridgehead was terrifying to look at for the first time, seeing in person exactly how far humanity was willing to go to force itself onto another planet. You had noticed that it almost looked like a parasite, contrasting in color and material against the lively, glowing rainforest that surrounded it just past the barren land of the Kill Zone.

The wave of information that hit you the moment you stepped off the ship was almost enough to make your excitement to be on Pandora wither and die, but you held onto it with shaky, desperate hands.

Luckily for you, it wasn’t long before your enthusiasm bounced back and you met your new colleagues. Most of them had been just as nervous as you, clearly uncertain and overwhelmed. Knowing you weren’t alone made you relax just slightly. They were scientists hand-picked by the RDA as test subjects for re-opening the Avatar program, just like you.

None of you were really sure why the program had been stopped in the first place. The RDA was very quiet about what had happened all those years ago, when most of their military and scientists had been sent fleeing from Pandora with nothing but the clothes on their backs and tails between their legs. They refused to issue many statements, insisting that a minor misunderstanding had occurred with the ‘natives’ of the planet, and they’d be back soon enough to continue their mission.

The RDA had stated that the main reason for discounting the Avatar program was because the cost outweighed any benefit. The only reason they were allowing a few lucky souls to come to Pandora as Avatars was simply as a favor to the scientific community, and as a test to see if the Avatar program should be reinstated. Now the main purpose behind the program is to see if it’s worth it for people to be able to travel around Pandora without having to worry about the environmental protection systems, than a way to make peace with the Na’vi.

Most of the scientists in the base were only allowed restricted access to information regarding the past and current situation with the Na’vi, only knowing that The People were no longer accepting of humans on their planet and that the military is now on constant high alert. Most of the remaining records were classified to you, although you did try to learn as much as you could about what was happening on Pandora. Unfortunately, the RDA was very strict with that information, and you never found anything that mentioned the Na’vi or what happened fifteen years ago.  

The ten members of the new Avatar program had been divided into two parts of five, just to make the introductions and sessions easier. You had met your three new acquaintances, eager to make some friends. They had introduced themselves; Emma, a small, shy woman who preferred observing rather than participating; James, a sweet, handsome young man; and David, an older man in his late fifties who seemed a bit too haughty for his own good.

Your group was shown to your individual rooms over on the west side of Bridgehead, far away from the landing pads and ships you had arrived on. Your new room was small and gray with concrete walls and a thin layering of carpet covering the cold floors. You had a small desk that sat underneath a suction-locked window that let you glimpse into an enclosure full of construction robots, but at least the light it let in was nice. There was a simple cot in the corner and a mirror as the only piece of décor on the walls, but it was yours, a place you could call your own.

You had grinned tiredly and fallen face down on your bed without bothering to take off your shoes. You slept for fourteen hours, and when you awoke you felt as though you were rising from the dead, hair wild and mouth fuzzy. After you brushed your teeth, showered, got dressed in clean clothes, and ate food for the first time in six years, you felt like a brand-new person.

And here you are now, in the mess hall, already making a fool of yourself on your second week.

You quickly rush back to your table and plop your behind into the seat you had vacated to throw away your plate, sitting across from Emma and David. Emma is poking at her food, face pale and gloomy. David is almost done with his own dinner, glasses perched on his nose as he reads from a holotablet.

Geesh. These guys certainly weren’t known for being the life of the party back home.

Maybe they just need some more time to adjust? I know I certainly fucking do.

You take a moment to bend down and tie your shoelace, double knotting it, not wanting to cause any more scenes.

When you sit back up in your chair and make eye contact with Emma, your lopsided, embarrassed smile falls from your face when she simply stares back at you, clearly uneasy for some reason you can’t name.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking clumsy. And why the fuck does it look like you’re all attending a funeral over here?” The voice that chimes up behind you lifts your mood exponentially, and you turn around in your seat to greet the approaching form of the last member of your group and your best friend with a happy grin.

You had met Margot a few months before your trip to Pandora when you both attended a required conference that would discuss certain parts of living in Bridgehead. The second you struck up a conversation with her, it was like meeting your long-lost sister. You had instantly clicked, getting on like a house on fire and scarcely spending a day away from each other.

James arrives at the table with her, holding his own plate. He gives you a comforting look, clearly sympathetic to your embarrassment.

“Hey Margot, James! You saw that, huh?” you ask sheepishly, shoulders raising to your ears as you feel a hot flash of mortification all over again.

“Uh, yeah, honey, I saw. I’m pretty sure half the cafeteria watched you nearly eat shit. You need to learn to tie your shoes better, babe.” Margot’s voice is just as loud as ever, and her bright blonde hair and tall figure aren’t exactly subtle, either.

She was the type of person to grab someone’s attention and refuse to let it go, manicured nails digging in deep. Well, her nails used to be manicured. Now they were just as plain as everyone else’s.

She takes a seat in the empty chair next to you, setting her own plate down with a clatter. She untucks her cheap silverware from the napkin and digs into her dinner, eating hurriedly like someone is about to snatch the plate away from her. You had once asked her why she never slowed down to enjoy her food, and she said that with eight siblings if you wanted any food, you needed to eat it like an animal.  

James takes the other empty seat next to you, patting your shoulder twice before saying, “It’s okay, I don’t think that many people saw.”

You smile weakly at his attempt to make you feel better. It doesn’t help much, but you appreciate the thought, “Thanks, James.”

He nods and moves his attention to his plate.

Your table is silent for a few moments, everyone lost in their own thoughts and tasks.

You break the silence when you nervously ask, “So. Anybody else freaking out at the thought of linking up for the first time or is it just me?”

David looks up, paying attention to your words for the first time since you met him. “Well, I’m not nervous because I did all the pre-linking sessions and training years ago.” His nose is practically raised in the air.

You stare at him.

What a fucking douchebag. Who answers a question like that?

“That’s nice. What about you, Emma, are you nervous or excited? How are you feeling?” you ask gingerly, wanting to include her in the conversation. It would be nice to have another friend so that the next few years weren’t miserable.

Emma stares at you blankly, and then whispers a simple, “No.”

You lean back in your seat and deflate. “Oh.”

Fuck it, I tried.

Margot, the smug bitch, is watching you drown in social awkwardness as she happily munches away. You give her a look and a shrug, and she rolls her eyes before placing her fork down on the table. She dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin, and then says to Emma, “Girl, I absolutely love that bracelet you’re wearing. Where did you get it?”

To your surprise, Emma perks up in her seat, right hand grazing the bracelet she wore on her left wrist. Her face softens, and she says, “It was my mom’s, actually.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. Right?” Margot jabs her sharp elbow into your side, and you hiss but nod hurriedly.

“Yes, that is so sweet! I wear my mom’s wedding ring, actually.” You rub said ring with your hand. Your mood drops a little bit at the mention of your mother, but you shake your head to get back on track. “Makes me feel closer to her, I suppose.”

A small smile pulls on Emma’s cheeks, and she looks down, still rubbing the bracelet. “Yeah.”

You look at her, reconsidering your thoughts about her personality. 

Maybe it just takes a little time to connect, that’s all.

You fiddle with the small, emerald cut ring that you were on the ring finger of your right hand. It had been a piece of jewelry your mother had worn faithfully until the day she died.

When you were a child, around ten or eleven years old, you had asked her why your dad had chosen that specific ring to represent their marriage, out of the hundreds of others he could have.

She was still sick at the time, spending most of her days laying in a hospital bed while nurses bustled in and out. She had lost so much weight that her cheeks were gaunt, and her face and hands were so white they were almost transparent, pale blue veins clear through the skin.

Her lips were pale and chapped, and the dark circles around her eyes were deeply imprinted in her skin like bruises. She looked like a ghost, a fragile, terrifying imitation of the woman who had raised you, a woman who you had thought put the stars themselves into the sky. She was weak, and even before she passed away it was like she was already dead.  

She had gripped your hand as tightly as she could when you had asked that question, sweaty palm squeezing yours to the point of pain in a rare show of strength. She was usually so weak the nurses and you had to feed her by hand as she could barely lift up her arms. She looked you in the eye and pulled you close until your face was right next to hers.

In the croak that had now become her voice, she whispered, “I had asked the same question, years after he had proposed. I asked, ‘Jonathon, why this ring? Why this cut, why this color?’. And he had gripped me tightly and pulled me close and said, ‘Well, my love, it’s the breathtaking green color of your eyes. Your eyes and the ring match exactly, you see. And every time you look at it, you will see yourself the way I see you. Beautiful and bright.’

Tears had filled her glazed eyes, and she whispered to you, “No matter what, when you find the one you love, never let them go. Cherish every single second you have with them, never take them for granted, and make sure that they love you for everything that you are, the good and the bad. It is the purpose of our life. Love. Without it, we are nothing.” Against the tears and the agony that claimed her face and voice, your mother smiled for the first time in years.

Your father had passed away while your mother was still pregnant, killed in an easily avoidable accident. No matter how much your mother loved you before she had gotten sick, no matter how much joy you brought to her life, there was always a deep sorrow and grief inside her that consumed her soul every day.

She never got over your father, never dated or remarried or showed the barest hint of interest in anyone else. When asked why, she said that she had already had the love of her life, and there was no one who could ever compare to even the lingering ghost of your father that seemed to haunt her.

And when the sickness truly hit and reduced her to almost nothing, her anger and bitterness twisted her mind and her love for you into something cruel and abhorrent. 

Even years later you kept her whispered words locked away into the very muscles of your heart. Even though your mother had been sick and weak when she told you these things, it was one of your few beloved moments with her. It had shown you who your mother really was, past all the sickness and malice, who she really was deep in her soul. That she had once loved and been loved.

And now you wear her wedding ring as a reminder of your parent’s love for each other, and how regardless of your mother’s cruelty toward you during the last years of her life, your love for her would never fade.

You’re jerked out of your melancholy thoughts when Margot burps loudly and thumps a fist against her chest.

“Jesus Christ, Margot. Where the fuck did you learn your manners from?” James asks, recoiling in disgust.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m almost done, then we can go check out the linking center.”

You nod eagerly, so overwhelmed with anticipation and delight that your fingers tremor just slightly.

You are so ready to meet your Avatar and link up for the first time, but the thought of anything going wrong makes you restless. You wish you could just get it over with so you could stop agonizing over it.

Margot finally finishes her food and stands up to dump her plate. James does the same, and then all five of you are off, walking down a long hallway with lots of twists and turns. The fluorescent  lights shine brightly on the ceiling, and you can hear the distant sounds of never-ending construction.

Even with all five of you working together to get to your destination, the new buildings are too much for your group and you get lost in the labyrinth of hallways. James even has to ask a nearby custodian for directions once or twice. When you turn a corner, you spot a bathroom sign, and suddenly you have business to take care of. You pat Margot’s arm and point in that direction.

“Hey, guys, I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you there, okay?”

The rest of the group nods, but Margot decides to go with you. You do your business and you’re washing your hands in the sink when Margot makes eye contact with you through the mirror as she washes her own hands.

“I won’t lie, honey, I’m feeling pretty nervous about linking up as well. I know we’ve been through training simulations and have studied and practiced for years, but this is going to be different.” Her face and voice are uncharacteristically serious, and her hands shake just slightly as she pulls a towel out of the dispenser to dry her hands.

You feel a flash of sympathy for your friend, stopping your own drying. You walk around to her and put your hands on her shoulders, leaning your face close to hers.

“It’ll be okay, Margot, we’ve both got this. We just need to do it, and then it’ll be as easy as breathing before we know it, okay?”

Margot nods and takes a deep breath, looking down for a moment. When she looks up she’s much calmer, and her usual peppy attitude is back and shining.

“Thanks, sugar.”

You nod understandingly, releasing her shoulders and knocking her hip with yours as you walk toward the bathroom door. You both step outside into the hallway and continue your way.

“Of course. And besides, I’m just so ready to finally see her, you know? We’ve seen pictures and videos, but actually being there in real life is going to feel so surreal. The Na’vi are just stunning to me. Ooh, I almost forgot!”

You stop walking as you talk, scientist-brain taking over. Margot moves to stand in front of you, crossing her arms over her chest with an amused expression. This was far from the first time you had gone on a tangent.

“I saw someone from the recombinant unit when I was walking around yesterday, and he was fucking huge!”

You’re so busy trying to organize your thought flow into something sensible that you completely miss the approaching footsteps coming from behind you, and the way Margot looks over your shoulder and turns white.

You continue on, oblivious.

“He must have been pretty high ranking because the people with him followed him around like little ducklings. And the blue pigment of his skin was so beautiful. The color contrast of his eyes versus his skin kind of reminded me of a Primula ‘Zebra Blue’, you know, that blue and golden flower that went extinct like a hundred years ago? It was just amazing to finally see in person, and I-”

“Well, aren’t you just a peach?”

The deep voice that comes from behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You whirl around, expecting to come face to face with whomever just spoke. Instead, you come eye level with the belt buckle and zipper of a pair of navy green camo military pants.

Your heart drops to your shoes.

You tilt your head up, up, up, until it’s practically craning backward. The uncomfortable position hurts, but that’s the least of your problems.

Your biggest problem, literally and figuratively, is the cold eyes and carefully amused face of the man you were just talking about.

You open your mouth to speak but words refuse to leave.

Why does this shit always happen to me?

You clamp your mouth shut when no words appear and swallow nervously, and the man notices your tense expression.

He smirks down at you, almost sneering. From the way he towers over you closely, unconcerned with personal space, it’s clear that this man likes to have people’s attention on him, takes pleasure in scaring people with his massive height and muscles.

And his intimidation tactics completely work on you, that’s for sure.

Jesus, look at his hands. He could cover my entire face and upper torso with just one of them!

You want to put as much distance between this frightening man and yourself as possible. But there’s a little voice in the back of your head, a stupid, too-curious little voice, that want you to examine him all the way from the finger pads and palm lines of his hands to the tip of his tail.

He was terrifying, yes, but you are also stunned by the wonderful science and technology that made up his body.

Of course, you’d seen holographs and pictures of Avatars and the Na’vi people, but they could never hold a candle to the real thing.

The navy green tank top, tattoo, and dog tags were all familiar things, but his height and the bright, smooth blue color of his skin were brand-new to you, something you wanted to take a closer look at. His hair was shaved closer to his skull than any other you’d seen, Avatar and Na’vi alike.

His bright yellow eyes sear into yours, and it feels like he is trying to see into your fucking soul.

Your heart rate skyrockets, mortified and thrilled and fearful all at once. The pile of extreme emotions twists your stomach, making you queasy.

Do not fucking puke on his shoes.

The man takes a step back to make room for his massive arm before he lifts it up, clearly holding his hand between you for a handshake. It almost seems as though he is testing your nerve; you wonder how many people had chosen not to shake his hand, too frightened.

“The name’s Colonel Quaritch, pleasure to meet you. What’s your name.” It’s a demand more than a question.  

You look up at his face again before quickly wiping your hands on your lab coat to get rid of any sweat. You grab onto his hand as best as you can with your own, and holy shit.

His hand engulfs your own minuscule one and part of your forearm, his fingers reaching almost all the way to your elbow. And the skin of his hand is surprisingly soft; he doesn’t have as many calluses as you thought a marine would, but that might be because his Avatar body is fairly new. You tell him your name, and say,

“Uh, sorry, sir! I’m a xenobotanist from the science division, I got here about two weeks ago!” Your voice is squeaky and louder than you want it to be, making you cringe. You barely remember to shake his hand as you speak other than simply hold it in your own.

He continues to stare at you, wicked smile only growing when you say you’re a scientist.

“Ah, you tree-huggers are officially back, then. Part of the ‘newly instated Avatar program’, right?”

“Uh, y-yes, sir. That’s us.” You laugh weakly.

He barely twitches the fingers of the hand still holding your own, but the strength that comes from them is enough to make his grip almost painful.

“Hmmm. Well, I’m real curious to see how long you and your friend last before Pandora eats you alive. Just as a friendly warnin’, you should be real careful about what you say and who you say it about ‘round here. Guess I’ll be seein’ you. Peach.”

Your knees weaken and you nod hurriedly.

He finally releases your hand, gives you one last cold, golden look, and continues on his way. His bare arm brushes your shoulder as he passes you, and it’s enough to make you shiver.

He’s gone in just a few seconds, but you stay rooted in your spot, staring at the floor. You’re wondering if he’s going to come back and shank you with the wicked knife you’d seen strapped to his thigh when a hand gently presses against your shoulder.

You leap into the air for the second time that day, hand slamming into your chest and breath coming out in a gasp as you realize it’s just Margot. You’d completely forgotten she was even there, too consumed with the encompassing presence of Colonel Quaritch.

You look at her, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Margot returns your stunned look, face paler than you’ve ever seen it before.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. You have the worst luck out of anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life. What the fuck just happened?”

You gulp. “I’m pretty sure that a terrifying man who wouldn’t hesitate to gut me overheard me practically gushing about him?”

She nods. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You stand there, practically swaying on your feet. “Oh my god, he fucking hates me! Did you see the look on his face? Oh my god, why is this happening? I’m never going to able to leave my room again!”

You bury your face into your hands, suddenly exhausted. First the mess hall, now this? Why couldn’t you just not embarrass yourself for once?

Margot pats your shoulder as you groan. “There, there. It’s alright, all you have to do is avoid him for the rest of your life. If you don’t, I’m pretty sure the next time you see him he’ll either just ignore you or kill you for saying all that stuff about him, and then you won’t have to worry about it anymore!”

“But I didn’t even mean it in a bad way! I was just describing him, the same way I do with all unknown subjects.”

Margot winces. “Uh, yeah, I would definitely not tell him that.”

------

You feel like whining as you finally continue walking to the linking center. After all that, the excitement you had felt at meeting your Avatar had almost completely disappeared. Now, the only thing you wanted to do was crawl back to your room and hide underneath your blankets forever.

But Margot pulls on your hand and ignores your childish wishes. When you arrive, she practically has to push you into the room.

And then every single thing, all of your hard work, the training, the learning, even the awkwardness of that day, was suddenly all worth it when you saw her for the first time.

She was curled up in the tank, cords attached to her body and eyes moving behind her closed lids. She floated gently around in the liquid that surrounded her, sometimes twitching a limb as she slept on.

You approach the tank, mind blank and mouth dry. As you get closer, you can see the details of her face, your face, just shifted into the feline-like features of a Na’vi.

She stole the breath straight from your lungs.

And that was how you spent the next few weeks, gazing at her slash yourself. Eventually, the time came for the first linkup, and everything went well, just like you had told Margot.

You spent the next month linking into your Avatar and wandering around the facilities, checking your reflexes and consuming everything Pandora had to offer while still in the confined space of Bridgehead City.

The disorientation from linking was enough to make you lay in a cot for an half an hour each time, too dizzy to move much. It’s such a bizarre feeling, suddenly being so much taller than everything else, and you are so much stronger than you are as a human.

It took a long time to remember your strength, and you accidentally put dents into a metal door handle when you grabbed it, squeezing it much harder than you meant to. The tiny little humans helping you gave you a pretty wide berth after that, only approaching when necessary.

You practiced using your new body, walking around without sitting on your long-haired queue or stepping on your new tail, which flailed around with a mind of its own. You liked to press your tongue to your sharp canines and look at the swaying tendrils attached to your hair.

It was an exhausting, thrilling process, and you loved every second of it.

None of the new Avatars had yet to actually leave Bridgehead and go into the forest yet. It would probably take a few more weeks for that to happen, and even then, you would probably only be allowed into the tree line past the Kill Zone.

Still, you eagerly look forward to that day, barely able to contain yourself in your excitement. It’s all you can think of day and night, and even in your dreams. On that day, you would be accomplishing so much more than a lifelong goal.  

Now, your group is relaxing in one of the lounges used for breaks, discussing your experience with linking and Pandora. It was something you’d been talking about for the past few hours, the past few weeks, really. It wasn’t like any of you had very much in common with each other, other than your careers and education, but you were trying to dig a little deeper to learn more about these people.

The only problem was they were more antisocial than not, which was almost to be expected by a bunch of scientists. They were also hesitant to speak much about their past. You were the same way. They probably wouldn’t be here if they had a very pleasant past filled with lots of people they wanted to stay with back home.

You eat the small bag of crackers you’d snagged from one of the vending machines lining the gray walls of the room, hoping that the tiny treat will hold you until your next meal. The chair you are leaning back in creaks dangerously and wobbles, but you hold your precarious position, feet pulled up and crossed on the table in front of you.

Your mind wanders as the chatter of the group drifts in and out of your ears. You think of nothing in particular, dazing out of focus, simply relaxing for once.

That peace is shattered when James leaps from his chair further down the table where he and Emma sit. They’re playing an old-fashioned card game; one you’ve never heard of before. When you asked James where he learned it from, he said his great-grandfather had taught it to him. Something called ‘Go Fish’.

James raises his arms above his head in apparent victory, grinning fiercely.

“That’s round three for me, Emma!”

Emma is giggling behind her hand, cheeks flushed a bright pink. She keeps her eyes on James as he playfully postures at winning, and the sight of her joy makes you grin.

You look across the table at Margot and wiggle your eyebrows. She laughs quietly, nodding in agreement.

Sweet Emma and James. You’re almost surprised that they developed such an obvious, big fat crush on each other out of all people, given that their personalities are so different.

Maybe opposites really do attract?

Whatever the reason may be, you hope your friends find happiness in one another. The world could certainly do with more love.  

Margot scoffs in disgust and curls her lip at her empty plate, apparently already over the tooth-rotting sweetness that was Emma and James.

She throws down her silverware onto the table and leans back in her chair, pout firm on her face.

“The food here is ass! You’d think a multi-trillion-dollar company would be able to feed its employees with something other than more fucking oatmeal. I’m so damn tired of oatmeal! It’s been most of our meals for the past month!”

“The supply shipment is late, you know that.” Is all you say. There is nothing to gain from arguing with Margot when she gets into one of these hungry moods.

“Then they need to make it un-late and bring me my fucking muffins!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that ‘un-late’ isn’t even a word, but I do agree with you. Oatmeal reserves are getting pretty old.”

Margot nods vigorously, leaning forward and placing her hands on the table.

“Coup? Coup? Anybody interested?”

You throw back your head and laugh, “Margot, we’re not going throw a coup just because there aren’t any muffins! I thought you had saved a bunch of snacks the last time this happened?”

Margot deflates. “I ate them all already and the vending machines are out of my favorites!”

“Oh, Margot.”

“I know! Somebody just put me out of my misery.” She plants her face into her crossed arms on the table, moping.

“You know, you always complain about the food here, Margot, but that never seems to stop you from scarfing it down,” James says, putting himself into your conversation. He sits in his chair still, shuffling the deck of cards as he smirks at Margot.

“I have to eat it, it’s the only thing they have here!”

You open your mouth to say something, only to pause when a big blue hand reaches around the curve of the open doorway like something out of a horror movie. You sit there, gaping, as Colonel Quaritch crouches down through the opening and steps into the break room.

Margot, James, and Emma see your startled face and turn to see what you’re looking at. When they see Quaritch, they all lurch out of their seats to stand up straight. The cards Emma and James were playing with go flying all over the table and the ground, and Margot nearly knocks her plate off the table.

Quaritch straightens up and stands, several feet taller than any of you. He rests his hand on the holster of the belt wrapped around his trim waistline and practically cocks his hip as he looks directly at you.

You’re still sitting, cracker packet now crushed to a pulp in your right hand. When he looks at you, you finally jolt up to your feet. You dust off the cracker crumbs from your shirt as best you can, anxiety filling you.

“S-Sir!”

What the hell is he doing here!?

He saunters into the room until he’s standing by the table, just a few feet from you. You crane your head up to look at him, baffled and worried.

“Is there…anything you need, sir?” You can’t help the way your eyebrows scrunch up as you ask, clearly confused.

He stares down at you, head tilting to the side as if pondering something. Eventually, he speaks.

“Walk with me.”

And then he turns on his heel and ducks out of the room as quickly as he had entered. You stand, frozen, turning a bewildered stare to your group of friends. They stare back at you, just as perplexed, until Margot urges you to follow him with a push of her hand on your back.

You get your limbs to move and start walking after him, exiting the break room and finding him waiting. Once he sees you’re following after him, he continues walking down the hallway without a word.

The silence is almost uncomfortable as you walk several hallway lengths away from the lounge to some unknown destination. You’re almost tempted to break it to ask where the hell he’s taking you, but fear of his biting words keeps your mouth shut.

His legs are so long that his stride is practically jogging for you, and you have to speed walk so you don’t get left behind. He notices you struggling but doesn’t slow down one bit. In fact, the bastard smirks meanly at your frustration and funny walking pace.

You scowl at his amusement but refuse to say a word.

Finally, Quaritch stops in front of an enormous metal door, and he takes a key from his pocket and twists it into the lock on the doorknob. He opens it and walks in, and then gestures for you to do the same with an impatient wave of his hand.

You hurriedly scuttle in, freaking out even more. If he’s taking you to his office then he must have something serious to talk about, right? Was he going to punish you for what you said, was he going to yell at you, threaten you? You’re practically sweating, fingers twisting as your imagination goes wild.

You take a moment to break out of your thoughts and look around.

You pause.

You stand in the middle of the room, eyes locked onto one thing and one thing only: the large bed laying flush up against the corner of the space.

Who keeps a bed in their office? Is the first thing that comes to your mind. Confusion rushes through you and you look around the room, taking in the closet doors, the large desk tucked into the corner across the room parallel to the bed, the empty walls just as barren as your own room.

Your own room.

Ohmygod I’m in his room. Why would he bring me to his room!?

You whirl around, and Quaritch is standing so close to you that your face nearly smacks into his crotch.

You leap backward with a yelp and jump when Quaritch barks out a loud, unfriendly laugh and then sneers at you.

“I would’ve taken you to my office before, but it seems I don’t have one of those anymore. So, this’ll have to do.”

Confusion layered with frustration comes back to you, and your eyebrows furrow. “Do for what, sir?” You barely remember to tack on the ‘sir’ at the end of your sentence.

His face suddenly breaks out into a sharp-toothed grin, and he leans back, smug once more. You were really starting to get tired of that expression.

“I have a… proposition, for you.”

You barely refrain from turning a wide-eyed, horrified look at the bed.

Under any other circumstance, if a man had taken you to his bedroom and said he was propositioning you, you would be real worried. Red flags would pop up in your brain, mind demanding you flee fast.

But these aren’t normal circumstances, given that one of his arms alone is almost as big as your body. And you didn’t really get the impression that was something he was looking for right now, so you shake your head to get rid of any crude thoughts. You refuse to lower your guard, though, still uneasy.

“Uh, a proposition, sir?”

“Yes. You see, I’m under the firm belief that to destroy your enemies, you have to think like ‘em, be like ‘em. Kill like ‘em, eat like ‘em, shit like ‘em, that sorta thing.”

He takes a step closer and you take one back.

“And if I want to have even a snowball’s chance in hell of finding Jake Sully and the rest of the natives, I’m going to need to put myself in their shoes, metaphorically speaking. But most of the people here are military, marines, people with no knowledge of the Na’vi except how best to kill ‘em.”

“So. Who best to teach me how to be Na’vi other than one of the soft-hearted, limp-dicked scientists who just eats up Na’vi shit like it’s Mamma’s home-baked cookies?”

His yellow eyes burn into yours.

“One specific little scientist came to mind, you see, when I was thinkin’.”

You knew it was coming, but that doesn’t stop you from blanching. You shove a finger in your chest and point at yourself like an idiot.

“Me?”

Quaritch finally leans back, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, you.”

You sputter, mind going a thousand miles per hour.

“But-but, I’m not even an anthropologist, sir! I study foreign plant and-and animal life! Emma, she is the one in anthropology, you should talk to her!”

Quaritch scoffs.

“Emma Rodrigo can barely string a sentence together without pissin’ her pants, let alone teach me to do anythin’.” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging. His wicked teeth glint in the fluorescent lighting as he grins.

“Nah, I think it outta be you. Peach.”

Shit, shit, shit!

I was right, I should have just gone to my room and never come out.

“But-”

“You can say no, ‘course. This ain’t an order.” The look in his eyes says otherwise. If you decline, you’re sure you’ll either be cleaning toilets for the rest of your life or found dead with his knife in your gut. There is no going easy with this guy.

You gape at him, dumbstruck by the bizarre turn your day had taken. You had hoped you would never have to see this terrifying man ever again, fully prepared to cower and duck out of every room you saw him in. Now, he was asking you, of all people on this base, to teach him?

While this guy had the height and look of a Na’vi, he seemed to utterly despise everything about them. Was it even possible for him to learn anything about the Na’vi, their culture and their language, for it to really make a difference in whether he found them or not?

You weren’t even good at teaching! You were far better at learning and observing than educating people, and you had never been interested in changing that. Could you really teach this guy anything? Was he even capable of learning?

Your face hardens as you realize you’re faced with no other choice but to accept.

I guess we’ll see.

“You know, if you’re too chicken-shit to help me out, I could always get-”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice comes out firm, as confidently as you dared to speak to him.

“…oh?” He raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. And skeptical, the asshole.

You nod your head, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You are nervous, yes, but it had been decided. There was no going back now.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yes. I’ll teach you everything you want to know about the Na’vi. But I-I also want something in return.”

His eyebrow raises higher.

You muster all the courage and audacity you can find in your body. Admittedly, there isn’t much, but you scrounge up enough to say the next few words aloud,

“In exchange for teaching you, I want you to teach me how to fight. I need to be able to protect myself when I’m out in the forest collecting samples, and I would ask one of my friends, but they can barely handle butter knives. And you are obviously…”

You eye him from top to bottom, eyes lingering on his massive arms before you can stop yourself.

“…capable.” You finish lamely, swallowing. You refuse to back down though, tilting your chin up and keeping eye contact.

Quaritch grins slowly.

“Well, little Peach, you certainly have bigger balls than I thought! It’s a deal-”

You hold your hand out for a handshake, palm open.

“To make it official.”

Quaritch glances down at your hand and then at your face, expression unreadable. And then, slowly, he reaches to grasp your hand and most of your arm once more. He pumps your entire arm down three times, eyes never leaving yours.

If you dared to think it, you might have thought he looked almost…impressed.

You clear your throat, face on fire. “So. When would work best for you, for our lessons?”

“…0500 every day for the next two months outta do it.”

Your eyes widen in horror, mouth dropping open all over again in protest. You barely keep yourself from grasping your chest in shock.

These military guys, did they never learn how to fucking sleep in!? That’s so damn early!

His sneering smirk returns to his face at your reaction, “Come on, Peach! Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ll tell me everything I need to know about the tree-fuckers, and I’ll teach you how to take a fist to the face, that sound good? About two hours each, four hours in total every single god-damn day. Good? Good.”

You sputter, hardly believing your ears. “Four hours every day? Don’t you have better things to do!?”

“Nope. My entire purpose for existing is to capture the traitor Jake Sully and end this war once and for all. With your help, I might actually be able to do that, which means that your time is now my time. Got it?”

You nod, queasy. It seems like all of your bravado from earlier had fled, leaving you with only the shakes and a bad feeling in your stomach.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl, Peach. Knew you had it in ya’!”

He claps your shoulder, and even through your shirt you can feel the warmth leaching off his hand and into your own skin.

The grin he wears makes you shiver, and you suddenly feel like prey that had just been caught by a predator, sharp teeth sinking into your neck and bleeding you dry.

He leads you to the door of his bedroom and practically tosses you out, done with you now that he had gotten what he wanted. He barely gives himself a chance to say, “See you bright an’ early tomorrow morning, Peach!” before he is slamming the door in your gawking face.

You stood outside his door for a few moments, simply processing. Eventually, you’re able to make your feet unstick from the floor and you wander back to the break room in a daze, mind clouded.

I can’t fucking believe that just happened. This is going to change my entire schedule for the next few months! Jesus Christ.

You practically stumble through the hallways toward your destination. Once you reach the door to the break room, you lean your arm against it and press your forehead into your arm. Your eyes close, and your heart jackhammers in your chest.

I don’t there’s anyone in my entire life who has ever made me as nervous as that guy. Holy shit.

You take deep breaths, trying to relax your muscles and get some air into your lungs. It takes a few moments, but eventually you’re able to get your heart rate down to a steady pump.

You lick your lips, suddenly parched.

When you lean up from your perch against the door and open your eyes, you can see the faint form of your face shining up from the metal of the door. Your pupils are blown, eyes still wide, and your cheeks are red.

He is seriously the scariest motherfucker I’ve ever met. And now I’m going to have to teach him things! I don’t know how I’m going to do it without passing out a few times, ohmygod. This is going to be miserable.

You swallow as best you can with a dry throat and shakily reach up to fix your messy hair, smoothing down flyaways. You straighten your shirt, crack your neck, and plaster a calm smile onto your face.

There’s no reason to let them know how terrified I am.

You open the door to the break room and step inside, ready to answer any questions they must surely have, and…

The room is empty.

You deflate, hand rubbing down your face and feeling embarrassed.

Of course they wouldn’t wait, we have a linking session in thirty minutes…that I am now late for. Fantastic.

------

You spend the rest of the day completely distracted, too worried about what might happen the next morning. It even took longer than usual for you to link into your Avatar, and when you were finally able to get outside, you had to answer to the swarm of nosy scientists you called your friends.

They were just concerned, you knew, but you didn’t like having to relive the entire stressful event down to the last detail. Still, you gave in and spilled, telling them about Quaritch’s ‘proposition’ (ha!) and leaving out the part where he had taken you to his bedroom.  

They had all given you looks that ranged from horrified -Emma-, sympathetic -Margot and James-, and utterly uncaring -David-.

You start drinking from your water bottle franticly after you tell them everything, feeling anxious all over again.

“Well, maybe this won’t be such a bad thing,” Margot says, expression turning contemplative. All members of your group are sitting outside around a creaky wooden table in your Avatar forms, enjoying the fresh, sweet air and the bright light of Pandora as the rays warm your cyan skin. When you tilt your head back to let it shine on your face, it almost feels like home had been before the pollution clouded the sky.

Your hearing in this form is incredibly sensitive, and it hurts to hear the loud, never-ending beeping and rumbling of production taking place. It had taken you weeks to spend much time outside, and even then, you still sometimes have to put your hands over your big pointy ears when the sounds become too overwhelming.

Margot curls her large fingers underneath her chin and props her head up in her hand, “I mean, you’ll learn to protect yourself, so there’s that. Also, um…” She looks at the rest of the group mischievously, and they all get questioning looks on their faces.

She clears her throat and leans in closer to you. She puts a hand in front of her mouth, blocking it from the others, and whispers into your ear,

“I really, really wouldn’t mind getting to see how big his dick actually is and maybe you’ll get a chance.”

You choke on the water pouring into your mouth, spraying it all over the table you are sitting at. The liquid gets caught in your throat, causing you to cough painfully.

“Oh my god, Margot!” you screech, still coughing into your elbow and voice coming out scratchy. Your watery eyes glare at her over your arm.

Margot shrugs, “What, I was just saying what we were all thinking. He’s the biggest guy here, which has gotta mean something, right?” She wiggles her eyebrows and grins salaciously, and you bury your face into your arm.

“If he ever heard you saying anything like that, he would put his knife straight through your face without even hesitating!”

“I’ll let him put something else in my face if he wants.”

“Margot!”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed that Colonel Miles Quaritch was a beautiful man. It would be impossible, really. Despite the sneer he always seemed to have on his face, the deep cyan of his skin, his wide, golden eyes, and his tall, broad frame were enough to make anybody swoon.

And his feline features weren’t the only thing that made him attractive. You could see his beauty in his long-fingered and broad hands, in his high cheekbones, in the curve of his lips even when they were curled up in disdain. 

It wouldn’t surprise you to learn that a lot of people thought he was attractive just because of his attitude, either. Back home it seemed that everyone was interested in the cocky, proud, manly posturing that Quaritch seemed to like to do.

But despite how pretty he may be, he was also absolutely, shit-your-pants terrifying, and an asshole, which was enough for you to keep it in your pants. That, and the fact that he hated your guts.

“Trust me, Margot, I’ll be too busy trying not to piss him off again to see how big anything is.”

Great, now I’m thinking about his dick.

Margot rolls her eyes but leans back in her seat and drops the subject, “Your loss, then.”

James strikes up a new topic, just as embarrassed as you, and you slouch gratefully back into your seat, glad that the interrogation is over.

It’s nearing darkness by the time you all finish your linking sessions, and the group shuffles their way back into the sleeping center for the Avatars. You move over to your assigned bed, crawling under the soft sheets and sighing deeply.

You lightly traced your right-hand index finger over the smooth skin of your left arm, causing goosebumps to rise. It was still so strange, being able to actually feel with a body that was yours but not, having so many new features that you still have to adjust to even weeks later. Having a whole-ass tail, being several feet taller than any human alive, having super strength, hell, even being blue was still just totally fucking weird.

You lay back into the cot and attempt to clear your mind from any thoughts, but it was just as hard as it had been when you had linked earlier. After a few minutes, you are finally able to silence your mind and drift off just enough for the link to become secure and for you to wake up in the gel link bed, back in your human body.

By the time you walk to your room, you are bone-wary, almost stumbling on your feet. You dread the coming morning, and the only thing you want to do now is turn off your brain and rest. Your shoulders hurt from the stress of the day, and when you finally unlock your bedroom door, take off your clothes, shower, and brush your teeth, you’re practically hunched over.

You shuffle under the covers once again, and you’re unconscious before your head can fully settle onto the pillow. 

------

Your eyes pop open, arms and legs flailing wildly in your sheets as you struggle to reach over to your alarm clock to silence its screaming. When you finally smack it, the crack of your hand connecting with its durable metal makes your palm sting angrily.

You let out a hoarse groan, cradling your hand to your chest as you flop down onto your bed. It had barely felt like you had gotten a wink of sleep last night, too busy thinking about your approaching morning with Quaritch. Scenarios ranging from you accidentally stabbing him to him purposefully stabbing you ran through your head, keeping you awake after only a few hours of rest.

Eventually, you stop your moping and reluctantly pull yourself out of your bed, eyes blearily glaring around your room.

It’s still a gray and sad little space, your room, but you had placed the small number of personal items you brought with you to Pandora throughout it. The one picture you had of your parents sits framed on your desk, along with your holotablet.  

The few items of clothing and the two pairs of shoes you owned were put up in your closet haphazardly, and your hygienic amenities were scattered across the small bathroom connected to your room.

Your room and areas beyond it are all so generic and boring, which is why you spend most of your time either with your group or outside in your Avatar, being able to run around and feel. And once you were finally able to leave Bridgehead, your life would start, and it wouldn’t matter what your room looked like.

You tiredly get dressed and brush your teeth and your wild hair, putting it up into a simple ponytail to keep it out of your face. Once you’re suitable, you head out and lock the door behind you, placing the key in the right pocket of your jeans.

The hallways are quiet for once, and even the incessant roaring of construction has stopped. You walk down the softly lit hallways to the mess hall, unreasonably jealous of the people who get to sleep in their beds.

Most of the lights are off when you walk in, but to your surprise, there are a few people sitting down at a table already eating their breakfast.

Guess my assumption about the military was right, they really don’t know how to sleep in.

To your delight, there is a light amount of muffins and bagels laid out on a table nearby, but the most important thing was the coffee pot next to them.

Looks like the shipment finally came in. Margot is going to piss her pants.

You gladly snag two muffins with napkins and two small cups of coffee, heading right back out the door to the hallway with a friendly smile to the person walking in. They look blankly back at you, but you don’t mind as you stuff a chocolate chip muffin into your mouth as you walk.

You shuffle the remaining muffin and cups into your left hand and elbow crook, grasping the cold metal handle of the glass door that leads into the center with your right hand. You can see a head of black curls poke out from the side of a monitor, followed quickly by a scowl and a pair of eyes glaring blearily at you as you walk in.

You wince. “Morning, Tom. Thanks again for doing this, I really appreciate it.”

Tom had been the unlucky soul you had asked to help link you into your Avatar every morning for the foreseeable future. He had balked when you had asked, saying “Hell no!” before the words were fully out of your mouth. You had leveled him with your best begging look and offered to pay for six of the ridiculously expensive books you know he liked to read coming in on the next supply shipment.

He grouchily agreed to the deal but demanded you bring him breakfast every morning. You had accepted with a pleased smile.

Tom rolls his eyes and snatches the cup of coffee from your hand when you offer it. You’re about to warn him about how hot it was when he gulps half of it down. You watch, halfway impressed and halfway feeling the pain for him in your own throat.

“Let’s get started, then.” His voice is even more crackly than yours is this early.

You nod hurriedly and take one last sip of your coffee before you reluctantly set it down on the table. You walk over to the link bed and crawl in, and Tom pulls the cover down over you. You settle in, closing your eyes to clear your mind.

------

“There ya’ are, Peach! I was startin’ to think you’d chickened out on me.” Quaritch’s loud voice startles you out of your sleepy trance, and your head snaps up from where it is laying against the metal table you are sitting at.

The asshole looks as awake and lucid as usual, not a hint of tiredness on his face. He grins nastily when he sees your sleepy expression.

“We didn’t agree on a place to meet up, sir.” You are barely able to cover your yawn with a hand, and you stand with a grimace.

“That is true. From now on, we’ll do our lessons in Courtyard Six. Try to keep up.”

He turns and walks away, clearly expecting you to follow. You hurry to catch up with his long stride, but it’s much easier to do in this form. He’s almost ten feet tall, but your Avatar is eight and a half feet tall, and you are able to lengthen your stride to match his pace. Your shoulder width and muscles are still much smaller than his, but you imagined most were.

As you step in close to him, your nose twitches, and you realize something that almost makes you trip.

Quaritch smells really, really good.

You lean in closer to him and inhale discreetly, deeper than before, and, yep, that scent is definitely coming from him.

It is such a rich scent, a strange combination of rainwater, black coffee, and something smoky, like a campfire.  

The smell is so strong that it feels like a physical mist floating its way through your nose and ears and into your head. Your mind goes fuzzy, as if suddenly stuffed with cotton. Your lips and fingertips tingle. And to your absolute horror, you can actually feel your mouth start to water.

It’s just such a lovely scent.

Do you think he’d be okay with it if I pressed my nose into his neck to smell him better-No!

You try to break out of the mist, shaking your head to get rid of the images of licking up his neck, tasting his skin, the way his head would tilt back and you would be able to feel his rumbling groan spread through his chest pressed up against your own and-

Stop it! Jesus Christ, don’t even think about it!

This is just a completely normal physical reaction, right? Maybe, but it wasn’t like this with the other guys!

In front of you, Quaritch’s footsteps stutter to a stop for a split second before resuming. It’s barely a pause, but it’s enough to make you snap out of your thoughts and look up at him. When you do, you notice the slight twitching of his own feline-like nose.

Is he smelling the same thing?

He turns his head around slightly to look at you, and you make eye contact with him just enough to notice his pupils are blown out, consuming most of his iris.

My eyes are probably no better, you think, before ducking your head to watch your feet as you walk.

Quaritch stares at you for a moment and then turns his attention back toward the path, and you do the same. You discreetly rub at your sensitive nose, trying to get his fantastic scent out of your head. A few moments after you do, Quaritch rubs at his own nose.

It doesn’t work, but by the time you reach the courtyard you’ve already gotten a little used to it. Thankfully you don’t feel as lightheaded anymore, but you have no idea if it is going to come back.

You notice that the sky has begun to lighten up as Quaritch unlocks the chain-link gate leading into the yard. Not that you really need any light, what with being able to see in the dark and all.

 He stops once you enter and closes the gate behind you, and you can immediately tell why he had chosen this courtyard out of all the others. It was hidden behind a big wall of concrete that had no windows, so nobody could see you from inside the building, and it was positioned all the way in the back of the court section, meaning it was far more remote and private than the others.

Probably doesn’t want his tough guy image to be hurt when people saw him learning about the Na’vi and chatting with a little scientist, the prick.

The enclosure is a simple little area with a small basketball court, a tetherball pole, and a metal table. Nothing special, but it would be perfect for your lessons. 

He turns around to meet your eyes, and you still have to tilt your head back to return his yellow gaze. The bioluminescent markings on his face glow brightly.  

“You wanna go first, Peach?”

You swallow nervously but nod, “I’ll go first. I thought a lot about what our first lesson was going to be last night.”

You drop down onto the soft faux grass that covered the courtyard, legs crisscross applesauce in front of you as you avoid sitting on your flicking tail. You look up at him expectantly when he continues to stand.

Quaritch looks at the table sitting just a few feet away and shrugs. He plops down onto the grass hesitantly and crosses his legs in front of him the same as you. Now that he’s actually here, all the plans you made completely leave your brain, and you mind turns blank as you struggle to come up with something to say. You both sit there in silence for a few moments before he says,

“So are you actually going to say anything in this lesson or what? Usually I can’t get you quacks to shut the fuck up-”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just trying to figure out where to start. Um…” Your brain flashes to what Quaritch had said when he started this whole thing, wanting to learn more about the way the Na’vi think, what’s important to them, how they work.

“Okay. Well, I guess the first place to start would be at the very beginning. Millions of years ago, when-”

Quaritch interrupts you with a loud groan, throwing his head back in exasperation, “I’m not askin’ for a history lesson here, Peach. Just tell me about them now, how they operate now, in this time, not millions of years ago! Jesus Christ, you pretentious assholes always have to drag things out-”

“Okay, alright, I’m sorry! Um, so the most important thing to know about the Na’vi is their connection to nature, their connection to Eywa. You’ve heard about Her, right?”

You continue to speak when Quaritch nods. “Right, well, She protects the balance of life here on Pandora, and the Na’vi love Eywa, the Great Mother. All things on Pandora are connected to each other through Eywa; you, me, plants, animals, you name it. Life and the forest are sacred to them because it bonds them to Eywa. They can actually speak to Her, and there are places like the Tree of Souls and the Tree of Voices that are sacred to them. They connect all the Na’vi to Eywa and to their ancestors, and they can actually hear the voices of past living people, isn’t that amazing? Are you with me so far?”

Quaritch nods again, surprisingly quiet. In fact, it’s probably the longest you’ve ever seen him be silent. His face is carefully blank, eyebrows furrowed with some unnamed emotion as he listens to you speak.

And that’s how the next two hours go, you talking and Quaritch listening with rapt attention. You had no idea if what you were talking about was anything Quaritch wanted to hear, but he didn’t interrupt you other than to ask a rare question.  

About an hour in you stood up and stretched, bones popping and limbs aching from sitting on the ground for so long. Your ass was practically numb, and your left leg was stinging with pins and needles. You put your hands on your hips and looked down at Quaritch, who remained sitting on the grass.

For the first time ever, you were actually the one towering over him, and the thought made you grin as he looked up at you.

It seemed he could tell what you were thinking, because he scowled and pulled himself up on his feet, looming over you once more. He stretched his long arms above his head to get the blood flowing back in, groaning just like you had a moment ago.

You paused your own movement, gaze lingering on the way his strong muscles shifted underneath his pretty blue skin. They bunched up as his arms flexed, and your mouth turned dry.

Your eyes flickered over them for a few moments and then shifted to his face. Your stomach swooped low as you realized he had caught you looking, and you stared at him in mortification as his sneering, arrogant smile returned full force to his face. He looked so smug.

You had no idea your Avatar could even blush from embarrassment, but your cheeks burned all the same. You hurriedly turned your gaze away from him entirely, eyes squeezed shut.

He let out a low, unpleasant chuckle, clearly taking immense pleasure in your misery.

Asshole!

You stood for a few more minutes, back facing him as you pretended to examine the sky with incredible interest, waiting for your blush to fade and your stomach to settle. Eventually, you both sat on the grass once again, and you resumed your speech.

You talked about all things Na’vi related, from their connection to Eywa to what they wore, what they ate, their ceremonies, anything that popped into your head that you felt was important to mention.

In the grand scheme of things, you weren’t able to cover very much ground before your two hours were up and your lesson ended for the day.

By this time, Pandora’s light has returned from the eclipse, shining down brightly on both of you.

“So, how did I do?” you dare ask Quaritch.

“Well. Now I know what a Na’vi eats for breakfast, so. That’s something.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands, “I’m sorry, you said you wanted to know what they ate and everything! I promise we’ll eventually get into the more interesting and important things.”

Please don’t put me on toilet duty. I can do this!

Quaritch sighs, but says, “Don’t worry, Peach. We’ll get to the juicier parts someday. Learning to be one’s enemy is a long process, after all.”

He smacks his thighs, and the sound makes you jump, face moving away from your hands. Your nerves reignite in your stomach all over again as you realize it is now time for your lesson.

Why did I ever ask him to do this!? I should never have said anything, now I’m going to be Quaritch’s punching bag for the next few months! Idiot!

A sharp-toothed grin stretches over Quaritch’s face, and he leans in until he’s right in front of you, face close to yours. His yellow eyes bore into yours, and you can see your own terrified expression reflecting right back at you.

“Time for me to teach you, Peach.”

------

 “Alright, Peach. You know how to handle a knife?”

You think about it and shake your head.

“…Okay. Do you know how to throw a punch?”

Again, you shake your head.

Quaritch curses and takes a step back, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the middle finger of his right hand between them as if praying for patience.

Both of you are standing in the middle of the small basket court, facing one another. You refuse to feel embarrassed by Quaritch’s reaction to your fighting skills, or lack thereof.

Not everyone can be a terrifying killing machine, asshole!

Quaritch seems to get the patience he was asking for, straightening up with a sigh.

“Back to the basics, then. Jesus.”

He steps up to you and places his warm, large hands on the bare skin of your shoulders. He shuffles you over closer to him, and you go willingly, body tense.

“First step in learning to defend yourself is to not be a pussy.”

Wow. Wonderful advice.

“You need to be firm in your stance and your attack, else your opponent will just be able to knock you off your feet before you can even land a hit. And if your limbs are loose, you’ll lose your balance and go flying just from your own force. Keep your core tight.”

He places a large hand firmly against the bare skin of your stomach and you suck in a surprised breath. His touch tingles through you in a way you’ve never felt before, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

He jerks his hand back and clears his throat. He walks around toward your back, and you can see the veins in his arm shift when his hand flexes by his side.

“When you throw a punch, you need to keep your wrist straight and fully extend your arm each time. Make sure you step like this,” he demonstrates, “and pull your arm like this.”

“Keep your thumb behind your index and middle fingers but out of your fist, don’t stick your pinky out, and you want to hit your opponent with these knuckles right here. Got it?”

You nod slowly, making a fist following his instructions with your right hand. He nods once and then moves in front of you. He lifts his hands in the air, palms facing outward.

“Hit me.”

Already? But I barely even- alright, you know what, I don’t even care anymore.

You shake out your arms self-consciously and try to position your body in the way he had shown you. You pull your arms up, hands folding into fists, stance widening, and you lash your arm out at him with all the strength you can muster.

Your right fist smacks against his open palm with a satisfying thwack, and you grin, tossing your arms above your head at your success.

“Your form was good, Peach, but your fist felt like getting hit with a bug. You need to work on your strength, build up your muscles and your core. Try again.”

You nod, arm flying out and hitting his palm once more.

“No, you need to keep your arm tucked in, not flying out like an idiot bird with a broken wing. Again.”

You hit his hands over and over for the next half an hour as he corrects your form and stance. As he said, you need to build your strength up in this new body, but this was a good start. He has to get in pretty close once again to show you how to move your body, but other than he seems to keep his distance.

You know, this isn’t so bad!

You hit him again a few more times before he nods, satisfied, and drops his arms.

“Now you know how to hit somebody hard, Peach. Always go for sensitive places, like the nose, groin, ears, eyes, kidney, wherever you can reach. Got it?”

You lower your own arms, panting. Reaching out to punch him hadn’t taken much movement from your arms, but doing it over and over again for half an hour made them ache terribly. You struggle to catch your breath.

It had been embarrassing, admittedly, the first few times. You had felt shy and scared all at once, unsure of yourself and uneager to be anywhere near Quaritch, let alone close enough to touch him.

Then you’d lost most of the fear the second time he had lightly smacked your cheek when he got through your defensively positioned arms. They were pretty much love taps, practically pats, but it had lit an angry fire in your stomach. Your uneasiness turned to determination to land at least one hit on him, and you forgot all about your trepidation and that this was Quaritch you were tussling with.

From the way he had grinned and curled his fingers in a ‘come-hither’ gesture, that was probably what he had been trying to do.

He also probably just liked hitting you, the dickbag.

Quaritch nods, and you fully expect him to end the lesson early for the day. What you weren’t expecting was for him to reach down and pull a massive knife from its sheath on his right thigh, bringing it up toward the light for examination.

You lean back quickly, ears flicking to the sides of your head in alarm. You had thought your punching lesson had seemed tame for him! It really wouldn’t surprise you if he decided you needed a lesson on keeping your guard up and lunged at you.  

He won’t stab me, he won’t stab me, he won’t stab me, he won’t stab me-

“This here’s a bowie knife, seventeen inches of serrated steel strong enough to cut through bone.”

He waves it around carefully, smirking at your wide-eyed look of terror.

“And this…” he leans down to put the knife back in its sheath before pulling out something else from a different pocket on his right leg, “This is your knife.”

The little knife is comically small in his giant hand, more of a switchblade than anything else.

“That’ll be the knife you use for the next week at least, so don’t lose it.”

You pluck it from his hand gingerly, fingers folding around the base as you bring it up to your eyes for closer inspection. It looks bigger in your hand than it did in his, and you can see his initials, M.Q, engraved on its tiny metal handle.

Why the hell would a guy as big as Quaritch even need a knife this small? Does he use it as a toothpick?

Nonetheless, you’re glad he didn’t give you anything bigger to use for your first time. You weren’t sure you’d be able to handle it without stabbing yourself.

He shows you how to hold it, how to slash and stab, the proper way to stand and lunge with the little blade.

After another half an hour, he nods.

“Alright, now I want you to try me.” He says, pulling his arms up close to his chest and goading you on once again with a ‘come at me’ curled hand gesture, cocky smirk in place.

You balk. “You want me to charge at you with a knife already? We just got started!”

“Yep, sure did. What, you think you could actually touch me, let alone hurt me with that little thing? Ha!”

You wince. That’s a good point.

You do what he taught you to, adjusting your grip on the blade and positioning your body and feet into the dirt, tightening your core. You take a deep breath, strengthen your muscles, and then leap with a cry.

Quaritch shifts out of the way of your knife quicker than you had yet to see him move, simply stepping to the side with an unsurprised expression.

You go sailing past him, war cry turning panicked. You drop the knife and jerk up your arms to cover your face, turning away and squeezing your eyes shut.

Just as you start tilting toward the dirt, a hand grips the back of the collar of your shirt and pulls you upright before you can even realize you aren’t falling anymore. You remained positioned for impact, hands still in front of your face to cushion your fall even as you stand on your own two feet.

You open your eyes and blink, hands patting down your front as if to make sure no injury had been done to your person.

Quaritch lets go of your collar, knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“That was fuckin’ pathetic! It was like a wet paper bag was throwin’ itself my way. And where the hell did you learn to cry out like that, ‘cause it was fuckin’ embarrassin’.”

You pay no attention to his harsh words, still stunned you hadn’t face-planted into the dirt for once.

You look up at him, starry-eyed.

“That was amazing, Quaritch! You moved so fast I could barely see you! Have you always been that quick or is it new? Could you teach me how to dodge like that?”

He stares down at you, ears flicking back against the sides of his head. An odd expression crosses his face, almost as though he was taken aback by your wonder.

He clears his throat awkwardly, turning to the side to avoid your strong eye contact.

“That doesn’t matter, not with that pathetic performance. You need ta’ be firm, like I said, and not throwin’ your weight ‘round like a pussy. Come on, do it again.”

You reach down into the dirt to pick up your little knife, and you lunge at him again. He dodges all the same, but you surprise the both of you when you don’t stop, turning around and slashing in his direction.

Of course, the blade doesn’t even touch him, but it’s the thought that counts.

He grins at you, “There you go, Peach! Way to show some initiative, I’ll make a fine soldier out of you yet. Let’s go again, come on.”

And that’s how you end your morning, trying to stab Colonel Miles Quaritch with a knife the size of one of his fingers. You’d have never thought this was where you would be when you met him all those weeks ago, but hey, if learning from him would one day save your life, you’d do it gladly.

By the time two hours have passed, you’re sweating and panting for breath, hands on your knees. Your body was still new, and you hadn’t been in it long enough for you to get past light jogging and reflex training. Honestly, the fact that you were able to do all that moving without collapsing was a god-damn miracle.

You were so much faster in this form, so much more flexible and stronger. Still, that held no comparison to the trained, experienced combat vet you were practically playing with. Because that’s what this would be called, not fighting or even training. It was like playing tag or a slapping game, cause that’s all that happened for the entire lesson.

Quaritch, the fucker, doesn’t have a drop of sweat on him. His chest rose and fell evenly, and he rested one of his hands on the gun holster he had wrapped around his hips.

“You good, Peach? Not going to puke, are ‘ya?” You’d be flattered by his concern for your well-being if it weren’t for the mean, amused tone layering his voice when he spoke.

You stay bent over for a few more moments as you struggle to catch your breath. Eventually, you’re able to rise fully upright. You answer his question, even though you know it was rhetorical,  

“I-I’m good, I think.”

Just as you finish your sentence, your stomach growls angrily, as though enraged at being denied sustenance.

Ugh.

If you weren’t exhausted and beyond caring about what Quaritch thought of you, with your floppy, sweaty form and shitty punches, you would have been embarrassed. Now, though, the only thing you do is pout. Now, you were just a little pissed and tired at getting your ass thoroughly kicked for two hours.

“I’m hungry, can we be finished for the day?”

Quaritch rolls his eyes, unimpressed, but relents.

“Yeah, Peach, we’re done. Let’s get goin’.”

You grin, relieved, and your energy returns just slightly at the thought of lunch. You bound to his side, and he leads the way out of the courtyard and into the space beyond.

The day is in full swing, scientists, soldiers, robots, and trucks all bustling around Bridgehead as you follow Quaritch close on his heels to the mess hall.

You pass by all the tiny little humans, most of whom don’t even spare either of you a glance. Either because they were used to seeing ten-foot-tall Avatars walking around or because they were too busy to give a shit. Probably both, really.

You both have to duck as you walk through the doorway, Quaritch much more than you. You walk over to the table where you had snagged the muffins for breakfast earlier that morning, grabbing three of the sandwiches that were there now instead.

Quaritch grabs six of them, piling them all onto his plate.

You’ve just started scarfing yours down when a large hand whips out across your back, slamming into you. You inhale instinctively and start choking on your food, struggling to breathe. You turn around, fully ready to smash your sandwiches into the face of whichever fucker did that when you see Quaritch’s walking away, waving the spare hand not holding his food up behind him.

“See you ‘round, Peach.”

Oh. Well, at least he said goodbye.

You drink from the water bottle you’d snagged from the mass hall and eat your sandwiches as you walk to the showering station for Avatars. You stay under the pounding warm water longer than you probably should, enjoying the way it soothes the ache in your tense arms and shoulders.

After you’re done washing away the sweat and grime, you head back to the Avatar resting area, ready to be in your own body.

It had taken you a while to learn how to hold onto the brain link connecting your bodies; the first few weeks were the worst when you were learning to hold it longer and longer. Sometimes it would break, and you would slam back into your human body with a gasp, disoriented and head pounding.

Now, though, you were much better at holding onto the link for longer periods, even if it still gave you a headache.

You settle back into the pillows, closing your eyes and letting your mind go blank.

------

When you wake up in your human body, it always feels stuffy, not right, like you’re being squeezed into a tube. Your mouth is always cottony, too, and even though your body was simply laying down like you were asleep, your bones always ache when you get up as if you’ve been doing jumping jacks for however long you were in there.

You step out of the link bed, stretching your arms above your head and groaning. Tom is no longer in the linking center, but you didn’t expect him to be when there were others milling about who could watch over you.

You stand up and wobble a little bit, dizzy. Once it passes and you’re sure you can walk without smacking into anything, you make your way back toward your room, fully intent on sleeping for the rest of the afternoon before the conference in the evening.

Just as you leave the linking center, Margot runs into you, hair wild and eyes a little bit crazy. She grabs onto your shoulders, shaking you back and forth lightly. You let her do whatever she wants, beyond caring.

“How did it go? Did he yell at you, did he flirt any? Ooh, did he smack your ass-? Hey!”

You shake her hands off, walking past her with a roll of your eyes.

“Jesus Christ Margot, you really need to get laid.”

She groans, following after you with quick steps, waving her arms around as she says, “I know! There’s just no one I’ve seen that I’m interested in, so I have to live through you and your sexy romance with Colonel Quaritch-”

You halt, turning around to grab her shoulders. You’re the one shaking her back and forth this time.

“Listen, Margot, there is nothing going on with Quaritch and me at all, nothing sexy, nothing flirty! We literally just met like two days ago, and he’s hated me ever since! Now stop saying stuff like that, or he’s going to overhear us, again, and kill us both. Okay? Okay.”

Margot whines, “Oh, but maybe there could be! If you were just a little less uptight and he was a little less homicidal, you guys could totally get together. I mean, you can’t deny that he might be interested, right? I totally saw the way he was looking at you yesterday!”

“Yeah, he was looking at me like he wanted to wrap his hands around my throat.”

“Kinky.”

“No, Margot, not kinky! More like murderous! You’re starting to sound crazy, Margot, you’ve gotta do something before you start humping anything that moves.”

Margot blushes, finally feeling some sort of shame, and she nods, “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just so pent-up, honey. Ugh! Okay, I’m going to try to relax somewhere, get outta my head for a little bit. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

You pat her shoulder and say, “See you then, Margot.”

She gives you one last smile before she’s off, bounding down the hallway. You shake your head in fond exasperation, now even more tired than before, and walk back to your room. You adored Margot, loved her, but sometimes her exuberance made your head pound.

You unlock your door, kick off your shoes, and toss yourself onto the unmade sheets of your bed. One last thought floats through your mind just before you drift off to sleep.  

Maybe mornings with Quaritch won’t be as bad as I thought.

peachy keen. Part Two

[leupagus]

Am I writing this largely because I enjoy the idea of Sansa and Stannis constantly hissing at each other like two belligerent cats? Listen,

x

By the first week of the siege, Sansa was forced to admit — if only to herself —that warfare was far less exciting than she'd imagined. When she had been told of Robb's victories in the Riverlands she had always pictured him triumphant upon a fearsome destrier, sword held high as he cut down his enemies before him. Then he'd been killed and she had lived through the Battle of the Blackwater, waiting either rescue or slaughter by the very man who was now her ally. That had not been exciting, precisely, but it had not been this dull and plodding affair. A far cry from the valiant knights and noble battles she'd read when she was a girl; but she'd had precious little turn out the way she'd been taught.

She slept at the camps near the front lines, in the same soldier's tent she and Brienne and Podrick had shared for the past four months. Stannis had made all sorts of ridiculous protests about "ladies" and "danger" until she'd had to remind him, once again, that her eight thousand men gave her the freedom to dictate her own movements.

"All very well while we're waiting out here, my lady," he'd growled in response, after his requisite glare at her flawless logic, "But when battle joins, you'll be nothing more than a nuisance."

"In which case, I'll be quickly killed and you can have Rickon installed as Lord of Winterfell instead," she'd replied, "as you were hoping to do in the first place." That had shut him up, at least, and he'd gone back to scowling at Winterfell's walls.

Every night when she returned to the camp, she stopped at Stannis's tent and joined the conference with their commanders and lieutenants. It was then that she learned about the waging of war: how men were best deployed, how training was maintained even in the midst of a siege, how sickness was kept at bay so that it did not kill more soldiers than did the battles. Stannis disliked her presence there, too, but she was rapidly coming to understand that he would only be truly happy when she was out of his life for good. Possibly not even then. He did not seem a man much given to smiles.

The men did not share Stannis's view, at least; as she walked through the lines each morning and night they stood to bow to her, and press the back of her hand to their foreheads as she remembered they had done to Mother so long ago.

"They say that the old gods have brought you back to us," Lord Reed told her one day, as he accompanied her on her daily walk to the winter town. "That they were angered when the Starks were driven from Winterfell, and that they're drawing you all back here one by one. They say that Robb Stark may come back from the dead, such is the rage of the gods, and avenge all who wronged your house."

Joffrey had been diligent in recounting every detail of what had happened to Robb's body after Roose Bolton had killed him. She repressed a shudder to think of it and held more tightly to Reed's arm, grateful for the warmth of him at her side. "I hope they are not disappointed if all they get is me and Rickon."

Reed chuckled. "They're well-satisfied, my lady," he said. They walked into the winter town just as the sun broke over the mountains. "You're a sight prettier than the Young Wolf ever was, that's certain."

The winter town was where her real work was done each day. It was the custom every winter for the smallfolk of the North to leave their hides holdfasts and journey here, bringing what they could cart or carry. The winter town would eventually house nearly one in three of every soul living in the North, seeking shelter together to endure the cold.

The Boltons had not bothered to do their duty, laying in no provisions and building no new housing. Up until now it had mattered little; even as the winds had begun to blow, few smallfolk had dared to come take shelter under the banners of the flayed man. The town itself had been all but abandoned, until word of the Starks' return had begun to spread throughout the North.

Now the winter town seemed to double in size with each passing day despite the ongoing siege of the Keep. Sansa had her hands full in directing builders, organizing kitchens, allocating what resources they had to feed and shelter everyone. In this she was aided by any number of friends and allies: those servants and household members who had first escaped during Winterfell's seizure by the Ironborn, or who had endured that but had fled the Boltons' brutal takeover; the households of her lords who had come to support the siege; even Lady Umber and her formidable staff lent a hand before she returned to Last Hearth. Her most steadfast assistants were Rickon and Shireen, who at first had joined her out of boredom but were now her little lieutenants, breathlessly updating her on all events of the previous night as she joined them for breakfast each morning. She received aid also from her men in the armies, assigning their builders to fortify the town in much the same way they were fortifying the siege camp.

Her lords approved of this; Stannis, of course, did not.

"You seek another threescore soldiers?" he demanded one evening.

The siege had now dragged on near a month. Bolton's men showed signs of distress, Lord Flint reported with no small satisfaction; they would not last much longer. But this had brought a fresh concern, and Sansa had broached it during their evening conference.

"We need to build up the palisades along the eastern side of the winter town," Sansa insisted, pointing at the map spread out along the table, with the various pieces representing the various companies all arrayed neatly atop. Stannis's wooden flaming hearts were outnumbered by Sansa's wolf heads two to one, though many of hers appeared hastily-carved from whatever spare wood was at hand. She reached for a flaming heart on the far side of the Keep, well away from the siege. "It need only be for—"

"Give me that," Stannis snapped, snatching it back. "Those men are covering the huntsman's gate, should any of Bolton's forces be cowardly enough to attempt escape rather than stand and fight."

"And you anticipate that happening in the next day?" she demanded, resisting the urge to lunge for the piece the way she used to with Robb when he had teasingly stolen her embroidery, holding it just out of reach. "There must be fifty or sixty men out of twelve thousand that can be spared."

"Why are the palisades in need of building up in the first place?" Stannis demanded, as Lord Glover opened and then shut his mouth to reply to her. "This winter town of yours is folly — you cannot grant entry to every farmer and tinker who pleads for shelter."

Sansa gaped at him in outrage, though even as she did so she was heartened to hear the murmur of her lords at such a comment. "That is precisely what is done, and has been for every winter since before Bran the Builder set stones to build Winterfell!" She glared at him. "This is a refuge, Your Grace."

"This is a siege, my lady," he retorted, looming over her. She thought longingly of the beautiful heeled shoes Margaery wore; she needed only a few inches to match Stannis's height, and see what good his looming did him then. "The smallfolk congregate here at their own risk!"

"My people congregate here because they believe I will keep them safe, and I will do so. With or without Your Grace's help!"

"Without, if it pleases my lady!"

Half-ready to club him over the head with the nearest chair, Sansa grabbed the flaming heart out of his hands and waved it in his face. "What are these men supposed to do, if Bolton and his soldiers escape out this way?"

Stannis looked too near a fit of apoplexy to reply, so it was Lord Cerwyn who cleared his throat and answered, "They are charged to report back, my lady, with some following at a safe distance to see where they go."

"It's perfectly obvious where they'll go," Sansa snapped. "Lord Bolton will make for the Dreadfort."

"Of course he will," said Stannis, finding his voice at last, though he did not try for the wolf's-head piece again. "That doesn't mean—"

"I know three dozen local boys who could hide along the route from the huntsman's gate to the eastern road and bring back reports, without clomping about the forests in full armor," Sansa said, slamming the piece down at the winter town. "And they might be able to bring back some food, while they're at it. Unlike your soldiers, they know how to hunt in the Wolfswood without frightening off half the game."

A few days later, she had her men.

[ukiyowi]

Mini PAC I

Notes: Please check out the Masterlist for more! Reblogging and paid readings help a lot! Pls DM me if you want one!

What flower are you? 🌸🌸

Read from left to right, 1 - 3 then 4 - 6

Note - I know its not long, but I am still coming into things because of the long break I had taken from pick a card readings which is why I will slowly build up to reach my ability to do longer readings again whilst doing shorter readings in the time being.

Paid readings || Old PACs

Pile 1: Crocus

Your energy resembles that of the flower crocus. Although these usually symbolise the welcoming of spring and the start of youth, as well as cheerfulness and hope, some cronus flowers also grow with the start of fall or winter. These signify the changing of times and renewal alongside new beginnings.

You may be the kind of person that changes constantly for the better, you're always trying to see how you can improve yourself and work on yourself, whilst keeping a positive mindset and optimistic approach to life. You may be someone who's constantly hopeful even in times of dire stress or situations where people may feel hopeless, being the well needed light in times of darkness.

Pile 2: Hydrangea

Hydrangeas often symbolise gratitude and understanding but can also represent abundance, prosperity, love, peace and grace. Certain cultures also associate them with forgiveness and apologies.

You could be the kind of person who finds it very easy to forgive people, you could also be forgiving to a fault at times which might end up hurting you. You may be conventionally attractive and be of a calm demeanor, knowing how to keep your cool and the kind of person who will always vouch for peace or often stay neutral during arguments, acting as a designated mediator.

Pile 3: Lunaria

Lunaria often symbolise honesty, transparency and the flow of money due to its other names being Honesty or Silver Dollar plant and the names stem from their translucent seed pods that resemble silver coins. In some cultures, it is also believed that keeping these plants near the alter or at the home, helps ward off monsters or negative spirits.

You may be the kind of person who finds themself to be lucky in the matters of finances and carry goodluck in general. Your guides may be extremely strong and great and warding off any sort of lingering negative energies near you which can often result in you having a lot of moments where something bad almost happens but then doesn't. People value you as the name of the plant suggests for your honesty and how you are able to give them straightforward responses.

Pile 4: Xylosma

So this plant is not as known and was a little tough to research upon however, it is very special in my opinion. The plant I usually used for ornamental purposes and beautification due to their adaptability in different kinds of environments and has a very strong network when it comes to the structure of the plant itself.

You may be the kind of people pile 4 who are grounded in reality and may be realists to a fault. You find peace and quiet in the smaller things in life and may have found yourself in positions of having to be resilient because of fast-paced challenges being thrown at you like constantly changing jobs or schools or constant movement. Furthermore, you are able to provide people with the safe space and security they need as well.

Pile 5: Ixia

Ixia represents, joy, happiness and cheerfulness and with it's very colourful and bright appearance I think it also represents the innocence of youth and childhood. It also often represents the fulfilment of wishes and aspirations and an environment where dreams and hopes can be cultivated.

You pile 5, are the dreamers and the people who actually go after what they are passionate about and see it through rather than simply thinking about it. You are able to execute your ideas and plans which lead to the fulfilment of your desires which may put people off at times because they may think you have it easy. However, your youthful spirit keeps even people envious of you to hold you in high regards.

Pile 6: Blanket Flower

One of my favourite kinds, blanket flower represents warmth which is suggested by the name itself, protection, nurturing and perseverance. In some cases they are also associated with festivities and celebrations due to their vibrant colours that stand out in any room.

You could be the kind of people who are always looking out for others and may be the first person someone goes to when they are having a hard time because of your warm and comforting presence. You may also be a little bit of a party animal where you love to go all out and dance and sing and celebrate even the smallest of your victories because you have had to cultivate that habit so that you prevent yourself from becoming overly critical.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

i haven't read the acotar series but yeah there are...SO many issues with it. I was about to say I'm not surprised that people wanted the racism to be more violent so they could acknowledge but actually, y'know what? No, I am surprised. I'm concerned that people want characters of colour to be dragged through the dirt and be the victims of horrific acts before they can acknowledge the racism of the author. I cannot emphasise how crestfallen, how upset I felt when I searched up what Illyrians were for the first time. Like...oh. They are brown, like me. But they are also a whitewashed version of what white people want them to be: a violent, primitive nation that treat their women awfully, just so that white people can come in and save them, as if they weren't the ones ramping up that kind of misogyny in the first place.

I look across the YA sphere and I see white authors constantly say, through their writing, that poc are violent, that we are backwards, that the women should not exist and do not have lives unless they are attached to white people. I feel that the only time this has kind of been challenged in a mainstream YA fandom has been the grishaverse, and even then, the rep for brown peoples is muddled and vague at best, and the rep for Black people feels like there was no exploration of culture at all.

What I'm trying to say is: it's not great in the YA market, but SJM is by far one of the most racist authors out there. White fans shouldn't be begging for the violence against characters of colour to be ramped up so they can decide when they can step in and say enough is enough.

ugh! this was so beautifully put!

thiis will be a long discussion!

i really want to preface this by saying i would really implore everyone in their free time to read toni morrison's playing in the dark! it's a deep dive into the ways blackness (and in this case minority status) is defined by white superiority; how the very presence of the non-white is always used to reiterated the inherent superiority of their white peers! poc are used as conduits to uphold beliefs of white supremacy - the very existence of the nonwhite existing to boasts the intelligence of their white peers.

sjm's work moves in such racist territory that it so easy so see these mentalities etched into her work. every single poc that is included in the story is relegated to this ideology; their very existence speaks to the power of the main character. the primary function of the interactions deal in shame, humiliation, and cowardice (see: tarquin, nehemia, thesan, helion, tarquin, cressida, nesryn, lucien, the unnamed enslaved @ endovier, baxian, unnamed illyrian population etc).

morrison opens up her novel by asserting that we should be conscious of the way the author's imagination expresses itself:

“Both [reading and writing] require being mindful of the places where imagination sabotages itself, locks its own gates, pollutes its vision. Writing and reading mean being aware of the writer’s notions of risk and safety, the serene achievement of, or sweaty fight for, meaning and response-ability.”

morrison also posits that author's intenionality and/or bias are unfortunately apart of the creative process of imagination, reiterating:

“The imagination that produces work which bears and invites rereadings, which motions to future readings as well as contemporary ones, implies a shareable world and an endlessly flexible language. Readers and writers both struggle to interpret and perform within a common language shareable imaginative worlds. And although upon that struggle the positioning of the reader has justifiable claims, the author’s presence—her or his intentions, blindness, and sight—is part of the imaginative activity.”

this initial opening builds an understanding of the creative process, in a wholesome way. what i mean is - morrison is establishes that the creative process is informed by our own perceptions and understanding. the way our the narrative voice reconciles normalcy vs. unknown says something about the author. or what the author has put to page. the reason i am even discussing this is to make a similar point: sjm's writing oftentimes subconsciously asserts the dominance of the 'main, white character,' in conjunction with a ethnic, poor, nonwhite individuals of the story. when we meet celaena, we are immediately aware of aelin's 'superiority' over the slaves in endovier. the function of her slavery is to relate her power, while the story views the enslaved as dump, hopeless, individuals whose only goal is to die for their liberation in an endless cycle. aelin even complains that she 'finally' can talk to compotent people with assumption that the enslaved at endovier were somehow too dumb to adequtely communcate with her.

a court of thorns and roses invents an entire culture whose only cultural practices seemed be filled with violence, misogyny, and brutality. then the story argues that only three (3) out of thousands of brown men actually have common sense. that they're so dumb and brutish that they'd absolutely choose to have barely any resources out of spite of their benevolent high lord. cassian, rhys, and az are the strongest in history. and to relate their power, we get these dumb brutes who just seem okay for fighting for a country that would not even be allowed to enter....that's actually some crazy racist writing lmaooo. or the fact that nuala and cerridwen are trained spies, who up to this point, make so much money they'd probably be able to retire...and they just choose to be also the handmaidens...for five-hundred year old fae. like...immediately after acotar, there back working. rhys and feyre can still be reeling from that experience but nuala and cerridwen can just serve because that's just what they like to do.

the next notable quote states:

“These speculations have led me to wonder whether the major and championed characteristics of our national literature—individualism, masculinity, social engagement versus historical isolation; acute and ambiguous moral problematics; the thematics of innocence coupled with an obsession with figurations of death and hell—are not in fact responses to a dark, abiding, signing Africanist presence”

“The fabrication of an Africanist persona is reflexive; an extraordinary meditation on the self; a powerful exploration of the fears and desires that reside in the writerly conscious. It is an astonishing revelation of longing, of terror, of perplexity, of shame, of magnanimity. It requires hard work not to see this.”

in this way, the nonwhite becomes the site of a descent into darkness, hypersexality and power for white people. think of the way in which feyre's darkness is often times heavily associated with the nonwhite (see: court of nightmares). this sexy, liberated, dark woman using south asian culture to establish superiority while eschewing the people who are the originators of said culture.

but - really want to move this away from a discussion on individual characters and really focus the subject on sjm's role as the write. ultimately, feyre, aelin, nehemia, rhys...aren't real. they are reflections of the author's own internal dialogue. i actually really resonated with this observation/ assumption morrison's makes and that is:

“I assumed that since the author was not black, the appearance of Africanist characters or narrative or idiom in a work could never be about anything other than the “normal,” unracialized, illusory white world that provided the fictional backdrop.”

ultimately, i believe the racism comes from the fact that, although these are fictional worlds born from sjm's imagination, a lot of the racism comes from the fact that sjm is writing what she believes to be normal. and so - that's why the problem ultimately persists. violence against woc and poc are justified already. it doesn't matter that rhys slaughters hordes of illyrians because the assumption is that they're probably horrible, brutish people who ultimately deserve to die; nevermind, they could have had complex reasons, just like rhys. it's okay that the illyrian women are oppressed because...that's just the way things have always been. the only queen who helped rhys and feyre is humilated, murdered, and has her head shaven. we get one sentence about her and the story moves on. nehemia planned her own brutal murder, awoke dorian's power, and as a reward....her entire country is burned to the ground and the liberation of ellywe is delegated toward one sentence about maybe going to visit. , sorcha gets her head cut off (and its treated as a joke by the fandom) and dorian blames her for essentially being 'too fragile' or something like that. poc are already being brutalized in these stories, we're just positioned not to care.

and im not saying that ya isn't extremely racist - but i think sjm is by far one of the worst racist authors i have come across. not even ms. bardugo or aveyard or her other peers have this many racial problems by comparison and boy are there still problems even in those stories. like damn even george rr martin has like...semi-better writing (but he's actually another author that really exemplifies what morrison was talking about and id love to one day talk about that. but it woul take me quite awhile. i do like like asoiaf obvi, but it just has a lot of problems that i cant ignore). lmaooo even armentrout made some attempt to rectify her representation issue and thats saying a lot.

[mythalism]

I love everything that you write and I wanted to bring this up with you. I feel like if we had seen the actual moment (at least in one of the regrets) of Mythal’s death, it would have been so impactful. It’s something that Solas talks about constantly and that he feels responsible for and I feel like it would have been a huge moment for the player to see in the story. I dunno. Just ranting. Thoughts?

thank you anon 🥺 i would love to yap about this with you… i think you are totally right that seeing mythal’s death would have been really powerful. i COULD be amenable to an argument that keeping it off screen adds to the drama and tension and the way mythal haunts the narrative…. IF that was their intention… but i don’t think it was lol i think it was probably another victim of the messy development.

mythal so thoroughly haunts the narrative and the lighthouse itself… i think if they leaned into that and we ONLY saw her through solas’s pov in murals, keeping the mystery of her murder off-screen would make sense. but considering we literally get to talk to her, she has enough of an on-screen presence that maintaining that sense of separation is already a lost cause. we also know mythal on some level through flemeth, who has literally ranted about mythal’s death!!! “she was betrayed as i was betrayed”!!!! i think it would have been a nice climax of flemethyal’s arc to see that betrayal or at least hear about it.

i totally agree that it would have humanized solas further and i think that would’ve been nice to see, especially how his complicated grief for her was the catalyst/final straw against the evanuris of the veil going up. he also does actually talk about her murder several times, and we know it happens with THE DAGGER so it feels like it would’ve made sense to elaborate on how it happened more, and the fact that it’s his dagger, that she told him to make, that he used to tranquilize the titans, that he carries with him still, that he is so attached to and obsessed with, THAT DAGGER that did it!? it would have served as a really nice metaphor for his attachment to his grief and regret and the precious world, manifested physically in this dagger that also KILLED MYTHAL (and Varric now too!!)

he actually brings up what im assuming is her death when you ask him about blood magic (lol a lot to unpack here but that’s for another time) and honestly idk what to make of his convo because the way he speaks about it is very detached which i find interesting. obviously this might not be about Mythal but the implication that the dagger used was made via blood magic and sacrifice and “I suppose it depends upon the dagger" is suspicious to me….

anyway, i think who would’ve really benefitted most from us seeing mythal’s murder is ELGAR’NAN!!!!!! HELLO!?!?!? HE MURDERED HIS WIFE AND ITS ONLY MENTIONED ONCE WHEN HE AND SOLAS ARGUE!?!?!?!? WHAT THE FUCK????? the fact that mythal and elgar’nans relationship is nearly nonexistent is one of veilguard’s biggest sins to me. it should have been a huge part of the main story. they are literally THE SUN AND THE MOON. THEY ARE THE ALL MOTHER AND ALL FATHER OF ALL ELVES?????????? and he betrays and murders her and stabs her in the stomach. and literally no one talks about it ever it just doesn’t come up except for like 2 lines. elgarnan was such a one dimensional villain with no motivations (being a naturally evil spirit of tyranny doesn’t count and it’s boring) and no attachments and he feels completely inhuman as a result. like literally he’s just evil and that’s it and it’s so boring. we could have had such an interesting exploration of love and betrayal and how power corrupts and what it must’ve been like to be basically Elven Adam and Eve and a jealous man’s resentment culminating in violence and how mythal’s closeness to solas impacted her relationship with elgarnan like it could have been SO INTERESTING. and yeah. seeing her murder would’ve been a logical conclusion to a lot of build up. put it on the list of things we lost i guess 😔

[w1ngedsoul]

hi! can you do headcanons on being married to phil wenneck. please and thank you!!🩷

requests are open!

warnings: mentions of sex, sexual themes, swearing.

First of all, he would be the kind of husband to constantly compliment you and build up your confidence.

"Wow, I really can't speak, huh? Must be because of how gorgeous you look."

"There's not a single thing I don't love about you."

He's so sweet, it's honestly adorable 😭

When he introduces you to his friends, you all get along really well, especially you and Stu because of your careers in medicine.

He's the type of man to have your wedding date as his phone's password or tattooed onto his wrist.

He loves when he comes home after a long day of work and spots you humming to the radio while swaying yourself around the kitchen.

You'll feel warm arms wrap around your waist and his nose will bury itself into your neck.

He loves your scent, so much so, that whenever you go out with friends for a night away or a road trip, he'll walk over to your vanity and smell your perfume.

It's a mixture of vanilla and lavender, it makes Phil's mind go hazy when you walk past or when you're hugging him.

Phil loves pda. Even if it's something small like holding your hand or your lower back, he loves showing off your relationship. Showing that you're his.

Phil also loves cooking, you'll take it in turns each night to make tea and you'll each rate the other's meal out of five stars. Whoever has the most stars added up gets to choose a restaurant to eat out at.

Once for your birthday, he had told you to wear a pair of red panties to a fancy Korean restaurant, it was until Phil revealed a remote ten minutes that you had pieced together his plan.

The poor waiter, he took your order while you refrained from moaning aloud in front of everyone.

When you got pregnant with your first child, Phil was overjoyed. He bought diapers, dummies, toys, clothes, monitors, a small bathtub, a car seat, I could go on forever.

Let's just say by the end of your first trimester, you already have everything you'll need for your whole pregnancy.

He didn't need to watch tutorials on how to hold a baby, he used to volunteer to take care of his little brother when he was younger.

He got you to wear overalls because he thought you looked sexy in them, seeing you walk around adjusting the straps...

His mind wanders, I mean, there's not a rule to say sex is bad while pregnant...

Let's talk about Phil when he drives.

Lord have mercy 🙏

When his hands grip onto the steering wheel, while concentrating on the directions>>

I just know he gets road rage, no one can convince me otherwise.

"Move out the fucking way!"

"Watch it prick!"

🛐

Just watching him turn the steering wheel, or when he looks back while parking turns you on.

Most of the time, he'll notice the lust in your eyes and will park off to the side.

Sometimes you're stuck in traffic and he'll trail a hand up your thigh, a couple kisses are peppered upon your neck.

Once, you guys had been in traffic for around twenty minutes and Phil decided to take you in the back of the van he borrowed (what Stu doesn't know won't hurt him)

You had been in there for only five minutes when the road had started up again, all you could hear was loud beeping horns from angry drivers.

Phil would definitely try and get you to avoid Alan for one specific reason; he's a pervert.

Once, you, Phil and Alan got trapped in the basement of Stu's house without signal and Alan confirmed Phil's suspicion.

"Looks like we'll be trapped a while...y/n, is it?"

"Knock it off!"

Something that's always funny, is Phil coming home drunk.

"There was this girl, and she asked for my number and I was all like 'No! I have...a wife."

And then there's the part where he's really romantic.

"God, I love my wife. She's the most amazing woman I've ever met, you know? She has these eyes that are so bright, I could stare into them forever. And when she looks at me, I can't help but be nothing but honest with her. Do you have someone like that?"

"Yes, I do."

@bradleybeachbabe hope you enjoyed! Love you 💕

[preemshots]

oc smash or pass

tagged by @theloverstemperance tagging ANYONE who wants to do this but hasn't yet. please tag me as the person who tagged you so i can read about your OC :D rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

BASICS

Full Name: NV ("nut v". i never picked a real full name, but it's also not valerie or vincent lmao) Nickname: V Age: 27 in 2077 Height: 5'10" Eyes: Black Kiroshi "The Oracle" with red emissive pupil UI Gender: nonbinary Pronouns: they/she; masc>femme nouns Sexuality: yeah. (bi/pan/queer/poly all of the above)

PROS

obvious: NV is outwardly reserved and focused most of the time; brow furrowed, slight resting grump face. but they're also terrible at hiding what they're feeling and it's easy to break this focus. if they like you, they'll react strongly to you--usually with snark, bold suggestions, or by getting flustered.

dependable sucker: prefers to serve others before self, and once making a choice follows through with it (even if they know they'll regret it or have been deceived).

observant: pays attention to every detail of everything they can, will randomly give you the most thoughtful gift or something you mentioned needing/wanting but forgot about.

enduring: can tolerate a lot--physically, mentally, emotionally, even without certainty of reward at the end.

switch: their dynamic depends on the person, but generally are top-leaning. they are just as eager to struggle for dominance as they are to be put in their place.

work hard, play hard mentality: they overwork to justify seeking pleasure and good times, believing strongly in indulgent treats and blowing off steam--and most importantly, treating others.

1TB SDD memory: their sense of humanity is extremely dependent upon their connections with others above all else, whether close/personal, casual/transactional, or human/AI. they will not forget you.

cybernetically enhanced: stronger than average, but they're made of mostly doll parts, so you know. pleasure enhancements are included >:3

CONS

thrill seeker: they constantly want to test the limits of their cybernetic body in ridiculous ways--whether with new, dangerous drugs, by jumping off buildings in corpo plaza, or watching hacked BDs. their cybernetics aren't even particularly strong; they deliberately choose cheap/basic models and are more than willing to blow money on repairs/replacement parts.

rat: refuses to buy food unless it's for others. they'll openly steal food off tables as they pass by random people dining on the street to get the very limited caloric intake they need. if that fails, they'll even eat something off the ground if it doesn't look too gross.

deeply unwell: it's not just the creepy look of the kiroshis; years of cybernetic replacements have eroded NV's sense of humanity. while there's no risk of a full blown cyberpsychotic breakdown, a sort of gnawing omnipresent craving for violence lives inside them, something they consistently indulge in on a small scale via work when the opportunity presents itself. though it's not enough to motivate their decisions, they do enjoy the excuse.

the fool: their sense of identity is largely defined by choice and the guilt that follows. nudging them into misguided choices is not particularly difficult.

indifferent reaper: they are acutely aware of the nature of merc work, how often they're required to pass judgement on behalf of others whom they may not agree with, as well as how often they are given the unique opportunity to pass life-or-death judgement themselves. but even when executing something they feel is right, they don't really believe in greater moral justice, only luck and bad luck.

feral: the relic and johnny's influence prevent further decay of their humanity but also exacerbate a tendency to overindulge in all their vices. they WILL get themselves into trouble.

narrow viewpoint: particularly focused on individual survival, they don't often examine the larger picture (of corps, society, long-term manipulation, etc.)

EXTRAS

former nomad who loves cars and driving around. they are either the best driver (on the clock) or the scariest (off the clock the thrill seeking mentality kicks in, no thoughts head empty, my insurance will cover this, etc.)

utility netrunner: very skilled but only uses it for doing spooky shit, never direct attacks.

throwing knife user. likes to pounce on their prey and abuse finishers.

also a failed arasaka corpo who loves bullying other corpos but is absolutely embarassed about being a failed corpo. it is not hard to see why they were bad at it.

smoker.

eager to follow a leader but generally suspicious of organized groups that recruit. indiscriminately hazes every ganger in night city, will beat their asses for fun and then sell their guns back to them

more propaganda under the cut (warning for slight spice 🌶)

[ezekiel-krishna]

✧ 2nd House Ruler known for (WEALTH & Family) in All Houses

Part 1 ..

{ Vedic Astrology }

⇝ Your Guide to Check Your Placement (Vedic Astrology)

1st Step ⇨ Go to Vedic Astrology Calculator

2nd Step ➚ Enter Your Details & Press { Calculate Sidereal Chart }

3rd Step ⇨ Find the Second House Ruler as per the {Sign & Symbol}

"Example here , 2nd House is Ruled By Capricorn & Its Lord is Saturn which is in 3rd House thus Your [ 2nd Lord is in the 3rd House. ] "

Now Lets Move on ..

2nd Lord in 1st House

This position can make you very wealthy not only will it expand the storage capacity in your life, but it will also pave the way for a prosperous future for your children. This position holds the power to create a generational legacy, where each successive generation builds upon the wealth accumulated before them. As the first generation to embark on this journey, you have the opportunity to lay the foundation for a lifetime of abundance, while your children will take it even further.

This placement make you the employer or the boss who provide & generates job opportunities. The first house presents an exceptional position for anyone venturing into the world of business. On the other hand, the second house represents the importance of family. When the second lord enters the first house, it signifies that you will eventually take charge of the family business and revolutionize it to reflect your unique vision. This is the house where the second lord yearns for a vision. In the 1st house , self-belief is paramount, as it can be tested by the highs and lows of life. Hence, it is vital to constantly question yourself when doubt arises: "Do you truly have faith in your own vision?"

This query holds immense value, as the 1st house represents your true self. Consequently, your prosperity will define you, bestowing upon you prestige and significance. The lord of the second house is a lord of family and when in 1st house, you're likely to have a strong desire for a big, loving family. You enjoy being in control of your household, taking on the role of a nurturing figure like a big daddy or a big mommy. Your home becomes a haven where people depend on you, much like pets and children, creating a harmonious and fulfilling atmosphere..

The bigger the household the happier you become the issue is however that you're quite controlling with the money itself you're even controlling with your family members spending, you get angry with family members when they are wasting resources, money, food etc.. This can cause contention in your life, you don't like to spend too much and giving back to community outside of the family however benefits in the first house or aspect here will help to keep that money flowing outwards which will always increase wealth in any case..

One thing to watch out for , though the lord of possessions (2nd house lord) has gone into your house(1st house) & aspect directly at the seventh house of partner, thus can make you possessive of any kind of partner causing difficulties in relationships. The aspects on seventh house brings forth numerous positive effects too, particularly when it comes to your business endeavors. It acts as a marketplace, attracting the attention of influential individuals who are eager to collaborate and support you. Even if you're not an entrepreneur, your colleagues will be enthusiastic about joining your team for any projects.

2nd Lord in 2nd House

This placement give you the ability to manage your finances, giving you control over your money. While you work hard to build wealth, This position may bring challenges with your children or dependents. You possess a slight inclination towards being controlling, especially when it comes to overseeing the actions of others. Wasting anything, particularly money, is something you strongly dislike.

Occasionally, this controlling nature may create challenges in your interactions with your children. The placement of the 2nd lord in its own house can make you excessively proud of your family traditions, which can result in problems. It's important to be mindful of this tendency and make a conscious effort to avoid being haughty or stuck up.

The lord of the second house assumes the role of a natural protector within its own domain, much like a vigilant guard dog. This becomes particularly evident when the ruler of the second house is a malefic planet such as Mars or Rahu[North Node]. In such circumstances, any encounter with loss triggers a surge of anger within you. However, it's important to clarify that this anger doesn't translate into violence. Instead, it ignites a fierce determination to acquire and safeguard your possessions..

You become unwavering in your efforts to hold onto your wealth, resorting to any means necessary to shield yourself from further losses. Your bank balance becomes a constant source of concern, as you diligently monitor both incoming and outgoing funds. Seeing more money coming in than going out is what you should strive for. It's a reassuring sight that brings a sense of security. However, if you don't witness this flow of abundance, it's natural to feel a bit insecure. The key lesson here is to embrace the concept of letting go. Loosen your grip on money and allow it to flow through your fingers, benefiting others. Remember, the opposite house(eighth house) represents sharing possessions, and by embracing this concept, you'll attract greater wealth karma into your life..

Stay Tuned For Part 2...

Remember This is a General Analysis , Whole Chart is to be consider for Accurate Personalized Predictions..

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