#universal city walk hollywood

[dippitydodaday]

[lifeofloon]

It's not really the holiday season until Kong has his Santa cap!

[thedaveandkimmershow]

Yesterday was and will be our most vacation-y day of our trip. Our one day in the Universal Studios Hollywood theme park.

Now, I'd been watching the wait times on the Universal app over the last few days and, while the prevailing wisdom was to save the Harry Potter rides 'til the afternoon 'cause everyone was gonna ride them first thing... I could see those wait times at ten and twenty minutes between eight and ten in the morning after which they shot up to an hour and more.

So.

Between eight and ten.

My unspoken plan, then, was to get up super early, leave around six to beat all the Monday morning commute traffic, and hit the turnstiles promptly at eight after which we'd be able to knock off those and maybe a coupla other highly popular ride before ten.

Yeah.

That didn't happen.

We got up around six, left around 730, got into the park somewhat after ten after a Starbucks breakfast in City Walk. Then, first thing inside the park we had an official photograph taken because one of the Universal photographers asked us. Then we walked over to Hogsmeade, through Hogsmeade, to Hogwarts castle to wait in line for Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey.

The wait?

Eighty minutes.

We spent a bunch of that time moving through a shaded forestry area, eventually realizing the kids behind us were from Spokane on a band trip to a Disney music festival. Once inside, we discovered the kids in front of us were similarly from Washington state on a trip as a choir. They were super Harry Potter fans, though. One of them was wearing a Slytherin robe and wielding a wand, both of which set them back three hundred bucks. No problem, though, since they brought a thousand for Harry Potter merch plus—and this was very sweet—thoughtful gifts for their family back home.

We actually spent a bit of the waiting inside Hogwarts engaged with these kids who, for whatever reason, spent a big chunk of that time trying to figure out where in the context of eight Harry Potter Films this ride takes place.

Between films three and four, they decide. Harry's hair basically gives it away.

So yeah. That happened.

The ride itself is very clever. It's constantly in random motion the whole time whether actually in motion or virtually in motion. Either way, in some people it induces motion sickness. And I, as it turns out, was one of them. Only a little bit, though. It didn't hang on for long. But that was that and I'd done Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey.

After that, we thought beers in town... only the "town" was still inside Universal Studios Hollywood and the beers were sixteen bucks.

Each.

So we went back to Flight of the Hippogriff that's right across from Forbidden Journey.

Also an eighty minute wait.

Interesting, these long wait times didn't bother us 'cause there's lots to photograph and then lots of photographs to filter through my Snapseed app that's my tool of choice for tweaking, well, everything.

Eventually, the ride was shirt, fun, and didn't tweak my head like Forbidden Journey. Plus, just before we got on, we got a firm recommendation from the family behind us that Revenge of the Mummy ride was totally legit. So that was a definite To Do for our afternoon.

After finishing both Harry Potter rides, we indulged a bit of photography in Hogsmeade before heading over and down to the line for the Universal Studios back lot tour.

Forty minute wait. About an hour's worth of ride, though. During which we got to discover that, of our childhood experiences from this tour, only three remain: the flash flood, Jaws, and the Psycho house. The flash flood was pretty much what is always was. Jaws was somehow different. And we drove right in front of the Psycho house whereas my memory has me seeing the house before from below, up the hill.

Other than those experiences, everything else was new and pretty cool. Especially the two big 3D experiences: King Kong and Fast & Furious. Plus, adding that dude carrying a body and wielding a knife at the Bates Motel parking lot scene was an inspired addition. 🙂

One of the tips we got before coming down was never eat in the park. The prices gouge you. Which is true. Exhibit A: those sixteen dollar beers.

So we left the park for City Walk and The Toothsome Chocolate Emporium & Savory Feast Kitchen where we wanted to sit at the bar. Only they don't have a bar at this location but we got a good tip from the host and so headed straight for the bar at Margaritaville where we had a lovely business lunch.

A business lunch?

Yeah. That's how it worked out plus, due to an fortuitous error in billing, our food was basically paid for by other customers so we only had to pick up the beers.

And a very healthy tip.

By the time we were in the move again, making our way back into the park, it was not only somewhere between 330 and 4, but the temperature had also dropped a touch and the wind had picked up... making it seem like the temperature had dropped a lot.

Our first stop, believe it or not, was figuring out how to take a photograph of slogan attached onto the glass of a door in Springfield, home of The Simpsons.

The slogan?

DR. NICK RIVIERA

Unlicensed for over two decades!

Which, as it turns out, is tough to photograph when the glass in which it's attached is reflecting a lot of bright things.

The solution?

Take the picture from a huh angle pointing down so that the glass is reflecting the ground which is in shade. BAM.

After that, it's down the four separate escalators down to the lower lot. The Revenge of the Mummy ride is, conveniently, right there as soon as you hit bottom. And the wait?

Fifty five minutes.

No sweat.

Which it really wasn't although the line wasn't as engaging as wandering through all those Harry Potter movie sets on your way to Forbidden Journey.

By the time we hit the front of the line, it was quickly obvious we had different expectations of what this ride was... than what it really is. Me, I thought it was gonna be a cross between the walking part of The Haunted Mansion... and the riding part of that Indian Jones ride in Adventure Land. Instead, it's straight up a high speed roller coaster.

In the dark.

That goes forward a lot.

And backward a lot.

In the dark.

Did I mention that?

At first the ride seems sort of leisurely, trying to immerse you in a creepy vibe. Then, at some point, the creepy Egyptian god proclaims in a slow, creepy voice

Your soul. Is. Mine.

Only, the creepy Egyptian god puts more emphasis on the word MINE at which point we are launched into the darkness on what is now clearly a high speed roller coaster that, in that moment, literally takes your breath away. It's why, as Kimmer observed, everyone's so silent in their coaster cars as those cars return to the load/unload area.

It's a kind of stunned silence.

After that, I was thinking the Jurassic World ride, the only one I had in mind left to experience. We strolled a bit down to the Transformers 3D entrance after checking out some of the food places but nothing clicked. Then I showed Kimmer the end of the Jurassic World ride that's basically the end of Disney's Splash Mountain so now Kimmer's thinking we need to get plastic parkas.

So now we're on the hunt for plastic parkas, first at the Jurassic World store and then randomly walking about, asking certain people where they got theirs... which brought us back to the Jurassic World store where you can get them at the cash register.

Eleven bucks.

So we just got the one for Kimmer and got into the Jurassic World line.

Forty minutes.

During which time it gets colder. And it gets windier. And then the ride breaks down. And the wait time becomes Re-opening Soon.

Now waiting in line under such conditions isn't the worst thing because they've got large monitors everywhere that basically a TV channel for the faux Dinosaur facility that's educational and entertaining.

However.

It's getting colder. And, yes. There's a certain investment that settles in because the longer you wait... the more it feels like you have to wait because what if you leave and then the ride opens again???

An hour in, though, the announcement comes that they have no idea when the ride's gonna open again. So we abandon the wait with nothing to show for our experience except the one plastic parks we bought for Kimmer.

Back up at the upper lot again, it's colder, it's windier, sunset's definitely fallen on most of the park, and we head back to Hogsmeade for golden hour photography and one more turn of Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey.

Thirty-five minutes.

This time, we're in line with a dad and his two kids, locals with annual passes, who just spent the day in Super Nintendo World that included waiting three hours in line for Mario Kart: Bowser's Challenge.

The kids had the most magnificent day and we're eager to share their stories augmented by their dad's take on the logistics of the day and how all the virtual tech works. He even had a bit of video on his phone to fill out the experience.

Now, we're in line for the Forbidden Journey but he's not gonna ride it.

Why?

Because the last time he got such motion sickness he had to close his eyes. So he's dropping his kids at the front of the line and will meet them when they depart the ride.

We end up sharing the ride with his kids and, this time around, I get motion sick. Nothing vomit-y. Just a bit of dizziness that hangs on after the ride and doesn't let go.

Fortunately, we are done for the day. It's a little after 730. It's dark. It's cold. There really isn't anything else we want to do. So we make our way back to our campervan, Big Foot, grabbing me a mint tea from Starbucks along the way just in case I do have anything stomach related going on.

By the time we're back at Kimmer's cousin's place, it's around nine thirty and we settle in for an evening of boisterous family time that includes a pair of highschool freshmen as well as pizza and cookies homemade made by Kimmer. A quite fun and lovely way to enter the next phase of our trip: a round of camping for all of us starting later today.

I will say, before I have to get going as well, I had an epic night of sleep last night.

Thank God.

😁😁😁

[eatwhateveryouwant2-blog]

Check Out The New Hello Kitty and Friends Cafe and Sanrio Smile Shop at Universal CityWalk Hollywood for Their 50th Anniversary

[rcmclachlan]

One of my most persistent headcanons is that the 118 and the 217 work together in secret to try and get Buck and Tommy back together because none of them can take it anymore. They're all sick to death of the moping, the constant checking of phones, the sad, wistful smiles, the baking—oh god, they're so sick of the baking. Hen's ready to throttle Buck because Chimney's AIC levels are through the roof and if he becomes pre-diabetic she won't be responsible for her actions.

Not to mention the sad playlists. Lucy has been forced to listen to "Wasted Time" by the Eagles so often that if she ever sees Don Henley on the street she's gonna beat the ever-loving fuck out of him.

It isn't long before someone from one station reaches out to the other, because enough already, and then the 118 and 217 are meeting every Friday to brainstorm ways to get these idiots in a room together. But, oddly enough, it feels almost like the universe is working against them.

For one thing, their shifts never line up, even though Bobby and Captain Carson coordinate almost daily on making sure Buck's and Tommy's schedules match. They've even roped a few folks over at Dispatch into it to ensure the 217 and the 118 work the same calls. Despite this, there's a slew of emergencies that manage to mess up all their planning, pulling the 118 and the 217 to opposite sides of the city—or, in some cases, keeping one on the ground while the other is called to the sky.

Once it becomes apparent that The Great Reunification™ isn't going to happen on a call, they shift their efforts to group outings. The 217 are regular haunts of The Naughty Pig—they have a designated table and everything, right next to the staircase. So Eddie starts making noise about wanting to check out this one bar in West Hollywood that he hears is really cool and unpretentious, with an excellent selection of beer and cocktails, and after about a week of him dropping the most unsubtle hints in history, they get Buck to leave King Arthur and his flour in peace for a night so they can grab a drink at The Naughty Pig.

Except, when they show up, Tommy's nowhere to be found. While the others distract Buck by trying to get a table, Dana catches Hen's gaze and makes a small, throat-cutting gesture. They meet in the bathroom and Dana says Tommy went home sick earlier with what she suspects is pneumonia. Which means Hen's going to spend the night in this cool bar while Buck gets white girl wasted on Bud Light. By the time he's on his 8th and warbling into the table about Glee for whatever reason, Hen decides to call it a night.

A week or so after that, Eddie goes for broke and disconnects the battery in his car. That same night, Buck comes over to hang out and play video games (and offload a metric fuck ton of muffins), and when they decide to grab pizza, uh oh! Eddie's truck isn't starting.

He makes a big scene of looking under the hood, but he just can't find the problem. Buck's like "That really sucks but we can always take the jeep?" but no, Eddie needs his truck, how can he live and work without his precious Denali? He decides to call a buddy of his to come over and try to fix the issue, so he leaves the room and calls Tommy, who's surprised to hear from Eddie (which makes Eddie feel like a monster, because, yes, he hasn't really been in touch with Tommy since the breakup but he never meant for Tommy to think their friendship was collateral damage).

Tommy agrees to make the drive over, and Eddie walks back into the living, patting himself on the back, only to find Buck putting his shoes on. Maddie had called while Eddie was on the phone: Mrs. Lee was taken to the hospital by ambulance after a bad fall and Chim and Maddie need him to babysit Jee while they go to LA General. So not only does Eddie's plan backfire spectacularly in a way he can't even be mad about, but Tommy gives him shit for a week because Eddie apparently can't plug a loose cable into a battery on his own.

After that, the 118 and the 217 convene at their usual Friday spot and the mood is dour. Nico thinks it might be time to throw in the towel, and despite everyone making noise about it, no one can really argue with him. They'd given it their all, but the house won.

Then Lucy swans in, takes one look at their disappointed faces, and slaps a piece of paper down onto the table. It's a flyer for the Backdraft Ball next month.

Chim looks up at her, expression grave, and asks, "Do you really think this will work?"

"It's either this or I go to jail for murdering every single living member of the Eagles," Lucy says. "Which I might do anyway. I haven't decided."

"Well, we've come this far." Hen lifts her glass and surveys the rest of the table.

"And if it fails," Dana says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she maybe, possibly thinking about smiling within the next decade. "I can't say I haven't enjoyed this. It's been fun hanging out with you weirdos."

Rapping his knuckles on the table top, Eddie cheers, "Hear hear!"

"Your speaking privileges haven't been reinstated," Dana snaps. "Put a sock in it."

"I told you, the mustache was a toxic symbol! You can't still be mad about me shaving it!"

Dana sniffs and takes a dainty sip of her wine. "You look like a mutant four-year old."

"All right," Chim announces, standing. "Operation: Last Ditch Effort is a go."

They clink their glasses to seal the deal. When Dana knocks hers into Eddie's, his stein shatters.

A month passes and everyone's been talking about nothing except the Backdraft Ball, which Buck can't understand. In the eight years he's been a firefighter, they've never once attended.

"Didn't you once call it a pathetic get together for people who had to get their stomachs pumped on prom night?" He asks Hen, who's browsing the Local Eclectic website for earrings to go with her admittedly amazing jumpsuit.

Hen shrugs. "What can I say, Buckaroo? I've grown as a person."

Meanwhile, at the 217, Lucy corners Tommy in the Bell-205 and says, "If you don't go to the Backdraft Ball with me, I'm gonna tell everyone you said Elon Musk is a genius who's going to save the country."

Horrified, he says, "That's a fucking lie! You know I hate him more than my dad!"

Lucy smiles meanly. "I do know that. No one else does, though."

Later, when she's alone, she sends the group chat two emojis: a helicopter and a thumbs up.

Finally, the big night arrives and everyone's dressed to the nines. Even Buck can't help but be a little excited, because he's in a really nicely tailored tux, courtesy of Ravi for some reason, and there's a literal mountain of scallops wrapped in bacon, which he stands next to for most of the night until Maddie, who came as Chimney's date, wanders over and asks why he's not mingling.

"I dunno," he says, shoving his sixty-seventh scallop into his mouth. "I-I always thought... I guess I hoped I'd come to one of these with Tommy, you know? He's such a sucker for the whole all-eyes-on-you thing. He never went to any of his school dances, not even prom, because he wouldn't get to dance with the people he really wanted. I... I wanted to be that for him."

While Buck turns to the scallop mountain—which is more of a foothill now, thanks to his tireless efforts—Maddie looks across the ballroom where Lucy is talking to Tommy. Their gazes lock. Over Tommy's shoulder, Lucy jerks her head toward the dance floor, where they're playing some golden oldies and dozens of ancient captains are dancing with their wives to The Girl From Yesterday.

Maddie nods, then grabs Buck's hand. "C'mon. I want to get at least one dance in before the night's over."

Pulling a scallop off a toothpick, Buck squints. "Where's Chim? Isn't that, like, one of his duties as your husband?"

"Last I saw him, he was trying to convince Chief Simpson to install crazy slides in all the firehouses," Maddie says sunnily. "And honestly? Chief Simpson looked intrigued. So suck it up and take your sister for a spin."

Buck rolls his eyes and pops one more scallop into his mouth for the road, but he goes with her without complaint. Maddie stops at their table and says she's going to text their babysitter. She sends the group chat the green circle emoji. It's go time.

Elsewhere, Lucy slips her phone into her purse, then grabs Tommy's arm and says, "Great news! Dana's gonna make the DJ play something else before I burn the building down, which means we can get a dance in."

Wordlessly, Dana gets out of her seat and heads toward the front of the room.

Lucy drags Tommy into the crowd and makes sure to keep his line of sight away from where Maddie is doing the same to Buck. They've only got one shot at this and the timing has to be perfect.

Her cheek on Buck's chest, Maddie holds Lucy's gaze and gently leads him into a half circle, just as Lucy does the same with Tommy. Lucy gives a sharp nod of her head and, hands on Tommy's arms, spins him around so that when Maddie puts a hand on Buck's chest and shoves him as hard as she can, Tommy's there to break his fall.

"H-Hey, what was th—" Buck looks up with wide, outraged eyes, but the words stick in his throat when he sees who caught him.

Tommy's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Even if he'd been able to find the words, the sweet keys of an old piano would've drowned them out.

Smirking, Lucy shoves Tommy a little closer, just as Nat King Cole croons "Unforgettable... that's what you are."

Lucy makes a note to buy Dana lunch the next time they're on shift, because, damn, good choice.

Almost as if he's helpless to stop himself, Tommy tightens his hold on Buck's waist, wrapping his arm a little tighter around him, and Buck can't prevent a shaky gasp from punching out of him when he gets a whiff of Tommy's cologne. He puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder to steady himself, unerringly stepping closer until they're chest to chest.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't..." He trails off, caught in Tommy's gaze, and he doesn't blink out of fear that this is some mercury-induced hallucination from all the scallops.

Smiling a little, Tommy takes Buck's hand in his. "You're free to say no, but—"

"Yes," Buck says immediately, nodding, tightening his fingers around Tommy's. "Yeah, let's, uh. Yeah."

Catching Maddie's gaze, Lucy jerks her head back toward the refreshment table, where the rest of their group is waiting. Hen's got the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, and Nico is dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a corner of Dana's shawl.

"Nicely done," Lucy says to Maddie, who preens a little.

"If you'd let me in on your little scheme earlier, I could've had them back together in a day."

They accept the back slaps and high-fives they've more than earned, then turn just in time for Buck to rest his cheek against Tommy's as they sway together. Maddie squints a little, but she thinks she sees Tommy murmuring along with Natalie Cole. "No, never before... has someone been more..."

She sniffles a little and happily takes the plate of fruit and cheese that Chimney hands her.

"Save the Studio Ghibli tears for the wedding," he says teasingly, then adopts the weird Brooklyn accent he busts out sometimes. "Ya did good, kid."

"I did good," Dana breaks in. "And if they use this song for their first dance, I take full credit."

She looks over at Nico, who's using a toothpick—with a zucchini and goat cheese rollup still skewered on it—to get something out from beneath his nail, and smacks him upside the head.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I've stopped shaving," Eddie says to her, gesturing toward his face with a can of ginger ale. "Am I allowed to speak again?"

She gives him a deadpan look. "Give it another week, then maybe. Right now you look like you're going through puberty again."

"Better than being four," he says cheerfully.

The group content themselves with watching Buck and Tommy for another minute, but when Buck tilts his head ever so slightly to brush his nose against Tommy's, Lucy makes a face. "I guess this means we don't need to keep meeting up on Fridays, huh?"

"Whoever said that?" Hen grins. "I still haven't managed to beat you at air hockey, Donato. I demand a rematch."

"Plus, my friend Josh has been a little unlucky in love these days and could use a hand," Maddie chimes in, then gestures toward the dance floor. "Our results speak for themselves."

The song has changed, but Buck and Tommy haven't noticed, too busy wrapped up in each other.

Lucy tilts her head and smiles. It looks like Tommy's exhaled for the first time in weeks.

Don Henley gets to live another day.

[icelynodette]

Universal City Walk California To Oregon Travel Day

[treasurechestmemories]

Universal City Walk California To Oregon Travel Day

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things: chapter six

Aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Fridays are also the only day where you don’t go directly home after work. Instead of catching the late night Orange line, you snag the Blue and take it down, down, down, right out of the city and it’s the almost surreal serenity of the suburbs. Street lights and cars turn into trees as the sun dips low. Only the ambient sounds of your music and the wheels on the tracks keep you company as you pass familiar stops, all the way to the end of the line.

From there, you walk: down the dark sidewalks, across the one lane roads, stopping only in the little diner along the way. It’s hours later when you finally make it to the doorstep. Before you can knock, the door is ripped open.

“You’re late.” The shortest woman you’ve ever seen stands there, hands on her hips and glasses shoved to the top of her nose bridge. Her scrubs are baggy, but clean, with the name of her service stitched on the pocket: UA Palliative. “I thought you were hit by a car.”

“Sorry, sorry.” you try to laugh her concerns off.

“And you’re sweaty.” Nurse Chiyo clicks her tongue at you as she hands you a face mask. “You should really let him send a car.”

A car would be faster, but you can’t justify someone footing that bill when your metro card has money on it. “The exercise is good for me.”

The woman scrunches her face and gestures to the bag you’re holding. The bottom of the brown paper is practically see through with grease. In the other, you have two styrofoam cups, taken from the diner down the road. “And that food is good for you too?”

“It’s a friday treat.”

“Just don’t feel bad if he’s not hungry,” she sighs with the weight of someone who knows. “Towards the end, the appetite tends to dwindle.”

You slip on your face mask and slip off your shoes. Toshinori Yagi’s home drips with old money; subtle detailing mixed with hints of extravagance, it's the air of wealth with none of the gaudiness. The halls are sparsely decorated, only the occasional artwork and statue to keep you company as you walk to the back of the home, past the luxurious, yet almost never used kitchen and through the abandoned living room. There, in the middle of it all, hangs an oversized picture of Yagi back in his acting days.

If it was anyone else, it might seem egotistical, but the man on the wall might as well be a completely different man, a Yagi from another universe. Bound solely in brightly colored latex, this Yagi grins ear to ear, flexing an obscenely thick bicep for the camera. The Hollywood cameras and actors are a blur in the background. It’s from the set of his first All Might movie-- the one you’ve seen hundreds of times. The longer you stare, the more jagging it is. At 55, Yagi is twice the man that he was in his twenties, but a quarter of the size. All of the important pieces are there -his smile, his laugh, his energy- but there’s a part of him, always locked away in a time where this picture was taken.

You press on into the study. This room is a stark contrast from the rest of the house; it’s cluttered, all flat surfaces stacked with magazines and printed articles. Coloring pages litter the floor, in between broken crayons and pencils.

In between it all is a stick of a man, dirty blonde hair buzzed short enough you can see the shape of his skull. He’s pouring himself over some reading, tired eyes tracing the page with a monotonous haze. He’s lost weight again; you can see it in the sharp dip of his cheeks.

“Happy Friday.” You rap on the door frame and he jolts up in surprise. Hand over heart, he laughs in delight, even though he knew you were coming. “How are you?”

“I thought-” He inhales. You can’t remember all of the details of what’s happened to him, but you know one of his lungs is practically nonfunctional and the other struggles keeping up. “You’d be celebrating your birthday.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.” He pushes up to stand, but you wave him back down. “You should be. Out with friends.”

“I’m happy where I am, sir.” You place everything on the table in front of him and then retreat to your side, your drink still in hand. Once you’re far enough away - six feet- you take off your mask. “Chocolate Peanut Butter shake and extra crispy fries, just for you.”

It’s his favorite. No, it doesn’t have the nutrition he should be getting, but… well, he’s going to die no matter what. Let the man have a fucking milkshake. He takes it in both hands, like he’s cradling an award or a piece of gold.

The first time cancer struck him, Toshinori Yagi decided to leave acting and do something with his money. He didn’t have a family to take care of -- and his sister is independently wealthy-- so he invested in medical technology. He hired a team that knew better than him, put some of them through school, and grew a rather successful business from the ground up, no formal training of his own. Now, ironically enough, he’s wealthier than ever, and still pouring it into product development.

“You do too much.” He picks the darkest fry of the group and crunches down on it.

It’s the least you can do. Isolation is taxing; you don’t mind sacrificing a bit of time and $19.76 for a quick meeting and meal. You settle down in your usual spot- a fluffy velvet chair in the corner of the room- and take a long sip from your own drink.

“How are things with Shouta?”

You choke so hard it goes up your nose. How did he know? Did the interns figure it out and pass along the word to the whole office? How are you going to explain to your boss that you’ve sexted his colleague? Or did Aizawa tell him? Oh, what if he shared those pictures--

“Wh-what about him?”

Yagi gives you a strange, tired look, brow knitted with a kind concern. “You called me- about his employee?”

You physically sigh with relief; no one knows. Everything is good; you need to stop panicking. Aizawa won’t share the pictures; it’d ruin his career faster than it’d ruin yours. Besides, he’s apparently embarrassed of you, so why would he even show you off? “Oh, well, everything’s good. Kaminari is back in the office.”

Your boss chews a single fry for a long while. A melancholic twang stirs inside you. No, you haven’t known him as long as some people, but over the years you’ve gotten attached. He’s a fair man, a good one too. Watching him waste is… it’s hard. Plain and simple. On the books, you say that you visit for work, but it’s honestly a social call, something to quell your worries.

“He wasn’t very happy when-- I called,” Yagi draws in from his nasal tube as he talks sometimes and it cuts his words short.

“Yeah, I know.” That’s an understatement. You chew on your straw as you try to decide how to respond. “Aizawa had some choice words for me afterwards.

The look on Yagi’s face tells you that he already knew that. Word always makes it back to the big boss one way or another; even sick, he always has his fingers in every pie.

“Don’t let him-” He runs out of breath in a weird spot. “Push you around. He’s a strong personality.”

That’s an understatement too. You wish you could stomp your feet and demand for his removal, but unfortunately Aizawa is very, very good at his job. Besides, you don’t especially want him fired. Maybe just… a series of paper cuts everyday for the rest of his life. Or that his train never comes on time. Nothing serious.

“Trust me- I won’t.” You throw an arm up and flex. “I can put up a fight.”

“No fighting.” The man tries to give you a stern look, but it just looks a bit silly. As demanding as it sounds, it's like being scolded by a grandfather; there’s too much affection between you for anything to feel threatening. “Don’t wage any wars in my office.”

“No promises!” you tease. “Ready to go over reports?”

He smiles back, those hollow cheeks pulling into tiny apples. “Of course.”

…

It’s late when you finally make it home. Yagi had forced you into a car, calling it a birthday gift, and the drive was long and quiet. The driver turned on some soft music, songs with the tinkle of piano, and you almost dozed off by the time he rolled into your apartment complex.

You kick your heels off and strip out of your work clothes as you enter your apartment, letting everything stay where it falls. In the wake of Touya, your place is pretty much empty, with the carpet still pressed in spots where lamps and tables used to be and a jammed lock that won’t click closed. The less time you spend here, the better. You throw yourself onto the couch -something too big to take, apparently- and flick on the television. The usual mindless garbage you like is already on; perfect background noise as you play on your phone.

There’s nothing super new going on. Couple of group chat notifications. Nemuri had texted you to check in-- so did Hizashi. And-

Aizawa’s unopened messages stare at you. There’s no reason to read those texts, right? It’s just mindless sex talk. In fact, he probably doesn’t want you to ever see those texts again.

…Unless he said something important. Maybe he had told you to play dumb at work! Oh, that would open its own can of worms, but at least it would explain why he said to forget everything-

Wait, that wouldn’t make sense. You two were alone at that point. He could have been normal or said something like ‘wow, love your tits!’ or--

Ugh. He wouldn’t say that! Ugh!

You pull on your messaging app again. You need to get this over with.

-> I bet you looked so pretty when you came.

The preview still makes your skin prick with unwanted excitement. The lust nipping at your ankles isn’t easy to ignore as you tap the button and open the conversation. The immediate visage of your words, your drunken musings and flirtations, makes you physically cringe. Luckily, the new messages take up enough space to keep you from seeing your own nude visage.

The first response hits you like a truck.

-> Do you have any idea what I’d do to lick your fingers clean? What I’d do to smell your perfume on your skin?

The thrum of your heartbeat goes funny for just a flash of a moment and you have to shake off any semblance of arousal. No-- you do not like this. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about that thought! You don’t want the warmth of his tongue or the tickle of his breath against your pulse point, or that little bit of scruff against your lips-

The video is below the first message. It’s paused on an out of focus still, but you can make out the golden touched skin of his stomach and the blur of hand. Heat flickers in your core at that, but you tense your legs and try to ignore it.

Get yourself together. It’s just a fucking jerk off video. You scroll right by it.

-> Look at what you do to me. It’s all for you.

There’s a couple of minutes between that text and the final one.

- >I think you fell asleep. Talk in the AM.

And… that’s it. Nothing else.

That told you nothing, other than the fact that Aizawa Shouta is just like any other man: a horny freak. A sexy, amazing texter of a freak, but still a freak regardless! When you move, you can feel the wetness between your legs spread against your pussy lips.

You turn over and try to focus on the medical drama that’s onscreen. Ugh. Ugh! You're over this man and his fucking bipolar attitude and his work bullshit and his, his, his….

The click on the wall ticks away.

His kind of alluring demeanor.

You turn back to your phone. Maybe the video has an answer. Yeah.

The volume on your phone thrums with audio, low and deep, when you click the image. It takes you a second to realize it’s a groan- unabashed and loud- and you swear it resonates deep down into your own lungs.

This video is aimed a bit higher than the other and is shot from farther away, probably resting on a desk from the looks of it. It feels silly that you ever confused him with Touya. Shirt clutched between his teeth, Aizawa’s skin is a deeper color, completely untattooed, and his chest is filled out with weight. A broad, thick hand is white knuckle tight around his cock, glazed and dripping with wetness. It’s thick, oh god, it’s thick, and he’s holding it so tightly that it must hurt. Your jaw aches at the sight of it. Everything about him is wide//, from his cock to his thighs to his slightly soft middle.

A bead of precum rolls from his tip as he slowly drags his hand up and back down. His entire body jumps and twitches with the sensation, a red blush tickling down his chest and another moan on his lips, muffled by the fabric of his black shirt. He makes the same sound again, this one softer, almost affectionate--

And you realize something that feels like a punch to the gut.

He’s saying your name.

Heat flushes your body. Oh, you can barely breathe out of fear you’ll miss something. With a high, tight sound, Aizawa’s body goes stiff, but his cock kicks as he comes undone. Spend splatters down his chest and onto his black shirt, pearl string after pearl string. Just like everything about him, it’s too much.

And then the video ends.

You digest this for a long moment. Then, you watch it again. And a third time.

There's a tremor in your hands as you put your phone down. Okay, that didn't give you any information, but it- well-

Fuck, it was hot. Really fucking hot. Unfortunately, terribly, awfully, horrendously hot. You want to scream and kick and rub your clit just a little, because all you need is a little friction and you'll cum for him again--

No. You can't give that victory to him, not again. Even if Aizawa will never know about it, the universe will.

You grip the remote and turn up the television's audio, trying to shift your focus on to the interpersonal drama on the screen. You’re stronger than this. The little thing between your legs does not dictate your behavior!

You don’t jack off that night.

Or the following night.

Or the following.

No, you resist. You punish yourself for even entertaining the idea of cumming to the idea of him again.

Monday morning you are unsurprisingly cranky when you settle into your desk. Kicking off your shoes and booting up your computer, you stretch in your chair and try to pop the kink in your shoulder. Thirty must be catching up with you, because you didn’t sleep well all weekend. Every muscle in your back is bunched, but the little bits of movements seems to be helping-

“Jesus fucking christ, I'm sweating through my fucking shirt.”

Bakugo's accent slips out as he gripes, pulling his shirt collar away from his neck as he walks. It’s easy to forget that he and Izuku grew up in the same hometown, but when he’s genuinely pissed, that homecooked Southern twang comes out. You look up to see what's gotten him so aggravated before nine. Sweat dampens his hair and glitters his skin. Oh, and he's right, that white shirt is absolutely clinging to his middle, into that tight, tiny, toned, slutty little waist of his--

Oh, god. You slam your foot into the edge on your desk in hopes the pain douses whatever horny monster had overtaken you. Is this just life now? Practically drooling over every man with a pulse? Bakugo Katsuki is gay and very much not your type-

“You okay?” Izuku gives an awkward laugh. He and Denki are apparently right behind Bakugo, equally worn. Well, almost equally. Denki doesn't seem to be sweaty at all, despite his puffing. “You're like, making this weird face.”

Shit. Quick-- lie. “Cramps.”

“Damn, hate that,” Kaminari grips his stomach in sympathy. The other guys share an uncomfortable glance.

“So-” You change the topic. “Why are you guys..?”

“The elevator is shot.” Bakugo hooks a thumb behind him towards the stairs. “Had to carry this fuck ass bed up to the fifth floor for that meeting today.”

The investor meeting: even though Toshinori Yagi is wealthy, the newest bed prototype still needed outside funding. These fine millionaires require occasional proof that their money is being used well, so once a quarter they get jammed into the nicest room in the building and get a rather boring lecture from the important department heads. You usually sit in and try not to nod off when Enji starts in with the accounting information.

“The entire elevator?” You lean back in your chair and try to see. Sure enough, some technician is fumbling away at the buttons. “No one tell the ADA.”

“Actually, the ADA is a law, not a governing body,” Izuku chirps. “It's enforced by the DOJ, EEOC, and, oddly enough, the DOT-”

“How do you know this shit?” Denki says.

“Healthy curiosity,” Izuku tries to say.

“‘cause he's a fucking genius.” Bakugo says at the same time, louder and more confident. “Using that big head of his all the time.”

Izuku touches his temples with a concerned frown. “You think my head is big?”

“Massive.” Bakugo elbows his lover, all saccharine smiles. “It works for me though.”

Kaminari snorts and the other blonde throws him an icy glare.

“What? You gonna make a joke about massive head?”

Kaminari throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes, surprisingly annoyed at the jab. “I was going to joke about his head working for you, but whatever! Ruin my fun.”

“As much as I love head jokes-” you interject. “I do need to get work done.”

Kaminari turns to you with the sweetest of smiles, so syrupy that everyone else recoils a bit with suspicion. “Like what?”

“Getting everyone’s powerpoints together, printing out our reports, putting those reports into actual human words and not engineering garbage, greeting our guests-- blah, blah, blah.” Just talking about it makes your head ache. “Plus the other daily reports and---- Kaminari, no.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“You were going to ask me to do your work again!” you say.

“Come on, please?” He puffs his bottom lip out like a kicked dog. “I have to leave early this week and -”

“Denki, you’re so fucking stupid.” Bakugo groans. He starts to leave and the other two follow behind. “I'm too tired for your shit today.”

“There’s a gay joke hidden in there.”

“I'm going to report you to fucking HR.”

“See you at lunch?” Izuku asks from over his shoulder. You shake your head-- you’ll probably just sneak one of the forgotten italian ice cups from the freezer when no one’s working. There’s so much to do and not quite enough time.

--

You’re solving that little frozen treat into your mouth when Aizawa makes his appearance. It’s strange to see him so late in the day; pure embarrassment must be keeping him away. His usual sunny yellow sweatshirt means you can’t even pretend not to see him when he rounds the corner.

Aizawa is as he always is; a bit scruffy and properly annoyed. His expression is neutral, if not a bit sour, but the crinkle in his brow is tighter than ever. The bunch to his shoulders only gets higher when he spots you.

This is really the guy that's been tearing you apart? Really? Why couldn't you have fallen for Hizashi or Enji or-- anyone else that isn't wearing a neon hoodie in the office.

“You should really take a proper lunch.” Those deep bags under his eyes are darker than usual, almost purple; he must be drained, but he’s been avoiding the coffee machine. A twang of sympathy hits you-- lack of caffeine might actually kill the guy.

When he walks towards you, you're reminded of how pretty he is, even without proper sleep. High cheekbones, smooth olive tone skin-

Your fighting spirit almost fades, but the post it note taped to your monitor catches your eye. Be mean. Yes, that's right.

“Well, uh. What do you want?” Your tone is a bit snappy.

His eyebrows twitch up in momentary surprise, but Aizawa recovers quickly.

“The elevator won’t be fixed until tomorrow.” He raps his knuckles against the wood once. “Move the investor’s meeting from the top floor.”

“Say please.”

Aizawa is half turned and midstride when he realizes what you said. He looks back at you, brow knit.

“Excuse me?”

“I said.” You hit the spacebar with a bit too much force. “Say please.”

“I-” You expect him to fight or argue, but he just sighs, hands on his hips in defeat. “You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't demand things. Can you please move the investor’s meeting from the top floor down to the ground floor? Thank you.”

That was more sincere than you expected. Your stiff upper lip almost wobbles. Almost.

“No.”

He gives you the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen. “What do you mean, no?”

“I said no.” You push back from the desk and let your wheeled chair roll away. “There’s no reason to move it. The room upstairs is already set up for the meeting-- full demo bed included. I’m not moving everything.”

A muscle tightens in his jaw. Seems like that good attitude is on a short fuse. “There's a second demo. I'll have the boys wheel it into the meeting room on this floor-”

“It’s a less finished model though, right?”

“That's…” Aizawa huffs. You know you’re right and so does he. “Yes. Sure. A less complete model, but it’s still leagues ahead of what they saw last time- ”

“We shouldn’t use it.” You have no right bossing him around, but you try to embody Bakugo and his cunt-like behavior. “They are going to see the best we have to offer. Besides, the fifth floor meeting room is bigger and nicer-- and it's already set up.”

“I-” He leans forward, arms crossed on to your desk. It’s not threatening, but rather humble, as he meets your eye. The silver healed skin of his scar catches the light differently than the rest of his face. “It’s four full flights of stairs.”

“And you can walk.”

A beat passes. Then another. Aizawa stares at you, dark eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“I have never, ever thought of you as a cruel person.” He doesn’t blink the entire time he speaks, deep, endless black eyes boring into yours. “But time and time again, you show me that side of you. “Well-” You don’t blink either. “I’ve always thought you were awful.

“Fuck you,” he grits out, quiet but with an edge. His lips are curled so high you can see his gum line.

You should let it die here. Let him walk away. Escape with your dignity.

But your teeth and tongue are sharp, and the look on his face is only sharpening their edges, so follow the instinct and go in for the kill. As you stand, you lean on to your hands and push yourself face to face to Aizawa. Unabashed, unafraid, unblinking.

“You wish you could.”

His face collapses. Then, it hardens again, even tighter and more disgusted than usual. The flat ridge of his nose is crinkled with a snarl, eyes narrowed so thin they're practically closed. When he pushes away to stand, Aizawa jams his hands into his sweatshirt and flexes his jaw, up and down like he's chewing on every insult and curse he wants to throw your way. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again with a deep exhale.

“Fine.” He says through closed teeth. “Fifth fucking floor.’

And with that, he turns and marches off back down the hall.

By the time you breathe again, you realize your hands are quaking. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins, rushing your heart faster and faster. This must be how a marathon runner feels when they cross the finish line-- because this is victory.

Sorry, Yagi. War has been waged.

You did say no promises.

[lortsyall]

Echoes of Eywa's Child.

chapter 1.

(Neteyam x Human!Reader series)

Pending....Pending....

Date: December 21st,2174.

Location: Office,Unit 4,Avatar Department,Human Outpost Biolab,Hallelujah Mountains,Pandora.

Time: 10:15 AM.

A long time has passed since I've known about this once alien planet. 4.4 light years away,a world full of life,like a lost paradise,sat idly in silence,away from the death and destruction that has scattered over Earth like a goddamn plague.

The ones before us saw the danger of it all,and yet they turned a blind eye,all because the climate change and the fractures in the atmosphere caused by the heightened levels of carbon dioxide wouldn’t affect them in the long run. They’d be dead anyway by the time it got too serious. So much for doing the right thing.

I wasn’t even born when they discovered Pandora,though until I actually got a grasp of reality and gained consciousness like everybody does at 5 years old,I’ve actually wondered if the so-called “Goldilocks Zone” existed somewhere else. If God smiled upon the universe and gave another planet the privilege of life.

Trust me,I have no idea how I even got here. So much time has passed since I’ve breathed in the polluted air of Earth,but I guess it’s for the benefit of all.

Guess we'll do it like they always do,huh?Start from the beginning of it all.

Pending...Pending...

Date: January 26th,2170

Location: Home,New York,USA, Earth.

Time: 12:43 PM.

Nobody ever thought that a girl like me would end up as the head leader of the Avatar Department,or an important person in the Resistance. And I gotta say,I never quite imagined myself becoming this. I dreamt of stages full of fans,as my fingers gave birth to heart-shattering riffs. Of poetry books released under my very own name,painting the pages with complicated feelings and sensations,all of a broken and imperfect human heart. Of having my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,making my country proud as a well known actress overseas. Though all those dreams were scattered away,like a feather in the wind,the moment I decided to do what any other scared yet artistically talented person who wants to make her parents proud does.

I got into STEM. Mechanical and Biological Engineering.

And between the sleepless nights of studying,drowning myself in math equations and lab reports,I got a one-way ticket to Pandora in my first year of college,from the one and only Parker Selfridge. Head administrator of the RDA’s operation in Pandora. I can still feel the anxiety lingering on my tongue. They never came with internships for first years,so what was he here for?

He came in to give out 5 internships at my college,yet he left with a new potential piece for this chess game. Me. All thanks to a question he asked that I knew the answer of. And to think I almost didn't say the answer because I thought everyone knew it,but as it turns out,only I did. I sat in the hallway with my friends,staring dumbfoundedly at the bussiness card he gave me.

Only back then,the RDA were treated as heroes,important people who made way for a better life. For an undead Earth. The propaganda was all enough to trick a little mind like mine,though it’s funny how I always thought I was a step ahead of everyone. Life on Earth as I remember it was,to say the least…grey.

The cities were gray. The people were gray. The sky was…well,grey. And between spending the rest of my life here,with my dreams crumbling before my very own eyes,and going out there to actually fight for a new home for humanity,you can guess why I chose the latter.

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening for me here anyway. Gorgeous girl,great personality,they all said,but nobody ever settled. Nobody ever stopped in their tracks to take in the pure and total beauty of the chaos that is me,so I never had a serious partner before. And…I guess I was also excited to see if the stories are true.

How an actual human betrayed his own race for a…Na’vi tribe princess?At least that’s how they put it,and I don’t even want to mention how embarrassing it was for the RDA to come back to Earth with their tails between their legs back in 2154. No unobtanium. No money. No Avatars. No nothing. I was three when that happened,and I remember playing with my cousins with our cardboard toys as our parents watched the TV in confusion and…disappointment,so you can guess why they made Jake Sully seem like an actual demon,and the death of a colonel was a pretty big deal,after all.

Thing is,the RDA only shows you the pearl in their hands,and not the mouth getting ready to swallow you whole. And now I know why they were so understaffed. That total failure after 2154 made people lose trust in the RDA over the years. But to me?

The decision came easily. I needed something new.

What didn’t,though,was the pure work I’d have to do in just 6 months. Learning the language of the natives,the Na’vi. Getting to understand the differences between our anatomy and theirs. The fauna and flora. The tribes. The ecosystems. And…of course,Eywa herself,though I learned that from Dr. Grace Augustine’s botany books,not from the RDA’s training program. I honestly don’t know what Selfridge saw in me,when I know I have friends better in college than me,but I better not question it too much.

I tried telling myself that as soon as I got in cryo,it wouldn’t be a goodbye,rather a…see you later. Looking back at it now,I think it was just wishful thinking. For now,I was me,the girl nobody ever really took seriously. Just another face in a sea of others. Next time I wake up,I’d have to work in an entire department with people twice my age.

Pending...Pending...

Date: July 31st,2174

Location: Pandora????

Time: ?????

The cryo-sleep thaw was a nightmare and a miracle all at once. My lungs burned as they dragged in air for the first time in four years, my throat raw and dry, every breath tasting metallic. My joints ached as if I’d aged a century.

“Subject revived.” the sterile voice of the AI announced, flat and emotionless. I tried sitting up, only to slump back down against the cryo pod’s restraints. My body wasn’t mine yet—not entirely.

“You’ll feel like shit for a while,” said a woman in a crisp lab coat, her voice muffled as she checked my vitals. “Side effects of long-term cryo. It’ll pass. Welcome to the ISV Valkyrie, and congrats on making it to Pandora.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Pandora.

The next few hours were a blur of debriefings and medical checkups. My body eventually began to cooperate, but my mind lagged behind. I shuffled through endless corridors with other groggy personnel, each of us too stunned to speak. We were like ghosts wandering through a ship that pulsed with life—technicians barking orders, holograms buzzing with real-time scans of the moon’s surface, the low hum of engines preparing for atmospheric descent.

When the ship finally broke through Pandora’s atmosphere, I felt it in my chest. The vibrations reverberated through every bolt, every panel, and through me. The world outside the viewport was alive. The dense, green forests sprawled endlessly beneath the floating Hallelujah Mountains, their bases wreathed in ethereal clouds. The sky shifted from pink to blue in the blink of an eye, its colors alien yet breathtakingly familiar.

For a moment, the hum of engines and the chatter of voices faded away. It was just me and the sight of this strange, beautiful moon—a place that could have been paradise if we weren’t here to ruin it.

The ship landed with a jarring shudder, and the real work began.

Adjusting to life on Pandora was like learning to breathe all over again. Everything about this place demanded respect—the gravity was lighter, the air richer, and the biology... unfathomable. Days blurred into weeks as I threw myself into the work at the Avatar Department.

My mornings began with syncing sessions in the link pods, my mind slipping into my Avatar body like stepping into a cold pool. It wasn’t seamless—at first, every movement felt foreign. I stumbled through training exercises, my longer legs and stronger muscles betraying me at every turn. But slowly, the body became mine.

Afternoons were spent reading over files on Na’vi biology, studying their neural networks and learning their language. The words felt clumsy on my tongue, but I persisted. When I wasn’t in the lab or out on field assignments to observe Pandora’s ecosystems, I was immersed in RDA briefings.

That’s where I first heard his name again.

Jake Sully.

The briefings spoke of him like a ghost, a legend who had long since passed into myth. But here, his name was a warning.

“Resistance forces led by Sully attacked the rail line near Sector 7 again,” one of the military officers growled during lunch at the canteen. “Three shipments of amp suits lost. That bastard and his little insurgents are crippling our operations.”

The room buzzed with tension as reports of attacks piled up. Sabotaged trains, stolen supplies, and destroyed equipment—it was chaos. To the RDA, Sully wasn’t just a traitor. He was the personification of everything standing in the way of their plans.

But the more I learned, the more conflicted I felt. The propaganda painted him as a terrorist, a man who had betrayed his own kind for a primitive cause. But every whisper I caught from the scientists who had been here longer told a different story.

“Maybe Sully isn’t the villain they make him out to be,” I muttered to Dr. Ellison one evening as we worked late in the lab.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable as he pointed towards a CCTV with his head,as if to say "Shut up. They're listening."

"That’s dangerous talk,you know. Keep your head down. Do your work. They don't like questions.”

I nodded, but the seed of doubt had already taken root.

The attacks continued, each one more brazen than the last. The RDA ramped up their operations in response, sending more troops and machinery into the wilds of Pandora. But for every move they made, the Resistance seemed to be one step ahead.

And then there was the tension between the people I worked with. Some were diehard loyalists, determined to see the mission succeed no matter the cost. Others—mostly the scientists—spoke in hushed tones about the beauty of the Na’vi culture, the interconnectedness of the flora and fauna, and the destruction we were bringing to this world.

I kept my head down, just as Ellison had warned. But at night, as I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: which side of history would I be on?

Pandora had a way of getting under your skin. The longer I stayed, the more I realized it wasn’t just a place. It was a mirror, reflecting humanity’s best and worst instincts back at us. And somewhere in the middle of it all was me—a girl who had come here for a fresh start, only to find herself caught in a war she didn’t fully understand.

The attacks became more than background noise; they became a constant undercurrent to life on Pandora. At first, they were just distant explosions, reports in the briefing room, or muttered curses from the military personnel in the mess hall. But over time, the Resistance started to feel like a presence, a shadow that loomed over everything the RDA tried to accomplish.

Jake Sully wasn’t just a name anymore—he was a force of nature.

The first time I felt the Resistance's impact directly was during a supply run. It was supposed to be routine—a quick trip to outpost Beta-5 to deliver Avatar-linked monitoring equipment. I was tagging along as part of my training, mostly to observe.

But the Resistance didn’t care about schedules or safety zones.

The attack was fast and chaotic. One moment, the AMP suits ahead of us were trudging through the dense forest, their movements mechanical and predictable. The next, arrows rained down from the trees, followed by explosions that sent the towering machines toppling like broken toys.

The ambush hit like a storm—sudden, violent, and unstoppable.

One moment, I was riding in the back of the supply truck, surrounded by crates of equipment and two guards sharing a nervous laugh. The next, the forest erupted in chaos.

The first explosion flipped the lead AMP suit, its towering frame crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. The convoy came to an abrupt halt as arrows rained down from the trees, their sharp points glinting like falling stars.

“Get down!” someone yelled.

I hit the truck bed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. My mask rattled against the metal floor as I scrambled for cover behind a crate. The world around me dissolved into a cacophony of gunfire, shouting, and the eerie war cries of the Na’vi.

The guards fired blindly into the trees, their exo-packs hissing as they struggled to maintain their aim under the pressure. I peeked over the edge of the crate just in time to see one of the AMP suits stagger, an arrow embedded in its cockpit.

Panic set in. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. I wasn’t a soldier. I wasn’t trained for this. My human body was fragile here—one wrong move, and I’d be dead.

I clutched the sidearm they’d insisted I carry, though my hands were shaking too much to use it. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t supposed to be my fight.

A shadow passed overhead. My breath hitched as I looked up to see a Na’vi warrior leaping from a tree, his bow drawn, his movements impossibly fluid. He landed on the roof of the truck with barely a sound, his golden eyes scanning the scene below.

And then, those eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, the chaos of the ambush melted away, leaving only silence between us.

He stood above me, perched on the edge of the truck’s roof, silhouetted against the glowing forest. His figure was tall and commanding, every line of his body taut with a warrior’s grace. The flickering bioluminescence of the nearby trees played off his skin, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his lean, muscular frame.

His face was angular and strong, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline unmistakably Na’vi, yet there was something softer in his expression. His golden eyes, large and luminous, fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical force. They weren’t filled with rage or cruelty but something far more unnerving—calculated curiosity, as though he were trying to read my soul in that single moment.

The streaks of blue war paint decorating his face didn’t fully mask the smooth, rich azure of his skin, which gleamed faintly under the pale light of Pandora’s twin moons. His braids, adorned with small beads and feathers, swayed gently with each subtle movement, a testament to the culture he carried with him like armor.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that struck me—it was his presence.

He radiated confidence, a quiet power that demanded attention without arrogance. It was the kind of aura that made the world around him seem smaller, less significant. The chaos raging around us felt like a distant hum compared to the weight of his gaze.

And yet, beneath that commanding presence, there was something deeper—an unmistakable grief, perhaps, or a burden that someone so young should never have to carry. It was in the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth, and the way his hands gripped the bow with both precision and purpose.

“Drop it,” he said, his voice deep and steady, but with a softness that caught me off guard.

The words hit me like a command, though they weren’t barked or shouted. It was the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed—not out of fear, but respect.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. The sidearm in my trembling hands felt heavier than it should, as if the very act of holding it was a betrayal. His gaze flicked to the weapon, then back to me, and I realized with a jolt that he wasn’t looking at me like an enemy. He was looking at me like a question.

“You are… different,” he said, tilting his head slightly, the movement as fluid and deliberate as everything else about him. His accent curled around the words, each syllable infused with the lyrical cadence of his native tongue.

I wanted to speak, to ask him what he meant, but my throat felt dry, my voice lost in the weight of the moment.

He crouched slightly, lowering himself onto one knee so we were nearly at eye level. Even then, his presence dwarfed mine. Up close, the details became sharper—the faint patterns of his skin, the slight twitch of his ears as they picked up the sounds of the battle behind him, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“You do not fight,” he observed, the faintest hint of curiosity threading through his words. His eyes lingered on mine, their golden glow unwavering. “And you… fear.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact, delivered with neither judgment nor malice.

His hand shifted slightly, and I flinched, but he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he pointed at the weapon still lying on the ground between us.

The Na’vi reacted instantly. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet with startling gentleness.

“You do not belong here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Run.”

“What—”

“Go!”

He released me and darted back into the fray, moving with the grace of a predator and the determination of someone who had everything to lose.

I didn’t run. Not immediately. Instead, I crouched behind the truck, my legs trembling as I watched the battle unfold.

He moved like the forest itself, blending into the chaos with a skill that seemed almost supernatural. He wasn’t just fighting—he was leading. The other Na’vi warriors followed his signals, their coordinated strikes overwhelming the RDA forces.

For every bullet fired, they had an arrow. For every shout of anger, they answered with a battle cry that sent chills down my spine.

And yet, amidst the violence, there was something strangely... noble about them. They didn’t kill indiscriminately. They targeted the machines, the vehicles, the weapons. It was as if they were trying to make a point rather than simply annihilate us.

When the ambush finally ended, the Resistance had melted back into the forest, leaving behind a convoy in ruins. Smoke rose from the wreckage, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuel.

I stumbled out from behind the truck, my legs barely holding me up. Around me, the survivors were regrouping, their faces pale and shell-shocked.

“Medic!” someone called, dragging a wounded soldier from the wreckage.

But I couldn’t move. My mind was stuck on him—the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d spared me when he could have easily ended my life.

“You do not belong here,” he’d said.

The words echoed in my head as I stared at the destruction around me. For the first time, I began to wonder if he was right.

[imaginesbymonika]

“Shame” Part 7

A Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader fan fiction

Plot: For the last four years, Y/N and Pedro have been dating in secret. The fear of rejection has turned them into a mystery that could only be encountered in yearning looks on red carpets or hands that are touching one another briefly. However, for the longest time, things have been working out that way just fine. But now Pedro's agency wants him to have a PR relationship with another woman and neither Y/N nor Pedro is sure if their love is going to survive that.

Warnings: swearing, mgg is here to STAY (this is for you kim, love ya)

A/N: you guuuyss!! hello!!! i was gone for such a long time (?) i was just really busy with university and just life, but yeah, im back for now, i guess <3

"To be honest, I didn't expect you to show up.", the tall man states as his eyes light up at the sight of the young woman. Y/N just chuckles at the sincerity in his voice. She watches how he takes a step to the side, offering her to walk through the door into his home. There is a certain tension, lingering in the chilly evening air. Who would have thought, that they were living in the same city… She mouths a brief 'thank you' before doing so and waits for him to close the door. However, before he does his brown eyes scan the street in front of the building. Curious if any paparazzi have seen her. But once he realizes that no one has noticed his guest his posture visibly softens.

„Well, I didn’t expect you to reach out to me, Gubler.“ At the mention of his last name, he giggles (actually giggles) and wipes the corner of his mouth with his left thumb. His gaze falls on the floor for a second, before he meets Y/N's again. She can clearly see that he wants to say something in return but doesn't. Instead, he makes a hand gesture, telling her to step further into the house.

„Oh my god… This is actually so stunning.“, the y/h/ced woman whispers as she wanders down the corridor into his living area. She can sense Matthew’s eyes on her form but acts like she has no idea. "Thanks.", is all she receives back.

A silence falls upon the two again and when she sits down on his long couch, she feels its softness:" You know, I always wanted a couch like this myself." "Why didn't you buy one?"

"Are you sure this is the one?", Pedro scratched his chin, his finger moved up his face and stayed underneath his nose. He taps his skin a few times and sighs:" Don't you think that leather would be a better choice?" There was something in his look that told Y/N that the decision was already made.

"I don't know." He lets out a soft chuckle:" Well, I tend to spend a lot of time in here. So I figured, that the least I can do is make this space as cozy as humanly possible." Y/N feels how she sinks further into the colorful and fuzzy furniture:" Oh Really? Because whenever I see videos of you meeting fans, you appear to be outside quite a lot!" At that, Matthew laughs out loud:" You've seen videos of me online?"

"I may have looked you up."

The actor crosses his arms in front of his chest, and Y/N watches how his muscles flex. She swallows and her hands stroke the material of the couch. "You looked me up?"

"You're asking me a lot of questions." His chuckle is as soft as honey. Y/N already wants to hear it again." You're right, sorry." "But yeah, I did."

Hot tears were dwelling up in her eyes and she felt how her hands were violently shaking:" God! Everyone thinks that you are so sweet! That you're this perfect nice guy! Hollywood's goddamn fucking sweetheart! I wish people could know the disgusting and ugly and horrendous truth about you and your stupid and mean lies! And- and- and the way you're only acting! You're not like that at all! You have them all fooled!"

Pedro stared at her. Her hand flew up to wipe her eyes:" You're so mean!" "You don't mean that.", Pedro whispered and swallowed thickly. "You're so mean."

[cityofmeliora]

Ghost and Southern California

i'm from California, so a lot of the locations in the Ghost lore are familiar to me! i wanna use this post to show / explain Ghost being set in the Los Angeles area.

though it hadn't been explicitly stated yet then, there are actually hints that Ghost is based in Southern California as early as Chapter 4: The Accident. when Sister Imperator is driving, you can see palm trees on the hills along the road. of course, lots of places have palm trees, but the specific combination of palm trees with the rocky cliffs and sparse vegetation feels distinctly Californian to me.

the Dance Macabre music video shows Nihil met Sister Imperator at a mansion in LA (as explained by the intro). don't know the exact location, but if i had to guess, i'd place it maybe somewhere in Beverly Hills, which has a lot of mansions like this.

the Kiss The Go-Goat music video again confirms that they're in Los Angeles. it features the Whisky a Go Go, a real music venue in West Hollywood. the Mary On A Cross animated music video accurately places it on a corner along the Sunset Strip.

the Mary On A Cross lyric video shows Sister Imperator walking through the Ministry building before leaving to see the show at the Whisky a Go Go. this is another indicator the Ministry building is in the LA area since it's within driving distance of the venue. scenes in the Ministry building are filmed at a real mausoleum northeast of LA, but i'm not going to name the location because the Ministry is supposed to be a fictional building. interestingly, the lyric video also gives us the exact time of the concert.

after the events of Kiss The Go-Goat, the Mary On A Cross animated music video starts with Sister Imperator driving to her house, which is in the Hollywood Hills neighborhood near the Hollywood Sign. you can see from the road that they're in the hills looking over the city.

then Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil run from their house to the Hollywood Sign. there are hiking trails that go from the surrounding neighborhoods up to the Hollywood Sign. you can go behind it just like they do in the video.

Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil cross a body of water that is most likely the Hollywood Reservoir, although the video places the Hollywood Sign west of the lake instead of east, as in real life.

Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil make out in a cemetery (which i did not attempt to locate) and then end up at a motel. this is not a real motel, though. it's the Bates Motel movie set at Universal Studios Hollywood. i laughed so hard because recognized it instantly in Rite Here Rite now. (i've been on the same tour that the Nameless Ghouls were on.) Universal Studios Hollywood is both a theme park and an actual film studio. there are people filming when Nihil calls Mr. Psaltarian to come pick him up in the The Future Is A Foreign Land music video.

so to summarize some of the locations in those videos: the Whisky a Go Go, Hollywood Sign, and Universal Studios are highlighted in yellow. the red outline on the map shows the boundary of the Hollywood Hills neighborhood. the Hollywood Reservoir is the body of water in the middle of it.

The Future Is A Foreign Land music video and Chapter 13: The Beach Life feature Mr. Psaltarian's beach house, which is on the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu. though there are beach houses all along the SoCal coast, Malibu is closest to LA, and is pretty much the only place where houses are that close to the water without some kind of barrier. it's a real house and i've driven past it. i know the exact location but i'm not sharing it, for obvious reasons.

here is Malibu on a map relative to Los Angeles:

as a side note, it appears Cardi now drives Mr. Psaltarian's old car, a 1968 Buick LeSabre convertible. it has California license plates, of course, but the plates must have been replaced at some point, since that California license plate design wasn't in use until 1988.

lastly, Rite Here Rite Now is set at The Forum (now called KIA Forum), which is in Inglewood near the LAX airport. Inglewood is technically its own city, but it's completely surrounded by LA.

when Rite Here Rite Now released, TF said in an interview that it's "common knowledge" that Ghost is based in LA. i found it a bit funny because i've read very few Ghost fanfics that are actually set in LA, so i don't know how 'common' that knowledge really is, LOL. but i hope this post helps!

WHAT WAS BEHIND THE DECISION TO SHOOT THE FILM AT THE FORUM IN L.A.? TOBIAS FORGE: [...] There’s this common knowledge that the HQ of the band seems to be in L.A. So the Forum is not only a classic venue, but it’s sort of their home turf. Had we placed the story someplace else, we would’ve had to justify: Why are they there? Why is this show special? Revolver (June 2024)

[kaigarax]

Threads of Affection Masterlist

A series of films featuring Hollywood's leading lady, you, and all your handsome co-stars. Rumors run rampant, especially when your chemistry on screen is undeniable. Nothing is confirmed but at least everyone gets to watch some (cheesy) cute movies. Enjoy you, (Y/n) (L/n), in these 10 different chick flicks featuring classic romance writing tropes in classic romantic writing settings~

The Summer I Met You (coming January 23, 2024) First Love x Flower Shop AU Komori Motoya finds his summer plans ruined when his parents drag him over to his grandparents' home for the summer where absolutely nothing happens and practically no one lives. This summer feels like just any other for (L/n) (Y/n). Helping around the garden; taking care of her younger siblings; and getting ready for the next school year ahead. When fate brings the two of them together one can't help but wonder if something more could blossom.

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content

Rewriting Our Story (coming soon) Second Chance x Wedding AU After building a successful life in the city for herself, (Y/n) (L/n) makes her way back home to celebrate the wedding of her best friend where she runs into the boy that broke her heart. Porco Galliard didn't want to leave but what other choice did he have but to join the military when his family was in desperate need of some extra income? Can the two of them overcome their differences or risk ruining the happy wedding?

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

It Was Always You (coming soon) Friends-to-Lovers x School (Rooftop) AU People had always told Sabito that life moves faster the older you get. He just didn't realize how much faster until it's the final week before you go off to university and he has yet to confess his feelings. (Y/n) has spent the entirety if her high school life preparing for univeristy. Everything has gone perfectly. The only thing left now is to figure out why her best friend, Sabito, keeps on avoiding her. Can Sabito muster up the courage to confess his love or will it forever remain unrequited?

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

The Distance Between Us (coming soon) Aloof Couple x Bar AU Everyone has always known that Sero Hanta and (L/n) (Y/n) were madly in love with one another... expect for the two of them. Their friends embark on a seemingly impossible task as they attempt to get the unknowing couple to finally admit their feelings for one another. It's only a matter of time before they finally get the hint, right?

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

Fake It 'Til You Feel It (coming soon) Fake Dating x Traveling AU Asagiri Gen, playboy extraordinaire, finds himself in need of a fake girlfriend after accidently getting into a scandal. So he finds himself enlisting the help of you, (L/n) (Y/n). (Y/n) wasn't exactly sure what to think of when she was approached by Gen but the idea of a free trip around the world was enough to get her to agree. Besides, what's the worst that could go wrong? No kissing; no intimacy; and most certainly no feelings involved. Which isn't a problem until Gen finds himself wanting to break all of those stupid rules that he himself made up.

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

Make Me Fall For You (coming soon) Betting x Coffee Shop AU Everyone on campus knows that Geto Suguru could have whoever he wants. It's so well known that his friends decide to make a bet to see how long it takes for him to woo the girl that walks through those doors next. (L/n) (Y/n), a quiet and respectful student, unknowingly makes a decision that will change her life forever when she chooses to take a detour for a cup of coffee and ends up walking through those doors next. Everything seems to be going according to plan for Geto expect that maybe he's actually catching feelings for you too.

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

When Worlds Collide (coming soon) Different Worlds x School (Beneath the Tree) AU Denji has never been the best student at school. Heck, he's never even really been the best at anything. But when the threat of expulsion starts to float over his head he's willing to try anything to stay in classes. Which is how he ends up meeting (Y/n) (L/n). Denji's new tutor and the school's star student. The two of them are polar opposites that can't seem to agree on anything. Luckily, (Y/n) agrees to stick it out as long as Denji willingly helps her with that dreaded extra credit assignment.

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

Our Defining Moments (coming soon) Forbidden Love x Office AU Kaku spent the enterity of his life knowing that it belonged to someone else. That everything he did was for the betterment of his nation. So, he can't help but start to think that something has gone wrong with him when all of his thoughts find themselves centering around a single woman. Is his heart supposed to beat as erratically as this? Is it normal to stutter this much? (Y/n) (L/n) just wants to do her best. She loves her family and she loves her job. Plus, it helps that her new partner at work is easy on the eyes.

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

Beat You To Getting Better (coming soon) Rivals x Business AU (L/n) (Y/n) lived her entire life knowing that she would one day inherit her family's business and take over. This of course leads to her fostering a hatred against whoever happened to be on the other side. Gojo Satoru just so happens to be on the other side and can't stand (Y/n). Especially when she happens to be fighting for everything that he's trying to get away from. The two of them end up stuck together after a mix up for an extended period of time and find they might just have more in common then they initially thought.

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

Memories of You and I (coming soon) Childhood Friends x Going Back Home AU Julian Loki and (Y/n) (L/n) were inseparable as children. One never found without the other. Of course, like all good things, the friendship eventually comes to an end when Loki has to move away. Years later (Y/n) and Loki run into one another again but it seems like many things have changed. Can the two of them overcome their differences and rekindle their friendship or will the time apart prove to be too vast a distance to overcome?

Bonus Behind the Scenes Content (coming soon)

[lifeofloon]

So happy to have a Toothsome's Chocolate Emporium and Savory Feast Kitchen here I'm CA now! Drinks are so good, we didn't even get pics of em!

Food shown is Pub it up Burger, French onion soup, and chocolate gnocchi with peppers and chicken.

[fiapartridge]

quinn x oona | how they met pt. 1! 🚙🌃✨

author's note: this is like kinda how they met??? like when they first saw each other, but they haven't learned each other's names yet, you know???? anyways hope u enjoy their little universe! send in asks for this au!

Who has a party at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday in the middle of February? Stupid ass people, that’s who, and Oona was ready to blast a hole through the wall that connected her living room to the apartment beside it. Honest to God, the only thing that was stopping her from going full-on Hulk on that piece of thin fiber cement was, well, the landlord and her roommate, Grace Castellan (Gracie to everyone who knows her, and ‘that one talkative white girl’ to everyone who didn’t).

Oona met Gracie in her first year at NYU. They were in their Intro to Theatre Studies class when Gracie talked up the ear of anyone in a 10-mile radius of her, and the only person who didn’t mind and actually enjoyed Gracie’s endless tangent of how blackholes are somehow exactly like the Kardashians’ reality show, was Oona. They sat next to each other for the rest of the semester, and once they graduated college, they decided to move back to their home city of Vancouver, Canada where, coincidentally, they both were from, using this time to audition for roles and hopefully land themselves a part that will guarantee them a ticket to Hollywood, or at least a ticket back to New York (rent is hard to manage there when you’re living off of small commercial roles and hand modeling gigs).

As Oona sat on her living room couch, a snoring Gracie and her long pajama-covered (they have unicorns on them) legs were limp across Oona as she tried to push her tired limbs off and slip towards the door without making a peep. But, much to Oona’s sheer luck (she isn’t a very lucky girl), a peep was made and there Gracie was, sitting up in so much alarm you would think that an intruder just busted through the door and screamed at her to put her hands up.

“I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING! OONA HAS MONEY STORED IN HER UNDERWEAR DRAWER! PLEASE DON’T KILL US!” Gracie screamed, still half-asleep and disoriented.

Oona groaned, lightly slapping Gracie’s cheek. “No one’s here, you psycho. I’m just getting up to go somewhere.”

Gracie peeled her eyes open, brushing her messy hair with the tips of her pink-and-white-painted fingernails. “Where are you going at,” she took a moment to check the Apple watch on her wrist. “2:56 AM?”

Oona walked closer to the door, slipping on a pair of Uggs and tying her hair into a messy bun, pulling out strands to frame her face correctly. “Do you not hear that? They’re louder than your brother was at that time we went to the mall and he was screaming at you to buy him that ugly RC car.”

Gracie shivered. “I’ve gotten a lot of weird looks in my lifetime, but those 40 year old women in the toy aisle of Sears? I still get chills.”

“See? Now I’m going to go over there and make them wish they never even moved here.”

Gracie rolled her eyes. “No way. The last time you said something like that, you ended up being the one apologizing. You’re the biggest pushover I have ever met.”

Oona scoffed. “Am not! I just—”

“Want everyone to like you,” Gracie interrupted. She was right. Gracie was always right when it came to Oona, but Oona would never admit that. She was a people pleaser, but who was that hurting? If she said yes to everything and if she was nice to everyone, then no one was sad and no one got what they didn’t want. Well, except for Oona.

Sighing, she said, “I’m just gonna go talk to them. Maybe they’ll come to their senses.”

Gracie laughed, tilting her head back slightly. “Yeah, right. I saw them on the elevator last week; they’re hockey douchebags to the max.”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They’re having a party at almost 3 AM, if you combined every player on that team, they would probably make up one brain cell, and I can smell the beer from here, but yeah, sure they’re great people.”

“Fine, fine,” Oona huffed. “But I’m still gonna talk to them. Maybe they’ll change,” she smiled, a too optimistic smile for a dire-looking situation. Because who ever heard of a hockey player changing his ways? No one, that’s who.

Opening the door, Oona walked the small five steps over to the neighboring apartment. She knocked once, twice, three times, even. Nothing. The blaring music must’ve drowned out her pounding knocks. Just as she was about to go in for a fourth, the door opened and her body quickly went with it. 

“Woah there,” a voice echoed through her ears, holding her body up as his hands softly gripped her arms. She stumbled back, landing on her two feet and managing to stay vertical despite the embarrassment rushing through her cheeks and the small little voice in her brain telling her to get the hell out of there immediately. 

The man standing in front of her was tall, taller than anyone she knew, and he had short blonde hair and the clearest green eyes she had ever seen. He had an accent that she wasn’t too familiar with. German maybe? Or possibly Swedish? 

“Um, do you live here?” she asked, tapping her nails against the metal frame of the door. And looking beyond the tall Swedish man, she could tell that it wasn’t much of a party, but a hangout. More tall men were lingering in the living room, beers in hand and potato chips spilled on every counter. On the center island in the kitchen lay an abandoned plate of celery and carrots, most likely a tribute to their strict hockey diets that apparently no one was following.

He shook his head.

“Okay,” she talked slowly. “Um, do you know who lives here?”

“Yep.”

Breathing deeply, Oona tapped her fingers a bit harsher against the doorframe, still maintaining a gentle smile on her (now) slightly red face. “Can you bring them here? I need to talk to…whoever it is.”

Nodding, he turned around, cupping his mouth with his large hands and yelling, “Huggy!” before waving him over to where they stood at the entryway.

Huggy? Oona chuckled at the nickname. Who nicknames a ferocious hockey player Huggy?

But as the shorter boy moved through, somehow, still energetic bodies and met the two at the door, Oona felt something crawl around her stomach and make the fading red of her cheeks come back in harsher hues. His hair was a chestnut color and it looked soft and smooth, like you could run your hands through it a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough. He wore a gray hoodie and black jeans, his hands in his pockets as he smiled politely at the blushing girl.

“Can I help you?”

Her mouth ran dry as she licked her lips. She tucked the thin strands of black hair behind her ear and proceeded (or tried to proceed). “It’s 3 AM and I’m trying to sleep,” Oona said, hoping he would take the hint and quiet down a bit.

He scoffed, smirking with his cute lips and his cute hair and his cute gray hoodie that looks so soft you just want to wrap your cold body in it. And it probably smells good, too. It probably smells like his scent in the mornings, woodsy yet fresh like white linen sheets and candles that would make you think he has a woman living with him, but nope. That’s just him. But Oona’s just guessing. Not to make things weird or anything. She’s totally not dreaming about what her handsome neighbor’s hoodie smells like because that would be weird—haha. Totally weird.

He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over themselves, and while he wasn’t as tall as the man that initially opened the door, he made Oona feel just as small. His smile was infectious, but not in a big ‘bring it in, let’s hug way,’ but in a more sultry way. Like you can feel a rollercoaster rumbling in your stomach despite him not saying a single word. 

“Are you?” he asked.

She laughed at that because there was no way that he was serious. It didn’t even sound like a question, God it sounded like…like flirting? But that wasn’t even the bizarre thing, no the bizarre thing was that somehow made Oona 10 times angrier. Why was he flirting with her? Does he think that she’ll just fall into his trap and let it all slide? Does he think that she’s just a stupid girl that he can get to do anything he says? Because that’s not Oona Hashimoto. Not in the slightest. And if he wants to play that game, then fine. 

Let’s play that game.

She stepped closer, her hand landing on his bicep as he stuttered for a moment. Like he was on high alert all of a sudden. His eyes wandered down to her hand, and then he relaxed because she was falling right into the palm of his hand, so he thought. She raised her head, staring him right in his deep green eyes. She pouted a bit, changing her whole demeanor. Because they’re playing the same game here. It’s just a matter of who will crack first.

“Please?” she asked, gazing up at him with brown doe eyes. “I won’t say a word after tonight. Just do this one thing? Please?”

He sighed, straightening up and causing her hand to fall off his bicep. “As much as I’d love to do that,” he grinned. “I don’t want to.”

Her brows furrowed, her doe eyes turning into burning rage, and lips turning from a pout to a pissed off frown. “What do you mean you ‘don’t want to?’”

He shrugged. “Exactly that. Goodnight,” he smiled before placing his hand on the door and slowly shutting it before Oona held it open, scoffing.

“No, you don’t get to be an asshole and then just shut the door on me. All I’m asking is for you to just turn down the music!” 

“Yeah, well it sounds like the person being loud is you,” he pointed. Bending down to Oona’s level, he whispered, “You’re shouting.”

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah, you said it a couple of times. Can I go now or do you want to keep going?”

Oona crossed her arms, fury burning through her veins as she watched him smile as if he did nothing wrong. As if he was enjoying this. “Go to hell.”

“See ya there, neighbor.”

[hiwaaranit]

hey, it's me, the anon that left the ask about studying Native American history and cultural appropriation. Thanks for the book recommendations, I've added them all to my to-read list.

It's crazy how much people seem to dislike the topic of history I've chosen, but you genuinely helped so much. Definitely reassured me. I've also bought bury my heart at wounded knee which is a *bit* outdated but was the first book I bought on the topic so I always think of it fondly, and another called Blood and Land, and also one called a Century of Dishonour, which was written in the 1880s (very outdated in areas but also. definitely against the government policies). I'm also trying to expand my reading horizons from what happened in the 19th century USA.

(Btw, wasn't Killers of the Flower Moon turned into a film recently starring Leonardo di Caprio?? I wondered if you'd watched it. I would like to find some more modern films/tv shows with good indigenous rep - I watched Annie Get Your Gun a while back but frankly it was shit. I want to purge it from my mind).

I hope you have a lovely day, I just thought I'd say thanks for the recommendations and the reassurance </3

Yes I am very excited for the movie to come out, and there’s nothing wrong with outdated books besides biases told by the white people at the time, you gotta be picky and not take everything at face value. I read so many old books and university papers of recounts of native history and it’s kind of an art to describe them and the bs some of them say and the crab meat of truth you’re trying to find. Or like by proxy of growing up and hearing stories, and then using those accounts to figure out "oh that’s what they mean" or "Oh they mean this thing not that, they mixed it up." Cultural and language mistranslations are just so prevalent.

Then here’s some movie and video recommendations, I’ll just say with Wind River and Bury my heart again be kinda thoughtful about them. Bury my heart has like this Hollywood kinda atmosphere, more cinematic it’s a great movie but it’s also based on events and they kinda dramatized some. Gives me the same feeling of "woman who walks ahead." Still great movies and a great way to get a feel for thing that happened back then. I really love news of the world too especially what they show with the buffalo and little girl, but I really wish they hired a native actress, it’s true that adoption of any race of people happened a lot in tribes but the representation of native kids in Hollywood is nonexistent and I think these movies would be so much better portraying native head leads. With Wind River if Jeremy renner and Elizabeth Olsen where switched out with native leads the plot would be so much richer. Like a city native and Rez native story would be so good. Movies that greatly follow white leads or have white characters for the yt audience to attach to just limits the movie for me.

[shadowland]

Emmylou Harris interview by Cameron Crowe Rolling Stone, June 19, 1975

Fame Catches Up with Emmylou

Los Angeles – Guitar in hand, Gram Parsons sat in his road manager’s Laurel Canyon home and coached singer Emmylou Harris through the harmonies of the old Burritos classic, “Sin City.” Later, after she’d excused herself for a visit to the kitchen, Parsons grinned proudly. “There she is,” he said, “that’s my kick in the ass, keep an eye on her.”

That was in 1973. Now, two years later, Harris’s first major solo effort, Pieces of the Sky, has done well and her current club and concert tour (augmented by a band featuring Elvis’s guitarist James Burton and his keyboard player Glen D. Hardin) is drawing unanimous raves. But Emmylou Harris, it seems, is the last to catch up with Emmylou Harris. Still a bit dazed over Parsons’s untimely death in the fall of ’73, the 28-year-old singer is only now waking up to the reality of a successful solo career.

“I know what’s happening but it hasn’t really hit me yet,” she drawls softly, curled up on the sofa of a West Hollywood hotel room. Two nights earlier, she’d enthralled a capacity Palomino Club audience that included such luminaries as Bonnie Raitt, Maria Muldaur, Lowell George, Commander Cody, Joni Mitchell and Linda Ronstadt (for whose recent country hit, “I Can’t Help It” Harris provided the strong counter harmony). “I guess it’s just been a kind of long hard road. In a way I’ve been at this for almost ten years on almost all kinds of levels – from waiting tables to playing in New York clubs and not having anybody listen to me, to making a terrible first record for a bankrupt company to working with Gram.

“I suppose working with Gram was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me,” she continues. “There was just something very magical about the experience. It was so much fun to just get up there, sing with him, and not worry about carrying a show myself. Everyone paid all this attention to me and told me how good I was and all that. It was really like being some kind of fairytale princess. Somehow that affected me more than all this that’s happening now.” She lets her words settle for a moment, then decides on a quip. “Maybe I’m on time delay.”

Born in Alabama and raised in Virginia, Harris remembers a reputation of being a “real prig” in high school. “I was considered to be a kind of oddball. You know, always studying and making good grades. Singing began as a social thing. I realized when I started singing at parties people began noticing me. High schools are real hip now, everybody’s cool, but there was a counter-culture in Woodbridge, Virginia, in 1963. You were either a homecoming queen or  a real weirdo. Here I was a 16-year-old Wasp, wanting to quit school and become Woody Guthrie.”

Instead, Harris made it to the University of North Carolina on a drama scholarship. Using free time to play off-campus bars in a folk duo, she lasted a year and a half before applying to the more prestigious drama department at Boston University. “I was gonna work as a waitress in Virginia Beach for a while to get enough tuition money,” she recalls. “But there was an incredible little music scene going on down there. That’s when I got serious about singing.”

Harris never made it to Boston U. “I thought I was going to get married. My first big love below up in my face, so I just went to New York ’cause there was nothing else to do. I was greener than green. I got a room at the YWCA, started going to the Village, playing basket houses [pass-the-hat-clubs] and just . . . hangin’ out.”

In two years of scuffling around New York, Emmylou made some valuable friends like singers Jerry Jeff Walker and David Bromberg. “Besides turning me on to country music, they sort of looked out for me,” she says. “Even so, I must have had some protective kind of bubble around me. I used to walk home from gigs on dark streets at two in the morning with my guitar and never think anything of it. Looking back, I get scared to death.”

Harris’s first album (on the now defunct Jubilee records), recorded in New York just after her marriage, is one she’d like to forget. “I was trying to keep it a secret,” she laughs (ironically, since the 1970 release was titled Emmylou Harris). “I hope somebody in authority will be able to buy the masters and burn them. Everybody involved with that record hated everybody else and I was in the middle trying to keep the peace. It was a disaster.”

Several months after recording, “the worst possible thing any girl could ever do to her budding career” happened. Harris became pregnant with her child, Hallie. “Up until then,” she admits, “my life had been a little too nebulous, I had no clear vision at all. The pregnancy, although it wasn’t planned, gave me something very real and something present to relate to.”

Later, with her marriage broken and ten dollars in her pocket, the protectiveness of motherhood, soon drove Harris out of New York. “I didn’t know where I was gonna go, but I knew I had to get a job and make some money. By accident I got back into music through some friends, Billy and Kathy Danoff [writers of ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’]. They were still living in their basement apartment with all the cockroaches running around. They were the ones that put a guitar in my hands and ordered me onstage again.”

It was early ’71 when Flying Burrito Brothers guitarist Rick Roberts stumbled onto Harris performing in a small Washington D.C. bar called the Red Fox. The next night, Roberts brought the rest of the Burritos down for a look. They invited her to join the band; before she could accept, the Burritos had dissolved.

“Chris Hillman,” Emmylou remembers, “wanted to come out to L.A. so he could produce some demo tapes. He was really busy at the time. Anyway, I think it probably worked out the way it should have.” The way it worked out was for Hillman to turn on Gram Parsons, the Burritos’ long estranged cofounder, to their incredible discovery. Months later, Parson dropped in on one of Harris’s many D.C appearances and made a few vague promises. A year later, Parsons invited her to L.A. to sing on his first solo album, GP. Their partnership quickly intensified. “It was gonna be a Dolly Parton-Porter Wagoner situation. We didn’t see any need to break up that partnership because we really got higher on what we did together than anything we did separately. I still feel that way.”

It was hard work, she says, that kept her from slipping into an extended depression. “Gram’s death was like falling off a mountain. It was a very hard year between his death and the recording of my album [Pieces of the Sky]. A year of throwing myself into a lot of work that my heart wasn’t really into. There was a lot of stumbling involved. I was playing quite a few bars and was in a real vulnerable position. People felt that they could come up and ask me anything. I used to get hostile. It  hurt. I didn’t want to get emotional around some perfect stranger who had the goddamn gall to come up and ask me something that was none of his goddamn business.”

The subject brings her close to tears. “Gram was such an amazing part of my life. I have so many good memories of him, it seems pointless to dwell on the tragedy of it.” Abruptly, she reaches to turn up the country station already blaring from a hotel room radio. “Do you like Conway Twitty?” she asks. “I just love the harmony on this.”

Pieces of the Sky was almost a year long project in itself. Emmylou for one could not be more proud. With the help of Anne Murray’s ex-producer Brian Ahern, great care was taken in selecting material. “I’m just starting to write again,” says Harris. “I don’t mind the fact that I only wrote one song [“Boulder to Birmingham,’ cowritten with Bill Danoff] on the album. There are just too many tunes that I get off doing and want to turn people on to. I feel very deeply and personally involved with each one, so I don’t miss that writer’s identity of making a statement.

“I think any singer feels that way,” Harris says about choosing songs like the Everly Brothers’ “Sleepless Nights,” the Beatles’ “For No One”and Dolly Parton’s “Coat of Many Colors.” Like Linda [Ronstadt]. When she sings a song it’s really sung. Nobody cares that she doesn’t write; the delivery’s all that really matters.”

Besides a heavy touring schedule and the summer recording of her next album, Emmylou Harris spunkily refuses to acknowledge the long-range future. “A lot of my life has been circumstance. The future just doesn’t exist for me. You’re not responsible for decisions if you don’t make them.

“What do I see in the future?” Harris asks, reaching for the telephone. “A chocolate shake. Hello, Room Service?”