#looking through the planned chapters to see which titles I can still use is like one of the hardest parts lol

[thatonebjp]

Legendary rare adventures

[hairyjocktf]

Building a New Life

Justin was the star wrestler at his high school. He had won regional titles and the adoration of all the local families for years, and was ready to head to college to continue his streak. Senior year he was at his peak, winning matches left and right. All he had to do was wait for those recruitment offers to roll in. He waited and waited, still kicking ass in his wrestling, but while everyone around him was committing and getting accepted, there were no letters to him. To his dismay, one never came. His plans for the future were shattered, what was he supposed to do now? The wrestling scholarship was his only shot for college.

With the year ending and not many options, Justin started looking for entry level jobs that would take him. He lived in a fairly rural area so most of what he found was either farm work or construction, and the latter paid better. He called one of them up and they told him to swing by the site a few days later. He drove out to the construction site later that week and walked into the mobile office they had there. The manager came out to greet him. He was a rugged man in his late 40’s, with a stocky build and thick stubble. He’d clearly been in the business for years and it showed through his worn hands and gruff voice from yelling orders at his lackeys. The man looked Justin up and down.

“A little scrawny but I can work with it,” he said after a few seconds.

“I was a top wrestler in the region!” Justin protested. 

“Doesn’t matter in this industry,” the man said flatly. “Can you handle heavy loads and equipment? Can you deal with being outside most of the day in rough weather?”

Justin was caught off guard, usually people were much nicer to him. “Of course I can! I can handle whatever you throw at me,” he assured.

“Well alright, If you think you can handle it let’s see how you do here,” the manager said, handing a pile of clothes to Justin. “Here’s your safety and HiVis gear, make sure it fits and then we’ll get you set up outside.”

Justin took his uniform to the bathroom to try it on real quick. It included a hard hat that was adjustable, which he fit to his head, a bright orange and yellow HiVis vest, and a couple other things. He put it all on and stepped back into the office. 

“Alright follow me, Justin was it?” the manager gestured towards the door.

“Yes sir,” Justin responded uncharacteristically.

“Name’s Blaine, the manager revealed, “Around here we usually work on residential projects, we’re currently assisting on a development outside of town.” He led them away from the office around the immediate site, which currently seemed to be mostly used as storage for equipment and materials. “Since you’ve got no experience you’ll start by shadowing some of our guys for a few weeks and handling more basic tasks til you’re ready for more,” he continued. “You can head back to the office and they'll take care of the nitty gritty for ya. I’m expecting great things from you, wrestler,” Blaine laughed as he left Justin and headed out towards the development. Justin heard his gruff voice booming in the distance as he barked orders to the workers.

Justin was unsure about all of this, but he didn’t really have a better option at the moment. He felt out of place in his new safety gear, and he was younger than nearly everyone he saw working. He took care of the paperwork and headed home for the day; they'd hired him on the spot to start the next morning. With considerable unease, he went to bed, closing one chapter of his life for the next. 

As the weeks went by Justin began acclimating to this new job fairly well. He got to know the guys he worked with, learned how to use the equipment, and began to feel comfortable on the site. He even felt like he had put on some mass to better handle all the physical work he was doing. His rock solid abs were a little less visible than they had been but for some reason that didn’t bother him. He was already starting to forget the sting of not being recruited for wrestling. Every day he came into work those past dreams seemed to fade a little more, replaced by his new life. His coworkers had made fun of him for having such a baby face at the beginning, but now he was starting to sport a little bit of stubble. Justin was slowly starting to blend in more with his new crowd.

The months continued to pass, with Justin becoming more and more entrenched in his new construction life. It was getting colder outside, and his body began to adjust without him even noticing. His stubble grew out into a real beard, short and dense. He began packing on more body fat as he spent less and less time at the gym and more and more working and drinking with his new bros. His voice began to sound a little deeper and rougher, matching those around him. The hard hat really suited him now with his more rugged looks. He had never been a good student in school but he seemed to really be taking to this new job, completely forgetting about his old goals. The occassional approving nod from Blaine was driving him forward. He was thriving in this new position, but the job wasn’t done with him yet.

Unbeknownst to Justin, under his thick winter clothes things were changing. His previously toned body, while still fairly muscular, was steadily becoming thicker with fat. Not only that, but he’d always been near perfectly smooth and that too was slowly changing. It had started with his chest, where on the previously bare skin thin wispy hairs had started to poke out. That didn’t last long though, as they were quickly overrun with thicker, darker hairs that began sprouting in between his pecs. They grew curly as they spread out, covering his entire chest in hair, spreading up across his collarbone and down across his slowly growing stomach. The new hairy coat was just another part of his insulation against the harsh winter weather. But the hairs didn’t stop there either. His pits erupted with thick wiry hairs, coating his underarms in curly hairs that trapped both heat and sweat. The hairs pushed out, tangling together as they formed a thick tuft of hair under each arm, even spreading out to connect with the rug on his chest. After each day of hard work he’d come home stinking like the other men he worked with, and over time he started to enjoy the musk he produced.

Of course he wasn’t done filling out his uniform quite yet. His formerly modest bush began growing with no end in sight, engulfing his groin in thick, wiry brown hairs that radiated out from his lengthening cock. Sometimes while on the site Justin would instinctively reach down in his pants to itch the growing bush, the feeling and texture of it driving him wild. With pubes erupting day and night his musk only grew stronger, as Justin began to truly have a manly aura around him that he’d never had before. It seemed to help him bond with the other guys more, as they welcomed him into their groups and invited him out more and more frequently. Underneath his work pants his legs bulked up considerably from carrying all sorts of materials around, followed closely by the same dark fur. It raced down his legs and coated them with curly hairs that rubbed against the inside of his increasingly tight jeans as he walked around, an almost arousing feeling. Within the first year of working Justin had gone up four sizes in his work boots, as his feet grew and widened to match the rest of him. The massive steel-toed boots hid how hairy his feet had gotten, with dark hairs covering the tops and toes.

The next year was largely the same. Justin continued slowly changing to better fit his new job. He was really beginning to excel at it, and he’d attained a close friendship with many of the men he worked with. It almost seemed as if he’d aged ten years over the last one, he certainly looked it at this point. His fur coat only thickened, growing even denser across his chest and stomach to the point you could barely see the skin beneath the hairs. Hair had also spread up and onto his shoulders before enveloping his massive back. The hairs gushed out across his shoulder blades before shooting down his spine and spreading out wide. The heavy coating slowly grew thicker and spread out further as time went on, reaching down to his ass. It too became covered with thick, dark hairs as it inflated to a truly massive size. During the warmer months sometimes he just wore his vest and hard hat, his incredibly thick hair covering the rest of him and sticking through his vest.

Justin earned the nickname ‘Grizzly’ from his coworkers after they saw how hairy he’d gotten, and his body had put on the size to match. Gone was the small but toned body of a wrestler, replaced by a thick, hairy, and sturdy body of a weathered construction worker. He oozed masculinity from not only his stained and dirty work clothes, but from the thick chest hair that he left his shirt open to show off. His entire body was now coated with a dense coat of hair and he liked to make that known, as long as he wasn’t caught against safety regulations at least. He never questioned why he’d changed so much in such a short span, it never even occurred to him, and honestly he liked his new life. He was just one of the guys working on the site now. The hair felt as natural to him as anything else, and the other guys seemed to like it even if they made fun of him once in a while. Occasionally when they went out drinking some of the guys would have too many beers and start rubbing their hands through his thick fur, but he didn’t mind at all. It felt good to be masculine, and to be appreciated for it by other guys. Months continued to pass though no one could really remember how long Justin had been working there at this point, but they were all glad he was there. He was the best construction worker on their team.

[limes-sagau]

Starting My Sagau Writing Journey

Ok Im wanting to dip my toes into the Sagau writing scene and I wanted to put out about 3 ideas I have and plan on writing. Each idea will be outlined below and people are welcome to take inspiration off of them just make sure to tag me in the writing. There will also be a poll at the end where you can vote for which one you want to see first. When I finish writing each chapter they will be put up on AO3. 

Shimeji AU: 

For those who don't know, Shimeji is a browser extension that spawns a chibi version of a character onto your browser. This character can then move around and climb on the borders of your web page and just be a cute little distraction (I know this might sound like malware but its not I've had a Venti and a Lumine Shimegi for a while now and haven't experienced anything that can imply they are malware) 

This would be more of a drabble and less of a full fic. 

Basically the characters in genshin become aware through their Shimeji and then begin acting up in your browser when you're out of the game (when you're in game you're fine).

If you leave your web browser opened when you leave your computer you will come back to it being on a weird page 

Like Venti looking at a wine website 

Diluc somehow ending up on a streaming service watching Batman 

Yae Miko finding your writing 

I'll likely start off with characters from Mondstadt and go down the list for each region.

Kidnapped by the Harbingers (not the final title): 

Exactly as it sounds, in the middle of the night you are taken from your college dorm (or room I likely won't specify) to Teyvat after the harbingers find a way into our world. 

Haven't decided which harbinger will be sent (leaning towards Childe because I feel like it would fit best and he'd be down for that type of experiment). 

Most of it will take place in a separate castle from Zapolyarny Palace. 

If you want to know my specific location I have in mind their is a visual novel called Dottore And The Spy where you become Dottores apprentice (highly suggest this visual novel) but its main story takes place in a castle in the middle of a frozen wasteland away from civilization where both Pantalon and Dottore live. This will be the main location for the story. 

I'll also be adding in Capitano as another permanent resident of this castle because I want to write about a big strong man who is the emotional intelligence of the three main harbingers present. 

The other harbingers and the Tsaritsa will appear but they will be much more understated in their role.

I want this fanfic to go into the mental load that being locked away from the world has on a person's psyche.

Readers' powers will slowly awaken, making it harder for the Harbingers to keep us a secret from Teyvat and specifically Celestia.

This won't be a full blown yandere fic with the harbingers, they will be slightly possessive but it is more about your safety since Celestia doesn't like you. 

Celestia will be the ultimate enemy over all but the story will not be focused on shooting down Celestia from the sky as readers powers will not ever reach the strength needed to face Celestia alone. 

Harbingers plan will not have changed; they are still working to take down Celestia.   

This will be taking place after Sumeru (so no Scara or La Signora and their will be less clones)

The story will also include 

Getting to know and bond with your castle staff like maids or ladies in waiting (I know these are typically only given to female presenting reader but I want to write about gossip and forming friendships so this is what I'm going with) 

Quality time with each harbinger

Impressing Dottore with your basic levels of knowledge on Astronomy (since Teyvats sky is fake)

Eventually a runaway arch

Lots of tears and mental breakdowns, but don’t worry there will be comfort as well

Shenanigans 

Possibly NSFW after reader finally convinces everyone to stop calling them “your grace”

To Make a Haven (Title might change):

Imposter (but reader is the real deal) AU

Reader gets killed once by a mob of NPCs 

I want it specifically to be NPCs so the reader still has emotional attachment to the playable characters

Reader seeks out a safe and secluded place  

Teyvat awakens to readers distress and opens up a hidden area of the map to the reader that can only be accessed through very specific means. 

Reader eventually starts bringing in Hilichurls to what for now im going to be calling “the Grove” 

Reader will begin messing around and experimenting with her powers and finds a way to somewhat heal the hilichurls 

This isn't a full fix it will be like layering a curse on top of a curse in order to negate some of the effects of the original curse

The hilicurls will not return to being human they will become something else (human like but not human) 

This fic will contain way more original characters 

Reader will be more spiteful in this fic but less in like a “make everyone suffer” way and more like “lets shake up the system and make everything more challenging for people because they tried to kill me” 

This fic will span over a larger span of time in world with the reader building a full city in the hidden area Teyvat made for them.

Well those are my three ideas! after this poll is done I'm hoping to get the first chapter out with that week, but I'm a college student and it been a while since I have written fanfiction so i make no promises.

[humanpurposes]

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity. 

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?” 

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move. 

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache. 

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again? 

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle. 

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now. 

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name. 

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,” 

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily. 

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth. 

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children. 

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her. 

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow. 

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence. 

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove. 

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?” 

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows. 

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times. 

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious. 

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings. 

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod. 

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room. 

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them? 

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget. 

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that? 

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is. 

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning. 

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye. 

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver. 

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process. 

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices. 

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach. 

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away. 

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind. 

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous. 

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close. 

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that. 

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

[phoenixyfriend]

Entry of the Gladiators

Remember my Fake Sith AU? Yeah, so I got around to writing it.

I started writing this around a year ago, planning to finish and post for an event. I never finished. So. Here's what I have so far, and let's hope I can get around to finishing it at some point lmao.

The year is 7939 CRC, and Obi-Wan is one-hundred percent not moonlighting as a Sith Lord with a drawling accent and a linen suit. And Anakin surely isn't pretending to be his unhinged Sith second. And Ahsoka definitely isn't actually a vigilante. And Cody absolutely isn't enjoying the chance to manage an entire set of organized crime rings. And Rex certainly isn't seducing the half-mad head priestess of an evil cult. Totally.

Chapter 1: Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go)

Fun fact: I went to upload the first chapter of this fic, which I started writing a year ago, and I forgot I had a title for the chapter, so I just slapped something together to put into the chapter title slot.

Then I went back to my planning document and it's the same damn chapter title.

I am very predictable.

----------

Anakin wakes up with a pounding headache. This is, against all wishes, a very familiar feeling for him. Unfortunately, it has almost never been a result of something fun, like alcohol. He’s much more likely to wake up drugged and chained by his enemies or recovering from grievous injuries than, say, boozing up.

Hondo incident notwithstanding, of course.

(Besides, Obi-Wan got drunk too. That makes it his fault.)

As he catalogues his remaining fingers and extremities past the pain in his skull, he hears others shuffling nearby. The Force isn’t warning him at all, so they’re probably friendlies.

There’s a quiet groan a few feet away, high-pitched, that is almost definitely Ahsoka.

When he sits up, it’s to more pain and the ugly little realization that Ahsoka must also be in pain.

Obi-Wan’s voice cuts in. “What did you do, Anakin?”

“Nothing!” Anakin protests, his own voice loud enough to set his headache off. He runs through his most recent memories in hopes of uncovering actual wrongdoing. He doesn’t seem to actually have any memories past entering the possibly-Sith-in-origin temple, though. That’s… a bad sign, in part because they are now outdoors and looking at a completely different sky. “You went into the sketchy temple, too. I don’t remember doing anything that could have knocked us all out, especially not knocked us out and transported us to what’s probably a different planet.”

“Sky’s orange,” Ahsoka notes, getting unsteadily to her feet. There’s a moment where it looks like she’s about to fall, but Rex is closer than Anakin, and reacts fast enough to steady her.

Anakin finally gets a full look around. His master, his padawan, his captain, and Commander Cody, who isn’t Anakin’s in any way, except as a friend, but that’s not an exclusive group, because ‘his friend’ could mean a lot of—

He’s getting distracted.

“If we’re lucky…” Obi-Wan says, stretching his back with an awful cracking noise. He eyes the sky with distaste. “If we’re lucky, the cloud cover will dissipate and let us see the constellations when night falls. We can figure out where we are then.”

“Anticipating hostility from locals, sir?” Cody prompts

Obi-Wan shrugs. “Don’t want to hedge our bets on there being locals. We aren’t where we were, and we aren’t in another temple, either. Most planets in the galaxy aren’t actually inhabited by sapient species…”

“But that’s mostly because most of them don’t have breathable air, isn’t it?” Ahsoka asks. Anakin pats her between the montrals, almost like Obi-Wan used to ruffle his hair when he was this small. Well, smaller. Ahsoka at fifteen tolerates this much better than Anakin at the same age.

Ahsoka at fifteen is, however, the same height as Anakin at thirteen, when Obi-Wan was still ruffling his hair.

“You’re right, Ahsoka. Since this planet does have breathable air and some vegetation, the chances of sapient habitation are relatively high,” Obi-Wan agrees. “So, we’ll see how it goes. If we can find civilization that isn’t hostile to us, we might get off by nightfall.”

Anakin has a feeling that’s a bit too optimistic.

(Continue on AO3)

[coffeebanana]

WIP Reblog Game

Ooooh this one looks fun. Thanks for the tag @kasienda!

I always feel like I see the same games going around and for the most part I've played them before and I feel like I have nothing new to say, so it's exciting to find something new!

List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

WIP TITLES

everything i know (brings me back to us) - post-s5, post-adrinette break up ladrien fic

This Fire Won't Sleep Through The Night - alyanette princess/knight AU

Entangled - established ladynoir, post-hawkmoth angst, chat's ghosting lb. NSFW

Probably Not The Best Idea - ladrien roommates fic

Say Something - ladrien to prpr hurt/comfort in the aftermath of a sentireveal and gabe-is-hawkmoth reveal

I know I haven't updated Ladrien Roommates in almost a year and Say Something has been nearly as long but aksfbkdsjb I swear they're still on the list. Quite frankly it might take me a while to get back to Say Something though, because I'm just...very stuck. And I keep rethinking the next few chapters.

Also, Happier--my Adrigaminette WIP--gets an honourable mention in the priority list because I SWEAR I'm going to get back to it at some point 😭

UPCOMING

Okay I'm super excited about the arc that the next chapter (which with a little luck may be posted today...) is going to set into motion. Especially because I don't think anyone quite knows where precisely I'm going with it...hehehe

Hm. I have one heart-to-heart scene I have planned for a few chapters from now where Ladybug gets to know Alya a little better and maybe starts to fall for her a little...

Looking forward to the next chapter!! Like, all of it! The thing is, I feel like I need a good chunk of time to really FOCUS on writing it. And I'm still navigating balancing writing time with my work schedule.

There's a little arc that will pop up in the chapter after next where Ladybug has trouble sleeping...and naturally there's no better way to fix that than for Adrien to invite her into his bed 👀

There is a conversation between Adrien and Kagami in the next chapter that was one of the reasons the length of this fic got out of hand 😂

Okay, I think I can find 10 new people to tag... @celestialtitania, @ck2k18, @saiikavon, @mostmagical, @monpetitchattriste, @heartfulselkie, @liiinerle, @hueynomure, @rosie-b, and @wehadabondingmoment

[I'm just now noticing--because apparently when i copied the title over i did NOT read it--this says WIP REBLOG game...which maybe means I was supposed to reblog the original post akjfbskjd. but uh. too late now I'm about to post this 😂]

[rayslittlekitten]

Rich Girl Mood

“Toff Girl” (aka “Damsel” Universe) Masterlist

A/N: I started writing this a long while ago but have been sitting on it because I was still trying to figure out the end game (I still am) but I'm a little closer and I think however this series ends, this chapter I think is still solid for what it is so I finally finished it. This I think gives more insight of the reader character than her relationship with Ray. Title and chapter inspired by "Rich Girl Mood" by Dounia and Kehlani (YT link below)

Rating: T

Word Count:  3,294

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!reader

Plot: Another year, another birthday party.

Contains: angst, recreational drug use, hurt, jealousy, light mentions of D/s relationship, collars, cursing

After your cryfest in your car, you cleaned yourself up and went in to see your parents briefly and sort of lied about a missing pair of shoes. You then feigned looking in your old bedroom which has become a bit of a storage closet for you. You also act surprised when they hand you the gift box Ray mentioned. You told them you would send Mickey and Ray a thank you card.

You're now back at your flat staring at the big Tiffany blue box while stuffing your face with your favorite pastries from Astrid's Cafe and Bakery. You put the mostly eaten slice of cake down and pull the shiny black ribbon loose. Of course it feels so soft. Ray probably spent a good quid on the ribbon alone. You wouldn't be surprised if it was made of actual silk. Only he would do something so extra.

You take a deep breath and finally lift the lid. This asshole even took the time to wrap your things in tissue paper? You roll your eyes and huff. You grab the small cream-colored envelope sitting on top of the neatly and carefully folded white delicate sheets. You flip the envelope open and pull the card out.

Hi love,

I hope this letter finds you well. I figured you'd eventually want your things back, especially your shoes. I know they were one of your favorites. I even took the time to polish them for you since last time you had scuffed them. There are some things in here that I also thought you should have as I have no more use for them.

Take care,

Ray

You gently tear open the tissue paper and as expected, you find your heels looking shiny as new. You see what else is inside the box and find a few things like your toothbrush, toiletries and some clothing, neatly folded and stacked in true Ray fashion. You know he had your clothes washed, dry cleaned and pressed as well, including the outfits he picked out for you. You look through them and choke up a little seeing your collars carefully placed between the perfectly folded clothing. They're all there, including his favorite, the one with a little bell on it. You tilt your head curiously when you find a small velvet box. The rock in your belly is creeping back in. You stare at it for a moment before reaching for it. You nervously grip the box between your fingers as you take your time flipping the lid open. You let out the breath you'd been holding when you don't see a ring, but instead you feel your heart breaking all over again seeing your day collar. The same one you ripped off your neck and threw at him.

Your eyes blur up for the millionth time today and you swipe your fingers over them. In the corner of your eye, you notice another envelope sticking out from under the clothes. You reach for it and pull it out. Flipping it around, you notice it's completely unmarked. You open it and pull out two business class plane tickets to Greece. Confused, you look in the envelope again and find a folded piece of paper. You pull it out and open it up.

I had planned to whisk you away for a week for your birthday, but I can't use these anymore so I thought maybe you can. Enjoy your birthday, my love.

-Ray

This isn't fair. This isn't fucking fair. Not fair to you, not fair to Ray. You don't know how much more your heart can take.

***

Over the next few weeks, you go on a date or two with Fred just to get out of your flat. You've been sulking and comfort eating and sniffing Ray's cardigan long enough. The dates were fun, but if you're honest with yourself, while Fred is a really nice guy, he just doesn't do it for you romantically. You had to be upfront with him as you didn't want to string him along. He deserved to know the truth, but thankfully he took it with ease and understood. You did invite him to your birthday party though and you know someone who would actually pair real well with him. You usually don't play matchmaker, but you think you've got this one in the bag.

Speaking of birthday parties, you just wanted something small but your parents insisted on throwing something for their only child. They do this every year, but you let them because you know it's really just an excuse for them to throw a fancy party to show off to their fancy friends. You know after the first hour or two of greeting people you either don't know, don't remember or haven't seen since you were a wee child, you're going to disappear into the garden shed to get sloshed on expensive liquor and smoke the best weed in all of England with your closest friends like you did when you all were younger. Growing up around so much money, you've always hated the posh snobby kids who thought they were too good for anyone, but you have a small group who were never like that and you always stayed close to them. Everyone else at the party can fuck off and freeload on the booze and food.

You do a once over glance in the mirror to check your makeup and hair. Your hand touches your bare neck and after a moment, you get up from your vanity chair and slip on your heels and smooth out your sickeningly expensive dress. It clings on to your every curve and dip. That’ll sure get some lookers. You still feel like something is missing though.

"Darling, are you ready? Guests are waiting!"

"I'll be right out, mummy!" you shout back.

You quickly go through your overnight bag and pull out a box. You open it up and look at the jewelry for a moment before putting it on, then take one final look in the mirror and you're satisfied with what you see. It doesn’t hold meaning anymore, although it’s sentimental to you, but it has always comforted you, feeling it snug around your neck. It was like your security blanket. It made you feel safe because whenever you wore it, you always knew Ray was close by.

Ray dominating you wasn’t just some kink. It wasn’t just about being in control, or rather giving it up. Being his sub meant he would love you and protect you deeply. It was a shared bond. He brought you pleasure in so many ways and made you forget when you had a bad day, but most importantly, he made sure nothing can hurt you. You completely allowed your heart, body and soul to be delicately encased by his own design.

You take a deep breath and polish off the whiskey you've been nursing while getting ready before putting your face on for the crowd. 

When you reach the bottom of the long grand staircase, you’re greeted by your parents and some people you don’t recognize. You plaster on a smile and shake their hands, thanking them for coming. As you walk off to go greet more people, you grab a flute of champagne and down it, placing it back as quickly as you snatched it up when a server walks by with a tray. You’re reminded why you hate these big parties.

You almost spit your champagne out when you spot Mickey and Ros. The nerve. Of course your parents invited them. You know Mickey only does anything if he’s getting something out of it so while it appears he gives a shit about your birthday and respecting your parents’ cordial invitation, he’s probably rubbing elbows with people who can be potential partners. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already negotiating and sealing deals while he’s here. You now wonder if Ray is somewhere around this giant house.

You walk over to the Pearsons to greet them with the least fake smile you can manage to put on.

“Hi, Mickey.”

“Hello, there. The woman of the hour!” Michael turns to you with a smile. “You’ve met my wife Ros, right?”

“Yes, pleasure to see you again.” You and Ros greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. She might be the only one in his posse you actually don’t mind. Her and Bunny. That gentle giant.

"Thank you both so much for coming!" You try to stretch out your smile but your facial muscles can only go so far.

"Happy birthday, love,” Ros smiles.

Although, you know Rosalind is probably on the up and up on what goes on in Mickey's world, including what happened with you and Ray. There is no way tea didn't get spilled on her.

"Thank you," you slightly bow your head. “How are you doing? Business is going well I assume?”

“Ah, let’s not talk about business. We’re here as guests, not salesmen. How are you doing?” Mickey returns the attention to you.

“No business? What a surprise,” you try to jab subtly. “I’m doing well, thank you.”

“Sweetheart! There’s someone I want you to meet,” your mother suddenly comes out of nowhere.

“Excuse me,” you tell the Pearsons. "I hope you both enjoy yourselves.”

They nod at you before being whisked away by your mother.

***

After being introduced to a bunch of random people including some suitors, you sneak off into a secret side room to get a breather. You used to hide here a lot when you were younger when you wanted to isolate yourself when everything felt too overwhelming.  Especially from these parties. It always felt so performative when you just wanted to be a kid and play with your friends, but you were expected to be prim and proper, until you were old enough to realize you didn’t have to do any of this. You still remember those long boring etiquette classes and sometimes still use the wrong utensil on purpose as an act of rebellion. 

You feel around your body and realize you left your joint and lighter in your bedroom. Letting out a heavy sigh, you savor another moment of silence before marching back out into the wild. As you make your way to your bedroom, you round the corner and smack right into a hard chest.

“Oh my gosh, I am SO…” You look up at the man and your voice dies.

"Kitten…” Ray gasps quietly to himself when he sees your day collar sitting against your neck.

You can't get away from this man now, can you? Ironically, it feels like you're actually seeing him more often than you did when you were together. Like muscle memory, you plaster your cookie cutter smile on your face and greet Ray and the woman standing next to him.

"Hi, Raymond." You mentally kick yourself for overdoing your enthusiasm.

"H-hi."

You never thought there'd be a day you'd make Ray all flustered and stumble over his words. Mr. Calm and Controlled, my arse.

"Didn't expect to see you here tonight, but thank you for coming," you say, still with your painful smile on your face. You’re pretty sure it’s going to be permanent by the end of the night.

"Uh, just here for Michael," Ray quickly comments and nods. "Um, this is–”

“I know dear ol’ Rebecca.” Both you and Rebecca greet each other with air kisses on each side of your faces. “How are you? Haven’t seen you in quite some time,” you tell her.

“I’m doing very well. My company nearly doubled its revenue last month so I can’t complain,” she beams.

“You mean your father’s company?” you clarify.

“Yes, but he made me the president of the company a few months ago so it’s really mine too,” she explains. “He’s retiring soon so I’ll be CEO any day now. Anyways, how are you? I don’t really see you around much,” she shakes her head.

“Oh, I’m just always so busy,” you reply. Avoiding the lot of you. “I was actually thinking about taking a little trip to Mykonos next week. An unexpected birthday present.”

“I hear it’s fabulous this time of year,” Rebecca says. “And the men there are gorgeous.”

“Really?” you ask curiously. “I should probably go then.” You quickly glance over at Ray to see his reaction, seeing him shift uncomfortably.

You spot Fred in your peripheral vision and instantly grab his arm, pulling him in close to you.

“Freddy, love. You remember Raymond, right?” you ask him. You look back at Ray and can see his jaw ticking.

“Oh, hey! Good to see you again, mate!” Fred puts his hand out and Ray reluctantly takes it and as soon as he does, Fred pulls him in for a hug. Ray grimaces and lightly pats Fred on the shoulder. There is some actual genuine joy behind your smile now. 

“Freddy, darling! It’s been ages!” Rebecca exclaims.

After Freddy pulls away, he greets Rebecca.

“Bloody hell, Becca! When did you get so tall?” 

While they hug and catch up, you and Ray stare daggers at each other.

“Wait, are you two dating–” Freddy starts but you interrupt him.

“Um, Freddy,” you loop your arm around his again. “I think I’m ready for…” you vaguely gesture your head, nodding in a general direction towards the garden.

“Oh! Sure, yeah. I’ll meet you there after I stop by the loo,” Freddy says. “It was nice seeing you both again. Excuse me,” he says to Ray and Rebecca before walking off.

“Well, hope you’re both enjoying the party,” you say, clapping your hands together. “Excuse me. I have something I need to do.”

You walk off, not even bothering looking back as you make your way to your bedroom.

***

“Oh my gosh, Sophie, you have to tell that story about that time we pulled that prank on Lit’le Henry. Remember Henry?” you laugh, after taking a puff and passing it to Fred. 

“I don’t think Antonia here has heard about this story.” You wink at Fred. You introduced Antonia to Fred and they seemed to be hitting it off really well.

“‘Enry was a lit’le shite. It wasn’t a prank. It was revenge,” Sophie starts.

Sophie proceeds to tell the story about how a mutual friend kept getting bullied by Henry so the group of you teamed up to exact revenge on him. It was originally Fred’s idea but in the end he also took the fall for all of you. However, Henry never dared to bully anyone ever again.

“And I’d do it again,” he boasts.

You were finally able to sneak off with your friends to go hide in the shed to have a party for yourselves. No pretending, no masks, no manners. Just laughs. For those few hours, you were able to actually enjoy your birthday. You can’t remember the last time you had this much fun or laughed this hard. 

“Oh, fuck. I must have dropped my stash when I went to the toilet,” you say when you realize you can’t find the spare joints you rolled up. “I’ll be back. I’ll also get another bot’le of wine.”

“Love, it’s your birfday. Get one of the servants to fetch it for ya,” someone jumps in.

“They work for my parents, not me. Besides, I can use some fresh air,” you chuckle before bursting out of the shed.

As you cut through the long garden to make your way back into the house, you notice Ray pacing back and forth off to the side of the house while talking on the phone.

“Yes, boss. I understand.”

When he hangs up, he looks up and sees you cautiously walking trying to avoid being seen. You nearly twist your ankle as you tiptoe around and miss a step but Ray quickly catches you instinctively. So much for trying to dodge him.

“Are you alright?” Ray asks, looking into your eyes.

You stare back for a few moments, breathless. It might be the weed and alcohol but you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and let him hold you and never let go, but your daydreaming gets interrupted.

“Oh my! Looks like someone’s had a bit to drink tonight. You always know how to throw a party,” Rebecca comments as she walks over. “Ray, I’ll be back in a few. Need to powder my nose,” she winks before walking off inside the house. 

You quickly remove yourself from Ray’s grip and straighten yourself out.

“Are you alright?” Ray repeats.

“I’m fine,” you reply and start heading towards the house.

“Wait!” Ray takes a step in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

“What is it, Ray?” You ask, now annoyed.

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding, Rebecca and I are not together. She’s just here with her parents and it’s my job to keep her entertained while her parents and Michael have an informal meeting,” Ray tells you.

“Ray, it’s really none of my business,” you shrug. "But I'm not surprised that's part of your job. I just hope she doesn't take it too hard when you're done with her and tell her to fuck off." You then try to maneuver around him but he side steps you.

“I know it’s none of your business but it’s important to me that you know. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to hurt you in any way because that’s the absolute last thing I want,” Ray shakes his head, ignoring your snide comment. “I don’t want to be at this boring party as much as I know you don’t either.”

“OH!” Your eyebrows shoot up to your almost perfectly coiffed hairline. “I’m so sorry my party isn’t dramatic enough for you.” You cross your arms under your breasts which are now accentuated by your arm placement.

Ray’s eyes begin to twitch as he realizes what he had said.

“No, that’s… that’s not what I meant—“

“No cunt to punch in the face. No damsel for you to save,” you say as you raise your arms above your head and wave them around.

“Can you please lower your voice? I was genuinely concerned for you. That cunt put his hands on you!” Ray snarls.

“It’s my fucking party so I’ll be as loud as I want!”

Ray looks around nervously to make sure they don’t draw any attention.

“You just can’t go around punching every bloke who puts his hands on me! You’re not my boyfriend anymore!” You push right past him with all your might and shoulder check him out of your way.

“Well, your actual boyfriend should have, but he left you all alone in a crowded pub full of drunk men!” Ray growls. “That would have never happened with me. I would have protected you!” 

You stop in your tracks and twirl around.

“Oh, please! You weren’t protecting me. You just don’t like seeing someone else’s hands on me!” You walk up to him and poke your finger into his chest. “Why do you even care so much? You’re the one who broke up with me.”

“I still care about what happens to you,” Ray adjusts his glasses. “Kitten…”

You start shaking your head.

“Just because I can’t love you the way I want to, the way we want to, it doesn’t mean I automatically stop caring for you.” Ray’s face and voice softens.

“No!” You growl into his face. You grunt out of frustration and rip your necklace off for the second time and throw it at him. “I don’t give a shit what you do with that. Just don’t give it back to me.” You spin around and stomp away towards the house.

[nostalgebraist]

comments on almost nowhere for new readers

A few points that may be useful to people who didn't read Almost Nowhere before it was complete, but who are planning to read it now. (AKA "archival readers," as opposed to "serial readers.")

(1)

You'll want to read it fast enough that you don't lose track of the plot.

But, you probably shouldn't read it as quickly as you can. If you "binge-read" it over a very short span of time, some of the effect will be dulled or lost.

When planning out the story, I thought a lot about the reader's evolving state of knowledge. "What the reader knows" was almost like a character unto itself, and an important one.

For example:

I tried to create a enjoyable, continual "rotation" of mysteries, with new questions arising at the same time that old questions get answered, repeatedly across the course of the book.

In between the point when a question is raised and the point when it finally gets a definitive answer, I often tried to create a succession of interesting intermediate states. For example, the reader might first encounter something important in the form of an enigmatic, unexplained name or phrase, mentioned incidentally. Later, the same term starts appearing more often, and gets more coloration, and this coloration is different each time, so that the sum total of "what the reader knows" traces out a series of different "shapes" over time.

So you'll have the most fun if you stop regularly to savor your current state of knowledge. The questions that haven't been answered yet, the partial glimpses you've seen of things you don't fully get. Maybe even go back and re-read earlier bits, if you like.

(1b)

All that said, I also want to caution against viewing the book as a puzzle you're meant to be able to solve on your own, like a "fair-play whodunit."

I intended it to be fun for the reader to wonder about how the questions will be answered, but there's no pretense of playing fair. And that "fun" is often more aesthetic and thematic than it is intellectual.

(2)

Almost Nowhere is divided into 3 parts.

You can see them if you look at the table of contents. In Part 1, the chapter titles are Roman numerals. In Part 2, chapters have verbal titles, together with Arabic numerals that start over from zero. In Part 3, the Roman numerals resume again.

The three parts tell a single continuous story, and share most of the same major characters. But each one is somewhat distinct in its style, tone, themes, and areas of focus, and each one extends the scope of the plot considerably.

Maybe the closest comparison-point is a trilogy of SF/F novels, where each of the sequels is clearly "its own book" that feels distinct from the other two books, while still continuing the story in a coherent way.

I mention this here in the hope that these transitions will be less jarring if you're prepared in advance for them.

(2b)

In another, more "spiritual" sense, Almost Nowhere really has just two parts.

The transition happens at Chapter 13, which could fairly be grouped either into the first or the second part, or both, or neither.

Why? Up through Chapter 12, my planning for future events had been fairly slapdash and vague. I was still in the "throw stuff at the wall so I can create the real story by looking for patterns in it later" stage of my unusual creative process.

After Chapter 12, I thought "okay, that's enough of that. Vague inklings of the future aren't sufficient anymore. It's time to get start being more serious about my planning. It's time to 'create the real story.'"

So I did a bunch of that, and it profoundly shaped everything from Chapter 13 onward. (I don't know how obvious this transition would be if you didn't know about it beforehand; to me it feels very obvious, but maybe deceptively so.)

It goes deeper than that. Chapter 13 is tonally different than any of the preceding ones -- darker, more personal, with a new focus on obsession, bittersweet reflection on the past, regret, resignation. And, semi-accidentally, that ended up setting the tone for the whole rest of the book.

It's not all like that afterwards, to the same extent. But that stuff is always there, at least in the background.

I don't know if this is actually useful to know or not, but I felt like mentioning it, so there it is.

(3)

Like Floornight and TNC before it, Almost Nowhere is a hybrid.

It combines elements from a number of different genres and story types that would not normally be seen alongside one another. At the same time, it doesn't really belong to any of the genres or story types that it draws from.

This aspect of my fiction tends to elicit bimodal responses. When I mix one type of story with another, it tends to come off either as the best-of-both-worlds or the worst-of-both-worlds, depending on the reader.

Some people see five individually good "normal" books, merged into one and singing in harmony. And people see five half-assed attempts to do five different things, without following through on the promises of any one of them.

For example, I noted above that I put a lot of care into setting up mysteries, and I expected the reader to be very aware of them. And I also noted that the story isn't very rewarding if treated like a puzzle that can be "solved" in advance.

But some people are going to see the mysteries, and the care put into them, and think, "ah, I know (and enjoy) this genre, this is a puzzle you're supposed to work out in advance." And these people aren't wrong; it does kind of look like that, especially at the beginning.

Likewise, Almost Nowhere has several chapters that explain math and physics concepts to the characters and to the reader -- either real ones, or fictitious ones that have some pretense of continuity with real math and physics. Sometimes these get very involved, in the manner of Stephenson or Egan.

A reader who sees this stuff, and thinks "ah, I know (and enjoy) this genre," is likely to be disappointed when they discover that the story is not really about math or physics in any deep way. Certainly not about real math or physics. The invented "physics" is closer to the core of it, but less so than some other things -- and anyway, there is more of pure fantasy to it than serious scientific extrapolation.

Like Floornight, AN is arguably "best" described as a fantasy story, and not the GoT kind of fantasy -- the highly aestheticized, thematic, emotional kind of fantasy, where "feels" and "vibes" are almost literally magic and drive everything from the inside out.

But if you read it for that genre, specifically, it may feel odd that it keeps lapsing into long descriptions of nuts-and-bolts plot mechanics, and into laborious explanations of made-up technobabble. Or into setting up "puzzles" that almost feel solvable-in-advance.

Or just, like, being written in this really weird, particular, often opaque style.

I can't just say "leave all your genre preconceptions at the door," as if it were that simple -- as though one could just do that by force of will. But be aware that the elements you recognize, from other fiction, may not be there for the usual reasons.

But they are there for a reason.

When I think about why I write, I often come back to an answer that Andrew Hussie gave on Formspring long ago:

Q: Do you enjoy your own work? I mean if Homestuck was made by someone else and not you, is it the kind of thing you would like reading [...]? A: I am making the kind of thing I would want to read. I am making the kind of thing I wish existed, but doesn't. Yet.

I am doing that, too. I'm taking elements from all over, and building something else out of them. It looks deceptively like the sources it draws from, but it's very different from any of them, underneath.

If it had already existed, it would not have been necessary for me to invent it.

(4)

As I mentioned in the last bullet point, Almost Nowhere is written in a very particular style.

This style gets better-defined over time, and more ossified, and possibly more extreme. (Chapter 13 played the same role in this process as it did in various others, for instance.)

At various times, I've said that Almost Nowhere is my favorite of my stories, or the most ambitious or accomplished one, or the one I like most on re-reading. And that is all true -- in certain senses, anyway.

But I don't want to convey the impression that I think the "Almost Nowhere house style" is like, the epitome of Good Writing or something. Or even that it's my best writing, necessarily. It simply is what it is, as much for consistency's sake as anything else.

(I confess there were times when I looked back on something I'd just wrote, and thought to myself: "I'm not actually sure this is, like, good. Maybe it isn't. But is is definitely Almost-Nowherey, that's for sure." And then I let it stand, for that reason.)

In the best-case scenario, you'll find that you greatly enjoy the "Almost Nowhere house style." If it's not to your taste, hopefully you will find it at least tolerable enough that you can access and enjoy other aspects of the book.

But if you find that really dislike the style, this book is probably not for you, sorry.

It's over 300,000 words, and they're all like that. I wouldn't want someone to force themselves through 300k words while hating every one of them, in the name of finding out what happens, or being a nostalgebraist completionist, or whatever.

[mirastudiesphysics]

Obsidian.md Workflow

Introduction

Obsidian.md is a note taking app that is slowly starting to gain popularity (though notion is what I usually see in the studyblr community). There's plenty of resources online and this isn't really an introduction and assumes basic knowledge; rather, I wanted to write up my current academic workflow for using it because I almost never see obsidian workflows used for STEM related work (so if you see any others please please send them my way because I'm just making this up as I go).

Let's assume now we have a new topic/project that I want to start studying/working on.

Make a new page

Create a new page with whatever the topic is. Maybe this is for a class, a project, or some other topic that has caught your interest. I will give this page a descriptive title and add "- Main" at the end, as a way to indicate that this is more of a landing page than for note taking. For example, I could have something like "Galactic motion project - Main" or "Book Notes - Main".

I will also tag my main pages as #Main (creative, I know), just so I can quickly index my projects. An index page that links to all other main pages could also be helpful! I'm sure there could be a way to automatically index all main pages with the Dataview plugin, though I have not done this myself.

General outline

Outline your main page with things you might find immediately helpful when working on this topic. I like to have the following sections: to-dos, resources, general thoughts, questions, and current issues. I also have a "completed to-do list" at the bottom of the page so I can look back and see what I have accomplished.

Start writing!

Take notes of things that work or that you've learned. I like to write down how I troubleshoot code so that if I come across a similar issue I know how to fix it from last time. If there's a section of your main page that you find yourself referencing more than others, it might be time to make a new page for that section so you can easily link it to other pages.

If I'm studying from a book, I like to make a main page and link additional pages for each chapter.

Weekly Notes

Obsidian comes with Daily notes, but I personally prefer a weekly note. I like to write my weekly to-dos at the top for research, classes, and more general tasks. I then make a header for each day and list out my goals for each day. As the week goes on, I write up what I actually accomplished that day, even if I didn't list a task originally. Some people like to put all of their notes into their daily or weekly notes and organize later, but I just do that in a paper notebook and transfer later.

Literature

I actually don't have a setup that I'm happy with in regards to reading papers within Obsidian and I write most of my thoughts in Zotero annotations. However, I wanted to write it here regardless because it's still a part of my workflow. Zotero has a really nice feature where if you have the arxiv link to a paper, you can enter that link and Zotero will 1) read in the bibliographic information and 2) download the pdf of the paper into your library. I make a note in Zotero for each paper and note down the relevance for why I have this paper in my library. I then read through the paper in Zotero and hightlight important bits, and annotate those highlights with my own thoughts. The nice thing about Zotero is that there are several highlight colors, which I have another note on my own color code (e.g. purple for definitions or red for things I have questions on).

Plugins

Here's the list of plugins I have currently and how I use them.

Dataview: very useful for automatically organizing pages as you create them. I honestly have not used it much but I plan to as my vault grows in size.

Latex Suite: nicely formatted Latex within your notes. I enjoy using it, though my current gripes are that I can't find a way to default pairing $, so you have to manually enter a second $ and then go back inside the pair to see a preview. I also turned off the snippets, because it automatically overriding a lot of things I was writing with snippets that I did not want.

Periodic notes: The plugin I use to get Weekly notes.

Tasks: adds more features for writing to-do lists in Obsidian. You can query to-dos across your vault to list them within a single page, and organize based on due date and priority level.

Zotero Integration: Another plugin that I have honestly not used much, but I hope it will be useful as I read more literature.

Current vault view

Generally the local graph view is more useful while writing (to see immediate connections to your current page), but the vault-wide graph view is just fun to look at.

[nilsavatar]

PHOENIX | 2. PARULTSYÌP

Parultsyìp [pa.ˈɾul.͡tsjɪp] 'little miracle, dear little one' is a term of affection for children, derived of parul miracle.

Status: CHAPTER 2 (2/?)

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!UnknownOriginsNa’vi!Reader

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

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

Chapter Summary: Title's Burden on Young Shoulders: Future of the Clan, Son of Toruk Makto, Parul. A title that carried both significant consequences and immense fortune. Just like a miracle.

Little note: I FINALLY finished this chapter. It took sooo long to proofread, cause so many things happened in the process. Not to mention there's a lot of action in this chapter (tiny spoiler eheh).

Hope you'll like it and if you want to be tagged in the next posts, just write it in the comments. I’ll gladly add y'all💕

Word Count: 4.5k

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2. PARULTSYÌP

"I want to go home," rasped Neteyam, choking on his own blood flowing up his throat. The grip on his face tightened, and he felt a sudden relief in his breathing. “I know, I know,” Jake spoke in a cracking voice, “It’s ok, we’ll go home.”  His frantic gaze shifted rapidly as his chest quivered with intensity. He cast a look at each of those present, but his mind was too consumed by terror for his vacant eyes to truly registering their presence. He struggled to keep his composure, his lower lip trembling, but the pain was too much, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. His father's words had a soothing effect on him, and his tense body slowly relaxed. Savoring the rare moment of tenderness with a smile, he closed his eyes as his father's hand caressed his cheek.

"Dad, I—". His voice trailed off, and his eyes clouded over. The sentence remained unspoken. Against the jagged, stark rock, his body sagged like a marionette with its strings cut. His neck rested against Jake's fingers while his cheek nestled into his palm. Dilated like ink stains, the black pupils were strikingly intense.

Neteyam was gone. They couldn't bear the thought of never again seeing his smile or hearing his soft chuckle. A silence so heavy it felt suffocating marked his final moments. Last words left unsaid and forever unknown.

Neytiri’s voice echoed through the roar of the waves as she called out to him. Once, twice, three times. With each shrill cry and fat tear, she shook him more and more. She conceived her eldest son during the first war against the Sky People. His birth, coupled with their victory, was seen as a splendid gift, a symbol of harmony and renaissance to the People. A miracle. ‘Parultsyìp’ was the nickname she lovingly gave him in his childhood.

Parul: a title that spread like wildfire among the Omatikaya, as he was the epitome of it.

Yet, Eywa’s will had taken him away from her, at the hands of the very people responsible for destroying everything she knew and held dear; who had set fire to the forest, her dwelling, her serenity. The memory of who had torn her beloved father from her still haunted her. It was beyond measure, the depth of the wound so deep that it seemed to swallow her whole, as if she was falling into an endless abyss of pain. A mourning that remained with her in the years to follow, but was tempered by the unending delight and childlike behavior of her small kin. Her smile may have been warm, but beneath it lay the bitterness that had taken root in her heart; an anguish that moulded her into the warrior she is today, much like a parasite that feeds on its host. Beautiful and cruel. The disease had started with the separation from Sylwanin and had now reached its climax with that from her firstborn.

In one fell swoop, they took away her last bit of purity and his young life. However, there was no room for despair, not just now. Their daughters were held captive aboard the SeaDragon.

Jake was caressing her face. The same hand that a minute before had held Neteyam’s, and she almost had the instinct to flinch, horrified. It felt foreign and sinister as it reached for her.  Death had touched them both, though it was his words that left a lasting impression on her soul, resonating more powerful than any misery. Their appeal was so primal and dark that it awakened something ruthless within the deepest parts of her spirit. Like an iceberg, her rage was hidden beneath the surface, waiting to strike. A blind, savage desire for revenge.

"Strong heart," he whispered softly as his breath brushed against her lips. With only a few millimeters between their foreheads, they knew they had to hasten. There was no time to waste: Kiri and Tuk needed them. Lo'ak made to approach his father, but stopped short when he saw the stern expression on his face. Jake’s voice was filled with tangible cold fury as he instructed, “Stay here with your brother.” “Dad, I want to go with you.” Toruk Makto’s eyes met his son’s for a fleeting moment, yet in that instant, he perceived the weight of sadness, regret, grief, and anger that plagued the man. But Lo'ak also read something else lurking within.

Disappointment and judgment.

He raised a hand to halt his rant. “You’ve done enough.” His spatted words stung as he walked away, leaving him feeling small and useless. "But Dad," he said, his voice cracking in desperation. He was imputing the blame on him. As always. 

Neteyam's virtue translated into judiciousness and responsibility. He was prudent and thoughtful, someone you could rely on; had a strong sense of duty and was trustworthy. A wise person who always put the needs of others before his own and reasoned accordingly. Who worked hard to earn his place in the clan - both the clans. Always the good example to follow. 

The golden boy. 

Unlike him, Lo’ak had a mercurial nature, often characterized by fearlessness and impulsiveness. A scoundrel who never failed to drag his older brother into his misadventures. No matter what kind of trouble he got himself into, Neteyam constantly took the hit for things he couldn't control, which often left him harmed. It was his task to keep the younger one in check, preserving him even from his own recklessness.

Lo’ak’s fault that Neteyam had been caught in an explosion in the raid on the RDA train.  Lo'ak's actions led to Quaritch kidnapping Spider, discovering Jake's kids and forcing the family to flee.  They were jolted out of their ordinary, peaceful lives. Ripped their mother from her position as Tsakarem and his brother from his role as the next Olo’eyktan. Neteyam's split lip was a result of the fight he got into with Ao'nung, which was instigated by Lo'ak. If his sisters were tied up somewhere on the whaler off the coast, he should be the one to blame.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was his liability for Neteyam's passing.

Before he winced at the sound of his name, Tsireya's gentle touch had already reached him. So deep in thought that he didn't even notice how close she was. "It's not your fault," she said, looking at him with empathy, as if trying to ease the guilt he felt. The atmosphere was tense, and the usual cheerfulness was nowhere to be found, replaced with a heavy, somber mood. She looked at him with a liquid gaze, clouded by concern and a desire to ease his burden. And by fear.

The Metkayina had known nothing but peace until now. The ocean was ablaze, and corpses were everywhere, both Na’vi and humans. Alien machines and people's cries fused into an earsplitting noise. The smoke enveloped the air, carrying an acrid stench that she couldn’t place, but she would soon associate it to the notion of war. She embraced Lo'ak tightly, her turquoise irises skimming the surroundings from above his shoulder.  Stars should have been scattered in the eclipse sky, and she should have seen the iridescent outline of Polyphemus. Everything was engulfed in darkness, save for the flickering red and orange flames.

Huddled together as far as the barrier of their bodies made it possible, their faces aligned. Eyes locked in a wordless exchange that seemed to convey everything they needed to say. The warmth of their breaths mingled as their noses collided, and they could still feel the salt water drying on their skin. Their heartbeats filled the space between them, drowning out all other noise.

Even though the timing was less than ideal, they shared the long-awaited first kiss that left them both breathless; uncertainty looming over them, knowing it might be their last. Their lips barely brushed as a sharp whistle rose from Neteyam’s now gaping mouth. Inhaling in deep, erratic puffs, his fatigued eyes widened. He let out a weak cough, a sign that he was still with us. 

Neteyam was alive.  He was still alive.

“Bro!” Lo'ak sprang into action, wrapping his arms around him and lifting him up, helping him catch his breath. "I've got you, bro," he said. “Take short, quick breaths. Keep calm, don’t fidget. You’re fine, you made it. You’re still here.” What was happening before his eyes took him aback. It was almost too surreal to believe. His brother had been awake, crossed over to the other side, and returned. An unrestrained grin plasticized on his face, not resisting hugging him. 

In that moment, Neteyam's agonized throat let out a grunt, and his entire body convulsed with spasms. The growls escaping from his mouth sounding more like painful moans. Lo'ak's instincts kicked in and he ducked his abdomen forward, tapping his shoulder blades. Something was stuck in his windpipe, and he choked violently in an attempt to clear it. Neteyam threw out as he urged him to, spitting out the stale, viscous blood with a loud stridor. He leaned back against him, and he could feel the tension leaving his body. "I can't believe it," he laughed with delight. “You kicked death’s butt, bro!”

His joke fell flat. As he waited for a response, a snicker, the only thing he heard was the sound of his own breathing, leaving him with an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air. He brought his hands to his brother's face, desperate to hold onto the moment, fearing any further separation. Something that would be too much for him to handle. There's no way he could see him fade away again, not after giving him a glimpse of hope. But his eyes were bright; that full, vivid yellow, free of impurities he remembered. Nothing like what they had become only a quarter of an hour ago.

“They’re two highlighters,” Spider quipped during their playtime one afternoon. They were probably around seven. “What’s a hailaite?”  “Highlighter. It’s a marker with a big flat tip. Norm's got a ton of those on his desk. He uses them to make important stuff stand out on paper. Crazy, huh? He's old school, he still uses paper!” he chuckled. "He says it adds a touch of reality to the technology.”

Paper wasn’t a foreign concept to the Omatikaya, as outsiders had introduced them to it. Although they found it almost useless since the Na'vi, except for the Tawkami clan, didn’t have a writing system. Only the Sullys could wield it, as they were the sole members of the clan who could read English, an Earth language. Norm was their teacher. Their weekly schedule included three sessions of English lessons, along with hours dedicated to maths and science.

With the village’s constant rhythms, educating them to the level of an average human being was a daunting task. But Jake and Neytiri believed their children should know of their human side to have a complete sense of their identity. Also, they realized having extra knowledge in science and technology would be beneficial. 

"Super weird," is how Spider described the highlighters. “They're not the go-to for coloring or drawing, but they're hella vibrant.”“Vibrant?” said Kiri skeptically. “It means the colors are poppin'. They look strong. You know, like Teyam's eyes.”

Yes, Teyam’s eyes were bright and energetic. Lo'ak doubted to possess the same vigour they conveyed. The leader's spirit was not passed down to him. 

Only if he had witnessed his father a few decades earlier, he would have finally comprehended how much he had taken from him. Not just the incredible resemblance of their faces. Not just the addition finger on each hand and foot, or the eyebrows, or the irises a shade darker than his mother’s. 

Jake held his youngest son in thrall, for he was his spitting image. - Nothing scared him more than catching sight of his younger self in Lo’ak; his mirror.

There was a time when Jake acted on his emotions rather than thinking things through. He was impulsive, trusting his gut over his head, and was always eager to join in any kind of altercation, to jump into the fray. Whether it was to stand up for a friend or for the sheer sake of a good fistfight.  A disposition that cost him his legs as a Marine, but it was also the reason he was brave enough to step into Tommy's shoes in the Avatar Project. A life-changing decision that led him here, to Pandora. To Neytiri. Where he got something more meaningful and visceral, a sense of purpose filled with hope, love, and a group of people to connect with.

A place to belong.  A home. A family.  And with them, countless worries come along. 

A father protects. That's what gives him meaning.

As his children grew, the somewhat awkward but endearing carefreeness gradually faded. He started to prioritize his role as Olo'eyktan over his role as a father, especially to the two boys, resulting in a shift in their relationship. They looked up to him and strived to match his standards, exceed his expectations, and earn his respect. 

To gain his approval. To live up to him.

To break free from his shadow.

The day would come when Jake wouldn't be there to guide the clan anymore. It would fall on them, as warriors and his successors, to preserve it, and with it, their sisters. They had to be primed.

The reappear of the RDA had merely fomented this authoritarian side, shaped by years of military discipline. One by one, a new tile replaced the playful, jolly dad with each clash. Toruk Makto and Corporal Sully’s puzzle was incomplete until the train episode and the memory of his first-born being thrown into the air came together to form a complete picture. A commanding and aloof individual who responded to the title ‘sir’.

But the proverbial final straw that broke the camel’s back was encountering Quaritch once more, as if resurrected from the dead. Like a ghost from the past. Well, almost. He was now a phony Na’vi of twenty-something years - like his own children. It was a disorienting experience, given that he was at least thirty years Jake's senior, as a human. Still, that voice and its overconfident and defiant demeanour were just as he recalled. Specifically, watching him press a dagger to Lo'ak's jugular.

The past had arrived at his doorstep, and he had a lot, far too much at stake. He had already lost one of his sons, his own flesh and blood, taken away before his very eyes. Little did he know that, as he battled his worst nightmare to the death, Eywa had already granted him mercy and clemency.

Lo'ak told his brother to sit against a craggy outcrop so he could breathe easier and said he had to warn their father. Slowly, he made his way to the edge of the rocks and looked down at the churning water below. With his back turned, he asked Tsireya to take care of Neteyam in his absence, sneaking a peek at her from the corner of his eye. The blinding glare from the sea made it hard to make out the features of his face.  “No!”  "Find someone, anyone - your father, a survivor, an ilu. But bring Neteyam back to the village, okay? He needs Ronal.” “Lo’ak, you cannot...” "I gotta," he insisted, cutting her off and kneeling to cup her face. As he wiped away her tears, he could feel her trembling beneath his touch, her face contorted into a look of distress. His thumbs circling on her cheeks. “I couldn't live with myself if something happened to my sisters. If something were to happen to my parents while they were fighting out of hatred and fury, I’d never forgive myself. Neteyam's alive, they must know. I won't let them think they lost him and sacrifice themselves.” 

All because of me.

He went to get up, but the girl gripped his hand, not wanting to let go, and said, “Don’t go, something might happen to you.” She gritted her teeth as more tears mingled with the salt that had dried on her cheeks. Three fingers intertwined firmly at his four. “They could lose you.” ”I'm down to take that risk. They’re my family. I'd rather me than him,” he said with a bitter chuckle, pointing towards his brother. "You can’t mean it," she said, sounding reproachful. He didn't answer, instead choosing to hold her hand in both of his and look away. Slowly and rhythmically, he stroked her back with his thumb.  ”Lo'ak, you're just as important as Neteyam. They love you. Losing you would be just as heartbreaking.” Again, the only response was a quick, disapproving shake of the head. “For me, it’d be heartbreaking.”

At those last words, their eyes met, languid and full of regret. For the time wasted, for the words left unsaid, for the chances they thought never-ending, when this might have been their last time together. Tsireya’s throat felt tight, but she took a deep breath and gathered her courage, swallowing the lump that prevented her from speaking. She drew him closer, filling her abdomen and feeling her diaphragm lower as her heart raced. She gave him a last kiss, pouring all of her remaining strength into it, all of her torment, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. The silence was a relief, as they no longer heard the ominous sounds of moans, screams, and blasts of machinery blowing up or rifles firing. As their lips cautiously danced together, she tasted the saltiness that roughened his own.  They were in their own little bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. Briefly, all their worries and responsibilities disappeared, and they were just two kids in love again, lost in each other’s embrace.

Unfortunately, that feeling was short-lived. They parted just as the SeaDragon engine exploded; the sound echoing around them. They both froze in fear as they saw the danger ahead, unable to move or speak. Their hearts sank; they had to act fast.  Despite Lo'ak's desire to turn away, Tsireya's palms kept him rooted in place. “Promise me you’ll be careful, that you’ll come back to me. Don’t do anything stupid.” He gave her a condescending lopsided smile, tinged with a hint of cockiness and a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Trust me.” With a final nose peck, Lo'ak let out a guttural cry to summon his ilu. He mounted the creature, sensing its powerful muscles beneath him, and vanished into the choppy waves.

There was a great commotion in the Tsahìk tent as people bustled in and out, their voices mixing together in a cacophony of sound. The healers bounced from one side of the marui to the other like tennis balls when hit by a racket, rummaging through shelves and baskets. They sniffed and tasted different herbs and powders, hoping to create a medicine or a tonic to wake the patient up. Even just some strange-smelling concoction to place under his nostrils.

But Neteyam wouldn’t wake up from his slumber, no matter how much they tried. His body lay there, placid in its immobility. His chest was moving regularly and his eyes were twitching behind closed lids. 

Ronal passed a sharp needle over the boy’s torso, following the line of tendons from the jugular incisura to the rectum of the abdomen; where the hollow of the navel was drawn. She was chanting tones to the Great Mother in a melody that was exotic to the Omatikaya customs. Her face was a mask of unreadability.

“This ain't working.” Tsireya spoke in a hushed tone, her words meant only for Ao'nung's ears. The two communicated in a silence conversation, their eyes speaking volumes, shutting everyone else out. They had a secret language that only they could understand. Something just closed siblings have.  The elder’s head bobbed in agreement; a quick nod. His aquamarine eyes turned cold, hardening to a steely blue, his lips barely curving into a thin line as he tried to force the words out of his throat. “We need those scientists, sa’nok (mother).”

Silence fell, permeating and thick to suffocation. All the confidence that had prompted him to speak slipped away like water poured over an oil stain. He stood frozen, the weight of the burden on his shoulders threatening to buckle his knees. His gaze lowered to the dry straw floor, suddenly marveled at the intricate weave that made it up. He cowered, ears pressed tightly against his head, tail heavy and tucked between his legs. It was a surprise to see him in such a submissive posture, with a sense of resignation that was rare for him; he usually carried himself with confidence and authority. He strutted around with an air of superiority, fully cognizant of his influential status in the clan.

But with his parents, and especially his mother, was another story. 

Overpowering his mother would be easy for Ao'nung, given his sheer force and her current state. Yet, whether it was because of her role as Tsahìk or as a mother, the woman possessed an unwavering aura of obedience that commanded respect; one look was sufficient.  And as the boy faced the latter, he could feel the tension building between them, a mix of mute fury and surprise. She held the needle so tightly that her knuckles whitened, and her arms stretched along her sides. A conscious effort to redirect her irritation elsewhere, instead of displaying it publicly towards her son. Her refusal to turn away was evident in the stern side glance and stiff back. She closed her eyes, hoping to reset her mind and convince herself that the sentence was a figment of her imagination. She replayed the conversation in her mind, confirming that Ao'nung had, in fact, said what she thought he did. Had, in fact, implied that her intervention was subpar, and Nawna Sa'nok's ways were ineffectual. 

“Pardon?” she snarled through gritted her teeth. "Neteyam is part tawtute (human)," Tsireya said, defending her brother and standing in front of him. “This is beyond our comprehension,” gesturing to the patient on the cot. Ronal turned her full attention to her children, standing tall and proud before them. The regal grace of a queen, although a hint of complacency shone through in her every pore. Her children have blossomed into remarkable adults. With disbelief and shock written all over her face, she handed the tools to the nearby healer. The sight and sound were so extraordinary that people were left speechless. Seeing Ao'nung defy parental opinions or decisions was nothing new, but Tsireya’s reaction took everyone by wonder.

‘Since when did she stand up for him?' everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Ronal looked at the fully healed wound at Neteyam’s heart level and pondered sarcastically if it could be their doing. “They, who killed their own Mother and then came here to repeat the same mistake?” Though rhetorical, Tsireya replied: “A second opinion might help.” ”We need nothing from those demons. They were no aid when Kiri had convulsions and they won’t be now with Neteyam’s lethargy.” “Lethargy??” Lo'ak, who had been quietly observing the curators until now, finally chimed in with a sudden outburst. He couldn't hold back, even if it meant facing his parents' punishment for criticizing Tsahìk — again. “He’s in a coma!”  "Name it what you will, boy.” Ronal’s tongue snapped against her palate as she expressed her firm belief that ketuwong (aliens) would not bring any benefits.

A deafening silence filled the air until Ronal herself broke it. “Notwithstanding, I concur that this is a case that surpasses the expertise of the Metkayina.” “What is your suggestion?” Jake's voice was reduced to a mere echo of its usual force. He looked at his son with a heavy heart, feeling afflicted and impotent.  With a shared understanding, the two wives nodded at each other, coming to a decision. Neytiri spoke up, “We have no other choice but to bring him to the Tawkami.”

“Sa’nok, we cannot assess Neteyam’s physiological condition,” Ao’nung stepped forward with newfound bravery, “now that he is in... coma,” he intoned, the word heavy on his tongue; his pronunciation tentative and labored in scanning the alien language. ”He might stop breathing any second,” Lo'ak warned. Neytiri, who was skeptical of the Sky People, unexpectedly found herself agreeing with the two young men. “He requires constant monitoring. If his condition worsens, they’ll have to put him on respirators. Moreover, transporting him via ikran may prove fatal.”  The woman brought two fingers to compress her septum. Her eyes narrowed as she sighed. “Alright, we will dedicate a temporary area to the lab. In the meantime, you…” she pointed at the Sullys, “You will travel to Greenhome.”

The bluish halo of neon lights that surrounded him once again was familiar and yet disorienting at the same time. A perpetual twilight that contrasted with the sterile walls inside greeted him. The monitors cast a gentle glow, illuminating the otherwise dark room, while the medical area streamed a bright white light through the small porthole. 

Neteyam was there, his eyes closed as he lay on the comfortable, ergonomic mattress. The hospital gown, an ugly replacement for his clothes, was accompanied by the beeping and whirring of the machinery. His now hideous accessorizes. An electrode attached to his temple where a single braid would normally be, and an IV instead of a band on his forearm. A pulse oximeter put to the forefinger of his hand, which rested on his hip, while a mask pumped Pandorian air into his lungs, covering his nose and mouth.

Max couldn't provide any answers for Neteyam's miraculous recovery, just as Ronal had assumed. He hypothesized the coma resulted from the traumatic event, and it left a greater impact on his psyche than on his body - his brain was still operational, but in a dormant state. He was in a stable condition, although he couldn't predict how long it would last. 

He shivered as a delicate hand trailed down his spine, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.  He interpreted the gesture as a sign that it was time, and the girl nodded meditatively before burying her face in his chest. With her long arms wrapped around him, she held him close, anchoring him to herself with a tight squeeze around his waist. She rubbed the tip of her nose on his sternum before pulling away just enough to look into his eyes and say, “We’ll take care of him.”

Lo'ak examined the transceiver attached to the young woman's ear, running his fingers over the smooth surface. “You remember how to use it, right? It’s already connected to mine in the case — “ "Don't worry, I'll keep you in the loop," she grinned. However, as soon as the thought of his impending departure crossed her mind, her composure collapsed. He hugged her one last time, savoring the sweet scent of her wavy hair that reminded him of a warm, sunny day. “I'll be back before you even miss me.” With his chin on her head, it was at that moment that he saw something strange beyond the glass.

Behind the oxygen mask, Neteyam was smiling.

@cinetrix @scorpiomoon-444 @wh0rezs @sweetdayme4427

[btsgotjams27]

All Grown Up ~ JJK | 14

✨ title: all grown up | series (completed) ✨ pairing: jungkook x f!reader | ✨ rating: R/18+ ~ minors dni ✨ genre/au: romance, fluff, angst, friends-to-lovers, humor, banter, smut, age gap, best friends little brother ✨ author's notes: I won't be updating this series on Tumblr. Please continue this series on AO3 or Wattpad. Links below. This fic is inspired by the k-drama, Something in the Rain. ✨ author's notes 2: okay, so i do plan on editing the rest of this series! i just don't know when it'll be done.

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] prev | next ✨ it'll never be the same

✨ chapter 14 ~ we can't do this | wc: 1.4k

When he got home, he excitedly called you to tell you the good news. Little did he know, you had already decided about your relationship and were heading to talk to Yuna. You saw his call and let it go to voicemail. You knocked quietly on Yuna's apartment door and held up a cute white scalloped box as she opened the door.

"I brought a peace offering."

Yuna recognized the cake box you brought, and her eyes lit up. "You're lucky I like cake."

She grabbed the cake and left the door open for you. At least she didn't slam the door in your face. You took it as a good sign. You walked in and pulled up a stool underneath her kitchen counter. The clinking of plates and forks was resounding loudly throughout the kitchen as the silence between the both of you grew. You swear the gulps you took could be heard from the next-door neighbor. Your eyes followed her as she furiously cut a slice of cake to put on the plate.

"Don't take it out on the cake."

"Should I take it out on you instead?" she asked, half-jokingly threatening as she held up the knife.

"Okay--I get it. You're still upset." And Yuna had every right to be. You lied to your best friend and kissed her brother, amongst other things - but she didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, I'm upset. Wouldn't you be if you were in my position?" She roughly slid the slice of cake in your direction. You grabbed your fork and took a small bite of the heavily frosted rainbow cake. You looked over and saw Yuna using her fork to push around her slice.

"I can't remember the last time you were this upset at me."

She looked up and went on to eat her cake.

You cleared your throat, "I want to let you know that I'm not going to pursue whatever this is with Jungkook. I love and respect you and our friendship too much." It was a hard decision, but you'd rather not lose one of your closest friends, and for what? A relationship that probably wouldn't work out?

Yuna's mouth was full while trying to talk. "I already told him I was fine with it." She didn't look up from her cake, continuing to stuff her mouth.

Her response almost made you choke on nothing. "You did what?"

"Jungkook can do whatever he wants. I'm not his mom."

"And you're okay with that?" you asked wide-eyed. You were not expecting this when you came over today. Honestly, you were expecting her to scold you a bit more, maybe even get into a catfight, but in reality, her words would cut you more than her physical strength.

She shrugged. "I don't know yet."

You began chewing on your bottom lip, unsure what to do now. You had a plan and were ready to end everything with Jungkook.

"What are you going to do?" Yuna finally peered up from her cake, which was nearly finished.

"What do you think I should do? What do you want me to do? I'll do whatever you want." Your friendship was more important than a boy, even if it was Jungkook, even if he made you melt or gave you butterflies, which it had been a long time since someone had made you feel that way. But right now, your friendship is more important.

"I know you're going through a hard time right now, and you should sort out your feelings before breaking my brother's heart." The spite and tone in her voice told you that she wasn't okay seeing Jungkook with you, no matter what she said to him.

You silently scoffed. "Wow, that's not passive-aggressive at all. You're assuming I'll break Jungkook's heart."

Yuna set her fork down and crossed her arms. "I'm his sister, and it's my job to protect him."

You understood her position, and you'd probably do the same thing. "No, no. You're right in wanting to protect him. But what about me? Am I just going to be the bad guy in all of this?"

She stood there, unsure how to respond to everything, and you get it. You figured if this came out, it would be a little awkward between the two of you.

"Well...enjoy your cake. I'll see you if you still want to see me."

You reluctantly head towards the door, hoping that she will stop and tell you that she loves the idea of you and her little brother together and that if you guys ever got married, she would be your sister. But that was far from the truth. She let you go without saying anything else.

You were in front of your apartment complex and found Jungkook sitting on the steps with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He looked so sweet and boyfriend-like, and he immediately popped up to greet you.

"Hey! There you are."

You flashed a half smile as he pecked you on the cheek, and you slightly pulled away.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"I just came back from Yuna's."

"Oh--I was just there this morning, and I have some good news! But why do you look so sad? Did something happen? Did she say something to you?"

Your lips were quivering, and tears started to form behind your eyes. Jungkook quickly put down the bouquet and cupped your face.

"Hey--hey–"

Streaks of tears began to fall gently down your cheeks and onto his hands. He wiped them as they came and pulled you into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, Jungkook. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry--I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

All you could do was apologize. Apologize for letting yourself get into this situation, apologize for letting yourself fall for him, and now apologize for breaking his heart.

He pulled away, rubbing your arms, then cupped your face again. "Don't apologize. You have nothing to apologize for," he said sweetly, leaving kisses on your cheeks, then he connected his lips with yours. You let him continue because you knew it would probably be the last time you could have him this way.

After being lost in the moment, you gathered yourself and tenderly pulled back from his lips. You longingly gazed into his twinkling doe eyes, trying to capture every last second you could before shattering his heart.

“Jungkook, we can't–”

He interrupted you. "Don't say it. Don't you dare say it."

"We can't do this, Kook. We can't be together."

There it was. You could hear Jungkook's heart shattering into a million pieces along with yours. Your heart began aching and throbbing, and you took it out and stomped on it repeatedly until nothing was left. He stood there speechless and trembling.

"We can make this work, and we haven't even had a chance to try," he said. His eyes were pleading with you, every ounce of him willing to do whatever it took to call you his.

You were trying to smile through your tears and sniffles. "I was naïve enough to think this could all work somehow," you chuckled, "I think I could have loved you, but we'll never know."

Jungkook was upset and frustrated that you weren't even willing to try. "I'm not giving up without a fight."

"Don't make this harder than it already is, Kook," you cried. You had already gone over every possible scenario, and it always ended up with you losing in the end.

"What did Yuna say to you?" he asked sternly, "If you don't tell me, I'll go and find out–"

He tried to walk away, but you pulled him back. "Kook--just let this go. Let me go. I'm not worth all this trouble."

"If you're not going to fight for us, then I will. You are worth all of this, and you're everything to me. Don't you understand that?" His eyes searched yours for answers, and he wondered if you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Kook, you don't even know me." It's true he didn't because you only let him see what you wanted him to see about your life. He didn't know about all the struggles you've had with your family, with U-jin, and with your health.

"Of course, I know you. I've known you my whole life, and I've been in love with you since I was eighteen."

You grimaced at his sudden reveal. He wasn't going to let you go so easily, was he? "Don't say that, Jungkook. Don't tell me things like that." How could he love you when you were a complete and utter mess?

"It's true. I love you and am deeply and irrevocably in love with you."

The ache in your heart was carving deeper into your soul. He can't be in love with you.

✨ previous chapter ~ the day he knew

✨ next chapter ~ it'll never be the same

[lespetitesmortsde]

For library and/or orchestra au

2, 5, 10, 11, 19, 26

2. What program did you use to write this fic (Word, Google Docs, etc)?

I use Google Docs, for better or worse. Although I have been looking at Obsidian and such. But. I'm a basic bitch.

5. Where did you write this fic? Is that your favourite spot to write?

I write a variety of places. I generally write symphony AU at my desk with dual monitors because I do a bunch of research while I go. Library AU is more forgiving because a lot of it is just pulled from my life. Sometimes I write on my laptop in bed, sometimes at the kitchen table, sometimes at the library, sometimes at my in-laws, sometimes outside. Wherever I can get a minute with my computer. On occasion I've even written on my phone although I hate it.

10. Share a screenshot of the original outline (if you dareee)

... alright, see attached.

Library AU:

Symphony AU:

11. Was there a scene that you hadn't originally planned to include? Why did you decide to fit it in?

Library AU: already answered in another ask.

Symphony AU: this one has more structure than library AU simply because of the nonlinearity of the narrative that I'm writing as I go. However, I didn't originally plan for Imogen in this latest chapter (4) to have a little parklet spot. But we found it together and I loved that for her so of course she got to keep it.

19. Is this one of your personal favourite fics? Why or why not?

Library AU: Yes. It's my most ardent love letter to Imogen and Laudna, to trauma and hurt and the eternal struggle of trying to be good when it is instead so easy to be bad, to be consumed by pain and the darkest parts of yourself. Like Laudna and the library, I've poured so much of myself into it, which, if you know anything about me, you know is probably support for why it wouldn't be my favourite, but I'm growing as a person just like these two chucklefucks are. And while none of us may be where we want to end up one day, we're still here. We're still trying.

Symphony AU: Also yes. This exploration of music and loneliness and being alone in a crowd, making your own family, making your own worth, learning how to rely on others, to let others help you... it's so very close to my heart. Laudna's mind sounded like music and I took that literally, I took that as she's a composer and she works through her life not so much with crafts, but still with her hands, still creating something where not everyone can.

26. Wild card! I'll tell you a fun fact about this fic!

Library AU: The Imogen and Dusk office scenes were split from one scene I had fully written out that I was gonna slot into, like, chapter four, but I held onto them instead.

Symphony AU: Unlike everything else I've written, this fic wasn't a pain to title and all the chapters I've got planned so far are titled as well. Magic.

Thanks for asking, Anon!

More fanfic questions? Feel free to ask!

[missjanjie]

Prom Night | Nymphia x Sapphira

Title: Prom Night Summary: A continuation of my previous Cristalwind commission, Nymphia and Sapphira are tasked with chaperoning the senior prom, a first for them in many ways. The night may be an important chapter for the kids, but in the end, they decide to focus on their own story (commission for @derpyavocado) Word Count: 1875 Relationship(s): Nymphia Wind/Sapphira Cristal Rating: E Commission Info | Past Commissions

“Okay, we have all the votes tallied, are you guys ready to hear the prom theme?” Nymphia asked the class, receiving raucous applause. “And are we all still sworn to secrecy until Plasma makes the morning announcements?” The applause was more timid, but still as affirmative. This was necessary as, while Nymphia did have the entire senior class at some point or another throughout the day (which is how everyone got to vote), only her earliest - her second-period class - had Plasma, who would be the first student to know regardless. “And the prom 2024 theme, with almost sixty percent of the votes is… Masquerade Ball!” 

The response from the class was mixed but had a predominantly positive overtone. Since Nymphia and Sapphira were the two primary chaperones, as well as the lead planners, they’d decided they wanted to make the process as interactive and engaging as possible. “Okay, guys. Remember I need your final project plans on Monday. And feel free to come by if you need help with your prom-posal signs,” Nymphia announced right before the bell rang and the students filed out. 

“So, is it safe to assume that we’re hitting up Party City this weekend?” Sapphira asked as she let herself into the room through their connecting door. 

She smiled and nodded, opening up the binder she used for project planning. It had grown exponentially since the beginning of the school year, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride when she hoisted the five-pound brick onto her desk. “I figure this buys me an easy week of lesson planning if I can just have them all make masks.”

“Can’t wait to see the fashion club kids design their masks around their outfits… or vice versa. Who am I to determine their creative process?”

“I didn’t have a prom. I can only imagine the type of dress I would’ve made,” Nymphia mused as she sorted through color palettes. 

Sapphira frowned, sitting on the edge of the large desk. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t go to my prom. My school was old-fashioned, even in 2006.”

Nymphia looked at her curiously. “What did you do instead?”

“My friends and I all got high and went to Dave and Buster’s. But don’t go repeating that to the kids. We’re supposed to be promoting sobriety hardcore during prom season. The punishments they’re handing down are the strictest they’ve ever been.” 

“Duly noted,” she nodded, but added, “not that I had any intention of encouraging underage drinking. I would like to keep my teaching license and not have a criminal record.”

—

Being the faculty leader of the prom committee also meant that Nymphia was in charge of helping the students decorate the gym for the event. She was sitting on the floor in the gym, hand-painting the sign with Dawn while the rest of the committee hung up other decorations. 

“Are you and Miss Cristal going together?” Dawn asked. Even though the relationship between the two teachers went from being an open secret to common knowledge over the course of the school year, her students were still eager for any piece of romantic gossip they could milk out.

“Of course, you know she can’t drive at night,” Nymphia replied flippantly. “No offense to you guys, but I don’t think high school prom sets the mood for the adults.”

“Plasma and I tried to get her to do a prom-posal for you, but she laughed and called us corny,” Amanda chimed in from the bleachers. “I still think it was a missed opportunity.” 

The teacher smiled and shook her head. “This isn’t about us, guys. We’re not here to take your spotlight. Just to live vicariously through it since I didn’t have a prom and Miss Cristal didn’t go to hers.” Even though it was meant to be a lighthearted confession, she immediately regretted making it, as it caused the students to stop what they were doing and rush over to her with a multitude of suggestions for how they could celebrate as chaperones. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, threatening, “You guys better stop before I get Miss Plane to chaperone instead.” And that was enough to quiet them down instantaneously. 

Once they were done, Nymphia took a step back to admire their handiwork. Gold, silver, and red enveloped the gym, giving it as much elegance and luxury as a high school gymnasium could have. “Great job, everyone. Now, get going before you miss the late bus.” 

—

“Twenty minutes in and I already confiscated two flasks,” Sapphira shook her head as she made her way over to Nymphia. “It’s 2024, they should know how to hide it better at this point. Don’t they have ways to find that out on the internet?”

“Local millennial yells at cloud,” Nymphia teased. “Anything good in them, at least?”

She shook her head. “Smells like cheap-ass vodka at best. Not even worth us stealing.” Her gaze shifted back to the teens mostly standing around and talking rather than dancing. “Gonna be a long night.”

“Maybe a little booze would’ve loosened them up,” she mused. At her girlfriend’s disapproving stare, she huffed, “What? I was kidding!” She looked over to the floor as well. “God, I’m so glad Amanda let me tailor her dress. I almost went down to Macy’s myself to give that transphobic saleswoman a piece of my mind. How was there no recourse on that?”

Sapphira smiled softly. One thing she had quickly grown to admire about Nymphia was how ardently she defended the students, especially ones that were already outcasted by other students, and even some fellow faculty members. “You didn’t hear? Dawn made a storytime on TikTok and it went viral. Someone from the chain’s social media team got them both hooked up with gift cards or something.”

“So they can garner the attention of a major department store but not figure out how to smuggle in alcohol. I love this generation.” 

After a while, the event did start to gain traction. Students were dancing and having fun, Nymphia and Sapphira did their rounds now and then to make sure no one was about to get themselves in trouble. They applauded emphatically when two cheerleaders – Mirage and Xunami – were bestowed the titles of ‘prom royalty’ and helped clear space in the middle of the gym for them to share their slow dance. It started with just the two of them, but eventually, all of the couples had paired off to dance as well. 

 Sapphira turned to Nymphia and extended a hand out to her. “May I have this dance?”

“And here I thought we’d never get a chance to dance at prom,” Nymphia chuckled, taking her hand and following her lead to the floor. She placed her hands on Sapprira’s shoulders while the other teacher’s arms looped around her waist, the two of them swaying to the beat.

When the song ended, loud applause filled the gymnasium. Sapphira and Nymphia looked over, expecting the crowd to be cheering for the prom queens. To their surprise, they found themselves in the center of a newly formed circle with their students surrounding them. They looked around, then at each other, promptly doubling over with laughter, needing to hold onto each other for support. 

The event started to die down over the next hour, finishing at the predetermined time with the students filing out. The pair of them waited until every student had gone home before gathering their things and returning to Sapphira’s apartment. “You know, that was a pretty good first prom,” Nymphia mused.

“Been my favorite one to chaperone so far, that’s for sure,” Sapphira chuckled as she took off her jewelry and let her hair down from the updo it’d been meticulously styled in. “Unzip me?” 

Nymphia nodded and unzipped her dress before turning so she could do the same. “I didn’t think we’d end up as the final scene of a romantic comedy,” she added, stepping out of her dress and placing it back on the hanger. She then realized that her girlfriend was no longer listening to her, and she knew why – under her dress, she had sprung for a new lingerie set that she’d managed to hide from her thus far. “You like it?” 

Sapphira cocked her brow as she sauntered over to her, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her into a heated kiss. “What kind of stupid question is that?” she asked against her lips as she scooped her up and moved her to the bed. She didn’t give her a chance to reply, instead continuing the kiss as she haphazardly got both of them completely stripped down. “You were smart to keep this a surprise, wouldn’t have been able to focus on keeping the kids in line.”

“I am as smart as I am horny,” she giggled, tilting her head to the side as she was attacked with kisses and bites down to her collarbone. The feeling of Sapphira’s mouth on her skin sent sparks of arousal through her body, something her girlfriend easily picked up on. 

“That’s my good girl,” she purred in praise as she trailed further down Nymphia’s body. She left a few small hickies on her hipbones as her hand moved between her thighs, lightly nudging them further apart before rubbing her clit with her thumb. 

Nymphia’s head pushed back into the pillow as her body arched up. Her eyes fluttered shut as she let herself yield to Sapphira’s movements. A breathy moan spilled from her lips at the sensation of one finger, then another, easing into her and curling up. “Fuck…”

She couldn’t help but smirk. “You’re so wet, baby,” she cooed, voice tauntingly saccharine. “You were waiting for this all night, weren’t you? Jealous of letting the kids have all the fun?” 

Her cheeks flushed red as she nodded. “You know I’m always waiting to have you to myself, always need you so badly.”

“That’s my girl,” Sapphira praised, rewarding her by ducking her head down and sucking on her clit as she thrust her fingers steadily. If there was one thing she knew about her girlfriend, it was that she rarely needed to be gentle with her, that she never needed to hold back. She was relentless with the skillful ministrations of her tongue, working her fingers to hit the exact spot she needed to.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that,” Nymphia encouraged, despite not needing to. It wasn’t long before she lost the ability to lie still and take it, her hips rocking with more and more fervor. “I’m close, baby,” she warned, waiting until Sapphira gave her thigh a tap of permission before she came with a loud groan.

She waited until she was spent before easing her fingers out and picking her head back up. “You good, baby?”

Nymphia nodded, holding her arms out for Sapphira to come to her, happily snuggling up once she did. “I think we’ve found our new prom night tradition,” she mused with a breathless laugh.

Sapphira chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You don’t need to look for an excuse, Nymph. But you know I’m never gonna say no to you.”

[humanpurposes]

(Teaser) It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

A/n: I feel bad that it's been forever since this series had an update, and I'm just feeling silly today so I thought I'd share a lil something of what I've been working on (to hopefully motivate me to finish the chapter lmao).

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the ancient stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity. 

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at his laptop and they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planninging this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to every individual and family in Westeros who thinks they are even slightly important that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. 

There can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

His eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan in the main ballroom. Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind his eyes and in the crevices of his scar.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?” 

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease, and he has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it: a glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in the office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and grab some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move. 

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache. 

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again? 

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

[minisugakoobies]

Versus | MYG, JHS - Chapter 7

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Hoseok

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, crack, enemies to lovers, Villains!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: mentions of weapons - blades and lasers, mentions of blood/bleeding, references to physical combat, references to kissing, references to masturbation (m), this one's pretty angsty, the sidekicks remain the sweetest, shifting POVs, Vitality has to deal with a sexist asshole

Word Count: 3.7k

Disclaimer: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Supervillain exes Yoongi and Hoseok are sick and tired of having their plans for world domination wrecked by you, aka Vitality, the world’s most powerful superhero. When fellow villain Jimin suggests a little competition to see who can bring you to your knees, they both eagerly accept. Now the battle is on as both men engage you in fight after fight to see who will conquer you first. Will you finally defeat these two, or will they destroy you - and possibly take each other out in the process?

A/N: And we're back! Sorry for the long break, but the holidays interrupted everything (like they usually do). This might be the longest chapter yet? To think I once thought this would be a drabble series 😵‍💫 I'm just a wordy bitch 😂

Chapter title comes from "Seek & Destroy" by SZA, which is very much the vibe for this chapter and the chapters to come.

Unbeta’d as usual. Please don’t be a silent reader! 🥺 My inbox is always open! 💕

Chapter Six ✨ Series Masterlist ✨ Character Playlists

Chapter Seven: The Art of War, Goddammit, I'm Drained

Jin knows a lot of things.

As an advanced AI system, it has access to all of humanity’s collective knowledge. It can tell you anything that has ever been recorded, in written word, in video or photos, in digital data. Nothing is out of its reach.

It also knows how lucky it is that Hobi is its creator. To think that this gorgeous genius, this gifted scientist, this absolute visionary poured his heart and soul into making Jin… well, it would give it goosebumps if it had arms. And flesh. 

Right now, though, it knows that Hobi needs it, no matter how much he protests otherwise. So as Hobi once again stomps through his lair, heading for his inner sanctum, Jin opens every door for him unprompted, dims the lights slightly to mitigate any headaches Hobi might have picked up while fighting (the man always seems to end up with a tension headache after dealing with Vitality), and releases a calming burst of lavender into the air as well. 

Jin prides itself on taking care of its beloved.

Hobi sheds his black body harness, removing all of his laser weapons as he continues to scowl at no one. A replay of his battle from earlier today is playing in his mind on a loop. Once again, he’d failed. He’d finally managed to fight you without having to rely on those damn power disrupters and he’d still lost. 

And then there was that whole… ordeal… with the kissing. And the strange sensation flowing through him from your touch. Just what the fuck was that about??

“Penny for your thoughts, love.” 

Hobi purses his lips. “Jin, please. Not now.” He strips out of his all-black combat ensemble and slips on an oversized tee and joggers. Running his hand through his hair, he musses it slightly. Gone are all traces of Dark Hobi, his fastidiousness, his sharpness. This is just Hoseok, looking soft and slightly lost. 

Jin’s electronic heart glitches in agony.

“I’ve prepared an analysis of today’s engagement if you’d like to see where things went wrong.” 

“Ha,” Hoseok barks a piercing laugh, one that manages to sting Jin even despite its lack of nerves. “I know exactly where shit went wrong. Expecting Vitality to act rationally.”

As Hoseok strolls into his command center, Jin activates all the screens, displaying the video captured from the cameras embedded in Hoseok’s tech. “Actually, sir, it appears that the fatal flaw in your plan today occurred when you stopped using your tech and chose to engage Vitality in hand-to-hand combat.” If Jin had a throat to clear uncomfortably, this is where it would do it. “Just like the last time.” 

Hoseok frowns, staring at the monitors. Jin’s right, of course. He knows he shouldn’t indulge so much in physical violence. If he would simply resist the impulse, he could probably finish you off so easily using any of his laser weapons.

He just can’t help himself. Every time he sees you, he feels this burning need to get his hands on you. It consumes him, drives him mad until he finally snaps. 

Until he gets that desperate urge under control, it’s going to be his downfall every time.

“I know, Jin. I fucking know.” Hoseok sighs, propping his feet up on the command console. “So I’m guessing your recommendation for the next battle is…?”

“Once you have her cornered, either with or without the disrupters, use your tech to destroy Vitality.”

“Right.” Hoseok rubs his face, and Jin wishes yet again that it had an arm to sling around its creator’s shoulders. “You make it sound so easy.” 

“I’m merely reporting the results based on a comprehensive analysis of–”

“Save it, Jin, I understand.” Hoseok’s so tired. When’s the last time he had a proper night’s sleep? 

Oh. Right. 

He sighs, sitting up and crossing his arms over the console. “Clear the screens, Jin. I don’t need to see anymore.” 

“Is there anything else I can do for you, darling?”

Hoseok ignores the term of endearment, lost in thought. Will he ever be free of the guilt of that night? Or will it haunt him forever? 

Maybe if he exorcises his ghost, he’ll be free.

It’s along that train of thought that he gives his next command.  “I want you to run a few scenarios for me.” 

“Of course. What would you like me to analyze?” 

Hoseok leans forward, resting his chin on his arms. For someone whose brilliance looms so large, he seems so small, Jin muses. “I want to know the most effective way for me to eliminate Vitality and Yoongi. Together.”

“Hyung, please. Let me take a look.” 

“I said I’m fine, Taehyung-ah!” 

Taehyung’s one of the strongest marksmen Yoongi’s ever met, capable of taking down any foe with any item from his vast arsenal, but truly, the deadliest weapon he wields is his pout. Yoongi sighs.

“Fine.” He lowers his head, allowing Taehyung to inspect the cut opened by your fingernails. It oozes blood as his confidant touches it gingerly, and Yoongi hisses. 

“Sorry, hyung.” Taehyung bends over his medical kit, setting to work cleaning and dressing the wound as Yoongi silently meditates on what an absolute fuck-up of a day it’s been. 

Once again, he’d been on the verge of victory. Thanks to Taehyung’s intervention, he’d had you cornered, trapped against the cabinets. He could still feel the dagger in his hand, aimed at your head. One toss was all it would take. One quick toss, and he’d win.

A thrill had raced through him at the thought of finally, finally defeating you. Not just you, but Hoseok, too. Honestly, that idea made his pulse jump even more. And then the flesh-eating bacteria escaped its confines, and Yoongi couldn’t believe his good fortune. You were seconds from being destroyed completely. With a vicious laugh, he’d pulled his arm back, preparing to deliver the death strike that would secure his crown, and glanced at your face.

That was his fatal mistake. 

Fear. So much fear was swimming in those gorgeous eyes of yours that it stopped his hand, locking him in place as the world spun around him. It was an expression he recognized from countless other faces over the years during his rise to supervillain status. A look that he usually sought out. Craved, even.

So why was it causing his gut to twist? He felt physically pained, staring into your terrified orbs. The urge to quell the panic he found there warred with his desire to win. 

He hesitated. And, well, he should’ve remembered that old saying. 

In a split second, he moved on instinct, tossing the dagger and saving your life. And then he was running again, without a chance to contemplate his reaction until he sat down and Taehyung began pestering him about his injuries. 

Reflecting on it now, his only thought is, what the fuck.

“Hyung, can I ask you a question?” 

Yoongi grunts. Sure.

“Is this competition worth it?”

Yoongi lifts his head, wincing at the way his wound stings with the movement, staring at his confidant. The other man’s blue hair is held back by a bandana, his gaze fixed on his kit as he organizes the objects, placing the items back into their proper spots, and Yoongi is struck by just how young Taehyung looks as he steadfastly avoids his hyung’s eye. 

“What are you asking, Taehyung?” Yoongi never has patience for avoidance.

Taehyung sighs, sounding quite like a weary old man despite his appearance as he answers. “It just seems that this contest has brought you nothing but pain and stress. How many times have I had to rescue you now? How many times have we sat here, you brooding silently while I patch you up? No matter how many brilliant plans you come up with, Vitality foils each and every one, and we return home to start over again. You know what they say about the definition of insanity, right?”

“Are you calling me insane?” Yoongi’s voice is laced with venom, but Taehyung doesn’t flinch. He knows he struck a nerve, but he trusts his hyung not to bite. 

“I’m just concerned. This competition seems to be taking so much from you.” His task complete, Taehyung faces his hyung, dark eyes wide with worry. “Maybe… maybe it’s time to let it go. Then you can get back to what you really want.”

That’s the real question, there. The one that’s been keeping Yoongi up at night. What does he want? He knows what Taehyung thinks he wants. The same thing Jimin thinks. World domination. 

But when Yoongi is alone in his bed, fantasizing, it’s never images of him sitting on a throne, ruling over all that makes him hard, have him gripping his cock, stroking so quickly. No, it’s usually a face floating through his mind. It used to be the same face, night after night, wicked eyes, dark smirk, whispering sweet words about forever. A face that used to lie beside him once upon a time.

Last night, it was a different face. Wearing an expression of hope.

Hoseok was always the impulsive one, giving in to his emotions so quickly. Yoongi’s worked hard to keep his in check. He’s only ever really given in once. 

Well, twice now.

He won’t make that mistake again. 

“Taehyung. I appreciate your concerns. I do. But you must trust that I know what I’m doing.” Someone needs to. “As for what I want… this competition is the way to achieve that.”

Taehyung blinks meditatively, absorbing Yoongi’s words, the waver in his voice. His hyung is lying. A tiny strand of dread works its way into his gut, settles there, twisting into a knot. “If you’re sure, hyung.”

“I’m sure.” Yoongi stands, muscles protesting loudly. He grits his teeth to keep from groaning in pain. “I’m going to win.” 

And when he’s done, and both you and Hoseok are gone forever, he’ll finally be free.

Tackatackatackatacka

The Company’s cubicle farm lackeys are busy clicking away while you stride down the hallway towards Conference Room A. Their heads turn one-by-one as you pass. You’d think after how many years of these weekly meetings, they’d be accustomed to your presence, but somehow every week you manage to electrify their sad little lives with the few seconds they bask in your radiance.

To these poor souls, you’re akin to a god, and you drink in their envy and awe as easily as you do the energy that pulses from the flickering fluorescent lights overhead.

Inside the boardroom, you take a seat next to Namjoon, who greets you with a nod and a gentle “Sup?” You nod back, not particularly feeling like making small talk, still smarting from your recent fights. Once again, you’d been on the verge of putting Yoongi and Hobi away from good, and once again, both slipped through your powerful fingers. 

You’re real fucking sick of the repeating seesaw games.

The CEO of your organization calls the meeting to order. You remain zoned out, nodding occasionally, smiling when your name is mentioned, but otherwise completely disengaged. 

“You okay, baby?” Namjoon murmurs as the CEO cues up something on the video screen behind him, droning on about Doc’s latest discovery of a new super in Bolivia. 

“Right as rain, Joon,” you reply. He looks dubious, so you steer him away. “How did your raid on LMLY Industries go?”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t end up leading that mission. Boss man decided to give it to the babies.” 

“He what?!” ‘The babies’ are the junior members of your org. Barely out of training, they’re nowhere near ready to handle a mission of their own. Especially not one where the target is a legendary villain like Jackson Wang. The man’s practically a mythical creature, appearing in nearly every story of defeat you’ve heard from other supers. 

Glancing across the table, you eye Jeongin and Felix curiously. They both appear to be in one piece, so they clearly didn’t lose, but you’d have heard by now if Wang was in custody, so he must’ve gotten away again. “If he wasn’t going to give you the mission, then it should’ve gone to me.” 

Namjoon shrugs. “Pretty sure you were on a mission of your own at the time. It’s not like you can be everywhere at once, babe.”

“Well, not until the scientists get the teleportation tech up and running. Last I heard, the lab suspended testing.” 

Namjoon grimaces. “Oh, yeah, they shut that shit down when Changbin and Jisung had their little… uh… body swap incident. Remember?” 

“Fuck, I completely forgot about that.” Seems like you should’ve remembered the sight of two of your junior teammates switching heads for a day, but it’s been a busy couple of weeks and these things tend to slip your mind. Thank god the scientists figured out they could reverse the swap by just sending them back through the portal. 

“Yeah. That was a wild fucking day.” The two of you fall silent as one of the officers at the table says your names, but he appears to be reading a report out loud and not actually addressing you, so you tune the meeting out again as Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Speaking of the lab….”

“Vitality? Did you hear me?”

The CEO’s voice breaks into your gossip session and you sit up, startled. “Sorry, sir, what did you say?” 

The bald man eyes you suspiciously from behind a pair of thick spectacles. “We were just discussing your latest debriefing statements from your recent missions with Dark Hobi and Evil Yoongi.” 

“Of course, sir.” Your hand flexes on your thigh and you smother the sparks that slip from your fingertips in anger at his tone as you feel Namjoon shift anxiously beside you. You’ve never liked the way the CEO talks to you. You hate even more that you have to address him and all the other officers in this room as ‘sir.’ And of course your teammate knows both of these facts.

“General Ahn here wanted to ask you a few questions.” The CEO bows to a severe-looking older man sitting at the head of the table. His highly-decorated uniform speaks to a lifetime of service and victory. It’s meant to intimidate. To suggest power. 

Please. You could destroy him in an instant.

“Vitality,” the old man booms, “in addition to familiarizing myself with your statements, I have watched the videos we obtained from your body cams.” He’s referring to the tiny cams integrated into your uniform in your organization’s logo, a shield with a tiger’s head, and also in the headband you wear. “There seems to be some patterns.”

He pauses, and you realize he’s waiting for you to respond. “Some patterns, sir?” 

“Yes. In the last ten engagements you had with either of these supervillains, there came a point about halfway through where you suddenly end up completely at their mercy. Furthermore, in each of your last five missions to capture the wretch known as Evil Yoongi, not only were you on the verge of losing, but you managed to allow yourself to become restrained, tied up in one manner or another.” He stares you down across the table. “Explain yourself.”

You blink. Explain yourself? What the fuck does that mean? “I’m sorry, sir? Explain… “

“Yes, explain,” he snarls. “How does the strongest superhero in our arsenal suddenly find herself on the losing end against these two? Every time we send you out to bring them in, you end up on your back, or strung up by your ankles!”

His words seem to ruffle the others as uneasy murmuring ripples around the room. You notice the CEO shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Has he also noticed the strange glitching of your powers? 

Ice courses through your veins. You know the cameras captured everything visible, but what keeps happening to you can’t possibly be seen by others. Only the absence of the use of your powers might cause someone to question if they’re waning… but there’s no way they’ve caught on, is there? 

“I–I…,” you stammer for an answer as the general’s face turns red with anger. “I can only state that in each of these engagements, I eventually succeeded in defeating them.” 

“Yes, in the last ten battles, you did successfully overcome them eventually, as you say, but only after spending too much time and effort to do so, typically after causing more collateral damage than is acceptable, and on top of that, after all ten missions they both still managed to escape!” 

His aura is a disgusting brownish-green shade, pulsing violently as he shouts. You imagine that if you were to feed from him, it would just make you feel nauseous. 

“Well, sir, once I have apprehended the villains, I turn them over to our containment team, so any escape is hardly–”

“And then there is the matter of this!” The general waves at the CEO, who cues up a video. As the room around you gasps in shock, the kiss you’d shared with Yoongi fills the screen that makes up the wall behind the general. It’s a very close angle, shot from your point of view, but it’s very clear what is happening between the two of you.

“That was a distraction technique, sir–I had to keep the enemy engaged while I–”

He laughs derisively, indicating with a flicker of his fingers for the CEO to kill the video. “Oh, you certainly kept him engaged! You see this,” he turns to one of his colleagues, another crusty old man in a tacky uniform, “this is why we should stick to male superheroes only, because as soon as a woman is involved, all common sense flies out the window!”

A large hand lands on your tensed fist under the table. You glance at Namjoon, and he shakes his head slightly, gripping your wrist, silently urging you not to release the blast building in your palm. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself before reabsorbing the beam of energy rather than letting it fly loose in the sexist old windbag’s ugly face. 

“I can only apologize, sir,” you grit through your teeth. “I will do better on the next mission.” 

“I certainly hope you do. Because if your disappointing performance continues, you will be removed from active duty. Is that clear?”

“Crystal. Sir.” 

As the CEO continues the meeting, Namjoon turns to you, a muscle in his sharp jawline ticcing violently. “That motherfucker has no right to treat you like that. Are you okay?”

No, you’re not okay. You’re fucking livid. The nerve of that general, to question you! As if you haven’t devoted your life to this organization, giving up everything–family, career, love, everything–as soon as your powers emerged and made you a potential recruit. You never questioned your decision to join the team and become a superhero. 

But if this is how they’re going to repay your commitment and dedication, the literal blood, sweat, and tears you’ve shed for them… maybe you should. 

“No. But I don’t want to think about that ancient asshole and his condescending attitude any longer than I have to.” You frown. “Fuck, I need to blow off some steam.”

Namjoon sighs. “Blow off steam, huh? Bedroom or gym?”

“Both. Gym first. As soon as this meeting is over.” You pause. “Please.” 

Namjoon nods, hand squeezing your wrist again before he pulls it away.  

A roiling stream of thoughts churn through your brain as the meeting drags on. Most of them are worries about your glitching powers and what the company will do if they find out, but there's an image that keeps bubbling to the surface over and over - the one of you and Yoongi kissing. Thank god the general didn’t have any video of what happened between you and Hobi on the plane. 

And what about the look in Yoongi’s eyes when he’d saved you from that nasty bacteria?! You didn’t need any photos to remember that. Thinking about any of those moments makes your stomach eat itself. You try not to dwell on them, try to avoid thinking of the word for these feelings. If you give them a name, then you give them power.

How did it come to this? These men have committed unspeakable crimes. There’s no denying that. Yet at some point, you’ve gone from seeing them as simple shadows to real people. Complicated beings, flesh and blood, filled with every shade imaginable. Like the prism through which you view the world. 

As a superhero, you’ve no room for such nuance. 

Another exec speaks and you catch sight of yourself in the reflective glass walls. The face gazing back at you seems unfamiliar. It’s not just the unsettling evolution of your powers that has you worried. It feels like you are changing as well. And you’re not sure who it is you’re becoming.  

Namjoon tips his head towards you, and you immediately know what he’s going to say. “Listen, maybe you should go talk to Doc now? The general obviously noticed your powers fritzing, even if he didn’t say anything about them specifically, and if he noticed, then–”

“No. I told you, no one will understand.” And you don’t want to end up a lab rat. Not again. “Now please, just drop it, will you?” You never should’ve told him about what’s happening with your powers. The man wouldn’t shut up about it. You trust him not to tell anyone, but still, it’s getting annoying. Yeah, of course you’re concerned, especially since the weirdness has happened every time you’ve fought Yoongi and Hobi lately, but–

Wait. 

Wait.

Holy fucking shit, how did it take you this long to see it??

Quickly, you grab the pen and pad in front of you, the ones provided for you to take notes  (you’ve never written down a single word in any of these interminable meetings), and scribble down your epiphany. The subtle lift of Namjoon’s eyebrow confirms that he read your message. The jaw twitch means he’s ready to do some damage.

Those bastards. They’re messing with the wrong motherfucker.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

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[confetti-cakemix]

Third Times a Charm

Series Synopsis: Reader wakes up in none other than Detroit, Michigan, except it doesn't look like any part of Detroit she knows. With no clue as to the why or how she ended up there, she must venture out into this new futuristic world and only hope she can find out.

Pairing: Connor x Reader

A/N: Not quite sure where I'll be going with this (also not sure about the title but we'll see), but I plan for it to start around the beginning of DBH with some canon divergence, of course. Also, I will be using Y/N (hello copy and paste lol). 💙

Chapter One

Your breath comes out in deep and harsh huffs, your chest rising and falling quickly as you try to regulate your breathing. What was that rule again? In through the nose and out through the mouth? You try but fail miserably, your lungs greedy to pull in oxygen-rich air. You pause your running to walk instead, your body grateful for the break. 

Your legs have that pleasant burn in them still from your mini-hike yesterday, the nice kind of ache that comes from hard work. You reach a curve in the path and decide to take a seat on the wooden bench that sits in a little clearing to the side of the trail. You place your small bag next to you, noting the chipped green paint peeling away from the dark wooden slats that make up the bench. 

You peer up into the canopy of greenery and take another lungful of crisp cool air. You scan your surroundings and take in the fluffy white clouds sparsely painted in the sky; the sway of the trees and the ruffling sound that accompanied. A flurry of yellow powdery pollen is illuminated by the warm sunlight. 

Something catches your gaze almost immediately though, a staggering stop to the organic world around you. To your right, a glowing form, which seems almost like a geode pushing out from the muddy earth, sits, waiting. It's sleek and futuristic look is strange and alien. You narrow your eyes at the sight, standing up fully despite the fatigue, and cautiously approach, slinging your back over your shoulder.

You hadn't seen the thing (whatever it was) when you were here last week nor the week prior. You can see a blue handprint glowing quite brightly and are immediately tempted to touch it, but hold off. You're not even sure what it is, maybe you shouldn't be messing with it. You step closer, looming over it and eyeing it before you step around it and to the back.

Nope. No plug, no… well, anything. I guess it made sense, solar power is very popular nowadays. It stood proudly and dominantly above everything else despite its small scale. 

Was it a new invention to get kids interested in nature? Maybe it'll tell me about the trees around here, or what to do if you're approached by a coyote (note: do not throw your granola bits at it in hopes that it'll let you pass, yep that definitely didn't work, and is definitely not a personal story). 

You circle around again, the glowing print too inviting to turn down after a second look. You take a breath before placing your palm down on it unceremoniously. It seems to glitch for a bit before returning back to its bright glory, but nothing happens.

Nevertheless, you try again lifting your palm slightly and putting it back down, hoping it'll just take a moment to get situated and wake up finally. 

And….nothing. 

"Hmm" you mumble to yourself. Maybe the third time's a charm, you think. You perform the same action as before but this time it's different. As soon as your palm covers the cool smooth glass, you get a tingly sensation in your palm and it makes its way up your arm. The glow seems to grow even stronger and the blue hue stands out in the golden sunlight of the soft warm sunset. 

An indescribable intensity fills you just then and you feel a bit lightheaded, as if you're floating. The intensity culminates and your thoughts quickly become muddy and slow. In fact, you feel like taking a nice long nap right about now.

So you don't fight it, closing your heavy lids, being pulled toward unfeeling bliss.