#malik is not okay with this V-V

[ryandoesfanart]

Continuing the Catseries!! UvU yes...i have more, so much more ideas hehe oh and if you have suggestions: don´t hold back!! I would love to hear some of ya´lls ideas! Might even manage to include some :D

[mickyschumacher]

hi love!! Could you write something about Charles x actress!reader where he gets jealous of one of readers ex boyfriend who’s famous and maybe leads to smut?

(i really hope it makes sense, english is not my first language 😭😭)

thank you !!🩷🩷

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: jealousy is a disease. and it's latest victim is your boyfriend, charles leclerc.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors DNI), jealousy obviously, zayn is kind of a dick bless him 😭, unprotected sex (wrap your tippy pls), praise, blowjob, fingering, oral sex, p in v, orgasm denial, mutual orgasms, cumming inside, mentioning power couple tomdaya ♡︎, sucky media as per usual :/

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x famous actress!fem!reader, ex!zayn malik x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+

𝐀/𝐍: if i don't get to see charles and zayn in one room irl, i'll just write them in one room if that’s okay :( on another note, i hope this was what you wanted anon! and your english is fine, love. sorry for the wait ♡︎ // questionably written and proof-read on a jetlagged mind

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

There were many things Charles understood well. Family, racing, the politics of racing... but one thing he would never truly understand was how he got you.

The Y/N L/N. An Oscar-winning, multitalented, down-to-earth, and gorgeous actress who had entirely won the public's hearts along with Charles'. The actress who had managed to rule the industry that most were born into.

How on earth had he gotten so lucky?

Charles couldn't deny that he was Ferrari's golden boy nor that he had become a fame athlete. But got you were on another level.

For what it was worth, Charles was a confident man. He thought he cleaned up quite well, he knew his mother raised him right, he knew that charisma itself was scared of him.

Yet, all that confidence came crashing down when it came to your ex.

Zayn Malik.

If Charles could ignore him, he would. But Zayn was everywhere. On his Twitter, on his TikTok, on his Instagram... his fans and your fans especially loved him. Why wouldn't they? He was a literal Greek, well South Asian, god part of arguably one of the best boy band's in history with a voice that had been blessed by Heaven's angels themselves.

When fans questioned why you and Zayn had broken up and you had moved on with an F1 driver, Charles found himself quietly agreeing.

But then he realised that by his side was you. You weren't next to Zayn or anyone else. You were with Charles because you loved him and he loved you. And that was more than enough.

That being said, Charles couldn't help feel a bit maddened at headline he had woken up to this morning.

You let out a small yawn. Sunday mornings were the most calm for you. Especially when you had managed to snag Charles for the week. You turned to your awoken boyfriend with a smile before frowning. "What's on that screen that made you look like this, amour (love)?" You queried, rubbing a finger over the crease between his eyebrows.

Charles looked up from his phone, smiling at the sight of your face. "Nothing, mon amour (my love)," the Monégasque dismissed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you close to him.

Naturally you would've snuggled yourself into him but you could tell he was upset. "No, Cha. Tell me what's wrong. What can I do to turn that frown upside down? Hmm?" You softly asked, peeking up at him while you rested your head on his chest.

You could feel Charles' body convulse as he let a gentle chuckle pass his lips. "I can never hide anything from you, hmm? It's really nothing, Y/N. Just a stupid headline."

You mended your brows, taking his phone from his hand. If you knew anything about headlines, most of them were never good. Your eyes had captured the photo of your ex first, making you deflate a little. You continued to read the headline that made you and Zayn sound like you were still together and then went to the little summary below it.

"They're 'dying to know what happens?'," You huffed, closing his phone. You pursed your lips and peered over Charles. "I swear I didn't know he was coming, Cha. I promise. We can totally skip if you don't want the drama. I'm okay with that. We can lounge in the house and do nothing," You offered.

Charles smiled softly at your words. You were always thinking of everyone but yourself. "Thank you but I wouldn't miss you winning these awards for the world, ma belle (my beautiful). You deserve to win these awards and I'm going to watch you do it. Nothing could ruin tomorrow for me."

━━━━━━━━━━━

A few hours into the Oscars, after parading the red carpet and gushing over you with interviewers, Charles was quite sure he was right. Nothing could ruin tonight because, god, were you a sight to behold.

You had captured everyone's eyes. Talking to your stylist months ago, you had accomplished your two wishes about your appearance at the Oscars: simplicity and red.

Red on a red carpet was always a bold choice but this year's carpet was a light grey. Dressed in a custom red ball gown, a matching silk shawl and a simple necklace, you had blown everyone away.

The amount of people that had solely come to your table to compliment you was surreal. But Charles couldn't argue with them. You were surreal. When he first saw you come out of the dressing room, he could've sworn his heart had stopped and for a moment, he seriously considered your offer yesterday morning.

The most beautiful person in the world loved him. Nothing could ruin the storm whirling in his stomach. The same storm he had felt when he was trying to muster the courage to talk to you when you first met at a tennis match in Monaco.

As you two conversed with your manager about the after party activities you were considering attending, Charles and you heard a voice that was all but too familiar.

"Y/N," The voice greeted.

You knew it was Zayn. You also knew how Charles felt. So you turned around with what you thought was enough confidence and greeted him. "Zayn," You breathed out with a small smile.

"It's been a while. You look out of this world. Beautiful as always," Zayn grabbed your hand and left a small kiss.

Oh good lord.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Charles tense. You cleared your throat. "Thank you. You look.. uh, amazing as always too," You complimented awkwardly, eyes darting anywhere but his face.

Before Zayn could fill the upcoming silence with any unnecessary compliments, you linked your hand through Charles' arm. "This is Charles. My boyfriend," You smiled proudly.

Charles' could feel his heart speed up. He gave a kind smile to the singer, jutting out his hand for him to shake.

Zayn poked his tongue against the inners of his cheek, eyeing Charles' hand before returning the gesture. He locked eyes with the Monégasque, tilting his head to the side. "Right. The driver, right?"

Jesus. For a second you had forgotten why you broke up with him.

"Yeah... the racing driver," Charles responded with a tight voice and slightly narrowed eyes.

A nervous laugh fell from your lips. "O-Okay. I think we're gonna head over to Tom and Zendaya. Uh, see you around, Zayn, hmm?"

Zayn moved his eyes from Charles to you. He gave his usual charming smile. Putting his hand on your shoulder, he said, "Yeah, sure. I'm always around as you know."

Charles felt his jaw lock as he watched Zayn's hand fall from your shoulder and trail loosely down your arm before he left. "See you, Y/N. Goodbye Charlie."

━━━━━━━━━━━

The after parties were a no go. For the first time in your life you couldn't tell what Charles was thinking. The silence after Zayn left and the car ride home was unbearable. You tried to comfort him by putting your hand over his and assuring him that Zayn was just a classified dick, but nothing came from Charles.

What you did know was that Charles was pissed. The tight grip on the steering wheel, his flexed jaw, the hardened eyes... all signs of an angry Charles.

Arriving home, you both entered your bedroom after taking your shoes off. You looked over to Charles. God the silence was unnerving. "Charles? Amour, are you okay?" You asked once again.

Charles sat on the bed, looking at you stand in front of him. His mind was going as fast as the cars he drove. 'Out of this world?' All Charles could think was that he was going to fuck you out of this world. He wasn't angry about the snide remarks. He was angry that he was even jealous of such a pathetic human being. Moreover, he was furious over those small touches of his.

"Chérie (Sweetheart), come here. Let me help you change," Charles smiled, his hand beckoning for you to come towards him.

You sighed, walking over to him. You could see his hands aching to grab you but instead you stretched out your hand to touch his hair. Charles closed his eyes at the feeling. "Cha... I'm sorry about him. He's an asshole," You apologised, now rubbing his cheek gently.

Charles leaned into your caress, fluttering his eyes open so you could see those soft baby blues you had completely fallen head over heels for. "It's not your fault, chérie. I think he's regretting leaving the most smartest and beautiful woman in the world. You have nothing to apologise for."

You chuckled softly, trying to disguise how touched you felt. Charles complimented you like this all the time and it never got easier. No one had treated you like this before and especially not Zayn.

"Now come on," Charles stood up from the bed and turned you around, "Let's get this off." A small kiss was planted on the side of your cheek as Charles' eyes twinkled through the mirror across you.

You smiled warmly at him and nodded. You watched him take the red straps off of your shoulders, leaving a trail of warm kisses on either side. You sighed calmly. His hands trailed to the zip of the dress, pulling it down, he explored the smooth of your back, placing a kiss on the back of your neck. Charles gently pushed down the red gown, letting it pool at your bare feet.

You reached to the back of your neck to take off the gorgeous silver necklace you had worn but Charles stopped you by grabbing your wrists. "Leave it," He whispered, grazing your arms with his touch.

An involuntary shiver came over you at his voice and from the air rushing against your bare skin.

You could feel Charles' lips quiver at the side of your face. "Cold? Let me warm you up, mon amour."

You drew a quiet, sharp breath as you felt him move your chin so you could properly see him in your mirror. His ring-adorned hand travelled from your neck and down the valley of your breasts, ensuring to make the extra effort to glide over your nipples with the metal band.

Your breath hitched as one hand began to rub your hardened nipple while the other continued to travel down your stomach. "Charles..." You sighed out, feeling a familiar burn spark in the pits of your stomach.

Charles hummed in response, meeting your eyes in the mirror with lust and a tint of smugness. The corner of his lips quirked up, feeling you tense as he neared your pussy. Through the thickness of his own clothes, he could feel your skin begin to burn.

His cock hardened at your reaction. He had barely even done anything and his name was already falling from your lips.

His fingers continued to creep down your stomach, feeling the heat from your core radiate. A sigh of pleasure fell from his mouth as he pressed his two fingers into your folds. He could feel your arousal encompassing his fingers.

"So wet, ma chérie," Charles moaned in your ear, making you return the sinful sound back. "All for me, hmm? No one else gets you this wet, do they, chérie?"

You squirmed against him as Charles' fingers moved from the soft lips of your pussy and ghosted your clit so damn slowly. Your hips bucked involuntarily with the crave of more.

Suddenly, his juice-ridden fingers were pressed up against your bundle of nerves while his other hand tugged at your lip, waiting for your answer.

"Shit, no. No one. Only you make me this wet, Cha," You whimpered, grinding your hips up against his fingers for more pressure.

Charles smiled in satisfaction. "Let's sit, hmm?" He said, tapping your clit.

You jolted at the action, feeling his hands wrap around your waist, seating you on his lap as he sat down on your bed. Your pussy throbbed at the loss of touch but ached for the hardness pressed up against you.

"Feel that, amour? That's what you do to me," Charles grunted, feeling an obscene high come over him when you started to grind down on his cock. God did you have him under your spell. Only you could put your bare pussy down on his cock and make him want to cum in seconds.

But how could you not. In the mirror you could see a sex-hazed Charles, skin flushed at your actions. It turned you on to see him lose control.

"Fuck," Charles moaned, stilling your hips from moving any further. Ignoring your whines, he pushed opened your legs, taking in the glistening view from the mirror. Bringing his two fingers to your mouth, you opened your lips and lapped at your arousal on his fingers.

"Merde," He sighed out, moving his lubed fingers to your pussy. He teasingly rubbed his fingers fully up and down, make you gasp at the coldness of his ring. Shit.

"Charles, please. I want your fingers," You groaned in frustration, thighs taking his fingers into a tight grip.

Charles chuckled, "Anything for you, princesse." He pushed his to fingers into the soft walls of your pussy.

The both of you moaned in unison, your head falling back on his shoulders. He watched eagerly as you enveloped his fingers entirely as if it was a magic trick of some sorts. The lewd sheen of you glimmered over his fingers while he thrusted them in and out.

"Look at you, chérie. Making a mess all over me," Charles smiled against your cheek as he looked down at his black trousers which now sported a darker stain.

Your warm walls clenched around his fingers, sending Charles on a journey to find that right spot both he and you craved so much. Charles could tell by the sudden parting of your lips and the jerk of your hips that he had reached it. His eyes flickered over to your face, bringing a small smug smirk to his mouth.

Your eyes brows were creased in the middle, laden with trickles of sweat building up while your mouth remained in a constant state of opening, letting those beautiful moans fall out as your chest heaved, craving more and more of him.

The trembles, the moans, the pure state of bliss you were in... it was all because of him. And Charles loved it.

Charles brought his thumb to your bundle of nerves, rubbing you in slow circles as he continued to push his digits in and out. He whispered softly, lips dancing against the curve of your ear, "You don't know how beautiful you looked tonight, mon amour. So many eyes on you. I bet they all thought the same thing... that you looked like a goddess. Sometimes I wish they could see what I'm seeing right now. This gorgeous body, your wet pussy trembling all over me, your swollen lips.... hear those pretty little moans of yours. Then they would realise... you are perfection. Unfortunately for them, they aren't the luckiest man alive. I am."

All of a sudden, all your emotions were rushing towards you. Hearing Charles' thick voice while his fingers fucked you sent you overboard. The ache of your core was climbing higher and higher, hips convulsing. "Fuck, Charles, I'm going to cum," You murmured with staggered pants, eyes fluttering shut.

Charles smiled softly, cock throbbing at the sight of you reaching your climax. But as much as Charles loved it, he needed his cock in your warm walls.

Your eyes snapped open as you felt Charles remove his fingers from your pussy, leaving his thumb circling your clit aggravatingly slow. Your walls clenched around nothing in the effort to grab the last sliver of euphoria that Charles had brought. "Charles," You whispered, almost with a sob, eyes shaking in both annoyance and lust.

Charles brought his lips to yours, softly hushing your cries. "I'm sorry, chérie, I need you." His baby blues bored into yours, taking you in.

Looking at Charles when he had said that, given how the night had played out, the tone of his voice told you everything you needed to know. "I know, amour. I need you too," You whispered back, giving him a long peck.

You sat up from his lap, turning to undo the buckle of his belt. The clangs echoed throughout the room as the tension between the both of you became heavier and desperate. Your hands raced to take off the strap while Charles itched to take off his stained pants, cock aching to come out.

Charles let out a low groan, feeling your warm breath on his bare cock as your removed his boxers. His Adam’s apple hitched as he felt your tongue take a long wet stripe of his cock.

His fingers itched to move you away and fuck you like he initially intended to, but the moment he felt your mouth sink down his shaft, his hand naturally fell into your hair. His cock fit perfectly in your mouth as if they were made for each other.

Charles' teeth sunk down on his bottom lip, baby blues eagerly watching you on your knees for him. His hand tightened around your hair as you hollowed your throat. With your eyes flickering to him as your teeth just grazed his cock, sending a tremor down his spine, he let out a series of soft moans. "Just like that, amour," He encouraged while you sucked him up and down.

Taking long licks at the shaft of his pulsing cock, you removed your lips briefly, resting them on his tip. "Only for you, Cha," You reminded him.

Charles held your gaze, feeling another shudder rip through his body. Jesus. Speechlessly he watched you bring your swollen lips back down his cock, hand gently reaching out towards his balls. Charles' hip jerked up at the sudden action, pushing his cock further down your throat.

The rasp of his grunt made you clench your thighs, feeling your pussy drip with arousal. You could feel his cock begin to move with Charles' control, high on the pleasure. Your throat fought to keep itself open, wanting every inch of him in your mouth.

Charles' pace began to speed as the sheer euphoria began to climb up. He averted his eyes to your face, feeling himself tighten further in your throat as seeing you take his cock was a different high on it's own. Your eyes were glassy, brimming with tears of brought of lust and arousal; saliva and sweat painted your skin with a glow he cherished. But what did it for him was the small bulge in your throat; all of him just in your throat.

God, did he just want to thrust himself harder till he came. He needed to cum... but not in your throat.

"Mon amour," Charles grunted, tapping the underside of your chin.

You moved your mouth from his cock, feeling his hand gently lift your chin as you stood from your knees. No words were needed as your eyes searched his.

Bringing your lips to his, Charles wrapped his arm around your waist, flushing your burning body to his unfairly clothed chest. Yet, you could feel the heat pouring off of him. You could barely breathe as you kissed Charles; the fervent need for each other was almost overwhelming.

You could feel his puffy lips slowly detach from yours, eyes staring into yours as he positioned his cock to your wet folds.

Something about this moment felt nostalgic, reminding you of your first time with Charles. The slow and careful movements, the way Charles looked at you as if he had the whole world in his eyes... as if everything was okay as long as you were by his side.

Fuck Zayn. Fuck everyone else.

All he needed was you and he had you... entirely.

You whimpered loudly, feeling his cock drive into you, filling you entirely. "Merde," you heard Charles cuss as he flung his hands onto your bare hips. The air that was once full of your pants and the obscene sounds of your lips sucking his cock was now full of your lewd moans and the sounds of your skin slapping and sticking against one another.

His hands gripped your hips tightly as Charles thrusted into you, losing himself in the feeling of your warm folds enveloping his cock, acting as some sort of siphon that he couldn't escape while he watched your breasts bounce. No... he was under your spell.

Those same thoughts wandered into his head as he rutted into you. How had he gotten so lucky? All he knew was that he must've been a good soul in every past life of his in order to get someone like you.

"Fuck," You cursed, back arching as your body welcomed each hit of euphoria. You burned with desire, humming with approval; cheeks aflame and moans slurred. Your pussy tightly wrapped around his cock began to clench as Charles' fingers had found their way to your clit.

A shiver shoots down Charles' spine as he watched your breasts come on full display. He bent his head down, hot tongue swiping over your nipple. He moaned against your now flushed breast. You were driving him insane. He couldn't think, he could barely speak. You had taken over any stability he once had.

"Charles," You rasped, feeling the coil at the bottom of your stomach tighten.

Charles softly smiled against your breast, detaching his mouth and increasing the pace of his hips against yours. His eyes flickered down to where his cock met your folds, falling into an entrance while he watched your arousal coat his cock.

"Cum for me, chérie," Charles encouraged, feeling your hands travel up his back, pressing into the fabric of his shirt, leaving no inch of his skin missed by you.

"Charles, Charles, Charles," You moaned his name; your favourite song. Your body trembled, melting against him as he tightened his grip on your hips, steadying you as a white light ripped past your eyes, hips bucking involuntarily to fully grasp the high of your climax.

Charles takes his turn at own favourite song; your name slipping from his lips, stuck on repeat. Your folds act as a vice, gripping him tightly. His cock throbbed, the heat of his skin rising. His pants turned higher and irregular, hips coming to a falter as he felt the hot white stripes of his cum coat your warm walls.

Charles' head fell back against the bed, slowly removing his softening cock from your pussy.

You let out a small sigh, almost collapsing against Charles if he hadn't wrapped his arms around your waist and brought you close to him. His blues eyes skimmed over your face, a small smile playing on his lips while he brushed your sweat ridden hair back; his fingers trailed over your swollen lips, tracing the trails of red lipstick that had escaped it's confines.

"You're coming to Monaco, right?" Charles asked softly.

You smiled at him, running your hand through those soft brown locks of his, trailing down his face and ending at his small dimple. Rubbing the spot in small circles, you earnestly whispered, "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Cha."

Charles' eyes softened, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead. "I'm sorry about tonight, amour," He apologised, feeling a slight bit childish and guilty over his reaction.

You chuckled, shaking your head, moving to rub the familiar crease between his eyebrows. "He's an asshole, Cha. I don't know if I tell you enough, but you're the man that I love... forever. There's no one else for me."

"So cheesy," Charles jested even though you could tell what you had said meant a lot to him, especially given that he had tightened his grip around you.

"Only for you, Charles," You rolled your eyes before holding his gaze. "Only for you."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[sunofpandora]

Virago: Chapter 3 part 3

Neteyam x fem na’vi!omaticaya!reader

Characters:

Ka’lik- (like you would pronounce “Malik”) Y/n’s father, deceased, a warrior and hunter of the 

omaticaya clan. A teacher to young warriors undergoing iknimaya.

Zensira-deceased, Y/n’s mother, spider's adoptive mother, a strong hunter and the best singer in the omaticaya clan, and a teacher to young hunters.

Kailo-(Y/n’s ikran. Your ikran is a male)

Popiti-(tuk’s best friend according to the visual dictionary)

(Also idk how many of you know this but Jake’s ikran’s name is canonically ‘Bob’.)

(WARNINGS!

Sharing a sleeping hammock with the opposite gender (non-romantically)-

Neytiri hating on spider/ mentions of insecurities, heartbreak, war,/ fluff/ angst/ mentions of hunting, killing animals, mentions of therapy, military, ptsd, romance, pining, use of military terms/codewords/  Let me know if I missed anything.

Chapter desc:

Authors note:

Here we go! Chapter 3!! It feels insane to be posting the actual third  chapter of this. But holy moly, building up romance is much harder than I thought. This chapter is a long one so grab your favorite snack, find a comfy spot and buckle up. 

I have a small request for my lovely virago readers, please comment on your favorite line, moment, quote, or dynamic from this chapter. This is so I can know what kind of stuff you guys incline towards so I can throw more of it in as the story continues.

IMPORTANT:

hi guys. So I’ve decided to change spiders age from 20 to 19 for plot purposes. Jake and Neytiri are the same age. Tuk is still 7. Kiri is 19, neteyam is 19, Lo’ak and Y/n are 18.

Important!

This is part 3, the final part to chapter 3. Thank you for your patience!

                                                                   V I R A G O         

Chapter 3;

Surrender to his saubade, he has set his soul and sin ablaze (to be yours)

Part 3 (final part to chapter 3)

Y/n’s pov-

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ 

(Still Neteyams POV)

Night hunts were a normality for our clan. Especially the ones led by my father.

I stood in the tent, slipping on my arm guards as I prepared myself to join my group on our ikran for the hunt.

I started Mentally checking off everything I needed.

Water flask, ionar (riders mask.), and-

I just can’t seem to focus. 

All I can think about is y/n and how I’m going to speak to her after this hunt. 

Kiri is right. I don’t deserve her. And maybe I never will.

I especially don’t deserve to call her mine.

And that’s okay. I can settle for just having her in my life. That’s enough. 

But that’s a lie. I know it deep down. 

It was never about sex or the physicality of it. I could love her my whole life and never touch her.

Would I go insane? Probably. 

But could I do it? Definitely.

Settling for distance is my sacrifice. Distance is safe. Distance will keep her safe. It’ll keep me sane.

Well, that last part was a lie. 

It’s a glass half full at this point. I told Kiri I only wanted us to be friends again. Normal, average friends.

That’s not what I want. I can keep trying to compartmentalize this for the rest of my life but I’ll always live with this ache. This void in my heart that only fits her shape.

Sacrifices. Sacrifices. Sacrifice-

“Neteyam?”

I snap out of my daze; turning around to see my mother standing in the entrance way to our hut.

“Are you ready yet, ma’itan? 

Lo’ak waits outside for you.”

I shook my head, chuckling awkwardly.

“Ah. Sorry. I got a bit…distracted.

It’s nothing, mother. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

She nods, taking a step closer.

“I wanted to give you something before you leave.”

I turn to face her, my eyebrows raised a bit.

“Oh? Alright.”

She reached behind her back, holding out a small pouch, long and thin tied by a string in a roll.

I open it slowly, knowing whatever was inside was of great value.

Inside laid about 8 newly made arrows. The wood carved for the shaft still fresh in scent and the feathers for the fletching too soft to have been reused.

It’s the color that peaks my eye. The all-too familiar green and yellow shades.

“Your arrows?”

She nods, a look that can only be described as prideful as she gazes at me.

“I want you to use them tonight.”

I shake my head. This was too much of a gesture. I haven’t done anything to deserve.

“Mother, they are beautiful. But I cannot-“

“Ma’itan.”

She cuts me off. Her tone devoid of any hostility or impatience.

“I was thinking about our talk the other night. About your father, and how he is harsh sometimes.

You know well by now what you are. Who and where you come from. You are your fathers son. You have his strength. You carry yourself much like he did in his days of battle. and you must understand that scares him.”

I’m quiet as her words sink in. She places a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes of a golden hue that mirror my own.

“He is not ready to see his son fight his battles or wear his colors. Your father has his own shadows he has yet to face. If you cannot yet wear his colors..I want you to wear mine.”

She places the arrows in my hands, and I’m speechless. 

She gently cups my face, her palm sliding down to my shoulder once again.

“You may use his weapons. You may speak his language. And you have grown up with his sky people ways. 

But never forget, blood of the real warriors comes from us.”

She places two fingers atop her chest, right over her heart.

It breaks my soul to remember that one of my mother’s greatest fears is that we will forget the ways of a na’vi. That even the minimal amount of tech we use in our family circle, with the exception of my fathers gun, seems to threaten everything she knows.

I’m taller than my mother now. Only by a few inches. So I lean down when I go to hug her.

“Irayo, Sa’nok.”

(‘Thank you, mother.’)

I pull back, smiling at her.

“I hope with these, the winds of our ancestors fly with me tonight.”

She chuckles, taking a step back.

“They are with you. Always. No matter where you go. No matter where you are.”

There’s a comfortable silence before my mother sighs, and I put the arrows in the leather pouch that is attached to my ikran saddle for hunting.

“You should go. Your father is waiting with the others.”

I nod, putting on my ionar and finishing slipping on my arm guards.

I lean down, fastening the straps to my leg guards as well before grabbing the small satchel and making my way off.

“Neteyam- one last thing?”

I turn the moment my mothers voice reached my ears.

“Here.” She spoke softly.

I turn to see my mother holding up my beaded choker. The one worn by so many generations of warriors in our clan. I took it off a few days ago when Tuk wanted to re-braid my hair. last time, she kept getting my hair tangled with the clasp at the back of the necklace.

“Let me.”

Without another word, she turns me around by the shoulders, brushing my braids out of the way as she slips the necklace on me, tying the clasp properly to ensure it doesn’t fall while hunting.

She struggles for a moment, having to crane her neck to see properly.

“Curse you and your height.” She mumbles, and I can’t help but laugh.

Once she finishes, I kiss her on the cheek before speeding off.

I jog across the pathway, slinging my bow over my shoulder. The thick air of high camp resonating and weaving through the sounds of distant conversations and laughter.

I finally spot Lo’ak and Spider. Lo’ak stands with his bow around his torso, the string brushing his chest. Spider carries a basket of the arrows he and lo’ak made for y/n.

I pinch the back of lo’aks neck before slinging my arm around him.

“Ready for the hunt, baby bro?”

He hissed at me, shoving me away.

“This is bullshit. I fluke once. ONCE. And now dad won’t even let me fly my ikran for the hunt!”

Spider shrugs, as the three of us start walking to the large crevice cutting into the mountains of high camp, making a large entrance way and a stable spot to land and saddle up ikrans for coming or going.

“Look on the bright side. At least you get to go. Plus you’ll be with the direhorse squad with Norm.”

He pushes Lo’ak lightly to walk a bit faster.

Lo’ak grumbled something and speed-walked ahead of us.

Spider sets the basket down once we meet the meeting spot. The same place the clans war and hunting parties gather before a raid

Or a hunt.

Some other hunters start to swarm in. Carrying bows and arrows of their own, all talking amgonst one another.

Spider groans.

“Lo’ak. Look.”

He taps Lo’ak’s arm, not-so-subtly gesturing to Makeyo standing across from us, speaking with one of the other hunters.

Lo’ak fake gags, Spider glares and the both of them stare him down for a good 7 seconds.

An odd feeling settles itself in the more unwelcoming corners of my heart.

Like fingers trying to pry their way through a barrier.

Something tenses in me as I find myself staring at him too. Remembering how y/n spoke of him at dinner.

Makeyo a bit shorter than me. Only by a few inches. My hair is longer, his braids reaches his shoulders. Still taller than y/n though. 

It’s only when I hear spider whispering I snap back to reality.

“Oh fuck. He’s coming over here. Don't make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact.”

Spider stares up, whistling as he shoves his hands behind him, leaning on a rock. Lo’ak fidgets with one of the arrows, both of them over exaggeratedly feigning to ignore Makeyo’s approaching figure.

He smiles at me, greeting us with an unhesitatingly proper formality.

“Neteyam. Lo’ak,”

He pauses for a moment, having to avert his eyes downward to notice spider.

“Ah, and..”

He struggles for a moment to recall spider’s name. Spider can only glare at the taller na’vi that somehow appeared even more intolerably annoying when he was being kind.

“Spider.” Spider mumbles, crossing his arms.

“Y/n’s brother.” I add, stepping in front of spider to try and distract Makeyo from the smaller human that looked like he was plotting a murder.

Makeyo nodded in recognition, smiling softly.

“Right. I assume y/n will be leading us tonight? As usual. She’s your fathers right hand man.”

“Woman.” I correct, with an unintentional edge delineating my tone. An almost crude enunciation of the word finds itself leaving my lips, making Makeyo still for a moment before chuckling.

“Of course. And what a woman she is..”

When did his face become so punchable?

Makeyo is someone that makes himself very difficult to hate.

Helpful, kind, smart, good with kids, the whole ordeal.

But I am no foreigner to a mask. Why? Because I wear one every single day of my life. Sometimes I wonder what Makeyo’s mask looks like. Or if he even wears a mask at all. Forever yearning to grasp such a thing that always seemed to evade you.

I bite my lip, my jaw tensing as my eyes graze over the expanse of his figure. Up then down.

Makeyo falters for a moment, but proceeds with an unhesitatingly sweetened glean in his eye.

“What I mean is, she is just amazing. Well, I don’t need to tell you that, of course. You’ve practically grown up with her.”

Something about the way he so shamelessly displays his simpering delusions of innocence in the form of this crush he has on y/n-

For lack of a better word, is really starting to piss me off. His bold assumptions of platonic love between me and y/n makes my tail flick.

And no, I’m not jealous. I’m not. Really. Yes, I am capable of violent impulses and of course, I do fantasize about punching his face every now and then, but that’s not jealousy. Is it? No. Of course it’s not.

Yeah, maybe I slightly envy the fact that he can love her so freely. 

The way he could stand where he couldn’t see and hold her hand, unbothered by the absence of sunlight to compulsively provide promises of safety and sanctuary. Maybe I hate that he is unburdened by the weighted whispers of the elders and third eyes peskily pruning gazes at holding her hand. Maybe I hate that he spends almost all day with her. Watching her laugh, and interact so perfectly with the children of the clan.

Maybe I hated the way he had no history with her that resonates with soured feelings and broken promises. I envied his clean conscience.

But that’s not jealousy…of course not.

He’s called away to assist with some other task, and when I turn around Lo’ak and spider are quickly jogging in the opposite direction, towards the edge where an familiar red, purple, and blue ikran perches, with an even more familiar rider on his back.

Y/n smirks as she hops off of  Kailo, the creature releasing an almost purr-like shrill as it rubs its chin against y/n’s cheek.

She chuckles, small luminous sparks leaking through the tops of the rocky stronghold flirting with her pulchritudinous smile.

She hums, gently petting the banshee’s neck.

“Mawey, pretty boy.”

I don’t really know why, but ‘pretty boy’ had an odd way of making my chest flutter. Even if I knew she was talking to her ikran.

She flips her braids over her shoulders. Y/n as always had a bit of a more effete-feel to her wardrobe. That of a warrior, of course. The strongly woven arm guards and her beaded cuff to tie her hair back when she flew, or hunted, always easily annoyed with her braids falling in her face.

The waist beads she wore, which were usually made by Kiri or my mother, were always a signature habit to herself.

She had quite a few scars, blemishes, and bruises that canvassed her skin. I find them beautiful. Like the patterns of the universe printed onto her skin.

Spider and Lo’ak fake saluted as y/n made her way towards them.

“Y/n, ma’am.”

Spider tipped his head ever so slightly, Lo’ak dramatically bowing, making her roll her eyes and laugh.

“At ease, boys.”

Lo’ak stands up straight again, slinging an arm around her shoulder and gesturing to spider.

“We made you something.”

Spider proudly holds up their basket of arrows.

There’s something indescribably tantalizing about the way she smiled at those two. 

“Aw guys, you shouldn’t have..”

Spider scoffed, placing his hands on his waist.

“Please. It was our pleasure to assist the mighty archer.”

It’s a moment later when spider and Lo’ak run off to help norm, and I stand quietly behind y/n as she places the new arrows in her side saddle along with her bow.

“I’m assuming you were on babysitting duty? Supervising those two with the fire pit and sharp edges?”

She teased, nudging my shoulder. I chuckle back, shrugging.

“Of course. Someone has to prevent the children from running with their hunting knives.”

She shakes her head, another giggle tumbling past her lips.

“Tuk? Or Lo’ak and spider?”

I hum before leaning over a bit to stand a bit closer.

“Why not all of them?”

She laughs once again, and my palms feel warm for a moment.

I clear my throat, straightening my back a bit.

“Y/n. Can We talk abou-”

“Alright people let's get moving! Fall in and line up!”

I’m cut off by the sudden cannonade of my father’s voice. Y/n’s  eyes widen a bit as it flickers to where he stood. Talking with uncle norm. She glances back at me, patting my back. “Later. Okay?”

I can’t even respond before she jogs over to my father, only stopping her dauntless strides when she pauses to fist-bump norm.

I follow suit with the other hunters in an almost feverish manner. Slinging my bow around my torso and finding a spot in the forming two long lines of other hunters and warriors beside Lo’ak.

“Let's move it people! We’re wasting the sunset! Oscar-Mike (move out), people, lets get it done!”

When the last few of the younger hunters scurry into line, my father stands tall in front of all of us, his arms crossed over his chest. Don’t be fooled by the brute build. He’s still the same man who stumbled into hometree all those years ago with a ‘good evening everyone’ and a ‘please don’t get up’.

He clears his throat bef0re he starts to speak.

“Good to see everyone turn up for tonight's hunt. This will be no different from training you’ve all had in the past, or currently undergoing.”

Some nod, others shift nervously on their feet.

Y/n approaches from behind my father. Her strides not faltering for even a second. Her chin titled high, looking us over with a gaze of a storm flooded a seafloor beneath a tideline. Y/n doesn’t get in line with us, no. Her place is beside my father. A leader.

spider perched behind her on one of the high ledges in the unevenly rocky stone walls of highcamp. One of his hands placed on her shoulder to keep himself from leaning forward too far.

My father continues.

“For those of you still training for your iknimiya, you will be on the ground team with Norm, and Awkey and the Olangi hunters will join us tonight. Stay in line with them. You will ride the pa’li on the perimeter of that narrow clearing in the middle of the grove. Understood?”

A few yips and grunts were heard from the younger na’vi, a few raising their bows and nodding their heads.

Father nods, turning back to face us again.

“Warriors. Those of you who have passed iknimiya and have ikrans will be in the sky. Bows on the ready, death from above.”

He takes a step back, gesturing to Y/n, who still stood in her place behind him.

“Y/n, my most trusted Archer, will be in command of the sky team. You are to stay within her flight patterns, and not go beyond what she sees as a fit perimeter. Follow her orders, and you might just learn something.”

Father finishes giving us our positions, and I stray from my assigned group, only for a moment. I walk towards the opening to the crevice, leaning down and making the bird call my mother taught me, pressing my lips together and releasing a high-pitched note of a sound.

The familiar flap of wings resonates in the air below me, and before I can blink, my ikran perches herself infront of me, making a soft shrill noise of her own. In all her glory, the green, brown, and yellow skin worn like a Hyde of the forest.

I pet her neck, adjusting the side saddle for my bow and tightening the neck reigns.

Rey’sa is what I named her.

Broken fragments of my mothers language stitched together. The meaning is a remembrance of Seze. My mothers first ikran. I had a toy ikran that was painted green, brown and blue, when I was around Tuk’s age. Y/n’s mother had gifted it to me when I was 7. Modeled after Seze even in color, my mother happily shed tears at the sight of the small wooden toy.

It’s been passed down. Me and Kiri played with it, then Lo’ak, then Tuk.

The toy is old and cracking now, the paint peeling away. I think love is holding it together. Tuk sleeps with the thing every night. I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable, though.

My iknimaya dodged the fateful curse of a chaotic, violence-craving ikran.

I’ve watched my brother and y/n almost die during their right of passage. Meanwhile, Rey’sa bucked me off maybe twice and it was over. Made the bond, had our first flight, the whole works.

I pet her neck, smoothing my palms over the leather skin one last time before I mount. My leg swinging over as I adjust the inner part of my thighs against the saddle.

I wait for my fathers signal.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ 

Y/n’s pov:

Neytiri hated when Norm and Max joined the hunt. Or any hunt for that matter. Hunting was a sacred practice to na’vi. To take a life in such a delicate way it’s almost painless. She didn’t want the sky people’s ways to taint such a delicate tradition.

You walk over to where Norm and Max were packing some extra radios in the Samson seat packs, Norm checking all the controls as he whistled a tune to himself.

When you approach, his ears perk up, and he smiles. His usual tan colored vest and shorts fashioned securely to his avatar body.

“Hey kiddo.”

He gives you a hug, ruffling a few of your braids. Mex sits behind him, sitting on the benched ledge of the side entrance to the aircraft, giving you a thumbs up and a soft smile.

Norm sighs, taking a step back, his hands on his hips as he looks you over.

“Look at you. Growing into a brave warrior. Seems like only yesterday and you and spider were running around the lab.”

Norm and Max had been like family to you. Especially with your parents always accounting for Spider, they didn’t completely understand how to raise a human boy, so Norm and Max were always there with extra breathing packs and masks. Plus, being a package deal with spider meant you hung out in the lab just as much as he did when you were little. Poking around at all the link beds and making norm play your stupid little games of tag, even pestering max. Sometimes, Max would let you use his glasses to look at different plants and leaves, because you loved the way things looked under the glass. 

And sure, some na’vi mothers and fathers couldn’t possibly comprehend why such intelligent, well respected clan members like your parents would leave their daughter under the watch of two sky people. But it didn’t matter. Max and Norm fared well as babysitters.

You smiled at Norm, a small laugh leaving you.

“Well. Seems like your joining us on another hunt?”

Norm nods, adjusting the radio on his hip.

“Yup. I keep telling Jake the misses’ ain’t gonna be happy with us tagging along, but he says it’s for Safety. If anything goes wrong, if RDA wants to show up for another playdate.”

You nod, thinking about the attack awhile ago.

Your attention rechannels itself towards the smaller pale creature that emerges from behind a much taller Norm in his avatar body.

Spider blinks up at you through the sheet of glass that has acted as a blockade between you both ever since you were 2. Protecting him from the unwelcoming atmosphere of Pandora.

“Y/n.”

He huffs.

“Please inform Norm here that I’m old enough to drive the Samson.”

Max scoffed.

“It’s not about age, Junior. It’s about training.”

Spider rolls his eyes, gesturing to you with over dramatic movements.

“I’m 19. I’m too old to be hitching rides on my little sister's Ikran.”

Norm shrugged.

“Fine. You can start riding with me and Maya.”

Maya was Norm’s ikran. He told you it was named after someone from the past. Back in the first war. 

Her name is Trudy. Jake told you that you reminded him of her sometimes. Same attitude and rebellious spirit. She piloted a Samson 16, and always called it ‘Maya.’ You admired that he named his own set of wings after someone’s dream of flying.

Spider shook his head.

“Or, let me at least have my own avatar. So I can pass Iknimaya, and get my own ikran!” 

Norm nods, a sudden wave of enthusiasm. “Sure junior. Just put 40 million on the table and i’ll have your order ready in the next..hm..12 years?”

Spider groans, rolling his eyes.

You laugh at Norm’s sarcasm. Though, a part of you really did feel bad for Spider.

Norm and Max were called over to talk with Jake one last time before the group descended, leaving you and spider alone.

You sat next to Spider on the step up to the cockpit, rubbing his back.

“You know I love you no matter what size you are, right?”

Spider scoffs, his head tilting the opposite way.

“Gee. thanks.”

You chuckled, and he spared you a small smile.

He sighed, staring out at the na’vi hunters and warriors that mounted their ikrans, preparing to descend.

You could never imagine what it was like for Spider. Being born a human on a planet he couldn’t even breathe freely on.

Ideals formed under disillusion. The little, messy-loc’d pale boy you’d help paint blue as a child is no longer shielded from the pesky whispers and glares of your clan. 

You don’t think its fair. You never did.  And you even found it a bit hypocritical. Considering your clan’s never ending preachings for the value of nature, balance, and adaptation.

Spider has adapted to be just like your people. And he’s done a pretty fucking good job.

Your moment is interrupted by Norm, who jogs back with Max trailing behind him.

“We’re moving out! Y/n, you’re needed in the front. Spider, lets get moving!”

You nod, grabbing your bow and giving one last small glance to spider.

He smiles.

“Be safe. Please.”

You scoff.

“I’m always safe.”

With that, you mounted Kailo, and took to the skies.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ 

Y/n’s pov

The wind whipped and wailed. The familiar sting of raw current against your cheeks was oddly soothing. Your team flew behind you. Neteyam, Makeyo, a few others. Jake next to you, and Awkey below. The smaller group of Pa’li hunters maintain obedience in formation as the maddening rhythms of horse hooves assault the ground beneath you. The half-finished notes demand attention through the heavy thrumming melody.

“X, do you read me?”

Jake’s voice comes through your throat comm with a static quality. Struggling to maintain volume against the violent symphonies that crowded the night air. 

You place two fingers on your comm, allowing your voice to cut through the mic.

“I read you.”

“Norm’s radars are picking up some heavy movement to the east. Take your squad and dive on down. I’ll catch up.”

“Roger that.”

You lift your bow, turning your head over your shoulder. Sending a call to your team, you start to dive further down beneath the canopy. They don’t hesitate to follow you, some even going as far to mimic your dive move.

You don’t have any words for what you see below on the muddied path.

You’ve been sturmbeest hunting before. Many times. But this..This was something you only imagined.

Sturmbeest in the most intense stampede imaginable, some even tripping and folding over one another. There doesn't seem to be even the smallest amount of space between them as they charge.

You made a signal for your team to disperse, some falling behind you or to the left side of the perimeter, keeping a close trail with the pa’li hunters. You saw lo’ak behind Awkey as he led them further down the sidelines. He looks just as shocked as you are.

Jake arrived on the scene not soon after.

His voice broke through your comm again, this time connecting Neteyam.

“X. stay front and center. Makeyo and Pathfinder are gonna spot you from the right. Try and find some targets. The rest of your team are far out behind.”

Minutes had passed, and you had watched the pa’li hunters desperately try to squeeze their way into the flow of traffic.

You watched a good portion of the hunters attempt at shooting one of the sturmbeest on horseback using their bow, only for the arrow to bounce off the rough exterior of the skin.

You watched a few of them collapse in a pile of chaos. 5 of them using spears only to get rammed down by a new group of the mud-covered giants, thrown with their pa’li into the dirt. The sight made you wince. Every fiber of your being just screaming for you to dive down there and help.

“Fuck it.”

You mumbled under your breath, preparing kailo to dive.

“Don’t even think about it.” Jake calls out to you.

You turn to see him, weaving through the trees on bob. 

You shake your head, your long braids wildly whipping in the wind.

“Sir, we have too many hunters riding pa'li down. If we just sent support to the ground level we’d make a kill!”

Jake shook his head. “Forget it, X. Your job right now is to keep your squad in line. If you dive, you run the risk of all of them diving down after you. You say up, they say how high. You gotta keep yourself steady, kiddo.”

You hiss to yourself, your ikran feeling mutual frustration as a shrill escapes your companion.

Neteyam flies ahead with you, his bow at the ready on his side.

“Any openings?” he calls to you, and you only shake your head.

“None that don’t look risky.”

Neteyam nods, his eyes scanning the path.

“Let's get a bit closer. We can scout better angles from below.” he offers.

It wasn’t a terrible idea. You looked to your side, your eyes locking with Neteyam’s. Flames that weren’t quite worthy of being threatening engulfed a jaded voice under your chest. Promises of sunlight and safety that were agonizingly familiar shade of olive green and bright yellow. The same sounds of a bird thrashing in a cage. Exhausted and rough, and yet, there was trust beneath the surface. Like jumping off a cliff and knowing something will catch you.

He nods at you. 

“I’ll be right behind you, X.”

You grab your bow and dive, Neteyam follows your lead.

You cruise above the chaos, mud flying in damp specks, your vision is clouded by dust and overbearing sensations.

Neteyam is beside you, and you can feel his gaze shifting between you and the path below in a predictable pattern.

Your eyes focus on a small rift forming in the middle of the stampede. Like a crack in the mountain. An open space where single beasts drifted in and out of a bare area.

Maybe small spaces still managed to infatuate you.

Your eyes locked onto one sturmbeest that took its turn in the middle. You reached for an arrow, pulling back the string of your bow. The familiar satisfying stretch felt beneath your finger tips as neteyam spotted you from beside, tilting himself down along with you.

You quickly devised a plan. A blockade of sorts could be created. If you shot down at least two of the biggest sturmbest, the rest would slow down because of the largest creatures stumbling about.

You traded in your singular arrow for two of your own, resuming your position as you pulled back your arrows.

Neteyam seemed to understand your plan, grabbing an arrow of his own.

You both nodded at each other, a mutual procedure seemingly placed into action.

“Ready whenever you are, X. I’m under your order.”

Neteyam’s voice sent a cold sensation down your spine. Something about obedience..The willingness to follow your every move.

You both released your arrows, one of your arrows hitting the exact same spot as his in one of the largest sturmbeest, your other arrow landing solo in the other.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The two beasts stumbled into the mud, causing the other sturmbeest to disperse into a wider path. Creating more room for targets.

Neteyam let out a celebratory war call, following your lead as you and Kailo flew up, circling Reysa and Neteyam.

“Hell yeah!”

You screeched.

“Hell Yeah!”

Neteyam mimicked you, his accented voice sounding funny on the human term spider taught you.

You both laughed, circling each other on your ikrans as the wind caught your hair.

Time seemed to slow for a moment as you both caught each other's gazes.

But it didn’t last for long.

“Y/n!”

Lo’ak’s voice screeched through the static of your throat comm, causing you and Neteyam to pause. 

You placed two fingers on your throat comm, tuning into lo’ak’s distressed call.

“I’m here. what’s happening?”

“It’s spider! The Samson is dragging too close to the sturmbeest, its looking dangerously close to a collision. Dad’s comm isn’t going through and neither is norm’s! You have to get through to them!”

Your heart thrashed itself into an unyielding rhythm of uncertainty.

You don’t even answer Lo’ak. You dive back down, ignoring the calls of your name leaving Neteyam.

You finally find yourself parallel to the Samson, that, quite literally as Lo’ak described, was dragging through the air, the usual smooth running ship making unusual sounds as norm seemed to struggle along with a concerned max on the controls. A malfunction maybe? Eywa. Why now?!

You yelled to catch spiders attention, he jumped out of his seat and leaned on the edge of the side door that was now wide open, hanging out with only his arm holding him up as he gripped a bar.

“Tell Norm and Max to go up!”

You screamed, desperately making hand motions.

Spider couldn’t hear you. He leaned a bit closer to hear when suddenly the Samson dips down further, a sturmbeest bucks upwards.

Your heart seemed to completely cease beating for a moment.

You didn’t see what happened. All you knew is that when you looked back at the ship, spider was gone. The panic that sets in was enough to smother your vision in an unfamiliar color you couldn’t quite place. Panic rushed through you in bolts as all you could think of is the possibility of your brother being dead. The boy you carried around on your back for so many years. The boy who protected you from all the creepy boys in the clan. The boy who let you scream and cry and vent after Neteyam broke your heart.

A small whimper left your lips, and you can’t really tell if you’re crying or not.

The world around you seemed almost in a reflective like manner, as If kept in a kaleidoscope or a dome.

You dive down desperately, screaming for him, your voice tearing through the wind.

Neteyam dives down after you, cursing to himself and calling for spider as well.

The world around you seems to blur when you catch sight of a smaller pale creature sprawled out on the ground, unconscious.

You dive down, scooping him up by the waist and throwing him on the back of your ikran, one hand struggling to steer as another hand keeps spider slumped against your back, stretched behind you.

Lo’ak is below you, following you on the back of his pa’li.

You land a bit farther from the path in the forest, jumping off your ikran with jagged, uneven breaths as you laid spider on the grass with scrambling hands.

You freeze when you see the twitching of his hands, and the small crack in his mask.

And all you can think about is how if you lost spider, you really did have no family left.

“No, no no no no no please-“

You whispered, not knowing what to do or how to fix this.

Do you take it off? Leave it?

You resort to placing your hand over the crack, thinking maybe it’ll keep more air from slipping inside.

Your vision starts to blur with tears. And just when you place your palm atop the glass, you feel a jolt of pain rush through your wrist.

The pressure you applied had cracked the mask even more, and now tiny shards of glass had covered your palm.

You didn’t feel the pain. Not at first. But then, like the bitch it was, adrenaline was starting to abandon you.

Lo’ak hops off his pa’li and runs towards you, leaning down.

“Shit! Spider!”

He looks at you.

“What happened? What- how-“

Tears streamed down your cheeks. And Lo’ak stared for a moment as one of the strongest people he knew was crying right in front of him.

“H-he fell- I don’t-“

Your breathing becomes uneven.

Behind you you see Jake and Neteyam both land their ikrans, the Samson landing behind them a bit in the distance as norm runs carrying a first aid kit.

The air around you thieves you of oxygen as your chest becomes heavy.

Strong arms wrap around your waist, gently pulling you to your feet as your turned around and met with Neteyams golden hour eyes, his palms softly dragging down your cheeks to your collarbones,

“Hey-hey look at me. Are you hurt?” 

You try to speak but the air in your lungs is swallowed instead, and you gasp.

“S-spider.”

He turns you the opposite way, shaking his head.

“Don’t look at that right now. Look at me. Just keep your eyes right here. I’m right here. Y/n.”

He looks you over, and freezes when his eyes settle on your palm.

“Shit. Your hand-“

You look down, seeing the thin trail of warm red liquid that dripped down your fingertips.

You felt like a faceless phantom in a hollow shell of a wreckage you called your body. Watching the world spin by as you remained trapped in your bird cage of broken wing bones.

You watched as Norm quickly replaced spider mask, his chest rising up and back down again like an ocean being suppressed under a sheet of glass.

You almost release yet another sob when spider regains consciousness. His eyes blowing wide like a shell-shocked animal. The sight of his pale hand gripping Norm’s much  larger bicep makes you sick to your stomach.

Neteyam gently guides you by your waist to behind one of the trees, you press your back to the rough bark in hopes some kind of sensation will break this shock.

He takes your hand, grabbing the waterskin pouch from his knife sheath strap.

You watch as he pours the clear liquid onto your cut. 

The cool water washing away the remnants of red and painful delirium that stained your hand was a soothing stimulation.

He’s movements are quick. Unrehearsed. A raw desperation submerged under his skin.

He rips a strip of fabric off of his loincloth, kneeling down as his knees suddenly assault the dirt with his sudden drop.

He gently takes your hand, wrapping the cloth around the wound, methodical movements carefully tying off this makeshift bandage.

He stands to his feet again, running his palms down your shoulders, then your arms, then your newly bandaged hands.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

You shake your head. You find yourself in an absent abstraction of a state. A warped, uncanny fabrication of reality. This verisimilitude within a broken mirror. A wondering reflection.

“You’re shaking.”

His deep accented voice breaks your wall.

You find yourself collapsing into him.

It was a blur, the whole thing.

Your face pressed to Neteyams chest as he kept an arm around you. You breathed in his scent, reminiscences in the familiar warmth of him, an almost magnetic feeling flowing through you.

And for a moment, the spaces didn’t seem too small anymore.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ 

Y/n’s pov.

Norm says it was an accident. And accidents are prone to happen.

You sat in Mo’at’s tent, watching as the last few warriors had their injuries cleaned and bandaged.

You fidgeted with your bandage on your hand. Neteyam’s old one had been discarded when you returned, and you were given a real wrap for your hand.

Spider was alive. His breathing was normal again, but he suffered from his fall. You’re shocked he got away with only scrapes and bruises. He wasn’t allowed to climb or leave camp for the next few days. He was confined to bed rest. 

He was now resting in the lab bunks. Norm and Max promised you they would not leave his side. It gave you some comfort. 

It’s funny, really. How you had no problem facing war. You were good at strategy. A fierce archer. Different from some other na’vi who felt repulsed by human things.

You were fascinated with calculations and numbers. Planning and plotting. Reading and graphing. Heights, distances, etc.

But when something so sudden and blunt like your brother almost falling to his death out of a skyship, you fumbled and almost killed him.

You fidgeted with your bracelet. The one you, spider, and Lo’ak made as children. Twirling the beads between your fingers and staring down into the void of colors and shapes.

The feeling of Neteyam’s arms around you is far from absent. His scent lingers. Honey and wooded. 

When you returned, he didn’t leave your side. He led you to his grandmother's tent, gave you water and sat with you until his father dragged him away to assist with gathering the meat from the beast you both hunted up to camp.

You didn’t like being pampered or prodded at, but for some reason your skin that now feels as hollow as a shell, it  practically became a ragdoll under Neteyam’s hands.

The world around you felt far too big for this small tent to be encasing the storm of thoughts under your skin.

“Y/n!”

Tuk scampers inside through the entrance, practically throwing herself into your arms.

“Oh Tuk-Tuk.” You whisper, finding familiar warmth carrying you back to reality.

You held Tuk close. As if some threat of a force would take her away. As if the hollowness that shaved your bones longs for something to protect. Something to keep within the circle of your arms.

You smoothed back her braids, kissing her head. 

“You’re back.”

She whispers, nuzzling her head into your shoulder. You place your hand on the back of her head, keeping her still and safe.

“Of course I’m back. I’ll always come back. What do I always tell you, love?”

Tuk sniffles, wiping her big eyes with the back of her hand.

“It would take a thousand sky ships to take you away?”

You smiled, tapping her nose gently.

“Make it a million.”

She smiled, but it fades away a bit as she glances down.

“Is spider okay?”

You still for a moment, the familiar ache in your chest returns.

“Oh little love. He’ll be just fine. Spider is big and strong. He’s a wild child, remember?”

You scooped tuk up into your lap, pressing a few kisses to her head, tickling her stomach. She giggled and thrashed in your arms.

“Y/n! Stoppp!”

She laughed wildly.

Finally, you put her back down, letting her snuggle up next to you as you wrapped an arm around her.

It wasn’t long before Kiri and Mo’at entered.

You bowed your head slightly, greeting mo’at.

“Ma’tsahik.”

She nodded at you, placing a hand on your head, smoothing down a few stray hairs from your braids.

“The salve will take affect soon, child. But you must not use it for the next few hours. Let your mind and your body heal.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand.

“Thank you.”

You whispered.

Kiri sat behind you, starting to untangle a few of your braids from its disheveled position tied back with your beaded cuff.

“Let me straighten your braids, tsmuke (sister). It looks worse than my fathers job at braiding.

You snorted, rubbing Tuk’s back as a small giggle leaves her lips.

Mo’at started to clean up the bowls laid around, behind her entered Lo’ak.

“There’s my sister from another mister. Killer shot.”

He teases, locking his hands with yours in a handshake-hug gesture you and him

Picked up as children from watching norm and Jake do it so many times.

When you pull away, he swings his arm around you, making himself comfortable as he leans sloppily over you, pushing Kiri back further.

She groans.

“Lo’ak! You idiot! Stop making me pull her hair!”

He shrugs Kiri off.

“Relax. We all know who y/n’s favorite sully is.”

Kiri scoffs and you reach behind your head to squeeze her hand.

Before you even realize it, the broken fragments of fear and self-hatred wither away under the surface of a settled skin. No longer sleepless with worry. 

The air feels lighter with Tuk’s small snuggles and Kiri’s gentle hands running through your long braids, leaving some pieces at the ends unbraided just as she always loved the way it looked on you. Your chest doesn’t feel so tight after a few of Lo’ak’s stupid jokes and stories. The laughter seemingly loosening the threads of torn tapestry.

A few hours later, Neytiri enters the hut.

“Mama!”

Tuk squirms out of your arms, running to neytiri as she smiles softly down at her youngest.

“Oh tuk.”

She hums, leaning down to kiss her daughter's head, her attention turning towards you after tuk jogged away to mo’at.

“My sweet. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, standing to your feet as she gestures for you to come closer, wrapping her arms around you and resting her chin atop your head, kissing your hairline.

“Oh my strong girl.”

She whispers, running a hand down your back.

“Strong heart.” She hums, stepping back a bit as her eyes slowly take you in.

She turns to Lo’ak and Kiri, who stand up soon after you.

“Your father has called a gathering of the clan’s hunters and warriors.”

She turns to you and Lo’ak, tilting her head upwards slightly.

“Your presence is needed. Both of you.”

You feel yourself straighten instinctively as you let her words register past the lingering haze of your earlier experience still looms over you like a storm cloud.

Lo’ak stretches, ruffling Tuk’s hair as she hisses and swats him away.

“Alright then. Let’s get moving.”

He nudges your elbow, brushing past Neytiri who softly touches his shoulder as he passes by.

“Y/n. A moment please.”

Neytiri’s slender fingers wrap around your forearm. Not harshly, but her voice has a clear coat of concern.

You pause, looking at Lo’ak once more as he ceases his strides.

“Y/n? You coming sis?”

You nod.

“I’ll be there in a minute. You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

He nods, starting to walk away.

Neytiri turns to her mother.

“Sa’nok. Do you mind watching Tuktirey and Kiri?”

Mo’at shakes her head, standing to her feet and ushering Kiri and Tuk back to the sully family marui, Kiri giving you one last hand squeeze and Tuk giving you a small hug.

Once the tent is empty, your focus rechannels onto Neytiri. 

“Is there something wrong?”

You ask.

She shakes her head.

“I just wanted to see if you were alright, yawne.”

Her hands rest on your shoulders, traveling down to your arms.

“You have been through so much these past few weeks, my sweet. If you ever need anything, please, don’t ever be afraid to ask me or Jake or Tsahik. You know this.”

You nod. Smiling softly to reassure her. This woman. This strong, beautiful woman who was giving you the love your mother left behind.

“I am fine. I promise.”

She sighs.

“You have dark circles under your eyes, Y/n. Your thinning a bit. You need sleep, and proper meals.”

She cups your face.

“All I ask is that you take care of yourself, my sweet. And please, let us take care of you. We are here for you. We always have been  and will be.”

She gently runs her thumb over your cheek.

“Lean on us, yawne.”

You smiled, the two of you embracing one another in a hug.

You step back after a few moments.

“I promise. I’ll practice at it.”

She smiles and kisses your head.

“Tonight may be a bit evasive for sleep, thought. I’m gonna spend a few hours in the lab before turning in.”

Neytiri tilts her head.

“The sky people room? Why?”

“To check on spider.”

Her expression sours slightly as she hears his name.

“I’m sure he is healing just fine. The sky people’s tools take no time at all, it seems.”

There was an edge in her voice, but you knew it wasn’t directed towards you.

It was a difficult case when it came to what is left of your family.

It was always you, your father, your mother, and spider. A circle of safety and familiarity that never left you unguarded.

When your parents died, you were placed under the care of Jake and Neytiri. Neytiri would do anything for you. She would go to the same lengths for you, she would go to for any of her children. In her eyes, you were hers. Hers to love.

But love is a sacrificial abstraction. (Seems to be a common theme, does it not?)

You think what frustrates her is the sacrifices you make for him. Love was a unsteadily structured sentiment. And when all his attempts seem futile in forms of pale skin painted blue, there was a sensitive inflection of utterances. 

You were his sister. You weren’t leaving him.

To Neytiri, your life was a cage. Stuck with this feral human boy who fancied himself a na’vi. A soul coaxed to wild-child thunderstorms and bruised knees from tree climbing, messy locs from days of sunlit spaces.

In her eyes you were stuck with Spider. 

Her love and protection was something that created a barricade between you and your brother. You prayed you would never find yourself having to choose between spider and her.

“I should go see him. Just to check on him. I won’t be there long.”

Neytiri nodded, but you can tell she was biting her tongue.

You give her one more soft smile before turning to leave.

“Y/n?”

You turn at the call of your name, and she only utters a few words.

“Your mother loved that…boy. I know she did. But you are allowed to think differently. You need not be burdened with carrying yourself and another.”

You didn’t need her to elaborate. You understood.

You nodded.

“My mother believed that connection is unconditional. The color that stains our skin and our blood doesn’t make a family. She always told me that if you bind yourself to pure hatred, you forget who you are. I love my people. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Neytiri’s tail swished.

“Y/n. Do not abandon what eywa has given us.”

Her voice was pleading. As if trying to place tessellations of an invisible disillusionment. A carefulness edged.

“I abandon no one.”

You whispered, holding her hands.

“But please. Understand that my home was built around both me and spider. The biggest abandonment I can see from that would be leaving him behind.”

She says nothing.

She stared at you with something you didn’t recognize.

It wasn’t cold, or shallow. Her gaze monitored a retrospection of something lost. Behind a liquid glass. You couldn’t tell if she saw you in a mirror or a window.

It’s blunted and ceased after a few moments. She kisses the top of your head.

“Olo’eyktan waits for you. Go on.”

You nod at her, deciding to take that as your signal to depart.

☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮

When you arrived at the meeting spot, the first thing you see is your clans most renounced warriors in a circle with the exception of a few hunters and Lo’ak. He wasn’t quite as skilled as Neteyam when it came to certain skills, but was a warrior all the same.

You find a spot next to Lo’ak, nodding respectfully at the other na’vi easily recognizable that stood across from you.

Kyuna’s father, Makeyo and his father, Ka’ani, Lo’ak’s current teacher, and the man who took your fathers and place in teaching the young hunters undergoing iknimiya, and a handful others.

The dreamwalkers couldn’t be seen in the gathering, you assumed they retired back to their reserved part of the stronghold.

You turned to Lo’ak, who was fidgeting with his bracelet, the one you, him and spider shared.

“What is this about?”

You whispered.

Lo’ak shrugged, glancing at you, the two usual braids that framed the sides of his head falling in his face.

“Maybe we’re all gonna hold hands in a circle and dance about love and peace.”

He hummed, his face blank.

Your tail thwacked the back of his head.

“The sarcasm is not appreciated.”

You rolled your eyes.

He scoffed.

“I learned it from you.”

You felt something brush your side, you and Lo’ak both turn to see Neteyam take a spot next to you.

“Bro, where have you been? Being late for you is like-

Once in a lifetime.”

He nods, standing next to you.

“Had to make sure the ikran were tended to with a few others.”

He placed a hand on the small of your back, his gaze forged of soft honored gold, and deep skies.

“I fed Kailo and made sure he was tended to. He’s just fine.”

You mentally slap the shit out of yourself when you remember rushing to get spider to the lab so fast you dismounted Kailo without even noticing your companions weariness from the excitement.

“Shit- I completely forgot- fuck.”

You drag your palms down your face.

“It’s okay. He was fine. Still feisty as usual.”

The chuckle in his throat reverberated against the deep accent of his voice.

You felt yourself heat on the back of your neck.

“Thank you, Neteyam.”

He nodded, gently letting his hand fall back to his side.

“Yeah yeah, so kind of you-

Bro do you know what we’re even here for?”

Lo’ak not-so-subtly shoved himself between you and Neteyam pensively, unbothered by his clear dislike of your close proximity.

Lo’ak never loved the idea of you and neteyam being together. Not when you two were courting, and not now. Always pensive of you and Neteyam hanging out for too long, even doing together something as harmless as helping Mo’at back to her feet after a nap.

You always thought it was jealousy. Not the romantic type. The clan always told you that you and Lo’ak would make a beautiful match. But the thought felt like wearing clothes too big for you. Detached, displaced sense of stability. You loved Lo’ak. More than anything, you really did. But it wasn’t romantic. And Lo’ak clearly didn’t see you as wife material. 

That’s fine. He wouldn’t make a great wife either to be honest.

It confused you sometimes. Lo’ak often showed Neteyam off to you, praising him. You wondered if it was sarcasm, or just respecting his brother enough to not embarrass him, but not wanting you two to court again either.

It was a mess for another moment.

Neteyam shrugged, shaking his head.

“Probably just a debriefing. The hunt was…unexpected to say the least.”

You nodded, locking gazes with Lo’ak for a moment as you both had a silent conversation.

It wasn’t long before Jake arrived, the first thing he did was check on the three of you. Mo’at followed behind him, making her way straight for the center ahead the gathering. It wasn’t uncommon for Tsahik to be present and meetings like this.

“You kids alright?”

Placing a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder, checking your hand and patting Neteyam’s back.

“We’re fine, sir. Just a few scratches.”

Neteyam affirmed, shifting on his feet slightly.

Jake sighed in relief, hugging both his sons, before dragging you into the hug.

“I’m proud of you boys. Did nice riding out there, Lo’ak. And your shot was right on line, Neteyam.”

Lo’ak didn’t show it, but you could tell he was smiling. He kept his gaze down, peering at the ground.

Neteyam nodded, a smile tugging at his lips as well. You found it cute that both Neteyam and Lo’ak, even at ages 19 and 18, were still excited about getting a compliment from the great Toruk Makto. Their father.

The two of them talked for a moment, you found your gaze drifting to Makeyo and his father. They were speaking in the crowd. Makeyo looked anxious. Almost tensed as his father kept a hand on his back, ranting in a whisper.

Jake lead the three of you to the front of the gathering, straying  from the crowd a bit. “Boys, do me a favor and go make sure we have everyone?”

Lo’ak and neteyam nodded, both jogging off to weave through the crowd and count heads of all the warriors they recognized.

As Neteyam and Lo’ak walked ahead, Jake placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you what you think spider called ‘a thumbs up’

“Nice shooting, sweetheart.”

He smiled proudly, sitting down next to you on one of the crevices.

You tried to conceal a smile of your own; your attempt pathetic as you smiled up at him like a child bringing home a freshly caught fish.

“Thank you.”

He ruffled your hair.

“Two for two shot-

Eywa, you never fail amaze me. What was it you and Neteyam did, the uhm, the two arrows in one-?”

“And one in the other. Something I’ve practiced with Lo’ak.”

You explained, smiling as he laughed.

“Genius. Absolutely.”

You two sat like that for a moment before neteaym and Lo’ak returned.

“Father, we are ready.”

Neteyam informed. Jake nodded, stretching as he stood to his feet.

Mo’at gently touched your back as she stood next to you.

Jake held a hand up, signaling the clan to be still and quiet.

“Thank you, my people for gathering. I’ll try to make this one quick.”

Jake’s lack of informality never seemed to not make you chuckle a bit.

“I have decided to make arrangements for the trainees in the war parties.”

He turned to the group that stood behind Makeyo and his father.

“It has come to my attention that some of you have clearly been ranked beneath your current abilities. And need more open field training.”

Open field training?

It was something you had back when you were 15. A few months after your parents passed. Jake started teaching you human tatical skills. How to use a gun, far distance targets, how to read radios and signals on old ships and navigate the screen charts on the controls. You so heavily insisted on having a position fighting the sky people. You worked, and you trained, until you became the most skilled warrior on your group. Even passing Neteyam and Lo’ak in your group.

Jake appointed you to his side. And you still at the realization that the moment he appointed you, it started with a meeting just like this.

Uncertainty shaved the hopeful soul that coated your bones. 

Jake continued.

“I have decided that the upper rank trainees will start with new practices. They will now be lead by Ka’ani. Awkey, you will lead the years younger.”

So it wasn’t what you thought. Your position remained, it seemed.

The sudden switch of teachers was a bit odd, nonetheless. 

Jake finished his speech minutes later. It was a short overview of new tactics the warriors would be learning. New places for target practice, and unfamiliar routines.

You didn’t mind the new schedules. It seemed like less of your day would be consumed in strategy sessions.

When he finished, the crowd started to disperse. Lo’ak went to speak with Awkey, leaving you with Jake, Mo’at, and Neteyam.

Makeyo and his father remained in their spots; as if waiting for a further instruction.

Makeyo’s father, Va’ru, was ambitious to a point it was farther than frightening. Constantly trying to put his son in first place. Like a cloud formulating a storm that swirled seated under restless skin.

Neteyam stepped forward, his tail flicked slightly.

“Dad, if Lo'ak's group will be with Awkey, does that mean I will be undergoing Ka’ani’s training?”

Jake shifts for a moment, as if trying to place his words in the right order.

“Yes and no. I have a different plan for you.”

Neteyam’s eyes widened only slightly, his tail flicking.

“Sir?”

He tilted his head.

Jake’s tone was clinging to remain inconcous as he saw Makeyo’s father approach.

“Olo’eyktan. I assume this is about the private lessons for Makeyo?”

Private lessons? Makeyo was going to take private lessons with Jake?

Makeyo seemed reluctant to engage in whatever was about to happen, gently tugging on his fathers arm.

“Father. Please. There was no certainty it would be me.”

His pleading falls deaf on his fathers ears.

“Va’ru. There has been a change.”

Jake speaks slowly, as if not to wake a sleeping thanator.

Va’ru is still for a moment.  

Neteaym steps forward, gently past his grandmother.

“What are we speaking of?”

He inquires, his own ounce of impatience slipping past his mask ever so subtly.

Jake sighs, rubbing his temple.

“This is not how things were supposed to go.

Over the last few weeks, I have been individually monitoring the warriors in your group to consider them for private lessons. Since Y/n is my most prominent warrior, she would be teaching the one I chose. My choice was Makeyo.”

Makeyo’s ears flicker upwards, and his father straightens, a smile forming on his face. It wasn’t genuine or even greatful. It was hungry, frenzied with torrid energy.

“Olo’eyktan. I would be honored to have Makeyo be taught under your most trusted archer.”

You felt your expression sour. Clearly uncomfortable with the energy that radiates off Va’ru.

Jake shakes his head.

“I have had a change of mind. As of a few days ago I have decided to give the role to Neteyam.”

This feels mosaic the moment you register his words. The figures around you now made of oddly shaped colors and sizes of glass. All the wrong shades.

You feel your fingers twitch and your mind go adrift. A blanket ablaze blanks your mind to a faceless slate. 

Alone. With Neteyam. 

The words swirl around like a whirlpool. A windless storm without the familiarity of chaos to stabilize the seas.

You try to place yourself in the vision but you can’t. You can’t seem to inhabit the precipice of this reality.

Your shaken away from the void of your thoughts as Jake places a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n. You will train Neteyam. Teach him the things I have taught you and your own ways. He will learn a lot from you. We’ll have another archer in our skies. More air combat support.”

You force yourself to nod and swallow, neteyam still seemingly frozen at the news.

Va’ru is clearly not pleased. 

“Olo’eyktan. With all due respect-“

The funny thing is, there’s not an ounce of respect in his tone. Its ironically edged, as if Jake’s decision is the height of audacity.

“Makeyo has been training. He’s familiarized himself with Y/n’s methods. He studies her.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed when Neteyam’s ears pin down, his gaze narrowing as the words ‘study her’ reach his ears.

You can’t blame him. It does sound fucked up.

Va’ru digs himself in a deeper hole this time.

“He trains the younger children with her. He spends most of his days with her. He’s dedicated his time, his-“

Jake cuts him off, his voice a bit sterner this time, and you can tell his patience is slipping away.

“It’s not about time. It’s about skill. Makeyo is a very talented warrior. There’s no doubt. He’s a strong archer. But neteyam has shown promise over these last few weeks. He’s worked to improve his knowledge on the air strike patterns of the RDA. Hes flown with me to scout the perimeters of hell’s gate. He’s ready to advance to start training with newer methods.”

Va’ru scoffs, taking a step back, your tail flicks.

“You throw your son in the highest place again and again. You choose to ignore the others potential.”

Jake wasn’t one for favoritism when it came to the honest work of his warriors. To suggest otherwise was offensive. 

Honor was valued among the na’vi. It was wrong to accuse him of just always picking neteyam. If anything, this was Neteyam’s chance. He had worked so hard to be seen by his dad. You knew this.

Jake took a breath to steady his urge to let this guy steal the last shred of tolerance he has left.

“Va’ru. Not infront of the others. We can speak privately-“

Va’ru’s tone was biting now.

“You cannot keep doing this. And your son can’t keep ‘running to daddy’ when he falls behind my son and can’t admit it.”

Something surged through the hungered veins under your skin. The fire never stayed absent for very long. Purging itself to cultivate on unsettled gilded flesh.

A hiss left you. The ardent prolonged end notes of something almost inhibited by a growl. A fervid, feverish vehemence whisped behind.

Va’ru’s eyes widened a bit, his prior confidence subduing under a sheet of hesitance.

Jake pushed you back a bit, a warning glare tossed towards your squirming figure to step forward once again.

“We can speak privately. But I will not allow you to insult the hard work of my son. Or question the expertise of Y/n.”

Va’ru and Jake agreed to talk privately, but you predicted just more arguing.

☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮

Seeking solitude in the hidden caves of the mountainous cave of high camp, you settled with your anxiousness with one of the corridors above the first columns.

You paced back in fourth, cursing to yourself and throwing sharp stones at the wall.

You weren’t ready. You just weren’t ready.  The moment Jake and Va’ru left you ran for the farthest place you could find. You couldn’t bare to look at Neteyam.

Jake’s words from earlier pierce the surfaces of unsteady standing ground in your heart.

Love isn’t easy

Love isn’t easy

Love isn’t easy

You know what else isn’t easy? Having to spend all day with the man you used to dream about kissing. Loving. Hugging. Mating with.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your pulse quickens.

You remember that day. You remember the day though you waited for him under the rain. 

Under a lapis hued nightfall you were ready to give him your heart. Raw and bruised and blemished and every curve and dip and imperfection yearned for his touch.

But you fell in love with the sun. And you were undeserving of sunlight.

A boy made of flaxen fanned regrets and flamed forged promises.

You loved him. You didn’t love him for the son made of stone. Through the shifting shadows and vibrant visions of excellence engraved in ecstasy that echoed through disassembled pieces of manic daydreams.

You loved him. Tormented yourself with distance and fervent optimism. Idealisms too far to be attained.

This forbidden collision of the sun and the moon. 

And you waited. Damn yourself yet you waited. 

You waited for an explanation for his departure. A reason for this distance.

Weeping under a wild sky, disgusted with your own reflection. The sight of yourself just a poor effort of what you could have given him.

And then your family went somewhere you cannot follow, and suddenly he seeks remorse.

It’s unfair. It is so fucking unfair the nights you spent crying over the loss of his warmth. The sunlight felt cold. The warmth wind felt unfamiliar. 

And then you found the moonlight. The contingent comfort of dimmed sapphire hues and vengeance.

You refused to cry. You refused to be weakened. Your mother had seen fire and survived it. You had seen fire and burned with it-

And burn you will. Burn under the Sirius secrets whispered under the raptured intimacy of independence and its sweetening bindings.

So be it. So burn. bloodshed forging bones into bludgeons of tattered tears trains and scarred screams, soulless sleep.

Forgiveness surrounds itself in fractions of frustrations. 

You damned the sky starless because all the stars had fallen with your tears waiting for him. Waiting for the voices in your head to surrender and ricochet to the shallow corners of the planes traced lines on your palm.

You recount. Roll back and fast-forwards through every memory no longer remembered under glistening sunlight poured into liquid glass, and the hues of his golden eyes.

He was daylight. He wore a halo of Helios and draped warm flesh over sun-stained soulful essence to challenge the sea and the sky. A faint heartbeat under adrift moments scattered to a tethered wind. 

A man, a mask, and it’s burdens and bodies and sun-dried bones. He was a symphony and you, a mere half note of lost virtues.

Why must you constantly be at war with yourself? Why do you do this to yourself?

Do you hate him? 

Do you love him?

Do you want him?

You were nightfall.

Cascades of constellations and curls of lavender. A restless shade of reddened sunset, undertoned swirling and swept to hues of purple, orange, blue, a fiery sunset. Moonlight worn like a veil, tear-stained lips and blood stained hips and yet, oh how beautiful you were. Dark and delicately dressed in grief.

Sensationalize these bittersweet story endings and happily never after forever, then maybe some more.

To restrain this punishment, this internal unredeemable consciousness. 

Someone is behind you. Coming slowly into your peripheral view. 

You move quickly, drawing the knife on your hip and flipping it into your uninjured hand, steadying at the perpetrators throat.

“Shit! Easy, easy…”

Neteyam holds his hands up in defense, his eyes wide at your sudden movements.

“Y/n. It’s just me.” He cautiously lowers the knife in your hand.

Great. The man of the hour.

Oh eywa must have you fucked up if she thinks you’re dealing with this right now.

“Get out.” 

You didn’t mean to sound so punitive, but you were pissed, confused, and on the verge of tears. That was never a very delightful combo.

Neteyam shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Neteyam I’m not going to tell you again. Get out. Please.”

Your voice cracked this time as you took a step forward. 

“Y/n please.” He begged. 

“Get out! Go! Leave! Fuera!”

You used every word you knew. Including another earth language spider had been teaching you. ‘Spanish’ is what he called it.

He winced, but only for a moment.

“I can’t. Because if I leave id just carry myself right back here.”

It satisfied you but it did nothing to console the ache in your heart.

“Then what do you want?”

You whispered.

“Another chance.”

Fuck.

You took a step away, running your palms down your face. Neteyam ignored the gesture, walking after you.

“It’s been years, y/n. I’ve dug my own grave and I’ve lied in it. I can’t eat or sleep properly anymore because it fucking eats me alive.”

Neteyam Sully was never one to curse. That was more of lo’aks calling card. So it stunned you slightly when he spoke in such a way.

You turned to face him. His golden hour eyes locking with yours.

“I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I only ask for you to hear me out.”

He took a breath.

“From the moment I was born, every single moment of my life feels like it’s been calculated. Staged, rehearsed, nothing was ever out of place. Everything was a plan- a strategy. I’m not asking for your pity but all I ask is that you understand. That life is all I’ve ever known, Y/n.

And then I fell in love with you. And you were just-“

He paces around as he walks. Talking with his hands, making grand gestures to try and articulate some spontaneous thought without really knowing what he was saying at all.

For every moment in his life being staged and prepared, this sure as hell didn’t seem rehearsed.

Maybe the sun-stained son made of stone broke like glass after all.

He continues stumbling over his words. It was rather unlike him. To be this outspoken and unequivocal with his words.

“You we’re just, Eywa I don’t know how to begin.

You were wild and unpredictable, so unbothered and reckless and passionate. You still are. You make the most dangerous shit I’ve ever seen in my life seem so graceful and beautiful. You care for my siblings, Tuk wants to quite literally ‘be y/n’ when she grows up and Lo’ak and Kiri would probably plot a mass murder if you asked them too. My mother and my father love you like one of their own. I don’t want what used to be between us ruin any of that. I’m tired of it, y/n. I’m tired of all the awkward formalities and hating eachother. And I’ll be damned if I’ve ever met a woman in my entire life who knows a bow and arrow like you do.”

You’re stunned. Everything he says sinks under your skin for a moment.

He takes a breath.

“Y/n. Please. Give me another chance. To be friends again. I miss you. I really do. You're going to be my teacher now. We shouldn’t be-“

“Just shut up for a minute.”

A small ‘yes ma’am.’ Leaves his lips as his gaze darts down a bit.

Now, if someone told you about 30 minutes from now you would be hugging neteyam sully, you probably would have called them crazy.

But now, as eywa as your witness, that’s exactly what you did.

He was still for a moment, and then he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you back.

You took a step back, smiling at him softly.

“Our first lesson starts as soon as my hand is healed. Don’t be late.”

And with that, you left.

Neteyam stood there for a moment before jumping up, fisting the air, a celebratory ‘fuck yes!’ Leaving his lips silently.

Maybe things made of stone can break like glass after all.

☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓✮ ☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮☾𖤓 ☾𖤓✮

Parallels:

Biggest parallel: the “hell yeah!” Line between neteyam and y/n is parallel to this scene between Jake and Neytiri.

Spider and Y/n - Tommy and Jake (two siblings, two sides of the same coin)

Y/n and Neytiri - (learning to love even through grief)

Y/n and Jake - (’soldier mentality’ and low self image because of trauma)

Lo’ak, Y/n and Neytiri - (rebelliousness) 

Spider and Neteyam- (oldest sibling responsibility)

Authors note:

I’m alive! I survived probably the longest chapter in this fic. I think I owe all my virago readers an apology. This chapter is WAY overdue. I'm sorry about that one, y'all.

But we're finally out of the enemy stage! And now I get to enjoy writing fluffy moments between neteyam and y/n, aka our resident virago and sun son made of stone.

So I just want to clear some things up before I wrap this up.

In my story, spider is a Spanish speaker. I read the original script and saw that he does speak Spanish in one of the scenes, and as a Spanish speaker and a spider stan that just warms my heart. Yes, a na’vi speaking Spanish might sound kinda cringe but it's my personal headcanon that spider would definitely teach y/n Spanish. 

Btw I just finished watching the hunger games so if anyone can catch all the Haymitch and Katniss references between y/n and Jake I will literally kiss you.

Remember to pleas like, comment, reblog, and as a request from me, please comment your favorite quote. trope, dynamic, or moment in this chapter or even the story so far.

Taglist

@mntx666

@isnt-itstrange @thebestrouge

@bay7let

@fairuzwhat

@jackiehollanderr

@6423btw

@satesatesate2009

@0stargirl0

@heavenlysstuff

@dayyzlol

@iheartamajiki

[f4iry-bell]

a very short grayson hawthorne x desi!reader hc

- okay this can intimidate literally ANYONE except desi parents, okay? one look from them and he is intimidated.

- if your parents's english is not good he will be scared to meet them bc he wouldn't be able to tell them how much he loves their daughter (he'll learn your mother tongue)

- he is desperate for their approval (though any desi parents will say yes v soon once they know about the money he come from)

- okay now coming to weddings. TWO WEDDINGSSSSSSS. like nick jonas and proyanka chopra.

- one smol white wedding and a grand desi wedding

- him in a kurta. just imagine.

- also i can see him asking "why is there a picture of zayn malik in every street"

[ahungeringknife]

365: chlorine and coconut sunscreen

March 10

There's this song I like called 'Stacy's Brother' by Mad Tsai I listened to on repeat way too many times while writing this. It's... very dumb. But god it's a fun lil story lol.

-----

Maria's mom answered the door for Malik and smiled when she saw him. "Hey, Mrs. Thorpe," he said.

"Malik, here for homework?"

"Yeah," he said as she let him in. "Is Maria in her room?"

"She is," and Mrs. Thorpe closed the door. "Make sure she stays on task."

"Pfft. That's her job," he said and went into the house to Maria's room. He'd been here a thousand times so didn't feel awkward as he opened the door where Maria was on her bed working on their homework for the day. He left the door open.

"There you are," Maria looked up and Malik was not a bit awkward she'd changed since she'd come home from school. She was wearing a V-neck tank top and comfortable shorts that only went down to her mid thigh. Stuff the Vice Principle would have gotten on her about because he could see some of her cleavage. "You're late."

"I literally just got home after picking my brother up from school," Malik complained and joined her on the bed. "Not everyone has a free period at the end of the day."

"I guess," Maria said, leaning back in a way that made her look sexy, her long brown hair half braided along the side of her head. "And it isn't football season so I have no reason to stay after school," she allowed. Not that Maria played but she was co-captain of the cheer squad. Basically anyone with any sort of gymnastic ability got to be captain but this year there were only two.

"Did you get anything started?" Malik asked pulling out his notebooks.

"Yeah I got the math homework done already."

"Oh thank god," Malik groaned and Maria giggled. He hated math.

"You just worry about the Spanish homework," she winked at him.

He grinned at her, not minding her display of herself. Not like he'd do anything. He and Maria had been friends since before middle school back when girls had 'cooties'. "Sure sure once I copy your math homework," he said and she sat up to hand him her binder with the homework.

They did homework and hung out for a while as it got later. Eventually there was a dull knock on the open door, "Yo, dork and friend," and Malik looked up quickly. Maria's (sort of new) step brother was hanging off one of the door jambs. "Mom said it's dinner time." Malik only half heard. He was always an idiot the first few seconds Altair showed up. Eve had gotten remarried a few years ago and Altair was Umar's teenage son brought into the family. He was a sophomore in college now but still lived at home and fuck he was so hot. Tall, darkly tanned skin with dark brown hair he wore long enough that you could see it curled at the edges and the most intense light brown/amber eyes Malik had ever seen. Malik never got tired of looking at him.

"Okay. You staying then, Mal?" Maria asked him.

"Oh- uh, yeah," Malik stammered.

"Cool. Mom said wash up," and Altair left the doorway and Malik hoped he didn't look like such a fucking idiot.

"Also don't call me a dork, Altair," Maria called after him.

"Okay loser," Altair called from down the hall.

"Altair!" Mrs. Thorpe yelled from the kitchen and then some light scolding.

"Idiot falls for that every time," Maria snickered and got off her bed. Malik followed her and they washed their hands for dinner.

Dinner was good, if sort of boring. Mrs. Thorpe was a nice lady but a world class cook she was not. Malik had seen her spice cupboard before she'd married Altair's dad; the spiciest thing in it was sweet paprika. At least it wasn't spaghetti.

After dinner Malik helped clean up. He'd been over for dinner enough he wasn't a 'guest' anymore but a dinner staple so was put on clean up duty. He was putting away dishes and leftovers with Altair who'd been tasked with the proper cleanup. Maria had gone back to her room for the moment and the adults were watching TV in the living room. Malik knew Mrs. Thorpe would come and inspect the kitchen after they'd left.

"So what are you doing this weekend?" Altair asked him making him start.

"I have a part time job," Malik said after swallowing. They were basically standing side by side and Malik was so annoyed Altair also smelled nice. He was like singularly designed to be distracted to Malik and it was working.

"Oh yeah? Maria said she's got a big project due in two weeks."

"Ah, yeah. I have that too." They had to build a diorama of atoms and molecules. Way more fun than usual science homework. "I'll probably come over and work on it with Maria," he added.

"Nice. Some of the boys are coming over to go to the pool. You and the dork should come," and Malik did not imagine the wink Altair gave him. When was he working this weekend? He was pretty sure it was in the morning. He preferred morning shifts and his shifts weren't that long.

"After I get off, sure," he said and Altair gave him a smile that was almost a smirk.

"Sounds good. I can handle the rest. I'm sure dork princess supreme is looking for you," Altair said putting the filled plastic containers into the fridge.

"Probably," Malik said. Malik lingered another moment before leaving and going back to Maria's room to finish their homework. He was so oblivious to Maria's cleavage the rest of the night he was there.

--

Malik never felt awkward going over to Maria's usually but today he did. He didn't know why he bothered when Maria answered the door in a golden bikini with pink beach wrap around her waist. "Mal!" she said brightly when she saw him. Okay so he wasn't going to be alone.

"Sorry for the wait. They held me a few extra minutes at work," he apologized as he entered the house.

"It's fine. Now we can go." Malik was glad he also wasn't the only friend Maria had invited. She'd invited her friends Adha and Kass to join as well. "Guys Malik finally showed up."

"Hell yeah!" an unfamiliar voice cried.

There were three guys in the living room her didn't recognize and they all looked like various jock cliches each wearing the exact same slide on sandals and sunglasses on their heads but different swim trunks and t-shirts. "Bro not so loud," one said.

"We all here?" Mr. Thorpe asked.

"Yeah."

There was a bit of discussion over how everyone was getting to the pool and Malik ended up being in the middle of the back seat between two of Altair's friends in Altair's car. Was fine with him. Altair was at least nice enough to introduce them, "This is Ezio, Desmond, and Connor," he said pointing at each one in turn. Desmond and Ezio could have been brothers except Ezio grew his hair out and had an annoying New York Italian accent. Connor was... cute he supposed, and utterly done with his friends. "And this is my sister's friend, Malik."

"Yeah yeah you've mentioned him," Desmond said dismissively and Malik wound up between Ezio and Desmond in the back.

"So you're like childhood besties with Maria?" Ezio asked as they were following Mr. Thorpe's car which had the girls and adults in it.

"Uhh, sort of?" Malik said awkwardly. "We became friends in fifth grade."

"Oh yeah? How?"

"... We both had detention-

"Shit for real? That's how I met this guy," Connor said and pointed accusingly at Desmond.

"What were you in for?" Desmond asked.

"I told a teacher to go fuck themselves-" the entire car erupted into laughter.

"Shit, in fifth grade? That's like, what? Eleven or twelve?" Desmond wheezed.

"I had a real foul mouth growing up," Malik said awkwardly. "My dad swears like a sailor so I got it from him."

"What was the dork in for?" Altair asked.

"I think she stabbed her bully with a pencil?" This time the car was filled with 'ooooooooh!'s.

"I dunno Altair, I think your sister is cool," Ezio said mildly.

"Pffft, hardly," Altair said.

"Stabbing someone with a pencil is pretty hard core," Desmond agreed with Ezio.

"Yeah and now she wants to be a chemist; dork," Altair said in a gross voice making his friends laugh. These guys were fun. Malik liked them.

"So, Malik... you hitting that?"

"Oi!" Altair shouted.

"Ew, Ezio. Don't be crass," Desmond said.

"Don't fucking answer that," Altair said and Malik looked at him in the rear view.

"She's not really my type," Malik said truthfully.

"I'm going to kick your ass once we get to the pool, Ezio," Altair threatened. "Don't say that shit about my sister you fucking freak."

"It was just a question. Geeze you're so sensitive," Ezio said.

"Your brother is fucking that stuffy rich kid from your Art History class," Desmond said and Ezio immediately looked like he was about to hurl.

"No he isn't," Ezio said.

"Saw them making out in the dorms."

"I'm going to throw up," Ezio groaned.

Thankfully there were no more probing questions like that and everyone arrived at the pool in one piece. As soon as they got out of the car Altair put Ezio in a head lock and walked him around for a minute, reprimanding him about asking nasty questions about his sister.

The pool was the size of two Olympic pools with diving boards at the deep end. There was also a small slide on the side. A wading pool separate from the main pool for kids had one of those mushroom waterfalls too. The pool was busy but not crowded.

The adults found a spot to set up and Malik tried not to stare when Altair took his shirt off. He was buff in a worked out enough to be fit sort of way but wasn't jacked by any means. His friends were a bit more or less buff than him but Malik thought Altair was the best looking by far even if he had the same 'uniform' sunglasses as the other three. Before he could make a decision on wanting to hang with the older guys Kass got his attention and he was reminded he should probably hang out with his own friends even if he was the only guy.

Kass and Adha were both nice girls and part of cheer with Maria and Malik's friends by association but that was about it. He hung out with them enough to fit right into the friend group as they got into the pool to swim around.

They hung out for a while before Connor found them. "You guys want to mess around?" he asked them.

"Which means?" Maria asked, eyeing him.

"We were playing chicken but Ezio's a fat ass and you're all little," Connor said.

"I don't-

"That sounds fun," Kass said.

"Seriously?"

"Scared I'll kick your ass, Thorpe?" Kass asked smugly.

Malik was not shocked when that triggered Maria's competitive nature. "No. Let's go." Malik knew Kass knew Maria well enough that she'd done that on purpose.

They followed Connor to a part of the pool where the college guys could stand with just their upper chests above the water. "Hey, dork and friends, you showed up," Altair said.

"So who gets Malik or is he not playing?" Desmond asked, folding his arms thoughtfully.

"I can sit out-" Malik tried.

"Nah man. You can be my fighter," Altair said. Malik sunk into the water a bit with a gulp. Oh boy. Really? Seriously?

"You don't want your sister?"

"We fight enough I can't be on her side on principle," Altair said.

"Hey!" Maria cried.

They organized themselves into teams. Malik sat out the first grapple match with Adha, sitting on the edge of the pool nearby to watch. Altair and Desmond were also waiting it out but in the pool egging their friends on. "This is stupid," Adha sighed.

"Yeah but it's fun," Malik said.

"Yeah I guess." They watched Kass and Maria struggle to throw each other off the shoulders they were on. Then she looked at Malik and Malik started to feel very self conscious. Adha had moved to America in middle school and she just had a... way about her where sometimes she looked at Malik and it was like she knew what he was thinking. She looked away after a few seconds. "Maria's bathing suit is pretty cute don't you think?"

Malik was so caught off guard he didn't respond at first. "Ah- yeah? I guess so. I didn't really notice," he admitted with a shrug. Adha looked at Malik again. "Uhh...?"

"When are you and Maria going to go out?" she asked bluntly.

"Wha-- never?" Malik asked, barely sure himself for some reason.

"I don't believe you."

"Sorry?"

"Like everyone thinks you're dating."

"Who's 'everyone'?" Because they had very different ideas of 'everyone'.

"All of the cheer squad and like everyone in your classes," Adha said simply. "And why not?"

"She's not my type," Malik said.

Adha frowned. "So?"

"So? So what?"

"She's pretty, smart, and popular. How is that not your type?" Adha asked.

"She's just not my type okay. Geeze," he looked away, annoyed. "She's also been my friend like forever. I don't think about her like that."

"So where'd you get that?" and she touched her own neck. Malik immediately slapped his hand to his neck.

"Not from Maria," Malik said and they scowled at each other. He didn't owe Adha an explanation on where he'd gotten a hickey.

Adha folded her arms and looked away. "Too bad."

"Not my problem," Malik grumbled and they watched Kass finally throw Maria off Connor's shoulders and then flexed with a victory roar. It was actually impressive too because Kass had bigger arms than Malik. The older boys other than Connor cheered too.

Then it was Malik and Adha's turn and Malik felt not a bit self conscious about it. It wasn't like he was some short light weight like these girls but Altair didn't seem to mind. Adha didn't trash talk like Maria and Kass were from the sidelines but she did give him a thumbs down which irritated him. Desmond was the tallest person here so when he stood up with Adha she had the high ground on Malik.

Didn't matter. He had at least twenty or thirty pounds on her. There was some brief grappling before Malik tossed her off Desmond's shoulders. The other's cheered and Altair gave Malik a high five. The following match between him and Kass was less one sided and lasted a full minute before Ezio shoved Altair's head under the water and Kass could shove Malik off his shoulders.

Their self congratulating was so annoying.

The rest of the day passed with only some minor horse play and Malik and his friends being very impressed by the college guys doing front flips off the low diving board.

Eventually Malik dragged himself out of the pool, tired as hell from the swimming. Adha had already gotten out and gone back to the Thorpes on the side of the pool. Malik went to the changing room just to use the showers to rinse off the chlorine before he planned on passing out on one of the beach chairs for a little bit before they went home. He was finishing up when he saw Altair come in and glance around before seeing him.

"Hey."

"Hey?"

Altair frowned. "I'm sorry about what Ezio said earlier," Altair said.

"What'd he say?" Malik had already forgotten. He turned off the water since he was done anyway.

Altair looked sort of annoyed. "About if you were with Maria."

"Oh! Yeah it's fine. It didn't matter," he waved it away trying to be cool that Altair was up in his space. He was doing a very bad job at not looking at Altair's naked chest too. Outside it had been whatever but in this more intimate setting it was making his ears burn.

"Hey," and Malik started when Altair grabbed his chin and made him look at his face. "It matters to me," and Malik's heart jumped when Altair kissed him. He tasted like chlorine and coconut sunscreen.

Malik had had a crush on Altair almost as soon as Mrs. Thorpe had gotten married and he realized boys were a thing and no him not having a crush on girls was normal because boys. There'd been some flirting over the years but nothing had come of it until a few weeks ago. It'd been Malik's eighteenth birthday and Altair had just gone 'happy birthday' and kissed him in the backyard while they were being ignored by the party around because Malik's little brother Kadar was making a fool of himself. Malik had nearly fainted.

He still got all silly after Altair kissed him too. It was absolutely foolish but he couldn't help it. He licked his lips when Altair pulled away and had to clear his throat. "I know. But I don't care what people assume about me and Maria. Apparently half my class has an opinion," he rolled his eyes.

"So you going to tell her or what?" Because of course Maria didn't know. Malik felt weirdly guilty about it. Not that he didn't have feelings for her but that he'd hooked up with one of his best friend's brother.

"... No," he said after a moment. He knew she liked him and didn't want it to be more awkward than it had to be.

Altair folded his arms. "You should just tell her."

"Yeah but she'll probably cry and she's my best friend. I don't want to do that," Malik grimaced.

"I could-

"No," Malik said firmly.

Altair huffed. "Fine. I wish you'd just tell her so she stops dressing like a hussy at home whenever you're over-"

"What? She does not," Malik complained.

"Dude she comes home and when she knows you're coming over wears some of the sluttiest clothes she owns."

"And this is why I don't want to tell her," Malik groaned. "I'd fuck everything up."

"Sounds like a bitch ass excuse but okay," Altair was still sour but didn't push the subject anymore.

"Also for the record I don't remember anything out of Ezio's mouth," Malik said, heading out of the shower room.

"Yeah. That's about how you should treat him," Altair agreed, following him.

[stellisketches]

I was gonna say can we talk about the wedding of woe where rykers parent is the one to cause all this but then I realized that she died in child birth, so uh what went down with the wedding, and how Ro’Meave fam saved?

Okay so I haven't written this one out entirely, so the details are a bit fuzzier, but here's a summary of it (I made like 2/3rd of this up as I went along).

Also DEFINITELY CONTENT WARNING for mentions of death, failed pregnancies, domestic violence, implied SA, and cousincest. This is probably the most game-of-thronesy I’ve gotten in terms of lore.

Vaughna only briefly served as the High Priestess of O'Khasis for a period of five-ish years. Vaughna was somewhat pressured into Priesthood by her caretakers and some of Malik's advisors due to her magicks-sensitivity, however she was never actually attached to religion. In order to get out of being High Priestess, she purposely got pregnant as a reason to step down. Stepping down as High Priest was not an easy thing to accomplish, and there had to be a valid reason to abdicate the position you were supposed to swear your life to. Pretty much the only way to do it "honorably" was to either get married or have a child (the latter of which was more acceptable). While celibacy isn't technically required in order to be the high priest, it's generally seen as the more noble/respectful thing to do. The duty of parenthood was supposed to come before all else, and being high priest would complicate that duty. Ergo, it was seen as sort of an "honorable discharge" from the church. Unfortunately, this decision did end up costing her life, as she died giving birth to the baby that was supposed to give her freedom.

Ten years later, Styr and Sophi both died of an illness within days of each other when Naela was almost twelve, and Astarse V had died/disappeared along with her lover Sayren just a few years beforehand. This meant that the only two known living Ro'Meaves were children with only maids and advisors left to raise them. This led them to be incredibly vulnerable to manipulation by nobles and power hungry "advisors'', and the new High Priest. The new High Priest, Habistus, was able to manipulate the ruling so that Ryker would be first to inherit the Lordship over O'Khasis before Naela (even though she was BOTH the previous Lord's daughter AND the eldest) because Ryker was younger and easier to manipulate than his cousin, who became incredibly quiet and mistrustful of everyone after her parents died. Ryker being made heir gave birth to Naela holding a well-hidden resentment that would only strengthen in time.

Anyways, It was decided that Ryker would marry as soon as possible in order for more Ro'Meaves to be born. Ryker essentially had his picking of girls to choose from, and at the age of thirteen (which I will say was ASTOUNDINGLY young, even for his time) he was engaged to a girl named Marna, who was the heir apprentice to the Chief Scholar of O'Khasis. Now, this rank was pretty much as low as a Ro'Meave man could marry, seeing as before her apprenticeship she pretty much came from nothing, but he was really genuinely in love with her and it was the one thing Ryker was not gonna get talked out of. The advisors gave in when they realized he really wasn't going to cave and the marriage date was set. High Priest Habistus was NOT happy about this marriage, and he wasn't told about it until AFTER the engagement was already announced to the public. He was of the opinion that the Ro'Meave line needed to be kept as pure as possible, and that the lineage had been suffering to "dilution" for far too long. However there wasn't much he could do, seeing as the engagement had already been made public and the wedding was set to take place in five months' time.

It was during those months that Ryker was genuinely in bliss at the thought of marrying his new wife. The poor kid had an ENORMOUS case of puppy love and Marna seemed to reciprocate it just as much. In fact, there was a recorded instance of Ryker ordering a man to be dragged out of the castle and beaten to a pulp because he insulted his Fiancée's weight during a dinner party.

Sadly, this happiness was not to last him. Two weeks before their wedding was to take place, Marna suddenly fell ill and later died on what would have been their wedding night. Ryker, presumably, DID NOT take this well at all. There are surviving historical documents that this kid almost died of starvation and dehydration because he refused to eat anything for nearly two fucking months.

Funnily enough, following the death of Marna, several key advisors died from unfortunate accidents or suddenly announced their retirement, and new advisors ‘recommended” by Habistus took their roles. 

Two years passed, and a new match was set. Though Ryker was much less enthusiastic. His new match was a woman named Sola, who was a member of a prominent merchant family who just passed the seventh generation clause (See my Ro’Meave/Royalty headcanons post). They got along okay but Sola was six years his senior and really wasn’t that interested in him, more so about gaining prestige for her family. Their engagement lasted only two months, in order to speed up the process so Ryker could get hitched and start having kids, but alas, tragedy struck again.

Three nights before the wedding was to take place, a maid accidentally tripped and knocked over a candelabra directly onto Lady Sola who had yet to undress from a long and highly flammable dress. It also didn’t help that one of the pre-marriage ceremonies she had taken place in that night was the anointing of oil on one’s face. With her entire face on fire, the poor lady could not see that in her panic she had moved out of her chambers and onto the balcony, where she fell almost fifty feet into a stone wall

So that wasn’t good. Now he was two dead wives down and still had no heir. Even his cousin Naela had started to feel a tiny ounce of pity for him. She had actually been trying to have a child (mostly to make another legal case to win back her lordship) however she had already had two miscarriages. Though she was genuinely glad Ryker didn’t have any heirs yet.

Also, pretty much all of the old advisors were dead. Wonder how that happened. 

Another year later, Another match was set up for Ryker; This time a woman named Sienna. Sienna was the soft-spoken sister of the Admiral of the O’Khasian Naval Fleet. This engagement was set to last only three weeks, with the advisors only becoming increasingly desperate. Also by this point, Ryker had become somewhat detached from his politics. He became increasingly bitter over the fact he had no choice in who he was marrying, and had picked up drinking as a result. He kept up appearances in public, but outside of that he spent exactly zero time with her.

On their wedding night, after the ceremony, a wasp stung Sienna’s mare and threw her off— breaking her neck and killing her while coming back from the ritual Bath of the Bride. When Ryker was informed of the tragedy, he began to laugh so hard that he needed a chair to stand up straight.

Now this is where things REALLY go to shit. 

Because by now, everyone is beginning to think that Ryker is cursed. Many of Naela’s loyalists said this was divine retribution for her deposition; that Ryker was destined to die without heir until Naela was crowned the rightful ruler. These loyalists were quickly “dispersed” by Habistus, but the rumors stuck around, and now NO ONE wanted to marry the guy with three dead wives under his belt. Honestly, it looked like the Ro’Meaves were doomed because just a month after the third wedding Naela suffered a third miscarriage. Everything was just awful.

And then that mother fucking bitch ass priest smoked a crack pipe and said “You know how I can make this worse?”

The High Priest decrees that the three dead wives were obviously a divine omen, but it wasn’t about Ryker’s lordship. Irene was obviously disgusted by how diluted the Ro’Meave line had become with peasant blood and how Naela had become afflicted with a pitiful madness, as she was whoring herself out to anyone in order to have a child, not because she wanted to be a mother, but just to steal the throne (The throne that, I remind you, was hers to begin with). He claimed he had received a divine vision that would solve all the problems and make everyone happy, that would save Naela’s virtue and restore the Ro’Meave line to its former purity.

You can see where this is going.

At this point in time, O’Khasis was pretty much being entirely run by Habistus. Everyone from beggar to noble knew that if you so much as whispered a rude word in his direction, Habistus would have you disposed of before the sun rose the next morning. Ryker knew this and was burning with resentment over the fact he had absolutely no control over any aspect of his life anymore. Habistus had become too powerful to fight against and all he could do was go along with whatever was put before him. Naela was aware there was literally nothing she could do to get out of this short of her dying (something she really wasn’t up for) and since the two of them had exactly zero allies, they knew they were destined to play the pawns of Habistus’ grand gambit.

Thus, the Wedding of Woe was arranged. 

Ryker and Naela were by no means close. Naela had been so distrusting towards literally everyone throughout her life and Ryker was too enthralled by his own rage to even attempt trying to make peace with her. 

Still, they were married by moonlight with one of the biggest wedding audiences in history. The turnout was over a thousand people. Habistus had made the ceremony open to the public. A monument to his own power, as if he held the entirety of O’Khasis by the neck and said “Just try and stop this.”

(Heads up for implied SA in the next 2 paragraphs. You can skip it and it will still make sense)

It was just after this wedding, in the marriage chamber, when Ryker finally found an outlet for his frustration. I’ll spare you the details, but I will say this: Ryker may not have been able to make any of his own decisions, but he still was Lord.

And in the small scale, Lords can do whatever they want to the people beneath them. 

So... yeah. 

Essentially Ryker became incredibly abusive towards Naela as a result of his frustration, and there was literally nothing Naela could do about it. Eventually, she did end up pregnant, and as one more sadistic divine trick, she gave birth to a baby girl, who despite all odds survived infancy. 

Naela named them Vaev. From Old Ru’aunian, it translates to “Burden”.

Over the course of the next sixteen years, Naela would go on to have six miscarriages/stillborn children

Naela did not have much love for the child that lived. Her mental health had already been shot to hell, and Vaev was pretty much handed off to the nursemaids since the moment she was born. Naela would intermediately berate her both in and out of their presence. Ryker gave fuck-all about the kid and continued his rampage about the castle. When Vaev got older it became obvious they had a birth defect that had caused half of their face to sag along with being partially deaf in one ear. This only caused more abuse, as Ryker would publicly bully his daughter and make a spectacle of her. She started wearing a mask as an effect.

Naela remained thoroughly resentful of her until she was sixteen, until one day they came to their mother in tears.

It appeared Ryker had abused her in more ways than one

and That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

Now, what exactly happened afterwards is a bit blurry, but let's just say that Ryker and Habistus both ended up dead. 

With them gone, Naela finally, finally ascended the O’Khasian throne and took her place as Lord. Vaev succeeded her, however their relationship stayed distant even after Ryker died. Though Naela was no longer as loathsome towards her as she had been before. She mentored her where she could, and retired at the age of fifty-six. She spent the rest of her life in a villa estate in southern Ru’aun with minimal servants and a strict order that absolutely no one was to visit her unless something happened to Vaev. 

Nothing ever did. 

[AN: holy SHIT this is so much longer than I originally intended. Anyways I hope you aren’t too horrified. Also I just realized I didn’t talk about how the Ro’Meave line was “saved” but that is a HUGE other beast to tackle. You may wanna send me a separate ask about it.]

[quantum-cube]

EXHIBIT D;;

@marik-dominant-prominent

There are a lot of museums in the area. More than he actually thought, more than the three he’d initially thought was too many. One hundred and seventy-fucking-three of them exist in and around this city. Still, the only one that would be capable of housing a large Egyptian exhibit is the Nature and Science museum. 

This city isn’t the most densely-populated with buildings that house historical artifacts - he’s pretty sure that Paris has it beat by over a full hundred - but God, you’d think they’d run out of things to show.

The entrance to the building isn’t as imposing as he’d have thought it would be. White stone leading up to a relatively compact brown brick building. For this city, it’s decently sized, but for most others, it would be on the smaller side. It’s almost cozy.

The inside feels larger, though. They’ve managed to pack a lot more than one would think possible into such a space. And they have some pretty interesting things out for show; there are plenty of skeletal replicas hanging from the ceiling as he wanders through.

While he meanders his way through and into the area that they’re housing the display of The Games of Egypt, he almost forgets why he came. It’s serene, informative. He’ll have to bring Sera some time - she would like it.

He comes back to himself when, out of the corner of his eye - he spots his quarry. One Middle-Eastern man with bleached hair and a nice outfit. Not quite as sharp as the suit he’d been wearing the first time that Diva saw him, but... damn, actually. There’s a little more skin on display in that v-neck, and it looks good.

Okay, focus.

He approaches at a pace that is neither too slow to be creepy, nor too quickly to be a surprise. A calculated speed, at an angle that puts him carefully within eyesight.

“Oh, Malik! I was worried you wouldn’t actually be here!” He smiles, and it’s actually mostly sincere. “How have you been?”

[cheshiirexcat]

Geto?

Malik?

YamiMa?

My taste in fictional men is awful and I like it that way. >.>

Especially YamiMa. : v

Well... Okay... Izuru isn't awful. He's perfect.

[floaromaxtowns]

Seto Kaiba & Ahsoka Tano for the character ask meme

@genlirema tysm!!

Character Ask Meme [Accepting]

Send me a character and I’ll say: 

Seto Kaiba

What I love about them: OKAY SO, the wonders of watching YGO as a fully grown person: suddenly the snarky, over the top, asshole rival character quickly becomes your favorite. As a kid, I genuinely didn't care at all about him. But that changed SO MUCH, as an adult. IMHO Kaiba may as well be the protagonist of the anime's version of YGO. What I hate about them: Nothing comes to my mind, honestly? Sometimes, you just want your blorbos going off the charts, and that's all A-OK in my book. Although I'll say it: Kaiba's involvement in the 5Ds anime is kinda of confusing ngl. I get that's part of the same timeline, but???? IDK something is off. Maybe there was going to be more, that didn't make it in the end. Favorite Moment/Quote: I honestly could put every single line he has ever said in the dub. But the one that takes the gold for me has to be:

Seto Kaiba: So you got a dweeb army. Is that supposed to make me afraid to attack? Dartz: No, not unless destroying an innocent soul concerns you Seto Kaiba: As the CEO of a Mega Corporation, I have to do that everyday

What I would like to see more focus on: I feel like it would have been nice to see some more of him in both GX and 5Ds (the latter is just to try better explain why was he involved in the big catastrophe of the series, but I also don't mind leaving it up for interpretation and guesses)What I would like to see less focus on: I wished Yugi/Atem wouldn't steal the attention from Kaiba's story, so he isn't reduced into another cheerleader. Favorite pairing with: Yugi/Kaiba, Ishizu Ishtar/Seto Kaiba, Malik Ishtar/Seto Kaiba and Ryuji Otogi/Seto Kaiba are some of the ships I still hold dearly to! Favorite friendship: Kaiba doesn't have any friendships. NO BUT HEAR ME OUT, I like the idea of Pegasus and Kaiba trying to amend for what happened in Duelists' kingdom, as shown in their v close business relationship in GX. I'm glad the anime didn't kill off Pegasus. NOTP: Joey/Kaiba Favorite headcanon: 4kids' dub version of unhinged Kaiba > the sub original and more down to earth Kaiba. I said it, and I'll keep saying it: This is the exact reason I loved this character. "bUt iTs nOt FaiThFul tO tHe SoURcE mAtEriaL" I can hear ppl cry about it, and I'll keep supporting dubbed Kaiba's assholery in that version. Even if it comes at the cost of the story/context of many things changing. It's a price I'm willing to pay.

Ahsoka Tano

What I love about them: Ahsoka's behind the scenes production story is genuinely interesting, in a time and period where nobody feels like putting effort into anything, and just resort to insulting others at the slightest bit of criticism! It's refreshing and very inspiring! When TCW was in production, they decided to give Anakin a padawan, and they KNEW the reception to the idea wouldn't be a warm one from the community. So, instead of throwing a tantrum, the team EMBRACED that and worked around it. So Ahsoka would gradually gain the audience's interest, as she also grew as a character. Ahsoka IS intentionally written as an unlikeable brat in the first 2 seasons, and in the later seasons we see how much she matured. The effort paid off, and Ahsoka is now held up as one of the best prequels era characters. What I hate about them: Filoni is setting out to undo all the hardwork they put into her, via overexposure. Ever since the Mandalorian show, she suddenly became the bridge to EVERYTHING. Even though, her actions shouldn't really give her that much influence or position to begin with. Favorite Moment/Quote:

"You're A Good Soldier Rex. So Is Every One Of Those Men Down There. They May Be Willing To Die, But I Am Not Going To Be The One Who Kills Them."

What I would like to see more focus on: I'd love to see some more of her bond and connection with Plo Koon. We only get a 5 secs clip, in the first season of TCW of them meeting, and this is never expanded on. Which IMO is such a big missed opportunity. What I would like to see less focus on: STOP FILONI'S ANTI-JEDI PROPAGANDAAAA Favorite pairing with: Rex/Ahsoka Favorite friendship: Ahsoka & Anakin, Ahsoka & Padmé, Ahsoka & Barriss. Honestly? I could go off. NOTP: Any form of Master/padawan ship. This is something I'm not interested in to begin with, and that doesn't go away even after she leaves the order or ages over time. That just isn't my cup of tea - So basically: Sabine/Ahsoka and Anakin/Ahsoka. Favorite headcanon: I can't hear Filoni, she is not going around blaming the jedi for their own genocide. She also doesn't go around calling herself a jedi knight, whenever it is convenient to her. She left the order in her own accords, and she has to live with that fact.

[kinghotboy]

i gotta say it's hard to be brave when you're alone in the dark i told myself that i wouldn't be scared but i'm still having nightmares

basement noise series: rian's set ↳ all time low; nightmares

[xadoheandterra]

Series: The Heir, The Reader, and Clay

Title: Run It Again Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII | XIX Enabler: @kingbob2-0 Beta: @claire-the-queer-dragon Characters: Kadar al-Sayf, Altair ibn La’Ahad Pairings: Altair/Malik Tags: Isu Fuckery, Ghosts, Mild Horror Tropes, Baby Badasses, Scholars Are Secretly Their Own Cult, Don’t Fuck With Scholars, Mistakes and Consequences Summary: They hadn’t found an answer yet, and Layla was impatient despite the promise of the Grey being timeless in its nature. She didn’t want to have to search for an answer that might never come–so she made another suggestion. Why not just change it? Why not counter the Isu influence on the Pieces of Eden where it counted, and counter what Juno inevitably did to the Eye in the Grand Temple?

It was all the push that Desmond needed to let himself be just that bit more selfish. So selfish he chose to be, and there was one moment where the Isu’s hold on the Pieces of Eden had a profound effect–the Levantine Brotherhood. Altair Ibn La’Ahad. Al Mualim. There was just one problem–Desmond was eight, a child, and didn’t remember dying.

Layla at least had his back, even if she was just a bit fashionably late.

The knife slipped from his fingers, sweat-soaked and slick and they trembled as he stared near unseeing at the bloated shape in front of him. It wasn't his first kill, far from his first kill, but there was a profoundness to this moment. The breath in his lungs stilled as he looked at the face slack with death; he looked at the still imagery and could see--movement, from his peripheral. A shape, shifted and paced.

A whisper, "Why?" against the back of his neck and Kadar for a moment couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe; why was this so much more? His head throbbed, and Kadar placed a hand to his temple as he grimaced--Jamal touched his elbow, a gentle tug and a reminder both and Kadar shifted away from the cooling corpse and allowed the younger boy to drag him from the room with a soft nudge.

"Why did you do this?!" the words were a wailed shout; they echoed around Kadar and with a grunt Kadar pressed his fingers tight to his head and tried to fight back the headache that threatened him from within. Now was not the time for this, whatever this was. He needed to get out--he needed to leave--Jamal tugged insistently at his elbow and he followed, a wordless grimace across his face. He could barely see where his feet took him--could barely think beyond the ache behind his eyes.

Jamal slowed, hand tight against Kadar's elbow and the only sense to ground him as his head swam and, "Why did you do this?!" was hissed into his ear, hot breath against the nape of his neck, and a chilled touch down the back of his spine. He could faintly tell Jamal spoke to someone--

("Is he okay?" Numair asked, eyes a furtive glance to Kadar whose pupils were dilated differently, a vaguely concussed look across his face.

"No," Jamal pressed his lips together and shook his head. "He's been like this after he stabbed Abu'l.")

--but Kadar could not make out the words in comparison to the wail in his ear and things yelled at his face. Abui'l made a ghastly figure as he danced around in and out of Kadar's vision with erratic movement. His blood poured down his front from his neck which existed as nothing more than the gaped wound Kadar had left in him. His lips were painted red, and it stained his teeth when he grinned and grimaced in Kadar's direction. Kadar had the vague sense of saying something--

("He's speaking nonsense," Omar hissed, but moved forward when Numair shoved him.

"We will have to address it later," Numair ground back. "Did you get that boy somewhere safe?"

Omar huffed and raised his nose to the air with a short, "Of course I did.")

--but the next moment the words left him as Abu'l ducked in forward and then low so that Kadar's half-hung head as he listed sideways into Jamal was given full glance of the stab wound in Abu'l's neck. Red, red, red teeth widened in his face and Kadar fumbled back with a shout; he barely registered being grabbed by both arms and some distanced shouting--

("Hold him steady!" Numair grunted.

"I am trying!" Omar ground out.

"We need to go, now!" Jamal shouted, tugged at both of their sleeves, and they began a shuffled hurried struggle forward with Kadar held aloft between them on drunken feet.)

--and all Kadar got were fragmented sentences that made little context rushed together, all from a should-be-dead man while his vision whited out, blacked at the edges, and swam all at once.

"Look at me!" Abu'l howled, a dramatic twist as Kadar nearly fumbled out of the grip on his arms.

"Vengeance?! Is this all for petty vengeance?!" red blood dripped onto Kadar's hands as fingers grasped at his cheeks and pulled.

"You are the thief! Not me! Not me!" Abu'l spun out of his sight as night air hit Kadar in the face; the coldness refreshed him, eased a bit of the pain behind his eyes. He listed, blinked slow and for a moment lost himself--

("Fuck, hold!" Omar grunted.

"I'm holding, I'm holding," Numair growled back. "Jamal what is it?!"

Jamal looked down at the feather in their hand, stained red with blood, and then back to the twins. "Get out of the city. I will meet you outside the gates."

There was a moment as the twins gaped, as Kadar swayed in their grasp, and then together they said, "What?! No! Jamal! Jamal!" but Jamal had already turned and darted into the shadows of the night, and with Kadar in their arms they could not follow.)

--and then Abu'l was there, arms cradled around him as he pressed Kadar's face into the fat of his belly, a soft croon from his voice as he whispered, "Oh, little abomination. We are not so different...." and Kadar wanted to be sick. Blissfully, thankfully, he passed out not a second later to one last wailed, "Why?!" as the ghastly visage pulled at his hair and howled and screamed bloody murder at him.

Omar and Numair grunted the minute Kadar went fully limp in their arms. For several minutes now the older teen had dragged behind, feet a stumbled mess that would catch on loose stone as they worked their way through the shadows with there mostly incoherent, nonsense-mumbling leader. With the sudden increase of Kadar's weight Omar and Numair struggled for half-a-second, before the twins were able to shove Kadar against a wall and let him slump over. Omar grimaced; Numair turned from Kadar in thought.

"This just got harder."

"No shit."

For a moment both boys exchanged a glance, mirrored reflections of each other, before they looked away again and contemplated this new mess. About the only good thing happened to be the lack of an alert. Jamal had come through with the herb-riddled alcohol and so they left the guards at the Merchant Prince's palace to snore away in pure bliss. They both doubted the body of Abu'l would be found any time soon--definitely not before the sun would be up. None of the servants would want to dare enter the Master's bed chambers after all, especially not when he had clearly retired with the intent to have fun.

The boys exchanged a glance again, and then looked to Kadar, before they sighed in tune and said, "We treat him like our drunken passed out older brother?"

"What about the blood?"

"Got into a fight? Back alley brawls happen all the time and the guards don't care normally....."

"....it is a lot of blood though."

Omar crouched down, hand hovered just over where the blood had sprayed across Kadar's lightly, nothing more than a few drops. The rest of it had clearly hit the front of Kadar's shirt. The kill was not probably as clean as their mentor would have liked, given the breadth of the spray. Abu'l struggled.

"Bastard got him good," Numair pointed toward the bruised eye and Omar grimaced.

"He got the bastard good back," Omar countered and they lapsed back into silence for a moment longer before both boys straightened back up and looked to one another.

Kadar would need a change of clothes; they couldn't be certain how coherent he would be upon waking--they weren't even sure what had brought on the fit except that perhaps Abu'l was cleverer than they could give him credit and gotten Kadar with some sort of poison. If that were true neither boy could recognize it, and they learned plenty about poisons under Master Kadar from before--which meant really it had to be something rare since Master Kadar had known his stuff given that he ran the apothecary. The change of clothes was more immediate, and a wash to his face perhaps, and all that they couldn't do without their gear which was--safely stashed elsewhere.

"Remember where the packs are?"

"Of course I do."

"You get them, then."

"Why me?"

"You’re better at climbing!"

"Fine."

They split; Numair darted off into the night with a huff while Omar settled down next to Mentor Kadar. After a moment he decided perhaps he should do something to mask their presence a bit better than just sit in the open and began to drag some of the crates in the alley around to block line of sight. At least he would have a better chance of keeping hidden with those placed to build somewhat blind spots in the alley if a guard decided to check on things. With a bit more security Omar settled back next to Mentor Kadar and tapped his head once lightly against the wall. This had quickly become a nightmare--the plan, the work, everything off without a problem in sight and then this--and Omar didn't know how he felt about it all except that it was a mess and a half. Kadar was skilled, and with half-decent back up, so something like this should not have happened. Logically it made no sense. Of course, then Jamal was off doing who knows what and where and Omar pressed his hands against his cheeks with a huff and a faint growl.

"We are not doing this again," Omar mumbled to himself, glanced to Mentor Kadar, and then breathed out slow. "We aren't, Master. Although I doubt you can hear me...." Jamal had better be at that gate ready for them. Omar doubted Mentor Kadar would awaken before they got there, and he and Numair would need the help in getting the unconscious older teen situated. They needed a cart, too, now that Omar thought about it--they couldn't carry the older boy for long and there was no clear way to know how he would be once he woke up.

A cart, a horse to lead the cart, Jamal, Numair, and changes of clothes for all of them. Omar rubbed at his cheeks and puffed them out as he blew a breath of air from pursed lips. At least they would not need to be back in Damascus for a long, long while. Which was a bit of a pity because it'd been rather fun sneaking around and being one with the shadows. He liked it. He liked it a lot, and honestly, he'd miss the city and its little nuances and--and Omar tugged his knees up and buried his face in them for the moment as the thought hit him like a hammer. He was afraid.

In Jerusalem, when they first had to run all those months ago Omar had been terrified. Hidden in that old, abandoned church and felt like a nightmare; unsure of who to trust or where they could go--they were alone, the group of them. Hakim led them then, with Alem at his side, and they looked up to the older man. They all knew that he was due to go through the Ceremony, that he would be named Assassin. When Kadar came, it was relief--because Kadar meant the Demon of Masyaf was not far behind, that the Eagle was not far behind, and that meant safety. They knew between those two they would be safe and well and nothing could hurt them.

Missing an arm or not had not dulled Malik's skill; Omar had watched the man practice his blades in the early morning once. His faith--all their faith--was not at all misplaced. Malik took them under wing and taught them, readied them--furthered their training beyond what they had gotten. He was a taskmaster, a demon certainly, but they were better for it and Omar knew it. Numair knew it--they all did. Kadar was skilled, too--personally trained by the Eagle and the Demon why wouldn't he be? They were safe with him, safe in his hands as Malik sent them out to be his eyes and ears--to find the secrets that were being kept--and the secrets they had found....

Kadar was not supposed to get hurt though; not supposed to pass out. They weren't supposed to do the job of an Assassin with a group of three Novices and one not-really-a-Novice, let alone a job that was surely meant for the Eagle. This was not what they were to do. The fact that things changed so quickly, so abruptly--it terrified him. Omar was worried what Acre would bring. Omar was worried Kadar wouldn't wake. Omar was worried Jamal wouldn't return. He was afraid--so afraid--

"I'm back."

Like a switch Omar raised his head and let the worries slide back and down and away. Right now he had a job to do--get Kadar to safety--and his twin was here to help. He could deal with the rest later. He had to.

Altair stared at the gates of Damascus with a critical eye, lips pressed together as he lingered in the shadows. There were far more guards than normal posted at the entrance, and they paid far more scrutiny than typical to each person that entered. They checked for things as simple as weapons which any traveler worth their salt carried, chained anyone they remotely were suspicious of, and more than once Altair had seen a guard pull aside a person and then beat them while demanding answers just outside of view of the rest of the populace. Even the scholars crowded together outside the gate, off to the side, to not gather attention.

With a sigh, Altair turned from shadows he made his home in and crept over to the group of scholars in effort to hide himself. He was more conspicuous in white by himself, with guards on such high alert. They would see him as an Assassin within a heartbeat; even among the scholars' number Altair knew he would stand out, but he planned to keep to the back of the group and hope that worked in his favor. Altair knew he stood a good head taller than most of the monks, so he hunched himself down to be small as he inched his way toward the back of their number.

The group shifted, slightly; the scholars were aware of him, as they were any Assassin in their midst. Theirs was a mutually beneficial arrangement--trade of information for secrecy, for safety. They weren't brothers, not truly, although they had their own Scholars within Masyaf that were. The scholars in the cities were entities of their own, and their agreements far different than most allies the Brotherhood subtly entertained.

Still, when they addressed Altair, it was with silent, barely moved lips and a softly whispered, "Brother," that had Altair shift.

"You should not be here, brother," the one closest to Altair said under his breath, hands pressed together as if in prayer.

"I have business in the city," Altair said in response, turned slightly to the side as he eyed the guards with a narrowed gaze.

"One would think your business concluded," another of the scholars uttered, voice just the slightest bit sharp, "given the state of things."

Altair turned toward the man, lips pressed together as he hissed, "I have only just arrived, how could my business be concluded?" He wondered if the scholars knew of his business already and a part of him bristled at the thought.

"Calm, brother," the first said as he unfolded his hands. He pressed his fingers of one arm to the agitated scholar, hovered the fingers of his other over Altair's left hand. "It is already heated enough without infighting."

For a moment nothing, and then a softly sighed, "I apologize," came from the second scholar.

"I... also apologize," Altair's hand twitched, for half-a-second his fingers brushed the first scholar, and then he folded them in front of him as if in prayer. "Tell me, what has happened here in Damascus?"

"Hm, what indeed."

Altair's expression pinched, but he waited. The scholars would name their price for their information--they dealt in it heavily after all, and while normally they hoarded it, they would occasionally give out nuggets for a price. The prices weren't always fair, but Masyaf and the Brotherhood had their agreements with the scholars, and agreements would be honored. Altair would see to it if nothing else.

"An exchange," one scholar said, and the group murmured faintly into a soft hum of background noise. "Information for information."

Altair inclined his head. "What do you seek to know?"

The answer came quick, sharp, and without any hesitation. "Where has your Brotherhood gone?"

Altair could not hold back the reflexive flinch at the question; his eyes flashed gold, the world lit twilight with reds and blues and golds before he shook his head of it and blinked back into the sun. The question begged something deeper--where had the Brotherhood gone does not mean just Assassin's out of Masyaf. The Brotherhood was in every city. Their presence may have been rather thin in places, but it was there and it was felt. Altair breathed in slow--he needed to get in the city, to check on Kadar and the Novices. If the Brotherhood's presence was not felt here in Damascus....

"Nothing to say, brother?" one of the scholars scoffed, and Altair raised his head slightly. Each of them had eyes in his direction, although they kept their heads bowed down as if in supplication and prayer.

Altair licked his lips, turned his eyes to the side as he spoke. "I do not know as to the Brotherhood here in Damascus."

"We do not ask about just Damascus."

Altair tilted his head slightly and spoke, words slow and cautious, "I do not know the truth of things, with the Brotherhood. I am not...as trusted as I was, once. Yet even I can see the unrest within my Brothers. Shaykh al-Jabal has chosen to keep us close in the aftermath of current events."

"To clean house," one of the scholars growled.

"No," Altair's words were short, tone sharp.

"You should," another scholar said. "Clean house, that is."

The thought of betrayal struck Altair like a hammer, and he hated the idea that there could be traitors in trusted position. Yet wasn't that what Malik had proposed? Brothers who turned on Brothers? For a long moment there was silence, Altair's lips pressed together until they were pale, hands near clenched into fists as they mimicked prayer. One the brothers shifted; his clothes brushed against Altair's leg and drew his attention back. He eyed the man carefully, waited.

"Abu'l Nuquod was killed last night in his palace," the scholar said. "A blade to the neck, the perpetrator long gone by the time his guards became aware. He was meant to host a party today, a grand event in celebration."

Ice curled in Altair's veins as his breath stilled in his lungs. A blade to the neck and guards on high alert sounded like an Assassin's work. The quiet thoroughness of the job indicated someone skilled, someone prepared and ready. The victim Altair's own target--he needed in the city. He needed in the city now. For a moment Altair eyed the gate from within the scholars. He entertained the thought of his blade in hand as he cut a bloody swath through the gate and its guards--and then he turned away.

"Thank you," Altair said, and slipped from the group of scholars who murmured to themselves, there was a different way into Damascus; a bit trickier, and less safe, but given the state of things perhaps it was the better option for the moment

Quietly Altair turned down the road, slipped through the crowds until the road curved out of sight of the gate, and then began to make his way up the sloped hill and toward the wall. If his memory served there was a small space, a smuggler's entrance, hidden in the brush. It would be marked, Altair remembered, by a group of cairns that to a lesser eye looked like a series of gravestones. He spotted them rather quickly, and from there the brush that covered the wooden hatch that led down into the tunnels. The hinges creaked loudly as Altair pulled it open, but he paid that no mind and instead dropped down into darkness.

[bowenandjohnson]

To complete the quad, how would you rank the Evas and the Isaks? Only if you feel like it :)

Sorry that this has been sitting in my inbox for like two months, lol. Anyway, let’s do the Evas first 

1. isa keijser, skam nl

queen isa. she also has the esteemed pleasure of being the first eva season i ever watched, but honestly, she doesn’t feel like “eva,” you know? she feels like her own character, and i have to give so much props to both the skam nl team and suus’ acting for making her feel three-dimensional, and able to stand on her own two feet. her little quirks about owning things with avocados on them, or wearing mismatched socks made her so more real to me than other evas. i miss isa. SO MUCH. we deserved more time with her and the other characters. pour another one out for skam nl, please.

2. eva kviig mohn, skam

second is the original that kicked off a show that would then span countries, languages, and continents. eva is so important, i felt her loneliness, her desperation to hold onto jonas after losing everyone else, and then finding a true family with the girls. “your opinion meant more than my own. that’s not how it should be.” is forever an iconic line. we need to stop hating on eva’s season. without her and lisa’s acting, we wouldn’t have skam. thank you, eva. i love you, darling.

3. hanna jung, druck

something i really, really appreciated about hanna was that she was also starkly different from her counterparts. after her season and her breakup with jonas, she didn't take the route of “fun-loving party girl” that other remakes did. she remained sober, but still fun. her relationship with jonas was one that i loved because the druck team took time into building up their eventual reunion (unlike og, a little more foreshadowing would have been nice). and she remained a constant presence in all other seasons. she was there for mia, supportive of matteo, and wasn’t a source of conflict for amira in s4. and i think it’s okay that she wasn’t sure of who she was yet at the end of s4, and still got back together with jonas. she was more confident in herself, and she’s grown. not everyone has their life together, and i think that was a great message for fans as well.

4. megan flores, skam austin / eva vazquez, skam españa

megan, like eva in og, was created by julie andem herself, and i think that’s pretty important, as well as the fact that she’s the only eva of color at this point in time (excluding the LatAm remakes, which have yet to air, and are exempt from this). at the beginning of her season, she is struggling with academic pressures, shows signs of depression, and we see that her homelife is much more volatile than other remakes, as her parents are constantly heard fighting. i think that explains a lot of why she hangs onto marlon, despite the fact that they aren’t good for each other. it’s why she struggles with alcoholism. i wish that her season was more than eight weeks, because megan was one of the most fascinating, flawed evas we’ve ever seen. i wanted more of her with her parents, more of her with the GS, and with abby. her feelings of isolation, jealousy, anger, sadness were incredibly compelling, and i wish we felt that connection with her in season 2 with grace. they were supposed to be best friends, and i never felt that in grace’s season, sadly. i did like how they showed her drinking as an actual problem though, other remakes don’t. (also julie rocha deserves more praise for taking on this show as a 17 year old! for a person who didn’t act before, i thought she did wonderfully.)

i also really enjoyed eva v.’s season in skam spain. i applaud alba, who much like julie, took on this show at 17, and hadn’t had much acting experience. for me, i more enjoyed the changes they made to eva’s story overall. they made vilde the one who sent ines the pictures of eva and cris making out, they made the school cyberbully her, and they acknowledged her shitty behavior towards lucas after he came out to her. i think alba did much better with acting in later seasons, but the fact that they made her connections with the GS much more prevalent in s1 is great, and i really enjoyed how she made it clear to nora that what miguel did was not her fault, and that she continually reached out to lucas after her season. eva prioritized her friendships, and i really liked that change! she was a solid eva overall.

5. emma borgés, skam france / jana ackermans, wtfock

personally, i haven’t seen emma outside of s3, s6, and s7. i think it’s cool that she’s a tattoo artist! and that she prioritized herself outside a relationship at the end of her generation. she’s fine.

from what I've seen of wtfock as well, i like jana as well. she has more of a fiery streak, which i especially enjoyed when she and yasmina flipped off senne. she’s perfectly fine.

6. eva brighi, skam italia

i’ve only seen bits of s4. i like that she encouraged sana to go after malik, and that she stayed by her side the whole season. 

all the evas were okay, i don’t hate any of them.

isaks will come later! thank you for your question, and sorry again for my late response!

[brywrites]

Flight Risk VII

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part V: In which there are some distances that must be maintained and others that are simply begging to be crossed.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous |  Next )

--------

Something is off. She can tell by the way Spencer sits alone, looking so focused on a book that it’s clear he’s not actually paying attention to it. He’s trying to give the impression he’s busy. He doesn’t want to be bothered. There is a tension he carries, and she notices that JJ carries it too. They wait on opposite ends of the hangar. When it’s time to board, she peeks out from the cockpit and notices they’re sitting on opposite ends of the plane. JJ is curled up in a blanket, staring blankly out the window. Spencer stares down at the book he’s clearly not reading.

Y/N wishes she could lighten the burden the same way a plane suddenly seems weightless at the moment of liftoff. This large thing speeding down a runway is propelled into the air and lift and thrust make physics feel like magic. There’s a strong bout of turbulence over the Great Plains, and she and Arthur have to focus on keeping Geff as steady as possible. In a smaller jet like this, an air pocket can feel so much rougher than it would on a commercial liner. One they navigate through it, it’s smooth sailing. The sun is setting behind them as they travel through time zones back to the east coast. The sky around them turns from orange to pink to violet. The stars begin to appear, blinking their salutations.

As they get closer to the airfield, she calls out over the radio. “This is niner-two-two Foxtrot Bravo, checking in, requesting clearance to land at Quantico base.”

“Foxtrot Bravo, enter the holding pattern at Quantico base, while runway is cleared maintain seven thousand feet,” replies a controller.

“Foxtrot Bravo, roger, hold at Quantico. Maintain seven thousand feet,” she echoes back. Together she and Arthur adjust the instruments, setting the proper altitude and speed, and reset the Chronometer. There’s a few planes in the queue ahead of them, and they enter the holding pattern, circling slowly around the sky. So close to home.

She asks, “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“At the base?” Arthur asks. He begins to initiate their first left turn. “Holding patterns are quite standard.”

“No, I mean with the team,” she says. “I don’t know something just seems… off. It’s unusual.”

“Y/L/N. It’s not our job.” They’re not profilers. Their concerns are with the navigation instruments and smooth landings and weather conditions. Not the behavior of people around them. “I need you present when we’re flying. Not worrying about whatever horrors they’ve seen on a case.”

She nods. “Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I know you care. And I know you’ve found friends with them. But I’ve told you before – they don’t let people in. And it’s best if we try not to get involved.”

The controller cuts in before she can reply. “Foxtrot Bravo, cleared to land, runway Romeo seven.”

“Cleared to land, runway Romeo seven, Foxtrot Bravo,” she says. She can be present. She can be here, in this seat, doing what she loves. And that can be enough, can’t it? She can ignore the text from Penelope Garcia inviting her to join her and the female agents for a drink this weekend. She can stop finding reasons to spend more time with Spencer than she needs to. She can be objective.

Arthur addresses the agents they’re supposed to stay away from. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’ve just been cleared to land at Quantico base. Please make sure your seat belts are securely fastened and all personal items are stowed away.” His voice reaching to another part of the plane, another world.

On final approach, they guide Geff back down to the ground, a beautifully smooth landing.

“Welcome back to Quantico, Virginia,” Arthur says into the speaker. “Local time is 7:15 PM and the temperature is thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Please wait until we have parked at the gate to move about the cabin. And as always, please use caution when opening the overhead bins, as items may have shifted during the flight.”

She and Arthur sit in the cockpit, the sound of agents shuffling out down the stairs muffled behind them. “You know,” he says, “Malik wants to have a dinner party soon. Maybe next weekend you and Martin could come over. He could bring Theresa and the baby. It might be nice, to spend some time altogether.” Their little misfit crew of pilots.

She’s not sure if it’s his way of apologizing for earlier, or perhaps a way to remind her of her own team and duties, but she says, “I’d like that. Thank you.”

They collect their own go-bags and descend the stairs. When the door has been closed once more and they turn the corner to leave, she’s startled by the familiar figure waiting by the hangar lockers. He’s busying himself with staring at the walls around him, but when he hears them, he lifts his head and looks right at her. As if asking permission.

Y/N glances at Arthur, who just sighs and shakes his head. “Go on then,” he says. “I think it’s too late when it comes to this one.”

With his blessing, she walks over to Spencer. “Hey,” she says. “Is everything okay?” Though if it were, he wouldn’t be standing here.

“Um… not – not really. I’m sorry, I know it’s late. But would you mind giving me a ride home? I’ll order us takeout to make up for it. I uh, ­– I was hoping that maybe we could talk. If that’s okay?” He adjusts the strap of his messenger bag. “I just need someone to talk to right now, and I really want it to be you.”

How can she say no to that? “I’ll grab my car from the lot. Should I meet you outside of the Bureau building?”

“Yeah. That’d be great. There’s something I have to finish first.”

Soon enough she’s parked under the awning of the Academy entrance, waiting for him. She starts the engine up when she spots him coming out of the double doors, pulling his coat a little tighter against the chill of the winter air. His eyes trail curiously over her car before he opens the door to get in. It occurs to her that he’s never seen her car before.

“What?” she asks. “Is this not what you were expecting?”

“I guess after your conversation with Garcia I was expecting your taste to be… more flashy?”

Y/N laughs. Her blue Prius is far from flashy. “Well, as much as I’d love to drive a Plymouth Fury or a vintage Ferrari, I thought I should get something that’s a bit more kind to the environment if I’m burning jet fuel all day, and a Prius is a decent hybrid. Not to mention, it’s got a great safety rating. Do you know how much more dangerous it is to fly than it is to drive?”

“On average, it’s about nineteen times more dangerous. The odds of dying as a result of a car accident in the United States are roughly 1 in 114, but the odds of dying in an aviation accident is closer to 1 in 9,821. You’re far more likely to die from choking on food than in a plane crash.”

“Of course you know that.” She grins at him, letting him know that she’s not making fun of him. She’s impressed by him. She always is. “I don’t know why I bother asking at this point.” The smile he offers in return is only half-hearted. The drive into the District is quiet. Given the tension she felt earlier, she decides not to push him for conversation. Yeeqin is away visiting her sister for the weekend so she offers to take them back to her apartment. He calls to order takeout to be delivered from the Indian place around the corner. They arrive at her place only moments before the food does, fortuitous timing.

It feels strangely intimate to invite him in. She’s been to his apartment twice for their LOST marathon, but this is the first time he’s seeing her space. She wonders what it looks like through his eyes, what a profiler can discern about her life from the books on the coffee table and the pictures on the walls. They sit at the tiny kitchen table she usually shares only with Yeeqin and split the samosas down the middle.

“So what’s going on?” she asks, taking a sip of mango lassi.

Spencer purses his lips and pushes the tikka masala around on his plate before answering. Whatever has happened is still bothering him. “This case was hard,” he says. “There was a cult. They were separating kids from their families and it just became something awful. Seeing someone taking advantage of all these people who put their trust in him, it just… I try to distance myself from things when I’m in the field, you know? I try to be objective and treat it like a puzzle, but it’s not. And sometimes it’s harder to keep that distance.”

“Yeah. I know.” She doesn’t have to push down her emotions to solve a killer, but she does know the difficulties of keeping one’s distance. Of trying not to feel something.

“The case was hard enough, but then I had a… a fight, I guess with a team member. Not like we were arguing more just, like I made them upset I guess. And I didn’t mean to. But I think in trying to be helpful, in trying to be objective, I hurt them. I think that I know things or that I understand people because of this job and then when I don’t… I feel like I’ve failed.”

“I’m sure you haven’t,” she says.

“They were struggling with something. And I thought breaking it down to a science would make it easier. Maybe because that helps me. But it just made things worse and then I didn’t know how else to comfort them.”

“What happened, exactly?” she asks.

Spencer hesitates. “Uh, I can’t – I can’t really say. It’s not mine to share.”

“Oh. Of course.” But it stings slightly. You can’t get close to them. Arthur’s words of warning echo in her head. They don’t let people in. After all this time, she’d begun to think that maybe it was different. Maybe they would trust her – maybe he would trust her. But perhaps the BAU is still an impenetrable world, one she’ll never truly be welcome in. Even now. Even with him. He still won’t let her in.

He looks down. “I hate knowing that the way I am made someone I care about feel worse. I don’t have a lot of friends outside my team. And sometimes I wonder if maybe that’s because I’m not a very good one.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she says, trying to push her own frustrations aside.

“It is. The only people I’m close to who aren’t colleagues are my mom, a former colleague, and… well, I guess my girlfriend. Before she died.”

The words instantly steal her breath. She had no idea. “Spencer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay, it was two years ago, and I don’t usually talk about it. But it’s just so easy with you. I feel like I can tell you anything.”

The sting subsides. The way he looks at her so softly like a salve for the bitterness. He’s trying. He is letting her in. He is sharing things with her he doesn’t usually share. And small bit of knowledge lifts her hopes once more.

“Well I’m glad about that. And thank you, for telling me. Although I guess what I was trying to say was that I don’t think it’s true that you’re not a good friend. I mean, I haven’t even known you a whole year and I think you’re one of the best people I know. You’re thoughtful. You’re smart. You have a tendency to be passive aggressive sometimes,” she teases, and he nods in bashful acknowledgement. “But you’re a good friend. And I’m really, really happy that you’re my friend.”

“Me too,” he says. “I really like having you in my life.”

They stand at the sink together, washing the few dishes they’ve used, and she tries not to think about the way his arm rests against hers, his fingers touching hers when she hands him a plate to dry.

“I want to be a good friend to you,” Spencer tells her. “Which means I should probably ask how you’re doing now that I’ve talked about myself so much.”

“I’m good,” she answers. “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to belong somewhere. My parents haven’t spoken to me since I took this job.  I think they had higher expectations for me and I don’t think any of us really knows how to start to repair this rift between us. So it’s been strangely lonely. But I have Yeeqin, and our neighbors. I have Arthur, and Martin. And I think I’m finally starting to feel like I have a place with this job. Like I belong here.”

“Of course you do, Y/N. I mean we all think you’re great. Garcia always asks me about you. Ever since you came along, things have been different. Flying feels different. You’ve become part of the team. Not that Captain Dobson wasn’t,” he adds quickly. “But I get the sense he likes to keep a distance from things, while you…” He pauses, looking for the right words. When they don’t seem to come he just smiles. “You’re you. And you fit right it in.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry, though. About your family. You have a gift for flying. And for lifting people’s spirits. I don’t understand how who you are wouldn’t make them proud.”

Flying is her gift. Something she has always intrinsically understood. The world makes so much more sense to her from the sky. But it’s nice to know that someone outside of her world of aviators sees it as something worthwhile. It’s not just jet-setting and traveling and steering. It requires communication, a knowledge of physics and the earth and the weather. An ability to think fast and act faster.

Spencer sees her. He understands her. And he knows exactly what to say to make her feel at home.

“See?” she says, gently elbowing him. “You are a good friend.”

She decides that there has been enough trauma bonding for the night, and scoops them both a bowl of ice cream. They sit on her couch and she flips through the channels before settling on one playing one of her favorite old movies, Sabrina. It’s a nice way to unwind, with a the soft distraction of the television and the sweetness of the ice cream. And the simple pleasure of sitting beside each other.

Humphrey Bogart is sitting in the back of a car as his beloved Sabrina’s father, the chauffer, reprimands him. “I like to think of life as a limousine. Though we are all riding together, we must remember our places. There’s a front seat and a back seat and a window in between.”

Y/N is struck by the parallels. A cockpit and a cabin. A door in the middle. Two completely different worlds, inhabited by heroes who save the day and the pilots who ferry them from place to place. It’s easy to imagine Arthur saying those exact words to her, trying to protect her from her own heart.

Then she feels Spencer’s hand against her own. Glancing down as subtly as she can, she finds his pinky and ring finger stretched out over her own. So close it might be an accident. Maybe it is. But maybe for tonight she can let herself pretend it isn’t. Let herself believe that she is allowed to be close to him. Testing the waters, she slowly leans her head against his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. But he does, seconds later, respond in kind, resting his head against the top of hers. It’s warm, and his cardigan is soft against her cheek. Is this really the same man who didn’t want to shake her hand when they first met? Now they sit together, not quite embracing, but close. It’s so gentle. It feels so tender.

Neither of them says a word. They just sit there, in silence, sharing the same space.

And then the next thing she knows, she is blinking awake in the morning light. Her arm is around his waist. His hand on her shoulder. Her back incredibly stiff from falling asleep sitting up. The television is still softly playing.

She carefully pulls her arm away and sits up. His hand falls away from hers. She isn’t sure what is okay and what is too soon and what this is even supposed to be. What they are supposed to be. Y/N carefully inches to the opposite end of the couch and lies back down, pretending to still be asleep. But she stretches her leg out and allows her ankle to touch his. Holding on to some little connection. Soon, he awakes himself, and she pretends to startled out of slumber by his movements. Spencer looks at her, at their tangled legs, at her bedhead, and laughs. And she does too, giggling at how tired they must have been to fall asleep like that, how silly. How incredibly comfortable next to each other.

They walk downstairs and grab coffee and pastries at the bakery next to her building. She drives him home. He concedes that she’s far better at the helm of any vehicle than he could ever hope to be. She stops outside his building and he grabs his satchel and coffee.

Door open, he pauses, turns to her and says, “Thanks for this, Y/N.”

“Anytime, Doctor.”

He climbs out of the car. “Bye,” he says. “I l-” He blinks. “Um. I – I’ll see you on Monday.”

He closes the door. She waits until he gets into the building to start the ignition again, but lingers there on the curbside a few minutes more. Wondering what he would have said if he’d woken up to find them with their arms around each other like that. Wondering what exactly they are to each other.

[crushcardvirus]

Malik and/or Ryou for the ask game??

YEAAAAAA THANK U i got ryou in another ask so i'll do mal

favorite thing about them

I believe malik's redemption arc is a contentious issue but i strongly believe his guilt and contrition were GENUINE even if it was pretty rushed. i'm such a sucker for recovery arcs and things where characters choose to live despite seemingly insurmountable past trauma and the weight of their bad choices... i just love that malik got that. especially how his love for his family and their love for him prevailed Despite Everything. The ishtars are all so good they mean so much to me.

least favorite thing about them

he's like. i'm mentally ill and evil. and i'm like. you are bad representation. but same

THIS GOT WAY OUT OF HAND i'm putting it under a readmore

favorite line

I love this panel bc 1) all of his evil speeches are delightful to me 2) OVERWHELMING CHARISMA AND DOMINANCE 3) i think it gives some rlly interesting insight into his god complex & how the rod mind control works. Not to mention the ‘people can create an entire split personality’ honey you’ve got a big storm coming. Anyway i think malik ishtar reads psychology textbooks for fun

brOTP

Honestly imagining malik being friends with the greater Nerd Herd is THE funniest shit ever like yeah he tried to kill them but that describes like half the people they hang out with so it’s fine. I never get tired of imagining him hanging out with them incredibly out of his depth trying to get used to not only being a normal person but being treated like one. He’s a little prickly and his sense of humour is really weird but he’s muddling through like a champ. Halfway through he escapes to the bathroom and texts Rishid like ‘hey you know what. I think i’m an introvert’.

OTP

WE POST ANGSTSHIPPING HERE SIR but honestly i like most malik ships with the exception of (see below). citron libera (hikari) irate all v good. But angstship is my Absolute Favourite

nOTP

I don't really like most thi.e.fshipping :/ It’s like yeah okay fun miniboss mean couple antics but it just doesn’t usually Hit for me. No disrespect to people who like it though!

random headcanon

I’ve said before I don’t think he’s ever done laundry in his life and I would like to correct that. After Battle City he starts doing stuff for himself bc he feels really bad about how he’s treated his siblings and nobody gets within ten feet of his laundry on pain of death. Some of it is overcorrecting and he kind of has to relearn how to accept help from them again but he’ll manage it. Thank you

unpopular opinion

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently bc I’ve been writing fic with him -> I think wrt malik characterisation there’s a very fine line to walk between ‘highly strung super smart asshole who is pretty sure he’s the main character of life’ and ‘deeply traumatised teenage boy who genuinely has a lot of love in his heart and makes bad decisions’ bc he is. Both. I’m not trying to be like ‘I can do it’ because god knows I also find writing him difficult. But like. He’s not invulnerable but he would like you very much to think he is. He has more in common with Kaiba than he does YKura. He's extremely smart and mature in some ways and an idiot in others. Does this make any fucking sense at all

song i associate with them

I have a bunch but rn Disparate Youth by Santigold

favorite picture of them

Currently. The

courtesy of tumblr user marikism

[agenzproject]

Love above all

It’s been years. Years since I last felt the comfort in her texts.

I thought I could move on. How foolish I was. I find myself chuckling as I recall old me bravely telling her goodbye.

I stare out the window of the car as the quiet uber driver takes me to the hotel I will be staying in. London is exactly as I expected it to be. Gloomy, Grey and rainy.

Staring at the raindrops falling on the window, my mind starts chasing a train of thought. If there’s anything that movies have taught me, it’s that the heart must always be followed. And my heart, it yearns for her.

I haven’t heard from her since I turned sixteen, which was six years ago. I wonder if she still remembers me. I am sure she does not. Yet, I must satisfy this desire within the muscle that dominates my nerves.

We met through text, on a BTS fan account.

I didn’t even know her real name yet, ‘lover’ was enough to know her. We never shared pictures, yet I saw her in my dreams. I had never heard her voice yet; her words were enough to soothe me. I didn’t even know if she was a girl, yet I imagined being with her forever. I didn’t even know if she was real, yet I led myself to find comfort in my moments shared with her.

Was I chasing a dream, or was I going to reunite with the love of my life?

The sudden halt of the uber pulls me out of my thoughts and I look over to see that we have parked in front of the hotel I have a room reserved in.

I smile and thank the driver, to which he responds with an earnest nod. He is a nice man. As I step out, he calls out to me.

“You sure you don’t need an umbrella?”

I look up to see the sky painted Grey, my favorite colour. A smile takes its place on my face and I shake my head. “No, sir, I don’t think that will be necessary. Thank you for offering.”

He nods once again and waits for me to reach the Valet standing at the front door before he drives away.

The valet, a young man in his twenties with blonde hair and brown eyes, bends down in a curt bow upon my arrival and I nod at him.

As I’m about to enter through the sliding doors, I hear yelling and turn to see a man, who I assume is in his thirties, shouting at a girl who is no less than ten for running out onto the road and playing in the rain with her favourite clothes on.

The exchange warms my heart as I watch the girl nod and the father then lead her over to another building, soft yet angry as he does so. It reminds me of my own father. A strong-willed man with a firm hand on things. And it also reminds me of why I have to be in London like this in the first place.

I sigh at the thought, recalling all those nights he yelled at me.

I walk over to the receptionist and smile at the young-looking woman. She offers me a well-practiced smile in return. “How may I help you, miss?”

“I made a reservation under the name Aqsa Malik.” I tell her.

She nods and after seeing proof of my identity, hands me the key to my room on the second floor.

I leave for the elevator after thanking her but before I press the button, I notice two young ladies sitting in the lounge, close to each other. They clearly aren’t English and judging by the curly hair and Arabic written on the bags, I would assume they are from North Africa.

I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I press the elevator button after noticing the two marital silver bands on their ring fingers.

Inside the elevator, I inhale and exhale deeply, happy for those two women, who seemed only a tad bit older than me.

It is a good time to be homosexual. I hope that this works out for me too. I hope that the girl I came to see resonates with me. I hope she agrees that now is the right time. Because six years ago, if you were born a Muslim female, being lesbian always ended in tragedy.

I was hoping this would be an exception as I entered my three-star hotel room, heading straight for the bed, ready for some rest.

Before I slip into my bed-sheets for some sleep, I play a few songs that remind me of her.

Blue and Grey by V is what encouraged me to confess to her.

Rewrite the Stars from the musical, The Greatest Showman, was the song we listened to think of each other.

Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars was what made me cry every night after we cut communication.

These songs lull me into a peaceful sleep as the soft rain keeps patting my window, giving the room a sense of coolness.       

 

 

He yelled at me. He told me to forget her.

I wished I had just turned the tab off when my father got home, pretending as if nothing had ever happened. But I didn’t, and he ended up reading all of my texts with her, with a long lecture following afterwards.

Being a Muslim with an ex-girlfriend isn’t easy, especially when you’re just fifteen.

“You’re too young to even think about these things!” He yelled. “How can you determine your sexuality at just fifteen! Straight is the natural orientation of a person, drop this lesbian bullshit!”

I hadn’t cried. I didn’t say anything in response. It would have been of no use. Rewa had already broken up with me, albeit she had said she would still like for us to be friends.

I had apologized to my father a few days later and snuck online through another device, from where I was caught later on as well, all of this happening in a span of just two months.

Three months later, I had a friend contact Rewa’s social media and tell her I’m okay.

We both finally had the chance to talk again over Wattpad.

I smiled, satisfied as I texted her a detailed message on how I was planning to meet her, asking her as much details as the online relationship would allow me to.

I promised her that till the day we met, I would sing Blue and Grey every night the moon was visible in the sky. And I did just that.

But then a text appeared on my screen once she had received the message.

‘Aqsa, I think we should break up.’

Confusion filled my insides. Weren’t we already broken up? If she didn’t want to be in a relationship with me, why would she lead me on and sweet talk me like that so much?

I was furious. For a few moments, I had no idea what to say to her.

Then, I did.

‘Wait, aren’t we already broken up?

Did you seriously forget that you broke up with me?

Did you really sweet talk me all that much just to make me go through the worst moment of my life a second time?

Now I know what my dad feels like every time I go up to him with a half-assed apology with no intention of listening to him a second time.

Unless you have anything important to say,

Goodbye, Rewa.’

And that was the last thing I ever said to her. She didn’t answer and I deleted our chats, promising myself to never look back. Oh, how bad I am at sticking to promises.

Maybe I should’ve gone easier on her. She was just thirteen, after all.

 

 

I haven’t sung Blue and Grey to the moon since.

The words come out of my mouth as I stare at the moon, having woken up from my sleep at 3 a.m. My voice comes out deep and heavy, my heart aching with every worse.

Where’s my angel?

I’m sick and tired of everything,

Someone come and save myself,

‘Cuz I am feeling blue and Grey,

 

Everywhere I go, everything I see,

Can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and Grey?

Every time I smile, Every time I cry,

Can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and Grey?

 

Oh, I just wanna be happier,

Baby don’t you let me go,

I feel tired in the winter sky,

I just wanna feel stronger

The tears slip down my cheeks without warning as I sit at the chair, huddling into myself further.

I hope she remembers me when I pay her a surprise visit in the morning.

 

Anxiety is getting the best of me as I stand in front of her college dorm room. Should I knock?

What if her roommate thinks I’m weird? What if Rewa reports me to security? What if she hates me? What if she wants to have nothing to do with me?

I try walking away but then tell myself that I didn’t come all the way from Pakistan just to run away when I am right at her doorstep. I miss her, and whether she does or not, doesn’t matter. I have to see her.

I knock at the door, swallowing down my fear as a shudder runs through my body.

I have to do this. There is no turning back now.

The door opens. A tall, dark skinned, African woman, looks down at me.

It is her.

My breath gets caught in my throat as I stare at her in awe.

It has to be her. Dark skin, curly black hair tied in a pony above her head, and about six feet tall. It is, without a doubt, Olanrewaju, my ex-girlfriend.

Holy shit.

I am not prepared for this.

“Um, can I help you?” She asks, concerned. Her voice is deep, yet smooth as she speaks in a British accent.

I just offer a weak nod, still taking her appearance in for the first time. I try to say hi but it just comes out as a guttural croak. Embarrassing.

“Um, are you okay?” She touches my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. What’s your name?”

Upon her touching my shoulder, my body tenses tenfold. She quickly retreats upon noticing my panicked expression.

“I’ll let you inside and give you a glass of water.” She takes a hold of my forearm, and gently walks me into her dorm.

I don’t register my surroundings as I continue to stare at her strong and bold figure. This is the love of my life and she doesn’t even know it.

She sits me down on what I assume is her bed as she walks over to the jug of water on the table. Thankfully, I caught her alone. Roommate isn’t home.

Rewa presses a full glass of water up to my lips and makes sure it all goes down, allowing me to inhale deep breaths, trying to regain my posture.

It takes a few minutes, but I get better.

I nod at her, offering a small smile.

She smiles back. “Now, tell me, what’s your name?”

I stare at her, my gaze piercing hers. “Aqsa.”

There is a flash of something in her eyes that I hope is familiarity and I think I am right when she takes a double take. “What?”

“Aqsa.” I repeat, as if I have no idea what history she might have with that name. “Why?”

She frowns in confusion, her eyes scanning my entire figure before she shakes her head. “Oh, uh, nothing.”

I nod.

“Where’re you from?” She asks. It’s no secret that she’s trying to figure out if I am the Aqsa she knew all those years ago.

“Pakistan.” I tell her.

Her frown deepens. “Where did you grow up?”

I have decided that I’m going to let her figure it out on her own and act as if I’ve never met her. “Why do you ask?”

She shakes her head a bit, then raises her eyebrows. “Middle East?”

She remembers. I nod.

Her breath hitches just a little and she visibly gulps, studying my features carefully.

“Do I know you?” She asks, her voice small and doubtful.

I stare into her big eyes and nod.

She exhales and looks away, leaning back in the chair next to the bed. She folds her arms across her chest, pondering the situation, her expression unreadable. But the tension in her posture can be sensed without having to try twice. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d find my way to you, didn’t I?” I tilt my head, a soft smile on my face.

She clenches her jaw and I can feel the heavy emotion in the atmosphere that replaces her prior concern. “You also said goodbye.” Her voice is heavy.

I pursue my lips in a thin line and nod. “That wasn’t a promise. I promised that I would come to you when I could, though.”

“How did you find me?” Her voice is a bit steady, yet forceful.

I smile. “You told me you lived in London. I have connections around the place. I have the internet. I know you wanted to study mechanical engineering so searching in all the good colleges amongst the mechanical engineering students was the best way to go about it.”

She is looking at me now, her dark chocolate eyes searching my face for something. “You remember?” Her voice cracks as the words leave her mouth.

I nod, trying my best to not get teary-eyed five minutes into our reunion.

Rewa clears her throat and tries to regain her steady posture. “And what about you? What are you doing?”

Ah, small talk. I allow myself to relax. “I’m studying medicine. I’m in my third year. Also, I’m writing.”

She nods and points at something behind me. I turn around to see a small wooden shelf nailed to the wall above her bed, all of my books resting on top of it.

A small smile appears on my face and my jaw stings, an indicator that I am about to cry. “That’s all of them.”

“I had two since when you first wrote them four years ago and then I just gave up, trying to forget you.” She tells me. “But then Noah noticed them and bought more books as gifts.”

“Noah?” I turn to look at her, frowning a bit in confusion.

She sighs and sits back once again. “He thought that maybe I like the writer, so got all the books he could find written by her.”

I nod, that not being what I wanted for the answer. “Who’s Noah?”

Rewa sighs again. “Forget him. He’s unimportant.”

I clutch the glass in my hands tighter, my desire for knowing who Noah was increasing. I am a curious person. I try to shrug it off by distracting myself with something else.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask.

She looks to the side to see an empty bed. “Semester just started, so she’s out with her friends.”

“You got any?”

Rewa nods. “One is at home due to an emergency and another is probably at her job right now.”

“Do you have a job?”

She shakes her head. “My parents are still paying for me, it’s all going smoothly. They say I have to start paying my own fees when third year starts.”

I nod. That sounds reasonable.

“They’re divorced, right?” I remember she mentioned it.

She nods and there’s an emotion on her face I have a little trouble trying to understand. She seems satisfied, yet in pain, as if she wished I didn’t remind her of her parents. But on the other hand, she seems happy that I cared enough to remember.

“How’s your sister?” I ask, recalling that she mentioned having a younger sister.

Rewa’s expression eases a little as she thinks of her sister. “She’s doing great. Last year of high school then college.”

“That’s good.” I nod.

The door to the room opens and we both turn to see a girl about Rewa’s age standing there, studying me with her critical green eyes, attempting to determine who I am. Her white skin is covered in patches of brown, as if she was playing in the mud.

Once she’s established that she doesn’t know me, she turns to Rewa for an explanation. “Ju?” Her voice is an indicator to the fact that she’s sensed something is wrong.

Rewa sighs. “An old friend.” Then she addresses me. “Aqsa, this is my roommate, Jessica.”

Jessica advances towards me in a friendly manner, extending her hand out for me to shake, her thin lips forming a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. You can call me Jess.” She has a Scottish accent.

I smile back and shake her hand, nodding. “Nice to meet you too, Jess.”

She nods, her curly, red hair bobbing as she does so. “Where’re you from?” She lets my hand go.

“Pakistan.” I answer. “You?”

“Scotland.” She laughs. “Anyways, I have to hit the shower. See you later.”

I nod. “See you.”

Once Jessica is gone, I turn back to Rewa. “Wanna go out for a drive?”

“You have a car?”

“I rented it.”

She seems to ponder over the offer for a bit, as if carefully weighing the pros and cons of going on a ride with her ex. Finally, she nods. “I don’t see why I can’t go.”

The walk towards the rented Honda is quiet as Rewa seems to be deep in thought while I take in my surroundings, not feeling too nervous to notice them anymore. It’s still cloudy outside, but I think it won’t rain till late in the evening.

I get into the car parked outside the campus and Rewa hesitates once she’s opened the door to the passenger seat. She bows down and looks at me. “Where are we going?”

“We’re circling the next five blocks until we get tired.” I tell her.

She whips out her phone and I think she texts somebody that. A faint smile appears on my face. This is my Rewa. Wary of everybody, no matter how trustworthy they may seem.

She then enters the car and closes the door, fastening her seatbelt.

I start the car and smile at her. “You really think a bestselling author would try to kidnap you?”

            She gives me a sheepish smile, a little pink creeping up her cheeks. “You only have one bestseller and I don’t want to take any chances.”

I nod, turning forwards, driving onto the road. “You’d probably win in a fight against me anyway.”

At that, she laughs and that is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. More beautiful than a waterfall splashing into a river below it. I want to be the one who keeps her laughing like that all the time.

Her laugh dies down after some time and we fall quiet.

“Do you still listen to K-pop?” I ask her, breaking the silence.

“Sometimes.”

“BTS?”

“Yeah. They disbanded though.”

“I know that.” I nod. “Can I play a song?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know…” I think for a minute, observing the wet streets of London. “Spring day?”

She seems to ponder over it too before agreeing to play Spring day. Once the music plays in the car, something… settles within me. I feel… calm. I don’t know if it’s because of the song or because I’m finally meeting Rewa, but I enjoy this feeling.

The song ends in a few minutes and it’s quiet again. But this time, it’s welcome. It’s not awkward, it feels good.

“Can we be friends again?” I ask all of a sudden.

She doesn’t respond for at least two minutes before nodding. “Wont your dad find out?”

“He doesn’t need to know it’s you.” I smile. “Besides, I’ll be independent in two years and have a job, so no worries.”

“Wont he get you married after that?” She asks.

Why does she care about that? I suggested being friends. Maybe… she’s hoping we can be more? My stomach does a flip at that exciting thought.

“I’ll get out of there.” I tell her. “Do a job here, be free of their restricting opinions.”

She doesn’t respond.

“Will you give me another chance?” In the silence, I ask her the question I have been aching to ask for a long time.

“At dating?” She gets right down to the point.

I shrug. “If you want to. I just want to be a part of your life again.”

“So, it doesn’t matter how?” She asks.

I draw in a deep breath. “I just want to make you happy. I still love you. You can decide how I make you happy. I can be whatever you want me to be. My love for you exists beyond any label this world could slap on us.”

There’s silence again. Then she speaks up. “You’re still the same.”

I blink, eyes still on the road. “What?”

“Before, when we used to text,” She says. “You’d always say something that would fluster me so much. You’re still the same.”

At that, I smile, recalling all the many times I would say something cheesy and make her feel butterflies in her stomach. “Glad to know.”

She gives a soft chuckle in response. “I think we can start off fresh, with you as my friend. I still need time getting over Noah, so-“

“Noah was your date?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is quiet.

“What happened?” I ask, concerned. I swear if this Noah hurt her, I might just have to put ‘become a hitwoman’ on my bucket list, not that I haven’t already considered that.

She lets out a puff of breath, hugging herself. “I don’t know, we both wanted very different things from life. He was too serious about it and I wanted to focus on my future.”

“Oh.” That is all I can say. Noah hadn’t hurt her so there was no reason to be mad. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“So, we can be friends?” I smile.

“Of course.”

I feel all giddy on the inside.

I look to my side and smile at her, slowing the car down. She smiles back, both of us sharing eye contact for a swift moment before I turn back to the road.

I go back to the radio on the car and play Seesaw by Suga, a song and artist we both adore to pieces.

And at that moment, as Suga’s soothing voice instills a sense of safety and Rewa at my side awakes a sense of assurance, I feel complete.

Who knows?

Maybe I can make her love me again, we can resume our relationship and maybe even get married.

Live a happy life.

Six years later, standing at the altar, Blue and Grey playing in the background, as I hold Rewa’s hands, I realize just how right I was.

“I love you, Aqsa.”

“I love you so, my love.”

“I declare you married! You may kiss!”

And we do. A beautiful, passionate kiss, marking the beginning of our life together.

Some tales do have happy endings.

A Story by Riley Gray

[sparklijam]

Zeus: Relax, I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt an innocent troll. "Pets Malik's head gently"

Malik: *jumps a bit from the petting, but calms down some* O-Oh... okay... *purrs a bit*

(tiny thing about Malik: his head is the sweet spot that makes him purr when someone pets his head >v>)