#(funnily enough it ended up working for both prompts in the end just like last year what weird concidences...)

[seyaryminamoto]

Underneath Starlit Skies: Sokkla Saturdays 2021

Day Two: Meeting the in-laws

On FF.net//On AO3

(This week's prompt is a direct sequel to my last year entry for the day 3 prompt of "Arranged Marriage." Feel free to reread it first before checking this one out, or read it for the first time, as the case may be!)

The ship's gentle, swaying motions carried them back to the very island they had escaped from. Tension and uncertainties alike arose in Azula's heart upon glimpsing the silhouette of the Fire Nation Capital ahead… she swallowed hard, tapping the railing of the ship with her fingertip, the nail scraping the smooth wood.

She noticed footsteps behind her, but only turned her head slightly before confirming who they belonged to. A light redness crept over her cheeks as a smile spread over her face, inevitably: her future husband stepped up to stand beside her, placing a hand on her lower back as he released a deep sigh.

"The city's pretty beautiful, I can't deny that," he said, smiling at her. "You don't begrudge me for taking you away from this, or do you?"

"You? If I should resent anyone for it, it should be our families for setting us up to marry each other, as you already know," Azula returned the smile. "And I'm not quite sure that I do resent them for it anymore, although, well…"

"Although?" Sokka raised an eyebrow, nudging her gently. Azula grimaced as she glanced over the water.

Many ships traveled to and from the Capital on any given day, but at the moment, more of them were docking in rather than sailing away. So many guests, and surely countless lurkers, wanted to witness a royal wedding… people were traveling to the Fire Nation from all over the world. Her soon-to-be husband had proven a far more agreeable match than she had ever anticipated… the fuss, however, seemed poised to wreak havoc on her nerves. Marrying someone, in front of so many people, especially someone she did like…?

Yet her main concern, right now, wasn't the massive crowd, or the rumors and talk that her escapade with Sokka might result in. Instead, she raked the nearby ships with her gaze, failing to recognize any longboats like the one they currently rode on, or the royal ships of her family's private use…

"Aren't you a little worried about, well…?" Azula started, grimacing. Sokka sighed, already having suspected the path her thoughts had taken her to.

"Our respective mothers? Yeah, well… yeah," he admitted. Azula groaned, dropping her head against his shoulder.

"No idea what yours is like. Guess I'll find out soon enough, but mine…" Azula sighed, shaking her head. "Part of why I looked forward to running away and never coming back was the chance to flee from her."

"Did you really mean to never see your mom again…?" Sokka asked, softly. Azula shrugged.

"Maybe not never, but… not until she stopped hating me for disrupting her plans for me, at least," she said. "I guess, now that we did choose each other, I feel differently about things… but I'm not sure I'm ready to face her yet."

"Well… hopefully she's the type who likes to save face and act fancy in public," Sokka suggested, with a light smirk. "If so, as long as we're in public places, she won't be able to shout much at you, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Hmm… I'm not sure if afraid is the right word, but I'm certainly expecting to hear 'you disappoint me, young lady', or something along those lines," Azula said, faking a deeper, pompous voice upon imitating her mother. Sokka chuckled and shook his head. "Is yours less dangerous than that?"

"For sure. My mom was… well, almost on my side, I'd say," Sokka whispered. "She didn't think it made a lot of sense to force me into a marriage I didn't want, but she agreed to cooperating with this whole scheme as long as I was allowed to back down if I really didn't want to do it. I had the feeling your dad and my dad would end up getting their way, though… so I ran away anyhow. She might not be very happy I did that, but she shouldn't mind it much, since we're coming back together…"

"I'll have to hope you're right about that. I can't pretend I have a clue as to what I'll do to impress my in-laws, and it's more urgent for me to do so than for you to do the same thing, right?" Azula pointed out, glancing at him nonchalantly. "I'll be moving to the South Pole with you and your family, after all…"

"Well, yeah, I guess that's the plan," Sokka bit his lip. "Are you uncomfortable with it?"

"Not sure. Not really. No idea," Azula admitted, with a shrug. Sokka chuckled, and Azula's heart jolted pleasantly upon hearing him laugh.

"We'll live in a palace too, you know? Just, an ice one, but I promise it's not as cold as you probably think it will be…"

"You promised you'd do something about it, if it was," Azula said. Sokka chuckled: his arms encircled her waist, and Azula angled her head back so her lips would be a mere breath away from his. "Though you also said we could travel often, if the cold got to me…"

"And I stand by that. I know we've barely known each other for a few days, but… is it too forward of me to say I want to make sure you have the best of times throughout our marriage?"

"Hmm… depends on what, exactly, you mean by that," Azula taunted him, with a growing smirk. Sokka chuckled, and before he knew it, he had succumbed to the urge to join her in another bright, blissful kiss…

A kiss that was interrupted, just when it was heating up, by the sound of a clearing throat.

Azula flinched, recognizing her father's voice. Her cheeks were alight with a blush as she turned her face away from Sokka, who was newly bashful now, too. Before he could turn around and beg Prince Ozai not to fling him overboard for kissing his daughter without permission – a ridiculous notion, considering not only that he'd already done something far more damning than kissing her, but that they were meant to be married within a week, too – the laughter of Chief Hakoda drifted towards him, and Sokka could only grin awkwardly as his father stepped up first, throwing an arm around his son's shoulders.

"Romancing your soon-to-be-wife again, I see? Not bad at all, Sokka! Just… you know, don't do it too often when Ozai's around," he said, in a hushed voice, by Sokka's ear. His son grinned awkwardly but nodded.

"I wasn't really… well, we weren't quite trying to… uh, well, never mind," Sokka mumbled, shyly.

"Oh, don't be all coy with me, my boy! I'm happy for you two, I always knew you were the perfect match!" Hakoda declared, patting Azula's shoulder gently next. "I guess we should've had you two meeting at much younger age, maybe that way we wouldn't have had to arrange a marriage at all, and you would've chosen to marry each other anyway…"

"Or maybe we would have butted heads since we were children and decided we would never so much as consider marrying each other…" Azula said, with a taunting smile directed at Sokka, who scoffed dismissively.

"No way! Not unless that was just a cover for our obvious feelings for each other, and we would just keep acting like idiots because we thought our affections were unrequited…" Sokka rambled, dramatically: Hakoda laughed at Sokka's acting, and Azula smiled too as she glanced over her shoulder in the direction her father's voice had come from.

He and Hakoda had been at the other end of the longboat's deck, arguing about the logistics of the wedding, when she had stepped out of the cabin to watch as the Fire Nation mainland came closer. As much as she hoped she'd grow used to the Water Tribe, she certainly would miss her homeland, or so she expected… but maybe she'd miss her father, most of all. He had watched over her since her childhood, shielded her from many expectations, taken care of her even when he didn't need to – while there were servants and nannies available, Ozai had often wanted to take a personal role in looking after his daughter. From what little Ursa shared about the past, it seemed he hadn't always been this way… but finding Avatar Aang in his youth and becoming a main factor in helping the world change, alongside his friends from the Water Tribe and the Earth Kingdom, had affected Ozai considerably, making him a much more affectionate man than he had been in his youth, if still reserved and difficult to approach.

His discomfort over her relationship with Sokka was amusing in its own way… but Azula's heart couldn't help but ache with uncertainty, as she wondered if she had let him down, to some degree, with her choices. Perhaps he had hoped for better from her… perhaps she had disappointed him. Or perhaps he would miss her too, every bit as much as she would miss him.

"Alright, then, alright…" Hakoda smiled, squeezing Azula's shoulder and bringing her back to reality. "If things go as planned when we set out to find you kids, your brother and my daughter should greet us at the port. I believe Katara will be in charge of escorting you both back to the Palace, and I think Ozai will go, too? Isn't that right, Ozai?"

The Prince had approached along with Hakoda once he had noticed his daughter and her future husband were, once again, far too cuddly for his tastes. His intent to make them uncomfortable would go nowhere, he suspected, but if he could avoid watching that boy sticking his tongue down his daughter's throat, he'd be all the happier for it. He hummed a positive response to Hakoda, staring at Sokka intently.

"Hakoda says Katara is the more responsible member of the family. All the better, if so: she shall keep you in check, Prince Sokka, while I do the same when it comes to Azula," he determined. Azula sighed but shrugged in defeat as Sokka grinned awkwardly.

"And Zuko will stay with Chief Hakoda?" Azula asked, puzzled.

"Yes, we will await the returning ship that was meant to carry your mothers to Fire Fountain City," Hakoda said, nodding sagely. "Prince Lu Ten and Bato ought to be returning too, we sent birds to everyone, so… as long as everything remains on course, the two of you shall meet all your in-laws by tonight!"

Azula offered Hakoda a tight-lipped grin in response: she wasn't sure why she felt so nervous about this prospect, though she was relieved to find Sokka shared her apprehension, and far more visibly, at that.

"You mean… even Fire Lord Iroh will be there?" Sokka asked, with an awkward smile.

"Oh, yeah. I know you'll think he's some daunting big bad guy, but he's not nearly as intimidating as his little brother," Hakoda smirked at Ozai, who scowled in his direction. "See?"

"I'm not sure that he won't be intimidating if he's upset because I, well… took off with his niece when I wasn't supposed to," Sokka pointed out, with a grimace. "In fact… I bet everyone's bound to think we're idiots."

"A risk you exposed yourself to from the beginning of your amusing scheme," Ozai blurted out, shamelessly. Sokka winced. "Had you thought twice of it, nobody would be judging either of you."

Azula sighed but nodded in agreement, as Sokka shrugged, lowering his head in surrender. Hakoda shot his best friend a meaningful glare, only for Ozai to respond to it with a dismissive shrug.

The longboat sailed smoothly through the waters of the bay, finally docking in a privileged, golden pier intended for the Royal Family's use. The busy port didn't help Azula's confidence much: being in the spotlight might not have been a problem if only she hadn't felt as though the entire nation would judge her for her completely ridiculous choice of eloping with the very man she was meant to marry. Her brother's judgmental and amused stare didn't help at all in those regards after she and Sokka disembarked, following Hakoda and Ozai.

"Ah, we made it, you two! It's all fixed now, all plans are back on track," Hakoda laughed, stepping up to clap Zuko's shoulder gently and hug Katara to his chest. The waterbender's attention, however, was set on her brother, who smiled awkwardly as he waved at her.

"You're… you seriously couldn't have done anything more stupid!" Katara roared, pulling out of Hakoda's arms and stomping up to her brother. "Sokka, you dumbass, you…! Were you seriously trying to get away from all this?! You know how much work went into all this planning and everything that…!"

"Now, now, Katara, you don't have to be so harsh…" Hakoda started, but Ozai huffed.

"By all means, let her. You were right to say she's the more reasonable of the four of them, so far," Ozai declared. Zuko, meanwhile, smiled at the chagrin on his sister's face.

"No need to be so upset, Azula: I'm the one staying behind with his judgmental comments after the wedding's done, not you," he said, stepping up to her. Azula scoffed in his direction. "Why so defensive now?"

"Why else? You're never in such a good mood. Clearly, you just want to poke fun at me," Azula said, with a dry grin. Zuko smirked and shrugged.

"Can you blame me? You've spent all our lives being the perfect daughter, and now you're breaking out of that mold in the flashiest way you could think of…"

"Hey, now…" Sokka said, stepping up to wrap an arm around Azula's shoulders: Zuko's brow drew together, surprised by the unexpected closeness between the two. "What's the big problem if she runs off with her future husband? I can't see how she's any less perfect for that. If she'd been running away with someone else, now, that would be a worrisome thing…"

"Or if you had," Azula pointed out, with an awkward grin. Sokka nodded solemnly.

"Can you even imagine?"

"Perish the thought!" Azula responded dramatically to Sokka's own exaggerated antics. Before them, Katara and Zuko seemed utterly clueless over what they were witnessing.

"Uh… wow. Okay, then. My condolences, Princess Katara, seeing as you'll have to endure this sort of stuff in your home for much longer than I will…" Zuko said, with a courteous smile at Katara that she couldn't seem to reciprocate.

"You two… just a minute, now. You two ran away, together?" she asked, eyes wide. "You… what?! Why?! That doesn't make any sense…!"

"Isn't it perfect?" Hakoda smiled, clapping both Katara and Zuko's shoulders gently. "Who'd have thought your siblings were so well-suited for each other!"

"Not me… but he does have a look about him that suggests he's as crazy as she is," Zuko admitted, staring at Sokka pointedly. The Water Tribe Prince grinned madly, squeezing Azula against himself: she wasn't entirely sure why she let him do so, but she didn't protest against the gesture anyway.

"Well, then… we're not about to stay in this pier forever, are we?" Ozai said, pointedly. "Princess Katara, Prince Sokka, Princess Azula… off we go."

"Zuko and I will wait for the others here, promised thing!" Hakoda said, smiling brightly as Ozai led the way to the carriages that awaited them.

Katara didn't move right away: her gaze settled on Azula now, and the firebender felt weighed and measured by her sister-in-law. She wanted to return the favor, she really did… but her position, right against Sokka's flank, surely lent Katara every right to be utterly judgmental.

"You seriously ran off with Sokka, then? You didn't run on your own, and our dads found you each in a different place, somehow…?"

"Uh, no," Sokka answered, as Azula shook her head.

"We happened to be reckless enough to flee at the same time, not knowing we were becoming co-conspirators when we were, in a manner of speaking, running away from each other," Azula said, with a dry smile. "I know this isn't the best first-impression, but…"

"Well, it doesn't have to be. You're marrying Sokka, not me, so whatever first-impressions we have don't really matter," Katara pointed out, with a weak smile. "Still… I hope you guys won't do anything like this again. Seriously, mom was so worried, Sokka, and… and your mom was, well…"

"About to set the whole nation on fire over my great choices? Heh. I can imagine." Azula grinned dryly. Katara shrugged.

"In her defense, she was very gracious when she retired after hearing the news and found a room in which she, uh, may have screamed into every pillow until your dad went to soothe her," Katara explained, as the three of them started on their way down the pier. Azula grimaced, and Sokka squeezed her shoulder gently. "But, hey, she'll be happy enough to know you two get along so well now. What's there to protest over if you're both apparently perfect for each other?"

Sokka smiled warmly at Azula, who returned the gesture a lot more shyly. Katara caught them from the corner of her eyes, and she smiled subtly, too. However furious she was at Sokka, she had mainly been distraught over how difficult it would be to live with a chaotic, forced marriage where both sides were utterly disgusted with each other. A firebender would struggle adapting to life in the South Pole already, and it would only be worse if she had to cope with a bad marriage, too… but it seemed, if anything, that in running away, they had started off with the right foot. If anything, Katara worried now about wholly different things: just how happy were those two, truly? Was her father right to say they'd be perfect together? Would she become an aunt far faster than she anticipated she might? It was entirely possible that she would…

Ozai scowled from his seat as the other three climbed on the carriage quickly: his hand darted to catch Azula's, pulling her to sit by his side, ensuring that Sokka would share his seat with his sister instead. The Water Tribe Prince smiled awkwardly but accepted the Fire Nation Prince's conditions, hoping to avert his gaze from the firebender throughout the whole trip. Meanwhile, Azula shrank in her spot beside Ozai, shooting occasional glances in his direction.

"When… when you said Uncle Iroh was up in arms about this, what did you mean, exactly?" she asked, softly, once the carriage was already in motion. "Did he blame you for this, or…?"

"I may have… exaggerated matters, slightly," Ozai confessed. Azula's eyes narrowed. "It seemed the right thing to say, at the time."

"Because that way you could punish me further for disrupting all your plans for my future?" Azula asked, pointedly. Ozai shrugged.

"I had the feeling you would show no remorse otherwise. Though you showed none anyways. It makes no matter in the end: he seemed irritated that the strengthened alliance with the Water Tribe might not come to pass, but he had other things to focus on regardless. I'm in no trouble, not beyond wondering if I may have made a terrible mistake by listening to Hakoda. Which, as it happens, is a mistake I've made countless times, over and over, for as long as I've known him."

"Well, Dad speaks really highly of you," Katara said, with a good-mannered smile. "He kept telling Sokka he would have a great father-in-law, and I bet Sokka can see as much already! Right, Sokka?"

Katara's words, whether truthful or not, seemed to open a dangerous door: Sokka grimaced, trying to smile at Ozai, but failing to do so. The truth was, he could certainly appreciate that the man cared about his daughter, but his relationship with Prince Ozai, he feared, would never be entirely positive. Cordiality was, in all likelihood, the best he could ever aspire to.

"I would be surprised if that's so. Surely he must have given you a list of conversational topics to bring up just to annoy me," Ozai said, bitterly. Despite herself, Azula smiled as Sokka shook his head eagerly.

"He didn't, if that makes you feel any better," Sokka said, grinning weakly. "Look, I know we acted out, but… I think we'll be good now. Right, Azula?"

"Well, as long as they don't come up with any ideas more twisted than the ones they already have, I believe so," Azula nodded. Ozai raised an eyebrow, judgmentally, and Azula smiled in his direction.

"As it is, you'll be joining the Water Tribe upon marrying this boy. You'd best grow used to changes and learn how to adapt quickly. Otherwise, you may not be prepared for the challenges that loom ahead of you, Azula."

"Well, we'll do our best to make things easier for her," Katara reassured Ozai, though he only grunted softly in response.

"I'll do my best, Father," Azula said, nodding in his direction.

"In a sense, I'd like to ask you to honor the Fire Nation once you're gone, and to ensure to garner their utmost respect…" Ozai said, glancing out of the window. "And yet, when I consider it will be Hakoda handling whatever mischief comes to your mind, instead of me, I wonder if I should be encouraging you instead…"

Sokka laughed awkwardly, and Katara grimaced as she weighed the Prince's words with uncertainty. While she had heard Hakoda talk about Ozai in a teasing manner, it never had occurred to her that he might have a kindred spirit, in a way, in the legendary firebender who had helped end the war. It seemed theirs was a friendship cemented in shared experiences and relentless teasing of each other, as far as she could tell.

Azula eyed her father intently too, surprised by his nonchalance. He had seemed quite furious when he had found them in Ember Island, and he certainly had said some things that had brought her to fear she had disappointed him, for the first time ever… yet now she found that, perhaps, he wasn't quite that disappointed after all. Her father, it seemed, was resigned… maybe he didn't want her to go at all, even if he had been convinced that it would be necessary and better for everyone. Maybe he wanted to be upset simply to hide the loneliness he'd feel when his youngest child was gone…

Azula swallowed hard, letting her gaze travel out the window too. She would miss her father for sure… she would miss her nation, too. She had never been that outgoing, and she certainly hadn't experienced the city's more casual days the way many other people did. Right now, for instance, the Capital of the Fire Nation was in the throes of celebration over her impending nuptials. Where she might have been displeased about it a few days ago, finding it ridiculous and distasteful that they would celebrate her union with a total stranger, today she caught sight of their enthusiasm and she realized there were many remarkable experiences she had missed on, so far. Maybe, she reasoned, what she'd miss the most would be the chances she'd wasted throughout the years she had been here. She'd do better, hopefully, once she lived in the Water Tribe… something told her Sokka wasn't the type who would sit out in occasions of revelry, to name one thing. He had presented himself as a man of action, and if he truly was one, she would be sure to have an eventful life by his side, once they were properly married… it was an exciting enough thought, now that she truly had a relationship with her future husband. Even so, being torn away from the only world she'd ever known wouldn't be easy for the Princess.

The Royal Palace welcomed them once their carriage finally wheeled into its premises: Katara appeared delighted with the magnificent building, though Sokka found it eerie, befitting the old rule of Fire Lord Azulon, rather than that of his son. Still, he kept his thoughts to himself – the Seventy-Five Years' War had left behind a complicated legacy already, but the Fire Nation was well on its way to making amends for the harm it had caused all across the world. Even if he hadn't witnessed those days directly, his father's stories and many books had painted a vivid enough picture of the darkness that had enveloped the world until Avatar Aang had reappeared.

Ozai ensured they followed him through the Palace's corridors. Sokka watched his surroundings with interest as Katara politely asked Ozai a few questions regarding the ornate vases that she found so quaint, or the embellishing paintings that decorated the walls. Distracted as he was by the waterbender's chatter, he couldn't realize the young couple behind him walked hand-in-hand.

"Is… your Palace back home anything like this?" Azula asked, almost shyly. Sokka blinked blankly but shook his head.

"I mean, it is a pretty big place, but it's a lot brighter than this. Doesn't have that strange, ominous feeling that… u-uh, not trying to say it isn't cool, Azula, it's just…"

"Oh, it was designed for that purpose. Don't sugarcoat matters just to appeal to me," Azula smirked, and Sokka chuckled at her honesty. "Then I take it your Palace wasn't designed to scare anyone away?"

"No, I don't think so. But it is pretty beautiful, I think…" Sokka said, biting his lip. "Though, well, if you want to redecorate it and make it more intimidating, I'll support you through it, for sure…!"

"What a dutiful husband you'll be, if so," Azula smiled, squeezing his hand gently: Sokka's cheeks flushed with delight, dazed by the prospect of soon calling her his wife, too.

They had to let go of each other quickly, though, once they reached Sokka's intended room: he smiled awkwardly at Ozai, who leveled him with a pointed glare.

"You two will behave yourselves now. No more strange escapades. Like I said earlier… it won't be within my power to stop you from doing anything foolish once you're husband and wife," Ozai said, raising a finger as he eyed both Azula and Sokka meaningfully. "But until then, you will do as you're told and not cause unnecessary trouble. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Father," Azula said, dutifully, as Sokka nodded promptly. Katara eyed them both with a crooked eyebrow as Ozai sighed, hands on his hips.

"Wait in your respective rooms until your mothers arrive, if you would," he said.

"Will you go back to the port to fetch them, or…?" Azula asked. Ozai shook his head.

"No… I will go take a nap," Ozai said, bluntly: she hadn't noticed the light bags under her father's eyes, a most unbecoming feature that certainly didn't seem suit the man who typically groomed himself to perfection on a daily basis. "Your amusing escapade cost me a few hours of rest. Send for me once your mother arrives, Azula."

"Yes, Father," Azula nodded, bowing her head respectfully in Ozai's direction.

He walked away without another word, leaving the three young adults to watch him go. Once he was out of earshot, however, Katara turned a suspicious gaze to her brother and his fiancée.

"Not that it's any of my business… but this story of your little attempt to flee from the wedding only gets weirder and weirder by the minute," she said, eyeing them skeptically. Sokka grinned awkwardly. "I don't know what that warning was about, but…"

"You have nothing to worry about," Azula said, with a smile that Sokka found suspicious immediately. "I'll do as my father said and go to my room. In truth, we could use more sleep, too."

"Yeah… won't be very nice for us to look tired at our own wedding ceremony, heh," Sokka smiled. Azula grinned back at him and nodded before glancing at Katara.

"You know the way to your room from here?"

"Oh, yeah. I had a chance to settle in yesterday, before I found out about, well, all this," Katara answered, with a shrug. Azula nodded.

"In that case… I'll see you both later, I suppose," she whispered: her gaze lingered on Sokka's for a moment, and she offered him a quick, earnest smile before walking away.

Sokka could only watch her, enthralled and entranced, a slow smile spreading over his face too. Oh, she was beautiful. He didn't want her to go anywhere, not at all, but her dark hair flowed elegantly in the wind as she walked away, too…

"Ehem. Still there, big brother?"

"Woah! Uh, yeah. I'm… yeah," Sokka swallowed hard, blushing as Katara eyed him skeptically. She huffed, shaking her head.

"I don't think I dislike her, just so you know. I expected much, much worse. I was ready to hate her on your behalf, even?" she said, with a shrug. "But you… you seem to be completely smitten, so I guess I have no reason to despise her anymore, do I?"

"U-uh, well, um… you don't, no," Sokka said, with a nervous grin. Katara's eyes narrowed.

"Sokka? What happened while you two were on the run, exactly…?"

"What? Uh, heh! You know what? I just realized I haven't bathed at all since I took off! I smell of ship cellar, haha! What'd you know! I'll be off to my room now, yep, bye!"

"Sokka! Are you serious?! You literally just met her…!"

"And I was going to marry her even before I met her, so what's the big deal?" he said, smiling far more earnestly as he pushed the door open and entered his room. Katara smiled disapprovingly, arms folded over her chest as he grinned back at her.

"You two are either the worst combination ever, or the best one. Guess I'll only know for sure once we're in the South Pole…" she determined, smiling as she took off, down the corridor.

Sokka sighed as he closed his bedroom's door. A giddy feeling seemed to bound and twirl inside his gut at the thought of returning to the South Pole as a married man. They would have a second ceremony there, of course… but the first one would happen in the Fire Nation as a manner of courtesy towards Princess Azula, as she would be the one relocating to a new nation after their wedding. Perhaps Sokka shouldn't be so eager to think about the great days that should await them by the time they returned to the Water Tribe… perhaps he was being stupid, idealizing Azula beyond reason because they had hit it off wonderfully over the past few days. Maybe she'd have weird habits, or worse yet, maybe she'd find his habits weird and decide he was a completely unforgivable husband for that. He should ground himself, stop being so foolish and giddy and needy and…

Oh, but he really liked her. She had been thrilling from the very first moment, and getting to see her, to know her better, this time as their real selves, only spurred his excitement further. He wanted to understand her… and he hoped she'd want the same with him, too. It was a true miracle that their parents had the sense to suggest a marriage alliance through the two of them… had Hakoda chosen to have Katara marrying Zuko, or even the much older Prince Lu Ten, instead of Sokka and Azula, he would have likely fallen in love with the Princess anyway upon first meeting her, and then they would have had to elope for real…

He chuckled, guessing he ought to appreciate that reality had turned out as it had. He marched into his room's bathroom, delighted by the sophistication of the facilities – he made a mental note to ask Prince Ozai, or even Fire Lord Iroh, to let him know who was responsible for the shower system. Implementing something like that in the South Pole might be tricky, but he hoped it could be done…

He took a proper shower, rinsing off the filth of days on the road, and he felt much more refreshed upon getting out, tying a towel around his waist, meaning to return to the bedroom to find a spare set of clothes…

He yelped upon opening the bathroom door to find he wasn't alone anymore.

Azula stood in the center of his room, and she had her back to him again, though in this case, it seemed it was a deliberate, conscious choice. Her shoulders shook softly, as her hands settled on her hips.

"I'm only facing the wall because I don't think I should be quite so bold as to walk in on you wearing nothing, which, going by your little squeal, might just be the case…"

"Well, I… I have a towel around my waist? But hey, weren't you supposed to wait in your room? Weren't we both supposed to behave ourselves now…?" Sokka asked: on one hand, he wanted no trouble with Fire Lord Ozai. On the other one, though… oh, he did want to be alone with Azula for a few hours, perhaps for whole days if he could do so. He had so much he wanted to talk about with her, so many questions to ask… and then there were many things they could do that required no words, too. His throat ran dry when that thought materialized in his mind.

"We were, but… I didn't really want to," Azula admitted, with a careless shrug: by the tone of her voice, he could tell she was smiling. "Would you rather I left?"

"No! I mean… well, only if you want to, of course. Which I guess you don't, or you wouldn't be here in the first place," Sokka smiled a little. "Just, uh… wait while I dress up again. I guess you can break your father's rules only to a fault, right…?"

"Heh, well, I wasn't planning on pouncing on you as soon as I could, if you were worried about that," Azula responded. Sokka snickered.

"Worried? Looking forward to it, is more like it…"

She bit back a smile that still slipped past the corners of her mouth. She heard as Sokka rummaged through his bags, as the rustling sound of fabrics indicated he was getting dressed. She waited patiently until he cleared his throat, nervous.

"You can turn around now. No need to be scared of my very manly body anymore," he said, smirking. Azula huffed, turning indeed as she smirked at him.

"Scared? Enthralled is more like it," she admitted shamelessly, and Sokka grinned at her words.

Her enthrallment became even more apparent now that his hair wasn't tied up anymore. No matter if his wolf's tail suited him perfectly, the way those deep brown locks framed his face gave her pause immediately, and her heart picked up speed at the sight of him this way, no matter if he was dressed again, in far more elegant clothes than the ones he'd worn before.

"Well, uh… I figure you had a reason to visit me so suddenly?" Sokka asked, smiling a little as he stepped closer to Azula. "Is it to warn me about your mother again, or…?"

"No, well… I guess I could prepare you better for facing her, if need be," Azula admitted. "But I just… I wanted to ask if your father ever seemed, uh, a particularly smart man to you."

"What? Well, sure! Why do you ask? Did your dad say he wasn't smart?" Sokka pouted, and Azula shook her head.

"That's not it, and well, clearly our fathers will badmouth each other in one breath and defend each other to death with the next one," Azula said, with a shrug. "Theirs seems to be that kind of friendship. But I mean… my father is acting strangely. It's just… hard to believe he'd be so mellow about all of this, considering I could have been running off with a total stranger who could have proven to be a lot less agreeable than you…"

"Oh? So… wait, are you wondering if maybe my dad pulled the strings behind our escape, somehow?" Sokka asked, puzzled. Azula shrugged.

"I can't imagine mine coming up with a scheme like this one, but… I don't know about yours," she admitted. Sokka hummed, tapping his chin with a finger.

"To be honest… he could have. He might have," Sokka admitted, biting his lip. "You think maybe he always meant for us to try to get away together…?"

"At least, to a degree," Azula said. "Maybe they wanted to give us a chance to meet for ourselves and see… well, what they had already suspected could come from a relationship between us?"

"Huh. Well, I'll say it was a good plan, if that's really what it was," Sokka pointed out, with a growing smile. "We weren't aware of it at all, and even if they led us to each other, it's not like we were pressured to make the choices we made. In fact… your dad seems pretty pissed that we went that far after knowing each other for a very short time, heh."

"He does, but if it bothers him, he shouldn't have agreed to letting me marry someone at all," Azula smirked. "What, exactly, would he have expected would happen between a husband and a wife, anyway?"

"As far as I can tell, he's just always going to see you as his kid, so maybe that makes things harder for him," Sokka smiled sympathetically. "But yeah, I do think my dad could have come up with this. Does it change anything for you, though, if that's the case? Because, well… I don't think it does for me. I still like you… way more than I ever meant to like you."

"So do I. Way more than I ever meant to," Azula agreed, grinning. "I just wanted to run the idea by you, anyway. Wasn't sure if you'd be happy about it or not, but to be frank, I had no idea how to react to this possibility anyway. If we're that predictable for our parents… well, it's our own fault, I suppose, isn't it?"

"One way to look at it, I guess," Sokka smiled. "I do wish we'd had a chance to do things the right way, though. Your parents were arranged to marry too, weren't they?"

"They were," Azula admitted, nodding. "Though it definitely seems they fell in love at some point throughout the end of the war, long before they married properly."

"Well, then, that means they ought to understand this feeling anyway," Sokka smiled, reaching out to take Azula's hand gently. "I suppose we can have everything we've missed out on after the wedding, like going out on dates in places a lot less uncomfortable than the cellar of a cargo ship, for instance…"

"That wouldn't be a bad idea," Azula mirrored his expression as Sokka chuckled. "Though… well, if you think about it, we still have a little less than a week ahead. Don't you think, maybe…?"

"Maybe what?"

"We could try doing it, to a fault? Dating, I mean… like other people do," Azula shrugged. Sokka's eyes widened at her suggestion.

"Uh… wow. How?" he asked, puzzled. "I'd be all for it if it's possible, but… isn't your dad going to be mad if we try doing anything other than staying in our rooms and reflecting on our misdeeds, or whatever he wanted us to do…?"

"Well, he did say he was going to take a nap until our mothers returned, right?" Azula said, a devious spark glinting in her eyes. Sokka's reluctance and caution went up in flames at the sight of such a delightfully wicked expression on his future wife's face. "As long as we come back here before he wakes up again, we should be safe enough…"

"You sure…?" Sokka said, with a playful, growing smile. "Won't we be playing a very dangerous game if we do this…?"

"Now, now, are you really scared of your father-in-law?" Azula smirked, stepping up to Sokka, hands falling over his strong arms. Sokka gulped, cheeks aflame again as he wanted nothing but to kiss her until they were breathless. "Not like you'll have to see much of him after this week ends anyway. By then… well, you'll have me to yourself, as far as I can tell."

"I will, won't I?" Sokka smiled, dazed. "Goodness. I… I can't believe I actually look forward to this. How did this go from the worst idea ever to the best one in a matter of days, Azula?"

"Beats me, but I find it perfectly agreeable, don't you?" Azula asked, teasingly. Sokka chuckled, pulling her in by wrapping his arms around her waist again.

"Alright, then. We'll be careful… maybe we can hide our identities, to a fault?" he suggested. "And we could go check out that festival, right? The one we rode past on our way here?"

"They're celebrating our upcoming nuptials, if you must know…" Azula explained, smirking. "Which makes me wonder… shouldn't we be there to celebrate with them, just as well?"

"A very good question for sure," Sokka grinned. "I can think of a good answer for it, myself."

"So can I," Azula replied: she leaned closer, and Sokka did the same.

Their lips met in the middle, in a delightful, enjoyable exchange that only seemed to be the appetizer for the countless kisses they would exchange in the future… even the countless kisses they meant to exchange throughout the rest of that day. It had become so easy, so natural to do this… if they disguised themselves properly, they would be able to do it too, as many times as they cared to, through their second date, since their initial escape counted for the first one, it seemed…

They exchanged a teasing smile, a genuine laugh once their kiss ended: they had much to prepare for, many stalls and presentations to see, and they would do best to get started with them soon, if they didn't want Ozai to catch them doing anything out of bounds until it was already done…

Zuko heaved out a sigh as he watched Lu Ten's carriage vanishing in the harbor's many busy streets. He had known his cousin and Bato, Chief Hakoda's right-hand-man had taken off a few hours after the first two ships – those carrying either of his parents – had set sail. Yet he couldn't help but be astonished, even now, over the remarkable speed and versatility of the Water Tribe longboats, as opposed to his nation's more mechanic means of travel: he had genuinely expected his mother to arrive well before his cousin did, and yet the opposite thing had happened, instead.

"Well, they shouldn't be long now, Prince Zuko," Hakoda said, with a reassuring smile and a few claps on the young man's shoulder. "There's some incoming Fire Nation ships there, right? Surely Ursa and Kya are in one of them."

"Yeah, I can't tell yet from this distance, but I hope so," Zuko nodded. "I'm impressed by your people's ships, though. Guess it wouldn't take Azula too long to come visit, if she ever wants to…"

"You'll miss your sister, won't you?" asked Hakoda. Zuko smiled and shrugged.

"Maybe. But don't tell her I said that, though. It'll go up to her head," he said, with amusement. Hakoda laughed, clapping his shoulder again.

"Oh, siblings and their clashes…" he said, shaking his head. "I never had any siblings, myself, but Sokka and Katara are much like that, too. They'd protect each other fiercely against anyone that tries to harm them… but two seconds later they'll be at each other's throats over whatever ridiculous reason you can think of. Uncanny relationships, I'd say… kind of like mine and your father's, come to think of it! But as long as you still care about each other, you can butt heads all you like, I say."

"Seems about right," Zuko smiled: he focused on the scenery again, though, and his eyes brightened upon recognizing the prow of an incoming ship. "Oh, I think that's them!"

"Ah, finally!" Hakoda grinned, patting Zuko's shoulder again as they stepped deeper into the pier.

After around ten minutes, the ship had docked safely: Zuko smiled brightly, waiting for Ursa to disembark, but the first regal woman to do so wasn't his mother.

"Oh, you waited for me!" exclaimed Kya, in a dramatic voice, when her eyes locked on Hakoda's, just as the sailors were setting up the ramp for her to disembark. The Water Tribe's Chief spread his arms in a gesture as dramatic as his wife's words, and Zuko watched their strange exchange with increasing confusion and amusement alike.

"I swore I would! For as long as we were apart, you would never leave my mind, not for a second!" Hakoda responded, and Kya gasped as she placed a hand over her chest.

"Oh, my brave, handsome Chief…!"

"And my beautiful, powerful Chieftainess, returned to me at last, after… two days!"

"And what long two days they were!" she continued, before finally sprinting down the ramp in a hurry.

Zuko stepped back instinctively, still surprised and amused by the playful demeanor of the Water Tribe couple: Kya raced as fast as she could, leaping into Hakoda's arms, and he spun her in circles, hoisting her up as he laughed in blissful delight.

"Ah, I do want to joke around, but it's true that I did miss you too much," Hakoda admitted, between laughter, burying his face in Kya's shoulder. She laughed too, her arms wrapped around Hakoda's neck.

"Well, now I'm back and you don't have to miss me, dear. Finally, this wild, mad ordeal is over," she declared, with a bright smile. Hakoda pulled back, finally setting her down, beaming just as proudly at her. "And…?"

"And I'm pretty sure he fell in love with her at first sight," Hakoda answered, at which Kya snorted and laughed harder yet.

"Oh, unbelievable!" she pressed her face to Hakoda's chest, chuckling powerfully as he laughed with her. "I was ready to defend that boy from his father's wicked schemes, I was…! But I guess there's no need for it now, is there?"

"Fortunately, it seems so," Hakoda answered.

The sounds of new, certain footsteps upon the ramp caused Hakoda and Kya to step back, instinctively: Kya's traveling companion stepped down the ramp too, and this time Zuko moved closer, grinning at his mother.

"Mother…" Zuko was delighted to find that, while she seemed exhausted, Ursa still had the strength to offer him a smile of her own as she embraced her son gently.

"Ah, there you are, Zuko. Thank you for receiving us," she said, squeezing him tightly before pulling away. "And thank you as well, Chief Hakoda. Though I do wonder if I should thank you at all… Kya has implied all of this may have been your doing?"

"U-uh, well… eh, maybe so," Hakoda acknowledged, with an awkward grin. He kept one arm around Kya's waist, though he was inevitably nervous under Ursa's scrutiny: handling Ozai was one thing, but Ursa somehow had an even more regal atmosphere to herself than her husband did, despite he was the one born to royal blood.

"Your doing?" Zuko repeated, puzzled, as he pulled out of his mother's embrace to stare at Hakoda. "I thought… didn't they run away? Did you send them away together?"

"Oh, not quite. I directed them, you could say, set the stage so that they'd find allies in each other, realize how much common ground they might have, all that," Hakoda explained, with a shrug. "Then things did get slightly out of hand, true… but I'm fairly certain they're getting along better than anticipated by now."

"Well, it's good news if your son fell for my daughter on first sight, if true," Ursa said, evidencing she'd been able to hear their conversation even when she had been aboard the ship, still. "But do you have any idea if my daughter feels the same way?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure she likes him more than she wanted to," Zuko blurted out, surprising Ursa. "He hugged her when they disembarked, right in front of me, and yeah, maybe she was self-conscious about it, but she didn't seem uncomfortable. They joked around kind of like… like you two did, just now."

Hakoda and Kya exchanged a cheerful, complicit grin when Zuko gestured at them. If the young couple resembled them at all, there was no doubt to be had that their future would be full of happiness, perhaps beyond what either of the two future spouses could imagine.

"Are you certain of this, then? Isn't it some sort of second ploy to escape from their responsibilities and the arrangement of their marriage?" Ursa asked, with a weary sigh. "I know I may sound paranoid, but when it comes to Azula… I just can't ever let my guard down. She outsmarts me even if I don't let it down at all… it's worse yet if I take things for granted."

"Uh, well… I suppose you'll see for yourself just how well-matched they are, once we get a move on," Hakoda suggested, with a shy smile. Telling Ursa that her daughter had spent two nights with his son, and that Ozai already had strong suspicions regarding what had happened between them, wouldn't be a good idea. Perhaps it would be best for Ursa to learn the truth after she saw the surprisingly strong bond between their respective children… that is, if she learned of it at all.

"Ah, you're right, of course," Ursa said, nodding positively: another regal carriage awaited them, and Zuko guided his mother towards it gently. "We shall not waste any more time. We must go to the Palace, at once. Though, Chief Hakoda, if you could catch us up regarding how you found them, I would certainly appreciate it."

"Oh… sure," Hakoda grinned, though the expression on his face soured once Ursa and Zuko took off down the pier, leaving him behind with an amused Kya.

"You're keeping something to yourself, my dear… aren't you?" she asked, with a sing-song voice. He grimaced.

"Well, let's just say… if anything, Princess Ursa might just be cross upon discovering her daughter likes our son a little too much, if anything?" Hakoda said. Kya raised her eyebrows.

"He's not the only one infatuated, then?" she asked, amused.

"Ozai probably has a massive migraine after catching them kissing far more times than his heart was prepared to witness," Hakoda admitted, and Kya giggled as she covered her mouth with a hand. "Like I said… they like each other. Maybe more than I expected them to. I thought it would take them some time to warm up to one another, but… damn. At this point it seems this wedding will be a guaranteed success."

"I certainly hope so," Kya smiled, taking Hakoda's arm as he led her down the pier, to the carriage Ursa was already climbing onto. "With any luck, we have already seen the most chaotic moments leading up to this wedding, and we'll have nothing but smooth sailing in the days ahead…"

Hakoda nodded in agreement, pressing a quick kiss to Kya's head. Yes, he wanted to believe she was right… though now, when the sun was setting, the streets would be a pandemonium all on their own, even if the kids behaved themselves. Had Crown Prince Lu Ten and Bato even made it through the thickening crowds, upon heading to the Palace shortly before they did…?

"Wow, I can barely believe we made it past the gates," Lu Ten laughed, casting a glance at the Palace walls once he and the Water Tribe Chief's advisor climbed off their carriage. "I had no idea people were this wild over royal weddings…"

"I suppose you must have been far too busy with preparations for your own to see the celebrations?" Bato asked. Lu Ten shrugged, turning towards him.

"More like sulking in my room because I didn't want to do it?" he answered, with a weak grin. "Ah, well, that's not important anyway. I'll go check on Azula, hopefully she's already come to terms with having to marry your Prince… though, knowing her, she might just be furious that she couldn't outrun her father."

"I suspect Prince Sokka may feel similarly… but as much as that may worry me, I'll be retiring to my own rooms for now," Bato sighed. Lu Ten offered him a sympathetic smile.

"You're a very skilled sailor, if I'm allowed to say so," he said. "Thank you for your hard work at captaining our ship, even if it turned out the trip was for nothing, after all…"

"Thank you for accompanying me," Bato said, smiling reassuringly. "I'll see you by dinner, I expect."

Lu Ten nodded, and Bato walked away. The Crown Prince glanced at the wild crowds outside the Palace walls anew, a slow smile spreading over his face as he listened to the music that drifted through the air, at the scent of fried food and spices, the laughter and cheering voices… perhaps that these occasions brought such joy to their people should be a silver lining to be found in the unpleasantness of being forced to marry someone you didn't love, or someone you didn't know at all.

"If only we were allowed to have fun with them, though, the silver lining would be all the better," he reasoned, pouting a little as he marched into the Palace. "Bet Dad would agree with me…"

Fire Lord Iroh faced an uphill battle in his tenure at the head of the Fire Nation: while he had to implement change, he couldn't do so as freely and easily as he would have liked. The end of the war had been chaotic for their people, and even now, Fire Lord Iroh struggled, at times, with setting apart right and wrong upon choosing what course to follow. A very careful, delicate balance had to be kept in order to maintain peace between all nations, and within the Fire Nation itself… and so, Lu Ten had seldom asked him to subvert expectations, or to fight back against tradition, even in small and simple ways. Doing so could indeed break that balance… so it would be up to Lu Ten to take advantage of his father's hard work, one day, to build a stronger balance while letting go of countless outdated precepts, such as marriage arrangement, that might just do more harm than good, in the long run.

He hoped that wouldn't be the case this time, considering the marriage in question symbolized a step forward in the direction of peace and growth… even if it came at the cost of his cousin's happiness. He wasn't sure he could condone the stomping of Azula's will, even if he feared he had no choice but to accept it, in the end…

He breathed out slowly upon reaching his cousin's room: he knocked gently before calling for her.

"Azula? It's me, I'm back now," he said, biting his lip. "I know you're bound to be really upset about how things turned out, but… if you want to talk, I'm here. Believe me, I know how you must be feeling…"

"Ah! Prince Lu Ten?"

A voice he'd only grown acquainted with only recently cut across his words. Lu Ten turned quickly to find Princess Katara was approaching him down the corridor, her blue eyes glinting with hope. He raised an eyebrow at the unexpected expression on the young woman's face.

"Is everything alright?" he asked. Katara slowed down upon reaching him, breathing heavily after having raced across the Palace corridors in a hurry.

"She's… she's there, right?" she asked him, with a weak smile. "Princess Azula, I mean. She's in her room, right?"

"Uh… I suppose?" Lu Ten said, frowning as he glanced at the door again. "I was talking to her, but… she didn't answer, actually."

"She… didn't?" Katara repeated, and her hopefulness suddenly shifted into dread. Lu Ten grimaced.

"Is your brother missing again, by any chance?" he asked, an awkward smile on his face. Katara's own, joyful grin had faded into a frown instead… and then a snarl.

"Those… those two! Ugh! I don't understand anything! I thought they were getting along! Was it all an act?! I…! I don't get it. Oh, I don't get it, and if Prince Ozai finds out they ran away again…!"

"Okay, okay, just a moment now… maybe she's just napping! Maybe Prince Sokka is just eating in the kitchens…!"

"I checked there first. Nothing."

"Huh. Damn. Okay, well, I'll check my cousin's room first, anyhow," Lu Ten smiled awkwardly.

He'd never open the door without permission, under any other circumstances… but if Azula was in trouble again, it wouldn't be good news for anyone. So, he turned the doorknob, pushed the door inside, and called her anew…

"Azula? You in there, little dragon?" he asked, his voice high-pitched in his nervousness…

He spoke to nothingness, however. In a matter of instants, it was plain and clear that the room was deserted.

"Oh, shit," he gave up quickly, rushing inside the room as Katara vociferated all sorts of curses in the corridor.

He checked the bathroom, the adjacent dining room, the closet… and he found nothing. She was nowhere around: his cousin, clever and devious, had escaped from her wedding, yet again.

"Okay… okay. Let's take it easy, alright…?" Lu Ten told Katara, biting his lip. "We'll go find them. It won't be easy, especially today… the people are a little enthusiastic about their celebrations. But we'll track them down before my uncle wakes up again, alright?"

"I'm going to be sick" Katara grimaced, shaking her head before nodding quickly in Lu Ten's direction "Yes, please. The sooner we track them down, the better. Ugh, why does he have to be such an idiot…?!"

Lu Ten smiled awkwardly, guessing this wouldn't be the best way to bond with the girl who would likely become his in-law within the next week. Yet the situation was urgent and complicated, and… well, maybe there was a part of him that wanted Azula to get away with it, to run away again now that her father had neglected to keep an eye on her. Maybe letting her do this wouldn't be that terrible, all around…

Maybe he could even help her with her grand escape, if he took Katara on a likely goose chase that would yield next to no results, if it yielded any at all.

"She must have taken advantage of how busy the streets are right now, actually," Lu Ten reasoned. "They both must have thought about that. It won't make it easy to find them… but I think it's our best bet, Princess Katara."

"Then lead the way. If we track them down quickly, we can put this mess to rest and make sure they DON'T do anything stupid ever again," Katara huffed. Lu Ten smiled and nodded.

"Alright, then! Follow me!"

The older prince guided his new acquaintance through the Palace's corridors skillfully: Katara still cursed under her breath as they ran, but Lu Ten's eyes gleamed with hope. Surely his cousin had a much bigger, better plan in mind than anything he could anticipate…

The colorful sights across the city took the two young adults by surprise as they entered the main streets of the Capital: Azula had cleverly devised a perfect route through which they escaped the Palace, avoiding all detection so far. Hand-in-hand with Sokka, the pair had marched casually through the streets, clad in servant uniforms at first – then, Azula had guided Sokka into a nearby clothing store, and they had changed into less suspicious attire before their date began properly.

"There's so many people, damn…" Sokka laughed, glancing around himself in amazement: it was dusk already, and the bright lanterns only seemed to enhance the beauty of the scenery before them.

"Too many, maybe," Azula said, inching closer to Sokka so she could avoid a pair of boys, rushing around, playing at chasing each other and disregarding the people they'd bump into in the thick crowd.

"If you really think so, the Water Tribe should sit well with you. It's definitely not this crowded," Sokka said. Azula smiled fondly at his words.

"Sounds about right for me, then," she whispered. Much like a lot of things about the Water Tribe seemed just about right for her… especially the man whose hand she held, still.

"Do you want to do anything in particular, or should we just look around?" Sokka asked. "I figure you'd know what the best sorts of games would be, or the best foods…"

"Well, hypothetically, I should, but… as you may be able to imagine, princesses aren't exactly allowed to partake in the fun of commoners," Azula said, with a dry grin. Sokka scoffed.

"For real? That's nonsense. What's the point of being a royal if you can't have fun whenever you want to?" he huffed. "I mean, I've been away from home for long periods, true… but I remember playing with all the kids of my tribe without caring if they were royal or commoners. Would've meant I would be stuck with my sister alone, otherwise… and that would have been a mess, for sure. She already lacks patience to deal with me on any given day, worse yet if I happened to be the only person our age she could meet…"

"Heh, well, guess that explains to you why Zuko and I don't get along so well," Azula smiled a little. "Though… I do get along with cousin Lu Ten. The Crown Prince, I mean…"

"I've only seen him a few times," Sokka said, intrigued: the Crown Prince was the direct heir to his father, much as Sokka was the direct heir of Hakoda. If Azula got along with him, Sokka suspected his own opinion of the older prince would be favorable too. "Hmm, come to think of it, you and I get along, too. Looks like you'll always have good relationships with heirs to thrones…"

"Huh," Azula scoffed, looking at him skeptically. "That makes me sound like some sort of gold-digger, purposefully building bonds between myself and those with the most power…"

"What? Hey, now, I didn't mean it like that!" Sokka flinched. "I mean, if you were a gold-digger, you'd definitely be better off staying here! Me and my family, sure, we are royals, but I bet you guys have at least twice as much money as we do…"

"That so? Then are you the gold-digger, for marrying me?" Azula asked, with a growing smirk. Sokka's jaw dropped.

"Did you just take offense only to… to turn that offense around right back at me?" Sokka asked, eyes wide "Why, you… you clever, devious lady, Princess Azula…"

"You had your perfect chance to make fun of me for being a gold-digger too, not my fault you didn't take it," Azula chuckled, her previous, feigned outrage well and truly gone by now. Sokka smirked slightly, bumping her hip with his own.

"I see how it is, then. Next time I see a chance to make fun of you, I'm taking it. You've been warned," he said. Azula snickered.

"Good. Now we're on the same page, for sure," she smiled, squeezing his hand and dropping her head gently on his shoulder.

It wouldn't be easy to poke fun of the young woman by his side, Sokka reasoned, for his heart raced whenever she came any closer to him, and he wanted to do nothing but hold her, right then and there… but they were supposed to be on a date. They would have chances on top of chances to cuddle and hold each other in the future, if he was lucky… for now, they were meant to enjoy this festival properly. Thus, he did his best to focus on their packed surroundings… until his attention was caught, not by anything within sight, but by the odor of a delicious, meat-based dish he couldn't pinpoint immediately.

"Wow, that smells amazing…" he said, eyes wide.

"Guess you've been in the Fire Nation for a while, but you haven't had your fill of Fire Nation food yet?" Azula asked. Sokka shook his head rapidly.

"You guys have amazing stuff here. I'm going to make my dad import lots of Fire Nation food once we go back home, I vow it," Sokka declared, and Azula laughed at his very agreeable decision. "Now, though… can we go find out where that scent's coming from?"

"It might be tricky to narrow it down… but something tells me you wouldn't be opposed to trying out every single food stall in this festival," Azula smiled. Sokka grinned wildly.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked. Azula shrugged.

"Not originally, but if you mean to make it one…" she said, smirking. Sokka snickered, and he ferried Azula towards the nearest food stall, at once.

She had brought plenty of money for their escapade, perhaps more than necessary, yet now Sokka was determined to taste every possible kind of traditional Fire Nation food in existence, and she would be happy to fulfill his wishes. They saw as much of the festival as they could, trying out each dish, enjoying the various, intense flavors that left Sokka dazed more often than not. It seemed to him that the Fire Nation cuisine was devoid of all understanding of moderation, always seeking to draw out the very best out of each dish, as well as each drink they tried out. They wandered across more than just food stalls: they watched a few games, participated in others, laughed at the results, and carried on basking in the best the Fire Nation could offer in that festival. Sokka's smile warmed as he held Azula against his chest while they watched a firebending display together, enjoying the show as well as the accompanying music, a fast-paced rhythmic tune that played on par with the illusionist's work.

"Guess you're going to miss all this, huh?" he asked, softly. Azula snorted, glancing at him with amusement.

"I'd miss it all the more if I'd actually experienced it more often than I actually have. It's the first time I've seen all this, like I already told you…"

"I know, I just thought… well, it is your people," he said, softly. Azula hummed, closing her eyes as she let her head rest gently against his shoulder. "And this is the only world you know."

"It is… but I think I'd like to know more about what extends beyond this archipelago," Azula admitted: his arms held her from behind, and she clung to his embrace blissfully. "Might be I will miss it more than I imagine, but for now… for now I'm willing to broaden my horizons. Ready for you to broaden them for me, even."

"You sure?" Sokka asked with a playful smile. Azula smiled back, pecking his lips quickly.

"No idea why you're even asking, when you already have done exactly that," she whispered: his warm smile sent the most delightfully fuzzy sensations through her own system too.

To think that now she wanted this wedding to be finalized solely so she could get to know Sokka properly, thoroughly, taking her time just as he took his to understand each other perfectly… how things had taken such a turn so quickly, she had no idea, but Azula certainly thanked her luck profusely upon finding her future husband would prove to be an ideal match for her, just when she had dreaded the exact opposite thing…

"And now, for my next trick, I need a volunteer from the audience!"

The voice of the firebending illusionist broke the tender moment shared by the young couple. Both Azula and Sokka glanced at the man with sharp features and long dark hair: he scoured the audience with his gaze, ignoring most the people who jumped and cheered, raising their hands as high as they could in hopes of catching his attention.

"Is he really that good a firebender?" Sokka asked, amused. "I can't say I know a lot of firebenders, myself… though I guess I do now that I'm going to be part of your family, huh?"

"You do. You're holding one now, as you may have been told," Azula teased him. Sokka grinned brightly. "This is entertainment, though. Firebending in this sort of situation is safe, perhaps even too tame and simple, I'd say…"

"You'd do much better, then?" Sokka asked, amused. Azula smirked and shrugged.

"Guess I'll show you one day, it's probably a crime that I haven't given you even the slightest firebending demonstra-…"

"Aha! You there, young lady! Care to join me onstage?"

Sokka tensed up, and Azula turned her head towards the performer once more: indeed, the man's eyes were set on her. She had to hold back the urge to laugh as she responded:

"Oh, I don't think you want me to…"

"Don't be shy! Come on, come on up! You'll be safe and sound, you'll see!"

Sokka grimaced, but Azula no longer contained her amusement. She glanced back at Sokka, smirking slightly.

"Guess I'll give you that firebending demonstration a little earlier than expected, huh?"

"Azula…" he called for her, biting his lip. She smiled fondly at him, patting his chest before climbing onto the stage, among cheers and clapping.

Couldn't anyone recognize her? Was it perhaps so dark already that her features weren't so easily discerned by the audienceonce she climbed onstage? Or was it most these people didn't know what their Princess looked like, to begin with? Sokka was mystified upon pondering as much. He gazed around himself, puzzled, hoping nobody would be able to recognize her indeed… otherwise, word about her presence in the festival might reach the Palace, and then Prince Ozai would have even more reasons to be cross with them. The less attention they garnered, the better… and yet the idea of witnessing Azula's firebending prowess was undeniably appealing. Oh, was he a fool for looking forward to this…?

"This next trick is called 'taming the dragon', and this young lady shall be the captured princess." the man explained, leading Azula to a chair and fastening a fabric around her body, tying her to the backrest. "I've done this thousands of times, all throughout the festivals in the Fire Nation and beyond! So, rest assured, I can handle the heat!"

He roared the last words, and right afterwards, the fire burning in the four tall torches that lined his stage flowed out of their containers, joining together to form, indeed, what appeared to be a wingless, fire-based dragon. It was the performer's best trick, and it caused countless people to watch, amazed and dazed, as the dragon danced elegantly in the air. Even the carriage that currently attempted to find its path to the Palace was privy to the extraordinary sight, and Zuko raised an eyebrow as he watched it intently.

"That looks pretty neat, eh?" Hakoda smiled at him: the woman by Zuko's side, however, wasn't in the mood to be impressed by firebending.

"Goodness, there's far too many people. We won't make any more progress, at this rate!" Ursa exclaimed, frustrated. Kya smiled sadly, reaching out to clasp her friend's hand, across their seats.

"There, there. Maybe we should forsake the carriage and go on foot…"

"On foot?" Ursa repeated, surprised by the rather simple and natural conclusion Kya had reached. The Water Tribe woman shrugged, offering her a casual smile. "Well, that… that could be somewhat troubling. It is a lot of people anyway, so…"

"You needn't worry, Zuko and I can ensure nobody squishes you and Kya," Hakoda smiled.

"Oh… oh, if you're all sure, then I suppose it may be for the best…" Ursa said, glancing at her fellow passengers with uncertainty.

Before she knew it, she had joined the masses in the middle of the road, after night had fallen. The Palace loomed ahead, not that far away at all, and that firebending display stood at a short distance from its gates. They made their way through the thick crowds, hoping to reach the doors… when a speck of blue fire, blazing brightly in the night, caught Ursa's attention.

"What was…?" she blurted out, freezing on the spot, just as Zuko shielded her from the oncoming hordes of people.

"Mother? What is it?" Zuko asked.

He recognized the glacial expression on Ursa's face immediately: something was wrong. And in all likelihood, it had something to do with Azula.

"Zuko…?" she said, raising her hand towards the firebending demonstration. Her son turned around, just as the Water Tribe's chief and his wife stopped beside them. "Am I seeing things… or is that blue fire?"

In the center of that stage, a young woman in casual robes had burned effortlessly through the fabric that had contained her in her chair: now, to the absolute shock of her audience, she had wrestled the dragon out of the firebending illusionist's control, and she twirled it in an incredible, impeccable display of skill that saw even the showman gawking in utter amazement. Enthralled, Sokka's voice was the loudest among the cheers, and he clapped and hooted while watching the elegant, extraordinary motions of his future wife. Her control over firebending was uncanny, and Sokka could only admire her further for it…

After several twirls, after even better developing the dragon's shape and features, Azula finally had her fill: she cast the dragon into the sky with a powerful blast and, when it was overcharged with firebending, the dragon seemed to explode. Confetti rained upon the stage and its public: people cheered even louder now, as she bowed in the most pompous way possible while nodding graciously at the shocked illusionist, as though thanking him for the opportunity he had offered her, without his awareness. The man had fallen to his knees, slack-jawed, and he couldn't say anything at all as Azula climbed down the stage and rushed into Sokka's waiting arms.

"Hell, you didn't tell me your fire was blue! Wow! That was… wow!" he exclaimed, as she laughed with delightful abandon. "Girl, you're incredible!"

"Am I, really?" she laughed, pleased by his positive reaction. He grinned wildly and nodded.

"That was beautiful. You're beautiful," he determined, beaming as he leaned down to kiss her willfully.

Azula relented, wrapping her arms around his neck as she laughed into their kiss: she had always taken pride in her bending, but knowing Sokka had been dazzled by her ability, by the power she could wield… it sent shivers of the best kind down her spine, and she swayed in his arms as the sounds of music nearby instensified. It was a drumming rhythm, one with which she felt an overpowering need to join Sokka in a dance… for he was already starting to shift at its beat. Their kiss only broke so they could surrender to that new, unexpected urge, laughing again as they twirled together underneath a sky dotted with countless stars, as their feet moved rapidly together. Even if the illusionist remained dazzled – as did many people around them, who had only heard occasional rumors of the Princess's uncanny firebending abilities and couldn't quite be sure if this girl was, indeed, the Princess herself –, the music had continued… and some people even joined in on the dancing, thrilled by the invigorating firebending trick they'd witnessed moments ago.

And so, they danced, and laughed, and spun in circles before winding up completely wrapped around each other again: Prince Sokka and Princess Azula, devoted to each other completely, were once again caught in a kiss as impassioned and powerful as the bending Azula had shown moments ago, as the flavors of each meal they'd tasted… as the remarkable spirit of the Fire Nation, which Sokka matched perfectly with no shortage of passion and strength of his own. In that moment, whatever doubts Azula could have felt faded to the background: this was what she wanted. This was the future she would choose, even if she had a thousand choices ahead. This man, his willful affection, his relentless passion for her…

It was probably too soon to think she might love him, but the thought came to mind, all the same.

He was smiling brightly when they parted, dizzy after the excitement over Azula's hijacking of the illusionist's performance and after the long, fulfilling kisses they had exchanged…

Then his smile faded quickly, and the beautiful brown of his skin paled suddenly when his eyes rose above Azula's head.

Even before turning around, Azula's stomach sank at the not-so-agreeable expression on her lover's face. Had her father caught them, by any chance? Had his nap ended so soon, and her display of blue firebending had drawn him to their position easily? Or would it be anything worse, such as Fire Lord Iroh himself, determining she had shamed their family with her behavior, or…?

None of the possibilities that crossed her mind could have prepared her for the sheer panic she felt upon turning around and finding that the most daunting adult figure in her life was the one standing behind her, with a flabbergasted Zuko by her side, as well as Sokka's apparently approving parents, a few steps behind them.

Yet the steel glare of Ursa's eyes bore into her daughter with such power the Princess almost staggered into Sokka's arms. Frozen where they both stood, they dreaded they had just gotten themselves into a worse sort of trouble than the one they'd stirred up when they ran away at first…

The Palace room seemed to be moments away from becoming the perfect setting for a monumental catastrophe: the arguing voices flinging responsibility left and right –predominantly pinning it on both the frequently escaping prince and princess – could probably be heard even past the walls of the Palace, where the festival continued to rage and increase in excitement and intensity. How Azula wished she could be there now, rather than here… Sokka's hand slipped into hers, and she watched the gesture with hopelessness as she held her head up with her other hand.

They sat together on one couch, silently awaiting judgment as everyone discussed the happenings with changing spirits so far. Lu Ten and Katara had returned to the Palace just when things had seemed to be about to calm down, and then their voices had joined the others, too.

Yet what worried Azula the most was Ursa's uncharacteristic silence. Ozai couldn't seem to stop blaming Hakoda, at which Kya frequently intervened to scold Ozai promptly, and Lu Ten and Katara were more and more confused at every turn. Zuko attempted to explain and, from his words, Azula managed to gleam that her earlier suspicions had been accurate: their parents had engineered things to give her and Sokka a chance to escape, initially… or, rather, Hakoda had, with Kya and Ozai's knowledge. Ursa had been kept out of it, and it seemed the only thing that could get Ozai to stop growling at Hakoda was realizing his wife would surely turn her rage on him for neglecting to explain the situation to her, despite having known what was going on all along.

"So… okay. They ran away together, and just now they weren't running away but just… having fun?" Lu Ten tried to recap, glancing at the two culprits with uncertainty. "And you two don't hate each other after all and aren't against getting married, in the end?"

"Well… no. Not anymore, we're not…" Sokka mumbled quietly, speaking for the first time in what felt like hours.

"Oh, please… and now you'll hold hands and act all civil and proper, you two?" Ozai scoffed, his eyebrow twitching persistently. "I already had warned you: you could do whatever you pleased after this wedding had been finished and your choices were no longer a potential danger for either of our nations! And yet you still acted out, like fools, and ran amok in that festival when you said you would stay put…!"

"If it's any help, we did intend to go back to the Palace afterwards, but… come on. What's the point of them holding that sort of big fun festival if the very people they're honoring won't even get to be part of it?" Sokka blurted out, unthinking. He only regretted the words when Ozai's twitching appeared to worsen, and yet…

"Hey, now. He has the right idea, actually," Lu Ten said, with an agreeable nod: Ozai shot him a disbelieving glare. "What? I thought so too, you know? If I'd had a chance to go out and have fun the way our people did, maybe my wedding wouldn't have felt like such a drag. If these two had the guts to do it when I didn't, well, all the more power to them, I say."

"All the more power? Really? As it is, I'd sooner say they should be stripped of all power altogether after these sorts of stunts," Ozai scowled. "Hakoda should pass over his son and make his daughter his heir…"

"Well, great, because that's what you wanted to do with yours and make Azula the heir, meaning, you'd be stuck with Azula and Sokka here while I…!" Hakoda pointed out, with a vicious smirk that garnered Ozai's horrified fury once again.

"That's not what I…! Hakoda!"

"You wanted to WHAT?!" Zuko exclaimed, eyes wide: Ozai winced and eyed his son warily. "Really, then? You were just going to pass me over…why, exactly?"

"I wasn't going to…! I never said I'd…! Hakoda, I'm going to murder you!"

"The thousandth time you say those words and it hasn't happened once. Your track record of believability sure leaves much to be desired, Prince Ozai…" Hakoda said, playfully, as Ozai raised a fist, coated with fire he couldn't seem to suppress…

"Ozai."

The whole room fell silent, immediately, when Ursa's voice rang in it.

She sat opposite to Azula and Sokka, though at a fair distance from the two. Everyone else remained on their feet, though Kya stood behind Ursa, a placating hand on the Princess Consort's shoulder. The thunderous rage in her eyes earlier had seemed to recede, somehow… and yet Azula only found that even more terrifying than before, just as Ozai did.

"Ursa, I know I failed you, I should have done better," Ozai said, gritting his teeth as he bowed his head in her direction. "From this point on, I'll ensure the two of them are watched, day in and day out, until the wedding ceremo-…"

"No need for that. We are all adults here," Ursa said, so coldly Ozai felt as though he'd frozen over under her dismissive words. "As far as I can tell, all your arguing and bickering will get us nowhere."

"I… I'm sorry," Ozai said, bowing his head even lower yet.

Ursa held complete control of the atmosphere in the room right now, and it seemed she had chosen to make it as oppressive as possible. She scrutinized both Azula and Sokka intently, but where the soon-to-be-married couple felt the urge to cower from her glare at first, they soon responded to it with earnest stares, instead.

"I suppose it is my turn to try and reason with this situation," Ursa said, crossing her legs elegantly. "You… ran off, upon finding a golden opportunity to do so. Upon escaping, you bumped into each other right when the final carriage, or what you believed was the final one, arrived at the carriage stop. You traveled together to the port, and in the process, you forged an alliance to help each other run away… while unaware of each other's identities?"

"We… had our suspicions, since our situation was so similar," Sokka admitted, and Azula nodded. "But we pretended to be different people anyway, yes."

"Then, you stowed away on a ship, without knowing where it would take you? And by sheer chance, it wound up in Ember Island?"

"They stopped a few times before reaching Ember Island, but that was where it docked when the sailors found us," Azula confirmed.

"And so, the two of you were later found in our family's villa in Ember Island on the second morning since your escape, by Chief Hakoda and my own husband…" Ursa said, with a dry smile. "By then, you had bonded so strongly across two days as to change your mind about your upcoming nuptials and no longer wished to run away… and when you seemed to have fled the Palace once more, it was only for the sake of enjoying yourselves in the commoners' festival?"

The two of them nodded again. Ursa breathed deeply and released the air in a very slow manner. While that form of breathing suggested she was relaxing, Azula knew better than to assume as much blindly… as did everyone in the room, it seemed. Even Zuko, ever in Ursa's good graces, seemed nervous of his mother's reaction next…

"Just to clarify, then… you two no longer have any objections to this marriage?" Ursa asked. Sokka swallowed hard and shook his head.

"After getting to know Azula… I don't think I could ever object to it again," he said. "Had you guys just brought us together without any plans to arrange us in marriage, I probably would have fallen for her on first sight anyway and whisked her away to elope with me, if she wanted me too…"

"And I would have wanted you to," Azula said, squeezing his hand gently. Sokka smiled fondly at her as Azula turned to her mother, her heart drumming in her chest. "I… I know I've said things. I know I protested, and I found it unfair that you wanted me to marry someone I barely knew… I still think I deserved the chance to choose, as did he. But even if we had no idea Chief Hakoda had set things up for us to escape as we did… even then, we did choose each other, in our own way, when we thought we were escaping together to freedom. It's still, I guess, not the best way to go about this… the same result could have been achieved, like Sokka said, without arranging our marriage at all, as far as I can tell. But even if I'd have liked to have known Sokka better, and for longer than I have so far, I… I accept your work to arrange our marriage now. And… I apologize, too, for the trouble we caused. If it's any good saying as much anymore…"

"You… apologize?" Ursa repeated. Azula's eyebrow twitched, much like her father's did. "Now that's new… here I thought you were proud of your choices. Of having escaped, since it meant rebellion against a system you don't believe in, of having determined this young man is worthy of you by your own standards, rather than by abiding by what's expected of you…"

"I… I'm not sorry for any of that," Azula huffed. "But I am sorry for causing that much trouble anyway. Granted, I did want to cause trouble, in a vindictive sort of way, when I first ran away, but… that wasn't our intent today. We really meant to go back to the Palace before anyone important realized we'd escaped…"

"Anyone important, meaning… not me?" Katara asked, with a dry grin. Azula grimaced.

"Well, I did hope, if you or Lu Ten or even Zuko realized we were gone, you'd have tried to find us without alerting anyone else…" Azula pointed out, at which Sokka chimed in.

"Which is exactly what you did, so she wasn't wrong to expect that," Sokka raised his head, as good as proud of Azula. His pride seemed to freeze once Ursa raised an eyebrow judgmentally in his direction. "W-well, for the record… I'm sorry we caused trouble this time, too. But, uh, we'll… try to behave ourselves. From this point onwards."

"You won't try: you'll succeed," Ozai growled, glaring at Sokka. "No more reckless escapades of any nature. Both of you will be kept under watch for the next few days until…"

"Oh, please. I already said you don't need to exaggerate like this, Ozai, really."

Both Azula and Sokka froze in place when Ursa waved a dismissive hand in Ozai's direction. Again, the woman had effortlessly directed everyone's attention to herself, commanding such authority her regal husband fell silent immediately.

"E… Exaggerate?" Azula repeated, staring at Ursa with unease. "Is this the part where you blow me away by… by deciding I didn't do anything unforgivable, despite I thought this would be the very last straw for you, or are you about to say you have even worse plans in mind than what Father just said…?"

The smile that spread over Ursa's face almost made Azula's heart stop… the laughter that tumbled from her lips seemed poised to do so, just as well. Her mother… laughing? That couldn't be right. That couldn't be happening. Surely, she was moments away from saying she was disowned and disgraced, and this marriage wouldn't be happening at all because Azula was no longer part of the family after her many misdemeanors…

"Oh, you are impossible, child," Ursa chuckled, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "How have you managed to weave a net of mischief so intricate and complicated that, once it comes down to it, it seems you've done nothing wrong at all?"

"I… what?" Azula blinked blankly. Ursa sighed, gazing between the two young adults before her.

"I wanted you to accept this marriage. I believed Hakoda when he said you two might be a good match. I pressed Ozai to accept the arrangement," Ursa recited, raising her eyebrows. "Then, of course, you retaliated and rebelled. And yet now… you're not simply agreeing to marry this young man out of a sense of responsibility and duty, but it seems you actually have developed affection for each other. Perhaps you are much too reckless, but if I really think about it… why should anyone be upset when you're not only doing what we wanted you to do, but doing it out of your own volition and convictions, too?"

"T-then you're… you're not angry?" Azula gasped: her whole world seemed to fall apart and, just so, rebuild itself upon hearing her mother's unusually sensible words. This had to be a joke of some sort, it just had to be…

But Ursa's smile had seldom been so warm in her direction before. She wasn't disappointed, she was… she was pleased with this outcome. Maybe she was proud of her, even.

"Now then, this being said… do make sure to notify the Palace staff if you decide to go gallivanting in the festival again," Ursa said, raising a hand pointedly. "At the very least, take a few guards with you…"

"But…! It's not appropriate for a Princess to partake in that sort of revelry," Ozai interrupted, and Ursa eyed him skeptically. "The festival is for the commoners, she should be…"

"She should be preparing to marry her husband, yes. As far as I can tell, they're simply going about it in a different way than most of us did," Ursa finished, startling Ozai. "Is it untraditional? As were all your actions during the war, as is the very notion of arranging a marriage between a Princess of our lineage and a Prince of a foreign nation. Maybe I'm simply too tired to be up in arms about this anymore, Ozai, dear… but I see no point in arguing or fighting about who's to blame over what, or what's the appropriate way to do anything, when we're finally getting the outcome we were in pursuit of all along."

"Besides… Water Tribe people aren't that uptight about mingling with commoners," Azula chimed in, startling Ozai. "Sokka told me so. Therefore… if I'm to prepare for living my life in the South Pole, perhaps this is a proper way to do so."

"A good point," Kya said, smiling fondly at her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. "And that they keep escaping together can only be a good thing, right? Not to mention they appear to be perfectly happy with each other, too."

"Perfectly…? Ugh," Ozai scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. Ursa rolled her eyes.

"I'm getting the feeling the biggest protestor to this whole scheme is actually you, Ozai. If you didn't want your daughter to marry your best friend's son, you should have refused the match in the first place."

"Wouldn't have mattered much, though. The minute we'd met, even if under other circumstances…" Sokka said, grinning at Azula, who smiled warmly, if bashfully, in his direction.

"I didn't…! I'm not…! Oh, curse you all…" he scoffed, marching to the door in a clear sign of surrender. Ursa raised her eyebrows with a proud smirk, letting her husband march off without making the slightest move to stop him.

"I'll handle him later, never mind your father, Azula," Ursa said. Her daughter eyed her with uncertainty, and Ursa smiled with unusual fondness at her. "Maybe you're right to say we should have gone about it differently, child… but if you are truly happy, then I can take some form of relief in knowing I didn't make a terrible mistake by approving of this engagement, altogether."

"Hell, you're damn lucky all around, Azula," Lu Ten laughed, hands on his hips. "My wife would never want to escape into the city festivals with me, not even if I begged her to. All I can hope for is that we'll learn to live with each other… while you two seem to be pretty damn happy already and you've only known each other for three days, now?"

"We really are lucky, if you think about it that way…" Sokka said, smiling at Azula. She bit her lip and shrugged.

"Guess it's not that bad, letting others have a say upon which path we should follow," she said. "Though, admittedly, if you guys suggest anything that sounds really stupid, we're not doing it."

"Yeah, we're not doing it," Sokka snickered in agreement. Azula smiled in complicity, and Ursa sighed, though she smiled too.

"You may wish to make us regret this match by tormenting the rest of us in whatever ways you may think of but, just so you know…" she said, rising to her feet. "As long as you're both happy, any consequences that might befall the rest of us will just have to be dealt with when the time comes."

Her words, and her surprisingly agreeable reactions, had taken Azula by surprise completely. She raised her gaze towards her mother, an unusual burst of gratitude blooming inside her heart…

A noisy sound of stumbling footsteps outside the room revealed that Ozai had just returned, and a most unbecoming scowl graced his face. The reason for it, of course, stepped through the threshold moments later, with a grin so joyful it seemed to glisten just as brightly as the five-pronged crown on his head.

"Then it is done?! There will be a wedding?!" Fire Lord Iroh exclaimed, with a ferocious smile across his face.

"Yes, Fire Lord Iroh. We will have a wedding, as agreed upon by the bride and groom," Ursa said, turning to her own brother-in-law as Iroh cackled, stepping inside the room and making his way towards Sokka.

"Magnificent! Oh, I can't wait for the party…!"

"Of course you can't…" Azula grumbled under her breath, as Iroh shook Sokka's hand most excitedly, causing his arm to wobble awkwardly in the process.

"Have you met all of your in-laws yet, young man?! I'm Iroh, the bride's uncle! Also the Fire Lord, but that's secondary here, isn't it?"

"Right," Sokka smiled awkwardly, as Iroh yanked him to his feet, forcefully.

"And this is my son, Lu Ten! Your, uh, cousin-in-law! Lu Ten, welcome the young man to our family!"

"You're seriously introducing him to a lot of people who have been in this room with him for hours, now?" Azula asked, skeptical, as Iroh huffed in her direction.

"Come on, now, Princess Azula! You should introduce yourself to your own new in-laws, too!"

Azula buried her face in her hand as the Fire Lord's jolly mood shifted the tide of the arguments and agreements alike. Before anyone knew it, the room was alight with laughter, much as the festivals outside had been… and as much as it was quite ridiculous, in Azula's opinion, to get proper introductions at such a late stage, she eventually succumbed to it, and just as her family welcomed Sokka – albeit most begrudgingly, in Ozai's case –, his own welcomed Azula as well. When Kya embraced her warmly, and Ursa did the same with Sokka, the eyes of the two future spouses met again, and they shared a complicit smile: their worlds, their lives, had suddenly grown much larger when they had collided together… and now they were ready to face all the changes, grow together and learn everything they needed to, in order to become the best lifelong partners they could hope to be for each other.

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Call Me When You’re Sober - George Weasley

Title: Call Me When You’re Sober Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, George x Angelina Johnson (kinda, sorta, not really) Warning: mentions of drug use!! Also some mentions of sexual things like sexting/sending nudes and one mention of a boner. I also use the word tits a few times. Summary: George only seems to have the time for Y/N when he’s high, and that’s just not enough for her anymore. (This is also a modern au where they have cell phones and social media bc why not) A/N: this is for an anon that wanted a fic based off of a tiktok POV they saw and funnily enough that POV ended up on my fyp last week so you can find that here if you want. The only part I was inspired by was Angelina being present, but that part was specifically mentioned in the request everything else is purely from my own brain!! This also includes a bit of Angelina Johnson slander but it does not represent my actual views. Angelina slander is not welcome in this house. Feedback is always welcome and requests are open! Tags: @feltondarling​ @pandaxnienke​ @raerae27​

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The first time it happens Y/N answers the phone right away.

“George? What’s wrong?” she asks frantically, already getting out of bed. It’s three am and George never calls even at a decent hour, so she assumes that something has gone wrong and he needs help.

“Hey, Y/N,” George drawls slowly, like his mouth is moving in slow motion.

Y/N pauses in the middle of her bedroom, her hand hovering above her car keys. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” George certainly sounds off, but he doesn’t necessarily sound like he’s in need of her rescuing. When all George does is giggle in response, Y/N groans. “Are you high?”

“High on life!” George responds, prompting Y/N to roll her eyes. She shuffles back over to her bed and climbs back in, snuggling under the covers. “And maybe a little bit of weed,” he adds with a laugh.

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile on her face. George is one of her favorite people in the world, and it’s hard for her to stay mad at him. “A little bit?” she teases. “You sound baked out of your mind.”

George lets out a throaty laugh, and Y/N closes her eyes, making it seem like he’s there in the room with her. They don’t get to see each other often now that they’re both out of school and busy with their lives, and George’s aversion to phone calls means all she has to get her through their periods of time apart are short text messages and stupid memes. Hearing his voice sends shivers down her spine, and if it wasn’t so late she’d be driving to wherever he is to climb into his arms.

“What can I say? Freddie got the good stuff now that we can afford it.” Y/N can hear some rustling, and she figures that he’s laying back onto his bed. “Not like back when we were at Hoggywarts. Remember those days?”

Y/N hums as she lets her mind wander back to their school days. It didn’t happen often, but every once in a while Fred or George would sneak out of the castle down to Hogsmeade to buy off of a guy that works at the Hogshead Inn. They would settle into their dorm along with Lee and after placing some spells on the room and throwing the windows open they’d light up and pass the joint around until nothing was left. The weed was cheap and burned their lungs, but none of them cared. It left them all feeling like they were floating, and they would talk for hours about nothing in particular.

George always got handsy when he was high, and Y/N supposes this is where her feelings for him started. Once the joint burned out George would pull her body close and let his hands roam all over it as he talked with the boys idly. Y/N would run her hands through his hair and scratch at his scalp, her face pressed tightly to his neck. They often ended up falling asleep together wherever they had landed, sometimes it was George’s bed, but it was usually the floor, swaddled in some random blankets and pillows from the common room. Y/N was always the first to wake up, and she’d hug George tightly for one more fleeting moment before sneaking out and back into her own dorm.

“You roll the best joints, Y/N,” George continues when Y/N doesn’t say anything. “Fred is so shit at it. No matter how many times you showed him how to do it.”

“Very sweet of you to say, Georgie,” Y/N laughs. She yawns a moment later, desperately trying to fight off sleep. “Though you were always more fond of smoking from a bowl if I remember correctly.

George yawns too and Y/N can hear him climbing under the covers of his bed. “I am. But smoking joints reminds me of you.”

“George,” Y/N says softly, sitting up in bed. She waits for him to say something, but all she’s met with are his light snores. She rolls her eyes, settling back down into her pillows. “Goodnight, George.” Y/N hangs up her phone and places it on her nightstand before letting memories of George lull her back to sleep.

-

The next time it happens Y/N doesn’t hear her phone the first time. She’s out of town for work, and after a long day she’d collapsed right onto the bed in her hotel room, formal clothes still on and everything. Y/N had ignored her phone the first time, hoping to fall back asleep. But when it started to ring again only seconds after it stopped she picks up her phone and answers the call without bothering to see who it is.

“Hullo?” she answers sleepily, her eyes barely open. She glances at the clock, noting that it’s only 10 pm and figures that it’s one of her coworkers inviting her to go out with them.

“You sound sleepy,” George responds softly, his voice deep and languid. “Did I wake you up?”

Y/N sits up in bed, rubbing some of the sleep from her eyes. “George?”

George laughs. “Who else would it be?”

“Considering the fact that this is literally the second time you’ve ever called me I figured it would be anyone else besides you,” Y/N teases, shrugging out of her suit jacket.

“Hey,” George whines, and Y/N can practically hear the pout on his face. “I called you on your birthday.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Oh, you’re right, my mistake.” She pauses as she walks over to the dresser in the room, starting to take off her jewelry. “How baked are you this time?” she asks playfully.

“What makes you think I’m high?” George laughs.

“For one the sound of your voice,” Y/N explains as she kicks off her heels. “And you only call me when you’re high. Oh, and on my birthday,” she adds when George makes a noise of disapproval.

Y/N hears George shuffle around, and she takes the opportunity to put him on speaker so she can put her phone down and start getting rid of the rest of her clothes. “You can tell by my voice?”

“Mhm,” Y/N hums, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. “It gets deeper and slower.”

“Really?” George asks, sounding surprised. “Does it sound sexy?”

Y/N laughs as she heads over towards her suitcase, taking off her bra as she goes. She starts to dig through the mess, trying to find her pajamas. “Super sexy,” she responds, hoping George is too high to notice how serious she is.

“What are you doing? You sound too far away.”

Y/N chuckles at George’s dramatics as her hands finally land on her sleep shirt. It’s an old t-shirt of George’s that she stole sometime during their last year and never gave back. Whenever Y/N travels for work she brings it with her as a reminder of home. “I’m putting my pajamas on.”

“So, you’re naked right now?” George’s voice is rough, and it sends a shiver right down her spine.

“Practically,” Y/N responds, pulling the shirt over her head. It’s far too large for her so the hem barely brushes the tops of her thighs, but it reminds her of George, and that’s what matters.

George groans, and Y/N can feel her cheeks heating up as she crawls back into bed. “Wish I was there to see.” Y/N can feel butterflies erupt in her stomach and she has to clamp a hand over her mouth to conceal the noise that bubbles out of her throat. “Send me a pic of your tits,” he continues bluntly when Y/N doesn’t say anything.

“George!” Y/N says, the surprise in her tone evident. The butterflies in her stomach are going wild, and Y/N has to remind herself that it’s the weed talking, not George. “I’m not going to do that George.” Although Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to. “Besides I’m already dressed and in bed.”

“What a party pooper,” George grumbles. “Got me all hard for nothing.” Y/N’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest. George has never been this lewd with her in all the times they’ve been high together, and she wonders if it’s because of whatever he smoked or because this is one of the only times they’ve been alone while one of them was baked. “What are you wearing then? A sexy little nighty?”

Y/N has to take a few deep breaths, hardly able to believe what she’s hearing. Part of her wants to tell George to knock it off and hang up on him. But the other part has wanted to hear George talk to her like this since their Hogwarts days and she doesn’t know which part should win.

“One of your old t-shirts, actually,” Y/N responds quietly, giving in to her desires.

George groans, and it takes everything in Y/N’s power not to shove a hand down her panties. “That red one? That I let you borrow and never saw again?”

“You remember that?” Y/N asks softly.

“Of course,” George answers. His voice is slower now and Y/N can tell he’s going to fall asleep any second. Smoking always makes him tired and he was often the target of a few pranks since he would be the first to nod off. “That’s like a guys wet dream. Seeing a girl that’s as pretty and sexy as you are in his clothes.”

Y/N bites her tongue as to not say anything, just listening to George through the phone. His breathing starts to slow down, and within a few seconds Y/N can tell he’s fallen into a deep sleep. She listens to him breathe for a moment, before hanging up and tossing her phone down. She cuddles up in the unfamiliar bed, desperately trying to fall asleep.

-

Every few weeks George’s name pops up on Y/N’s phone usually late at night and he’s always baked out of his mind. Y/N finds it nice the first half dozen times, George’s voice is always calming to her and she basks in the opportunity to get to speak with him. They haven’t seen each other in months, despite the fact that Y/N has tried to catch up with him several times. But he’s always got an excuse ready. At first Y/N understood, the joke shop is his number one priority, but after a while it gets insulting. When George is sober he can barely be bothered to send her a text message but the second he lights up he’s dialing her phone number.

One night when he calls she asks him why he doesn’t just invite her over to smoke. Her flat is only 30 minutes outside of London and he knows that she’d drive to the ends of the earth to see him. But of course he has an excuse. He says that it’s something just for him and Fred, a way to wind down together after a hectic workday. Which makes sense to Y/N, and as much as she wants to push it she doesn’t. If it were any other person she would have given up on their friendship by now. But George isn’t just any average person. He’s the person she cares most about in this world, and Y/N doesn’t want to live without him. So as shitty as it makes her feel to just be someone he calls when he’s too baked to care who he talks to, she puts up with it.

That is until she reaches her breaking point.

-

The last time it happens Y/N doesn’t answer her phone the first time it rings. Or the second time. She’s just gotten home from having a few drinks with friends and the alcohol has made her brave. She puts her phone on vibrate mode and leaves it on her bed as she gets ready to go to sleep. It takes her 20 minutes to get ready and once she’s finally in bed under the covers she picks up her phone to assess the damage.

“What the fuck George?” she whispers to herself, scrolling through the notifications on her phone. She has 15 missed calls from him and a litany of text messages.

Answer ur phone Y/N Y/N I called again Pls Answer me Y R u ignoring me Need to hear your voice Baby Y/N Im gonna call until u pick up Ill keep txtin 2 Baby please Y/N I need to talk to you I miss u Pls

When George’s name and the stupid photo of him Y/N set as his contact picture pop again Y/N sighs and she reluctantly answers. “What?”

“Oh my god finally,” George groans in his usual slow voice. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Because, George. I was busy. I have a life outside of you and your stupid little phone calls.” Her tone is harsh, and George is so quiet for a moment that Y/N has to check to make sure that he hasn’t hung up on her.

“Why are you so angry?” he asks a second later, and Y/N can tell he’s upset. Normally she would just drop the subject, but there’s alcohol thrumming through her veins and she’s tired of keeping it all in.

“Because, George,” Y/N sneers. “You only call me when you’re high. You dodge every attempt I make at seeing you and you barely even text me anymore. I thought we were friends George. But in reality you treat me like dirt. You use me whenever you want and then you cast me aside without another thought until you’re high again.”

“Y/N,” George starts, but he gets distracted when someone in the background starts to giggle wildly.

Y/N’s blood runs cold, immediately recognizing that laugh. “I thought smoking was something for only you and Fred, George?” Y/N asks accusatorily, sadness and hurt starting to mix with her anger. “I can’t believe you. Not only did you lie to me, but you can find the time to hang out with Angelina Johnson and not your best friend?”

“I-I’m here all alone, Y/N. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” George stutters. But before Y/N can say anything, the same voice says something.

“Georgie,” Angelina whines. “You’re too far away, get back over here.”

“Y/N, I can explain,” George starts, but she cuts him off.

“Fuck you, George Weasley.” Y/N spits, before hanging up on him. She turns her phone off and slams it down, before burying her head in her pillow and crying herself to sleep.

-

When Y/N wakes up the next morning her head is pounding and her throat is dry, and it’s not just from the alcohol she drank. George broke her heart last night, and she has the dry tear tracks on her cheeks to prove it. Y/N avoids her phone, deciding she’s not quite ready for whatever is going to pop up when she turns it back on.

She gets ready for the day slowly, thankful that it’s still the weekend. Y/N stands in the shower for nearly an hour, just letting the hot water sting her skin. When she gets out she brushes her hair slowly, just looking at herself in the mirror. She can’t help but be as mad at herself as she is at George. George may have treated her like shit, but Y/N let him. She let herself become so desperate for his attention that she played right into his stupid game. And as much as Y/N hates to admit it, she doesn’t regret it for a second. All she’s ever craved was George’s undivided attention, and finally getting it felt so good, even if George was higher than a kite each time. Seeing his name pop up on her phone gave Y/N a thrill each time, even though she wanted more – deserved more. Y/N has always been there for George and all she wanted was for him to be there for her too.

Y/N picks out her comfiest lounging outfit, forcing herself not to automatically reach for the old shirt of George’s hanging in her closet. She’s been wearing it more often these days, craving the comfort of his embrace but settling for the cloth of his shirt instead. But now the sight of it makes her want to throw up.

She’s been up for nearly two hours when she settles back into bed, a hot cup of tea in her hands. Y/N’s not sure if she’s actually ready to face whatever mess George put them in last night, but sooner is better than later. She places her mug on her bedside table, reaching over to flip the framed photo she has of her and George over so she can’t see their smiling faces. When her phone finally boots up the screen shows just her background for a moment, before a barrage of texts, missed calls and voicemails show up. George has called nearly 100 times, with almost as many voicemails accompanying them and he’s texted over 200 times to boot.

Y/N scrolls through them, surprised to find that the most recent call and voicemail are from Fred. She can’t remember the last time Fred initiated a phone call with her, since he’s just as hard to get on the phone as George. Fred prefers to communicate through snapchats and tweets, so Y/N knows something big has gone on if Fred bothered to pick up his phone and make a call.

“Uh hey, Y/N. It’s me. Fred. But you probably already know that. Or maybe you don’t. Whatever, not important. I know this is probably the last thing you wanna hear since he’s left you like a thousand messages, but will you please call George? Or text him. Hell send him an email. He’s sorry for whatever it is he did. I’m not really sure what, he was crying a lot when he barged into my room and I was zooted as hell. But what matters is he’s sorry and he really wants to talk to you. So call him, please. Do it for me, at least even if you don’t do it for him. Okay anyway. Bye.”

Y/N sighs, running a hand through her hair. As pissed as she is, she hates to hear that George is upset. She chooses to ignore George’s voicemails for now, since they’re probably a mishmash of words and sobs considering how messy Fred said he was. She clicks on her text message app, scrolling through the messages George had sent, stopping every once and a while to read a few.

Y/N please Im srry Its sending me to voicemail Did u turn ur phone off Talk 2 me Pls y/n pls baby baby baby im sorry I need you to talk to me I need to hear ur voice Pls Let me explain I dnt care abt angie Not like how I care abt u Y/N please. Don’t do this I fucked up I knw I fucked up Let me make it right Please I love you, please

The last text message shocks Y/N, and she rereads it over and over again until its image is imprinted in her brain. George has only ever told her he loves her one other time. It was the last time they got high together, the night before he and Fred left to start the joke shop. Fred, George, Lee and her were all fairly baked, and after Fred and Lee left to sneak down to the kitchens for snacks, George had turned to Y/N and pulled her right into his lap. He had grabbed her face with both of his hands and looked deep into her eyes. I love you, you know that right? His tone was firm and when Y/N nodded he used his grip on her face to pull her into a kiss. It was uncoordinated and messy, but she didn’t care. He had mumbled the word ‘good’ when he pulled away and in a blink of an eye he’d drifted off to sleep. Y/N had snuck back into her own bed, figuring it was best to ignore it, since George surely wouldn’t remember it in the morning anyway.

A knock at her door brings Y/N out of her thoughts and she tosses her phone on the bed to go and answer it. She’s been expecting a package, so when Y/N reaches the door she doesn’t bother to check to see who it is, and just throws it open.

“You look like hell,” Y/N says when her eyes land on George. She certainly wasn’t expecting it to be him, but she’s truly not surprised. His text messages had sounded desperate and it’s very like George to just show up at her doorstep when she doesn’t want him to after he refused to come over for months. Y/N looks him over as he fidgets, taking in his disheveled appearance. His eyes are sullen and dull, his hair is sticking out in a million directions and his skin is ever paler than normal.

“Suppose I deserve that,” George responds, his voice raspy. He lets his eyes rake over Y/N, dumbfounded by how beautiful she looks even in her lounge wear. It’s the first time he’s seen her in person in over half a year and even though he’s spent much of his free time staring at her Instagram photos, she still takes his breath away. “You look good though.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and goes to slam the door, but George puts his hand up to stop it. “What do you want, George?”

“Just let me explain,” he pleads. “Just let me explain everything and then if you want I’ll go. I’ll leave and you’ll never have to talk to me or see me again. You can delete me from your life. But I can’t let you go without explaining myself.”

“Fine,” Y/N resolves, stepping aside and opening the door so George can come in. She leads him over to her couch and motions for him to sit down. Y/N resists her urge to sit next to him, instead choosing to stand in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed. “Talk.”

George clears his throat and starts to fiddle with his thumbs. “I like calling you when I’m high because I say whatever comes to my mind. When I’m sober I think too much about what I’m going to say, and I never end up saying what I want. But when I’m high the words just fly out of my mouth without me thinking about the consequences and I like that. Because there’s so many things I want to say to you that I don’t have the balls to say when I’m sober.”

“Like asking me for tit pics?” Y/N asks with a curt laugh.

“Honestly, yes,” he answers, a blush forming on his cheeks. “But it’s more than that. Like telling you I smoke joints even though I despise them, and Fred can’t roll to save his life because it reminds me of you. Or that just the thought of you not wearing any clothes drives me wild. Or that I find you so ungodly beautiful and so damn sexy, Y/N. And that I love you.” George pauses for a moment so he can just watch Y/N. “Because I do love you, Y/N. So much more and in so many different ways than a best friend should.”

Y/N bites her lip to keep herself from sharing the same sentiment as George. Because holy hell does she love him with every fiber of her being, but he’s fucked up and hurt her in more ways than just his inability to admit his feelings. “Then why keep me at arm’s length, George? You avoid all my attempts to see you, you only ever bother talking to me when you’re baked out of your mind and you lie to me. Out of all the people in the world you had to smoke with it had to be her. You know how I feel about Angelina.”

Despite being roommates and pretty similar personality wise, Y/N and Angelina never really got along. They were always competing with each other, for the best grades in their year, for prefect and head girl, and Y/N is ashamed to admit that they’d fought over a boy or two in their early years at Hogwarts. But by far their biggest competition was for George’s attention. George couldn’t care less about girls during his time at Hogwarts, Fred didn’t either but at least he would sleep with some of the girls that threw themselves at him. George on the other hand didn’t seem to care. The only girl he ever bothered to spend meaningful time with was Y/N, and it drove Angelina up the wall. Angelina did everything she could to vie for George’s attention, including spreading a nasty rumor about Y/N during their 5th year. Much to Angelina’s disappointment it failed miserably, and they pretty much ignored each other from that day on.

“The Angelina thing is not my fault,” George insists. “She came into the shop just before we closed, and Fred invited her up and she accepted. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not let her in your room!” Y/N answers as if it’s obvious. “But this isn’t just about Angelina, I don’t want to talk about her. It’s about the fact that you’ve been treating me like shit, George. I’ve been trying so hard to get through to you and you stop me every time.”

“Because being around you and having to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you is too painful,” George admits honestly. “The only time I’m brave enough to be with you the way I want to is when I’m high. Why do you think I was always grabbing your ass after we smoked? Why I always made you cuddle me? Why I kissed you that night?”

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, clearly shocked. George had never mentioned it again and Y/N figured he was too high to remember what he said and did. It had upset her to no end that George returning her feelings was only a side effect of the weed, but she never brought it up to him in fear of ruining their relationship.

George scoffs. “Of course I do. When I woke up the next morning and you weren’t there I figured you didn’t feel the same way. So, I just never mentioned it, and when you didn’t either I figured you thought I was just being a high idiot like always and brushed it off. I never invited you to smoke after that because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you. And kissing you once is easy to explain away but kissing you every time we get high pretty obviously means something more. So, I would call you instead. And I’d lay in my bed high as hell pretending that you were there next to me until I fell asleep with you on the phone.”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Y/N mutters. Before she has a chance to regret her actions, Y/N is throwing herself at George. She straddles his waist and kisses him hard, moaning when his hands land on her bum and give it a squeeze. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” she pants, starting to trail kisses across George’s jaw and down his neck. “But you’re my idiot.”

George chuckles before he grabs Y/N’s face so that he can kiss her again. Their lips move together slowly, and George starts to rub Y/N’s back lightly. “I love you,” he murmurs as their kiss breaks.

“I love you too,” Y/N responds, her head dizzy.

“Does this mean I get tit pics whenever I want?” George asks cheekily, laughing when Y/N slaps his chest.

“Only if you promise to only call me when you’re sober from now on,” Y/N bargains.

George grins at Y/N before leaning in to kiss her briefly. “Deal.”

[comfortwriting]

I Prefer You - F.W

Fred Weasley x Fem reader 

Masterlist , Request Rules , Writing Prompts

About: The reader is best friends with the Weasley twins, whilst studying with them, Cedric Diggory shows up and confesses his love for her. Little does the reader know, Fred is also in love with her. She finds herself having to deal with Fred and Cedric competing for her love and in the end she has to choose one.

Warnings: love triangle, major fluff! 

“I wish he’d stop staring at you” Fred huffed, staring at the popular Hufflepuff student who couldn’t take his eyes off you.

George looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Cedric, turning back around and tapping the book you were reading. 

“He’s been at it since you bloody walked in.” George spoke up, trying his best to not notify the whole library. 

You smirked and stopped focusing on your DADA homework, looking up you caught Cedric’s glance, his pearly white teeth twinkling as he smiled, his grey eyes radiating love towards you. You smiled back and waved at him, looking back down at your work and chuckling.

Fred didn’t like the way you looked at Cedric, in fact he hated it, he hated that Cedric had to be staring at you and not his handful of fangirls that constantly flocked around him everywhere he went. 

“Oh do give over” Fred huffed again, looking at you “you can’t be seriously entertaining that air head.” 

You looked up from your work again and looked at Fred, his facial expression hardened and you could tell that he was in no mood to joke around, you opened your mouth to ask what his problem was but Cedric had already walked over to you, practicing his lines. 

“Y/N, may I have a word?” Cedric asked politely, his soft voice almost putting you in a trance. 

“Whatever you’ve got to say just spit it out, Ced.” Fred interrupted, fidgeting in his chair.

George smirked “Yeah, Ced. What's the big deal?”

Cedric pursed his lips trying not to laugh, he knew the twins were doing this on purpose but he wouldn't allow them to get in the way of what he wanted, even if they had more influence over you than he did.

Cedric looked at Fred and George and nodded “Alright then” he cleared his throat and looked back at you “Y/N, I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend on a date.” 

The four of you went silent for a moment, Fred’s heart rate elevated and he felt like jumping out of his chair and battering Cedric for making a move on his girl - but then Fred realised that he had never told you how he felt, he always assumed the two of you would have a moment but it never happened and it certainly wouldn't now thanks to Cedric. 

George stared at his brother, preparing himself to hold him back if he tried to go for Cedric, and you - you were sat in your chair feeling flattered that someone had asked such a thing, that someone saw something in you for the first time. After all, you were hoping Fred would gain feelings for you like you did for him, but in your mind, Fred wasn’t interested in being anything more than best friends. 

You blushed and nodded “I would love to” you smiled back at Cedric, cracking Fred’s heart.

Cedric chuckled and licked his lips, nodding his head, looking incredibly proud with himself “I’ll see you Saturday” he replied, walking away. 

“And in class!” you reminded him, shaking your head and closing your book. 

Five days, you had five days until your big date with Cedric and funnily enough, Fred was more nervous than you were. 

“Are you actually going with him?” Fred asked, stabbing his slice of chicken breast with his fork. 

You could tell Fred was irritated, annoyed, but you couldn’t understand why. You thought after all the other people you had brought up he would finally approve of the student who went ahead and made a move on you. 

You looked at Fred and swallowed a mouthful of pumpkin juice, you placed your Goblet back down on the table. “I said yes didn’t I? Why are you so bothered about it, Fred?” 

George nudged Fred and whispered in his ear “just tell her, Freddie.”

You looked at Fred and started to slice your own chicken breast into strips “tell me what?” you shoved a strip into your mouth and started to chew.

Fred sighed and gave in, looking at George before focusing on you. “I fancy you alright, I’ve been after you since third year and as soon as that plonker shows up you’re all giggly.”

You inhaled a few dry strings of skin from the chicken breast, causing you to choke, you grabbed your goblet and downed some more juice, washing down the bits that got stuck in your throat. 

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you hissed at Fred “I fancy you too!” 

You didn’t mean to let that last part slip but it was already too late. 

Fred’s face turned into a massive grin, he put down his knife and fork “do you really?” 

You nodded your head and continued to eat your breakfast. 

“Brilliant, cancel your date with Cedric and we’ll go instead.” Fred looked over at the Hufflepuff table and laughed at Cedric gently buttering his toast.

You shook your head and grinned back at Fred, your plate almost empty. “No” you replied “if you want me you’ve got to prove it.” 

From Monday onwards Fred and Cedric went head to head with one another, constantly trying to one up each other and increasing how much love they were showering over you. Cedric didn’t give up all because Fred entered the picture and Fred didn’t give up as Saturday got closer.

Four Days

Walking over to you bed your jaw dropped, bouquet's of flowers littered your quilt covers and rested against your pillows, you were surrounded by sunflowers and  yellow roses, all of which were from Cedric - the yellow notes representing his house. 

As much as you loved the sentiment, flowers weren't really your thing - sure they were gorgeous and they brought you light when you looked at them but it didn’t make you double over in laughter like Fred did and everything he did for you. Instead of flowers and detailed love letters, Fred didn’t gift you anything except his biggest and most comfy jumper that his mother knitted, he also gave you his time and effort. 

You walked into the great hall wearing Fred’s jumper, his ego boosting and Cedric’s crumbling. 

“You look stunning in my clothes” Fred smirked, taking a bite out of his toast.

You blushed and sat next to him “I want more than just your jumper.”

Three Days

As much as Cedric wanted to, he didn’t have as much time as Fred - well he did - but he spent that time studying, going to extra classes and entertaining his fanbase. The only time you got with Cedric was in Herbology, he tried getting to know you better, asking you about your interests but he couldn’t make you laugh, he didn’t understand your humour. 

“I don’t understand” Cedric replied “is that supposed to be funny?”

You sighed and shook your head “it doesn’t matter, don’t sweat it Ced.”

Two Days

You and Fred bunked a few classes and went off to Hogsmeade, going crazy in Honey Dukes and even cuddling up together and sharing a Butterbeer to keep yourselves warm. The two of you stayed up all night, winding up Mr Filch and Mrs Norris, you even went into Snape’s personal stores and stole the ingredients to make a Poly Juice potion, transforming yourselves into Draco and Pansy to get them into more trouble. 

“On second thoughts, I don’t think you’re that pretty.” Fred grimaced at you.

You stared at him and walked over to him, pulling out one of his platinum blonde hairs “could say the same thing about you” you joked, both of you waiting for the potion to wear off.

One Day

“You looking forward to tomorrow then?” Fred smirked, seeing you groan in pain.

You shook your head “it’s going to be unbearable, he’s can’t make me laugh, he’s too soft, can’t take joke. I feel like he gets scared and takes things a bit too literally.”

Fred grinned and licked his lips “well I make you laugh all the time, wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve wet yourself because of me.” 

Rolling your eyes you looked over at the Hufflepuff table again, Cedric talking with his fanbase. 

“He’s got more than enough options, the majority of them girls are better suited for him than me.” 

You turned your focus back to your food and took a bite out of your sandwich.

“Aright then, if you’ve got it all figured out go and tell him.” Fred encouraged you, his ego shinning through, George just wanting the two of you to shut up and be together already. 

You knew Fred was testing you again and you didn’t want to back down, after Cedric’s offer, you and Fred were finally heading where you always wanted, you felt yourself itching for him, hungry for him, you wanted him - the more you wanted him, the less you wanted Cedric, the less the popular Hufflepuff lad stood out to you. 

“Okay then, watch me.” 

Standing up, you left your table and walked over to Cedric, his fangirls instantly looking appalled to be in your presence. You tapped him on the shoulder, Cedric turned around and smiled searching your face. 

“Y/N” his face fell when he noticed you were still wearing Fred’s jumper.

“Ced - Cedric, I’m sorry but I’ve changed my mind about tomorrow.”

The infatuated girls around him started to smile, suddenly enjoying you being around. Cedric looked upset but then again you couldn’t read into him like you could Fred, you realised that you barely knew Cedric at all - he was sending love letters and flowers to a girl he didn’t know at all.

“She’s taking her bloody time isn’t she?” George spoke up watching you.

“Shut up” Fred shushed him “wait for it”

You smiled slightly and looked at Cho for a moment who was sitting with her friends “you should ask Cho, I know she sees something in you.”

“She’s done it” Fred smirked “she’s actually done it.”

Saturday

“I still can’t believe you nearly ended up with that toss-pot.” Fred laughed, grabbing some black pepper imps. 

You grabbed some Chocolate Frogs “it’s a good job that I prefer you” holding his free hand the two of you shared a moment.

The overcrowded sweet shop suddenly felt empty, as if it were only you and Fred inside. Getting on your tiptoes and leaned in and Fred accepted, the two of you sharing the first kiss of many. 

Pulling away from the kiss, Fred grinned and licked his lips, bringing his hand up to your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I feel like such an idiot for not telling you sooner” Fred shook his head “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything either”

“I was sort of just waiting for it to happen, I suppose we’ve got Cedric to thank for that.”

Taglist: @reeophidian , @amourtentiaa

[wasabito]

had so much fun writing for my baby boy tendou, so here’s my entry for the hqhq sfw server collab! be sure to check out the rest on the masterlist found here! enjoy ✨

words: 3.0k

prompt: “you woke me up at 3am for this?”

synopsis: your neighbor is ridiculous, kind of annoying and little bit on the weird side, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

You had to be the biggest idiot on the planet—an obvious exaggeration, yes, but you were still inclined to believe it was true. 

How else could you explain the feeling of being so utterly fed up with one’s actions like this? Were there enough words in the dictionary to describe just how exhausted you were by your own antics, more specifically, your forgetfulness since that’s what had landed you in a world of pain and embarrassment?

The answer was no.

You sat with your back pressed against your front door, head in your hands and chin tucked between your raised knees and chest. At your side was your wallet along with stacks of newspapers, coupons and whatever else had been stuffed in your mailbox, bills probably. Advertisements too. Honestly, it was hard to be happy about a new restaurant opening up down the block when you were currently stuck—locked out of your apartment to be precise.

The landlord of your cheap little complex wasn’t expected to be back for another hour according to the sign posted outside of his office. So until then, you’d remain posted up by your doorstep like some loiterer. 

You shifted in place and blew a puff of air from your lips, feeling little pinpricks in your legs. For the fifth time in the last forty-five minutes you felt like kicking yourself, hard.

The sun hung low, nearly touching the distant horizon signifying the end of another day. Even the sky was painted a warm umber, casting dim shadows.

“Locked out, huh?” came a snide, but accented voice.

It took you way longer than necessary to realize that suddenly you weren’t the only person on this floor. God, where was your head at?

A pair of forest green crocs stood before you, complete with a few odd charms and trinkets. A cartoon volleyball, pinned next to a smiley face, a donut and a gaudy “i heart paris” chain dangling from the ankle strap. A person’s shoes could say a lot about who they were...your mother thought so, at least.

Resisting the urge to projectile vomit all over this stranger’s rather questionable taste in footwear, your wary gaze panned upward, glossing over white tube socks and a pair of the longest legs you’ve ever seen on a person—yet another exaggeration. You came face to face with a crooked smile. Curious ruby eyes returned your stare with almost the same amount of scrutiny.

Who the hell was this guy?

Mystery-man easily towered over you, and not only because you were hunched over and sitting. He was tall as hell, all lanky build, gangly arms and legs disguising lithe muscle and a surprisingly sturdy frame. He looked like the i-run-every-morning type; semi-athletic at the very least. His buzzed hair was the color of cinnamon, no that wasn’t right, paprika maybe? Either way, it contrasted sharply with the paleness of his skin, so much so that you could see the faint blue of the veins in his arms.

“Yoohooo, anybody hooome?” He tilted his head at you.

“Huh? Oh uh, yeah, I’m locked out. I forgot my key inside and Mr. Laurent won’t be back until later.”

“Hmm. That sucks...”

“...Um… do I… do I know you or something? You look a little familiar.”

He pinned you with a funny look, before pulling out a set of keys from the back pocket of his shorts.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t~ I mean we are neighbors, after all.” Laughing as if he’d made some sort of joke, he entered his apartment with a twirl and a dramatic wave of his arms.

You stared at his door for a solid minute, only to finally succumb to your urges and facepalm at your own idiocy. Of course he looked familiar, how could he not when he literally lived four feet away.

With a sigh of resignation, you braced yourself for another hour spent sitting outside your front door. It wasn’t like there was any other place you could go or anyone you could call. The battery icon on your phone blinked red, warning that it was soon to run out of juice. Guess that meant no Among Us or Subway Surfer for you.

Five minutes later, the door next to you opened. It was Mystery-man again, but this time, he sat in front of his door, just like you were. And he did so with a bag of pretzels and a jar of nutella in hand.

“Must be bored out here by yourself.” He crunched on a pretzel before offering you the bag to take some. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya company.”

You weren’t sure why, but there was something about this guy that intrigued you. You half-wondered if it was the funny little curl of his smile, or the wideness of his eyes that made it seem like he was looking at all of you, all at once. 

"You must be pretty bored...uh,"

"Satori Tendou, but most people call me Tendou. Miracle boy works just fine too."

"Right... Tendou, as I was saying, you must be incredibly bored to come sit out here with me. You sure you don't have anything important to do?"

Tendou's grinned widened. "Positive! And it costs me nothing to be neighborly, so don't even sweat it."

That was...nice of him?

If sitting outside with you was the way he wanted to spend his late Tuesday afternoon who were you to deny him? And truthfully, you didn't mind the company, at least not really. Provided this guy wasn't some creepy-stalker-weirdo, you were sure there wasn't any harm in getting to know the person who lived one door over.

"So, Tendou, how long have you lived in the area? You don't really look like you're from around here...I could be wrong."

Tendou raised a thin brow at you. "Weeeell, if you're asking about how long I've lived next door, it would be about three maybe four months give or take, but if you're asking how long I've lived in Paris, it would be a year next month. Speaking of, I think Semisemi has a birthday coming up..."

You watched as he pulled out his cell phone and tapped away at the illuminated glass screen. You couldn't help but notice the goofy little anime stickers on his phone case. One in particular caught your attention.

“Is that...Kirara? From Inuyasha??”

“Oho! So, you recognize this?”

Backtracking, you mumble out, “Ah, well…only a little.” Though your face was turned away, the tiny smile on your lips was not hidden from Tendou and he thought you were pretty cute.

Funnily enough, what you had expected to be a rather unnerving and possibly creepy exchange turned out to be anything but. Tendou was incredibly fun to talk to—a bit teasing and a little overwhelming with his superfluous hand movements and gestures. But he was funny and a lot kinder that you would’ve given him credit for.

You learned that he was originally from Japan; it explained his accented French. He had come to Paris right out of high school to study culinary arts in one of the most renowned countries for it. Now he worked as a chocolatier, under the tutelage of a master patisserie in the city, an older man who was both a creative genius and a thorn in Tendou’s side. Tendou spoke of his teacher with equal parts awe and annoyance. 

And he got to know you too. How you’d found yourself in Paris, thousands of miles away from home in an effort to rediscover yourself in the city full of rich history and culture. 

You didn’t have many friends here, and it truly was a pleasure to make his acquaintance.

Soon, you both heard the telltale sound of jangling keys as your landlord rounded the corner with his clipboard in hand. Once you were able to get your door open, you waved a goodbye to Tendou.

“Thanks for keeping me company, you really didn’t have to.”

“No biggie, it was fun!” He threw a mischievous little grin and a peace-sign over his shoulder and reentered his apartment. 

You found yourself wanting to cross paths with him again, and hopefully in better circumstances. But you hadn't known your wishful thinking was soon to manifest as you ambled through grocery store aisles a week later, eyeing down any items with pictures on it.

“Why in the hell is this toilet paper so expensive.” You mumbled.

“So, you complain about the price of toilet paper, but wear sneakers that cost two-thirds our rent.” That voice sounded familiar, and after hearing it for about an hour just days ago, you were a bit surprised you could recognize it so quickly. 

Stunned, you looked up to find Satori Tendou, your quirky neighbor with an arm full of pita chips, a milk carton, and baby carrots.

“I never said I made the best choices.” You found yourself smiling despite the previous crease in your brow. “...Dude, get a cart before you drop everything.”

Instead of getting his own, he simply dumped what he had into your cart with a teasing grin. You couldn’t argue with his logic there. Tendou sidled up against you, once again towering over you with a kind of ease that should be criminal. “Need help reading something?”

You wanted to say no. You almost said no. But swallowing your pride, you gave a weak nod. “Yeah, this word right here.” Pointing to the unfamiliar script printed on the label. “What the heck is this?”

“Weeeeell, looks like that brand is scented, ya know, for when ya—”

“Don’t bother finishing that sentence...please.”

You quickly grab what you need and continue on down the aisle with Tendou following closely behind.

Just like when you’d first met him, he made conversation the entire way. By the time you both made it to the cash registers, you’d argued at least three times over french pronunciations and whether cashews were the cousin of peanuts.

And just as last time, he left you with a grin and a peace-sign while you stared after his retreating back, paid groceries in hand.

After an entire day spent baking, you found yourself on Tendou’s doorstep with a tupperware full of baked goodies later the next evening. You had been meaning to thank him for being such a good neighbor to you. It was certainly unexpected, but a welcome gesture nonetheless.

You only had to knock twice before the door was wrenched open and you were greeted with the set of...vanilla? Some pop song played in the background while your neighbor looked at you curiously.

"H-Hey Tendou, I um...I baked you these." You held out the plastic container, hoping he'd simply take it from you without question and you could return to your apartment without somehow embarrassing yourself. "There's a little bit of everything in there, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, macadamia nut—wait you aren't allergic to anything, right?"

"Nooope! Not a thing, thanks neighbor!"

"It was no problem, especially since you've helped me, not once but twice now."

Frowning, you couldn't help but be a little upset with yourself. You'd come to France to prove that you could, in fact, live a normal life outside of your family’s jurisdiction but day by day you were proving to need them more and more. 

It was disappointing, to say the least.

"Hmm, what’s with the constipated look on your face. Did the toilet paper not help?” Tendou tilted his head at you with a teasing grin, lips curled at the edges, taunting. You blinked up at him, surprised, and if you were honest, a little annoyed too. 

"Hah?!"

"Just thought it was worth a mention, nighty-night~!"

Tendou proceeded to shut the door on you; one hand rested on the frame and the other held on to the cookies. You quickly took a step back lest he chop your entire arm off, ready to trudge off in the direction of your own home but not before sticking your tongue out at him.

Stupid Tendou, always saying stupid shit. 

You were on the couch, half asleep when it dawned on you that it had been his own twisted, “Tendou” way of cheering you up. 

The rest of the month passed just like that. Occasionally, you would bump into Tendou at the grocery store, or the leasing office, or even the laundromat. And every single time, he’d either make you laugh until your sides hurt or annoyed enough to want to give him a friendly punch. At one point, you two had even exchanged phone numbers, because according to Tendou “it was ridiculous not to have your friends on speedial” which only led to hours spent on Facetime or playing iMessage games.

You knew exchanging numbers would come back to bite you in the ass, it was only a matter of when.

It was clear you weren’t going to any sleep tonight, that was for sure. The incessant buzzing of your cell phone every five minutes was an enemy to your circadian rhythm. You could name on one hand those in your contacts with enough sense to know that you lived in a completely different time zone from them now.

Somehow your neighbor was the very last person you suspected, but it was his contact photo that stared back at you, goofy looking grin and all. You squinted against the brightness of your screen in your otherwise dark bedroom.

you up?

come quick

gotta show ya somethin

come oooon

you're awake, i know you are

It took you less than a minute to shuffle on a pair of slippers, grab your keys (you weren't going to forget them this time) and slip out of your apartment.

You hadn't even knocked twice before the door was pulled open. Tendou looked a mess, more so than usual. Unidentified stains littered the apron looped around his thin waist, streaks of what you hoped were just flour and granulated sugar were all over his hands. You almost wanted to ask if he was baking or dealing dope.

“You woke me up at three in the morning...for this?”

“Yuuup!”

"When I said you could call me at any time, I really didn’t mean any time.” You scratch your side, a contemplative look on your face at the sight of Tendou in what you would assume to be his pajamas. An old volleyball hoodie with the words "Shirazorizawa" printed across the front, and old sweats the were so obviously cut with scissors at the knee.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled a curt, “Alright, move aside.”

Tendou ushered you over to his kitchen where several of his cooking supplies laid on the island, along with a tray of some chocolate dessert spread.

“It’s all still in the testing phase, but I think I’m onto something here.”

He was definitely giving off “mad scientist” vibes. You tried not to snort.

Holding a small chocolate cake in his hand, he smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Open wide."

You obeyed, far too tired to argue, and let him pop the treat into your mouth. Tendou watched as you chewed, as if it were the most interesting thing ever. His wide gaze carefully took in every shift in your expression.

"So? Whaddya think?"

"I...," You chewed a bit more. "...It's delicious! Is that—"

"—Pistachio, why yes it is!" 

Tendou was practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. "It takes the entire thing to a whole new level."

You had to agree with him there. This was probably the best chocolate madeleine you'd ever tasted. "Great work, miracle boy. Will you be introducing this new recipe to Claude?"

Mentioning his teacher seemed to sober him up a bit. "Ehh, maybe? The old man's a bit of traditionalist, so I'll just have to figure out a way to get him to approve."

"Maybe try calling him at three in the morning?" 

Tendou stuck his tongue out at you before popping a dessert in his mouth. The pure delight on his face was so contagious, you found yourself smiling just the same. You couldn’t help but admire his passion.

“Hey, Tendou… do you like your job?”

He blinked at you, chewing coming to a slow halt. “Well of course! The pay isn’t the best just yet, but it’s a labor of love. I’m willing to put my all into it at least.”

“Huh… that’s pretty cool.” You wiped your fingers on a nearby rag. “I hope to feel the same one day… if I can figure out what I wanna do.”

“Why not bake? You’re pretty good at it.”

“Oh am I? Last week you said my baking needed some work.”

“Well, duh, but my standards when it comes to confectionaries are impossibly high. Even so, I think you’d be successful as a baker. What’s stopping you from pursuing your labor of love?”

And that was the thing with Tendou. He talked a lot, teased even more, but it was never idle ramblings. Somehow, he always seemed to hit right at the heart of the issue with almost painfully uncomfortable accuracy.

“I don’t really know so…” You looked away, trailing off.

“Either way,” he said and placed a finger under your chin, raising your head until you were looking him in the eye. “I’m rooting for you.”

For a moment, you simply stared, awestruck. It was the first time in a long while someone was actually putting their faith in you, believing in you. He had come blazing into your life unabashed with his easy grins and gaze alight with mischief. His encouraging words, sincerity, sensitivity. Tendou was really incredible.

“Tendou…” You took his hand in yours, squeezing it. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Of course, what are neighbors for.”

BONUS:

Three months later you sat curled up next to Tendou on his sofa, his entire apartment smelled of chocolate cocoa with hints of cinnamon.

Before you was an application. Culinary school.

“You really think I can do this?”

Tendou placed his head on your shoulder with a tiny smirk. “One hundred and twenty percent!”

You pondered for a moment, then decided that if he thought you were up for the challenge then you’d believe him.

“For the record, you probably aren’t supposed to recommend your girlfriend for an interview. You know, conflict of interest and all.”

Tendou laughed and pulled you closer. “Trust me, we’ll be fine, so don’t worry your pretty little head, ‘kay?”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

they both know

prompt: “hey, wait, you’re still bleeding!” from this post by @whumpster-dumpster !! (i am in love w this prompt btw, it is just. so good.)

this one is a little bit different...i’ve done one other fic like this before (funnily enough for last year’s wij) but basically there aren’t really characters. you can imagine the people as whatever characters you like, or imagine them as like, random people idk (that’s what i did lol). anyway this was really fun to do, i liked doing sth a bit different! i hope you like it!

“Hey, wait, you’re still bleeding!”

“Huh?” He turns around in the doorway, and for a second the light from the hallway illuminates him in a way that might be almost beautiful were it not for the rapidly-growing bloodstain on his shirt and the freshly cleaned (but still very much present) cuts on his face. 

“Look down. You’re bleeding.”

He looks down, then slowly looks back up, surprise evident on his face.

“What happened?” 

“I…I don’t know.”

She guides him back to the barstool that he’d so recently vacated. He sits down heavily, resting his chin on his hands, elbows propped against the cool granite of the counter. 

“You really don’t know how you ended up bleeding through your shirt?”

He shakes his head. “Honestly, I didn’t even register it until you told me I was still bleeding. I thought I’d gotten away with a couple scrapes and bruises.”

She carefully pulls his shirt up and away from the spot of blood, and he does his best to pull his arms through the sleeves. His injury protests, but he ignores it. The shirt comes all the way off, and he sucks in a breath, and so does she. 

There’s a small piece of metal embedded in his stomach, where the skin is scraped and dirty. 

“Do you remember your shirt being off at any point during the fight?”

He thinks hard, then shakes his head. 

A second later, he remembers. “Wait. I fell, at one point. I remember my shirt getting pushed up, my hands getting scraped. It hurt, but I was a little too busy trying to avoid getting the shit kicked out of me to pay much attention.” He laughs slightly. “Lot of good that did me. Got the shit kicked out of me and ended up with…whatever the hell it is that’s stabbing me.”

“It just looks like scrap metal,” she says. “It seems reasonable that it could’ve been on the ground when you fell.”

He nods. 

“I assume you don’t want to go to the hospital for this, either?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. I trust your medical skills.”

She sighs. “I appreciate the compliment,” she says drily. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

“Last year. I had an…altercation with a piece of rebar.”

“Of course you did. This probably isn’t gonna be pleasant, you know.”

“I know. I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t argue - they both know he’s telling the truth. He’s had far worse. She’s patched up far worse. 

It’s a fairly simple process. It starts out the same way that their evening together had started - with cleaning the wounds. She snaps on a fresh pair of rubber gloves, then runs a cold antiseptic wipe across the raw, red skin of his stomach, cleaning out the small scrapes and the area around the piece of metal. He barely even flinches, used to the feeling by this point. 

The next step is to remove the metal. 

“This doesn’t look like it’s in there very deep, but it’ll probably start bleeding more heavily when I take it out. I’m gonna give you a paper towel, and as soon as I get the metal out, I need you to press the towel into the cut as hard as you can, okay?”

She grabs a few sheets of paper towel and passes them over. He grabs them, crumpling them into a ball and holding them at the ready. 

“One, two, three,” she says, half under her breath, and then grabs hold of the piece of metal and pulls, quick and smooth. 

He yelps, slightly undignified. He recovers quickly enough, pressing the paper towels against his skin as, sure enough, blood starts pouring more rapidly out of the wound. 

He holds the towels there until they’re almost soaked through. 

“Let me see now,” she instructs, and he carefully pries the soggy towels away from his body. She peers at the wound, looks carefully at the piece of metal, shiny with blood. It’s two inches long, at most, and the wound itself is no more than an inch deep. Not too bad, she figures. 

“I can work with this.”

“What does that mean?” he asks, though they both know already. 

“I’ll stitch it up. Won’t take long. Won’t feel very good, either.”

“It’s fine.”

Wordlessly, she reaches into a cabinet beneath the counter and pulls out a bottle of vodka. She passes it to him, and he sets the bloody paper towels down on the counter to grab it. 

“God, that’s awful,” he coughs, setting the bottle onto the counter with a thud. 

“It’s better than getting stitched up completely sober,” she argues. He grimaces at her, then takes another sip. 

“You ready?”

“Sure.” He looks down at her hands, watching as she dabs the bloody wound with a damp paper towel to clean it out. 

A second later, the paper towel she is holding has been replaced with a threaded needle, and they both take a deep breath before she begins. He keeps his eyes firmly trained on her hands. 

“You sure you wanna watch?”

He doesn’t reply. He kind of feels like he can’t look away, even if he wanted to. He watches the needle, watches the movement of her hands, even and precise and steady. 

The needle pierces his skin. He watches as it pokes in and then out, leaving a trail of thread behind. It doesn’t actually hurt that much, at any rate not as much as he’d expected, but the act of watching his skin get sewn back together makes him feel sort of dizzy. Still, he can’t tear his eyes away. He watches as the needle and thread makes its way up the fairly short length of the wound, and is thankful that it’s not larger. He thinks he might pass out if this goes on for much longer, but luckily it seems like she’s almost done. 

She ties off the thread, cuts the rest away, sets the needle aside. He’s left with nothing but the stitches in his skin. He lets out a harsh, shaky exhale, blinks hard to try and curb the dizziness, and then slumps forward. 

She catches him, putting two firm hands on his shoulders and pushing him upright. “You good?”

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them back up, the dizziness has faded a bit, and her concerned face is sharply in focus. 

“I’m good,” he says. 

“Sure,” she agrees, carefully pressing a gauze bandage over the fresh stitches. “You’re good. You gonna walk home like this?”

He raises a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. He’s capable of it, he knows. But it’s dark and it’s late and he did just get beaten up in a back alley, then stitched up in his friend’s kitchen, so - 

“Yeah, no, that wasn’t really a question. You’re not walking home like this.”

He entertains the idea of telling her that she can’t tell him what to do, except that they both know full well that she can, and she will. 

“You’re staying. I need to keep an eye on my patient, anyway.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Alright, Mr. Observant. And tell me again, which one of us was it that realized you were seriously bleeding?”

They share a smile they’ve shared a hundred times before, and he knows he’s beat (though, if he’s being honest, he’d known that since he first turned up here). 

“Okay, I give up. I release myself into your hospitality.”

She grins, wide and bright - victory. “I’ll grab some blankets. You up for a movie?”

He always is.

thanks for reading this even though it’s not for any fandom lol. i had so much fun writing it and i hope you liked it!!!!

[jaskiersvalley]

Hello. Your writing is very capturing. I spent last night on reading all your stuff and here I am, in your ask box. Especially the illiterate!Geralt is a good read. I saw a few hc about the witchers being unsettled by Jaskier being well... Jaskier and with no fear approach them and talk to them. After a while they started wondering if Jaskier is a human, but they can't smell magic on him. What he really is? How he managed to fool a witcher?

Welcome to my ask box Nonnie, it is a delight to have you here! Even better, you bring a prompt that has my little heart singing because writing about Jaskier and all the witchers is something I am rapidly falling in love with. So thank you, you have truly made my day.

While the continent was big, it was still rather limited in terms of numbers of contracts. So it was only natural that from time to time Geralt bumped into a fellow witcher. Sometimes he got there first, other times there was only a drink at a tavern to be had and maybe some quiet company if it was a fellow wolf he encountered. The perk of having Jaskier alongside him was that even if he missed out on a contract, Jaskier could earn their keep and food if coin was short. So there was no longer a vicious competition between him and other witchers which was such a nice change of pace. There was no worry that if he got to a contract late, he would have to spend the next however many nights in the woods and hunting for food because he couldn’t afford a meal at a tavern.

Sometimes Geralt would still be in the stable with Roach while Jaskier went ahead to get them a room and some food. Which was how Geralt walked into the inn and frowned when Jaskier wasn’t visible at the bar. Looking around, he wasn’t too difficult to spot, sitting opposite...Eskel?! Pleasant surprise flooded Geralt at the sight of a fellow wolf and he walked over. Already, Jaskier seemed to have made a new friend in the form of the other witcher and was chattering away, demanding details from a fight. He even looked horrified when he spotted the bloody bandage peeking out from under Eskel’s sleeve.

“Oh you poor thing,” Jaskier was reaching for Eskel’s arm without any hesitation and Geralt saw the surprise from the other witcher. Hell, he could even smell the suspicion and confusion coming off him.

“Maybe this would be better done in a room than where people might be trying to enjoy some food,” Geralt suggested. “Not everyone can eat after seeing a bloody arm.”

“Yes! Have a bath called up for us, would you?” Jaskier looked at Geralt with a smile before turning back to Eskel and guiding him up atairs. “And don’t forget to have dinner brought up too!”

By the time Geralt got to the room, Jaskier had gently bullied Eskel into showing the wyvern bite to him and was fussing over it. Above Jaskier’s head, Eskel sought out Geralt’s gaze with confusion.

Later that night, Geralt had a rather interesting conversation with Eskel, mostly consisting of “he doesn’t even smell of fear” to which the only reply was “he never did”.

They parted ways and Jaskier made sure Eskel had plenty of supplies and coin, sharing what he could of his own despite protestations.

Funnily enough, Lambert was next. Once again, Geralt had been preoccupied, this time he was sharpening his swords when the music died down sooner than expected. However, there was no sound of fighting or arguing so obviously Jaskier hadn’t gotten himself into trouble. Yet. When he didn’t go upstairs to their room, Geralt decided to venture down to make sure nothing untoward was happening. Like that time Jaskier had convinced the whole tavern to play some kind of strip card game that Geralt still didn’t understand and, quite frankly, didn’t really want to either.

The sight that greeted Geralt was both better and worse than anything he could have anticipated. Jaskier was in the corner, sitting at a table and opposite him was Lambert. Who was pressed up against the wall like a cornered cat and staring at Jaskier in horror and disgust while the bard talked his ear off. He seemed to be utterly oblivious to the fact Lambert looked ready to bolt.

“Lambert,” Geralt greeted and there was a visible drop in anxieties.

“Geralt. This is-”

“Jaskier, I know. He’s with me.” Turning to Jaskier, Geralt pulled his coin pouch out. “Charm the barkeep into three strong ales, would you?”

As soon as Jaskier was away from the table, Lambert was leaning closer.

“What the hell is wrong with him? He just walked up to the table, sat down and started talking! He does realise we’re witchers, right?” He gestured towards Jaskier’s back. Geralt’s sigh of “yes” didn’t seem to help. Lambert ranted on. “I can do monsters, creatures and spirits. But whatever that is, it’s not human and it scares the shit out of me. Not even an whiff of fear or hesitation.”

“It’s just Jaskier. He’s friendly.” Geralt shrugged. He’d been there, the confusion and distrust at the absolute lack of any negative reaction from Jaskier. But he’d grown used to it.

“You keep the contract, I’m skipping out.” Lambert made to move and got almost to the door when Jaskier got back to the table and called his name. Like a dog caught stealing a sausage, Lambert slunk back sheepishly. At least he got ale out of it even if he had to sit through the most terrifying conversation of his life. Jaskier could talk, he’d give him that.

By morning, Lambert was gone and Jaskier pouted at the fact he couldn’t bid farewell to his newest friend properly.

Last but not least was Vesemir who they encountered on a dusty road between nameless towns.

“I’ve heard of you,” he told Jaskier who had been prancing around as he played his newest song. It had been stuck in his head for days, taking shape and now he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Alas I have not been granted similar privileges. Please forgive me, darling grey wolf. I am ignorant not through lack of interest but rather lack of sources.” Jaskier cast Geralt a side glance.

He was treated to a long, hard look by Vesemir who also took a subtle sniff of the air as he took a step closer to Jaskier. “They were right.”

Who the mysterious “they” were and what they were right about was a mystery to Jaskier but he wasn’t going to get answers because Vesemir nodded at them. “See you for the winter.”

As he turned to continue his path, Jaskier shouted after him. “Just a small token for our brief yet passionate meeting!” With that, he presented Vesemir a handkerchief in a flourish. Once again, the old witcher’s eyes drifted to Geralt before taking the offering, tucking it into his armour and turning with a nod.

“So, where are we going for winter?” Jaskier asked, hopping a lttle to catch back up with Geralt.

Kaer Morhen. That was the answer and Jaskier excitedly bustled through the doors. He and Geralt got set up in a room before making their way down to the others.

“Friends!” Jaskier yelled, arms in the air as he took in the three familiar witchers. “It is so good to see you again.”

He went around to hug all the witchers to varying degrees of success. While Eskel returned the hug with a small, entertained smile, Lambert was doing his best impression of a terrified statue. For his part, Vesemir accepted the hug but wasn’t too enthused by it.

Witchers didn’t need to sleep a lot so it wasn’t all that unusual for them to gather around a fire and talk late into the night. At first, Jaskier had tried to keep up but he needed sleep and often ended up fast asleep in Geralt’s lap while the others talked.

“I’ve never met anyone like him.” Eskel nodded towards Jaskier’s sleeping form.

“Not natural,” Lambert added. He had been doing his best to keep out the way as much as possible.

Even Vesemir weighed in, “He’s certainly a rarity. There’s no magic around him. No stench of enchantment or even the scent of a beast.”

“He’s plain old human,” Geralt said. “And just seems to have no concept of self-preservation around others. But trust me, he does feel fear.”

Which was how they ended up trying to find out what did elicit a response from Jaskier. Lambert’s idea of drinking a potion and wandering around with black eyes and veins backfired somewhat when Jaskier got ready to trek out with him to the fight he was no doubt preparing for.

Inviting Jaskier to train and spar hadn’t worked out either. No matter how much Eskel threw him around, disarmed him in more and more brutal ways and held swords to his throat, not once did Jaskier ever smell anything but tired.

Nobody was prepared for the ear splitting shriek one morning. It was definitely Jaskier but he hit a pitch even Geralt was stunned by. They all went rushing to the bathroom  to see what had happened. Bursting in, Jaskier was standing in the tub, suds sliding off his head and clutching a cloth to himself while Vesemir looked just as stunned, holding a basket of laundry.

“What happened?” Eskel asked.

“I was merely here to hang up some clean clothes,” Vesemir replied.

“There I was,” Jaskier’s voice was still breathy with fright, “taking a nice bath and washing. Only to turn around and he was there. I’m putting a bell on you!”

The air was sour with his calming fear and, oddly, it seemed to settle the witchers. No longer was Jaskier some ethereal being without a single thing in the world that could scare him. From then on, both Lambert and Eskel seemed to take great delight in sneaking up on Jaskier and trying to scare him. There was something so soothing about knowing Jaskier could still be frightened to the point of outraged screeching. Especially when he cottoned on to the game and, once he was over the initial panic, he chased after the culprit until he could jump on their backs, smacking them playfully over the head until Geralt prised him off.

Even Lambert seemed a little more comfortable now that he knew Jaskier wasn’t infallible. By the end of winter, he was unofficially crowned winner of scaring Jaskier the most. Not that it was ever a race between him and Eskel. They absolutely didn’t have a tally hidden in the library with bonus points awarded for exceptionally memorable screams.

[thequibblah]

⭐

anon: omg hi I think I sent in a ~free choice~ directors cut a while back but if you can't think of anything you wanna talk about I would LOVE to hear more about the way you write the Snape/Lily relationship and and the way it breaks apart, and even specific scenes related to it because in this house we are Anti S/nily

i hope this person was you but if not HAHA i will take this opportunity to answer their prompt as a "free choice" if you don't mind!

so. good old.... severus. ahhh.

writing interactions between snape and lily is like, one of the most rewarding challenges of this fic. now.... pitchforks away, my lovelies.... it's such an interesting emotional space to explore on her end, to me. personally i've never had a friendship end over something big and irrevocable, so it's really brand-new water to tread.

what makes it even more fascinating is that because of the setup of CT — starting after the lake incident — snape is less a presence in her life and more an absence she's working around. if i can get boring and pretentious for a sec, this was something i worked on a lot in college creative writing classes — writing about a thing in the past by avoiding it, or touching upon it and flinching away, or approaching it sideways.

now. we none of us have the patience of serious literary fiction readers in our fic HAHAHHA so this is a lot more dialled-back (dialled-forward??). but that was basically the approach to begin with, with these two. and then it was a matter of exploring the trajectory of it — how when the wound is rawest, lily is actually most forgiving and generous towards him, as she's had less time and space away from him/their friendship, and is busy making excuses for him.

(aside: i didn't realise until actually confronted by it that so much of her attitude towards him comes from her attitude towards petunia, a relationship in which she got used to receiving barbs before she gave them back, but the blood tie keeps her from a clean break. with snape there's no blood relation, obviously, but there's a shared sense of history, of childhood, that kind of lives in the same part of lily's brain/heart. so... really, two people who loathe each other overlap quite significantly in lily's emotional landscape.)

re: lily's excuse-making — it doesn't help that the only person who pushes her on snape is james. (her friends all have learned to avoid the subject, as you do when your friend is friends with someone you don't like but you can't say anything until after they're finished, and then you're like omg thank GOD i hated them from the start!!! but of course in this case they couldn't go overboard with that sentiment, lest it come off as "you should've known better/we knew better and you didn't") thanks to the circumstances of the lake incident, some of those messy feelings towards snape are entangled in messy feelings towards james (early on in the story especially), so the resulting conflict is.... bad....

She half-stumbled backwards, as if she’d been slapped. “I don’t need you to remind me,” she hissed. To her embarrassment, tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. But if she’d thought that would make him back off, she was wrong. “Yeah, except you do need the reminder,” said James. “Because you don’t get it yet. He chose them. Not you.” Lily was shaking. “I believe in second chances,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. “But you really, really test my faith, James.” And without waiting for him to answer, she stormed up the girls’ staircase, wiping at her cheeks.

bad.

lily's true blind spot is, of course, that she's more willing to forgive snape's missteps with her. and of course james has to go and point that out :/

“Let me put it this way. If Sni — if Snape were Mary’s friend and he’d said that to her, wouldn’t you tell Mary she ought to never speak to him again?” Lily shifted uneasily. “Well, sure, but I’ve known him since—” “—you were children, whatever. Say Mary did too. Would that change anything for her?”

so the first time lily is like wait actually fuck this!!! it's because he reminds her, in an argument, about how callous he can be — a callousness which i think she's never liked, but it's easier to forgive sharpness when it's your friend poking fun at people you don't like, and less easy when...

“Yes, do let’s talk about Potter,” she said, dangerously calm now. “Let’s talk about how your mate Mulciber used an Unforgivable Curse on him—” To her absolute shock, Severus scoffed. “It was three bloody seconds—” “Shut up,” Lily said, too stunned to think of something better to say. “Shut up, you don’t seriously think that — that because the two of you have a childish rivalry, he deserves torture?” “That’s not what I said,” he replied, looking mutinous. “I just meant, everyone’s acting like he’s some big survivor — always playing for attention—”

...well, when that.

best/worst impulses aside, lily knows that the true measure of someone is how they treat the people they dislike, not their friends, and in a sense his attitude towards james (and generally other people) in this scene makes her realise what she'd read as inconsideration or insensitivity is in fact...

"...You’re weak-willed and pathetic and you’re — you’re not a good person.”

...so there's that.

as anyone who's read lily's current petunia drama will know, she's got a bit of a problem with letting go. but after her mother's death (and the attached stick to your sister she's all you've got), she manages a weirdly good break from cokeworth — because a lot of her childhood was wrapped up in hogwarts, and in snape (whom she hasn't spent vacation time with in over a year at that point). with neither at hand, she hardly has time to process it/feel homesickness.

but note this, at the start of 7th year:

“Was last year nothing to you?” Her voice had sharpened. “I wasn’t freezing you out to punish you, Severus. I was treating you how I plan on treating you from now on.”

of course lily's just making a point here, but when i wrote that i was like wow she (and i lol) are kind of onto something — snape totally does think this is like, a temporary purgatory period after which she really will come around. and through months of her getting visibly closer to his nemesis, he holds onto that belief — despite what she says. (funnily enough, childhood rose-tinted glasses make them both see what they want to see in each other, in very different ways)

that's why when he hears her say what she says to una in that hogsmeade trip, he immediately comes to his own conclusions. that was another important, interesting thing for me — for other slytherins, "loose ends" are opportunities for cruelty, for punishment, to finish what they've started. (not so for regulus, who's grown up with sadism and is frankly repulsed by the idea of pain for a flimsy cause — best believe there was absolutely a point to him orchestrating an attack on the teacher getting close to his brother. but that's another story.)

not for severus either — his loose end, in his own mind, will always be lily. he senses that something's broken, but he has absolutely no self-awareness about what it is, and his extending an olive branch was more about her coming to his level than him going to hers (aka the way apologies ought to work). he realises, over a year out, that it's up to him to fix it, but it's too late — lily's quite moved on at that point, and her residual emotions towards him are indifference and pity.

if only snape had known to leave it there!

looping full circle back to the lake incident, then, the argument in 41 is once again very personal — but rather than him pushing her away, it's him trying to get her close again. and now, stressed about all the bs in the world but also with all the petunia-related learn-to-let-go stuff fresh in her mind, lily is absolutely in the right state of mind to recognise when she's wrongly judged someone. this calls for scorched earth, she realises, or she'll never be able to shake him and move on for good.

and so what started with severus telling her that she's special, that there's a place in a new world for her, ends sort of the same way.... and the break that began with his casual, almost unintentional cruelty, ends with her very deliberate cruelty. as a bonus, she's ready now to use the one thing he's always wielded like a shield in their arguments — james, how the marauders are, etc. etc. — against him, and genuinely mean it.

(she might regret that soon. but not the way you'd think!)

[dw-writes]

Celebrate Like a Stark - Howard Stark x GN!Reader

So!! I’ve been wanting to write this for a little bit, and, of course @lpwrites has the BEST headcanons in the WORLD, one of which is the focus of this little one shot (and is Jewish!Howard, so.) I hope you guys enjoy this!!! Let me know what you think! :D

“Alright, so, you know the rules.” Howard fixed his cufflinks – the Tiffany set, sterling silver with a blue button – and heaved a sigh. “Mingle, meet everyone, but don’t look anyone in the eye!”

“Right.”

“And if anyone says, “Oh, you’re Howard Stark, I thought you were shorter”, just sock ‘em,” he huffed.

You laughed behind him, covering your mouth to hide your massive grin when he turned to you. Then, he turned back to his double, and pointed a finger in his face. “What do you say when they say that?” Howard asked.

His double – a professional actor, funnily enough – straightened the cufflinks Howard had worked so hard to be perfect, and smirked. “I get that a lot,” he replied.

Howard smacked the man’s arm. “Good. You’ll do great.” He turned and took the coat that hung over your arm.

You smiled. “Thank you for doing this, Henry,” you said as you turned up the collar of your coat.

Henry, the man who looked so much like Howard that it often had you doing double-takes, smiled. “It’s not a problem. Especially with what Mr. Stark is payin’ me to do this,” he said. Howard snorted. “Oh!” Henry held out a hand as you started towards the back stairs. “Can I ask one favor?” he asked with a sheepish smile.

Howard puffed his cheeks, looking to the world like he was annoyed, but sighed and turned around. “Anything, kid,” he said.

Henry tugged at the lapels, looking down to hide the tint in his cheeks. Hearing ‘Kid’ from Howard often made him feel like a brother. It was a little weird. But he looked back up with a small, childish grin. “Think you can snag me some latkes?”

You scoffed impishly and looped an arm through Howard’s elbow. “No, because I’m gonna eat them all!”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be stingy,” Henry whined.

You stuck your tongue out before disappearing down the stairs. Howard doubled-back to tell him that, yes, there would be extra latkes. You waited with a pout at the small side door. Howard only winked, shoved open the door, and whisked you out into the night, while Henry straightened his tie and sauntered down the stairs and into the Annual Stark Christmas Party with a dazzling grin.

Edwin sat behind the wheel, and Anna in the front passenger’s seat, when you and Howard hurried down to the car. Anna was clicking her tongue and turned around when you both slid into the back, bracing against seat when Edwin started to drive. “Howard Stark, I thought you were wearing the sweater you got tonight,” she chided.

Howard slumped in the seat next to you, shoving his hands in various pockets as he groaned, “Not you, too, Anna.”

You smiled. “He said, and I quote, that ‘I’m already seein’ Ma, why do I need to wear the sweater, too’.” You turned your head and rested it on Howard’s shoulder. “What did I say?”

Howard heaved a sigh. “I’d break her heart.”

“You’d break her heart,” you repeated.

Edwin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as Howard cursed under his breath and sat up, asking you in a hushed voice to check the pockets of your coat. “Sir, I believe you have the argument about wearing the sweater every year, and every year you end up wearing it,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Howard muttered, “Hey, Anna, be a dear, check your coat?”

“My coat?” she asked, sitting up to check her pockets.

“Yeah, I can’t find my—”

“Left breast pocket, sir,” Edwin cut in.

Howard patted the aforementioned pocket with a pout, then slumped back with a relieved sigh. “Got my yarmulke,” he checked off, dropping his hand on your thigh, “Got the love of my life,” he continued, pulling your hand up to his mouth to kiss the back of it, “And I got my family,” he added, nodding at Anna and Edwin, “Already the best damn Chanukah I could ask for and it hasn’t even started yet.”

“You say that every year,” droned three voices as all eyes focused on Howard for a moment.

His pouted deepened. “And I mean it every year!” he exclaimed. He slumped further in his seat. “Make a guy feel bad about it, why don’t ya?”

You pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek and smiled. “It’s out of love,” you whispered.

Howard turned his head, then laced his fingers with yours as a smirk crept across his face. “I’ll show you somethin’ that’s out of love,” he murmured. You hummed, and relaxed as he leaned in for a slow kiss.

Anna politely cleared her throat. Howard was hesitant to pull away, hovering a breath away as he sighed. Then, a hand slapped the window, and someone squealed, “Howie!”

Anna gasped. “Oh, Howard, you didn’t say that your cousins would be here!”

“Why wouldn’t they be here?” he asked with a grin, pulling the yarmulke into place. “They’re here every year!”

“Except last year,” Edwin corrected as he opened his door. Howard climbed over your lap with half an apology and scrambled out to meet the group of cousins that had gathered by the front door of the brownstone. You wheezed, rubbing a spot on your knee, and carefully climbed out of the car, mindful of the ice. “He didn’t even hear me, did he?” Edwin asked with a sigh.

You shook your head. “No.” Howard lifted the youngest of his cousins onto his back as everyone chattered at him, telling them about what they’re learning in school, or what they’re trying to make, or asking if he’s made anything new to show them. He beamed as he answered their questions, and you smiled as you watched him. The front door opened to more voices, and warm light, and the smell of cinnamon rolled into the street. The cousins all ran inside, and Edwin led Anna up the front stairs and through the door. You lingered on the stoop with Howard as he rolled his shoulder around.

“Gettin’ too old for that,” he murmured as he watched everyone settle in.

You shook your head. “You’re not old, Howie.”

He took your hand and gave it another kiss. “Too old for parties,” he commented with a smile. You rolled your eyes. “No schmoozing over the holiday for me.”

“For Howard Stark there is, not for Howie Schultz,” you corrected.

He tugged you close, resting his hand low on your back as you wrapped your free arm around him. “Right, this is, what, Henry’s fourth year?” he softly asked.

“Fifth,” you replied, using your entwined hands to brush a stray hair from his forehead, “The first year was the first year you invited me here with you.”

“Five years already?” he whispered, “Where did the time go, huh?”

“For what it’s worth, it’s been a wonderful five years,” you said. A smile slowly pulled up your lips. “I wouldn’t mind another five more.”

“Only five?” His eyebrow arched with his question. You rolled your eyes and pulled yourself from him embrace, finally stepping into the warm house. “What, do I only have ten years in me?” he asked after you. When your arms stretched out, you tugged on the hand you still held in your own and pulled him into the house. “Why not more? Let’s try twenty? Or thirty?”

“Howie, are you proposing?!” shouted a voice from the kitchen.

Howard groaned, which prompted you to burst into a fit of embarrassed laughter. As Howard shut the door, he shouted back, “Not now, Ma!”

[hekate1308]

Fictober 2021, #21

Prompt: “What did I say?”

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: N/A

Dean is by no means deficient, no matter what Sammy’s hot-shot lawyer colleagues may think. Oh, he’s seen the glances – there comes the annoying older brother who pretends he’s just as good an alpha as the rest of us – but the truth is, he can do things they could never do, like actually get their cars working again, and so, he’s never bothered trying to fit in with them; plus, Sam has always remained curiously unaffected by any of their posturing. (As a matter of fact, he asked once, and only once. That was a particularly dreary night for both of them – in the end, they both ended up crying, so Dean decided to hold his brother until they stopped because Sam had just told him over and over again that he practically raised him and could never be like his colleagues, could never look down on Dean for it).

Point is, Dean is happy with his lot in life. So he’ll never be rich, and he’ll probably never buy a mansion, not that he particularly wants one.

Hell, it’s not even that he doesn’t have friends amongst Sam’s colleagues. Crowley and he have become pretty good ones over the years, although funnily enough, Sam still can’t stand the guy (or not so funnily – his brother has a competitive streak, always has had, and Crowley is the best in the business, something Sam has yet to admit to himself). And of course there’s Charlie, who he always manages to make love or geek out over nerdy references with, with her girlfriend Gilda, and –

Castiel. The impossibly beautiful omega who started working at Sam’s firm last year.

Now, Dean knows he’s pretty hot, but considering everything, he’s far from perfect.

And Castiel Novak deserves perfection, first and foremost.

First of all, there are those blue eyes, and his stubble, and don’t even get Dean started on his hair.

Now, that would all be one thing, but by God, the rest –

Castiel Novak also happens to be one of the most adorable omegas Dean has ever set his eyes on, but he’s not going to do anything about it because he’s not an idiot, and someone like this – someone like Castiel is sure to have at least ten suitors at the tip of his fingers at any given moment.

Yeah, he nicknamed him Cas in a moment of weakness a few months ago, and he didn’t say anything. Just blushed in that cute way of his and mumbled something unintelligible, but that’s about it.

Well, and then there was that brawl two weeks ago, but that wasn’t Dean’s fault, because he, Sam, and a few of his colleagues just happened to be at a bar where a few alphas got it into their heads to make trouble because they all tried to hit on Cas, and Dean of course intervened because why wouldn’t he, God, he’s so sick and tired of idiot alphas perpetuating stereotypes, and of course Crowley was right there with him because it’s Crowley, but when he turned around, he saw Cas floor another alpha like it was nothing, and God damnit, that was hot…

Yeah, but still, all of that doesn’t have to mean anything.

Nor does the fact that he and Cas have been spending quite a bit of time, together, lately. It’s just that they happen to gravitate towards another whenever the group gathers together, and yes, Crowley has commented on it quite a bit, but again, he’s Crowley. That’s part of the charm Dean will never admit he has to begin with.

Yes, so he and Cas… well, obviously he’s not courting him -. That would be insane. The very thought is laughable. He’s just enjoying his company while it lasts.

And then there’s another one of those evenings, nothing special really, they’re just having a few drinks at the bar, and Cas is complaining about some alpha who wouldn’t leave him alone yesterday while he was grocery shopping.

“God, some alphas are assholes” Dean says simply, “But it’s not like I don’t understand.”

Cas raises an eyebrow.

“Come on, not like that. You know how I feel about stuff like that. But come on, Cas, you’re the perfect omega.”

And it just happens to be one of those silences that happen amongst a crowed every now and then, so everyone in their group heard that. Great.

Cas is staring at him.

“I – ahm” Dean clears his throat and tries to go for confusion. “What did I say?”

“Well, let me pout it like that, Squirrel” Crowley drawls, “You just said the perfect thing if –“

But Dean is not fated to hear what he wants to say because Cas suddenly takes his hand like it’s nothing, announces “Excuse me, me and my alpha have some things to talk about” and then he’s dragging him out of the bar, and Dean wants to ask, but since he’s suddenly being pressed against the nearest wall and being kissed thoroughly, he can’t bring himself to care.

[hopelesshawks]

Omg I just read the recent chapters of Misreflections!!! I’m in awe of the storyline so far aaaaaaaaaaaa

I forgive Dabi for referring to me as the ‘stupid bitch’ after looking out for Keigo and telling him to be selfish for once in his life 🥲

And Arisu??? oh my god I have never wanted to dropkick someone so bad lol

Anyway, thank you for the updates! AND thanking you for doing my request (keigo with a hairy!reader prompt) 😭 That was so sweet and I totally did not sob. Okay, maybe I did. Whatever.

I’m reallyyyy enjoying your content! I hope you feel better soon ❤️

I’m so glad you liked it ahhh ❤️

I really love Dabi in this verse tbh and it’s funny writing his lines because I both adore him for being so fiercely protective of Keigo and am offended that he’s talking shit 💀

Arisu truly is the worst 💀 she has the same energy as Noriko from my basic instincts series and I love it hate it

I’m so glad you liked the request ahhhhh ❤️ there’s a certain kind of happy that comes from writing a request and then having the requester really love it that’s like the same joy I get when I give someone a gift that they end up adoring. Like it just makes me go 🥰🥰

Funnily enough it looked like my headache was gonna make a comeback and then I worked out this morning and that helped. Yay for body morphine endorphins!! So I should be back up and running today (and hopefully that means getting to the last of the matchups in my inbox and finishing part 16 of Misreflections)

[romantichopelessly]

Not a Cinderella Story

This is my contribution to @dukexietyweek 2020! The prompt was Fairytales and I followed it... very loosely. This is also a bullet fic because I scrapped my plot no less than three times over the course of writing this.

Pairing: Romantic Dukexiety, Implied/Background Mociet

Words: 2072

Warnings: jealousy, misunderstandings, toxic behavior

Synopsis: When Remus, Roman and Virgil were young, they were inseparable. They always played pretend--castles and princesses and dragons. But everyone has to grow up. Things change.

----

Remus Sanders and his twin brother Roman have always been close. “Attached at the hip” some would say. Specifically, their mother, neighbors, and preschool teachers.

They always do the same things. They like the same juice. The same snacks. They play with the same toys, and they always laugh at the same things.

Their bond is unbreakable. They are the perfect duo. They never need anyone else.

Until they meet Virgil Storm.

They meet him early in their second grade year. Virgil is… a weird kid. He wears a purple jacket with cat ears on the hood in the middle of August. He doesn’t try to talk to anyone at lunchtime. He wears different colored socks and carries a lunchbox with cartoon spiders on it that says “Happy Halloween” even when it isn’t October.

He’s odd.

Remus loves him. And because Remus loves him, so does Roman.

The three of them make quick friends, underneath the tree on the playground, sitting in the grass and sharing easy smiles, as children do.

Roman suggests that they play a game that he and Remus invented all on their own--Knights and Dragons.

Virgil is quick to agree, because young children don’t have anything to worry about beyond silly games with their peers.

Remus believes that Knights and Dragons is a much more fun experience with three people. Sometimes Virgil is a knight, with Roman, and they both chase Remus around the school yard, giggling and waving sticks like they’re swords. And other times, Virgil is a dragon with Remus, and the two of them roar and yell and flap their arms like wings.

Virgil makes Remus laugh in ways that he thought only his brother could. Virgil laughs with him, not at him.

Of course, all good things come to an end, and soon, for the imaginative boy that was Roman Sanders, Knights and Dragons is not enough.

Knights and Dragons are boring in the eyes of a third grader.

Roman suggests one day that they add a princess to their game of Knights and Dragons.

Remus (rightfully) thinks that this is a very stupid idea. Princesses are for Disney movies and fairytales. Remus Sanders most definitely does not live in a fairytale.

But Roman loves fairytales. And Roman loves Disney. And, unfortunately, so does Virgil.

So they add a princess to their game. Oftentimes, this princess is played by Virgil, but sometimes Roman steps into the role. Remus is just glad that he gets to stay a big scary dragon.

That is… Until just a princess being kidnapped by a dragon and saved by a courageous knight is not enough for young Roman Sanders.

No, Roman wants more. Roman wants to emulate his favorite movies and his new favorite theme of said movies--

Romance.

So Knights and Dragons and Princesses turns into… Playing Cinderella.

There definitely wasn’t a dragon in Cinderella.

Remus is quickly shoved into the roles of the ugly stepsisters and stepmother. Don’t get it wrong! He loves playing the villain. He loves laughing maniacally and calling his brother funny names and getting away with it without punishment, because it was just pretend.

He doesn’t so much like sitting in the grass of his own backyard, watching while Roman and Virgil twirl around, holding hands and “dancing” to imaginary music while they “fall in love.”

It’s boring.

He’s almost glad when Roman’s phase of playing pretend Disney princesses ends.

Except that he can’t be. Because it ends with the three of them turning twelve and entering the dreaded halls of middle school. It ends with Roman joining the school theater club and making a whole bunch of new friends.

It ends with Virgil and Remus suddenly being left to walk home from school alone one day.

Despite his brother’s popularity, both Remus and Virgil are… outcasts of a sort. And since they just downgraded from a trio to a duo, their friendship is a bit more… strained. They still have the closeness of five years of best friendship, but there’s something… missing.

Cue Janus Duncan.

Janus is also an outcast. Janus is like a fairy godmother who comes in to save the poor outcasts at the last second, turning bleak days into wishes come true (if eating school lunch under the bleachers and snorting with laughter as they mix all the slushie options at 7-11 into one cup can be considered wishes come true), and wearing a super cool leather jacket that was two sizes too big, but definitely influenced Remus’s punk phase.

Because, oh yeah. They definitely both start their punk phases after meeting Janus Duncan.

Honestly meeting Janus really is a wish come true for Remus. A miracle among the comedy of errors that was his teenage years.

Because after about a year of Virgil, Janus and Remus being the perfect trio 2.0, Remus starts to… notice some things.

One thing is the way that his heart seems to inflate like a little balloon in Remus’s chest when Virgil smiles at him. The way that his guts squirm when Virgil laughs at one of his jokes, true and bright. The way that Remus catches himself staring at Virgil’s crooked smile, or his chipped nail polish as his fingers twirl around in his hoodie strings.

The second thing has… a lot of the same signs honestly.

Because Remus starts to notice how Virgil always watches Roman when he’s over at Remus’s house. The way that Virgil always smiles and waves at Remus’s twin brother when they pass one another in the hallway at school, his pale cheeks flushing a soft pink.

It makes a terrible, sickly green emotion curl in Remus’s stomach.

Jealousy.

So when Virgil tentatively brings up trying out for the school play, and asks Remus if Roman would mind running some lines with him, Remus does something he isn’t proud of.

He snaps. He tells Virgil that he shouldn’t try. That he won’t even make it. That he isn’t popular kid material. That Roman isn’t his friend anymore, god, Virgil, can’t you take a hint?

He watches it happen like he isn’t the one controlling his own body. He sees the shock take over Virgil’s features. The years of easy trust crumble before his very eyes as Virgil reels back in horror. He can taste the jealousy on his tongue.

As Virgil leaves, Remus knows that he is the villain of this story.

He can see it as plainly as if he had shattered Virgil’s dreams right in front of him, like so much of a shattered glass shoe on the palace steps.

That night, Janus comes over and lets Remus have it.

For about five minutes, before Remus breaks down and tells the truth to his now one and only best friend and lecturing quickly turns to comforting.

By the time that they start high school, the original trio has withered down to just Remus. The other two thirds are nearly distant memories. One a locked door down the hall, and the other three lockers down, speaking to new friends.

Anyone would choose the prince over the ugly stepsister. He couldn’t blame them.

The spring of their sophomore year, the school announces that they will be putting on a production of none other than Cinderella.

Roman auditions, of course. He gets the role of the Prince.

Virgil doesn’t audition, but he offers himself up for the role of stage manager.

Virgil and Roman’s friends Patton and Logan audition. They get the roles of mice, but they don’t seem at all upset by that fact.

Janus auditions. He gets the role of the fairy godmother.

Janus asks Remus to audition.

Remus refuses. He doesn’t want to play a campy version of the ugly stepsisters in front of the entire school. He may not care about this hell hole, but he isn’t going to make his remaining two years any worse than they have to be.

Janus drags Remus to rehearsals anyway. Kicking and screaming.

By some miraculous happenstance, Remus suddenly becomes the set designer for the show.

He may be imagining things, but he is pretty sure that that has something to do with what Janus, Roman and the director were whisper-arguing about in the first week of rehearsals.

Remus is grateful for it. Not that he plans on saying so. He still can’t bring himself to apologize to Virgil, but watching him from afar still brings those butterflies to Remus’s stomach.

One night, after rehearsal, Remus is putting the finishing touches on the carriage prop, which has quickly gone from inconsequential to him to his very own magnum opus. He’s just testing out its mobility when he hears soft laughter.

Naturally, he follows the sounds.

Stage left, hidden in the wings, Remus sees his brother, in full costume, standing across from Virgil, who is chuckling and gently smoothing his hands across the front of Roman’s costume.

Remus sees green. His old friend Jealousy curls around him like the dragon that he used to love to play.

He barely restrains himself from breaking the very set that he worked so hard on.

Funnily enough, that is progress.

The night before the play opens, there is a house party. Remus isn’t quite sure who is hosting, but the cast and company are the only people invited.

Remus doesn’t want to go.

Janus makes Remus go.

Begrudgingly, Remus has a good time. He has a good time drinking soda and watching the other stage hands tell stories about past productions. He has a good time laughing at Janus as he unsuccessfully tries to flirt with the boy in the bright blue sweater who plays a mouse.

He is still having a good time when the girl who plays Cinderella herself caps a plastic bottle and places it on the ground, calling for everyone to gather around for a game of spin the bottle.

Remus finds himself sitting between Janus and his giggly mouse boy, and some other techie who wears sunglasses indoors.

There are a few fun rounds. Roman has to kiss the girl playing the stepmother. One of the mice has to kiss Cinderella. It’s all in good fun.

That is, until Remus isn’t really paying attention and the mouth of the bottle is suddenly facing him. He blinks.

From across the circle, the studious looking mouse speaks up. “Janus clearly touched the bo-” The hand of one of the set designers covers the mouse’s mouth.

Remus blinks again. “So who’s the lucky bastard I’m making out with?”

All eyes turn to Virgil, who looks like a startled mouse himself.

Shit.

Virgil is up before anyone can say anything, backing away from the circle and spinning on his heel before making a beeline for the kitchen. Remus follows, standing up before his mind even catches up with his body. He sees Roman making to stand up too, but he holds out a hand.

Even after years of not being close, Roman can tell what he means without a word.

Remus follows Virgil into the kitchen and finds him leaning against the counter.

“Didn’t want to kiss the ugly stepsister that badly, huh?”

“What?”

“You… You know, Emo, like that stupid game Roman always made us play when we were ankle biters.”

“Wh- First of all, you and Roman are identical twins. You look exactly the same. That was just a game.”

Remus shrugs, as if he hasn’t carried that game and all it implied with him for the entirety of his teenage years.

“And… No. It wasn’t- I just didn’t want to kiss you in front of everyone.”

Remus pretends like that doesn’t make his heart shatter into a hundred tiny pieces.

Virgil seems to see it anyway. “I mean that I don’t want to… have my first kiss in front of all of them. It’s nothing against you, they just- they just all know about my crush.”

Virgil says it like it’s something stupid. Like being in love is something shameful. Like liking Roman Sanders isn’t something that literally everyone in that room except for Remus has in common.

“Your crush on my brother?”

Virgil looks at him like he’s the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.

He probably is.

Because he doesn’t see it coming for a second when Virgil steps closer, cups Remus’s cheek in his hand like he is made of something precious and priceless, and closes the gap to kiss him.

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 6

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

relationship: Fem!OC/Spencer

content warnings: discussion of mental illness (schizophrenia)

word count: 4.4k

masterlist

the thing about growing up in a place where there are so many dinosaur fossils is that you start to search for them everywhere. my friends and I, in elementary school, saw the enormous bones, those huge sockets where eyes used to sit. and even though there was nothing in them now, they seemed to glare back at us. if you stood right in front, face-to-face, it felt like looking down the barrel of a gun. a several-ton, reptilian gun. petrifying.

and it wasn't like there was much to do in Montana, anyway. sometimes the sheer expanse of that place, especially if we drove a bit out of town, was enough to put fear in me. like we'd been abandoned there.

when my mom got her migraines, I dug holes in the front yard. occasionally, I'd find something-- a funnily-shaped rock, usually-- and it would look enough like a dinosaur tooth that for a moment I'd deceive myself into thinking that I'd made a discovery. it didn't matter that actual remnants would be buried much, much further in the ground than I could turn with my small hands. but I liked the slight rush it sent through my body, seeing what other people hadn't. sitting back on my heels and brushing off the excess, the only thing I could hear was my breath. there's something quite serene about that, the focusing in on something which normally I would never think about. my heart pounding. and I collected my findings so that I would be able to put them together again when there were enough pieces.

but this doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, particularly not when I'm short on time and staring at an upsettingly pathetic evidence board.

"the unsub said we needed a book, didn't he?" Spencer brings me to attention. there's an unfolded paper on the board that Hotch's wife dropped off an hour ago. he's talking to her in his office about who delivered it; we don't know anything else. all it has is a bunch of numbers written in neat black ink.

"yep." I bite the end of my pen and frown. "one that 'inspired many an adventure.'"

"then it's a book code," Reid says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. I arch an eyebrow and he continues. "each one of these sets of numbers represents a specific word. page 118, line 30, word 3." he points one long finger at a certain spot, and I follow it.

"so we just need to figure out what the words are and fill in the blanks," I lean forward in my chair, cradling a cup of coffee that's starting to grow cold. "except what book are we looking for?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. I lean back in my seat; if Reid doesn't know, we're all screwed. "the thing is that it has to be the exact same edition of the exact same book."

"that's encouraging." I sigh. the useless feeling puts me in a bad mood. we're wasting time by sitting and learning nothing. although there's nowhere to go.

I'm not sure how long we're there; hours, at least. night becomes less heavy, hues of a purplish pink sky slotting through the blinds and reminding me of just how exhausted I am. not enough to sleep. bone-tired.

Spencer crosses his arms, leans his chin on his fist and stares at the numbers like they'll suddenly make sense. and maybe they will; I don't know how his head works. some miracle that has eluded us for the past few hours might appear now. but the longer I stare, the more confused I get. instead, I start to sift through the pile of other evidence pieces scattered around the table. we could be missing something.

"you know, I can understand how this guy got our addresses and phone numbers, but there's no way all that information about JJ's butterfly obsession or Rossi's trips to baseball games would be in our personnel files." I frown. those things wouldn't be relevant.

Spencer isn't even listening to me, though. he's muttering to himself, eyes flickering over the floor.

"'never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight,'" he says it more loudly, then finally focuses on me. "it sounds familiar-- I think I've heard it somewhere before."

I also get the feeling that I've heard it before, except it keeps slipping my memory. a lot of rhyming poetry leaves my mind after I finish reading it, and I don't want to lead us in the wrong direction, either. he uncaps a dry erase marker and hurries over to the white board, writing "Possible Book Titles" in messy scrawl, staring at it. I watch him for a moment, the way he talks to himself as he works through his thoughts, certain words floating in the air.

"how many books do you think are published every year?" I ask. maybe if we can narrow that down, we can get a better perspective on how to proceed. Spencer doesn't even look up.

"thousands. easily." he sighs dejectedly. and then his head snaps up. "year... every year."

he spins and starts to push all the evidence bags aside on the table, scrambling to grab something. I don't know what to say about his fervent behavior. I'm speechless when he finds the baseball card. he shoves it in my face. "1963."

"what about it?" I take the card.

"if the book has to be the right volume and the right publication date, why is this from 1963?"

his eyes are enormous. wide pupils that urge me to catch onto his line of thought. for a moment, I have no idea what he's talking about. my eyes run over the baseball card for what feels like the millionth time, examining the date. I slam the thing down on the table and we look at each other.

"Rossi said 1959." I say. he nods.

"so the book must be from 1963, or it wouldn't fit the pattern," Reid straightens and runs his hands through his hair, his spine finally straightening as he takes a deep breath. I can practically sense the electric current that radiates from his body while he thinks. "I'm gonna go ask Garcia about something."

he's gone before I have a chance to respond.

...

the rest of the day gets really weird really fast. as all of us are focused on finding the unsub, I fall into a daze. I don't eat, don't drink anything other than tankards of coffee while my eyes start to burn from looking at the board.

we've finished talking on the phone to a librarian at some facility in Virginia, where the exact edition of the book we've been seeking is housed. it took about half an hour for us to go through each blank in the code with her. somehow, that prompted Spencer to think of his mom, so he called her and requested she be flown out here from Las Vegas immediately. the whole time he's on the phone, he rocks back and forth on his heels and keeps glancing at me.

I pretend to be focused on the pile of evidence, not wanting to intrude. he already told me about his mom, and I'm assuming this has something to do with her being a professor of medieval literature. it's not really my place to question it.

when he hangs up, he doesn't say anything to me. there's quite literally nothing else for us to do. I clear my throat, lick my lips, and sit a bit straighter. he's still standing with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"um," I wrack my mind for anything that would take our minds off the waiting. "do you wanna play cards?"

Spencer tries to smile. it looks more like a wince as he nods. with Prentiss and Morgan talking to the guy who delivered the code papers and Hotch and Rossi on their way to interview the parents of the missing girl (whose name is Rebecca Bryant, apparently), we're kind of aimless.

I head to the bullpen to grab my favorite deck, then return and close the door behind me. there are plenty of other employees out there bustling around, and the noise probably won't help his anxiety. he's sitting in the chair next to where I was, leaning his elbow against the table while he presses his knuckles to his temple. he looks incredibly pensive.

"here." I plop down next to him.

"thanks."

"mhmm." instead of starting a conversation, I just shuffle the deck. the only sounds are the flutter of paper against paper and the slap of the cards on the table's surface. his eyes follow the movements of my hands, the way I bend and mix them up, before eventually dealing them out.

it should be awkward, but it's not. the weight of his thoughts fills enough of the space for the both of us; I can practically hear him running through scenarios in his mind, ever.

we start to play for a couple minutes in silence, and I'm in shock when he's the one who initiates a game of war. all I do is smile to myself as the pile in the middle of the table begins. we get caught up in it; both of us are tense, and he finally slaps his hand down on the pile before I do. my hand is covering his, evidence of my defeat.

"hey!" he cheers, looking up at me with a surprised grin and dragging the pile towards him. I narrow my eyes.

"I was distracted." I roll my eyes.

"yeah?" he starts to laugh as he sets forth another card. "by what? how I'm crushing you?"

"you get one hand and suddenly you're the master, now, huh?" I can't help but giggle. he nods and smiles like, yeah, pretty much. I scoff and we continue to play. halfway through the next round, he speaks up.

"I forgot she always used to read me that poem."

"what poem?" I frown.

"The Parliament of Fowls-- it's how we figured out the book title."

the name slides into place for me at last. I must have read it in college or something, because it didn't leave that big of an imprint on my memory.

"Chaucer?" I raise an eyebrow. his head startles up from staring at the table.

"yeah." he smiles a little. 

"I'm not entirely stupid." I wink before setting down another card. he makes a noncommittal noise.

he seems to get uncomfortable, shifting, then gives up on his previous train of thought. "it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

I just give him an inquisitive look.

"I should have realized sooner. nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collected butterflies except for me." he isn't looking at me, but I notice that he does seem more relaxed than before. his shoulders aren't so hunched over, and there's even a hint of a thoughtful smile on his face.

"that's sweet." I reply softly.

"people tell me their secrets all the time," he stops putting out cards. I stop, too, although he doesn't even notice that we're no longer playing the game. his back is reclined in the chair. "I think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to."

my heart sinks in my chest at the implication. his tone is a bit melancholy, but there's something else in it, too, that I can't quite place. like a resigned loneliness. I want to say something, though I'm not sure what. and I don't think it would make a difference anyway. he continues on before I have to, thankfully.

"except my mom. I tell her... pretty much everything." he looks up at me when he says the last part, smiling. his eyes sparkle, and something about the low tone of voice and the way he gives up all of this at once makes me think that Spencer hasn't spent much time telling his own secrets. only hearing others', storing them away.

"I don't think anyone would mind." I reply.

"you know, I write her a letter every day." his laugh is really lovely. my heart stutters.

"I think that's nice."

"well, it depends on why I write her."

"what do you mean?" this time I frown, my fingertips fidgeting with each other under the table. I hate that I'm nervous right now, worried that I'll somehow ruin the moment.

"I write her letters... so that I don't feel so guilty about not visiting her." each syllable like its own individual battle for him.

the admission is like a cement block between us, something ridiculously heavy that he has compressed and repressed until it's too solid to hide anymore. and he's avoiding contact when he says it, and the moments after. his fingertips mess around with a stray paper clip, twisting the thing into oblivion.

"did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?" he asks, then peeks up to gauge my reaction. schizophrenia.

"how long has she been diagnosed?" my own eyes are barely able to hold his. everything in my body wants to reach out and hug him, even though that would only ruin this. Spencer isn't a fan of physical touch.

"since before I was born," he shrugs, poking his palm with the end of the paper clip. "she was on meds but didn't get placed in Bennington until I was eighteen." this also seems to be bitter in his mouth. "you get used to it. it's just... I won't know for a while."

I nod. it likely won't manifest for a couple years with him, but that only puts a ticking clock over his head. and, judging by the way his body is sinking into the swivel chair, he senses it constantly. I wish I could tell him that he doesn't have it, that he won't have it, except I can't. there's no way for anyone to find out right now.

"I'm sorry, Spence." it's a weak thing to say-- stupid, really. I've never had a way with words. instead, I pour every ounce of my emotion into it. I don't want him to feel alone. I guess I'm sorry for that, too, along with everything else. nobody deserves to deal with that by themselves.

"it's okay," he smiles. "it is what it is, right?"

"I mean, I think it's a little more complicated than that. but yeah." wow, really fucking eloquent. he chuckles at this, though, brushing his fingers over the top of his deck of cards. he flips the top one over and we return to playing, leaving the conversation to lie open between us.        

...

my body feels like it's been dragged through a corn field by the time we get back to the office. I think I'm still a little in shock, honestly. this whole day has been jam-packed with things, easily the most intense case I've had yet. my morning was occupied by a code-cracking book search, then a series of out-of-place card games with Reid, then his mother arrived and I left them to talk so as not to overwhelm her.

we rescued Rebecca Bryant-- Spencer did, I mean. it was chivalric, how he went into the house and tried to talk down her kidnapper (who happened to be her father). the guy blew himself up, and Morgan tells me that they barely got out of the way in time. I was on the main level with Hotch, trying to find Rebecca. again, Reid came to the rescue with that eidetic memory, recalling the puzzle pieces and a photograph that included an illuminated basement light. the key he received in the mail slipped into her shackles with ease, unlocking her before we carried her out onto the lawn and watched the house burn into an ash-covered shell of itself. I remember the way the smoke billowed into the air, how sparks fluttered out of the windows and dissipated into nothingness.

I stood there like a rock, Reid stumbling up next to me. his face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his hair was curlier than usual. the heat must have ruined whatever he usually used to smooth it down.

"hey." I'd said, putting my hand on his shoulder as if to offer some kind of stability. he glanced at me with something like unease, then tried to straighten up.

"hi."

"I heard you were a hero in there."

"did Morgan say that?"

"yeah, why?" I laughed. Reid chuckled, shook his head slowly.

"he's teasing me."

"for what?" I frowned.

"pure irony. you know how he always calls me 'pretty boy' and stuff?"

"I sure do." my fist came up to softly slug him in the shoulder. Spencer stumbled a bit and my eyes went wide as I tried to right him before he fell. he made a face as he regained his footing and then I giggled. "you okay, there?"

"I'm fine." he tried to be annoyed, but he was hiding a smile.

"is Rebecca gonna be okay?" I nodded to the ambulance, where he had just spent the past couple minutes talking to the paramedics and checking her condition.

"she'll be okay-- physically, I mean."

"seriously," I watched them close the doors to the vehicle, closing her up inside before they sped off to the hospital. "two years in there."

he nodded and we started to walk to our cars to meet up with the team and head to the office. we both knew his mother was still at Quantico, probably anxiously awaiting his return after she helped him crack the case. but he didn't seem to want to talk about it, so I asked something else that was on my mind.

"do you ever go back and look at old cases?"

"old cases?" he stared at the ground beneath his feet, kicking up the gravel as a way to distract himself. I cleared my throat.

"like, ones that you guys have solved. have you ever gone back and checked to see how the victims are doing now?"

"I haven't worked here long enough for that, really." he had shrugged. I remember how the air felt in my lungs, a little bit poisoned by smoke. still breathable as I inhaled it deeply.

"really makes you think."

"what do you mean?"

"'saving' people has to be more than just sweeping them out of harm's way at the last second, right?" I put air-quotes around the word.

he thinks this over, nodding.

"sorry, I know you're tired." one look at him and I realized that the question I'd posed was one for another time. he walked like there was some unconscionable weight on his shoulders, like he didn't think he deserved his moment of glory for saving that girl's life-- and ours, probably, too.

he looks the same now, pushing the glass doors of the BAU open and immediately focusing in on the windows of the conference room, where the blinds have been lowered to make Diana feel safer. I watch as he runs up the stairs, returning to her as soon as possible.

I wonder what it is to love someone that much, that fear for their well-being that puts you on edge.

Emily places a hand on my shoulder.

"you okay?" she asks, draws my attention away from the closed door of the round table room. I smile and nod cheerfully.

"yep. just ready to go to bed."

"no kidding," she scoffs, slamming her go-bag on her desk. "I feel like I've been up for days."

"so it wasn't just me?" I laugh as I set my things in my own space. she shakes her head slowly and Morgan walks over, his own gait seemingly heavy with exhaustion.

"plans for tonight, ladies?" he jokes.

"with my couch and takeout." Emily replies. once my bag is all packed up, she and Morgan and I wander out of the office. Rossi stops us at the last minute, joining before we head into the hallway to take the elevator downstairs.

I peek once to see Hotch sitting in his office, settled in with the light on like he's been there all day. my brain almost short-circuits at the thought of doing more work in any capacity right now.

"does he ever sleep?" I ask quietly as though he can hear me from all the way over here. Rossi glances at the unit chief through the window, shaking his head slowly and letting out the kind of knowing chuckle that only older people have.

"nope."

"wait," Morgan sees our small grouping, almost does a head count as JJ emerges from her office and sidles up silently next to me while we wait for the steel doors to open. "where's the kid?"

"Spence is flying his mom back to Vegas." JJ replies right away. when I saw him disappear into that room, I knew they wouldn't leave for a while; moving her around so much can't be good for her mental state. but I guess they're eager to get her to the sanitarium, which also makes sense.

"oh, okay." Morgan shrugs. I chance a look in that direction. the blinds are still drawn. Medieval literature. huh. part of me begins to think about all the things she must know, must have passed down to Reid.

...

"I'm gonna say... three." my voice is uncertain at first, but then the flavor coats my tongue and I smack my lips. "yeah."

Spencer's nonresponse is damning. I hear the puff of air he exhales in frustration as I lift the sleeping mask up from my eyes. I got it from my go-bag; we've decided to repurpose it for the morning in the office. technically, we could just close our eyes and keep it simple, but I thought it would be sort of funny because there are two huge cartoon eyes printed on the front.

"I'm right, aren't I?" I smirk, eyes landing on his crossed arms and taut expression. he shrugs.

"I think you're cheating."

"how am I cheating?" I laugh.

"I don't know, but you are." he shakes his head as I wrap my fingers around the handle and take a sip of the coffee. we're taste-testing to see who's better at finding the sugar content. it's become a pattern of ours: I make him a cup and he makes me one and then we drop in the sugar packets while the other keeps their eyes covered. it's actually pretty fun, especially because I'm good at it.

"your turn, then." I take off the sleeping mask and hand it over to him. he slips the thing over his eyes and waits patiently for me to put the sugar packets in. I chew on my bottom lip as I decide what number to do.

as I do this, JJ stands behind my shoulder.

"nap time, Spence?" she asks him with a chuckle. I explain before he has the opportunity to slander me with more cheating accusations.

"we're trying to see how good we are at detecting the number of sugars." I pick up six packets, knowing it'll definitely overload his senses. this'll teach him to call me a liar. JJ's eyes widen.

"cover your ears, Reid, I don't want you to hear me tearing them open." I order. he obliges, and I can sense the frown on his face while I dump in the sweetener.

"okay." I mix it with the stirrer before placing it in front of him.

"this thing smells like lavender." he observes randomly in reference to my sleeping mask.

"it's got scented stuff inside the fabric." I say.

"interesting. did you know that lavender is actually proven to be much more effective than--"

"Spence, just drink the coffee. I have to go talk to Hotch about something and I wanna see how this ends." JJ cuts him off light-heartedly. I purse my lips because I was sort of interested in what he was going to say, but he takes the not-so-subtle hint and lifts the mug.

I expect him to be repulsed by the sweetness, or at least to show some kind of discomfort. however, he takes a long draw before setting it on the table. his hand clutches onto the mug, still, as he pulls the mask off.

"five. this is my usual concoction." he clenches his jaw in complete seriousness. I have to fight an enormous grin, though it just turns into me twisting my mouth to the side of my face and JJ raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"what? am I wrong?" he gets nervous, voice going up an octave as he glances between the two of us. JJ averts her eyes, smiling.

"you lose!" I cackle, throwing my hand up for JJ to high-five. Spencer looks at me like I've stolen his life's savings.

"no! there's no way--"

"I forgot how many you usually put in there and I still won." I feign an awed expression.

"it's okay, Spence. you can always practice." JJ pats his shoulder sympathetically and then leaves us, running up the stairs to Hotch's office. I'm still smirking triumphantly as he glares at me.

"don't hate the player," I sigh, throwing my hands up. "hate the game."

"well, the player also happened to invent the game, so I think I'm entitled." he counters. I snort at his quickness.

"can I try this?" I point to the mug. "I've never had one with six."

he pushes the drink in my direction with his fingertips, almost having given up on trying to fight the loss. "there were six? that's only one off."

"yeah, but you need to get it right to win, dummy." I take a sip of the coffee. it's so sweet, though, that I shake my head and set it back down. "what in God's name is that?"

"you made it!" I sort of like the way his voice gets higher-pitched when he's vehement about something. it's cute.

"I wish I hadn't." I shove it over to him, half-expect that he'll not touch it now that I've taken a drink from it. but he continues to take ingest the caffeine, undeterred. I quirk an eyebrow silently, watching him.

"what?" he asks.

"nothing," I stand up. "come on, we should get some work done. I don't want Hotch to come down here and yell at us."

[wonderwafles]

Kiss prompt: Tallulah/Caliban, #17?

Funnily enough, you caught me in the midst of writing a fic about them already! Your prompt fit in perfectly. (Now on AO3!)

...

The rain pouring down turned the roads into mud-slick quagmires that threatened to pull him down and never let him go again, which Caliban-8 figured was really just as well, today of all days.

The Hall of Consensus awaited ahead, framed by low buildings and the dark clouds above. He stood at a street corner, the eyes of several civilians on him (he was, after all, famous-by-proxy) and straightened up. He looked devastated, out in the rain. Just as well.

The doors of the Consensus now stood before him. He schooled his features, raised his hand, and knocked.

Consensus was in session; he wasn’t supposed to knock. But this news could not wait.

The doors opened, by the hand of a minor Faction representative — for which, he couldn’t remember. Perhaps there had been a change, since the last time he was in the City.

“Ah,” he said, looking him up and down. “And you are…?”

“Caliban-8,” he said. His voice grated like broken glass in the aftermath of tears. Most people did not think Exos could cry, and yet, by some quirk or feature of their design…

The man still looked confused. Caliban sighed. “Second in command to Talullah Fairwind,” he added.

A few more agonizing moments of silence, making Caliban’s job much harder than it needed to be, before a gruffer voice from behind the door made them both jump.

“Hello, Caliban,” Osiris said. “Open the door, man, open the door! This one has come from long and far to meet us again.”

As with anything Osiris said, there might have been a rebuke buried in there somewhere. It was one of the things that always caused strife between Osiris and Tallulah, who hated the idea of someone talking out of both sides of their mouth at her. Today of all days, Caliban did not ask.

“Osiris,” he greeted the Warlock as he stepped inside.

“I received your message,” Osiris replied, straightforward as ever. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you come bearing good news?”

Caliban looked around. At the table in the center of the Consensus, the surrounding audience having depleted to only a few stragglers and many empty chairs, Saint-14, the Speaker, and three Consensus leaders sit. A session is in full swing. Part of that must be his fault, for the news he had all but told Osiris he had.

He decided to turn away from Osiris, and make his way down the stairs. “Thank you, my friends,” he said. (Politician speech, but he feels it truly.) “It’s true that I have some bad news.”

Saint turned away, just so. The Speaker is inscrutable behind the mask. Caliban can tell they already know what he’s going to say.

“A couple of days ago, Tallulah Fairwind was killed,” he said. His voice broke at the appropriate moment. He didn’t even need to try. “An Ahamkara got to her. She…”

He took a moment to compose himself, and to remember his instructions.

“She took on a bet with the dragon in order to save a distant village,” Caliban continued. He looked around. All eyes were on him, including what few spectators there were. The rain pounded outside, noiseless and deafening. He closed his eyes, blocked them all out. “She lost the game. She argued that instead of the village, the price should be her life. The dragon accepted.”

He opened them again as he heard the scraping of a chair. In an instant, Saint had wrapped his arms around Caliban, tightening around him like servos in a steel trap.

“My friend,” Saint said. “I am truly sorry to hear this news.”

“As am I,” Osiris said, laying his hand on Caliban’s shoulder. “Tallulah was… a true friend. And a fierce defender of the City’s people, not just its doctrine.”

“I bet she went down like a hero,” Sagira added. “Like always.”

Consolation was murmured across the table. The Faction leaders — he recognized New Monarchy and the War Cult, but who was that third one? — joined in.

Eventually, it all died down, and Saint finally released him. Only the Speaker was left sitting at the head of the table. He had not risen, nor did he say anything while the others spoke.

Now, however, his soft voice drifted throughout the room. “I am sorry, Caliban,” he said. “It was… I first met Tallulah in what feels like the bleakest part of the Dark Age. She was such an excellent Hunter. I thought there was no better choice for the position of Vanguard. I still feel that way now.”

Caliban nodded. He couldn’t help but agree, even knowing how much Tallulah longed to be free. And what she would do to get there.

The Speaker’s mask tilted down slightly, towards what Caliban had in his hands. “I suppose she has named you her successor?”

Caliban held up Tyranny of Heaven. “Her Dare was that whoever got her bow would replace her,” he said, speaking carefully, telling no lies. “She gave it to me just before the end.”

It was a fine piece of work, silvered and made by a hand that almost seemed alien in its precision and beauty. Caliban had always said that it was the first, and only, nice thing that Tallulah owned.

“Look,” New Monarchy’s man said, standing up. “This is grave news, and the City has a long time of mourning ahead of it. But I feel I must say, as a member of the Consensus, that this whole Dare thing is ridiculous. And if Tallulah intended to choose her successors based on Hunter bravado—”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Executor,” the Speaker said. “Mandating a Hunter Vanguard would only serve to drive any potential candidates further away. In any case,” now inclining his head towards Caliban, “we have a very clear-cut scenario here. Tallulah has named her successor. If she trusts him, then so do I.”

Uh oh.

Caliban swallowed, a vestigial tic from the time before the creation of the Exos. All eyes turned to him again. Now was the hardest part. “I’m afraid I have to decline,” he told them all.

Before they could say anything, he pressed forward. “The dragon is still out there, and still a threat,” he said. “I feel… bound to hunt it. To make sure that nothing like this happens again. And I am aware that would conflict with my duties as Vanguard.”

“This does not need your hand, Caliban, skilled though it is,” Saint said, full of patience and grief. “This dragon… we could start a search party. You could lead them, from the City.”

Caliban had always hated Hunter bravado. But now, at least, it made for a good cover. He summoned up every inch of acting ability he had, as well as every ounce of resolve he could muster, and broke his friend’s heart.

“I am bound to this,” he insisted. Real grief filled his voice as he looked around the Consensus. So many friends to say goodbye to. So much left undone here. “The Ahamkara was mine and Tallulah’s responsibility. And now it is only mine. I would not risk any other Guardians to clean up my mess.”

Saint and Osiris bowed their heads. They understood duty. The others… it was hard to get a bead on them.

“Fine,” the Speaker said, a twinge of anger making its way into his voice. “Go, then, and have your vengeance, so long as you leave us another successor to replace a lost friend.”

Caliban cringed. A thread of razor wire tightened around his heart, and he almost thought about calling it all off, telling them all the truth they deserved to know. But not now. Not now that he’d already passed a million event horizons.

“Be kind, Speaker,” Osiris said. “I understand what he’s doing. And I sympathize with it entirely.”

Osiris met Caliban’s eye, and something in there made the Hunter think that he had entirely underestimated the old Warlock.

“Kauko Swiftriver,” Caliban said, as the silence deepened. “He’s a good man. He’ll take up the job, I know it.”

“Good man indeed,” Saint said. “And what of the Dare?”

Caliban thought deeply about this. He couldn’t offer Kauko the bow. And his conscience couldn’t take it if he Dared his friend to do something dangerous just to cover for him.

Then, the answer crashed over him like a waterfall. “I will Dare him to tell everyone here my greatest secret,” Caliban said. And smiled. It was the first time since he had gotten to the Consensus that he felt like smiling. “You all will get your Vanguard.”

…

“That’s a damn evil choice your boy gave me, Tallulah,” Kauko Swiftriver said.

Tallulah laughed, and brushed the hair out of her face. She had decided to wear it loosely now, in honor of new freedom. “I told you,” she said. “He has a dark side.”

Kauko scoffed. “Yeah. Maybe you’ve been getting to him.”

“I’ve been getting to him for a while now.” Tallulah smirked. “But hey. Don’t be too upset. It’s not such a bad life, you know. Saint and Osiris are good people. Just prepare to be the biggest third wheel in the history of third wheels.”

“I think I know what that’s like,” Kauko said. But he smiled. “Fine, fine. Anything for you, Fairwind. Just… be safe out there. And yeah, I know what I said. I mean it. It’s retirement. Enjoy it.”

“I’ll try,” she replied. “Thanks, Kauko. For real. Stay in touch?”

“Sure thing.”

Wishful thinking, maybe. But neither of them said anything else as the terminal blinked out, and Tallulah was left alone in the tiny ship with her thoughts.

Not alone for long, however.

“That,” Caliban accused from the other end of the ship, “was horrible.”

“Cal!” Tallulah brightened up. She couldn’t help it. “Was wondering if you’d skipped out on me!”

But her spirits fell as she saw his face. For a second, a horrible fear that he had changed his mind washed over her, and for a moment she had no idea what she was going to do.

“Was it that bad?” she asked, keeping her voice casual, making her way over to him.

“Saying goodbye to your friends is always hard,” he said. He shook his head. “But I wouldn’t have agreed to do it if I didn’t want to go with you. I just… I hated having to lie to them.”

She sighed. Sometimes, he knew her better than she knew herself. “I know, buddy,” she said. Nothing at all came to mind to make him feel better. “How can I make it up to you?”

Caliban sighed, and wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Really?” she said, returning the hug. “You’re aware you’re turning down a favor from the one and only Tallulah Fairwind, Hunter extraordinaire? One time offer of me owing you, never to be admitted again?”

Caliban smiled into the crook of her shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “I know how this life was getting to you, getting to both of us. I’d do it again in a heartbeat if you asked me to.”

I owe you everything, she thought. Everything, every day, for all the days there ever will be. Sometimes the thought of this truth staggers her, nearly knocks her to the floor.

“Tell you what,” Tallulah said, separating from the hug. “If, in a hundred years, Saint and Osiris are still standing, we’ll pop back to the City and explain ourselves. I bet that’s enough time for them to stop being angry with us.”

Caliban laughed. “You promise?” he asked.

Always, always, always. “Let’s seal it,” Tallulah said, and pulled him closer. Caliban leaned inward and returned the kiss, and for a second it didn’t even matter that their cramped jumpship had Caliban stooping even before the kiss, or that they were leaving behind everything they had ever known for a chance at something better.

Caliban broke away and laughed. “Okay, okay, I believe you,” he said.

“Then let’s get gone before Osiris figures us out,” she said. She went over and sat in the cockpit, keying the engine.

“Nice ship, on such short notice,” Caliban said. “I don’t suppose it has anything to do with the fact that the representative of the new Faction, which just recently rocketed out of obscurity to gain a seat on the Consensus, wears the same logo as the one on the hull?”

Tallulah winked. “Probably just a coincidence,” she said.

“Sure. Last question, then. Do you know where we’re going?”

“I do indeed, so you can stop that tone of voice. I was talking to this Iron Lord pal of mine—”

“All the Iron Lords are dead!”

“Hey, hey! Let me finish the story...”

[kerra-and-company]

Hey there, I hope you're having a great day! I'm probably late to the party, but for the planet asks - would you want to give us Pluto for one of your characters? ^w^

I am in fact having a pretty good day, thanks! And I hope you are too! :) Don't worry, you're not that late, and I'd be happy to--I saw that you enjoyed my Cio post yesterday, so let's give these a shot for her! (Thank you by the way!! <3)

𝟏𝟎.   𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎   !

( 𝗌𝗒𝗆𝖻𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝗌   : transformation,   power,   death,   rebirth,   evolution. )

what   does   ‘ power ‘   mean   to   your   muse   ?   and   how   important   is   it   to   them   ?   is   death   something   that   frightens   them   ?   how   do   they   handle   death   ?   do   they   believe   in   reincarnation   ?   rebirth   doesn’t   necessarily   mean   dying   and   being   reborn   as   another   person   or   thing,   it   can   also   mean   something   as   simple   as   changing   something   drastic   about   themselves,   so   do   they   believe   a   person   can   truly   change   ?   transform   their   flaws   and   be   reborn   as   a   better   person   ?

Cioffi:

Power can mean many different things, but the most relevant to Cio are these: control over your own life, control over others, magical power, and political power (there's a bit of overlap there, but yeet). As for how important it is to her, she has yet to meet a politician she trusts (Cio is not a fan of the Arcane Council), and she's wary of those who openly claim to have great magical power. Some of them are mostly fine, if arrogant, but better to be safe than sorry, in her experience. She has fought hard for control over herself and her life and values that very highly, but she doesn't crave a leadership position in the Priory or the Pact, which, funnily enough, is partially why she ends up with one.

On the topic of death, Cio's parents died in front of her--rather violently, actually--but she was only about two years old and was too young to remember. She grows up recognizing death as loss and as something that hurt her older brother, but she's not personally scarred by it. The first person she truly loses is Sieran, at Claw Island, and it cuts very, very deep. She handles it as well as she can, which isn't particularly well, and "deals with" reminders of it during HoT by pretending she isn't phased by any of the deaths there at all. It takes a bit for her to learn how to grieve in a way that's healthy. If she lost someone now, it would still cut deep, but she'd deal with it at least a little bit better.

Cio's view on change comes from a very scientific source--reactions are transformations, not erasures. She believes it's very much possible to change, but you'll never become an entirely different person. You're still you, you're still a person who has done XYZ things, but you can learn from that and grow more until that's more your starting point than anything else. (This doesn't mean she's always going to forgive people who make mistakes, but it does mean that if someone's put in the work to do better she'll take that into account and consider it.)

Also, sorry in advance but this prompt is forcing me to write a tiny Cio on Claw Island drabble thingy, so if you want angst, check under the cut. Claw-Island-typical warnings for it.

Cio hammers against her friend's arms with her fists. She can feel them glowing, glowing, burning--a distant part of her recognizes that she must be hurting Nisha, but xe doesn't let go, and she can't stop.

"If we have to run, come with us."

Her throat is already sore from screaming, and it tangles with the moans and shuffling of Risen on the docks. Nisha ducks and spins around the dragon minions as their companions' blades and arrows cut them down, unable to fight but unwilling to let her go.

"There's too many of them. We have to stay. You have to get back and warn the Priory, the other orders, Lion's Arch."

Cio's eyes are fixed on the gate. It's closed, it's closed, but she could get it open, she could blow it open, it's not that far away, she could go if she ran if she was let down she could save--

She's unsure which words she's yelling and which she's thinking. She doesn't care.

"Let the others stay!" It's selfish, she knows it as she says it, but--

A hammer flies toward her face, covered in muck and dirt and blood. Nisha moves away just in time for it to catch xem on the shoulder instead. It must hurt, but the tall sylvari is silent, the only sign of pain a stiffness and a shudder that shakes Cio's entire body.

"Three have a better chance, and you know it, Ci."

"Let me go," she hears herself plead, rough and broken. Her throat hurts. She opens her mouth again. "Let me go, Nish, let me go--"

An arrow flies past her face, burying itself in the Risen's head, and it collapses with a rattling exhale of air.

"Whether it's one, two, or three, you have no chance, please, I--"

"Let me go!" It's a hoarse cry rather than a scream. Her voice failing her, she thrashes and thrashes and thrashes, but Nisha holds her with both arms, and xyr grip stays strong.

"I always wanted to fall in love just once before I died."

Somehow they've reached the boat, now, and Nisha flings the two of them onto the deck, curling up in a corner around Cio and holding her as still as xe can.

Their companions follow, faces Cio will identify later--Trahearne, the Firstborn, dragging an injured Lionguard soldier; the young Warmaster, with tears streaming down her face and a staff that looks too big for her; and the Lightbringer, the other sylvari, whose eyes are fierce and angry and broken as she shoots Risen after Risen with arrows like targets at a firing range.

"Sieran, please--"

The ship pulls away from the docks. It's too slow and too fast all at once but whichever it is, Cio can feel it, and the toes of her boots thud against the deck in a last-ditch escape effort.

"I'm so glad I got to love you."

"SIERAN!" Cio's voice shatters on the name. A breaking. A letting go.

She stops struggling. She'll notice later that she's left scorch marks on the deck planks.

I love you too, she whispers to a ghost.

[ducktracy]

183. porky’s double trouble (1937)

release date: november 13th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: frank tashlin

starring: mel blanc (porky, killer), tedd pierce (narrator), sara berner (petunia)

the end of an era—this is the final cartoon to feature “fat porky”. though he’d been dieting since late 1936 and steadily throughout 1937 with the other directors, frank tashlin was the last one to skinny him up. ironic, since he was such a stickler for streamlined designs! nevertheless, this is an exciting change, as porky is finally completing his transformation into the pig we know and love today.

not only that, this is the final appearance of frank tashlin’s petunia as well. she’d go on a hiatus all throughout 1938, only to be revived by bob clampetts with a totally new design in 1939. unfortunately, she was only kept for two more shorts before being discarded again. parting is such sweet sorrow!

we deal with not one porky, but two: an escaped convict kidnaps porky and steals his identity in order to successfully rob a bank. it’s up to petunia to put a stop to this criminal’s crime spree... or is it?

a silhouette of a pig furtively creeps under a blanket of typography from the title card. the pig isn’t our favorite stuttering porcine, but rather a grisly, stubbly porky doppleganger attempting to escape from prison. he jumps and growls at the spotlight that shines on him, shooting at the offscreen subjects. not only does he whip out two pistols, he even flips them--such a small detail of flamboyant dramatics goes a long way.

prison guards shoot back at the convict, silhouetted against the night sky, illuminated only by the glow of the searchlight and the stylized white bullets raining down below. the composition is stellar, its flatness reminiscent of the backgrounds of the early ‘40s cartoons, primarily from the likes of frank tashlin, chuck jones, and even norm mccabe at times. a whistle screeches as the prisoners run along, rifles in hand. in all, the dramatic opening rampant with silhouettes feels quite reminiscent to the opening of little beau porky, another tashlin entry just a year prior.

callbacks are more blatant as we undergo the signature Frank Tashlin Expositional Montage, footage of cop cars racing out into the street reused from tex avery’s the blow out, while a close-up of a newspaper press is also reused from avery’s porky the wrestler. all the while, a shot of the convict, identified as “killer” by one of the newspapers in the montage, oversees the chaos, his eyes drifting along to survey the action, his lips parted in a sneer. the narration (tedd pierce?) is the cherry on top--often times, narration has a tendency to feel redundant, as if it’s a crutch to support the gags (i.e. some of tex avery’s earlier entries), but here it elevates the theatrics of the entire prison escape.

speaking of narrators, ours introduces us to a gangster hideout--an abandoned all girls school by the name of katz school for girls, a nod towards studio business manager ray katz--no doubt a place frequented by killer. tashlin’s cinematography is in full swing as we iris in on an exterior shot of the hideout before panning along the interior, an arsenal of weapons littering the schoolroom of years past. a smooth, clever transition of pans from the classroom to a grandiose hallway, focusing on a door.

killer’s lackeys crowd around a table littered with alcohol bottles and playing cards, but most importantly, newspapers highlighting killer’s escape. his cronies all mutter words of praise in thick brooklyn accents (”yeah, dis guy’s clever, jus’ like who-dun-y! he can get outta anyt’ing!”). the conversation between the gangsters is surprisingly natural and fun to listen to: one of the lackeys likens killer to “clark taylor”, a humorously false remembrance of actors clark gable and robert taylor combined.

 knocking outside the door prompts the cronies to whip around with their guns drawn, all crowing “who’s ‘dere!?” in unison. outside the door stands a rather spherical caricature of mae west--if there’s a mae west cameo, it must be a ‘30s cartoon! funnily enough, tashlin gets an animation credit on buddy’s beer garden, a cartoon whose mae west caricature is relatively integral to the plot as well.

mae informs the boys that she comes peddling a message from killer. furtively, they all crowd around the door, stacking on top of each other, each peering out of their own peephole door. the silent film inspiration is strong in this shot. not only that, its composition also reminds me of some of the shots in tashlin’s porky pig’s feat, a personal favorite of mine. 

all hesitation to let newcomers in is dropped once the cronies spot their curvaceous company. they’re instantly smitten, batting eyelashes and all, one of the cronies going so far as to stroke mae the messenger’s face. tashlin’s cartoons always had a promiscuous flair to them, especially in the ‘40s--here is no exception. perhaps it’s only natural, seeing as this entire cartoon is one large parody of all of the gangster pictures churning out from warner bros. at the time (marked woman, kid galahad, san quentin to name a few.)

“he said...” mae lunges a haymaker, causing all four cronies to domino together and knock into the door as mel blanc settles out of his falsetto, “NOT T’ FOOL AROUND WITH DAMES, YA LUGS!!!” killer strips out of his outfit (even removing an iron barbell from where his chest is), growling “let that loin ya a lesson!” as always, mel is fun to listen to--his falsetto voice sounds rather similar to the voice he’d use for his lou costello caricatures. 

killer eyes a stray newspaper, gloating “once i was only public enemy numba NINE!” at the sight of his new title as public enemy #1. (it should be noted that in tashlin’s first picture, porky’s poultry plant, another “public enemy” gag is used. gag continuity is always fun to see!) his eyes drift over to an article on the other side of the page (if you look closely, the date is “thoisdays octember 42nd”, the paper addressing the denizens of “porkysville”.):

“hey! what’s dis? da guy looks just like me! he could be me twin brudda!” frank tashlin’s disgruntlement with porky can be felt multiple ways here. not only did he hesitate until 2.5 minutes into the cartoon to introduce him, the underscore is “puddin’ head jones”, a frequent score associated with porky on numerous occasions offering not-so-subtle commentary about his intelligence (or lack thereof.) 

killer ushers his lackey to take a glimpse at his bank-teller doppelgänger, whispering a plan to them involving porky and the bank, the narrator clueing us in that “the evildoers carefully plan another hideous crime.”

it’s not a tashlin cartoon without his signature up-shot: we iris in on an impressive up-shot view of “worst national bank”, a score of “plenty of money and you” and even the extravagant car horn of a limo solidifying that yes indeed, this here’s a bank! inside, porky dutifully deposits the goods of his spherically designed patrons. even by 1937, these mathematically proportioned designs were out of style--i suppose tashlin got the memo, though, seeing as this is the final “fat porky” cartoon, indicating a transition into more modern, streamlined designs. 

bob bentley animates a close-up of porky depositing the cash of a scottie dog. cue the ever prevalent “cheap scotsman” gag, the scottie’s coin purse (a sock with a lock on it) revealing a swarm of moths upon its opening. he deposits a lone dime, porky happily obliging to sign the bank book. the scottie leaves, and it only takes a few bloated seconds for porky’s brain to catch up with him, realizing that he just signed a bank book to deposit a measly dime. he smacks himself in the face, a carl stalling favorite cue of “you’re a horses ass” providing musical commentary as porky glowers into the camera, hand sliding down his pudgy face. stereotypes aside, this is a fun little scene. it gives porky some personality, accentuating his gullibility (a persistent factor of his character, no matter who is directing him), and bob bentley’s animation is extremely appealing. no discretion to volney white, who animates the next scene, but there’s a noticeable difference in bentley’s and white’s styles, bentley’s animation much more dimensional. i absolutely love how he draws porky.

secretary petunia, once again voiced by sara berner, coos at porky to come over to her desk. she wastes little time flirting with him, asking that the two “step out” for the night. volney’s animation of porky is hysterical--his discomfort is exceedingly visible. porky gets cold feet, a stuttering mess (more than usual) as he sputters “geh-eh-g-eh-g-g-gee, miss petunia, i’m, uh, buh-beh-bashful... huh...heh, you’re so eh-peh-purrty, and eh-uh-i’m, uhh... yee-you’re, uh...” cue one of my favorite deliveries ever by mel blanc as the lunch bell rings. porky grins, realizing he’s saved by the bell. he doesn’t stutter once as he declares breathlessly “it’s time for lunch, g’bye!” and rushes off. the comedic timing, both from mel’s delivery and volney’s animation, couldn’t be better. 

porky strolls outside, where he stumbles across killer (disguised as mae west again) hammering away at a car. porky’s good nature prevails, which often leads to trouble: with a polite tip of the hat, he asks if the woman needs any assistance. “would you be so kind?” 

as porky works on the vehicle, killer prepares to strike, hammer in hand. his motives are thwarted as porky turns to offer assurances that the car will be fixed in a jiffy, killer impatiently hiding the bludgeoner behind his back. the charade continues, porky turning and talking, putting a stop to the nefarious deeds. as porky turns to say “eh-nuh-neh-nuh-now, it’s in the beh-beh-eh-beh-bag!”, killer grunts in his normal voice “SO ARE YOU!”, kicking porky under the hood (bumpy ride!) and peeling off in the car to certain doom.

the transition from killer kidnapping porky to killer putting on porky’s clothes (who’s bound and gagged in a chair) is surprisingly snappy, yet comprehensible and smooth. of course, the narration does contribute to the clarity, but regardless, such a quick transition can be difficult to convey smoothly and clearly. tashlin does it very well.

volney white animates killer’s taunts to porky: “and, wit’ your sissy clothes on, i can rob da bank! and YOU’LL take da rap, see!? AHAHAHA!” volney’s animation is fun to watch--before i saw this cartoon for the first time, i only ever saw google images of it, this scene being one of those images. volney’s eye takes amazed me at how anachronistic they seemed, and i remember likening him to joe murray if he made cartoons in 1937. very fun eye takes indeed!

speaking of fun, bob bentley does a neat little scene involving a brawl between killer and his reflection in the mirror. he goes to check out his new pilfered duds (”now i look like da squoit!”), admiring himself in the mirror. suddenly, his reflection grows a life of its own, sticking its tongue out. real killer gets pissed (if you notice, when he does a take of surprise, you can see where the cel of the reflection gets cut off) and punches the mirror, leaving the glass broken, his reflection now touting a blackened eye. while the “reflection becoming sentient” gag may seem tired, i enjoy how interactive killer’s reflection is, all without saying a word. the staging feels incredibly natural and nonchalant.

with that, killer makes his way to the bank, whistling along to the underscore of “with plenty of money and you” beneath the words of the narrator. you can spot a bit of camera trouble as the camera pans out from the sign at porky’s desk reading “PORKY PIG -- OUT TO LUNCH”: the pan janky, the picture briefly turning blurry before resuming to normalcy. it’s more interesting than detrimental, especially considering warner bros never did retakes.

cue a montage of “porky” stowing away the goods of the townspeople into his pocket, pretending to deposit them in the bank. the minor key rendition of “puddin’ head jones” is a nice reminder of killer’s similarities and differences. similar in appearance, maybe, but not much else. 

petunia engages in her routine from before, attempting to seduce “porky”. mel blanc’s genius shines as killer responds to petunia’s calls in a gruff, scratchy “YEAH, WHAT IS IT!?” he catches himself, and responds in an authentic porky voice “ye-ye-ye-yes, wuh-weh-wuh-weh-what is it?” the transition is seamless. whether it was on one take or two separate recordings, i don’t know, but it remains just as entertaining either way. i especially like how killer switches from “yeah” to “yes”--porky’s personality, while still relatively thin at this point, is certainly coming clearer. at the very least, frank tashlin knows that porky wouldn’t respond by saying “yeah”. it’s a little detail, but it says a lot.

and, just like myself, petunia also understands the distinctions between killer and porky--especially when killer plants a kiss on her as soon as she pulls the same “how ‘bout you and i stepping out tonight, big boy?” routine. killer grabs her in his arms, sneering “why wait until tonight, baby?” and gives her a kiss, prompting petunia to smack him and declare “why, you’re not porky pig!” killer’s response is full of careful wit and thoughtfulness as he so eloquently answers: “SO WHAT?”

ringing the burglar alarm, that’s what. petunia discreetly sets the alarms off, prompting a flurry of bullets to whiz at killer offscreen (they sure have good security!). killer retaliates with his own shotguns, but quickly speeds off to his hideout, goods still in his possession.

killer and his lackeys admire the treasures stacked on the table, eager to pounce. a clever pan to porky, still writhing around in his ropes as killer sneers “AND DEY ‘TINK YOU DID IT!” 

tashlin’s artistry strikes again as we peer at the hideout through the bars of iron gates outside. truck out to reveal police officers crowding around outside, crouching on the ground to remain discreet. the shot is composed rather nicely, with the ground level nearing the horizon line, elevating the subjects to the middle plane. even though the shot itself doesn’t linger very long, the clarity is easy to see. a tree placed off to the side cleverly frames the two officers who are on the screen--little things like that make a big difference.

one of the lackeys notices the cops are lurking by, alerts the others, and immediately shoots his machine gun out the window. watch all of the stuff flying out of his pocket as he shoots--playing cards, knives, guns, jewelry, even a wig! definitely a fun scene to freeze frame and pick apart all the details. 

the cops retaliate, and an all-out shootout occurs. a gag reused from i’m a big shot now (another gangster parody cartoon) and porky’s duck hunt ensues as a cop shoots up at the building, the impact from his rifle driving him into the ground as each shot digs the hole deeper and deeper. another rather fun gag includes a woodpecker drilling into a tree, causing the officer in the branch to clutch his heart and moan “they got me!”

in the process, stray bullets from down below shoot out of the floor, conveniently ripping the ropes bounding porky to the chair. a quick bird’s eye view of the hideout, and it’s onto porky to take action. because we all remember porky as a suave, charismatic crime fighter, it’s only natural for him to jump onto a chandelier hanging from the hallway and knock all of killer’s cronies into a door. (do cartoon characters have stunt doubles? surely they do! don’t they?) 

volney white’s animation prevails for the remainder of the cartoon. porky hops down from the upstairs landing, plopping down right on top of killer himself. both come to fisticuffs, volney’s hilarious facial expressions and treg brown’s masterful sound effects combining to make quite the amusing amalgamation. certainly a scene worthy of freeze-framing for all of the funny faces!

perhaps even more amusing, however, is the drastic tone shift as soon as the cops arrive: no time is wasted during the transition between the fight and an armed cop probing “alright, who’s the killer!?” the fight breaks up in an instant off screen, and porky (his voice un-sped) pleading “i’m uh-puh-peh-puh-peh-porky!” the transition is almost too swift, but is comical over everything else, so i’m not too slighted by it. killer insists in his own gruff voice “I’M porky!”

the cop isn’t convinced, and tries again. both insist that they’re porky. that’s when it’s petunia to the rescue, who assures the cop that she knows how to find out. she cozies up to the real porky, once more enacting their “big boy” charade from earlier. as porky flops over his words in all of his collar-tugging glory, petunia gloats “that’s porky.” porky nodding along to her affirmation is a nice, subtle touch.

as we’ve repeatedly discovered, frank tashlin was no fan of porky. even though he outwardly admits that he didn’t like to work with him, there are multiple clues throughout his pictures solidifying his disdain. here is no exception, as petunia outright screws porky over. 

her sultry demeanor changes from reassuring to duplicitous as she heaves a sigh and coos “how that killer can kiss!” porky rightfully grows angry, and, in a pattern we’ll observe in many a cartoon, allows his jealousy to triumph his bashful, reserved nature as he grabs petunia’s arms and pulls her in for a kiss. killer’s eye-boggling, affronted expression and porky’s triumphant, chest-puffing stance after the fact are both hilarious. volney white does a wonderful job of conveying personality through his animation.

here’s the kicker. despite getting her kiss from porky, she still isn’t satisfied. she coldly remarks “i STILL take the killer!” with that, porky can only gawk in awe as petunia and killer march arm-in-arm out the door, petunia cooing that she’ll wait until killer gets out of prison. iris out.

the voice acting steals the show in this cartoon. mel KILLS it (no pun intended) as killer, from the falsetto to the porky impersonation--which is just mel doing his regular porky voice--to killer’s evil belly laughs. sara berner does a fine job as petunia, and tedd pierce’s narration is always a joy to hear. i’m unsure of who voices the lackeys, as they don’t quite sound like mel, but nevertheless, they too are fun to listen to, especially their introductory dialogue. if anything, you should check out this short for the voice work alone.

frank tashlin’s eye for cinematography sparkles as it always does. the opening montage is particularly impressive, especially the use of silhouettes. very bold and striking. his layouts are very well structured, and the cartoon flows very nicely. it’s a snappy one, but it hardly feels like it drags. there’s a lot packed into these 7 minutes! 

though i do pity porky, especially at the end, i will concede that the end IS a good shocker, even if petunia is straight up cruel. porky’s personality is slowly weeding its way out of the woods, with some traits (good natured, gullible) sticking to his character all throughout his career. progress is being made! and, as i said before, as much as i enjoy the fat porky design, i won’t shed too many tears over this being its final appearance, because it marks a new step forward for warner bros. cartoons are becoming funnier, snappier, wittier, the disney influence continually waning. good things await.

i definitely recommend you check this one out. while it’s not my all time favorite tashlin cartoon, there’s a lot to admire, from voice direction to animation to even the layouts. 

link!

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 1: Appearances

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 1. Set in a modern AU. Viggo Grimborn is holding a party with current and future business partners and they tell him how lucky he is to have Hiccup. Hiccup doesn't feel lucky.

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 2 901

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Used as a decoration

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: The prompt is not as literal as you would think.

So all of these prompts are basically going to take place in the same universe, in the same story. It's more of a telling of what happens in the final 14-ish days at the end of a long struggle.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

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"I can't believe how lucky you are, Grimborn!" That's what a man Hiccup doesn't care to know the name of tells Viggo as he's bringing drinks around to the guests.

There are seven of them in total, business partners of the Grimborn Empire, a large export and import company, that Viggo is the CEO of.

It's the 12th of December and with the holidays fast approaching, it seemed right to throw a party at the house of the man himself. Not for any particular special occasion, this just seemed like the right opportunity for one.

After all, Viggo needs to keep his partners close, make sure the trust is still there. If anybody feels like siding with a rival company, he needs to know.

The place has been decorated, though quite soberly. There isn't even a tree in the home, the Grimborns aren't so fond of celebrating the holidays.

Not that any of them are staring at the decor.

"Thank you!" The tray isn't empty yet and Hiccup gets another 'thank you' and a look with a smile that is a little too friendly.

He just moves on to the next.

Hiccup isn't allowed to ask many questions. They could be dealing in something shady right in front of him and that would almost certainly make him at least a little bit accountable in some way. But he's not allowed to ask.

The one answer he did get is that two of these seven are potential new partners. So it's important for Viggo to reel them in and having him there is supposed to help somehow. Hiccup didn't understand how until the guests arrived.

They're all straight, or so they say, and married, but he can still feel their gazes on him.

And yet, none of them recognize him.

He's merely a decoration meant to bring drinks, snacks, and look pretty while doing it. That's all he is, something for Viggo to show off.

"Thank you very much, dear." One of them takes the drink Hiccup offers to him and both of the older man's hands linger on his. It sends unpleasant chills down his spine, as does the look in his eyes.

The persistent touch reminds him of Viggo and Viggo reminds him that everyone present is probably just as bad as him.

But he can't make a fuss, can't upset the guests, so he just smiles politely and pulls his hand free. He fights the urge to wipe his hand off on the dress pants here in front of them.

Instead, he's quick to move on, but Hiccup is pretty certain he can feel his 'significant other's' disapproving glare on his back.

Viggo wants him here to be eye candy, a "look what I have, surely you can trust what I promise", but disapproves of them touching him? Well, what did he expect?

"Viggo, wherever did you find him? I might go out and look for one myself!" A married man cheerily says. Funnily enough, when he'd just arrived, Viggo asked him about his sickly wife. You know, making conversation to appear like he has a heart.

"I don't think any of us are that lucky." Another chimes in and there's a short chuckling in agreement.

Every single time Hiccup has to hear someone tell Viggo how lucky he is, he feels he's getting closer and closer to throwing up.

Viggo isn't lucky.

Sure, they met each other by chance, but they didn't see each other and sparks just happened to fly. His being here, he and his brother made that happen and by inexcusable means, too.

Or maybe he is. Because Hiccup knows Toothless was there. He saw Ryker hit him straight on and that a dragon, a Night Fury of all things, couldn't keep him from taking Hiccup away can only mean something kept him. Hiccup hates to think of what could've possibly happened.

Oh, how much that dragon must hate himself now.

"And how old did you say you were?"

Platter empty and now standing by like a servant, Hiccup briefly faces another man before looking away. He finds Viggo in the back as he glares at him from over his glass. He gazes back, swallows the limp in his throat, and smiles some more.

"24. I'm 24 years old." A lie, he's 19. Viggo and he 'agreed' to lie about his age so no one will question their relationship. If you can even call it that.

Not that these particular people would care. He may have never delved into Viggo's world, but he recognizes at least two of these men from magazines he's read.

It was when Astrid managed to convince him to tag along to a hair salon appointment. Heather had to cancel their plans to go together last minute because of Dagur-related reasons and she didn't want to go alone as it was meant to be a girl's day out with just the two of them.

She was his girlfriend, he was her boyfriend. So of course, he'd tag along just for her.

There were some magazines lying on a table for waiting customers and he'd read some scandalous articles about these two. They were both featured in the same on, as a matter of fact. Another sex scandal, but that's not so surprising with people like them. People who are rich enough that they think they can do anything.

They wouldn't care if Hiccup were 19, 18, or maybe even younger than was legal. The lie is purely for appearances only and because people would be less likely to talk about Viggo's 20 something-year-old conquest as opposed to his just barely legal one. One is not as interesting as the other.

But oh no, these two remind him of the article, the article reminds him of why he was reading it, and now he's thinking of Astrid. He can almost hear her belly-laughing in his ear. She never did care about how loud her laughs could be sometimes.

Having no drinks to serve anyway, Hiccup walks away quickly without excusing himself. He can feel his eyes burn with tears as he thinks of her.

He misses her so, so much. He wishes he could have a phone or get onto Viggo's computer or something. If only to check her social media and see how she's been doing, how all of his friends are doing. Without a doubt, they're missing him as much as he does them.

But no, the only phones in this big house are Viggo's and Ryker's and he has yet dared to try guessing the password. He assumes it won't quite be as simple as the name of his first house pet followed by numbers one through four.

Besides, he's keeping the computer for something else.

And now he's thinking of Toothless again.

Finally escaping into the kitchen, he just barely slams the tray down onto the counter in his hurry.

Toothless, Gods, that dragon. The flights they used to take around his mother's dragon sanctuary, the nights they would spend together under the stars or in his room, the playfights, the purring whenever he scratches him just right, just... everything. He misses his Bud so much.

It's hard for him to breathe then and the tears almost come.

'No, stop! This is only going to make him angry.' Unsurprisingly enough, that thought doesn't help at all.

"Are you okay in there?" One of the guests asks, mistaking the sound of the tray's impact with the counter for Hiccup tripping.

"I'm-I'm fine." He swallows the sadness as best as he can, pushes the ensuing thoughts of his father and his friends that are springing back up away as he answers.

The conversation carries on without another shallow thought spent on Hiccup and he's fine with that. If he can just be left alone with his thoughts and emotions for just a few minutes.

But someone enters the kitchen and Hiccup can tell who by the footsteps. Dread seeps into his stomach just as he's grabbed by his upper arm. The grip is tight enough to bruise.

"You're drawing too much attention." It's Viggo and he's hissing into his ear, pissed off with his presumed boy toy 'flirting' with his party guests.

They're so close, the older man's body pressed against his, and Hiccup can smell his suffocating cologne. He's towering over him, too, still taller than Hiccup, who isn't exactly short either.

"You think I want to be drawing attention? I don't trust your "friends", why would I want to be noticed by them?" Hiccup's hiss is louder in volume, but their guests don't seem to notice the apparent hostility between them.

They are much too busy with their talks and their jokes. And even if they did notice, Hiccup can tell from the way some of them talk about their wives that they wouldn't care.

It's sickening, so much he wishes to unhear.

At his response, the grip on his arm grows tighter and he wonders if those fingertips will remain like other times he's been grabbed like this. The clothes are fancy and they cover enough to hide the many other blue marks on his body.

"Just tell me what you want me to do." Those words leave him with a lot more ease than they used to before. Somehow Hiccup finds it in himself to calm enough to answer in a reasonable tone, unlike the hissing he used prior.

He can feel his pulse painfully make its way through his arm. That's how tight the grip is. Viggo is not a weak man, unfortunately.

Just so long as he doesn't trigger him any more than he already has, then he should be safe from more trouble. Submitting instead of sassing further is working, the hold relinquishes just a tad bit.

"Go to the bedroom and stay there until I tell you otherwise." Hiccup is told and he dares a glance at Viggo.

These people are meant to be staying for a good few hours, is he really expected to stay in one room for that long? He's already way past stir-crazy.

Upon not receiving an answer quickly enough, the hold tightens.

"Okay, I'm going!" So he gives in, as he always does, and Viggo lets go.

"Are you two love birds staying in the kitchen all evening or will you come to join us?" Someone calls out and Viggo returns to the crowd with a more charming demeanor then he tends to put on in their day to day life.

"We had something we needed to discuss." He tells them, not a hint of his previous anger there.

"Discuss things such as ...? Marriage perhaps? I know I would be putting a ring on that finger if I could!"

'No, don't give him any ideas.' Hiccup finds himself thinking, looking over. Hopefully, his wide-eyed look isn't too obvious.

Viggo smiles at the idea, but says nothing.

"I'm afraid I'll have to apologize on behalf of my partner. He's not sleeping well as of late and he's tired." Hiccup takes this as his cue to leave and he does while Viggo apologizes in his stead.

"Oh, I think I know why he's so tired lately." That's the comment he closes the door on. That and laughter.

In this company, it seems like the nicer and more expensive a person is dressed, the more vulgar they can be. Who says something like that about someone they barely know?

But the door is closed and that effectively cuts off most of the noise coming from the living room.

He does feel tired. What Viggo told them wasn't a lie, for once, as he has been sleeping badly ever since he got here.

Honestly, how can he get a good night's sleep when it's his captor that he's sleeping next to? The man who has no qualms about laying his hands on him, abusing him in whichever way he sees fit to make him obedient.

There's a part of him that hates himself for listening in the kitchen, though Hiccup knows that what he's doing, remaining calm, doing what he wants, is a way to get through this bad situation and bide his time until he's found.

Because someone has to be looking for him. His dad, his mom, his unofficial dad, maybe his friends? Someone has to be looking for him, he knows he would be looking for them if the roles were reversed.

Chest and throat both burning horrendously with emotion, he saunters his way towards and into the bedroom. Closing the door behind him, his hand hovers over the key as he wants to lock it, feeling unsafe with the guests still around.

He'll get in trouble for it, for locking the door, but does he want someone to be able to come in and catch him both off guard and vulnerable?

After weighing his options, he opts to lock the door. Viggo can punish him for it later. Right now, what measly remaining sense of safety matters more to him.

He settles on the edge of the bed, staring into the near-complete darkness with only the early moonlight to hold him company.

The thoughts and feelings he tried to repress during the party he can now let loose. And it hurts. It hurts so, so bad. So much worse than the throbbing on his arm or any of the injuries he's sustained since coming here. At the same time, he doesn't want to stop thinking of his loved ones either.

The last time he saw his father, it was during a televised press conference that had to be cut short because Stoick Haddock started swearing on live television and stating that the person, or persons, responsibly for the disappearance of his son would be lucky to never run into him.

Maybe that's the front on which Viggo is lucky.

Because Hiccup was kidnapped. There is no nice way of saying it.

His dad once told him that they came from Vikings. Perhaps, what Stoick showed in that press conference was the Viking blood in him coming to the forefront. Hiccup wishes he had that in him.

Huffing in amusement, Hiccup slides down from the bed and ends up on the floor, elbows on his knees.

Ryker made him watch the press conference, much against his younger brother's wishes. He'd hoped to show Hiccup his broken father only to be met with that. Instead of causing him despair, he'd unintentionally lifted his spirits.

He'd made sure to tell Viggo to "thank Ryker for the moral support", even if Ryker wasn't entirely happy with that. They like to play with him, well, Hiccup can do that, too. Sometimes. When he can get away with it.

But now is not the time to think about those horrible brothers, he should be taking this moment of peace to think about the people who actually matter, his friends and family.

Right now, he wonders if they're thinking of him, too. Of course, he doesn't want them to worry or to hurt, but it feels comforting to be thought of or to be missed. So perhaps, he likes to be a little selfish sometimes.

Getting up from the floor, Hiccup wants to get out of these uncomfortable clothes Viggo insisted he wears for the party, another reason why his claim that Hiccupwas drawing attention was ridiculous.

Turning the light of the bathroom on, he faces the mirror and sees someone he barely recognizes.

Hair neatly sleeked back, expensive and stylish clothes that consist of the vibrant color scheme of black, white, and grey, and an expensive golden watch on his wrist that is only there to further drive home the "happy, lucky couple" façade.

This isn't him. That's not his messy head of hair, not his plaids, and that watch doesn't belong on his wrist. There's a tracking device in it, too, Hiccup saw it after he took the thing apart because he had his suspicions.

But that doesn't matter for the moment because he can't stop glaring at his reflection and he wishes that stranger didn't have the guts to glare right back at him.

His hands move on their own, wanting to roughen up his hair and get rid of the hair gel flattening it down. Who knew a brand strong enough to tame his locks exists?

But they don't do it. They hover, but they don't touch a single strand.

Because his dearly beloved Viggo already feels like he picked a fight with him by just being in the presence of men who were already bound to see him as eye candy to ogle at. To make matters worse, he locked the door of the room he's in and he doesn't have permission to lock doors. He was just about to change he doesn't have permission for that either.

If that man finds Hiccup in a state he does not want him in after all of that, even if it's just his hair, then Hiccup is just asking for it.

So his hands lower again, instead helping him lean on the marble counter of the sink, and Hiccup stares at his reflection in defeat. The cracks in him are bleeding again, they've been doing that more and more often. His resolve is breaking and at least the stranger in the mirror rightfully reflects that, too.

He's nothing but pretty decoration.