#actually the fandom response to everything has been very unappealing to me

[ladysophiebeckett]

there's obviously a lot that i would personally like to talk about and analyze but my head is so full and the hiatus for the next 10 eps is so far away (im assuming). i need to clear it bc the last...4 weeks has been insane.

[chuckleshan]

AAM, changed the formula and predicted it

I haven’t watched the ending of the series yet, but I have been binging the episodes from the beginning and from seeing all the posts in the juliantina tag about what happened with Lucia, it brought me back to a scene that may not be as inconsequential as it appeared in that episode. I believe it’s episode 5 or 6, but don’t quote me I’ve been binging so everything is a bit muddled. Anyways Eva, Lucia, Johnny, Guillermo and some other dudes are in a board meeting just after Leòn has passed away. There’s some conversation and then Guillermo, who really doesn’t even really want the job at the company or position on the board, speaks out and says that the whole media empire their father built is a mastodon, out dated and lost to time, unappealing to a younger generation. Unappealing to him and his friends and if they were gonna make the Carvajal group relevant then they needed to shake things up and make big changes. Looking back on that scene now, I strongly believe it was heavy foreshadowing of things to come. The show as a whole did just that, they took that traditional formula and threw it out the window. I was wholly prepared to be team Eva and see her come around to Juliantina while proving that Lucia is a bad guy and if you watched the beginning of the series you’d probably be on Eva’s side too and then they twisted it on their head.

In the traditional format of a novela the story heavily has happy endings for the good guys and bad endings for the bad guys. You would think then that with everything Lucia has been through she would survive and she would live happily ever after and in my heart I wanted that too, because I grew to love Lucia. She wasn’t this clear cut good guy there was a lot of grey area with her, especially in the beginning episodes where she was a very willing lover to Johnny, very much participating in their plans to take over the Carvajal empire. Even past Leòn’s death which she said various times was not part of the plan, she still kept coming back to Johnny. The show spent a considerable amount of time shaping Lucia and although she wasn’t transmigrated, just like a butterfly she went through various transformations over the course of the series. She distanced herself from Johnny, she started working against him and she saw who he had become and she didn’t back down from him like the scared girl she used to be. She realized that she truly loved Leòn and his kids (maybe not Eva) and they were the family she wanted to have. She wanted to be a better mother for them than she had with her own mom. This is shown in her relationship with both Guille and Valentina and her support for them in anyway she could. At the end of the day she served her purpose, which the show heavily implies is the point of second chances with those who transmigrated, they have a purpose to fulfill. Unlike the men, Lucia didn’t need to die to get a second chance or redeem herself, she was always on that path. Her purpose fulfilled she found happiness and then she got killed, which is terrible, but plays into another line from earlier in the show where Leòn before they got married told Camilo that if he died after him and Lucia were married, he would die happy.

Also we need to understand that although Leòn thought his purpose was to come back and find his killer and get his wife and family back. His actual purpose as the show clearly points out in the beginning and through the series is to be the father his children needed him to be from the start. Less focused on work and more focused on them. Again we come back to Guille’s words “he was distant as a father, but present at work.” After he came back, Silvina spent a lot of time dressing down Leòn in a sympathetic way to Jacobo. He thought he’d been this great father, but he pushed Eva into a life she didn’t want, he was inattentive to Guillermo and his interests and although shown to have a soft side for Valentina, he let her get away with too much too easily. So while we expected him to be happy with Lucia in this second chance, the point was never for that to happen, he needed to do right by his children.

Add in the Juliantina storyline, right to Valentina coming out on tv for the world to see and them having a happy ending (maybe not the one the fandom wanted, but we have fic for that). An ending that would have been thought impossible before and especially during the bloodbath that was 2016 of all our favorite wlw ships. The show subverted a lot of the traditional storytelling methods, hell they had death herself play a heavy role in getting Juliantina together she buried a lot of cis straight men to clear their path to happiness. Can’t bury your gays if La Muerte is their biggest shipper!!!

In so doing that brings me back to my original point, Amar a Muerte from practically the beginning told us they were gonna be a different type of show. They knew they already had the traditionalist who would watch a novela no matter what, dialed in and they were gonna use their platform to normalize being lgbt in a strictly conservative country. However they also wanted to reach a new audience and speak to them directly letting them know they can be happy in spite of the challenges they may face, they will struggle like Juliana (probably minus the kidnapping and death threats) parents can come around, even if it takes an outsider (Panchito for the win) to show them that love is love.

Amar a Muerte set a goal to reach more than their traditional audience by telling a complex story which had many paths and questions, not all of which were answered, but still drew people into the overall plot and judging by the response the show has gotten and the recognition received and popularity here on tumblr, over on Twitter etc. I believe they hit their mark perfectly. They have opened the door for everyone else who will follow and reshaped the landscape in a massive way for future story tellers to build on and I for one am excited to see what comes next.

I strongly urge all juliantinas if you can to watch all the episodes in full from the beginning not only do you see just how great juliantina are individually, but you also get to see just how much La Muerte manipulated events in their favor. The transmigrated play a much bigger role in the story than you can imagine.

Did we get everything we want? No. Did all our questions get answered? No. Did the show achieve its goal of telling a different story than we are all used to? Very much so, in my opinion.

End Rant

[elexuscal]

Fanfic: Guidance

Summary: Sometimes a person can become so lost, they don't even realize they've gone astray. Thankfully, Steven finds someone who's walked this path before. Fandoms: Steven Universe and Legend of Korra Warning for discussion of depression and suicidal tendencies Ao3 link As a birthday present for the awesome @swordtheguy!!

Guidance

The world around Steven is beautiful.

It’s a forest, bigger than any he’s ever seen, with trees that would tower even over Alexandrite. The sun that filters through its canopy is a vivid, shimmering green and gold. There are other lights, too-- fluttering things, birds and dragonflies and winged rabbits. The air is cool, but pleasantly so, like the first days of spring, and rich with the smells of bark, soil, and something almost electric.

Steven’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. After all, he’s never seen anything like this before, on Earth or off of it.

Thing is, he doesn’t usually realize he’s dreaming when it’s a regular dream. Which means this probably isn’t one.

“Hello?” Steven calls out to the world at large. The flittering critters react like a stone thrown into water, radiating away from him. “I’m really sorry for wandering into your head! I didn’t mean to!”

Nobody answers.

With nothing else to do, Steven sets off exploring. Walking along the mossy forest floor, occasionally trying to reach out to one of magical dream animals, but they all flinch away from him. He sighs, and tries calling out names for whose dream this could be. “Dad? Amethyst? Lapis?” Then, a little hopefully, “Connie?"

No answer.

“Fine,” Steven sighs. He flops down on a massive most pillow on the root of an absolutely massive tree.

Now what? he wonders.

He could wake up. Probably best. He’s learned the dangers of wandering in a sub-conscious where he’s not wanted.

But the thought of lying in his dark room, sleepless, is incredibly unappealing. Keeping his eyes shut tight, pretending he can’t hear the Gems creeping around, watching him. Wondering why everyone’s so freaked out, when he’s home and he’s safe. Worrying about the Lars, the one who actually deserves it.

Something flickers in the corner of his eye.

Steven turns. It’s a little plant-flowery-vine thing, pale translucent white, it’s little frond wiggling.

“Oh, hello!” Steven says.

It seems to hear him. At least, it wiggles a little more, stretching towards him.

“I’m Steven,” Steven says, ever polite. “I don’t suppose you know where I am, huh?” If it does, it can’t say, which is maybe to be expected of a plant. Still, he’s not giving up yet. “I was kinda hoping this is the mind of my friend, Connie. She kinda ran off earlier, and…”

The plant seems to look at him expectantly, which is impressive for something without eyes.

“She’s being… frustrating,” Steven confesses. “And I don’t know why! I was gone doing something dangerous, but it was something to save her. And when I came back, she was mad at me! It makes no sense! Doesn’t she get I was protect everyone? Her, my friends, the whole planet... “

The plant reaches out, closer to him, and Steven knows it can understand him.

“She said Stevonnie coulda defeated Aquamarine. But that’s stupid. Alexandrite couldn’t defeat Aquamarine! And she’s the size of godzilla! So if we’d tried, no way we coulda won. We just would have gotten carried off into space, and now we’d be trapped in a zoo. I couldn’t risk everyone. I couldn’t risk her."

The plant stretches, a leafy tendril coming to lay on Steven’s hand. It’s cool. Comforting.

It wants him to keep explaining.

“And I mean-- all the Diamonds really want is Rose Quartz. And who can blame them? She’s a killer. Or maybe she is… I wonder if Zircon is right? That someone else shattered Pink Diamond, and covered it up?” Steven sighs again. The plant squeezes his hand in response. “But then… why does everyone think my Mom did it? Did she lie to them? It wouldn’t be the first time…”

Suddenly, all those thoughts-- those thoughts he hasn’t had the time to look at, the one’s he’s actively been avoiding-- come spilling out of his mouth. Steven lets them. The plant won’t get angry at him, or start crying, or tell him he was irresponsible, or run away. The pant will listen. The plant will understand.

Korra is sharing tea with Fire Lord Izumi and about ten of the highest ranking noble families in the Fire Nation, when a transparent woman appears in the middle of the table to tell Korra that she needs to come quickly.

The nobles erupt into a mixture of surprised expressions, scandalized gasped, annoyed frowns and curious questions.

Korra herself remains completely calm. She’d gotten pretty used to Jinora and other air-benders with spiritual projection.

She catches Izumi’s eye. The Fire Lord nods. m“Do what you must. I am sure we can carry on without you.”

Within five minutes, Korra’s in a nice, quiet, private chamber, eyes crossed, breathing deep, letting her spirit float out of her body and into a whole other world entirely.

What she finds there: vines.

Lots and lots of vines.

“So I’m guessing this is the problem?” Korra asks.

Jinora nods. “Furry-Foot said that it started showing up… well, spirit time doesn’t always correspond perfectly to our world’s, but a few days, at least. It’s spreading fast, snaring everything it touches. Won’t be long until it reaches the Northern Spirit Portal.”

Korra nearly swears. But keeping a positive outlook is important in the Spirit World, so she doesn’t.

She does wish this had happened at basically any other time. When she was at home in Republic City, or visiting family, either in the North or South Pole. But no. It had to have hit while she was in the middle of a tour of the Fire Nation. While she’s gotten better at this spirity stuff, she still would have preferred to actually walk into the Spirit World in her real body. She always feels so… naked, without her bending.

Whatever. No use grousing.

Jinora wants to come, but her form is flickering at the edges. Apparently she was at this for hours, not wanting to interrupt Korra. It’s late in Republic City. She needs her rest. After a little resistance, Jinora’s form vanishes, and Korra heads off alone.

She has to weave and duck her wave through the waves of spirits rushing from the ever encroaching vines-- until, suddenly, she doesn’t have to at all. They’ve all fled, or have become trapped.

Korra makes sure to float a good few feet above the surface.

She stares down at the vines. It doesn’t look like a dark spirit, all roiling blacks and purples, like oil on water. These vines are bright. Shimmering pinks, with sparks of yellow and blue just beneath the surface.

More to the point; they don’t feel like a dark spirit. Those are all-- rage and impotence and frustration and righteous fury turned sour. This-- well, Korra’s not great at sensing emotions, and she’s not going to say there’s no anger there. But more… sadness, maybe… And something almost earnest.

Korra shakes her head.

“Hello,” she says. “I’m the Avatar!. I’m here to talk to you about all the, well, attacking.”

An almost invisible ripple seems to pass through the vines as its attention shifts to her. One of its might tendrils raises up, reaching towards her.

“Woah woah woah!” Korra flings herself back; not sure if this thing can trap her in the Spirit World, but she’s not gonna risk it. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. But you’re hurting a lot of other people. Can you tell me why? Maybe we can figure something out.”

Curiousity. Confusion. Those are the feelings Korra’s sensing from it.

“Did something upset you? Or hurt you? If something did, I’ll try my best to fix it. But right now, you’re hurting others, and I can’t allow that.”

The plant doesn’t answer.

Because, obviously, it’s a plant. But this is the Spirit World. You never know. Korra really wishes this was one of the spirits which can talk, since it’s a lot harder to do peace negotiations with something with no words or expressions.

The vines ripple and pulse, a pattern moving deeper into the core of its roiling tangle. Korra squares her shoulders, and follows it.

“This better not be a trap,” she mutters.

The vines’ lights glitter in a way that feels like it should be reassuring. Somehow it does little to reassure her.

The lights begin to accelerate, and Korra moves faster in response-- faster and faster. She feels like she’s being pulled-- not by the vines themselves, but by the instinct inside of her, Raava’s light recognising this is where she needs to go.

Around her is a forest, or what used to be one. Now every single inch of it is covered in vines, so thick she can’t make out anything beneath it. Looming in front of her is what must be the core. It reminds her of the great Banyan tree in the swamp, or a distorted reflection of it. A a core of vines, the heart from which this all radiates out.

Korra’s drawn towards it.

Instead of planting painfully straight into it, she flies through, insubstantial. Finds herself in a small chamber. A cocoon, almost.

There’s someone inside. A human face, thick vines from the neck down.

“Hi,” the person-- a boy-- says. At least, he looks and sounds like a boy, although it’s not helpful to assume that kind of thing with spirits. “Were you trying to talk to me?”

“Yes,” says Korra.

“Oh, okay! Sorry, I couldn’t hear you very well.” He peers at her curiously. “Is this your dream?”

“My… dream?”

The boy nods. “Yeah, when this kind of stuff happens, it’s usually because I’m in someone’s dream, and you’re the first person to come and talk to me. Except, when I do end up in someone’s head, it’s always someone I’ve at least heard of before…”

Korra crosses her arms. “This isn’t a dream. This is real. You’re in the spirit world.”

“Spirit world? What’s that?”

“It’s the… world for spirits,” Korra says, unbalanced.

“Wow,” the boy says, eyes going very wide. “Spirts, like ghosts? I didn’t know those were really real.”

The surprise in his voice is so genuine that it makes Korra take a second look at him. “Are you… human?”

“Sorta. I’m half-human.”

“Half human,” Korra echoes.

“How about you?” he asks, looking her up and down. “Are you human?”

“Sorta,” Korra repeats, unable to resist herself. “Half too, I guess. Half-human, half-spirit. I’m the Avatar.”

The pronouncement had earned Korra many responses over the years, from surprise, respect, annoyance and scorn. This boy just smiles and says, “Nice to meet you! I’m Steven.”

“Well, Steven,” Korra says, after a pause. “Are you part-spirit, like me?”

(Maybe it’s possible, after all. Korra’s not sure how, but if Raava managed to fuse with Wan, and again with her, why couldn’t some other spirit figure out some way with another human?)

“No, no. I’m half Gem.”

“Half… gem?” Korra’s mind filled with images of the many jewelry shops she’d visited with Asami. “Like, jade or diamond or something?”

This was probably the wrong thing to say, because Steven grimaced and shook his head vigorously. “No no no no. My Mom was a Rose Quartz.”

“Right,” said Korra, carefully not asking how someone’s mother could be a hunk of pink rock. “Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what you are. What matters is right now, you’re hurting a lot of people.”

“What?”

“You’re hurting a lot of people,” Korra repeats. “And you have to stop.”

He shakes his head, looking genuinely surprised and panicked.  “No, no-- I wouldn’t. How?”

“Those vines,” Korra says, pointing at them and then spreading her hands to encompass the whole plant cocoon around them. “They’ve been spreading out, catching spirits and dragging them dow-”

“What? Where did-- how--” He looks down and his eyes widened. “Where did these come from?” He begins to struggle and struggle. “I can’t get out!”

“I-- know. Well, not exactly.” He bites his lip, still squirming and struggling. “I… I knew the plant was there. I was talking to it. But… it looked different. It was all white and translucent… and then it touched me… And…” He blinks. “I don’t know. Everything’s hazy, until you showed up.”

Korra hums in the back of her throat. Maybe this Steven isn’t the cause of monster-vines after all, but just another victim. Maybe even the very first.  

She wills herself to become more solid, more tangible. Gravity pulls her down. The plant-floor beneath her was firm, but slightly springy, like a dojo mat. “I’m gonna try and get you out,” Korra tells Seven. Wrapping two, strong hands the vines where the boy’s shoulders should be, she pulls.

Nothing happens.

She pulls and pulls and pulls, with all of her (quite substantial) strength, and those vines do not budge.

“It’s no use,” Steven says.

“Don’t give up so easily.” Korra pats the vague area of his shoulder. If there’s something she’s learned about spirits, sometimes you need to be indirect about these things. “I’ll figure something out.

“It’s okay,” Steven says. “Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.”

Korra’s first instinct to point out yes, it is a big deal, and just barrel through to her next idea. This she pauses, and looks the kid over. “What do you mean? You can’t stay here. You must have friends and family to get back to, right?”

“Well… yeah… But don’t worry. They’re all angry at me anyway…. I just put them in danger. They’re better off without me.”

Korra’s frown deepens.

The vines used to be white, but they became pink. That seems important somehow. In the spirit world, a person’s emotions affects the world around them.

She sits down and crosses her legs, like she’s going to meditate, and asks, “Steven, when you were talking to the plant, what exactly did you tell it?"

Steven finds that explaining things to Korra is a lot harder than explaining things to the plant.

That’s her name. Korra, not ‘Avatar’. That part is a title, it turns out. It’s apparently kind of a big deal, where she comes from. There’s only ever one Avatar at a time, and it’s their job to help keep the peace and make sure everyone is protected and happy.

That’s part of the reason explaining things is so hard. The world Korra comes from is really, really different from his. Everything sounds super old fashioned, and there’s no TV or internet or video games. Also, a whole bunch of humans have super powers, and use it to fight and build stuff and heal people. Also, as far as Korra knows, there’s no such thing as Gems. When Steven explains about them, she says it sounds like something out of the “pulp science books” her wife likes.

But that’s only part of the difficulty. Most of it is because… well, the plant just sat there and listened. But Korra can talk, and Korra has things to say.

“So let me get this straight,” Korra says, fixing him her two piercing blue eyes. “You turned yourself in to these space empresses for your Mom’s crimes, and only escaped by a pure miracle?”

“Uh, basically.”

She throws up her hands. “Well, of course everyone is upset with you!”

“Well, they shouldn’t be.” Steven would have crossed her arms, except he couldn’t actually feel or move them anymore.

“Kid,” Korra says, her voice soft. “How would you feel, if one of them had gone and done that in your place?”

Well-- well. That-- he’d have been scared, of course, but the Gems and Connie have all gone and done scary things for him before. Lots and lots of times. But they’ve come back, safe and sound each and every time, and there’s no use worrying about what might have happened. You just smile and put that behind you and move on.

“I’d be happy they’re back,” Steven says, as firmly as possible.

Korra’s expression is skeptical.

Steven huffs and looks away. “You just don’t get it. No one does.”

“But I do. I really, really do.”

Steven hesitates, and glances back at the woman. When he does, her eyes are solemn, distant.

“It happened… oh, ten years ago now? Twelve?” Korra shakes her head, mouth briefly twisting in wry amusement. It fades quickly. “There was group going around; called themselves the Red Lotus. They believed in… well, a lot of things. Some of it was maybe even good. But their methods…” A heavy sigh. “They kidnapped a group of civilians, and threatened to murder them if I didn’t give myself up.”

As much as he can, Steven leans forward. “What… what did you do?”

“A few of my friends thought we could take them. Get to the civilians before they were killed. I didn’t want to take that chance.”

“So… you turned yourself in?”

“I turned myself in.”

The story which followed is horrifying and breathtaking. The battle sounds… brutal, with lava and explosions and flying, and it would have been really cool if people hadn’t died.

But even with poison in her veins, Korra had fought back, and she had one, and clearly everything had turned out just fine.

“So you did the same thing I did,” says Steven.

“Yeah, I did. But here’s the thing… As soon as I woke up, and realized what was going on, I did everything I could to escape.”

“So did I!” exclaims Steven.

“Because of your friend. Lairs, was it?”

“Lars,” he corrects.

“Right. Lars.” Korra nods. “As soon as you realized he was with you, you escaped to make sure he escaped. But the way you were talking…. Steven, when you turned yourself in, did you really plan on fighting back?”

The memories flood him, too strong to ignore; the fear kicking in his chest, the seething anger at himself, the desperation, the determination, the wish wish wish that this could all just go away…

… and despite everything, the paradoxical relief somewhere in the back of his brain, that at least this would be over, at least he wouldn’t have to worry any more, at least…

No. He hadn’t been expecting to ever come home.

Steven doesn’t say it aloud, but it must show on his face. Korra’s expression shifts into-- something. Not a frown, not a smile. She stands.

“You did the same thing as me,” says Korra, “and that’s why I’m so concerned.

“Because after that battle… I was really messed up. Both in the body and the head. I was weak, I could barely walk-- and I hated myself for it. I kept hearing things about what was going on in the world, about what the Red Lotus had done… People were dying, and I was stuck in a bed. I was so, so tired. Of everything. Sometimes I thought… I’d be easier to just… let go. Let another Avatar takeover. A better one.”

Steven wants to say something, but he has no idea what, and there’s no breath left in his lungs.

“It took a couple of years, but with a lot of hard work, my body got better. This--” she tapped her head-- “Not so much. I was sure I was… missing something. So I went looking for it.

“But… I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I just lied to them, took a boat, and…. Well, I told myself it was for the best. I was getting better. And if they knew what I was up to, then they’d just worry. That was the last thing I wanted. They’d already done so much for me, and I was just dragging them down. They were better off this way.

Steven doesn’t want to listen to this. He wants to close his eyes and put his hands over his ears and block it all off. Or run off. But he can’t do either. He’s just stuck here, listening.

“Here’s the thing,” says Korra. “I wasn’t actually getting any better. I was just-- wallowing. Being angry and sad, and in a weird, terrible way, kinda enjoying it.”

None of these words seem to fit the strong, confident woman standing in front of him. Steven manages to say, “How did you…?"

“I managed to find… well, let’s call her an old friend. She knocked some sense into me. Literally.” Korra laughs. “Then some other friends found me, needing my help. After three years, I finally went home. And let me tell you: my friends were pissed.

“And I can’t blame them! I’d blocked them out of my life and lied to them! It wasn’t fair to them… and it wasn’t fair to me. And they knew that. They were all worried, and one of the ways that came out was anger.”

Steven licks his lip. “So you’re saying…. You think that I’m…"

“Yeah. Look at this.” Korra lays her hands on the thick, pink vines enveloping his body. “In the spirit world, a person’s emotions affect the spirits around them. Anger and sadness can turn spirits dark. Make them attack others.

“From what you’ve told me today, Steven, you seem very caring. You want to protect and help others. You’re sad and angry-- but that sadness and anger is aimed inward, at yourself.

“But that can still hurt ones around you, even if you don’t mean for it or even notice. The vines are lashing out at others the same way. But they’re also hurting you.” She tapped his chest. “What happens if they grow over your mouth, or nose?”

“I…”

Steven wants to argue back. Tell her she’s probably misunderstood. That it’s okay, it’s fine.

But he has to admit, it’s not normal be trapped inside a mass of magical vines.

He stares down at the shimmering, swirling pinks of the plants around him. “Did I really do this to you?”

He thinks he feels a yes, rustling through the plant’s mind.

Steven sags. There are people out there, being hurt, and it’s all his fault.

Just like it was his fault that Aquamarine came for his friends. His fault that Lars is trapped in a Homeworld kindergarten. His fault that he left his family crying in the ocean. His fault that Connie doesn’t even want to talk to him.

The vines creep further up his neck.

“Steven, no.”

Korra’s voice voice is urgent and firm, and close enough that Steven can feel the heat of her breath on his face.

“Are thoughts like that helping anybody?” she asks.

“I-- I guess not,” says Steven.

He’s done things like this before. When Garnet first told him about Future Vision, when he fell off the Sky Arena with Connie.

Connie. She’s always been there, to help him through, when he’s sad or angry or afraid.

And he’d just told her… It was all fine. He hadn’t really tried to-- ask why she was upset. He’s just thought she was being weird and told her to be happy.

She’d never do that to him.

He feels terrible, and for a moment, he wants nothing more than to just curl up in a ball here.

But that won’t actually help her.

Suddenly, he can breath easier. The vines have retreated, and a pressure he hadn’t even

Noticed vanishes from around his chest.

“There you go,” says Korra, warm and encouraging.

She stays with him and talks with him, to help shrink away the rest of the vines. Giving him gentle reminders about how it’s okay, it’s alright, he can do this. Asking him questions about his life. What does he like to do with his spare time? What’s his favourite things about the Gems and his Dad and his friends? What kind of stuff is he looking forward to?

The vines get smaller and smaller and smaller. The pinks and yellows and blues fade and fade and fade.

He’s not sure how long it takes, but eventually he’s left standing where be began. On that patch of moss underneath a giant tree, with that tiny white flower at his feet.

Those flying creatures-- spirits, he knows now-- are getting back up. Stretching their legs and wings and other appendages, fluttering off as quickly as they can. Steven watches them go through slightly watery eyes.

A warm hand presses down on his head.

Steven looks up at Korra. “Sorry,” he says. To her, to the plant, to the whole spirit world around him.

Korra smiles, and nods.

“Now,” she says, straightening a little, “Let’s see if I can get you home.” “That’s alright. I think I can manage that part myself, now.” Already he can feel it-- a sort of tug, a sense of the world fading, as his real body begins to wake up.

But first…

He throws himself forward, and wraps Avatar Korra’s legs in a hug. The fur of her clothes is soft and comforting.

“Thanks,” he mumbles into her stomach.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, leaning down and hugging him back. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Steven says, and he’s left of the image of her warm, smiling face.

And then he’s in bed, eyes closed, wrapped in a soft duvet. He can heard people moving around downstairs-- clicks and clangs accompanied by sharp whispers, suggesting the Gems are trying to make him breakfast without disturbing him. The thought makes him smile a little.

His stomach growls. He would really appreciate having breakfast, and then going back to bed for an actual, proper sleep.

But he can’t, not yet.

Eyes opening, he reaches out for his phone, resting on his bedside table. He finds the right number near the very top. He types,

Hey Connie I’m sorry Can we talk?

[serenephenix]

Throwing Knives

I am always afraid of writing Keith. This has to stop. I want to love my space children equally!

…and the space uncle of course…

Me basically trying to see whether I can write our Red Paladin in a realistic way or not.

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Throwing Knives

[Fandom]:Voltron: Legendary Defender

[Rating]: Gen Audience/ Gen

[Genre]: Friendship, Team as Family, character introspection

[AU]: the team is back together and everything is well

[Word count]:  2.800

[Warning]: tooth rotting kindness and Coran being awesome

[Status]: oneshot/ completed

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 Keith knew people were staring. He knew and could see the shopkeeper also staring at him from just beyond the glass he was very nearly pressed against. Usually, it would set him on edge, make him uncomfortable until he would either throw the offenders a warning glance or retreat to make as quiet an exit as possible. But right now, it mattered little that others were giving him looks: he was far too fixated on the weapon on display in shop’s window, lying on a cushion Keith would have thought more befitting of some gaudy necklace.

The blade was a real piece of art.

It was simple, small and yet elegant; nothing like his curved flashy dagger although it held a shine to it he could not just attribute to the tinted glass. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. He racked his brain, trying to remember what he had read so long ago in one of those books when he was a kid, all the information he had practically absorbed as he sat in front of a computer in the Garrison library clicking and browsing through various articles.

Just what kind of blade was this exactly? It was not long enough to be a dagger. A poniard maybe? He wasn’t sure, the mental image not really aligning with what he was seeing in front of him. And even if so, what kind of metal was it made of? Something he knew from Earth? It was unlikely. It surely had to be some kind of material that was more common in this corner of the universe. Or maybe it was a metal just like those on Earth and the techniques used by these aliens to forge weapons were so advanced and refined that it enhanced any material’s properties until it was no longer comparable with its raw state?

Keith was dying to know, desperate to compare how this blade would feel in his palm, what difference it would make to wield it and he was, just like all of the other Paladins, completely and utterly broke.

Buying a weapon as costly at this (the amount of zeroes on that shiny price tag was intimidating) was out of the question. All he could allow himself was to gaze longingly at this masterpiece until he inevitably would have to turn around to trudge back to their meeting point. The saddest part had to be that, even if he did at some point manage to scrap together the GAC necessary for the purchase, the blade would probably already have found another owner with a heavy wallet.

He was close enough to the window that his breath was fogging on the glass.

Keith rarely ever wanted or needed anything much. Most of the things he wanted couldn’t be bought anyway. But just like back when he had been to town with Shiro and seen that awesome shirt, he now stood here and looked at something else he did not have the money for. He never let it bother him before, but right here, right now, he was actually frustrated that he could not have just this. one. little. thing.

It was so unfair.

“Hello there, number four!”

The hand on his shoulder startled him so badly that he hit his head on the glass, the window actually vibrating slightly from the impact. Keith gave a small gasp as he took two steps back, eyes clenched shut as his hand went up to nurse the throbbing spot on his forehead.

He could feel his eyebrows practically weld together as he glowered at Coran, the man looking so carefree as though he had not almost given Keith a heart attack.

“Hey, Coran.”, he finally grumbled, taking a closer look at the man.

Even after having informed the Altean that the disguises were actually useless, the man still insisted on dressing up as weirdly as possible – eyepatch and everything, although he had changed his coat for some strange robe. He was inclined to agree with Pidge who had muttered under their breath that Coran was probably just looking for any kind of excuse to dress up.

He noticed the bag slung over his shoulder. It had been empty upon their arrival but now seemed barely able to hold all of the stuff Coran had said he’d need to get to work on the simulator and apparently to do some much needed repairs on their Lions.

“Got everything you needed?” He asked, looking pointedly at the bulging bag and then into Coran’s face.

The eye-patch lifted a little as the mechanic gave a smile, jiggling the cord and bag.

“Indeed, and it was a fabulously good trade at that! When it comes to Coran,” he stroked his mustache with an air of smugness Keith only ever thought Lance capable of, “those Unilu stand no chance. Anyway, what have we got here.”

And to Keith’s mounting embarrassment and horror, he actually went to peek through the window Keith had been almost plastered against for what felt like vargas.

“It’s nothing.” He crossed his arms, tucking his hands between his elbows and rips and trying hard to look casual enough.

As much as Keith wished he had someone else besides Shiro to talk about his fascination with arms and war machines, it was one of the very things he tended to keep to himself. It was partly because most people did not seem to see the appeal and other parts because…

Well, because most of the people he had opened up to about it had from then on looked at him with that strange gleam in their eyes. A certain kind of look that gave Keith the feeling he was a freak. Especially the people in whose care he ended up. For some reason, a child finding interest in these kinds of things had been unappealing. Had been strange.

Shiro had been the only one not to judge him and Keith had been stumped by the sheer relief that had flooded him when the older teen had furthermore allowed him to show him the folder he had compiled on a thumb drive – his own small encyclopedia about ways of manufacturing certain blades, about the special bows no one could really rebuild because no one any longer mastered the craft, shields and spears from all around the world being unearthed by archeologists.

One evening, Shiro had even joked that Keith would have been at home in one of those fantasy novels, with the knights in shining armor and swords of destiny to banish evil and darkness. His only response had been to jab his elbow into his surrogate older brother’s stomach.

It was kind of ironic how unknowingly right he had been back then.

Coran was stroking his chin with his hand, looking critically at the blade and Keith could feel himself growing warm from the sudden bout of self-consciousness.

“Shouldn’t we go and meet the others?” he offered, glad that his voice did not betray any of the unrest he felt at potentially being found out.

He wondered who he was kidding here, because it definitely wasn’t Coran.

The Altean merely gave a low hum, eyes still squinting at the weapon and Keith was starting to get curious as to what exactly he had spotted that obviously he didn’t.

Keith always had had a hard time with understanding people. Shiro had once consoled him with the explanation that Keith was too honest for his own good, so much so that he tended to believe that other people were just as straightforward as him when he actually should know better.

And Coran in particular was one of those people Keith was never able to tell how open he was with any of them. It was somewhat intimidating; to never know what was going on inside the man’s head.

“That’s quite the eye you got.”

Keith blinked, the casual compliment blindsiding him and making him lose his train of thought.

“What?”

Coran smiled that knowing smile they had come to expect every so often, pointing at the object of Keith’s interest.

“These kinds of blades were already much coveted in the old days. Only the Eiraklo could forge these kinds of weapons.”

Keith inclined his head, staring critically at Coran. “Eiraklo?” It sounded familiar.

“Remember how I and Allura explained that the Olkarie could bend metal at will?”

Keith nodded.

“The Olkarie are, or at least as were, as much of explorers as us Alteans and some of them went to colonize other planets. I wouldn’t say that calling their new home after their planet of origin spelled backwards was very creative, but I assure you there were no finer smiths in any part of their galaxy.”

Keith nodded, feeling himself relax.

“Did they imbed it with technology?”

It would make sense. The Olkarie were after all a highly sophisticated people. If anything, not trying to enhance a weapon in such a manner would be a waste. Although Keith had to admit that he could merely think of the concept as amazing, not having any clear idea in what way exactly technology could be used on a sword or dagger.

But it still sounded cool in his head.

“Some blades, although those are heirlooms and pretty rare. This one would be a regular imitar blade.”

“What was it used for?” Keith could not hold back some of the excitement that was bleeding into his voice but the opportunity was too good to pass up. Here Coran was, willing to share his knowledge and to give Keith answers to all the questions that had had him glued to the spot in front of the shop.

Coran gave a casual shrug: “Small ones like these usually served as a hidden weapon – hard to detect because of their size and so light that one would barely notice them or weight them down.”

Without meaning to, Keith’s eyes instantly fell back on the blade, gaining a new appreciation for its design.

“Do you want to buy it?”

Even with his voice being the most calm and quiet Keith had ever personally heard it, it still made him jerk as if hit by one of the gladiator bot’s electric rods.

He stared at Coran with wide eyes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at how easily the man could see through him. And he felt sheepish because now he realized how he had inadvertently leaned back towards the window. It was plainly obvious what he wanted.

But the idea of being so utterly predictable did not sit well with him.

“No.” He cleared his throat when his voice broke into a higher pitch. “I mean, it was just interesting to look at and we don’t have the money anyway so-“

“Keith.”

He stopped. Coran was regarding him, blue-pink eyes steady and calm. Keith gave a sigh.

He had a heavy sense of déjà vu of his afternoon with Shiro, his best friend looking at him in all earnest as he asked Keith whether he wanted that shirt or not. Keith had vehemently refused back then and Shiro had resected him enough to back off. That did not mean that Keith had never thought back on the offer, or the way Shiro’s eyes had clearly told him that he knew he had not been honest. But Shiro had been too kind to call him out on it.

“Actually, I do.” He finally admitted, although he could not directly say it to Coran’s face, opting to stare at a tile just beside the man’s left shoe. Heat was slowly crawling up his neck at the awkward confession and he decided it was high time to leave.

“Let’s go, the others are probably waiting.” He was already in motion, trying to hurry back to that gigantic clock with benches where they would rendezvous later but Coran was quick to announce what Keith definitely did not want to hear.

“Only a tick, Keith.”

And the teenager helplessly watched, gaping as Coran sauntered right into that shop before he could even open his mouth in protest.

The one arm he had reached out to stop the man slowly lowered until it fell back to his side limply. From this particular angle it was hard to see what exactly was going on, only catching the flash of one of Coran’s white gloves every few seconds.

His other arm came to reach his elbow, fingers fisting into the fabric of his jacket as he waited.

He should not have said anything. Coran shouldn’t bother. They needed the money for more important things than Keith’s inexplicable fascination with sharp objects.

It was hopeless anyway. No one in their right mind would even bargain the price of something as valuable as what Coran had made this blade out to be. And yet, as Keith concentrated on pulling at a loose string on the white seam, he could not help but find it touching that the advisor would at least try, when they really did not talk all that much.

He was somewhat aware that he spent more time with their Blue Paladin, if only because said Blue Paladin was very vocal about how much stuff the both of them cleaned up.

The rustle of paper was the only warning Keith got as a brown bundle was shoved into his hands. He barely managed to get a decent grip on it.

He hunched his shoulders automatically, blinking up at Coran as the Altean smiled, clapping him on the back.

“There we have it: one imitar blade for our Paladin Keith.”

Keith felt his mouth drop open. He had not thought it would work. He had not thought Coran seriously intending to spend such a sum on such a small object.

“Coran, no, I can’t...” he stuttered, suddenly panicked “We need that money for more important stuff.”

Coran made a show of feigning hurt, slapping a palm over where Keith guessed his heart might be, bending a little back for dramatic effect.

“Your sheer lack of faith wounds me, young Paladin. I made sure to let you all know I was a master of bartering!”

And indeed, when Keith looked back at the shopkeeper now removing the cushion and shiny tag, he could see clear discontent on his features.

He stared back at Coran, then the package, and back at Coran.

“I- I don’t know what to say.”

His awe seemed to amuse the older man.

“A simple ‘thank you’ should suffice.”

Keith was not exactly sure what kind of expression he was sporting, but his smile was somewhat unsteady but hopefully not any less grateful.

“Thank you, Coran.”

He clutched the blade harder, mindful of the rather unsecure wrappings. There was a tingle in his limbs, a kind of lightness that Keith only ever felt when he was with Shiro or on the rare occasion that the whole team did a relaxing activity together he could enjoy. It felt nice.

“Let us make our way back, shall we?”

Keith nodded, falling into step with Coran. His thumb kept running over the coarse paper and there was no way he would stop doing it anytime soon.

“Keith.”

He looked up at the somewhat serious tone but was reassured when there was nothing in Coran’s posture or eyes that spoke of a sudden change of heart. Although there was something more… remorseful hidden in the line between those orange eyebrows.

“You carry many responsibilities as the Paladins of Voltron. You took on a destiny that even many grown man and women would have been reluctant to accept. The five of you risk your lives each and every day for the universe.”

He paused and Keith, as if entranced, stopped in the middle of the arcade’s hall when Coran did. The warmth from those eyes was paternal and unlike anything Keith had ever experienced.

“The least we can do for you, is to make this burden a little more bearable. And if that means haggling with a livid shopkeeper over a priceless blade, then that’s what we will do.”

Keith did not blush easily, but right now he could feel his whole face combust at this sheer kindness. They stood in silence for a while longer and it took Keith a moment to understand that Coran was actually waiting for an answer. All he could manage at this point was a nod, his throat somehow having constricted.

Coran returned the gesture and they headed towards one of the escalators going up.

“If you wish,” Coran added as he leant back against the handrail, “I can show you to the Castle’s armory once we get back. I’d be happy to have someone help me keep everything in working order.”

Keith’s cheeks stung from the smile stretching his lips.

If Keith could have seen what Coran saw at that moment, it would have been a young lass with a child’s excited glimmer in his eyes.

[grippedbydestielfever]

Blame is an odd thing...

Why do we blame the nice ones?

That might sound a bit like a tag to a horror movie, but I assure you, it has a purpose. Or something.

When The Force Awakens came out, I was naturally as ecstatic about it as anyone who got introduced to Star Wars so young, you don’t remember ever being suprised by Vader was Luke’s father. (spoiler alert ; )

And on the whole, if delivered beautifully. And even more than that. For example, I now find droids adorable. And Poe Dameron is the most beautiful and exciting thing that happened to the SW verse since Ewan McGregor.

My favourite part though, my very favourite part, as unoriginal as this probably makes me, was the last thirty seconds. Because, well, Luke Skywalker.

My favourite character in the SW, hands down. Always has been, always will be. So naturally, feeling distinctly starved after the literal cliff hanger, I jumped into the fanfic feet first, and waited for the awesome older Luke fic. And I did find some, wrote some more. Watched endless Mark Hamill vids. Seriously, the man is cooler than his character, as if that’s somehow possible.

But it was what I found besides all that that surprised me. I might be a bit biased, but I think it’s safe to say that like Obi Wan Kenobi before him (see what I did there ; ), Luke is one of the nicest, kindest, most selfless, compassionate, caring characters you’re ever likely to come across. He forgave Darth Vader.

So why then, is there such a tendency in the fandom to blame Luke for things? Overwhelmingly, he is blamed for Ben Solo becoming Kylo Ren. Blame a lot more than Snoke even. He is blamed for abandoning Leia, abandoning the Resistance, abandoning Rey. Generally, there seems to be a tendency to paint him as grumpy, unappealing, selfish, inept, even cowardly. With absolutely no evidence. I mean, what is the argument there, that a guy in black who tortures and mentally rapes two of the heroes, including a teenage girl, keeps his helmet on the pile of ash of his victims’ bodies, kills Han Solo, and is somehow more whiny, petty, and toddler like that Anakin Skywalker in AOTC, is somehow like that because the kindest and best hero in the galaxy, who literally had to watch his own nephew destroy his entire world for a second time, somehow failed at something, or everything. That this is somehow all Luke’s fault.

The logic got lost of me somewhere in there. It also reminds me of Obi Wan and Anakin, of getting into fandom after ROTS and finding, even years later, stories and theories that say the Jedi deserved what they go for being corrupt-not sure how the massacred millions and the murdered toddlers factor into that corruption-that Obi Wan was somehow at fault for training Anakin wrong, that he actually had failed him. That Vader’s mad ravings after he had just murdered everyone Obi Wan ever cared about and strangled his own pregnant wife somehow had some truth, some substance, some genuine greviance to them. The idea that Vader’s resentment towards Obi Wan, a man he loved as a father, a brother, who literally gave his whole like to protect everything Anakin loved, that his anger that he holds onto for twenty years, that his eventual killing of Obi Wan in front of his own son, was somehow justified by something Obi Wan failed to do. By Obi Wan somehow failing to see that the Council should have treated Anakin differently. Or that the way the Council apparently treated Anakin was somehow justification, or even explanation, for his turning around and murdering everyone.

It’s like the Anakin was in the right when he told Mace they should arrest Palpatine argument. Which is literally tossed out a window when Anakin’s response to Mace saying no- probably perfectly reasonable when you consider the man under his lightsaber had just murdered several Jedi, and would go on to murder billions in the next few minutes and years-was to cut Mace’s arm off and let him be thrown out a window.

Okay, this may have turned into a rant. Apologies. But in all seriousness, I do find it confusing who we chose to venerate, and who he chose to villify. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore Vader turning back in to Anakin at the end of ROTJ. I think Luke’s refusal to fight his father, his love and forgiveness for Vader and some of the most beautiful and amazing moments ever put to Sci Fi cinema. But I also think that characters like Luke Skywalker, like Obi Wan Kenobi, suffered incredible losses, gave selflessly of themselves to the galaxy, asked for nothing in return, and saved the galaxy in the process. And I wonder why what he remember is Vader turning back, becoming Anakin again, and not Luke’s selfless courage and love in forgiving, in saving, his father. Not Leia’s incredible courage in the face of losing her planet, her people, and her innocence.

Why we sympathize with Kylo Ren, and not the people he hurt, the people he killed. Why our hearts break for the boy in that mask, and not the girl he terrorized, the pilot he broke, the mother and uncle-who were our heroes once, and still are, just greyer and more wrinkled-why we seek to redeem those who broke the galaxy, and now seek to remember those who put it back together again.

Redemption is something honourable, amazing, wonderful. Forgiveness is an astounding thing.

But love and compassion are what make those things possible, and maybe we need to remember to have a little more for the people who sacrificed everything for those they loved, and asked for nothing in return.

The people who got hurt, and have a right to say ouch on the way down.