#and i still have my green parka (ha) for the really cold days

[kenzan-kiwami]

2 weeks into my new job and it's already driving me absolutely stir crazy but my adachi jacket arrived today and everything is alright (for the moment)

[mariacallous]

When people ask what I’m doing for Christmas this year, I’ve been replying, with not a little bit of glee, that we are “going nowhere and entertaining nobody”. The almost universal reaction is one of wistfulness, if not envy.

Taking the pressure off the festive season and choosing to please only yourselves is something many people fantasise about. Some people feel so hamstrung by responsibility to others (and dare I say it, perhaps are so used to that well-established feeling of Christmas martyrdom) that they never get the Christmas they secretly want.

Thankfully, my husband and I have no such qualms, and for our son’s third Christmas, we’ve decided to do what makes him happy and have it just the three of us. For his first, we hosted my mum, and his second was spent in my husband’s home town at a huge gathering of grandparents, aunties and cousins. Both were lovely, if not entirely stress-free. During the first Christmas, no one was sleeping; during the second, which included a potluck for which I made two massive nut roasts for more than 25 people, only my son was: outside in the pram, being pushed by me, while the food was being served. My sister-in-law took a photo of me through the window: I am standing in the rain, parka over my nice dress, holding a flute of champagne. “I know it’s not funny now, but you’ll laugh at this one day,” she said, and she was right, I did. Eventually.

Despite the challenges of parenting a small child, I have wonderful memories from these Christmases, and we are still seeing loved ones over the festive period, just not all in one go. In a way, this makes it easier. I know some people are heavily invested in everything being on the 25 December, but it’s never been that way in my family, and there’s something about a movable feast that makes everything a bit looser and more relaxed. My son got to see his paternal grandparents earlier in December, thus skipping the hell of train travel over the Christmas period (I’m still haunted by our return journey via Coventry last year, which was spent in a vestibule), and celebrated with his nonna on the solstice. This spreads out the relatives and makes it less overwhelming for our toddler.

I know not everyone’s family are as understanding as ours, who have been happy with this arrangement. My dad, in particular, was almost insistent that we do our own thing and see him, my stepmum and my brothers at a quieter time – perhaps remembering his own days parenting young children, and the tug-of-war between the grandparents, which would have involved driving to opposite ends of the country. Like me, he thinks it’s important to create your own traditions within your smaller family unit, and over the past few years we have started to do that. That 2020 Covid Christmas, while incredibly sad at times, in a funny way gave us – and I imagine many others – the breathing space we needed to think about how we wanted to celebrate on our own terms: such as what we ate and drank, what the day’s timings would be, and what we most wanted to get out of it.

Our traditions have evolved quite organically, and are mostly to do with food. On Christmas Eve, we have a huge glazed ham alongside a range of salads. My husband will make Diana Henry’s winter panzanella, alongside something like a halloumi, orange and green bean salad and Ottolenghi’s squash recipe from Jerusalem.

On Christmas Day, after my not-entirely-sane husband plunges himself into freezing cold water, we will eat a bird that isn’t turkey, usually duck breast, and often far later than planned. The next day, we chop up the ham and use it to make our Boxing Day carbonara, an invention of my mother’s that has become a mainstay. In between we drink martinis, listen to carols, watch telly and dance to the Ella & Louis Christmas album, which, incidentally, includes the best version of Baby, It’s Cold Outside (far from being a sexual harassment anthem, it’s really a 1940s in-joke about how much two people want to shag each other, as the audience laughter and knowing ad-libs make abundantly clear). Dancing with my son and seeing his sheer, uncontrollable excitement at the sight of the Christmas tree has already got me in the spirit.

There is, of course, a part of me that will miss what I have come to think of as the “Euston sprint” from concourse to platform, stumbling through a morass of harassed northerners, blue Ikea bags overflowing with presents, and small children. But not that much. Hardest of all will be not having a G&T with my mum during Nine Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve. Whether we are together or apart, I always raise a glass to her, and I’ll cherish it all the more the next time we spend it together.

This time of year can be stressful, and so often we find ourselves staggering towards the day exhausted and overwhelmed. However you’re spending it, and even if you have obligations that are harder to negotiate than ours, I hope you find a moment this festive season to do something for yourself. It’s wonderful giving joy to others, but never at the complete expense of your own sanity.

[chloeworships]

The storage box I purchased was from my other favourite place, IKEA which makes me think Sweden 🇸🇪

Ukraine came to mind 🇺🇦 along with the EU 🇪🇺

The clear box indicates the information contained will provide clarity or be seen by others eventually. The truth will be uncovered.

I’m seeing a light blue piece of paper. It reminds me of the Senator’s document they use to endorse or oppose an appointee in the US 🇺🇸

These two men who approached me were wearing long black coats and I was barred from seeing their faces.

Some organization is fronting as an organization for youth or athletes and they are NOT. What are they really teaching them? 😰 As a mother, I was HORRIFIED❗️

Expect an urgent message very soon and please understand that this message is not exclusive to the countries mentioned.

Check in on your kids. This is the second message I am getting where teens are involved in something troubling unbeknownst to their parents.

These two men trusted me to reveal such sensitive secrets to me and they for sure heard about my reputation. This whole dream was straight out of a freaking movie yallllllllllllllllll but I don’t play about my son 😤 anyone that knows me, knows that I would do unspeakable things for him. Understand the gravity of what this message means — still, I too was involved in something shady. If you had seen the gun I pulled out. Oh boy.

God bless you and may he bless your children and keep them out of harms way. These angels saved my son’s life by telling me the truth about what was happening.

You are blessed if you’re seeing this message because God is surely trying to help you.

Wherever you see the light in Olivia’s office, is where it was green. I also feel you’re being given the green light to go ahead with something and this is why this information will be revealed to you.

PS. This could end up being a scandal

I also don’t know if these kids are training to be assassins or something wicked like that. I was an assassin in the dream but I didn’t want that for my son. I just had a vision of an assassin in a toque similar to how I described the colour of the gun, and he was in a window. 🪟 It was cold 🥶 ice cold around him.

Maybe someone’s name is John.

Are you seeing these photos? Do you see that GREEN? Do you see the two people? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀⁉️

I cannot make this stuff up. 👇🏾

Recall the other day I saw a man pointing a gun right at me in PEI 👀 I saw something recently once again.

Bench is also a clothing brand 👀

I was wearing a Parka and look what I found

👀👀👀

I am done ✅ done done done!!! God has mic 🎙️ dropped on us again.

STOP 🛑 RUINING THE LIVES OF TEENAGED BOYS BY GETTING THEM INVOLVED IN CRIMINAL ACTIVITY. THIS IS AN ABOMINATION TO THE LORD. JUDGEMENT IS ON THESE PEOPLE FOR THAT. YOU ARE KILLING THE YOUTH 😰 STOP 🛑 RECRUITING THEM TO DO YOUR DIRTY WORK. THESE BOYS HAVE PROMISING FUTURES. SHAME ON YOU. GOD WILL DEAL WITH YOU SEVERELY FOR YOUR GREED

I love kids and I am so angry right now, now that I really think about what God just revealed.

🔥😡🔥

I was about to say they were tricking people/me and then i remembered I heard a woman yelling

“THEY ARE TRICKING US”

👀

Who’s deceiving these parents??? 😰

Kids should not be involved in grown folks business.

This dream has multiple messages for several people.

Who are you people ⁉️👀 because DANGGGGGGGGG

[brooklynislandgirl]

Scent meme: "Manicured grass 'n summah air, night-time cooled."

..Would Smell Just As... || Accepting

Even on the roughest of days, in all the time that Ron has known her, Beth has never given any indication of having even the most temporary palsy. So when her hand takes on a faint tremour, visible only because she's got her coffee cup half way to her lips and he can see the deep beige of cream-splashed wave of this external tide. She also doesn't let her gaze stray near him much less her automatic habit of eyes-nose-lips habitual circuit. Maybe she hadn't made a connection between supper out, and a little spot just beyond the outskirts of London with clear open skies. Maybe she'd subconsciously pushed her thoughts aside until he elaborated the question. She tries so hard to keep the natural terror from her face, from letting it strip her voice down to bare-bones a whisper. "Fresh mown grass is one of my favourite kine," the hesitance carries flags in those words. "Reminds me of green tea, an' dis drink you can get a' Starbucks... Like how it feels undah my bare feet touched wi' dew or still sun-warmed. Second only t' walkin' on sand from home." She takes a dainty sip and sets her cup down. "Summah air here is different. In Honolulu. I really like London, but whole island is so cold to me. O'ahu ranges from twen'y six or seven degree in January an' February, alla way up to mebbe t'irty-one or two in summah months, an' dere is a lot of humidity. So mebbe I'm a hot house flowah. Might need, in ya case, f' bring cardigan...or parka. Mebbe some sled dog." An indulgent hand pets Noe's head, which is resting in her lap. "It...it's night time dat...I...I know you know dat da dark scare me, but mebbe it will all be okay if ya promise stay close an' hold my hand, yeah?Cause I nevah really been star gazin' before except a' one planetarium an' I kinda fell asleep."

[cocoabubbelle]

Watching “Scooby Doo, Where Are You?” (1969-1970 CBS) + Thoughts

Episode 21: Scooby’s Night with a Frozen Fright

Frozen Neanderthal/Caveman?

Fraphne dancing.

Shelma (Velma inviting Shaggy to dance.)

How cold is that big thing of ice that it didn’t melt in the ocean and on the way to Oceanland (that’s the science place’s name.)?

I think Professor Wayne (scientist with the glasses and light brown hair) is the culprit. Why, do you ask? In the back of my mind, he looks a lot like another unmasked culprit i faintly recall as a child whenever ads for this show would play. Of course, I could be wrong and it’s actually Professor Ingstrom (scientist with the black hair and mustache.). Let’s resume watching.

Scooby playing with Octopus baby only for Momma Octopus to scare him away.

Prof. Ingstrom sounding suspicions when he tells Prof. Wayne he has “things to do.” For some reason, I feel like he’s a red herring.

Another Malt Shop.

Shaggy forgetting his fishing rod and reel at Oceanland gives the gang an excuse to return and spoil whatever plans the culprit was going to get away with.

Unlocked doors + no security, as usual.

Shaggy dragging Scooby along because if he’s forced to stay then so does Scooby.

“Jumping Jellybeans!”

Animation Goof: Scooby picks up an orange and brown parka (Prof. Ingstrom’s), but in the close up it is green and white. It’s identified as Prof. Wayne’s.

Animation Goof: Shaggy’s mouth disappears when trying to call the sheriff on the phone.

When Scooby is hesitant to follow Velma’s instruction to sniff out the caveman’s footprints: “You heard the lady.” Yessir, your lady 🥰 I’m sorry it was too perfect to not be a Frelma moment.

Scooby Gang catches Prof. Ingstrom trying to communicate with dolphins.

Ok I’ll admit Ingstrom hiding in the shack only for the Caveman to appear when Fred open’s its door looks sus, but I still think it’s Prof. Wayne.

Velma the strongest carrying everyone again. Headcanon she’s in a female weightlifting class.

My sis giggled when she saw Fred, Velma, and Daphne hanging on the other side of the door the Caveman opened.

Another clue why Caveman might not be Ingstrom: the latter looks like an animal lover, while Caveman is a jerk and finds joy in stomping on a dog’s tail.

Shaggy and Scooby use *disguise as sea lions without costumes* IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!! (not)

I just realized that Oceanland was this series’s version of Sea World.

I vote someone else besides Fred takes a turn dividing up who gets to be in which team when splitting up.

Scooby crashing a gigantic ice block on one side of a locked door caused it to go through the keyhole and come out as a perfectly shaped key to unlock door.

What’s the point of splitting up the gang if you don’t bother showing what Fred and Daphne do to contribute getting more clues to the mystery (in this case — and in most cases with these two and sometimes Velma— it’s nothing.)

6 more minutes for the episode to finish. This means Fred’s trap won’t work.

Danger Prone Daphne leaned too far over the railing and accidentally falls, pulling Velma and Fred along with her, onto Shaggy and Scooby.

Another Chase Scene with a cheesy song. I was wondering what was missing.

It IS Professor Wayne!!!

Animation Goof: Prof. Ingstrom’s mustache is skin-colored.

“And it [Ingstrom’s invention] would have been mine, if it weren’t for those meddling kids!” My sis: *looks at me*; Me: …almost, but not really; My sis: 🙄

Day 21 of no “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids.” Ok, I admit the above is one of the closest to the iconic phrase, but still 🤪

[flameohotwife]

kataang 19 for the ask fluff T_T

19. "You know, I think my parents would be proud if I brought you home."

This *also* turned super long, and a little sad in parts though I still think (hope) it's adequately fluffy. I am apparently incapable of ficlets at this point. I'm sorry! Read here or on ao3. Rated G. 3k words.

Katara was freezing. She had only been gone from the Southern Water Tribe for a year and already she had forgotten how cold it was there. They had decided to take a quick trip to Katara’s home to officially tell her father they were together after finalizing the Harmony Restoration Movement in Ba Sing Se, and were quickly approaching the South Pole on Appa. She wrapped her parka more tightly around her, shivering.

“Aang, don’t worry,” Katara comforted from the saddle. Even from this distance she could see his nervous fidgeting. He gave Appa instructions and climbed back to join her and Sokka and Suki. Toph had just recently found her first metalbending student, and was not about to leave Yu Dao to go to “a block of ice I can’t see or bend on.” So the two couples journeyed southward, with a lot of talk of “oogies” from Sokka, a lot of snippy comments about the thinness of tent walls from Katara, and a lot of unsure glances from Aang and Suki.

“Yeah, Aang,” Sokka chimed in as the airbender settled in next to his girlfriend. His girlfriend! It still felt strange to call her that. It seemed too informal for all that she meant to him, but anything more would sound ridiculous coming out of a thirteen-year-old’s mouth. “Don’t worry about the tribe. They already love you, remember? The kids are just going to want a bunch of rides down Appa’s tail again.”

“Oh! They haven’t gotten to see him fly, yet!” Katara added excitedly.

“Plus, you’re the Avatar,” Suki said, rolling her eyes. “You stopped the hundred-year war! If that doesn’t endear you to everyone, I don’t know what will.” Suki rubbed her arms over the green parka Katara had made her, looking down uncomfortably.

“You helped, too, Suki,” Katara reasoned, leaning over to place a hand on her friend’s arm. “And Dad already knows you’re together and definitely approves. You helped break him out of prison!”

Suki smiled back at her in thanks while Sokka wrapped an arm around his girlfriend proudly. “The truth is,” he started, “Katara and I couldn’t have picked better people to pair off with, and the Southern Water Tribe has been starved for happiness for a long time, now. Neither of you have anything to worry about. They’ll be proud to know you. I bet there’ll even be a feast!” He rubbed his belly with his free hand.

“But, I let all those warriors get captured… on the Day of Black Sun,” Aang said. He had kept his guilt over that day to himself for so long, but Katara knew. She knew it had hung heavy on his heart since the moment she found him crying on Appa, and she knew that he needed to clear that pain away.

“Aang, look at me,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “The Fire Nation knew we were coming that day, but you couldn’t have known that. None of us did. We trust you as the Avatar and we trust you as Aang—that hasn’t changed. Warriors are led into danger all the time. That’s what they train for. Nobody blames you.”

Aang took a deep, clarifying breath. He tried to remember what Guru Pathik had told him about accepting the bad things that have happened and forgiving himself. He had to keep the pools of his chakras flowing, and while this guilt hadn’t accumulated to the point of blocking his water chakra, he knew it could if he didn’t keep it in check. He released his breath, feeling much warmer and more confident than he had a moment ago, and smiled at Katara.

“Thank you, Katara.” The way he looked at her caused her breath to catch; she still wasn’t used to the pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. Her heart swelled with it, and she went in for a hug.

She expected Sokka to call out “Oogies!” but he just sat back with his girlfriend and rolled his eyes. Her brother was much more used to these displays of affection than she gave him credit for, anyway. She had hugged and touched and even kissed Aang on the cheek so many times throughout their journey to end the war, and he hadn’t batted an eye. Kissing seemed to be what brought the cries of protest out, but even those seemed half-hearted the more he was forced to witness it.

Katara felt that telltale swoop in her stomach as Appa started his descent, and separated from Aang, grinning widely. They were here! She could hardly contain her excitement, and Aang fed off of it. He would do anything to make her happy. He jumped back to Appa’s head to steer him towards the center of the village.

The children who had been outside playing all gathered together when they saw the large shape of Appa in the sky. Some of them even recognized him—shouts of “It’s the sky bison! It’s Aang! It’s the Avatar!” could be heard as the group approached. The ensuing ruckus drew adults out of their huts as well. Katara noticed there were more snow huts than tents, now, probably thanks to Pakku and the benders he’d brought from the North when he sought out her grandmother, who was just joining the throng of people. She saw her father’s face among the crowd, as well, and her heart soared.

She and Sokka were leaning over the edge of the saddle, waving to everyone and sporting wide, toothy grins when they finally landed. As soon as Appa’s feet touched the snow they both jumped down, rushing to greet their family. Aang and Suki hung back a moment, unsure of their place, until Hakoda pulled back from his children to open his arms to them, smiling.

“It’s so good to see you Aang, Suki,” he said, embracing them all in a group hug. His voice was warm and strong and he hoped it was welcoming, too. Whatever his feelings about his kids growing up and moving on, he wanted their partners to feel safe and loved and cared for here.

When they all pulled back—some a little teary eyed from the reunion—they saw Kanna and Pakku making their way over. Gran Gran was smiling in a way Katara wasn’t sure she had ever seen before. She looked so happy. So at peace. She had lived her entire life in the war and had been the one to tell Katara (and Sokka, when he would listen) the stories about the Avatar when they were younger. Katara supposed this all must be like a dream come true for her as well. She hugged each member of the group in turn.

“It’s good to see you again, young airbender,” she said to Aang, before turning to Suki and the others. “And it’s wonderful to meet you, Suki. Pakku tells me you’re quite the warrior, from what he could tell while you all were camped outside Ba Sing Se. I’m so proud of all of you for stopping this war.”

They seemed to remember the rest of the village was watching them, and Hakoda cleared his throat. The kids stopped playing on Appa’s tail to listen to their Chief.

“Everyone! Sokka and Katara are home and they’ve brought guests!” he started. His voice boomed powerfully across the ice. “I’d like you to meet Suki of the Kyoshi Warriors, and of course you all have met Avatar Aang and his bison already.” There was some applause and squeals from the children, and Aang blushed and waved. “I think this calls for a celebration. Let’s feast in the new council lodge tonight!”

“I told you,” Sokka whispered to Aang. Aang chuckled in return as the crowd cheered once more before returning to their business. Hakoda invited them all into his hut and they sat down in front of the fire with some tea, along with Gran Gran and Pakku.

“So, Dad, there’s actually a reason we came down here,” Katara opened once they were all settled on cushions around the low, circular table. She was sitting between Aang and Suki, and her father was directly across from her, flanked by Sokka and Gran Gran. Pakku sipped his tea observantly between Aang and Kanna. “Aang and I…” She grabbed his hand under the table. No matter how confident she was in their relationship, she’d never had to announce a new relationship to her family before. She felt sure she’d never have to, again. “We’re together, now.”

Hakoda smiled. Kanna beamed. Pakku looked like he had accidentally swallowed the bitter leaves of his tea, but Katara ignored him; he always looked that way.

Hakoda was the first to speak. “I figured this would happen eventually,” he said, laughing when both Aang and Katara looked somewhat shocked. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And the way Katara was so protective of you, Aang, when you were in a coma...and her heartbreak when you left? I knew there was more than just friendship going on, even if Katara was too hard-headed to admit it.”

“Hey!” Katara protested.

“He’s not wrong,” Sokka spoke up. “You were the one who kept putting it off. Even after Aang kissed you at the Invasion…”

“You knew about that?!” Aang asked, flabbergasted.

“Toph told me,” he shrugged. “The subs were made of metal… she could feel it.” Sokka shuddered.

Both Aang and Katara were as red as tomato-carrots at this point, but Kanna actually laughed.

“Do you remember what I told you when you left the South Pole?” she asked, speaking to her grandchildren.

“Yeah, yeah, something about it being our destiny to help Aang, I think,” Sokka answered.

“You said…” Katara gasped, eyes wide. “You said our ‘destinies are intertwined with his.’” She looked at Aang, smiling. “I thought it was just about ending the war, but…”

“I also called him your boyfriend, that day, if you’ll remember,” Sokka pointed out. “You denied it then, but face it, Katara. You were already smitten from the day we met Aang.”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I was.” The blush was even higher on her cheeks, now. Aang looked as though someone had just granted him his biggest wishes: a mixture of surprise and glee covered his face as he looked at her. He squeezed her hand under the table, not completely sure she was still real; that this wasn’t a dream. Katara had really liked him for as long as he’d liked her?

“It was the same for me and Suki,” Sokka continued on. “The moment she beat me...again... in that dojo on Kyoshi Island, I knew.”

“Awww, Sokka,” Suki cooed.

“I mean, any girl who can take down a Water Tribe warrior is girlfriend material, am I right?”

Everyone at the table exchanged glances before simultaneously rolling their eyes and laughing. It was so good to be around family again, Katara thought. But what was even better was that she still felt at home and comfortable—maybe even moreso—with Aang there by her side. She could see him at future family gatherings, see him as an adult, proudly holding their child at the Solstice Festival in the South, comfortably talking with everyone from the children to the elders. It filled her with warmth, and she pressed her shoulder into his as the conversation went on well into the afternoon.

That evening, after the feast, there was dancing. It was different from the dancing they had done before, in the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. Katara and Sokka, along with the rest of the tribe spent much of the evening laughing and teaching Aang and Suki to dance in the Water Tribe way, readjusting their form, feeling the heavy beat of the drums; the qilaut.

At one point Aang and Katara stumbled outside for some air, clutching their stomachs which were beginning to ache from so much merriment. They sat back in a snowbank, arms around each other, watching the stars twinkling in silent chorus above them, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

“You know,” Aang said after a time, “I think my parents would be proud if I brought you home. Would’ve been proud, I guess. Gyatso, too. We could have celebrated and eaten fruit pies and sang and danced at the temples...” Katara looked up at him, expecting to see the grief and sadness etched in his face that was so often there when he spoke of his people, but he looked...wistful. Like he was perhaps picturing such a reunion, and her heart ached for all that he had lost. She had never even heard him mention his parents before. “Being here, around your family and your tribe… it’s been so wonderful, Katara.”

She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, pulling him ever closer. She kept her sapphire eyes focused on the light flickering out from the lodge behind him, feeling like perhaps this next thought was too much, but she wanted to open it up to him. To be there for him in the same way he’s been there for her for so long. “We could visit the Air Temples,” she suggested, quietly. “I know the other Air Nomads are gone… and it might be… sadder. A lot less celebratory. But… I’d like to visit your home again now that the war’s over. I’d like to learn your dances. Learn about your people.”

They turned to each other then, both their eyes sparkling in the starlight. “I’d like that,” Aang whispered as a tear escaped him with a choked sob.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Katara comforted, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. She realized that in the few months since the end of the war—probably actually since she’d broken him out of the iceberg—he hadn’t had the chance to really be. To reflect. To grieve. “It’s okay to be sad, you know? To miss them. You’re not alone though. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Aang clung to her then, letting his feelings flow. They listened to the sound of the drums inside, and she rocked him, whispering how strong he was, how amazing it was that he’d found a way to end the war that was still true to himself; to his people. How proud they would be. How proud she was.

Eventually, he lifted his head from her shoulder to kiss her slowly, tentatively. He was still mostly letting her take the lead in their physical relationship, but he couldn’t think of any other way to thank her then. No words seemed sufficient. His hesitance melted away the moment she moved her lips against his, though. His hands gripped her waist as best he could in their sitting position before moving to thread into her hair. He could feel his heart starting to beat just a little too fast. He felt lightheaded, but in a good way. He pulled back for a breath, and they both giggled. Kissing was still new, but something they both clearly enjoyed finally being able to do together.

“You called me ‘Sweetie,’” he said, realizing. She’d never called him anything other than Aang before. His heart fluttered.

“Is that okay? Sorry, I didn’t even realize…” Katara was pulling at her hair and looking anywhere but at Aang until he stopped her with another kiss, though it was much quicker this time.

“I loved it, Sweetie,” he teased back, but somehow it felt like the most natural thing in the world to call her.

“My mom used to call me that,” she admitted, shyly. “I don’t know why it just came out when I was talking to you…”

“Did I ever tell you what the guru told me about love?” Aang asked. Katara shook her head, confused. “He told me that ‘love is a form of energy,’ and that the airbenders’ love for me hasn’t left this world, but was reborn in new love.” He looked pointedly at her. “Our love.”

Katara took in a sharp breath. She felt at once shocked, humbled, and overflowing with pure, confident love. Sokka certainly wouldn’t believe it, but it made so much sense to her. The instant connection she had felt… the fierce need to protect him… her intense love for him that was as big as an entire nation. She couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Maybe...” Aang started. “Maybe your mom’s love for you was reborn, too.” It seemed like such an outrageous thing to say, but at the same time, like the most obvious thing in the world. The look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. She believed it, too. “I love you, Katara.”

“I love you too, Aang. So much.” She leaned in to kiss him again, feeling like nothing could quite top this feeling. They’d said ‘I love you’ so many times in so many ways; in small gestures, in touches, in roundabout ways, even before they’d been together. But this… this seemed much bigger.

Finally, they stood to return to the celebration. Surely people had noticed their absence by now, though they were thankfully still young enough to avoid any terribly embarrassing rumors. As they walked back to the hall, hand in hand, they shared a look before opening the door.

“Ready, Sweetie?” Aang asked, eyes shining with pure joy.

“Ready, Sweetie,” Katara responded confidently. She squeezed his hand before pulling him inside with her, already moving to the beat of the drums again. Their hearts were so full. Their lost loved ones were never truly gone from this world, and they would cherish that fact for the rest of their lives together. Even in their grief they were connected, and by their love they were healed. It was beautiful.

[hobiiwan]

fire • dincember: day 4

or

the five times you catch him staring;

the one you do something about it

pairing: the mandalorian x reader

summary: the five times you catch him staring and the one time you do something about it ( 3/6 )

warnings: none

word count: 1k

notes: ayyYe look who finally got off her ass to write this!!! sorry for the long hiatus, this is what happens when u don’t outline your fics!! also shit’s been wild with the pandemic and school work. this is day 4 of dincember - fire. enjoy!

part one part two

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking

you know you should probably be keeping track of the trail the mandalorian is so intent on sticking to

in case you need to make a quick exit

sure, he’s made it clear that he has no immediate plans on killing you

but still, call it a force of habit

it’s always good to have a plan B!

though, instead of plotting your escape path, you find yourself glaring at the back of his head

the setting sun rays bounce off the reflective surface and into your eyes

you wince once again, reminding yourself to pay attention for maker’s sake

you’re painfully aware of the biting cold

the trees don’t serve to be of much help either, the leaves have all fallen and the non-existent tree canopy does nothing to keep in any semblance of heat

your hands raise to tighten the scarf around your neck you grumble in annoyance behind your helmet

“please explain to me again why you needed me to track your bounty with you?”

he remains silent, weaving through the tree trunks with the same vigour as when you started your journey

you already know the answer, but if he’s going to drag you into a freezing woodland for god knows how many hours on end, you may as well get some entertainment

for some reason, the mandalorian doesn’t trust you

shocker

you haven’t given him much reason to do so, but he would argue that you haven’t done anything to persuade him otherwise

that one time where you slipped out of his line of sight to get something or other definitely did not help your case

“Suffering together just seems counter-productive, you know? I could be doing much more back on our ship, in the warm, might I add!”

he scoffs at that, “you’re crazier than I thought if you think I’d leave you alone on my ship.”

you take great offense

“what, like I’m going to steal it?” 

he stops in his tracks

you can feel the deadpan as his visor tilts towards you

you shove him back into pace with a roll of your eyes, “fine.”

he only lets up twice throughout the journey, allowing you to catch your breath and for him to scope out your surroundings (it’s bleak— dead trees for as far as the eye can see, and then some)

you collapse onto a nearby log and the feeling of the frosted surface bleeding into your trousers makes you wince

yeah, you’re a bounty hunter— what about it?

Mando returns and tells you that the log you’re sitting on will be where you sleep tonight

yes sir!!!!! no arguments there!!!

Mando breathes a sign of relief when you settle back with no qualms

finally

peace

you expect him to sit— rest, perhaps, but no

he just stands in front of you expectantly

you crane your neck to meet his visor with your own

um hi?? he’s invading your bubble

“firewood.”

for the love of-

you sigh, suppressing a groan and stand, quite cooperatively

someone has to take the first step

it takes hours, all your remaining energy and patience to fill your arms with enough bark that isn’t soggy from the snow

the mandalorian takes mercy when you return to the site and takes it upon himself to start the fire

not long later you sit beside the flickering flames as you toss the kid slivers of meat from the pack Mando handed you

the kid is curled up on your lap, his face buried beneath his robes

his green nose has taken on a red tint and you tap it with a chuckle

the kid snatches up the remaining meat in your grasp and waddles closer towards the fire

ouch

“You know, Mando,” you sigh, regarding the mandalorian across the fire

he doesn’t seem to notice the cold

that beskar must really be cost-effective

“if we’re going to work together, we have to trust each other.”

his helmet tilts and the man shifts his weight

someone’s antsy

you know he’s hesitating 

the gears spinning in his head are loud

“For the kid?” You murmur, lowering your gaze to the bundle sat at your feet

Mando’s line of sight follows and his stony resolve cracks

“Okay,” he says, so soft you barely hear it over the crackle of the fire

success

you’re rather satisfied with yourself

your gloves come up to remove your helmet

it’s been a long day

when the mask comes off, you blink to adjust to seeing without the barrier

wow was it stuffY in there

you immediately notice Mando has averted his eyes

his helmet is tilted all the way away from you

then you realise that even on the Crest, he’s never come across you without your helmet on

the smile that reaches your face isn’t snarky, for once

it’s gentle and something flares in your chest

honour, maybe? though you don’t have much experience with thaT

“It’s okay,” you say, “you can look.”

he hesitates once more, but eventually he does

stars, you’re pretty

you don’t look at all like any of the bounty hunters he’s come across

not sure whether that’s a good thing or not

even your puck had been a holo of your helmet

you definitely don’t look how he had pictured

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” you state quite plainly, “this thing does nothing more than hide my face and give me a headache.”

he stays unmoving, visor trained intently on your now-exposed eyes

ah, a man of so many words

“is,,,, is there something on my face?” your eyes widen a smidge, fingers brushing across your cheeks

then, Mando clears his throat and shakes his head

“No. No, you’re good.”

your face falls and with a shrug, you go back to eating

meanwhile your heart’s going eeeEEEEeeeeEEEE

you doze off soon after you finish your portion

when you stir, you notice the fire’s gone out

that’s why it’s fucking freezing

you defeatedly pull your parka tighter around your shoulders and nuzzle your face deeper into the woolen scarf

heat eludes you

in your bleary state, you barely notice Mando shifting around the charred logs and settling beside you

your eyelids flutter

sleep does not elude you

the cold from his beskar makes you recoil

then, the last thing you register before you go under once more is something draping across your front

the next morning, you wake to thawed snow and a heavy cape tucked under your chin

well, shit

you’re not cold anymore

[grellestan]

Not As Beautiful As You- Tamaki/Kyoya OHSHC Oneshot

“We’re going camping!”

Tamaki’s excited cry was met with the faintest ripple of acknowledgement. Seven glances were shot his way, but nobody stopped what they were doing or even praised- or more likely, disapproved the idea. Not even Honey paused eating his cake, just blinked and looked up at Mori with an eyerow raised.

The prince scowled at the blank room.

“I said, we’re going camping!”

Haruhi wearily turned towards him, raising her head out of her book. “Senpai, yesterday you said we’d go to the zoo. The day before that, it was paintballing. And last week, you were going on and on about… what was it again?”

“The Bahamas,” Kyoya chimed in, his glasses reflecting the light in a chilling fashion as he looked up. “Where you expect some of our members to get the funding for that is beyond me.” Haruhi winced at the pointed statement. Tamaki took zero notice.

“Oh please, this time is different! See, Kyoya’s family has just bought an acre of land, a forest with a simply beautiful lake flowing through it to build a campsite! Ah, it is most lovely there, almost as gorgeous as me!” Tamaki spun around, producing a rose from his lapel, just to embellish his point.

“We could even do it the way the commoners do! In a tent, with sleeping bags, as an homage to our own commoner!”

He looked around again, expecting some kind of a reaction, before sighing at the blank looks, and slumping to the ground to begin growing mushrooms. Kyoya stared disdainfully at him for a second, praying the idea would be dropped for not wanting to bother hs father by using the not-yet-opened facilities.

No sooner had he fell, however, a grinding of gears and a familiar, shrieking laugh pierced the air. Renge appeared from under the floor in a bright pink, glittery parka and canary wellington boots, clutching a tent bag and sitting on a camping chair. Haruhi did a double take, still not entirely used to the stunts that the club somehow found a way to both fund and pull off without failure.

“Ahahahaha! How foolish you all are for not heeding this idiot’s words! He’s usually a totally terrible excuse of a leader, but he’s onto something with this plan!” She brandished an umbrella from inside her parka, and pointed it at Kyoya. “Kyoya-Senpai! Don’t you see this could be a brilliant marketing scheme? All the outdoor photo shoots and camping brands you could be promoting in exchange for club funding?”

She was right- even Kyoya couldn’t shoot this down. The twins had already started to jump on the idea, joining Renge on her pedestal. Somehow, they were both already in hiking boots and waterproof trousers.

“She’s right.”

From the back of the room, even Mori had put in his twopence. Kyoya couldn’t deny it- it was a perfect way to generate some funding for the club. He gave a tired smile, and made some quick notes down on his clipboard. The whole room was looking towards him now, waiting for approval from the man. Kyoya drew in a long breath. “Fine, you lot. I’ll work my father and make him come around to the plan.”

His statement was met with cheers from the members. Haruhi glanced at everyone, still dumbfounded by how quickly situations at the club could change. How was the place even real, with this level of madness? She was lost in thought when she felt Kyoya’s breath on her cheek.

“Not to worry, Haruhi. I’ll add your expenses to your debt.” She rolled her eyes. He was never going to let that debt go.

The issue of tent-mates had occurred almost as soon as the group of loveable idiots arrived at the Ootori family’s luxury campsite. The twins had attempted to purloin Haruhi into their tent, insisting that they “definitely had space for all 3!”, much to Tamaki’s disdain. Haruhi had taken none of this, and stated calmly that she and Renge had already agreed to share together.

Really, Haruh enjoyed the twins’ antics and knew nothing bad would ever come of hanging out with them, but if Ranka had caught wind that her sweet daughter was camping out with filthy boys Haruhi would never hear the end of it.

After squabbling for a half hour, it was decided that the twins would stay in one tent, Haruhi and Renge in another, Mori and Honey would steal the luxury camper that Kyoya had planned on using alone, and he would be left in the last and smallest tent with Tamaki.

It wasn’t the worst arrangement, and it was only for a night. Kyoya couldn’t help feeling slightly bitter about his campervan, but it would be better for him to stay with Tamaki, however cramped, rather than incur the wrath of a sleepy Honey-Senpai.

It took them a further 3 hours to set up the tents, while Honey and Mori watched them all struggle from the comfort of the van. Tamaki had refused to use the pre-set-up tents that the Ootori family staff would provide, saying that he “needed the full commoner experience”. It went without saying that he would come to regret this immensely, having multiple temper tantrums when the flimsy tent material wouldn’t bend to his will. Renge and Haruhi were a surprisingly nimble and efficient tem when it came to the construction of their tent, and they ended up begrudgingly setting up Kyoya and Tamaki’s after a flood of begging and crocodile tears from the boss. Kyoya had refused to help with any of the tent-building process, under the grounds that it wasn’t his job after he had managed to wrangle the whole campsite for them to roam for pratically no fee. By no fee, he meant affordable for all club members besides Haruhi, for whom it was an unspeakable amount.

During the tent session, Honey and Mori had dug a pit and had started collecting firewood for a campfire. Rather, Mori collected wood, and Honey found sticks that were the perfect size for roasting marshmallows- “A total essential for the outdoors!” -and organised the snacks he’d stashed in his bag for that evening. By the time the tents were set up in a neat semicircle, there was a roaring fire and even wide logs for them to sit on around it that had been dragged around the woods by Mori.

Their campsite overlooked the still lake, and the moon reflected high in the sky above the friends. Fireflies buzzed around and glowed gold in the night, hovering just above the fire’s smoke, their light bouncing off the group’s faces. Their cheeks and noses were pink with cold and they were huddled under layers upon layers of blankets. Tamaki was sittig next to Kyoya, squashed against him penguin style, sharing the blanket and body heat. Kyoya couldn’t help but note Tamaki’s familiar vanilla cookie smell over the green, clear scent of the woods.

He inhaled before he could help himself, feeling a familiar swell in his chest. There was something about Tamaki, there always had been, from the moment they met and every minute since. He would never admit it- he hardly even let himself entertain his thoughts- but Tamaki was a beautiful, shining beacon radiating warmth and love for his friends, his family, the world. Kyoya privately wished he too could exude this kind of emotion, but more than that he wanted to absorb it from the blond boy. He wanted to soak in every part of Tamaki and then more. There was an unnameable emotion swelling within Kyoya with every glance at his friend, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it for much longer.

He stood abruptly, shedding the blanket onto Tamaki. The feeling in his chest was too much; he couldn’t remain so close to the boy he was trying so desperately to ignore his love for.

“Excuse me- I think I may have to take my leave, everyone. Lots of budgetng to do.” He brandished his clipboard and gave a wan smile. Tamaki looked heartbroken.

“But Kyoya! We haven’t even finished the marshmallows, you can’t possibly pass up smores for work!” The blond boy protested. He knew how to get round anyone but Kyoya knew he wouldn’t be able to stand another minute by his side, feeling his warmth just centimetres away from his heartbeat.

“No, no. Please enjoy the sweets without me. Somebody has to take care of business in this club after all.” He scurried into the tent before anyone could try to stop him, leaving behind the chattering group and the glow of the fire.

Kyoya tossed and turned in his too-short sleeping bag for hours, listening to the crackling fire and sleepy laughter of his friends. What was he going to do? Why couldn’t he love some noble’s daugher and make his family proud? Why was he cursed to love those he would never be able to have?

These thoughts plagued him long into the night, and angry tears escaped from his eyes. He was a failure, a terrible son and an even worse friend to Tamaki for having such terrible feeligs towards him. Eventually, with his mind spitting thoughts that ricocheted round his head like bullets, Kyoya fell into a restless sleep.

“Okay everyone! I’m off to bed. Hopefully Mommy won’t snore!” Tamaki rose from his space on the log after swallowing down his sixth smore.

Honey was leaning against Mori, breathing deeply and clutching at Usa-chan, dreaming of sweets. Haruhi had long gone to bed, and Renge soon followed. The twins were soaked through, having thought it would be hilarious to throw each other into the lake fully clothed. They hadn’t brought towels, the unprepared idiots, so now they had to dry off next to the campfire before they were able to crawl into bed.

A sleepy chorus of “goodnight” echoed around the fire from the remaining group members as Tamaki slowly unzipped the door to his tent, trying his hardest for once to be quiet as to not wake Kyoya up. He’d acted kind of strange earlier, and Tamaki couldn’t help but wonder what could be going on for his oldest and dearest friend. Tamaki was hesitant to give time to the thought, but he was finding himself having different kinds of feelings towards Kyoya recently, just here and there. At first, it was just that he notced a little more than usual when Kyoya had cut or styled his hair differently, then it was that he was almost hyper-aware of Kyoya’s features and how beautiful he was- he looked chiseled, like a marble statue with his clear, glassy skin.

Tamaki shook his head to rid himself of the emotion filling his mind. Not the time or place, he thought to himself, especially given that he would soon be lying right next to Kyoya. As quietly and quickly as he could, the blond boy clambered into the tent, trying hard to fit his long legs and arms neatly into his sleeping bag. He lay his head down onto the pillow and tried his hardest to fall asleep, not wanting his head to buzz with what he didn’t want to admit was love.

Tamaki awoke with a start. There was a rumbling noise, and in his sleepy stupor he couldn’t work out what the sound could possibly be coming from… Ah. After a minute of frantically whipping his head around trying to find the sure, he realised it was his friend snoring. Wow, Tamaki thought. Kyoya snores like a pig. Maybe that would be grounds to try and detatch his feelings! He couldn’t possibly fall for someone so loud- nevermind, it was no use trying to persuade himself of feeling anything other than a swell of happiness whenever he was around Kyoya.

He glanced over at the black haired boy. He was beautiful- his face was softened by sleep, making him appear vulnerable and young, almost like a baby bird who can’t yet fly. The slight tightness in Kyoya’s brow that usually marked his face was dissipated and relaxed, and he no longer showed a air of uptight snootiness. Tamaki wanted to reach out and stroke the smooth skin of his cheek, run his hands through Kyoya’s silky hair. He resisted.

Unzipping the door, Tamaki softly padded outdoors. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was definitely too light to be the dead of night anymore. He sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night. No matter, he would nap when he got home.

Tamaki wandered down to the lake’s edge, to where the water lapped at his toes and brushed his heels. It was cool and comforting, softly spashing at his feet. He considered for a second before stripping down to his underwear, the early morning half-light illuminating his toned shoulders and reflecting a shade of orange onto his chest. Tamaki stepped into the water, letting it swell around his knees and thighs for a second before dipping his shoulders under the golden water. He swam with a strong stroke into the centre of the lake, treading the water and watching the sky streak with pink, yellow and gold.

Back in the tent, Kyoya had stirred from his dead slumber. He could see that the door was flapped open, letting a breeze flow into the sleeping pod. He sighed and rolled out of his sleeping bag, pushing aside the door and following the footsteps down to the lake, twigs crunching underneath his bare feet. The coals in the firepit were still faintly glowing, and he stopped a minute to re-stock the fire and get the flames going again for when the others woke up. Once it was quietly crackling once again, he walked down to the lake’s shore, looking out across the woodlands. He could see Tamaki in the middle of the lake, his bare shoulders shining with water. No sooner had he arrived at the edge did Tamaki turn around and smile, yelling something that Kyoya didn’t quite catch across the water. When he didn’t respond, Tamaki made a wide beckoning gesture with his arms.

Kyoya hesitated a second, but reluctantly took his pyjamas off and wading into the lake. It wasn’t as chilly as he’d expected, just a still coolness that slipped over his skin as he swam to his friend. As he got closer, Tamaki sliced through the water towards him, grinning.

“Hey! I didn’t know you snore, I wouldn’t have shared a bedroom with you if I’d known! You totally woke me up” he raised an eybrow and smirked a little before falling into peals of laughter, unable to take himself seriously enough to smirk. Kyoya felt his cheeks redden.

“I do not snore, Suoh. Don’t project your faults onto me.” He deadpanned before smiling to show Tamaki he didn’t really mind the dig.

Tamaki suddenly looked past Kyoya, eyes shining. “Look! The sun’s rising! Isn’t it stunning?”

Kyoya turned. He was right- it was beautiful. The streaked sky was punctuated by the shimmering sparkle of the rising sun, a giant glowing full stop. He felt a hand on his shoulder, quickly followed by Tamaki’s chest resting on his back, chin on his shoulder.

Kyoya reddened again, but this time he felt bolder.

“It’s not as beautiful as you.”

Tamaki pulled away abruptly, and his stomach tied in a tangled knot of regret. Shit. Maybe he was too bold, thought Kyoya. He bowed his head and turned in the water, slightly raising his head to look at Tamaki’s face. The boy was wide eyed and pink cheeked, staring at Kyoya with his mouth slightly ajar.

“Tamaki, I-” Kyoya began to apologise. He was cut off by Tamaki’s tackled embrace, almost knocking him backwards into the lake. He could feel his friend’s- no, his love’s- hands gripping his back before rising to his jaw. Tamaki’s eyes were hazy and dark. He was beautiful.

“Kyoya,” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve wanted you to say that for so long.”

He leant forwards. Kyoya could hardly believe what was happening, and leant into the kiss that he’d waited for forever.

It was perfect. The sun was high now, and the lake was still and crystal, and Tamaki’s lips were so soft, and his hands so gentle. Kyoya didn’t know how this would pan out after this moent had ended… But he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

[listentothelittlebird]

I was looking through some drafts and I found this - I think it’s my first attempt at writing Burning Iceberg. Here, Damian tagged along with Jason when he went off for training!

Word Count: 2942 words 

enjoy!

It’s Talia who sends him away.

“Training,” she says, but there is something in the way that she moves, the way that the base is silent and waiting with bated breath right up until they leave. 

Jason leaves alone. Talia watches him go, her posture too unnaturally relaxed for anything not to be amiss. 

He gets one day away from the base before he realises he has a tail.

“Damian?” 

The young boy scuffles out of the shadows with a haughty sniff. “Took you long enough to notice me, Todd,” he huffs. Given the boy’s night clothing - the one’s he wore to sleep - Jason guessed that he had just arrived.

“Why’re you here?” Jason asks, curious. Sure, he had talked to the kid, had trained with the kid, but why was he here?

Damian glanced at Jason, then glanced away. “You were going alone,” he declared stiffly, “I would think that you would prefer company.”

“Mother agreed, and sent me after you,” Damian added, not at all convincing. Talia would never allow Damian out of her sights, especially with the tension in the air back at the base. Something was definitely up, but Jason let it slide and gestured for Damian to come closer. “You hungry, kid? I’ve got enough food for both of us until the next village.”

He knows that Talia might come after him. There’s no way he would let Damian disappear, just like that. For the moment, however, Jason could care less.

He had never asked for a big brother, and he had never asked for a little brother, but he was definitely willing to risk his life for the eight-year-old beside him. 

-

“Where are we going?” Damian asks, quietly. They’re stowed away on a cargo ship headed for the South Pole.

“I want to find a bender,” Jason replies, “The North pole is more connected to the world, and there’s more people to worry about. I’d think that a bender would hide in the South, where there’s less people.”

Damian scrunched up his nose. “Your skills are not adequate to face a bender, Todd.”

Jason pauses, then snorts, “I’m not gonna fight the bender, D. I just want to… talk to them.”

Damian eyes him with a skeptical look, but otherwise says nothing.

-

They’re riding through a brutal storm when Damian loses his grip and tumbles towards the railing.

Jason follows, one hand gripping tightly onto the metal rail and the other holding onto Damian as he flailed. For once, the kid looked genuinely terrified.

A wave crashes into them, and pulls them over. 

-

Jason is surprised to wake up. He tried to gauge his surroundings, but nothing really added up. He was under a fur blanket, a fire crackling near him. Someone was shifting beside him.

“You’re awake,” the voice murmurs, “I thought you’d sleep longer, but it seems not.”

Jason, carefully pulled himself up, narrowing his eyes as he gazed around the igloo. It was sparse, but large enough to fit him, the new man, and-

“Dami,” Jason breathed, headless of the man’s presence as he jerked out of the furs and toward

 his brother’s still form. He pressed two fingers to the boy’s neck, and his heart only calmed when he could feel the steady thrumming for a full minute.

“You’re welcome,” came the dry remark. Right. Jason turned back to the man, assessing him silently. He wore a blue parka, and was currently wearing the hood low over his face. 

“The two of you washed ashore last night,” the man explained, without prompting, “Your friend was barely breathing, but he made it through. You were surprisingly fine once the threat of frostbite was removed.”

Jason glanced again at Damian. 

“Thank you,” Jason stated, before his voice hardened, “But can we trust you?”

The man sighed. “Figures that two kids running around in the Antarctic wouldn’t trust a stranger,” he mused to himself. His amused smile was the only thing that Jason could see, the fire and the shadows obscuring the rest. 

“We are a long distance from the nearest village, but I can take you there. I can send the two of you on your way the moment that your friend feels better.”

-

“You know that you’re safe here, right?” Jason stated quietly. Anuk had left them in the igloo and went hunting by himself. He claimed that he worked better alone.

Damian looked up from where he was curled up in a corner of the igloo, his back pressed tightly against the icy wall. He wrinkled his nose, but there was still apprehension in his eyes. Jason sighed.

“Look, if this guy meant bad, he’d have done something already,” Jason reasoned, spreading his hands along the icy ground. He was glad that his resistance to low temperatures had survived the pit, even if his bending had not.

“Your trust will get you killed,” Damian murmured. Jason winced, “Yeah, well, it kinda already did. But that’s besides the point,” Jason rushed to add, “Just- trust is dangerous, sure, but can you really live your life without trusting anyone?”

Damian was silent. Jason, taking a dive, spoke up, “Do you trust me?”

Damian jerked his head up, staring at him with wide eyes. Then, quietly, “Yes.”

Jason nodded, and pressed, “Talia? Ra’s?”

Damian hesitated. Jason moved on.

“Listen. I know you just wanted to tag along for my training, but we’ve been under the radar for at least a month.” They had arrived on a full moon, and that night was a full moon, again. 

“Even Talia would have to admit to Ra’s that she thought we were dead somewhere in the Antarctic. Firebenders hate the two poles - they won’t be sending a search party for us, much less coming to find us themselves. You don’t have to go back to them.”

This time, Damian glared. “Where else would I go, Todd?” he spat, and Jason realised that the kid had already thought of this, had already considered this, “Where else am I supposed to go, if I do not return to my home?”

Jason pursed his lips, and despite the green raging inside him…

“Bruce would take you in,” Jason admitted, shoving the green away, “I can’t say the same for myself, not when I’m done with him, but… you. You’re his kid. He’d definitely take you in.”

Jason grinned, “He’d love you. Hell, he already took in the Replacement, what’s one more?”

Damian shifted. “Why won’t he take you in?” he questioned.

Jason stilled. “It’s not-” Jason started and stopped, and shook his head. The Joker was still alive. He had adopted a new kid. He wasn’t needed, hell, he wasn’t wanted. He really had just been a charity case. He breathed, trying to push the green down.

“It’s complicated. I don’t know if I can forgive Bruce, and I don’t know if I can stare at him without wanting to put a knife to his neck.”

That was what scared him the most. That he would lose control. He hated Bruce right now, hated him for what he had done, what he had not done, but his nightmare was his vision going green and fading to a Batman bleeding out from a knife in his grip.

Damian looked confused, so Jason tried to explain. “Bruce is… not a perfect man,” Jason sighed, “But he’s all Gotham has. And the Robins - what he does for them, that’s good. Even if-” Even if it gave him false hope for a rescue that never came. He swallowed that down.

“For all of his faults, he did give me some of the best memories.” Not that he remembered many of them. The pit took that away, too. “I hate him, but I loved him, too.”

-

“You’re ready.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at Anuk. “Ready for?”

“The full moon,” Anuk explained, not really explaining at all. He pointed towards the sky. “Tonight should be a full moon. We’ll set out onto the ocean at midnight, and you can perform the traditional water-bending stances for Tui and La. If nothing else, it is a tradition that I practice, and as my student, I want you to practice it as well.”

Jason sighed, but went along with it. He still had no bending - sometimes he thought that the water would move just so, but most of the time, there was nothing. He diligently learnt all of the water-bending moves, but Anuk was probably lying when he said that he was “ready”. How do you tell if someone knows their stuff if they don’t even bend?

-

The night was quiet. Serene, silent in the way that Gotham never was. The League had been silent, too, but not in this way. There was tension in the air, in League bases, sounds controlled and quenched before they could travel. Here, there were only expanses of snow and ice to echo back each scrunch of their boots.

Anuk bended a gondola made of ice, and Jason hopped on, not willing to show his own hesitation. Anuk waved his arms and the gondola moved out onto the calm Antarctic sea.

“According to my Gramps, we used to have big ceremonies on full moons,” Anuk started conversationally, filling the cold silence with soft murmurs. Jason realised belatedly that they should have brought a lamp, or at least a torchlight, but it seemed like Anuk knew where he was going, even in the dim moonlight.

“I live in the South pole, but my Gramps hailed from the North. He says that the late princess Yue gave her life to keep the moon spirit, Tui, alive. The Northern water-benders would present their bending on full moons to pay homage to Yue and her sacrifice.”

The gondola slowed to a stop, and they were left bobbing softly on near-silent waves. Anuk stretched his arms out and pulled, and a square platform of ice froze before them. Anuk stepped back and looked towards Jason expectantly.

Jason had grown used to the icy tundra, enough so that he did not immediately slip off the icy block when he hopped out of the gondola. He took his place at the centre of the ice block, glanced up at the moon, and started to run through his bending forms.

Nothing happened at first. Jason felt kind of stupid, actually, bending without bending at all. He nearly slipped a few times, but he managed to keep his balance, and powered through the basic forms into the more advanced attacks.

Then, something shifted.

“Jason,” the wind whispered, and Jason stumbled. His foot slipped, and he ended up on all four as the ice block rocked, waves pushing over the sides and washing over his hands and knees. The voice sounded like Bruce.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” came again, and it really did sound like Bruce. Jason blinked into the moonlit ice and nearly gasped. 

It was a bird’s-eye view of the Batcave. He would know that cavern anywhere. Batman was stooped down beside a glass casing, positioned at the centre of the cave.

The vision zoomed in. The casing had a blood-stained Robin uniform, burned and tattered, way too destroyed to be repairable. Jason realised it was his suit. The one he had died in. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Bruce was saying, and Jason could only watch as Bruce absolutely bawled his eyes out in front of the casing, still wearing his batsuit, only having pulled the cowl down.

Just when the sobs died down, Jason heard, “I left Joker in the helicopter. I knew it was going to crash, but I- I thought he didn’t deserve to live,” Bruce admitted quietly. Jason’s breath hitched.

“He survived. Of course he did. If I keep going after him, he’ll just keep surviving, and… I have to stop, before I can’t. Before I lose myself in a world that took you. I’m sorry,” he choked out, and the tears continued to flow.

The scene changed.

“Why?” Dick’s voice screamed, raw and so full of emotion that it jarred Jason to the bones. “Why did you let him live?”

“We can’t be the dictators of who lives and who dies,” Bruce started, but Dick cut him off. “This is the Joker we’re talking about, B!” Dick yelled, somehow louder than the previous shout, “Joker doesn’t care who lives and who dies! He definitely didn’t care when he-” Dick cut himself off with a sharp exhale.

Bruce waited as Dick took measured breaths. “I just don’t get it,” Dick whispered, “A man like him? B, why did you save him?”

Silence. 

“We fight for justice,” Bruce rumbled, steadfast and sure compared to the crying mess in the last vision. Confident, like he had worked through his thoughts and come to a conclusion. “We can’t just kill people as we see fit. Not even if we hold a personal grudge. Not even if we want revenge for our own.” 

They both glanced towards the casing.

“I still want to kill him,” Dick stated bluntly. Jason thought Bruce would reaffirm his rules, that he would cook up a convincing argument and strike down Dick’s motives.

Instead, Bruce only answered with, “Sit on it for a few days. Don’t make an impulsive decision you’ll regret.”

Dick sighed harshly, and left the viewing range of the vision. Bruce turned back to the casing.

“I never got to apologise to you,” Bruce murmured, “For accusing you of pushing Garzonasa.”

“I was worried for you. Nobody should have to live with the guilt of taking someone’s life. I’m sorry if I came off as distrustful. I should have done more. Been better.”

One last scene. A young kid, black hair and blue eyes, looking up at the casing, fiddling with a new Robin suit that Jason had only seen through grainy newspaper prints.

“You were my hero,” the boy said, and checked his empty surroundings before he continued, “You were… awesome. You had so much energy and spunk, and-” he huffed, a small smile on his face, “-much more fire than me. Which is ironic, to say the least.”

Jason watched as the kid produced a photo from his gauntlet. It was a photo of Jason and Nightwing, on the rooftops, laughing and joking around. 

“I always wanted to be your friend,” he admitted, “I never wanted to replace you. I just knew that Batman needed a partner, and I guess nobody else was gonna do it, so. Here I am.”

The photo slipped back under his cape. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be like you, but I’m trying. I… I know I shouldn’t miss you, because technically I never knew you, but. I do.”

Timothy Drake looked up at the suit for a long minute, before turning and pressing his domino mask across his eyes. “I’ll do my best to make you proud,” he whispered to the air.

The vision disappeared with the pull of the tide. Jason was suddenly aware of the ice block he was still on, as it tipped against the slightly-larger wave. A combination of water and ice made him slide right off the block’s edge. 

Anuk’s yell was drowned out by the freezing water rushing to meet him. It was the very opposite of being dipped into the Lazarus pit. The water was a dark blue, and he could still see the moonlight piercing through the water’s surface. The light bent above him, and he blinked, because it almost looked like a face. A young woman, with long white hair flowing around her serene smile.

The light pulsed, and suddenly he could feel the water around him, moving and flowing, pulsating with its own energy. He could feel the water turning and churning around Anuk’s gondola as he steered towards him. He spread out his arms and pushed-

-and shot out of the water, landing with a slight stumble back on Anuk’s gondola. The boat rocked slightly, but Jason smoothed his palms downwards and the rippling waves ceased.

 “Tui and La,” Anuk cursed to himself, “You were under there for quite a- oh.”

Jason tilted his head. “Oh?” he prompted, still reeling from how alive he felt. He was surrounded by his element, and he almost wanted to dive back under just to soak in his renewed bending.

Anuk produced an ice mirror, angling it to catch the moonlight. It was hard to make out, but there was definitely a patch of hair that was no longer black, dangling right in front of his eyes.

His eyes were blue, like the colour he was born with.

“Yue’s blessing,” Anuk breathed. “What?” Jason questioned, looking up from where he was scrutinising his new hairstyle. Anuk had his head tilted reverently towards the moon.

“Princess Yue lived because Tui gave her life,” Anuk recounted, “Her hair was a stark white because of this. When Tui’s mortal form was killed, Yue gave back her lifeforce to revive Tui.” Anuk chuckled, “It’s why most people from the poles don’t bother dyeing their hair.”

Jason himself eyed the moon contemplatively. He closed his eyes, and realised with a start that the green was gone. The pit’s effects - the murderous rage, the unnaturally-green eyes, the blockage of his bending - they were gone.

Anuk had taught him a traditional bow used to start and end water-bending fights, a sign of respect for the opponent. Jason bowed towards the moon, and hoped he was doing it right.

“Thank you,” he breathed quietly, “Yue, Tui, whatever you prefer to be called. Thank you.”

The moon shone on the ocean, and he swore he could see Yue’s face once more, smiling.

[xiaomomowrites]

zhongli, come down

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: “When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle. 

Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.

Or, Zhongli and Childe visit Snezhnaya, but there’s a certain adeptus on Zhongli’s mind.

Find it on Ao3!

WARNING: this fic contains mentions of death/minor character death. Read at your own risk!

This part takes place between act V and act VI, which is still in the works~

A/N: I had meant to get this out earlier, but I live in Texas so we’ve been having sporadic power outages for the past three or four days. I had spotty connection and it was freezing in my house so this ended up a little delayed! Plus, act VI really just doesn’t wanna be written :( I want it to be perfect before I post it though, I don’t wanna give y’all mediocre Tartali food lol. But I hope you all enjoy, I’ll be adding a little message at the end if you’re interested, so stay tuned. -u.n.

--

Zhongli felt another full-body shiver rack through him when the wind whistled by again ruthlessly. Archaic divinity and equity aside, he wanted nothing more but to spit and curse the harsh ice beneath his feet. He had all but lost feeling in his fingers and toes as he stood still in the snow, waiting for Childe to finish grabbing them coffee. The Harbinger had offered the drink out of the kindness of his heart when he had seen how badly Zhongli was shivering, as if they hadn’t come here together before. Zhongli accepted the coffee with enthusiasm, knowing it makes Childe happy when he accepts his gifts.

He found himself at the doorstep of Snezhnaya with Childe, visiting his family for the year as they did each November. Unfortunately, November through February seemed to be the harshest that the winters got. The weather would breach zero degrees and drop past negative ten, the wind would lash furiously past parkas and scarves and mittens and kiss bare skin. And Zhongli, in all his divine beauty, would miss the warm summer nights of Liyue so much that he needed to remind himself of how much he loved his husband just to agree to get on the train with him. 

Childe, his darling ginger, simply hummed alongside him and tucked Zhongli’s arm beneath his own to keep him from slipping on the ice. His time in Liyue had not shaken his immunity to the cold at all. His other hand sipped at the warm coffee encapsulated in green cardboard, humming a happy noise from the back of his throat. Even if it was a one time occurrence years ago that ended with minor bruising along the ex-Archon’s back, Childe never let him live the moment down and swore to hold onto him every second they found themselves in his hometown. Zhongli had insisted that he need not pace himself just to walk alongside an old man like him, but he had just pinched his cheeks, kissed his nose, and reminded him that he wasn’t that old. 

“You’ve got that sexy rich-middle-aged-man thing going on for you. Except, all your money comes from me, and you’re actually six thousand years old,” Tartaglia had told him then, beaming up at him so brightly it made Zhongli blink. 

Soon enough, Zhongli finds himself at his in-law’s residence. He takes a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of Childe’s siblings enthusiasm, and waits for Childe to knock. The Harbinger grins at his anticipation and raps his knuckles against the comforting wood. Not even a beat later and the oak swings open, revealing Teucer, Tonia, and Anthon. They’ve all gotten so big since he last saw them, watching them grow fills the ex-Archon with pride. Zhongli finds himself smiling, squeezing Childe’s hand partially because he’s overwhelmed with joy, and also so he doesn’t slip and fall on his ass too hard when he’s tackled. 

Seconds later he finds himself with an armful of red headed siblings. He stumbles, but thankfully Childe’s there to steady him upright. Zhongli squeezes his hand again in thanks. 

“Mr. Zhongli!” One of them screeches in his ear, “You’re back! Do you have any presents for us?”

“Mr. Zhongli!” Another one yells, “did you bring me a new book?” 

Luckily, Tartaglia’s mother begins barking at her children to reign them back inside and to  ‘leave the nice man alone’, so that he has time to readjust and step inside the warmth of their cozy abode. Zhongli smiles, cheeks red and ears redder, and bows as deep as he can. 

“Thank you for having me,” the honey-like voice glides against the wooden walls like it belongs there, “it is a pleasure to see you all again.” 

“Oh stop,” his mother-in-law gushes, “we’ve seen you every year for years now, honey, drop the formalities!” she waves him off while pulling her own son into a bone crushing hug. “And it’s good to see you too, hun.”

“Hi mom,” Childe responds sheepishly, careful not to squeeze her too hard, lest her back start cracking again. He raises a hand to cradle the back of her head with a fondness reserved only for her. “Where’s dad?” 

The question hangs above their heads heavily. A beat of silence passes before she smiles warily and squeezes her son’s cheeks. “He’s at the fireplace, Ajax.”

Childe nods, and eyes the urn sitting high above the crackling fireplace. It’s a beautiful marble urn that Tartaglia paid for in full, with a single ruby gem nestled right beside his father’s name. Even in this state, his father has the largest presence in the house. It is a presence even Zhongli can acknowledge and respect. The thought pushes Zhongli to squeeze his hand and mutter, “Go?” 

Tartaglia nods, and swallows hard. Zhongli urges him forward carefully with a gloved hand against the small of his back. His mother watches him go along with sullen and somber eyes. And it is only when Childe is stationed in front of the fire, a single gloved hand covering his mouth, when Zhongli breaks the silence. 

“So,” Zhongli begins, turning to his in-law. “The last time we spoke, you promised me a recipe for that delicious meal you served us last year. Were you able to hold up your end of the contract?” 

The red-headed woman beams up at him and grabs at his hands. Her hands are so small, so soft and delicate, Zhongli wishes nothing more but to protect this family with his life. And well, that makes two of them. 

“Of course, dear,” she says excitedly, “come with me.”

The next hour or so consisted of Zhongli patiently waiting in the kitchen while his mother-in-law bustled around, excitedly explaining the process of dough rolling, frying, meat filling, and then frying again. Zhongli watched with fascination, always one to appreciate cultures from all around the world. He hummed and nodded in confirmation every once in a while when she would turn to him, asking him if he understood, and he smiled. 

Tartaglia came padding into the kitchen later, eyes slightly red and puffy, and Zhongli didn’t need to ask if something was wrong to understand what was going on. He knew all too well of his feelings of conflict toward his father in the past. Now that the man himself was gone, Zhongli could only imagine the things Childe was feeling at the moment. 

Zhongli never exactly had a family to grieve, anyway. As far as he knew, all the family he had was in this very house alone. 

And Xiao, the voice in his head whispered, snapping him out of his reverie. Zhongli blinked the voice away. Now was not the time. 

“Talking behind my back, Xiansheng?” Childe teases, coming up behind him to snake his arms around his waist. “That’s not very husband-like of you, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” Zhongli played along, “your mother and I were just discussing how unruly you are in the morning, and how you leave wet towels on the floor after you shower. Truly a horrendous habit, Tartaglia.”

The ginger pouts over his shoulder and leans in to bite his cheek, reveling in the way Zhongli squeezes one eye shut in a faux flinch. He quickly kisses the flesh he sunk his teeth into and settles back against his husband. 

“Smells good, mom.” 

“It always smells good, Ajax,” she tuts, waving her spoon in his face, “what do you think of your mother, huh?”

“Why am I being attacked,” Tartaglia pouts, the end of the sentence lilting upward in a whine. Zhongli clicks his tongue at his behavior and pats his head reassuringly. 

“The food will be ready soon,” he reassures, “besides, she was just telling me all about a soup that I must try my hand at next year.”

Tartaglia groans dramatically and leans all his weight against Zhongli in response. 

—

Night falls, and Childe finds himself lighting the fireplace in the room they stay in upstairs, letting the flames embrace the room in an auburn glow. His siblings are tucked in and finally quiet after Zhongli’s endless stories of Liyue. His mother had turned in an hour earlier after smothering the two in kisses, and the couple had stayed in the kitchen for a bit sipping wine and conversing in the moonlight. After downing a good amount and feeling a light buzz through their systems, they called it a night and headed upstairs, pinkies linked as always. 

But Zhongli was off during the entire conversation. It may have seemed like he was himself to an outsider, but Tartaglia knew better. He knew when his husband was somewhere else. He had seen it too many times before.

So later, when Zhongli finds himself sitting on their windowsill rather melancholic, watching the snow fall, Childe regards him with a careful stare. The ex-Archon eyes the way the snow falls so tenderly yet so purposefully, as if they all held a secret that even an ancient being like him didn’t understand. He shivers at the cold that seeps in through the windows and kisses his fingertips where they meet the glass, and cradles his hand back to his chest slowly. 

“Zhongli,” Childe calls. The said man turns from the window, eyes bright and oddly wet. Oh, Childe knows that look. “C’mere,” he beckons. Zhongli obeys and pads over to where his husband is situated on their bed. He crawls onto the mattress next to him and slumps against the headboard, still deep in his thoughts. 

The Harbinger looks at him with concern and squirms over to where Zhongli sits. He uses his chest as a pillow, wrapping his arms around a lithe waist and tucking his nose in the crook of his neck. He breathes deeply the mature scent of silk flowers and feels his heart thump happily in his chest. Childe stays quiet for a moment, and allows himself to focus on the rise and fall of his sturdy chest. Zhongli runs the length of his palm up and down Tartaglia’s side as he ponders.

Childe decides to break the silence before he falls asleep. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Zhongli’s hand comes up to his hair and scratches at his scalp the way he knows Childe likes it. 

“Nothing. I am just… thinking.” His voice trails off pensively.

“Hmm. As usual,” he hums, “what about?” Childe prods gently, knowing there’s a fifty-fifty chance his husband will indulge him.

He’s quiet for a moment. Far too quiet. Childe wonders if he should drop the subject.

“Xiao, actually,” he says suddenly. “I am thinking of Xiao.”

“Xiao,” Childe parrots, confused as to why the legendary adeptus lingers in his beloved’s head at a time like this.

Zhongli sighs, and his shoulders hunch forward, eyebrows furrowing in mild discomfort. “Whenever I am with you, I cannot help but think of him.”

Childe’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Elaborate?” He’s only mildly offended, but he jests nonetheless in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Zhongli chuckles and pushes a thumb between Childe’s frown. “Not like that. You know there’s no one in my heart except you. Besides, he’s like… family to me. I simply care deeply for his well being.”

Childe offers a wry smile. He knows, he’s just teasing. “So what’s wrong?”

“When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle. 

Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.

“When I’m with you, I forget all my troubles. My burdens are made lighter simply by your presence. I forget what it felt like to be a part of the Archon War, or what it was like having so much blood on my hands. When I’m with you, I forget all of that. And I am happy.” Zhongli’s tone of  voice certainly does not match the topic he speaks of.

Still, Childe gulps. The ex-Archon can be too sappy for his own good, he might have a heart attack.

“Xiao, on the other hand, carries burdens almost heavier than mine,” he speaks as if it were an irrefutable fact. Although Childe wants to protest, he allows him to continue. “Millennia of suffering. Centuries of torture. Generations worth of karma building up on his plate. And he has no one he can turn to to help him forget; no one to help him bear it. Xiao is… alone.” His voice cracks pathetically.

Ah. 

The wind turns colder. There’s a chill that goes through the room, and it seeps into Childe’s bones. The Harbinger’s eyes dart to the fireplace, almost accusing it of not doing its job. He’s mildly aware of the new presence outside of the window that reeks of karma and a heavy heart. The tidal waves of grief and remorse spill into the room, and Tartaglia almost wants to wave a hand in front of his face to waft the energy away. Nevertheless, Childe dismisses it knowing that it is harmless, and turns all of his attention on his partner. 

“What about that traveler,” Childe offers, “Xiao seems to be fixated on him.” 

Zhongli shakes his head. “Young Traveler is far too free spirited for that, and Xiao is the type to only give his heart when he is certain that the source is stable and everlasting.”

Childe nods in understanding. He’s the same way, after all. “He was right to give his heart to you.”

“And yet I betrayed him, did I not?” Zhongli asks.

Childe frowns once again. He wills his voice to not sound too accusing when he asks, “In what way?” 

Zhongli waves his free hand in the air, trying his best to convey the emotions that had been eating at him all evening. 

“I am here, parading away with my husband while he still watches over Liyue per my request. Even though our contract ended, he still persists. He still fights the demons of the gods I slayed myself. He still is trapped by the shackles of Liyue, cleaning up my mess, worshipping my name, while I lay here wondering if I want coffee or tea when the sun rises.” 

His voice wavers. Childe’s heart tugs. The Harbinger shuffles closer and squeezes him tighter. 

“I can’t help but feel as though I am responsible for his suffering. I am the one who summoned him, am I not? The fierce Yakshas… oh how truly amazing they were,” Zhongli rambles, fingers tightening their hold on Childe. “And now they are all…”

“Zhongli.” He cuts him off sternly. The man in question shakes out his reverie, glassy amber eyes meeting cerulean. Childe brings a hand to his cheek to caress the sinfully soft skin there. The ginger leans in, pressing his forehead against his temple and pleads.

“Stop,” he whispers, and then his hand finds purchase on his husband’s neck. “Stop.” 

“I am not worthy of it any longer, Ajax,” Zhongli’s voice warbles, “all I want is for Young Xiao to rest and finally find peace. I no longer want him to have nightmares, asleep or not. I want to be the one to be rid of his burdens. I want him to be happy, Ajax, I want—“

“No,” Childe interrupts again, “there is nothing you can do, my love. And I’m so sorry you feel that way. I truly am. But his suffering has nothing to do with you anymore. Xiao looks up to you—“

“But he shouldn’t.” 

“Xiao looks up to you,” he persists, “for a reason. He adores you, okay? No matter what you do. No matter what you say. No matter how you look. Even if you’re skin and bone and wrinkly with gray hair, Xiao would still admire you. Your strength has withstood the test of time, and so has his loyalty to you.” He brushes a stray hair from Zhongli’s face and continues.

“You were the one that saved him. Have you ever thought of that, old man? You saved him and named him. I mean, if someone were to pull me out of the abyss and give me a hug for god’s sake, I probably would have turned out different,” Zhongli’s eyes soften even more, but Childe refuses to make this about him. He thumps a fist against Zhongli’s chest in mock petulance. “Xiao respects you because you deserve it. It is as simple as that.”

Zhongli is quiet, pondering, so Tartaglia takes that as an invitation to continue. 

“You have served your time bearing your burdens. You have saved souls and you have killed your own share of demons, and you fought to get where you are now. You deserve a break, Zhongli. And you don’t need to feel guilty that someone out there hasn’t been liberated of their own issues. You of all people understand Xiao’s strength. Probably more than Xiao himself, right? So have faith in him, Xiansheng. And know that you don’t have to carry the burden of freedom on your own. Burdens are meant to be shared, and I’m your husband, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget,” Zhongli chuckles as he jests. His voice still warbles, but Tartaglia will take what he can get. Childe pinches his cheek playfully. 

“Sooo,” Childe trails off, running a finger down the length of Zhongli’s pale neck. “With that being said, I think you should enjoy the time you have now, with me, instead of reminiscing about the past.”

Zhongli nods. 

“After all, I won’t be here forever-”

“Do not.” Zhongli interrupts, looking away. His chest stops fluctuating, and it takes a moment for Childe to realize he was holding his breath. And just like that, his defensive wall is back up again. Tartaglia looks at him with wide eyes. Obviously he had struck a chord he hadn’t meant to. The grip Zhongli had around the back of his neck tightened like he meant to keep him close to his chest forever; greedy, selfish hands continue to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Oh,” Tartaglia breathes, “I’m sorry, I was just joking.”

“I know,” Zhongli all but whimpers, “but my brain doesn’t exactly register those kinds of things as jokes.”

Tartaglia nods, unsure of what else to say. So, he ditches the thought of saying anything, and lifts a deft finger to tilt Zhongli’s face back to him. He abandons his words and leans in instead. He captures his God’s lips with his own and presses close, desperate to show him that he’s there. Tartaglia’s alive and well and very much in love, and he’s there. He’s not going anywhere; he wouldn’t even dare to think about going anywhere. Their marriage was more than a contract, it was a covenant. The vows that were sworn on that night kept them glued together, and only ‘til death do they part. 

Well, until Ajax’s death, at least.

The thought makes Tartaglia’s head pound, and he shakes the thoughts away with determination.

“I’m here,” he reassures anyway when they part, kiss-bruised lips brush against his cheek as he speaks. “Let me prove it to you.”

Zhongli nods wordlessly, cupping Childe’s face with one hand and dragging the Harbinger onto his lap with the other. They press against each other, nice and close, so that one would not be able to decipher where one began and the other ended. 

“I love you,” Tartaglia confesses into the dark, breathless. Zhongli drags him impossibly closer. 

Xiao takes that as his cue to leave, the wind chill harsh and no longer gentle as he vanishes into thin air.

--

A/N: Okayy I’m gonna get a little serious in the end notes hehe so if you wanna skip out on that, thank you so much for reading! And I hope you have a wonderful week :) find me on twitter @/xiaoscribbles and AO3 @/unironicallynapping

I wanted to write this because I’ve been on my own journey to recovery lately. My family suffered many losses in 2020 and since then, I had been struggling to get back on path and find a healthy mindset. But there’s a passage that I read in a book I’ve been reading that covers the guilt we sometimes feel when we recover, knowing and know that there’s someone out there who is suffering, too. The guilt can become unbearable, but it doesn’t need to be felt. You can take your feelings of guilt and turn it into something good. You can enjoy the life of recovery you’re living while still being there for those who need it. You can show someone you love them while also reveling in the happiness that you deserve. You don’t need to feel like you don’t deserve it just because you recovered, and someone else hasn’t. Everyone is on their own path, so rejoice in the fact that you’ve made it to your own happiness! 

I hope this fic/message spoke to some of you. It’s a really important message to me, and I just wanted to share :)

[trojantoast]

Cold is the Night (Day One: Reunion)

 Zutara Week 2020

@zutaraweek

AO3

“Once he's gazed upon her, a man is forever changed

The bravest men return with darkened hearts and phantom pain

Ages come and go, but her life goes on the same

She lives to see the sun and feel the wind and drink the rain

Her colors change to mark the passing of the days

No Earthly sight can match the beauty she displays

And when I die I want her lying by my side

In my grave, in my grave”

- La Belle Fleur Sauvage (Lord Huron)

___

The arctic wind was bitter cold, but the sight of the Southern Water Tribe as he rounded the iceberg filled him with warmth. Unlike its northern sister, with its white, impenetrable walls. Only a wide harbor filled with ships and sea birds, separated the frigid ocean from the village.

 No great citadel greeted him, no sparkling palace. Yet, it was not the same tribe as years past. Gone were the huts and animal skin tents. A broad path in the snow led from the port to a neat cluster of igloos nestled at the snow covered foot of the mountains, cradled by a low wall. The only permanent settlement was the low rotunda of sculpted ice and snow that crowned the village. The home of the Southern Tribe winked with fire light in the eternal dawn.

Fire Lord Zuko breathed in the crisp, familiar scent of brine and metallic snow, as his cruiser dropped anchor in the harbor. In minutes his motor boat reached the shore, and his breath of fire was the only thing keeping him from shivering right out of his parka. Summer or not, Zuko was chilled to the bone. 

Three figures greeted him on the docks of ice. All were male, tall and broad. One broke away and as he grew closer his voice carried over the arctic wind, until he was only a few feet away.

“Gran Gran will be happy to see you wearing the parka she made you, though… the matching toboggan seems to be missing.”

Zuko smiled as he was enveloped into an embrace, “Hello, to you too, Sokka.”

The warrior gave him a quick squeeze and pulled back, his characteristic grin plastered on his face.  Zuko looked down at his previously mentioned navy blue parka. It was cut in the Fire Nation style, and lined with white fur. “Well, I couldn't refuse a gift from a foreign dignitary, especially one that was handmade for me.”

“Certainly not, parkas of that quality can take an entire winter to hand stitch. To have one made for you is a declaration of trust and allyship, sacred to our tribe.” Zuko looked up to the second Warrior, taller than Sokka, but narrower in the shoulders. The firebender bowed formally, 

“General Bato,”

There was a bark of laughter, and the third man joined the group, “General... that’s a good one.”

The tall warrior rolled his eyes, “What would you prefer, Hakoda, ‘Igloo-maker in Chief’?”

The leader of the southern Water Tribe threw his arm around the warriors shoulders and smiled, “As long as it's not my igloo.”

There was another round of chuckles, and Hakoda grasped Zuko’s forearm in a formal greeting.

“You really should take care of that parka. Bato’s not kidding, they do take all winter and you know how long those are around here.”

“I’ll be sure to express my gratitude to Kanna when I see her.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hakoda smiled softly, but his eyes turned more earnest, and he placed a strong hand on Zuko’s shoulder. The Fire Lord’s guards didn't even flinch. Snow swirled absentmindedly around the group in the moments before the chief spoke, “I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Zuko nodded, his hand dipping unconsciously into the pocket of his parka, “yes, we do.”

___

Talking could wait, apparently, as Zuko and the rest of his crew were loaded up into sleds (recently reintroduced to the tribe's way of life, after they finally had enough food to feed arctic dogs as well as themselves) and taken to the village. It was bigger up close, but barely larger than the smallest of villages in his home country. Children trailed after them, and Zuko smiled as Captain Jee sent little spirals of sparks, like fireworks, towards their awed faces. 

Sokka was giving him a very speedy tour, pointing out new landmarks and trying to explain who lived in what igloo, before they passed by in a shower of kicked up snow. The main gathering building of the tribe was circular and sprawling. Multiple branches and bubbles of different rooms peaked out of the drifts of snow. The ship's crew was taken to the temporary barracks to get cleaned up before the feast that the tribe's women had prepared. Zuko was led to the guest house he usually occupied on his visits.

Zuko tried to refuse any big ta-do about his arrival. It wasn't even an official visit. He knew that even if the tribe was quickly bouncing back after the war, that there wasn't much food to spare. However, the tribe members had been insistent, and he couldn't really argue. 

He followed Sokka around the backside of the rotunda to the igloos and huts that Chief Hakoda’s family and visitors used. 

He tried not to let his eyes drift to the home nestled between his and the chief’s. It’s doorway was dark, no smoke curled from its chimney, and from the snow drifted against the door, it had not been entered in a while.

That’s a good thing, he said to himself. 

He wasn’t very convincing.

“You know, I'm surprised you haven't asked about her yet.”

Zuko stilled at the door of his igloo, a now familiar place. He let his eyes linger on the other home.

“I know she’s not here, and that’s how I wanted it to be, so…” he trailed off.

“What has it been? Six months?” Sokka continued past him carrying Zuko’s trunk with little effort. He set it down by the large cot and bed roll. Zuko sighed and followed suit. The space was immediately warmer than the outside air. The curtain of a door settled behind him. 

“Seven… and three quarters.” He grabbed a tea kettle and set it on the small cooking fire at the center of the single room house. Sokka plopped down on the cushions around the pit, arranging them so he could comfortable lounge back.

“Hey, I haven't seen Suki in almost five months. I mean,” there was a grunt as Sokka removed his boots, “It's not quite the same, since me and Suki are technically married and you guys…” Sokka seemed to struggle for the right thing to say. In the meantime Zuko removed his own boots and parka, which had grown hot, and ran a hand through his unbound hair. He had kept it roughly the same length for the past five years. 

“We agreed that this was the best thing for everyone. Katara’s where she's needed, and so am I.” Sokka raised a critical brow, but just shrugged.

“And, I'm sure your visit here has nothing to do with ‘being where you're needed’” Zuko shot him a withering look. Sokka had the decency to look sheepish.

“Hey,” the warrior raised his hands in surrender, “I only speaking the truth.”

Zuko wasn’t quite ready to face the truth.

He wasn’t ready, because the truth frightened him. It kept him up at night. It made him lose focus in meetings and it made him count the days between every time he saw her. He knew the truth, and he didn’t want to hear it.

“Well, buddy, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Zuko looked up from inspecting the tea pot, and smiled, ever so slightly, 

“Me too.”

___

The meal was no feast or ball, but the entire village gathered in the largest and center-most room of the rotunda. The tribe’s numbers, with it’s warriors returned, and half a decade of peace, had grown to nearly 200. Yet, the room didn’t seem cramped as everyone piled onto cushions around low dining tables. Even when Zuko’s crew and personal guards (who where only there on principle, Zuko had never felt safer than among the Southern Water Tribe), joined the company, the crowded space felt comfortable and warm.

Zuko had been placed in the seat of honor, at the left hand of chief Hakoda, and the right hand of Kanna, the chief's mother, and the village’s elder. As per tradition, the youngest of the group and the unmarried women served the rest of the tribe before eating. Sokka told him once, that the action was to reinforce loyalty and represent how they serve their tribe first, until they marry, or become adults. 

The food was traditional water tribe cuisine, made by collective effort of the women, both married and unmarried, of the tribe. 

Platters of roasted fish, and savory rein-caribou meat was served, alongside various stews and cooked greens. sea prunes, clams, and other crustaceans were also distributed. The food, like the tribe who made it, was hearty. It was salty, and fatty, and so unlike the hot spices and complicated recipes of his Zuko’s homeland. The Fire Lord hadn’t had a meal as delicious in a long time. 

The room was filled with chattering voices and laughing children, muffled by the animal pelts and cushions they all lounged on. Everyone had striped their outer clothes off, and the parkas joined the piles of furs surrounding the group. People moved from table to table, catching up on the day's activities and trading jokes and stories. The older warriors took special interest in comparing notes with his crew on sailing techniques. Every member of the tribe, from the oldest widow, to the mother’s with their tiny babies, came to Zuko’s table and greeted him formally. Zuko gave them a warriors handshake or a bow, according to their age. Some of the children brought him tiny, crude, carvings of bone, made in the shapes of animals or people. In return, he bestowed a carefully wrapped cake from the satchel at his side into their tiny hands. The pastries were crunchy on the outside and impossibly soft on the inside; shaped like lotus flowers. They were straight from the royal kitchens, and Zuko pretended not to notice when they came back for seconds. 

Zuko barely had time to eat the food that had been piled onto his plate, between greeting the tribe, and joining into the discussions at his own table, but he made do. 

“So, young man,” Zuko turned from giving a little girl her third pastry, to Kanna. The older woman had finished her bowl of stew, and was now working on the delicate and complex embroidery on a deep blue parka. “What is it you plan to do with all those carvings the children are giving you?”

Zuko smiled, and turned to look at the small army of animals he had absentmindedly arranged in rows next to his table setting. 

“I’ll probably put them with the others. I have a glass bureau in my office that holds some of the gifts I’ve received from other dignitaries. The children’s carvings have their own shelf.” The carvings had become a sort of tradition every time he came to visit. 

She chuckled, it was a rumbling, gravelly sound, “I can’t imagine these next to the rich items you must get.”

Zuko picked up the carving closest to him. It was a black wolf-whale. The little boy who had given it to him, had charred the bone to mimic the pattern of black and white splotches of the animal in real life. 

“Yeah, but these are my favorite.”

He ran his hands along the upright fin on its back.

Kanna smiled quietly to herself and returned to her embroidery.

Slowly, as the night went on, the children grew tired, and their parents bid last goodbyes to the members of Zuko’s table. And as the kids were rebundled up and carried, sleepily, back to their own homes, the rest of the village filed out as well. The younger men and women left in groups, or pairs, laughing heartily together, to spend time among themselves. The widows and widowed warriors bore their own farewells. Soon, even the village elders grew sore of sitting and talking and eating, and went their own ways, wishing the guidance and protection of the spirits in the dreams of their chief, his family, and the Fire Lord. 

The dishes had been cleared away much earlier in the night, so when Hakoda led them into a hall toward a small study, they left the gathering room quiet and empty. 

Zuko rose from his seat, and extended his elbow to Kanna, who excepted it with a pat to his for arm and a smile. 

“Such good manners.” She praised. Zuko felt himself blush.

The adjacent room was furnished with low couches and a stone fireplace that peaked out of the white ice walls. More thick pelts lined the floor. Zuko recognized the large maple shelves and desk as those he gifted Hakoda himself, made of the finest Fire Nation lumber. 

Sokka, Kanna, Bato, and Zuko all settled into the couches, as the Chief pulled out a dark blue glass bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk. He poured each member of the group a drink of the clear liquid, before he sat another one of the couches, instead of his high backed desk chair. 

Zuko took a sip, and tried not to wince as the alcohol burned his throat. Immediately, he was warmer than before. He watched the others. Zuko knew what was coming.

Hakoda took a very slow sip of his drink, and turned to the firebender.

“I’m assuming you didn't sail all the way down to the South Pole to take in the scenery.”

Zuko swallowed, as they all turned their attention to him.

“No, no I didn't.” he took another drink, stealing his nerves, then placed the glass down. 

“Me and Katara have discussed it, at length.” Zuko found that Kanna’s stare was level and calm, he felt reassured. “She thinks it’s the best thing for us, and I agree.” Zuko looked around the room.

“We want, no… we're going to get married.”

Zuko didn’t know what reaction he would receive. He had been obsessing over what Katara’s family would say, what they would do, since the idea of marriage first entered his mind. He expected it would involve being forcefully thrown into the arctic ocean. The sensible part of his mind knew there was nothing to worry about, since almost immediately after him and Katara had announced their courtship her family, and her tribe, had taken him in as one of their own (Bato had even teased them about step-grand children). Yet, the other voice in his head still haunted him with fears of rejection. But, Hakoda only sat up, placed his glass down, looked into Zuko’s eyes, and waited for him to continue.

So Zuko did.

“We know that it’s not going to be easy. We know that it will be dangerous. We know that we each have responsibilities and duties, and I respect hers and she respects mine. We’ve been considering it for a while now, and it's what we both want. I know that relations between my nation and yours, are...tense, but they're getting better, and there's people where I’m from that won’t like it, but I think that together, we can show that the four nations can coexist and that the Fire Nation cares about reperatio-”

Hakoda held up a hand, Zuko went silent, he swallowed again. 

The chief looked deep into his eyes, Zuko didn't break the contact.

“I don’t care what your union means politically. I don’t care what message it will send to the other nations, what message it will send for your people, son. I just want to know one thing.”

“Anything.” 

“Do you love her?”

Immediately, he answered, “Yes,” his hand settled on his chest, between his two lungs, where he knew the scar sat, “with all my heart.”

Zuko looked around the room, each pair of bright blue eyes were fixed on him. 

“I don’t know when I started to, maybe it was the day of the comet, maybe before, maybe after, but when I asked her to come with me to fight my sister and regain my throne, I knew it had to be her that came. I love Katara, but before that, I trust her. I trust her with my life. I trust her with my people and my country. I would die for her.”

Zuko felt it then, the ghost of the pain, the exhilaration, the fear as he watched Azula take aim. “Taking that lightning was the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and I would do it again, ten thousand times over.”

Bato spoke next, “And she feels the same way?”

Zuko thought, for a second, replaying the last five years in his mind. The image that lingered in his mind was the flashes of blue fire through clear water as she battled Azula, risking her life to defeat the most dangerous firebender in the world, just to save him.

He smiled, gently, “Yes, I know she does.”

Kanna’s face was stone, “You swore an oath to serve your people and your country? Is that correct Fire Lord Zuko?”

He nodded. The elder looked him in the eye. He felt like she was looking deep into his soul.

“In our culture, the marriage vow outweighs any oath to lord or land. Katara must come first, before your throne, before your crown. The binding of two souls is far more ancient than any border or king, as old as the very first marriage of the spirits Tui and La. The promise you will make to each other trumps any other loyalty, and will last beyond your last breath, into the next life. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” he instinctively reached into his pocket, “The only reason Katara doesn't know I’m here is because she would say that asking for permission from the bride's family was an outdated tradition” Sokka smirked at that, “but I also know how much your good opinion means to her, and I don’t want to hide anything from you.

“I want to do this by the book, so I’m here, to ask you personally,” he looked from person to person, “do me and Katara have your blessing for our union?”

There was silence in the room. No one moved. Zuko barely breathed. 

Then Kanna rose, slowly. Instinctively Zuko moved to help her but she held up a withered hand and crossed over to him.

“Kneel, and close your eyes.”

Zuko did. 

He felt her brush her fingers across his forehead. 

“Now,” he looked up, “I, Kanna, matriarch of the Southern Water Tribe, mother to Hakoda, grandmother to Sokka and Katara, grant you my blessing, and the blessings of the spirits for your union.” She looked behind her, “Does anyone present of the bride's family object to the bestoying of the blessing?”

The only response was Sokka’s wide grin. Kanna nodded, and returned to her seat. Zuko stood, he couldnt hid the joy on his face, he bowed, low, to each person in the room.

“So,” Hakoda dawned a smile for himself, “have you carved the necklace?”

___

Later that night, Sokka walked Zuko back to his igloo. After Zuko’s announcement there were multiple rounds of celebratory drinks, and the pair was distinctly drunk. The southern warrior threw his arm around the other man’s shoulders as they neared the entrance.

“You know, Zuko…” He burped, “we all knew it was a matter of time before you asked her. Dad just put you through all those formalities to make you sweat.”

Zuko chuckled, “Well, it worked.”

His friend, and soon to be brother-in-law, turned to him, seriously, "You also have to know Zuko, that if Katara was here she would object to you asking us not just because it's and 'outdated tradition' but because there's no question that our answer would be 'yes'."

The Fire Lord looked at the ground, "I just... wanted to be sure."

Sokka shook his head, placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder, "We love you, Zuko. Everyone does. Honestly, I think Gran-gran likes you more than me, which hurts, but whatever," he shrugged, "bottom line, your an important part of this family, and you were long before you an Katara started sucking face." Zuko couldn't hold back a snort of laughter, 

"I know, but sometimes it's hard, I'm not used to the whole 'unconditional love' stuff." he looked back, across the shining tops of the tribe, "you all just make it look so...easy."

Sokka laughed, "Yeah, tell that to dad the next time I loose blueprints." 

He ruffled Zuko's hair, and returned to his position leaning on him.

“So, when are you formally popping the question?”

Zuko’s eyes traveled over to Katara’s igloo next door, then to the lights of the harbor beyond, and the twinkling stars and moon reflected in the still water. 

“She comes back from Ba Sing Se in three weeks, so I figured as soon as she got home.”

Katara’s brother nodded, then grasped each of Zuko’s shoulders, making him look into his eyes, “That means you're staying long enough for bro time?” his brow was furrowed in absolute seriousness. 

“I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

___

!!PLEASE REBLOG WITH THOUGHTS AND CRITICISMS!!

You guuuuuuys... it’s officially Zutara Week!!! YEE HAW!!!

Anyway, I’m sorry there was only indirect Katara in today’s submission. That will be rectified tomorrow. My plan for this year (though I haven't followed any plan for Zutara Week yet) is that all of my submissions will be apart of a linear narrative. It starts with today’s prompt, five years after the war, and goes from there. All of the submissions can be stand alone, but thay can also all be tied together. The only day that won’t follow this is Day Three: Celestial. I really love that particular one so its special. All of this could change, so don’t quote me on that. I hope you enjoyed :D

P.S. I’ll be tagging all my Zutara Week submissions for this year #ems zkw2020 

[getinthering]

down to the crossroads

There are two paths Katara’s life is destined toward.  One is what she always dreamed of, and one is what she never dared to dream of.

(Read on AO3)

[A/N: I have hours of Ochem homework to cram, and 3 days of Taang Week to catch up on, but this for some reason wormed its way into my mind when I first woke up, and would. not. leave.

disclaimer: I really do like Aang a whole lot, but I truly don't think there's any way that K*taang ends fairly for Katara without stifling most of her personality and desires.]

***

Katara is 25.

She stands in the kitchen, parka bundled around her, baby on her hip, stirring a pot in silence.  Her older children play jovially in front of the house, laughing.  The home is a long upgrade from the igloo in which she grew up, but she is still surrounded by snow.

The baby coos and she smiles at him, nuzzles a kiss onto his head and notes how he smells of the ocean.  

By the time Aang arrives, the stew is finished, sitting in steaming bowls on the table as their children rush to greet him.  She waits for him to cross the room to her, returns his hug, lets him kiss her, smiles at him.  She listens with her children as he regales them with his latest adventures.  There is a sour stone sinking in her stomach, bleeding green, and she quietly takes her bowl to the sink, all but untouched.  

She is the wife of the Avatar, and she is proud.  She has the most comfortable life of any woman in the world.

(but she is far from comfortable)

She takes care of her children, loves them with all she has.  She heals the sick and injured, and her fingers tingle with longing for more.  She teaches new waterbenders, and her soul cries with hope that they will not stay in the South forever.  

He keeps her on a pedestal and she feels delicate, untouchable in the air.  They almost never fight, and she should be glad but something feels lost inside of her.

At night, he undresses her delicately, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and she lets him.  She mimics his actions, says the lines right, and when they are

(he is)

finished, she lays on her side with his arms around her and tells herself she is happy.

They join Sokka the next day.  He is chief of their Tribe, and her heart swells for him.  They all hug, she smiles as her brother and husband laugh and talk.  She wishes that she had anything to add besides commentary.  

She watches Suki approach Sokka, sees the unbridled love and affection across her face, and finds herself dreaming of being a Kyoshi Warrior.  Suki comes and goes, but there is never anything but pure joy in her face when she returns to her warrior chief husband.  Katara's blood runs green when she sees them and she pretends not to feel it.

Her brother does not mention how hollow her eyes look, and she is grateful.  

When he cries at night, she strokes his back and reasons with him, her voice resigned.  When she cries at night, he is not around.  He does not think she hurts, not the way he does, and she does not tell him.

Sometimes, she gets letters from her friends.  She reads them alone, at night, and tears dot the pages.  She does not write back.    

He tells her he wants to go away with her.  Her heart soars and she packs their bags, arranges for their children to be watched.  She smiles and means it, kisses him and means it.  She wonders where they will go—will she finally see her friends, be able to hear their voices outside of her memories?  Will he take her somewhere new, let her experience something new for the first time in Tui and La knows how long?

She sees the Air Temple ahead, and knows they are here to see his Acolytes.  His accomplishments.

(and his alone)

She smiles, feeling cold, and the pain she feels is covered.

***

Katara is 25.  

She sits at the table, listening to the committee bicker over the details of the new housing project.  She wears a crown in her hair, a robe over her dress, her clavicle exposed by the low cut, and this is her committee.  She is far from the snow and tiny houses of ice, but she is home.

They dissolve and she walks across the palace, past the guest wing, to the royal hall.  She enters the room, picks up the baby out of the bassinet, and takes in the way her head smells like fire lilies.  

She does not know Zuko is there until his arms slink around her waist, and she sinks into him.  He holds them quietly, gingerly, and tells her that they are everything to him.  They sit in the dining room, he duels her for the chance to recall his day first, and she loves it.  She has something to say, she always does.

She is the Fire Lady, and he is proud.  Her life is a battle—for acceptance as a waterbender, for respect as an outspoken woman.

(but she is so comfortable)

They have servants, but he sends them away and takes care of their daughter.  She watches and loves them both with all she has.  He lets—no, begs her to be involved with his rule.  She smiles and knows that she had never needed the invitation.  She opens schools, fights for the poor and hungry, and her soul is satisfied.  She spars with him in the courtyard, and sometimes she wins.  

He keeps her on the throne next to him and she feels strong, powerful on the ground.  They fight often, voices raised and feet stomping, and she is glad that he hears her.

At night, they undress each other roughly, he growls an alternation of commands and praise, and she obeys.  Her skin tingles with longing for more.  She writes her own lines, and when they are finished, they cling to each other and she is happy.

Sokka visits the next day.  He is chief of their Tribe, and her heart swells for him.  They all hug, she laughs and talks in tune with her brother and husband.  He is impressed with her stories as she is with his.

She watches Suki step off the next ship towards Sokka, sees the unbridled love and affection across her face, and feels glad that she is not a Kyoshi Warrior.  Suki comes and goes, cannot stay with her warrior chief husband for long, and she confesses to Katara her jealousy that she is not often separated from Zuko.  Her cheeks warm with embarrassed gratification and she hugs Suki.

Her brother mentions that she is glowing, and she laughs.

When he cries at night, she washes his hair and comforts him, her voice understanding.  When she cries at night, he is there to catch her.  He knows she hurts in the same way he does, and she clings to him.

Sometimes, she gets letters from her friends.  She reads them to him and drops of wine dot the pages when he laughs.  They pen a joint response.

He tells her he wants to go away with her.  Her heart soars and she finds their bags already packed, their daughter already accounted for.  She smiles and means it, kisses him and means it.  She wonders where they will go--will she finally see him take a break, be able to hear his laugh outside of their quarters?  Will he take her somewhere deep in the country, let her add a new place in need to her list that is Agni knows how long?

She sees Ember Island ahead, and knows they have left behind Fire Lord Zuko. She gets to see the Zuko that is hers.

(and hers alone)

She smiles, feeling warm, and the love she feels spills out.

[theywillcower]

Orpheus (Sova x Reader)

(Thank you to the lovely reader who requested Sova! Im sorry I haven't really been setting up this blog recently, I've gotten busy. Asks are open now as well as submissions and feel free to message me x)

Footfall could become free fall very quickly. Each step is precise, placed before the toe even reaches the dirt. Ever so often he pauses, listens. There will be a moment on the cliff where it is only him and the wind again, swirling in a blue white mist around the edge. The mountain, so rooted in the earth, has now been ripped from its home. He knows better than anyone, that it will not last long in its glory.

And then he hears the shuffling, the careful steps behind him that indicate their presence, and his heart will return to his chest. He doesn't dare look behind him.

"Sova?" The voice comes softly.

"We are almost to the top." He speaks just as low, keeping his tone in check. "Almost done."

"Okay. Lead the way."

He takes a deep breath, another step. They must be less than a hundred paces, the hunter thinks, as the trees become sparse and there's only more rock, dusted with dew. This will be especially difficult. Careful now.

"Take my hand."

Sova blinks, begins to turn, stops himself. "What?"

In his right hand, a gentle warm pressure. Then fingers intertwining with his, softer than his bearing the years of loneliness with no one to follow him.

"Please. Keep me steady."

Keep me.

He inhales, faces forward with his right hand pulled behind him. His steps are awkward at first, as he feels for having an extra pair of feet behind him. But they fall in line, and every movement feels... better, somehow. On the slippery rock, it is as though he walks on water, with grace, his gaze firmly forward.

Keep me.

Turning the final corner, they have arrived at their goal.

He pauses, taking it in. The scrubby rock. Very few grayish green plants pricking up out of cracks, some carvings and cairns from generations past. Other than that, the wind begins to threaten him once more, cold and quiet, curling around his chest. He gasps, the sound swallowed up by the empty mist surrounding the mountain.

"Look at me."

For a moment, he hesitates. So used to the wind and him, it takes a second to feel the warm hand in his again. And he finally turns around.

And there they are. Real. Looking up at him with pink cheeks and wide eyes. Swathed in the heavy parka he had suggested, their hand still in his. In that moment, they glow.

The pressure on his chest lightens. For the first time all day, a smile curls his lips and he drops their hand only to pull them into an embrace. Naturally, automatically, their arms wrap around him too. Secure. Warm.

No longer alone.

(I got INTO this... I'll be posting my headcanons for a few characters later today! Those will serve as a guide for how i will write them in the future. A reminder too that I do fic and headcanons so if you don't select which one you want with your prompt I will go with what works for me! Much love x)

[savannah-lim]

Now You Sea Me || Kaden & Savannah

Timing: After The Student Body Location: Caves on Harris Island Parties: @savannah-lim and @chasseurdeloup Content: Gun use (on monster), body horror (description of mermaid), violence (on monster)  Summary: Savannah is both a professional and a disaster at mermaid hunting

Savannah knew from experience that New England winters were no joke. The nights were growing darker, the days chillier, and White Crest lay on the tip of the Maine coast, its cliffs and islands nestled among the glacially cold ocean. So of course, it was an excellent time of year to go mermaid hunting with a miserable Frenchman. She’d dressed in some thermal, water resistant clothes, form fitting to allow her ease of movement and make it easier to avoid getting snagged on the rocks, a thick woolly hat, and a lined parka. She didn’t know exactly what she needed for the trip, so she packed a bit of everything; her gun, extra ammo, a barrel-mounted light, regular flashlights, flares, and even snacks (they might get stranded out there!). She’d even got ziplock bags for her phone and keys. All in all, she was pretty proud of her level of preparedness by the time she went to meet Kaden at the beach on Harris Island. “I’d recognize that sullen side profile anywhere,” she said by way of greeting. Not that she could talk. “I parked just off the road up there. I have some extra supplies in the car just in case.” She honestly shouldn’t have been so excited about this. “So, mermaid?” 

Kaden always hated the water monsters. They always had the upper hand in a way, especially when in the water. And, of course it meant getting wet. Not usually a big deal to him, he’d dry off. But in Maine in the late fall? This wasn’t his idea of fun. Then again, he was severely questioning if hunting was ever his idea of fun anymore. He sighed and gathered up his nets and harpoons and spears. It didn’t matter if this was fun or not, there was a mermaid and he knew how to kill it. It would be irresponsible not to tackle this. Plus, he had Lim standing by in case he got hurt. Regan couldn’t complain about him being in the woods alone. He wasn’t alone and hey, for once, he wasn’t in the woods. “Sullen?” Kaden let out a huff of breath. “I’m not sullen. Putain.” Alright, that sounded a little sullen. “What’d you bring?” he asked, rebalancing the load on his shoulder. “You have a med kit, right? I just… I have a feeling.” With his luck, there’d be some injury or another. “Sounds like it. Lead the way, Lim.”

“I don’t know what Putain means, other than the food, but you’re kinda sullen,” Savannah snickered, probably just a little too at ease about this whole thing. She was sure that would go away once she saw it again. Kaden was a way better companion on this sort of thing than Agatha had been though. The girl was great with a gun, but way too quick on the excuses. “I do. I always have a med kit in the car.” She didn’t wait for that annoyed look of disbelief to flash on Kaden’s face, cutting it off with; “for this, I moved it to my backpack.” She went about listing what she had brought with her, hoping it would be enough for Kaden to declare that she wasn’t entirely useless. Sadly, she hadn’t had access to a harpoon. “Can I have one of those?” she asked, leading the way down the beach and towards the cave she and Agatha had entered. “I think the police tape it still up, just--yeah, this way.” It led a convenient trail towards the sea water pool in which they’d seen the mermaid. Being back in this place made Savannah cringe. All those bodies. “Do we use bait? Like a ribeye?” 

“No, no. Not poutine, putain,” Kaden said with a sigh. “It’s an expletive. Like fuck or shit. Sort of. Either way it’s not the same as the fries with gravy and cheese curds.” He couldn’t believe this was what they were explaining as they wandered down towards the beach. “Glad to hear it,” he replied in response to the med kit. “Hope we don’t need it but this is White Crest.” As fast as his side had started healing from his forrary during the full moon, it still stung as he walked. He hoped his gait and slight wincing didn’t betray it at all. He didn’t need to answer any more questions about that night. “You want a harpoon? I mean…” He didn’t exactly have a good reason to refuse. And if she was going to help. “When we get down there, sure.” The police tape wasn’t far and when they reached it, neither of them had to even pretend not to get caught as they ducked under and headed towards the scene of the crime. And the monster. He had to admit, being police really did have its advantages for hunting. “Yeah, we should probably come up with a plan,” he said as he started unloading his gear, handing her one of the harpoons. “The best thing to do is going to be to get it out of the water. If we can harpoon it and get the net around it we can try to drag it out.” Easier said than done, he knew that full well. “Didn’t really think about bait.” Shit. He stood there, arms crossed a moment. “You want to be bait?” He didn’t want to be bait.

"Oh," she shrugged. "I only know Merde. Now if you want to swear in Korean, I'm your girl. Gae-sae-ggi." Savannah was quite happy to discuss expletives. She was oddly energised by all this, and happy to talk him through some of her favorites as they walked. "This is White Crest," she repeated, giving a humorless chuckle. "It really is a weird horror show of a town, isn't it?" And yet somehow her words didn't seem disparaging. She was still amazed he'd even agreed to let her come, considering how unhappy he'd seemed when she and Regan were out there on the river. 

As they approached the cavern, she knew this was the place. It was practically burned into her consciousness. Savannah placed down one of the larger lights, turning it on near the wall so she didn’t have to hold it. "I've never used a harpoon before," she said, positively energised at the idea. The bait part, she was less enthused about. "Why? Why would I want to be fish monster bait?" She shook her head. "I packed food though. Do you think it might like some sandwich meat?" Probably preferred its food fresh, but she hoped Kaden wouldn't challenge her on that. “Or--do you have a knife? Maybe I could just cut my finger and drop some blood in the water.” 

“Merde’s a good one, too. Putain de merde is really the best, though.” Kaden’s brow furrowed and he tried to repeat her Korean. “That any good? I’m guessing not. I’ve heard my uncle complain about the French accent coming through in my German. I can’t imagine it’s better in any other language.” It was odd how easy the convo felt. Like they weren’t walking into potential death. “No place like it, that’s for sure. And I’ve been to a lot of places, I don’t know about you.” 

As terrible an idea as this probably was, having a normie with him on this hunt, and a Federal agent at that, Kaden couldn’t argue with how prepared she was. It almost made him question if she was as clueless as she let on. Almost. “Hey, I don’t want to be bait. And you don’t know how to use a harpoon.” He sighed and insisted she take it anyway. “I mean, I know I’m prettier but someone has to do it,” he said, jokingly. He wasn’t going to push it, though. She just seemed so enthusiastic, he hoped she just might go along with the bait thing. Kaden blinked at her a moment. “Food? Are you telling me you brought snacks? On our hu-- I mean, encounter.” Shit, he hoped he covered it up at least a little. Likely not. Probably didn’t matter too much either way. “Do I have a knife,” he repeated with a scoff, like it was the world’s dumbest question. “The real question is which one you want. Not that I’m advocating for blood letting. Let’s try sacrificing the snacks first. It might work,” he said and gestured for her to go ahead, his harpoon in hand, ready to face the beast. 

“Could be better,” Savannah answered, honestly, but not unkindly. “But Korean is tough if you’re not used to it. I wouldn’t complain about your accent coming through. It’s sort of part of who you are, right?” They weren’t left with much time to dwell on that conversation though before the subject turned back to bait. 

“I should have brought some leftover meatloaf,” Savannah groaned, putting down her bag. “Yes, I brought food! What if we get lost down here, or one of us gets injured? I wanted to be prepared.” She’d probably gone a little overboard, admittedly, but he hadn’t exactly given her a list. “There’s a water resistant thermal blanket, some spare socks…” But the one thing she didn’t have was a knife, so she took his gladly, pocketing it briefly before rifling through her backpack for her sandwiches, throwing in some sliced chicken from between the buttered slices of bread, then standing back as if waiting for a volcano to erupt. 

“Meatloaf?” Kaden asked, his face pulling into a disgusted frown instinctively. There was nothing that had ever sounded appealing about that dish. “Hopefully the mermaid isn’t as picky as I am.” He had a feeling that, knowing their luck, this mermaid just might be. “Well, glad you came prepared. I guess. But putain, did you pack for an overnight trip or a hunt?” Then again, sometimes those overlapped. He sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case here. “I’m going to need that back when we’re done by the way,” he said after handing her the knife as they backed away. He waited, harpoon in hand. It felt like they were there for a minute. Maybe two. Nothing so far. 

Kaden’s mouth pulled into a thin line and he gestured to indicate she should stay put where she was as he approached the water, slowly, weapon ready. One step, then two. Still nothing. Three, four. Maybe it had gone and fucked off. Five, s-- “Putain de merde!” Kaden shouted, stumbling back as what looked like a woman burst from the water. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was gorgeous, green eyes, alluring and practically beckoning him to the water as she sang. If he didn’t know better, he might be fooled. But he did know better. So Kaden charged towards the beast, harpoon in hand. As quickly as the facade had appeared, it dropped, and the woman bent back and away, revealing a row of teeth. He thrust the harpoon towards the open mouth, but before he could ram it through the monster, its fangs clamped down, snapping it in two. And then another head popped out of the water. “Fucking shit,” he grumbled. Lim better be prepared for this, too. 

"I know you're French, but you don't have to be a snob," Savannah answered at his reaction to her mention of meatloaf. She'd prefer a good Korean BBQ, but it was tough to find a decent one in White Crest, if there were any at all. "Okay, so I may have over-packed a little." But it was better than coming unprepared, she thought... Savannah accepted the harpoon perhaps a little too gladly. She wasn't someone who expected to ever have any joy in hunting, and this wasn't the type of hunting she'd ever anticipated, and it was hard not to feel the pure adrenaline and excitement of it mixed in with the fear. It wasn't the killing that interested her. Not in the slightest. It was being part of something unknown and exciting, discovering something new. "I'll try not to break it," she answered, her voice dryer than anything else managed to be in this cave. 

Before she could say anything else, her eyes widened at the sight of a beautiful young woman emerging from the icy saltwater, the very same she had seen just the other day with Agatha. "Hi again," she answered, "miss me?" Oh, she'd always wanted to say something cool like that, but she felt entirely less cool when the beast half-swallowed Kaden's weapon, and brought a friend. "Oh no! Hey! Look out!" She pulled her own trigger, hitting the creature, but just barely. It made an inhuman groan as the metal scraped across its scales, leaving jagged edges. “Hello?? Why is this thing so slow to reload?”

“Putain!” Kaden shouted again as the shot rang out, diving out of the way of the beasts and the bullet. “You could have hit me!” True as that may be, she had shot the one mermaid, no mistaking it. Not clean enough to kill it, though. He scrambled out of the way and reached for his own gun. Shit, he hadn’t been prepared for multiple. His mistake, really. He took the gun and started firing where he could. One want through the first monster’s mouth, though he couldn’t be sure if it did real damage or clipped its fucking fangs. It did give Kaden a second to scramble away from the edge. Taking them out with bullets wasn’t impossible but with the strength of its scales, it’d be a task. Especially with two. Best bet, drag one of those fuckers out of the water. “Aim for that one,” Kaden said pointing to the left. “Going to try something.” He took the harpoon he gave her and grabbed a net, running over to the creature on the right. He threw the harpoon into what looked like the “woman’s” shoulder before tossing the net at it. Teeth tangled in the net and he hoped like hell when he pulled back, they wouldn’t tear it to shreds. Just had to get it out of the water. 

“But I didn’t!” Savannah answered. Come on. At least he could give her some credit. She’d passed her marksmanship certification with flying colors. She took advantage of Kaden’s gunfire, loading the harpoon again and readying for another shot. She kept her hands steady, all her training coming together to teach her to keep a calm and steady hand. Quantico sure hadn’t expected their training to be used for something like this. Their attention being on Kaden made it easier for her to land her next shot, aiming at the one Kaden had indicated. The harpoon loosed, whizzing through the small space between them with a low whistle and hitting the mermaid square in the abdomen. “Oh, that was a good one!” She picked up Kaden’s intentions and started walking backwards, dragging the thing as it made ungodly screeches that she was sure would alert every house on the island. 

For not being a hunter, Kaden had to admit that Lim wasn’t too bad at all this. This time, at least. Guess coming prepared made a difference. Kaden tugged and pulled and finally, the monster was out of the fucking water, letf to fucking suffocate. He turned his attention to Lim and helped drag the second one along with her. Once they were both on the rocky surface of the cavern, it was almost embarrassing to think of them as terrifying. Both were flopping and flailing, gasping for breath. The lures on top of them, the ones that looked like women, were still trying to entice them as best as they could. “Help… me…” they moaned. The whines turned into screams and Kaden had had enough. He took his bowie knife out, dragged the one near him, slit it under its jaw, then same to the second. Blood and guts poured over the floor around them. But the beasts stopped moving. Kaden pushed his hair out of his face and assessed the situation. “Guess we did it. Didn’t die. So that’s nice.”

Savannah credited her FBI training for preparing her for this sort of thing. Okay, not exactly this sort of thing, but intense situations, those were something she was trained to simply tackle confidently and pragmatically. She lacked Kaden’s supernatural gifts and knowledge of the bizarre, but she did her best to hold her own. She watched, fascinated as the creatures struggled on the cave floor, her torch light falling on them, creating shadows on their faces that made them look even more horrifying. She didn’t even look away or flinch when Kaden dealt the final blow. “That was actually… pretty fun,” she said. “If you ignore the mortal peril. We saved lives today. No more frat boy snacks for these things.” She sounded, and looked, terribly proud of herself. 

Kaden leaned over, hands on his knees, letting the adrenaline wear down, trying to catch his breath, when he looked back up at Lim. Did she just call this fun? “Yeah. Sure. If you ignore that one small detail. Sure.” He shook his head and started to gather his equipment back up so they could get the hell out of there. “Maybe don’t start hunting monsters on your own just for fun, though. I mean, not unless you value that whole life thing you have going for you.” Once his weapons were all gathered and ready to go, he looked back at the monster’s bodies. “We should probably burn those or something, shouldn’t we?” It’s not like he could bring them to Regan right now.

Savannah's veins were flooded with adrenaline. She caught her breath, doing her best to wipe away what blood and monster guts had made their way onto their clothes with the anti-bacterial wipes she'd brought with her. "No, no, I'll leave the sea monster slaying to the professionals, Ahab." At the mention of burning, Savannah furrowed her brow. "Oh, yes, I suppose. Unless we want one of those teens with phone cameras to put it on Instagram." Regrettably, and very reluctantly, she reached very slowly for one of the most important things she'd packed; a hip flask. "I... suppose this might help?" She held up an index finger, taking a sip before handing it to him as if she was parting with precious jewels. "Don't say I never gave you anything." She definitely wasn’t going to tell Keen about this. 

[roguelioness]

Stop and Stare

I’m back with more Gwenji nonsense, don’t at me. Benjamin Fox belongs to @ma-sulevin!

Picking up where the two left off here.

Benjamin Fox/Gwen Porter 1658 words, complete

Gwen gets her arms up over her head and stretches, sighing at the way the kinks work out of her shoulders. The scene outside her window is grey and dreary; there’s even a little bit of drizzle to really rub in what a miserable day it is. Everything about it says bundle up, stay at home, and she knows there’s a bottle of good whiskey in her cupboards - hell, she could get a real nice fire going, sprawl out on the carpet in front of it, ignore the email from the publisher and the rest of the world and instead just spend the afternoon daydreaming about-

About what, indeed, she chastises herself, her cheeks faintly pink as she recalls wide shoulders and wider grins.

She checks the little orange clock that’s up on the mantel; it’s a quarter to three. A bit too early for the whiskey, then, but perfect for a cup of tea. She gnaws on her lip as she stares outside… she could remain at home, but on the other hand, she might catch Benji if she makes her way to Haley’s bakery…

Besides, she could use some fresh air. It can’t be healthy to be cooped up all day at home, can it? It’ll be good for her mind! She might find some inspiration out on the- grey skies… and grey cobblestones… and… brown eyes…

Gwen mentally chastises herself for what is all-too-quickly becoming a rather overwhelming obsession with Wayhaven’s detective. Keep this up, and he’ll be serving you a restraining order, she rues, even as she slings her purse over her shoulders and tightens the scarf around her neck. She’s not going to see him, she’s doing this for herself, because she’s been at home for two days now and she really needs a change, she’s tired of staring at the sage green walls of her apartment and she hasn’t found the energy to pick up her brush because everything’s just been so grey and blah outside.

She nearly reconsiders her idea once she’s out of the door and the full force of the chill wind smacks her straight in the face. The cold quickly numbs her ears, gnawing at her even through the woolen beanie, and she lets out a gasp as cold air manages to sneak beneath her coat. Gwen speedwalks her way to her little sedan - she is not built for the cold, not one inch - and gets behind the wheel of her old-but-in-pretty-good-shape sedan, shivering while she waits for warm air to flow out of the vents. “Holy fuck it’s cold,” she mutters, rubbing her gloved hands together before she places them on the steering wheel.

The drive to the bakery is uneventful, most of Wayhaven’s citizens having done the sensible thing and stayed at home - a fact that isn’t lost to her as she pulls up by the storefront. Gwen can see, through the large glass window, that the bakery’s empty. Damn. Her phone says it’s three-fifteen, and she just happens to know - thanks to Rita, her next-door neighbor, and another volunteer at the PD - that Benji has a late patrol tonight… I’m not here for him, she reminds herself, and takes a breath to steel herself against the wind outside before she gets out, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering as she rushes into the cozy warmth of the store.

“Gwen!” Haley’s smiling, clearly surprised to see her. “A little cold for you to be out, isn’t it?”

“I needed a change,” she smiles, trying to squirm at the glint in the baker’s eye. “Thought it might help with the artist’s block.”

“Well, you just make yourself comfortable, and stay for as long as you’d like,” Haley says kindly. “What can I get you?”

“A tea, and-” she points at a cinnamon roll. “One of those, please.”

She seats herself as close to a window as she can without being right up against it and pulls out a sketchbook. Letting her fingers flow across the page, she draws The Square in quick, sure strokes, detailing the cobblestone streets and the quaint iron lamp posts, the unused park benches and the leafless trees. She’s so caught up with what she’s doing she starts when the door opens, feeling her cheeks heat up when she recognizes the tall man who steps into the store.

He hasn’t seen her yet, and she takes the time to study him. Strong jaw set taut, brows knitted together, lips thinned out in thought. He looks tired, his usually neatly style hair mussed by the wind outside, and the stubble on his face is heading towards what she has no doubt will be a quite fetching beard.

Her pencil files across the page, the soft rasp of lead against paper so familiar to her she barely pays attention to it. His jacket’s not so much worn out as it is lived in, and she knows that it will smell of him, all fresh soap and deodorant. It’s not as thick as her parka, she knows, but he makes it look so much warmer. 

He turns, and he sees her, and he instantly breaks out into that wide, open smile, the edges of his eyes crinkling up. It gets her heart speeding, and she silently curses the way he can so effortlessly make her feel this way, like she’s the sun after a never-ending night. “Hey, Gwen!” his voice is so cheerful she can’t help but grin in response. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. What are you up to?”

‘Oh, just-” she raises her pencil, wags it at him. “Trying to catch a muse.”

He chuckles, but his attention’s grabbed by Haley before he can respond. Grabbing his coffee from the counter, he makes his way towards her, and before she can react he’s pulling out the chair next to her and makes himself comfortable.

Dammit, why do his eyes have to be so warm?

“So,” his lips quirk up into that smile, the one that makes her chest flutter and her stomach do flips, “do you think I could have a look?”

“Huh?”

“Let me see what you’ve been working on?” his smile turns cajoling. She’s too weak to resist that look - not that she even tries, because what kind of fight can she put up against chocolate brown eyes that look so friendly and open and so, so attractive? His attention on her, so entire and so steady, tears down even the most resilient of her defenses.

Gwen glances down at her page, her heart spiking in alarm as she realizes that the part her hand is currently blocking out holds a very familiar face, and if she doesn’t do something quick he’s going to see-

“Um-” she hurriedly goes to turn the page, to hide what she’s been doing, but her haste makes her clumsy and she knocks over what’s remaining of her tea onto the book, the brown liquid spreading across and seeping into the paper. “Oh, shit,” she jumps up, trying not to get any on herself.

“Here, let me help-” Benji grabs a handful of napkins and rushes over to her. 

She gratefully takes them from him. “Thanks.” She tries to mop up as much of the spilled liquid as she can, but the damage is done - the pages are too warped for her to use again. “Oh, well,” she sighs, staring down at the now-brown paper with its smudged artwork. “So much for that idea,” she gives him a crooked half-smile, half-grimace.

“I’m so sorry,” he looks genuinely contrite as he eyes the ruined sketchbook. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have startled you-”

“No, no, I’m just clumsy,” she lets out a little laugh, the sound awkward. “Don’t worry about it, honestly. I have loads more at home.”

His brows are still furrowed with regret. “Let me make it up to you - how about I get you another cup of tea?”

“You don’t have to, Benji, it wasn’t your fault-”

“Please, let me.” 

He’s so earnest, she can’t turn him down. “Okay.”

Benji has to return to the station, so she lets him walk her to the car. “I’m sorry about your book,” he says again. He has to bend his shoulders quite a bit to meet her gaze through the window.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she sighs. “Please stop blaming yourself, you’re making me feel bad.”

His lips quirk up at the corners. The way he’s looking at her, his gaze scanning her face, the way his breath fogs the space between them, scented with the coffee he’s been drinking - Gwen finds herself mesmerized, finds her eyes dropping to his lips, finds herself wanting to yank him closer so she can taste his mouth.

“I’ll get you another,” he promises.

“Benji. Stop.”

He gives her one last, bright flash of a smile. “Drive safe.”

“I will.”

Neither of them seem inclined to end the conversation - she certainly isn’t - but a particularly freezing gust of wind has her shivering, which makes him take a step away, which leaves her feeling bereft.

“I’ll see you around, neighbor,” he grins, raising his hand in a quick salute.

“Bye,” she knows her cheeks are red, and that she’s smiling like a loon, but she doesn’t really care as she pulls away from the curb. When she turns to look again, he’s still standing there, a hand in his pocket, a grin on his lips. There’s a pull within her, a yearning to turn around and go back to him, but she ignores it and instead waves one last time before she leaves.

The next morning, there’s a plain brown paper-wrapped parcel on her doorstep. Curious, she opens it to find a brand new sketchbook and an accompanying note: Maybe this time I’ll get to see your work? 

She shakes her head and laughs. And falls just a little bit deeper for warm brown eyes and broad shoulders.

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficathon: Mad World

I’ve spent today on uni work and chipping away on Shadow to Light, so instead of a prompt fic, have a sample of one of my WIPs - this one is Mad World, a fic where Alice is the daughter of Charlie Swan’s estranged sister who goes to live with Bella and Charlie. It was an experiment in gothic horror/romance, tbh.

“If you don't know where you are going any road can take you there.” - Lewis Carroll

When I look up at the sky in Forks, I don’t see clouds. Or I do, but they’re obscured by leaves and branches; the forest stretches above me and it’s nice. Private and safe, even though it makes it feel a lot later and darker than it really is. It’s like we’re in a cocoon, and there’s no one else in the world.

I return to reality as his teeth rasp against my stomach, above my belly button, and I giggle, ticklish. I’m splayed across a rock, and it's scratching my back - my sweater is balled up in the dirt, and my shirt is pushed up above my bra.

My fingers twist in his hair and I smirk as he looks back up at me. Jasper Hale; who I sit next to in History and in Trig. His shirt hangs open, revealing a body that will be taking pride of place in my fantasies.

“You okay?” His voice is low and even, but his eyes are sharp. Dark, and watching me. For a moment, I see calculation and something I should react to. Something dangerous. Like he could kill me right here and now; fuck me and choke me; rip me into wet, meaty pieces; beat my skull into dust with a rock. This boy, this man, is dangerous, and I have invited him to get much, much closer. He could do whatever he wanted to me, and he wouldn’t be the first.

And I don’t care. That darkness, that rage, and potential for violence, I’m not scared of it. I haven’t been for a long time. It’s easier to consent than to resist. And more than that, I like that darkness. I like that sharp edge. And what I know of Jasper Hale, I like.

Whatever I am feeling twists and fades into the steady thrum of lust, of confidence and willingness.

“Absolutely nothing,” I say, and tug his hair to bring his face closer to mine.

And that’s how I spent my third afternoon in Forks; fooling around with Jasper Hale in the woods behind the high school auditorium.

—

It’s a rainy Thursday night when I finally, finally arrive in Forks. And in that moment, it is the most beautiful place on earth - the green of the forest, the grey of the rain, the fresh air. It is Shangri-La on Earth, and I am apart of it.

I left North Carolina on Monday, and since then have taken a bus, a train, another bus, another train, and a third bus. I have layers upon layers of deodorant and grime upon my skin; my phone is dead; my hair is greasy from the endless styling tutorials I looked up to combat boredom, and all I want is something to eat and a shower. Anything that isn’t itchy seats, never-ending road, or snack foods would be heaven upon earth at this moment.  

In truth, I don’t feel human anymore. I feel like a transient spirit, a modern-day gypsy, a lost girl. That for the rest of time, this will be my life - dirt and fuel and waiting for an end that never comes. But somehow, I have made it to Forks; the red ‘x’ on my photocopied map is finally a real place, with buildings and streets and people. Forks isn’t home, but it is the most welcoming sight I have had in years.  

I jump down from the bus; a backpack on my shoulder, a satchel across my chest and a duffle bag in one hand. For all intents and purposes, this is all I own in the world. Twenty-three dollars in my wallet, and my entire life in my bags. I could go anywhere I wanted, except twenty-three dollars won’t take me many places.

No one else on the bus carries as much luggage as I do, and no one is dressed alike either - I changed at the Seattle bus station into my second-to-last clean outfit, to try and make a good impression. Everyone else is wearing a jeans-parka-boots combination, which is probably smart with the horrible weather. Not that I will miss the hideous summers of North Carolina. But I get the sense that this bus is full of locals, who busted happened to be travelling from Port Angeles or Seattle. There’s something about them, like the green of the forest, the dirt and mud of the ground, the rainwater has sunken into their bodies and marked them invisibly as belonging to the town of Forks. I wonder if I’ll be here long enough to be marked too.

The bus station is the smallest I’ve been to on this whirlwind road trip - a tiny convenience store, a spinning rack of postcards, a payphone, and endless wooden benches.

Uncle Charlie is right there, waiting for me - sitting on a bench with a paper cup of coffee. Even if he hadn’t been wearing his uniform, I would have guessed he was my uncle. He doesn’t strictly look like my mother, but there is something in the way they carry themselves, the way that they fill space. I don’t know. I just know that he is definitely Mom’s little brother, one Chief Charlie Swan of Forks, WA.

My new guardian - saviour or gaoler is yet to be determined.

“Uncle Charlie!” I put a big smile on my face and march straight up to him - if life has taught me nothing else, it’s that first impressions count.  And not to piss off the person in charge of your welfare. “I’m Alice.”

Uncle Charlie looked up at me, and for a moment, just stared.

So, my outfit wasn’t the best first impression I could have picked. But it was the only one left that I could wear in public - my beloved, holey galaxy leggings; ancient floral Dr Martens that I had laced with pink ribbons; a giant purple and black sweater, and a black miniskirt. Combined with the pancake make-up I had used to cover up my blotchy-skin and dark under-eye circles, my greasy hair knotted in two buns with my collection of dollar-store butterfly clips, and the fact that I smelt like four days of bus, sweat, and fried food, I definitely looked like the devil child my mother probably portrayed me as.

“Mary Alice!” Uncle Charlie recovered. “How was your trip?” He smiled awkwardly and stood up.

“Long,” I said ruefully. “But I’m here now.”

—

Uncle Charlie tried to make conversation as we drove back to his place, as if a truncated game of ‘Twenty Questions’ could undo the awkwardness of not knowing about each other for seventeen years.

And it wasn’t like I could abridge my messy, ridiculous life story into a fifteen minute car trip, anyway. Or that Charlie Swan could become a beloved uncle between the bus station and his home.

Who was I?

I was Mary-Alice Brandon, eldest daughter of Annette Marie Swan-Ackerman, the only child of the late artist Nicholas Brandon. Resented step-daughter of Stephen Ackerman. A granddaughter and a niece and a half-sister. Former prisoner of a remote reform school. Epileptic. A secret keeper, and an artist.

How could I tell Uncle Charlie all the tiny details that made up me, and the reason I was here with him now?

That my mother is no Swan, but a chameleon, a snake, a cuckoo in the nest?

That the last of my stitches came out last week, but the scars still itch like crazy?

That I used to love gas-station slushies, especially pink ones, until I was twelve? That now I love soda, so cold it makes your brain and teeth hurt, and tastes like static?

And besides, what do I know about Charlie and my cousin? He’s a divorced police chief, and his daughter Isabella is also seventeen years old - five months older than me - and lives with him full-time. She attends the local public high school. That my grandparents are dead, and my ex-aunt has since remarried.

That’s it. That’s all I really know. And I am about to live with them.

If I think about it too much, it just feels like another trap.

—

The Swan house was small, but then, so were all the houses on the street. It was old, too, but I’d always known that was a probability. It didn’t make it easier, though. I’ve never done well in old houses. It needed a few repairs - the paint was peeling off, one of the shutters was hanging at an angle, and the front garden was dirt, grass, moss and ferns. Uncle Charlie struck me as a neat and practical kind of person, so this was surprising. But maybe in the spring, I could coax some kind of garden to life, as a way to say thank-you.

We walked in the backdoor, letting it swing shut behind us with a bang.  Inside, the hallway was narrow and dark, with stairs leading up, and a few aged pieces of art hung on the plaid walls - mostly landscapes, and several of fish that were very good, if hideously ugly.

The first thing my eye caught was the mantlepiece in the sitting room, above the fireplace - a shrine to a teenage girl who bore a startling resemblance to Mom.

“Wow,” I said, moving closer. The eyes, the smile, the brown hair - this had to be my cousin. “Is that Isabella?”

“Yeah, that’s Bells. She’s out with her boyfriend at the moment,” Uncle Charlie said, setting down my duffle bag.

“She looks just like Mom,” I said, amazed. It was uncanny - Bella looked more like Mom’s daughter than I did.

“I guess she does,” Uncle Charlie said. “Bells is much prettier than Annette was at that age - but that’s all Renee.”

Charlie sounded uncomfortable, and I had to admit to myself that I was uncomfortable hearing my mother’s name. Turning away from the photographs, I pasted a smile back on my face.

“Sorry, I’m easily distracted,” I said. “You were going to show me my room?”

“Yeah. It’s not much,” Uncle Charlie began. “It’s pretty small…”

“You’re taking me in. That makes everything else perfect,” I said firmly, grabbing my backpack again. “Lead the way.”

—

Well.

Uncle Charlie had warned me that my bedroom was tiny.

It was more than tiny – more like a large alcove with glass doors. The walls were off-white, and a square window looked over a tiny yard and the forest. A narrow bed was wedged against the wall, made up with a hideous yellow bedspread. A dresser was arranged against the wall between the bed and doors. Opposite the dresser was a tiny desk and chair. Jammed in the gap at the end of the bed, next to the desk, was an old laundry hamper.

I was betting I could touch the window and the door with my arms outstretched.

Luckily I was used to small living spaces. I wasn’t sharing with anyone; that was enough to make up for the fact that this room would have been a better closet. Or window box. Apparently, Uncle Charlie had used it as an office when he needed to bring work home.

I set my bags on the bed. This was going to be my home for the next year and a half. It felt overwhelming all of a sudden, that I would be living with an uncle and cousin I had never even met before. It wasn’t like school, where I had shared a room with seven other girls, and we’d all been strangers.

I could do this.

It was only eighteen months. I had been away at school nearly three times that long, and if I could survive school, I could survive living at Uncle Charlie’s.

I had intended to unpack and settle in before dinner, but in the end, I just changed into some pyjamas, shoved my bags under the bed, and fallen asleep nearly instantly. I didn’t wake up until much later, almost midnight, starving and disorientated. I crept out of my room, making a note to buy some kind of curtains for the glass doors to give myself some privacy.

Uncle Charlie and my cousin were clearly already asleep, so I got myself a glass of water. There was a note scrawled out for me, telling me to help myself to food, and that they’d see me tomorrow. I felt bad for vanishing without spending time with them or even meeting Bella, but there wasn’t much I could do about that now.

The house was quiet in the darkness, but I used my phone to carefully navigate - and look around. The shrine held a wedding photo of a much-younger Charlie, and the woman who was my ex-aunt; a sad memento when I knew that Uncle Charlie had been divorced for quite a long time. An off-brand recliner sat near a small, out-of-date television, the remote on top of a TV guide, with various sports matches circled in pen. Several pairs of shoes sat by the front door - my cousin was clearly a strong supporter of Converse sneakers.

The leftovers in the fridge looked kind of suspect – some luminous mac and cheese, a chicken that was nearly picked clean, and some greasy looking Chinese. I ended up slapping some peanut butter on some bread, and drinking nearly half a carton of milk, before vanishing back into my new ‘bedroom’ for some more sleep.  

Peering out of the uncovered window into the night, I could see beyond the fence line into the black of the forest. The tops of the trees cut the bottom half of the sky off perfectly, like an old-fashioned silhouette. It was strange to imagine my mother living in this kind of town, growing up here. But then, I had a hard time picturing my dad and her being married, too.

Lying back, I stared out at the night sky, the slow movement of clouds over the stars lulling me back to sleep.