#and then braid that ponytail so they can swing it like a weapon

[luci3skydi]

Thinking about Jamie braiding his hair like Grealish turned into thinking about Dani braiding his hair turned into young Roy braiding his hair turned into...

No way Jamie can french braid his own difficultly-short hair. I liked the pose but no way is this boy not making braiding his hair everyone else's problem.

this post and this post are entirely to blame for this worm getting stuck in my head.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

Yes

Okay so:

Feed the Ink or it'll Free Everyone (Basically a post escape AU where the themes are change for better and worse as well reflecting on past selves)'s Sammy has ups and downs that lead to him rebuilding himself and separating himself from the ink, but his attempts are... well, they worked but he really fucked himself over and up mentally and how his new body functions does not help.

-His 'hair' is dark brown in color.

-Past floor-length while loose, roughly knee-length while braided.

-Typically braided unless he's washing it or letting it loose during bedtime.

-Looks like normal hair of a regular texture, but feels gummy to the touch.

-Acts as a third arm while braided but doesn't move while loose.

-Instantly grows back if cut, but cutting it is very painful and distressing for him.

-Smells strongly of bleach and faintly of meat.

-He dislikes having his hair played with.

-The reason why it moves is because it's not actually hair, it's very very thin stands of flesh that resemble hair.

Meanwhile, in stark contrast to FIFE!Sam trying to distance himself from his god, A Secret Leak (post escape AU that kicks off because BATDR happened)'s Sammy double-triples down on the prophet and occult shenanigans and his 'human' form reflects that, but we're not talking about his humanity or uncanny valley-ity, we're talking about hair that moves and that its host can control to an extent.

-His 'hair' is pitch black in color.

-Knee length when loose, appears Mid-back length while tied up. (Mild toon logic is at play here)

-Is kept in a ponytail that uses his hair to tie itself up instead of a real hair tie while out and about and loose when at home.

-Looks like regular hair, is surprisingly soft and fluffy when tied up, but feels sharp, stringy, and slightly damp to the touch when loose.

-Benignly moves and acts with a mind of its own when he's not actively moving it himself, however it will reflect his emotions with its movement whether he wants it to or not. It doesn't move (for the most part) while tied up.

-Unable to be cut. Many pairs of scissors and some other sharp objects were damaged in the attempts to cut it.

-Smells strongly of ink and slightly of old paper.

-He doesn't mind if people play with it, 'musical hair' is a very unusual novelty of a blessing after all.

-The reason why it moves is because it's actually a (very large) collection of various instrument strings that are soaked in the prophet's cursed ink and have been used in a ritual. He has no recollection of making it himself and claims it's a blessing from his lord.

Lastly, 13 toons countless ghost stories (AU where Henry gets perfect toons and lives with them in a mansion built by ghosts)'s Sammy is *not* a physical entity but instead a restless spirit driven mostly by spite and an unsatable thirst for vengeance. While he does have calm/lucid moments, they're few and far between.

-His hair is transparent and dark brown.

-Ankle length, does not get tied up at all.

-Stays loose, but often gets tangled into knots. And sometimes, things are found in the knots; bullet casings, teeth that don't belong to human beings, clots of dried blood, small severed body parts, crumpled up music sheets, an ax, etc.

-Looks like hair texture-wise, when he's lucid/calm, his hair feels like you're sticking your hands into a bowl of ice water, and when he's mad it feels like submerging your hands in boiling oil.

-Moves like hair that's submerged underwater when he's calm, but when he sees someone who *might* be his murderer, it writhes and the locks move like extra arms, one of them swings the ax around like crazy while the others either reach for new weapons or attempt to strangle the 'murderer'.

-People need special ghost-proof scissors to cut it and it is very hard to cut the hair of a fury-driven ghost who's convinced you're trying to exorcise him.

-Doesn't have a smell.

-Hair is very rarely played with on account of being attached to a ghost who tries to kill everything that moves 90% of the time. During the other 10%, he's either zoning out or too focused on other things to mention whoever's playing with his hair, so it's hard to tell if he likes it or not.

-The reason why it moves is because it's made of the same stuff as the rest of his ghostly body, and that ghostly body assumes that one of the ways it died involved drowning, hence the watery movement of the hair.

[howtofightwrite]

How feasible would it be for a character to have a hair whip, as in a long braid with something like a morningstar at the end? There's def some leeway on my end where I could go "their spine is magically augmented to keep this from Literally Killing Them and causing brain damage" but I'd love a more informed opinion on it

I'm going to go with, “no.” “How feasible?” “No.”

The strain on the spine is something I'd worry about, though that's a relatively minor concern. The first three things that come to mind are:

How do you sit down? This is a situation where if your character is knocked on their back, there's a real chance their weapon would end up between them and their spine. Landing on a morning star does not sound like a good time, even if they're wearing armor. Especially if this happens after they're knocked off a horse, a roof, a table, or basically anything else above floor level.

Second, if their weapon gets stuck, or an enemy catches their hair, their foe now has (limited) control over their head. This is a very bad thing.

Third, they need to break eye contact to attack, and because they're whipping their head around, it's going to leave them vulnerable for an extended period where they cannot watch what their foe is doing.

The more I think about this, the more problems I start to see.

If their hair-flail is ever cut, that's it, they'd need to grow out their hair before they could use it again. This is a limitation for a lot of biological weapons.

Of course, actually hanging and swinging heavy objects from your hair would be somewhat unpleasant. It's likely to not be as bad as having your hair pulled, since the flail would probably be mounted on a tight braid or ponytail, but it would still be jerking your scalp around.

It's also worth remembering that, in order to do this, your character would need to have very long hair. Probably, at least, waist length, if not longer.

I'm honestly not sure how great the risk of a self-inflicted concussion would be from using this. Because hair doesn't really transmit the shock of impact back to the scalp.

Since you brought up magic, there are characters who use their enchanted hair as a weapon (I'm failing to remember any specific examples off-hand, but the motif does exist.) In that case, the hair is often semi-autonomous, striking and reacting under its own power. It's a peculiar bit of fantasy, but it's an option, and it can bypass some of the issues I mentioned above. Critically that the hair will be much harder to capture, as it remains active, and may even restrain someone dumb enough to try to grab it. It won't force the character to look away from their foe as they whip their head around to generate momentum, and, ironically, it would be easier to avoid sitting or falling on their hair if they have fine control over it.

Generally speaking, weaving weapons into your hair is a pretty bad idea, with the specific exception of using your hair to conceal weapons. That's a slightly weird concept, but, things like a stiletto disguised as a hairpin, is a legitimate, potential, assassination tool. (Somewhat awkwardly, stiletto hairpins are a real hairpin style, and not a weapon, so it's a little harder to assess the the history, but any sturdy hairpin can be used as a weapon if needed, so I'm fairly confident in saying a character could credibly have a hairpin intended as a disposable assassination tool.)

As for something larger, you'd be playing for unrealistic absurdity, which may align with your goals. For example: A character who casually whips a katana out of her hair, would be pretty goofy, but it would solidly establish the kind of story you'd be trying to tell.

Also, it's probably important for me to point out, if you're going toward the fantastic end of the spectrum, this is a fantasy that works better in visual media, so comics, games, animation, and film. It can be done in prose, but it will be considerably more difficult.

So, like I said at the beginning: “How feasible?” “No.” This is a specific kind of fantasy that really only works if you commit to the extreme. Trying to make it, “grounded,” or dial back the insanity, is very likely to be underwhelming. I guess an alternate answer would be, “How feasible?” “Only if you go big.”

-Starke

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[xenoblademisadventures]

Also here's a dump of other sketches with my thoughts process. Long post, so everything’s under the cut.

The Mythra:

I really liked my first idea so I stuck with it. My thought process was I wanted to emphasize that she's mecha anime and therefore out of place (she already has a mech). Pants are a reference to Alvis's illegal shoes. She’s wearing a crop top because Mythra reads as the type of person who would enjoy wearing a crop top to me. She has giant gauntlet things on her arms because they look cool. I gave her two giant braids because anime (and I’ve noticed a trend of tsundere characters often having two strands of hair going outwards for some reason? And I figured “might as well copy+pasta lol). Her left eye is partially covered by hair, which is supposed to represent her feeling distant or partially isolated from the rest of the world. It’s also a character design trend sometimes used in villain characters, which I thought would fit Mythra since she’s worried about her power being used for evil in 2 and is being constantly compared to Malos in Torna. I kept the choker from the base design because it looks cool and also relates to how she’s constantly constraining herself.

I also wanted to make her buff because she’s a warrior who wields a giant fucking sword, she should be buff (like, the fight scenes involving her in Torna DLC looked a bit awkward because Mythra was swinging a giant sword around one-handed like it was nothing while also having very shrimpy arms). 

Overall, I wanted Mythra to feel very alien and distant to the rest of the world. If I were to continue iterating on this, I’d probably look at some of Elma’s armor (mim and alien) for reference because doing that would allow for Mythra to look disconnected from the Xenoblade 2 cast but still feel like a Xenoblade character.

Side note: I assumed that the Aegis shape Core Crystal was a requirement. If I had the option to remove it, I probably would. It doesn’t look bad, but if the goal was to connect the Aegises with the Monado, I don’t like that Alvis’s key had to be retconned for that to function.

The Pyras:

A consistent theme here between the designs was the pants. I wanted Alvis's illegal pants to be a running theme among the Aegises because they are stupid and illegal and I like them. They also look like the most vaguely scifi part of his actual outfit, so I figured giving them a shared article of clothing would be a nice way to visually connect the five character designs (Pyra, Mythra, Pneuma, Alvis, and Malos), and I wanted to keep the vaguely mecha theme going. You can see in Pyra 6 that I was tired and just drew Pyra in Alvis's attire. 

I wanted Pyra to look like a mecha design covered up by something that more closely fits the aesthetic used in Xenoblade 1. So not quite mecha, not quite 1. The idea was that Pyra was trying to look more like a common person in order to appear less threatening. If she despises and fears her power, I don’t think she’d want to wear an outfit that embraces it. Putting her in more casual clothing would also contrast with Mythra and better communicate that Mythra is significantly stronger than Pyra. But all that said, putting her in full casual clothing might undercut the emotion Rex and Pyra’s first meeting was meant to invoke (of being like “oh wow, a legendary ancient weapon). And designing her to still look mecha would still be saying that “even though Pyra doesn’t want to be the Aegis, she is still the Aegis and cannot escape her power.” Which is why quite a few designs lean into the mecha aesthetic. The exact balance between mecha and casual clothing was the main thing I struggled with on this design. The final design is the one that more or less struck the balance I was hoping for.

A few of the designs are vaguely sexualized. Specifically Pyras 1, 4, and 7 all have tiny boob windows. If I were to finalize 7, I’d remove the boob window because it looks a bit awkward and I think a belt (similar to Elma’s underboob belt) would look better, but my thought process there was “do I want Pyra to be comfortable?” I don’t want to go over the top with the revealing clothing, but making Pyra wear slightly revealing clothing that she probably wouldn’t want to be wearing could help drive the point that she’s a combination of all the traits Mythra was criticized for lacking. It’s not pleasant or comfortable letting others dictate your entire existence through repeated harassment and Pyra already very heavily acts like the sexist ideas of what a woman should be, so giving her a tiny boob window could help emphasize that point. The main reason I’m saying I’d change it if I iterated on 7 is because I don’t think it compliments the design particularly well.

Another thing that stuck between each version of Pyra’s design was that her left eye is completely covered by hair. I did this for a few reasons: it would follow up on the symbolism of Mythra’s design partially covering her left eye, it would give Pyra a slight air of mystery, and it would faintly reference Alvis’s design (I want the designs to hint at each other but I don’t want it to be super obvious). The earrings were also kept between designs because they were in Mythra’s design and I wanted that to get carried over because it’s a little bit extra cohesion between the two designs. 

I wanted was to use Pyra's hair to help represented Mythra binding herself. Mythra has two braids that are loosely flowing, so she's already semi bound. If I were to start drawing Pneuma, I think I'd want her hair to not be tied at all (maybe a similar style to KOS-MOS and Elly as a reference, maybe not?) or I'd just put her in really long dreadlocks or something because hair go brr. One idea I had was to just have one big braided ponytail, but another idea was to try and tie the hair up (which is what I was going for in Pyra 2). I couldn't find a way to do that in a way I particularly liked, so single big ponytail is the way I went.

You can probably see that there were a lot of ideas thrown at a wall here, so I’ll go over some noteworthy facets of each designs.

Pyra 1 had a key on her chest, it was meant to be reference to Alvis. It didn’t stay in other designs because the reference felt too obvious. The first two designs also had a giant X on her chest, it was meant to look like the outfit was binding her, but I don’t particularly care for it. Pyra 2′s pants had weird patterns on them because I was trying to visually make them look a bit distinguished from Mythra’s while still keeping the same idea, but I don’t really care for them. I also don’t like how Pyra 2 is just wearing a T Shirt. I’m not really sure what I was going for with Pyra 3. She kind of looks like Glimmer in the She-Ra reboot, which wasn’t intentional. Pyra 4 leans more into the mecha than any other Pyra. She kind of looks like a ballerina but not really. I was focusing mostly on making her look a lot like Mythra, but I feel that this design has a lot of similar issues to what I have with Pyra’s actual design where it’s sexy and looks cool, but doesn’t really fit the character. Pyra 5 looks like a heroforge character (or maybe like something that fit Mass Effect’s aesthetic if I’m being generous?). I feel that this one also doesn’t fit her character particularly well. Pyra 6 was a bit of an overcorrection and I ended up just drawing Pyra in Alvis’s outfit. And Pyra 7 is the one I actually went with.

Rexes:

Rex 1 was more of a warm-up than anything. I put him in a vest and some pants. The hookshot and x marking were things I completely forgot about until last minute, which is why they look tacked on. He has a belt with some items in it. I wanted to give him scraffly hair and freckles to better emphasize that he’s just some kid. I don’t really like this design. I feel like if I polished it up, it would still have a lot of the benefits to base Rex while not getting as many people complaining about his pants, but the design is overall a huge “meh.”

With Rex 2, I decided to actually look up what scuba gear looks like. This design ended up emphasizing primarily that Rex has a lot of expertise in salvaging and that he’s a kid with humble origins. His strap on was based on a scuba outfit, same with the shoes. He’s also wearing pull-ups with giant pockets. I felt those imply humble origins because pull-ups get associated with rural settings. The giant pockets imply that he works with machinery. That’s also why his hair’s tied back. If you long hair and you work with machinery, that’s supposed to be tied back so that it doesn’t get caught in anything. I also gave him glasses because we need more characters with glasses. 

The character’s meant to be 15 and I feel that this looks closer to 15 than 12. If I were to make future iterations of this design, I’d try to lean more into making him look 15 because he doesn’t look 15 enough to me. I’d do this by giving him acne.

He has gloves because he’ll be using a sword and it’s generally not good to scrape up your palm while using one of those. His hook-shot also now takes up his entire arm because that’s heavy equipment. I haven’t figured out how the wire is supposed to be stored without having it fuck up his arm. But the hook itself is now in a little hook cubby. I think I’d want to make the bottom of the shoes look heavier than they are since they don’t currently look great for walking around the bottom of the ocean. 

Still, I’m very happy with this Rex. I mostly draw anime girls, so I’m happy with the number of things I feel I’ve gotten right with Rex 2.

Nims and a Dahlia:

I’m a bit unsure of what I want from the Blade designs. I decided to design around their element, their rough personalities, them needing a core crystal, and their element. I also want them to look like they could also exist in the same universe and maybe not look very human? That was, at least, my thought process when drawing Nim, though that thought process was not consistently held, like, at all. A lot of my Blade redesigns don’t look very good because I didn’t have a very good idea towards what I should even be aiming for. The Blades have very generic personalities and overall feel so disconnected from the world that I’d probably just scrap every existing Blade in their entirety and replace them different characters who are better established. Like, maybe because this Blade was born from the Gormott Titan, they look like Gormotti or part giraff as a result and are more likely to have the earth element? And how many hands they’ve been through and the personalities of their previous drivers stack up to subtly influence their appearance? Like, a Blade from Gormott that ended up in Uraya for 10 lifetimes might be an earth-type cat-person with fins or something? Or maybe the more developed a Blade is, the less it resembles a human? But doing that would require writing a lot more lore per individual Blade than is actually provided. But just having something to better frame the Blades as something other than “random (mostly) anime girls that you pick up along the way” would be necessary to give them good designs.

Anyways, with Nim, I figured giving her a Saytr like appearance would be good. She has a strong association with animals and nature, which, for me, translates to “naked.” Alongside that, I looked up Nymphs and they’re also usually depicted as naked women. I also completely disregarded to the two foxes on her shoulders. They were put into Nim 1 as an afterthought. 

Nim 1 is the only Nim that isn’t plus-sized because I figured “why not have some different body types among the blades?” A lot of my redesigns for Pyra and Mythra try to keep their body type more or less in tact less because I think it’s the best body type for them and more to spite the idea that them having big boobs is the reason that they’re oversexualized. Like, they are comically big, but they’re only sexualized because of how much attention the camera and design draws to them. But, that’s a side tangent. I made Nim overweight because I like drawing overweight women. Nim 1 gets the vibes of “naked lady” while Nim 2 has the vibes of “big fluffy friend” while Nim 3 is somewhat of a compromise. If I were to make a final design for her out of these, I’d definitely try and fuse some aspects of Nims 2 and 3.

Nim 3 has vines on her arms because Nymphs get depicted with vines quite a bit. The main reason Nim 2 is wearing a sun dress is because I stepped back and thought “wait, maybe some people would have an issue with a naked anime lady running around.” Nim 2 also has a transition between furry legs and no fur legs. 

I didn’t really have any ideas for Dahlia. I saw someone draw a version of Dahlia based off Elsa from Frozen and I thought that might be fun to draw. I don’t really have any further thoughts on this.

Praxises:

This is sort of where I was at the point where I realized that if I wanted to redesign the blades, I’d need to figure out some unifying theme for them all. I was thinking “maybe blades could try and visually represent different aspects of being human?” This idea was only really used on Praxis and wasn’t very strongly represented. I was kind of tired when I drew Praxis 1 and Praxis 2 was a bit of a warm-up sketch. 

Neither of these designs are particularly good. I wanted Praxis to be wearing those 90s bubbly arm and leg warmers because she has a bubbly personality and is a water type. I don’t know why Praxis 2 is a cowgirl. 

Zenobias:

Zenobia 1 is based a bit a wrestler because she has wrestler vibes. I see her as the type of person who would do Dark Souls no armor run on the dance pad. My other thought process was “let me google the word ‘zenobia’ and see what crops up” and I saw something about a Syrian empress but I decided to do zero research, so I have no idea if what I drew was offensive towards muslims. She has a scarf tho because wind.

Zenobia 2 is based on a picture of that empress lady. I don’t think it follows her character in-game particularly well though. 

Two (Blade) Nias:

Neither Nia is particularly finished. The main requirements were that this Nia has to look like a Blade, a catgirl, and like something were she’d be able to hide the Blade parts, but not comfortably. I’m at a bit of a loss here. I think the formal wear used in her base-game design is not the way to go. The outfit just doesn’t feel like it matches her brash and snarky personality, like, at all. The first outfit was trying to throw random ideas but nothing was coming up and that’s what happened with the other. Though, Nia 2 gets bonus points for looking like a cats 2019 character. I was sketching out what parts of her body should be covered, but I don’t think I’d want to go with crop-top and skirt because Mythra already has a crop top. The tail is also debatable since I figured if I kept that, how Nia hides the tail could be a fun part of her driver outfit. I also didn’t really like how Driver Nia and Blade Nia have different hair and ear lengths. It bothered me more here than with the original Pyra/Mythra designs because Nia isn’t the Aegis, I don’t think she should be allowed to material and dematerialize her clothing, hair, and ears like that. I do kind of like the idea of giving her paws since those are things that can be easily hidden by shoes. Giving her spotted skin isn’t a bad idea but it’s not as high on the “keep” scale as the paws are (which aren’t super high in the first place).

Overall, it’s probably a bit anticlimactic to end on some lame designs, but that’s how it goes, I guess. If I were to redesign more of the Blades (or finish the Blade redesigns I started), I’d need to figure out what running themes I want from the Blade designs. I think maybe focusing on the human designs first and working from there could be a way to go. Unsure. 

[shortkingzuko]

title: it's safe to fall (if you just trust the ground)    

relationship: sokka/zuko

warnings: mentions of violence/death

wordcount: 15,247

summary: Sokka is as beautiful as he is talented, and more than anything Zuko wants to stand up and walk over, sit close to him and take him all in. He wants to remove Sokka’s sunglasses and his own and he wants to look him in the eyes. He wants to be close enough that he can feel and touch and know. But Zuko knows he can't.

thanks to @meteor-sword for beta reading !

read below the cut or on AO3 for full list of tags and notes!

Zuko doesn’t need to pull the photo out of his jacket’s inner pocket to compare the man across the train terminal with the face of his mark. He’s studied the photo long enough, along with all the other surveillance that he could acquire. He knows the gait of the man’s walk, the swing of his arms, the curve of his nose from any angle. He carries a green shoulder bag, just like Zuko’s intel said he would be.

Zuko still pulls his sunglasses down slightly, watching the man as he walks through the crowded lobby. The man looks around, subtle as can be, eyes darting every direction before he seems satisfied that he isn’t being tailed, and begins walking with more confidence and speed. Zuko could almost laugh.

He pushes his sunglasses up his nose and stands from the bench he was sitting at. Weaving between bustling families and confused tourists, Zuko manages to outpace the man’s fake-casual walk, and ducks behind a leafy wall of tall potted plants. He tracks the man’s movement with his eyes as he skillfully pulls a tracker out of the lining of his jacket. He has more than one, of course, but he knows if this spy is worth his salt, he’ll notice after the first attempt.

Zuko eyes the crowd, the dozens of feet that form the stomping barrier between him and his target, he watches as the man comes closer, closer, just a bit closer…

Zuko snaps his wrist, watching intently as the tiny tracker clatters as it rolls across the linoleum, narrowly avoiding sneakers and suitcase wheels. Perfectly timed, Zuko’s mark meets the rolling tracker halfway, stepping on the thin plastic and metal and embedding it into the sole of his shoe. Zuko leans further into the green of the leaves for a minute, watching to see if the man’s pace falters or if he notices the new addition to his person.

He does not.

Zuko taps the side of his sunglasses, eye re-focusing on the new information that pops up on the inside of the glass. The walking speed that his mark is moving at, a small trail illuminating on the floor of where he stepped previously, the actual GPS coordinates and altitude of his location. Zuko doesn’t need all of that right now - he taps the side of his glasses a few more times, watching as different information disappears and pops back up until he has just the exact combination that he wants.

He waits until his target is further away, still visible through the crowd, but with more bodies keeping him from Zuko, before he steps out from behind the plants and follows him. He reaches up and undoes the hair tie that’s keeping his hair in its small top-knot, allowing his hair to fall and cover his ears and eyes, before tying it back into a short ponytail at the base of his neck. It’s not much but it’s surprising how many people equate different hair with a different person. Zuko knows that he’s a hard face to miss -  if people actually notice him - so he knows to do everything in his power to utilize any advantages that get given to him.

Zuko follows his mark as he weaves through the crowds, climbs into a car and speeds off. Zuko isn’t worried about losing him, the tracker has likely embedded itself deep into the sole of the man’s shoe, and unless he notices it and digs it out with a knife, there’s no chance that Zuko will lose his coordinates. He climbs into his waiting car to tail him. After almost twenty minutes of weaving between cars, backtracking, and clever - but rather unoriginal - evasive driving, the man climbs out of his car and walks into the lobby of a high-class hotel. Zuko waits until he’s walked through the revolving doors before he tells his driver to let him climb out too.

The building is a behemoth - all metal, and finely carved stone, and glass. The lobby is open concept, with a large fountain in the centre and a skylight high above, bathing the room and all its plants and statues in a natural glow. It’s a building for people with too much money, too much power or a terrible combination of both. For a moment Zuko is annoyed that neither he nor his intelligence team guessed that his mark would be staying here before he quashes that down. Annoyance was an unproductive feeling to have. He tries to turn the annoyance to frustration, maybe anger at the incompetence but found it too difficult to do as he focused on scanning the lobby for the tall figure.

He spots the man standing in one of the many glass elevators, his form ascending the many levels, and through the clear barriers, Zuko could see his fingers tapping on a communication device. The door opens and he exits on the seventh floor. Zuko smirks to himself as he strides toward the elevators, taking out his hair tie once again and letting his hair fall freely down his face. The doors of the elevators open, and he pushes the button for the seventh floor, before hitting the ‘close doors’ button. The shining steel doors close, and Zuko is left staring at his own serious expression.

As the elevator rises, Zuko quickly recites his plan and his options. His mark is dropping off classified intel that Zuko needs, and he likely won’t go down without a fight. Zuko has nothing less than a small arsenal of daggers and knives strapped everywhere on his body and in his bag, as well as his own martial arts training. Even factoring in his disadvantage with depth perception, Zuko knows that his physical capabilities outshine even the most formidable opponents. Coupled with the element of surprise, Zuko tells himself that he’ll be grabbing that green satchel off a corpse in ten minutes, tops, and pushes away any guilty feelings that the thought gives him.

Just as he pushes up his sunglasses, about to tap the sides to get a location on his mark, the metal doors open. Zuko makes to step out before he realizes he’s staring straight at the chin of another passenger. Zuko’s eyes flicker up and he falters, mouth falling slightly open. He didn’t factor this into his plan.

Zuko was used to looking at photos of his mark from afar, surveillance footage and pictures taken discreetly, but it really doesn’t compare to what he looks like close up. He stands taller than Zuko, broader too, and despite the chisel cut of his cheekbones, there’s a softness to his face. His expression is blank, but at the sight of Zuko’s stunned face, his lips quirk up into an almost smile, and Zuko spies a slight dimple on his dark cheek, a humoured twinkle in his dark eyes.

All of the photos in the world couldn’t have prepared Zuko for how  pretty Sokka Amarok is.

Zuko stands still, stewing in his own unneeded and newfound attraction and confusion -  how the fuck did his mark see him coming, what’s the new plan now, can he reach any of his weapons before Sokka - when Sokka slowly reaches towards him. Zuko’s breath hitches, as Sokka gently puts a hand on his chest. He looks straight into Zuko’s eyes as he reaches into his coat jacket, and as if he knew exactly where it would be -  maybe he did, Zuko thinks - he pulls out the photo of himself.

Sokka flips it around, examines the black and white picture of himself and lets out a little laugh, before reaching into his own inner coat pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

Zuko’s eyebrows furrow as Sokka carefully unfolds it and holds it up. Zuko’s eyes widen again, as he stares at a photo of himself, in the standard black and white, scowling as he walks through the streets of some distant city. Zuko can’t even remember when or where he was when the photo was taken. Was it last week? Last month? Was it before this mission even hit his father’s desk, before Azula turned it down?

Zuko gapes at the photo, eyes flickering back to Sokka. He stands looking at Zuko, still smiling slightly as if this situation is  funny in any way. Zuko knows that they’re too close for Zuko to get any hold of a weapon before Sokka knows what’s happening and up close Zuko wonders if maybe he underestimated Sokka’s strength. Just as he’s about to lash out, Sokka moves the photo of himself to the same hand holding the picture of Zuko. He reaches out with his free hand and gently touches Zuko’s chest again, and against his own wishes, Zuko finds himself taking a step back into the elevator. Sokka’s arm then sweeps to the side and presses the button for the ground floor.

Zuko finds he can’t stop staring at Sokka’s face, at his smooth skin and dark hair, decorated with small braids throughout. Sokka is staring back at him too, and Zuko has just enough self-control to keep himself from blushing.

Sokka removes his arm from the control panel before reaching up and plucking Zuko’s sunglasses off his face. Zuko can’t find enough air in his lungs to protest at the removal, too focused on the soft slide of skin against his temple.

After a second that lasts a thousand years, Sokka takes a step back, removes all of himself from the elevator and he grins. The elevator doors chime, and as they close, Sokka gives him a slight wave. Zuko is left standing agape as he rides the elevator down and stumbles out into the lobby in a daze.

He’s never been caught on a mission before, and he certainly isn’t used to seeing his marks  look at him unless they’re fighting him or already dead. Still, Zuko knows that the buzz that’s coursing through his veins isn’t just because of the attention in general.

Zuko walks out of the hotel and keeps walking until he’s a few kilometres away and until his chest and face aren’t tingling. He calls a car to drive him back to his hotel and ignores the questioning glances that his driver gives him.

He files the paperwork that declares his mission a failure, on the grounds of a blown cover. The reprimand sucks, but even through the harsh words, he finds himself thinking of the warm eyes and smiles of the man he was meant to kill.

The next time Zuko runs into Sokka, they’re technically not meant to be in the same country. According to Zuko’s intel, they’re not even meant to be in the same hemisphere. That doesn’t change the fact that when Zuko looks across the dimly lit, crowded, extravagant ballroom floor, Zuko’s eyes immediately find Sokka’s.

His mission is already complete, technically. He already grabbed the flash drive that he was after, out of the coat of a rich businessman, and now he’s just waiting for a good opportunity to leave. He isn’t sure why Sokka’s here and he tries desperately to tamp down the part of his brain that wants to know.

They spent half the night carefully circling one another. Zuko walks around the perimeter of the hotel ballroom, carefully avoiding drunk patrons and busboys who walk a bit too close to him, careful not to lose sight of Sokka.

Sokka seems to be doing the same thing for him. Vaguely, Zuko knows he should be worried - he knows that Sokka had his picture, which means that his mission was likely the same as Zuko’s. Except that encounter was months ago, and there’s been no attempt at retaliation. Maybe Zuko is stupid for not being more concerned that Sokka is here.

He’s probably being stupid.

There’s just something so enticing about him, Zuko thinks, though the words float through his mind distantly and quiet, like a silk scarf getting lost in the wind. The way that he smiled as he waved Zuko goodbye. The way that he let Zuko live when he had ample opportunity to kill him. There was something honourable about that, about the respect he seemed to hold, if not for Zuko as a person then for his abilities as a spy.

Begrudgingly, Zuko acknowledges that he holds the same respect for Sokka.

The lighting in the ballroom grows dimmer and more yellow.  Mood lighting for all the drunk entrepreneurs and senators and billionaires who made their fortune ten generations ago. Zuko scowls at the thought of how many new rich children will come into the world as a result of tonight. The crowd is thinning out, as people go home with one another or as they’re pulled out of the party by concerned friends and drivers. It would be the perfect time to leave, with his cargo safely contained in the compartment of his shoe.

Zuko glances around once more. Maybe he wants to see Sokka one more time before he leaves. He finds himself shocked to see Sokka calmly walking up to him, weaving through the crowd as he approaches.

At least this is confirmation that Sokka isn’t here to kill him. He’s being much too direct. Even the best killers in the game aren’t bold enough to push their way through a crowd like this.

He could run, Zuko knows, he  should run. He should turn and slink out of the door, hotwire a car, go to the safehouse and call his mission a success. It’s what a good spy would do and regardless of what anyone says, Zuko is a good spy.

“Hello, Zuko,” Sokka says when he reaches him.

Zuko scowls. “You say my name as if we’re friends.”

Sokka tilts his head. “All I said was hello.” He laughs a bit. “Spirits, is that the bar for friendship for you? That’s sad, dude.”

Zuko glares. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” They stare at each other for a moment.

“So you’re not here for me?”

“Nope,” Sokka says, cheerfully. “Told my guys over at HQ that my cover was blown and that it would be too risky to try another mission anytime soon.”

“... I said the same thing.”

Sokka hums. “Guess that means neither of us has anything to worry about for the time being.” He plucks two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, grinning as he does so. He holds one out for Zuko. Zuko looks at it for a moment, before grabbing the one that Sokka was keeping for himself. He laughs at Zuko’s precautions. “That is unless you wanna start something?”

“I’m good,” Zuko replies, eyes flickering back and forth between Sokka, his own glass, and the tangled mess of dancing bodies on the floor.

“Then let’s celebrate our little unofficial truce.” Sokka holds his glass out slightly. It takes a moment for Zuko to realize what he wants, and he jerks to tap his glass against the side of Sokka’s, hearing the slight  ping as they touch. Sokka smiles again and takes a drink. After a few seconds, Zuko follows, feeling the tingle of bubbles against his tongue.

“We shouldn’t be seen together,” Zuko says after he takes his glass away from his lips. “Regardless of whether or not I’m here to kill you. It’s… in poor taste.” He winces at his own choice of words.

Sokka raises an eyebrow, and wow, he’s still pretty even when he’s unimpressed. “You think that the security cameras in here are still working?”

“... They’re not?”

Sokka snorts. “Of course not, they’ve been disabled the whole night.”

Zuko pales slightly at the thought. Sokka notices and laughs again. “Don’t worry, Zuko. As I said, I’m not here for you. Not that you would have known if I was.”

His teasing tone annoys Zuko. “Shut up, Sokka,” he hisses, shoving his glass back into Sokka’s hand. “I’m leaving.”

“Goodbye, Zuko.” Sokka grins widely, amused as Zuko turns haughtily to leave. It’s only slightly infuriating.

Zuko arrives at his safe house twice as late as he was supposed to. He took extra precautions to make sure that no one was tailing him, even though, deep down, he knew that Sokka was telling the truth when he said that he wasn’t after Zuko. He calls in his mission as a success, and the next day he flies back home, USB safely tucked in the lining of his bag.

He doesn’t tell anyone that Sokka was there. His lips still feel tingly from bubbles days later.

    Zuko can rationalize that the first time they crossed paths and didn’t come to blows was because it was strategically unbeneficial to both of them. The second time was a coincidence, the by-product of Sokka being overly friendly, Zuko being overcautious, and them being in an environment much too crowded for either of them to deftly make any meaningful moves.

The third time they cross paths and nothing happens, Zuko can’t even bring himself to make excuses. It’s not much, just a glance as he walks through a bustling street, tailing a woman who will soon be dead when he looks to the side and sees Sokka watching him too. He’s clearly following his own target, though Zuko doesn’t bother trying to figure out which unfortunate busybody it is. Their gazes meet and Sokka gives him a little smirk, raises an eyebrow, and Zuko surprises himself when he smiles back, before a wave of pedestrians separate them and Zuko snaps his neck forward to keep eyes on his own mark.

Even knowing that Sokka is in the same city as him should be concerning, should be enough to put a call in, to try and find out where he’s staying, to neutralize the threat before he has time to strike. Of course, he doesn’t. He completes the job that he was given and nothing more.

If he sees another flash of dark skin, or of blue beads nestled between braids, or a playful voice that rings through Zuko’s head for hours after hearing it, he doesn’t tell anyone, and he certainly doesn’t think about it.

    Sokka knows that he shouldn’t fraternize with enemies spies, knows that he’s barely meant to fraternize with allied spies - if the number of harsh looks he gets when he freely speaks to Suki is anything to go by - yet he can’t help but hope that he’ll run into Zuko every mission he goes on. The fact that they seem to go on missions with similar targets is a bit of a concern, and often he wonders what Ozai is planning. He doesn’t exactly rat Zuko out, doesn’t report outright that he saw Zuko slinking through the same back alleys as Sokka or that they locked eyes across a hotel lobby as they climbed into different elevators. Instead, he points out similarities after the fact, mentioning different algorithms that he’s written and information that everyone already knows, while carefully hiding the knowledge that no one else knows beside a veil of “ I have a source”.  

Sokka is nothing if not a dedicated and skilled professional - he may not be a prodigy like his little sister, he may not be a natural gymnast expert like Aang, hell, he may not even be half the fighter that his dad is, but if he’s one thing he’s a  good  spy and  good fighter. He knows that he’s smart, he’s a strategist after all, and he knows even the smallest amount of intel that he’s been able to glean off his momentary run-ins with Zuko would be a strong asset. If he were able to extrapolate anything worthwhile from it, he might even get a promotion out of it.

But, Sokka has to admit to himself, just this once he wants to be selfish in a way that he so rarely is allowed to be. He wants to keep this strange, tense relationship that he’s building with Zuko to himself. The fact that there’s been no other explicit attempt on his life makes him think that Zuko feels the same way. Suki raises an eyebrow every time Sokka mentions his mysterious ‘source’ that is giving him the lowdown on enemy targets, even as everyone else scrambles to devise counter plans and theories.

Sokka knows he’ll have to tell her eventually if she doesn’t figure it out herself. He feels guilty for the deception, even if it’s through omission. He gets assigned a mission and he recognizes the name of the city on the file. He’s handed his target’s daily schedule for the next week and is asked how many days he thinks he’ll need to complete the mission. It only takes Sokka a few minutes of looking through the files to devise a handful of plans. It would take two, maybe three days tops.

“I need five days,” He tells his handlers. They nod, accepting his word as gospel, because why wouldn’t they? Sokka has always been truthful, always been a hard worker. They book him into a nice hotel, set up safe houses, and wave him off, telling him good luck and that they’ll see him in a week. He tells Katara the gist of his upcoming mission and she whistles.

“Wow, a week? That’s pretty long for you. You think it’ll be difficult?”

“It might get a little tricky.” The lie curdles in his gut. He didn’t think he’d have to keep his spying from his friends. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

The smile that Katara sends him only makes him feel worse.

      It’s five months since the last time Zuko and Sokka exchanged actual words instead of just passing looks when Zuko finds himself in front of the man again. For once, Zuko isn’t actually on a job, is on his home turf, and he certainly doesn’t expect to see Sokka standing in the same art gallery as him. As soon as he sees Sokka’s tall figure, he looks around the room, trying to spot out who Sokka could possibly be after. There are a few mothers with children, university students scribbling in notebooks, a few seniors slowly making their way through the exhibits, the rhythmic thud thud thud of their canes hitting the stone floor, reverberating through the room like a failing heartbeat.

Zuko isn’t exactly shocked to see that no one else besides him would warrant a visit by Sokka. He doesn’t know if he should be disappointed that their little truce is over or honoured that Sokka came to carry it out himself.

Sokka strolls over and stands next to him, tilting his head at the painting in front of them. It’s centuries-old, painted on silk, two dragons dancing around each other with flames of all different colours pouring out of their mouths. It’s one of Zuko’s favourite pieces. If he’s going to die, he’s glad that he got to see it one last time.

“Hello, Sokka,” Zuko says softly, forcing himself to keep staring at the painting in front of them.

“Hey, Zuko.”

They stand in silence for a minute, Sokka occasionally humming as he tilts his head in another direction, bringing a hand up to his chin as he examines it.

Zuko clears his throat. “Truce over?”

“What?” Sokka asks, eyes darting around. “Why?”

“... Is that not why you’re here?” The confusion in his voice is palpable. Sokka shakes his head.

“No, no, of course not.” He says it as if the possibility is out of this world, as if Zuko is delusional to even suggest that Sokka’s joking armistice would end. He almost looks offended.

“Then why are you here?”

“I had business in the city,” Sokka says, his open face contrasting with his curt words.

“But why are you  here? ”

“Oh,” Sokka’s hand lifts to the back of his neck. The skin over his nose and cheeks deepens in colour, his skin too dark to flush pink like Zuko’s. “I heard that you liked to spend time here, so I’d thought I’d check it out.”

For a moment, Zuko thinks he should be concerned over the fact that his habits are so well-known by enemy intelligence agencies. Zuko looks at Sokka for a moment longer, taking in his denim and hoodie-clad figure. He has no bag and his clothes are only baggy enough that if he’s concealing any weapons, they’re probably only as deadly as Zuko’s own hidden armoury.

“Well,” Zuko says slowly, “How are you liking it so far?”

Soka grins, understanding the olive branch that Zuko has extended for what it is. “It’s really neat! The art style over here is so different than what I’m used to.”

Zuko smiles at Sokka’s excitement. “I’m glad you like it. I’ve loved this place since I was a child.”

“Really, you’ve been coming that long?” Sokka asks as if he doesn’t already know, as if whatever file that has Zuko’s name and photo in it isn’t bursting with all the details of his family life and interests. Though, Zuko will realize later, reading all that on a piece of paper or a glowing computer screen, is nothing compared to hearing it from the smiling lips of the other man. He wonders if Sokka thinks the same way.

“Yeah, I used to come here all the time with my mother.”

Sokka hums and looks back at the dragons. They stand in silence for a few more minutes, before Zuko walks into the next room to see the other art pieces. It doesn’t escape his notice that Sokka slowly follows him, that within a few minutes of one of them abandoning an exhibit, the other one follows.

There are too many cameras that Sokka couldn’t possibly have shut off for this long, and there’s too big of a risk for them to sit down and talk to each other. Instead, they settle with the comforting sounds of each other’s shoes, of listening to the occasional hum when one of them sees a piece that speaks to them, and once, of the feeling of Zuko’s hand gliding across Sokka’s and he walks by him. He doesn’t get the chance to look back and see Sokka’s face, but he can feel his own heart racing when he feels the warm brush across his knuckles.

After a few hours, both of them walk out of the museum and walk opposite directions down the street. Zuko’s heart is racing just as much as it was on his first mission, just as much as it was when he went on his first date and had his first kiss. He doesn’t even try and push down the feelings that are bubbling up in his mind.

Zuko thinks about that as he cooks dinner for himself that night. How standing in silence with another man for hours was the most fun he’s had in ages, how the memory of a momentary brush of hands is enough to make his face flush pink even hours later. Maybe, Zuko considers, just maybe, years of working with detached emotions were getting to him.

He doesn’t follow that train of thought, though he sticks a pin in it for later. In a few days, he flies out again to gather intel on some diplomat or another, and as he follows the man with a concealed camera, he has to force himself not to let his mind wander to Sokka.

      It gets harder to silence his feelings after spending time with Sokka. Zuko doesn’t know how to handle the new waves of feelings and doubts that wash over him, like he’s a corpse on a beach at high tide. It feels frightening, dishonourable, improper.

It feels fun, new,  exciting. It’s terrible. It’s nice.

Zuko makes an effort to keep an eye out for Sokka everywhere he goes. There are only so many cities in the world where conglomerates and politicians and military officials alike flock too. And if he presses his ear a little closer to the ground to listen to the underground gossip about which hotel a certain spy will be staying at, and then putting in a request to stay at the same one for ‘tactical reasons’, well, no one has to know except him. And Sokka.

They can’t talk, obviously. Zuko knows that he’s being watched almost constantly. His high position only affords him enough freedom that all his movements aren’t examined with a fine-tooth comb, but if he were to stop and chat with someone in a lobby, or if he were to purposefully sit down next to someone at breakfast, well. Someone would notice. Someone would ask a few questions.

He settles for sideways glances, for slight smiles, for watching a finger tap against a table or a railing in an irregular fashion and for tapping his own finger in reply.

It’s nice to see you again,  says the china teacup in Zuko’s hand.  You look good.

Flatterer, the menu across the dining room replies.

It warms Zuko’s heart, makes it shutter with happiness and fear and something else that he isn’t quite ready to acknowledge. It feels like too much and not enough. He wonders if it’ll ever feel like enough.

Zuko finds a note in his jacket pocket when he collects it from the coat check. He’s briefly annoyed and alarmed, worrying the piece of paper in his pocket as he walks through the hotel. He doesn’t pull it out until he’s in his room, in a corner that he’s certain hasn't been bugged. He unfolds the paper carefully, fully aware that any dangerous chemical that may be coating it has probably already entered his system through his skin. He curses himself silent before he reads it.

  Lunch, 3 days from now, 1pm?

An address is written at the bottom. The scrawl is messy, slanted and jagged, and there’s no signature or name. Zuko knows exactly who it’s from. He puts a call in and says he’ll need a few more days to complete his mission.

Three days later Zuko spends two hours wandering around the city, avoiding cameras, and ducking in and out of buses, taxis, and trains. He double, triple, quadruple checks that he isn’t being tailed - he isn’t sure what would be worse, an enemy spy following him or one that’s supposed to be on his side - before he even starts heading in the general direction of the address Sokka gave him. He hasn’t seen him since he found the note, and he supposes it’s for the best. Zuko wonders if that says something about him, that Sokka didn’t even bother checking to see if Zuko would accept, just assumed he would say yes.

The address brings him to a bistro situated on a lazy side street. There’s no vehicle traffic, only meandering pedestrians and the occasional cyclist pedalling slowly, clearly not in a rush to get to the busier roads. There are no security cameras in sight, and half the stores have plaques in the window that tell everyone that they’re cash only. The bistro has a large patio section and skinny iron tables and chairs. The umbrellas are bleached from the sun and the waiters are chatting with customers in a friendly manner, clearly well acquainted with the regulars. There’s a sign in the window that says, “ Please seat yourself!”  

For a moment Zuko falters, unsure where to sit; if he should head to the cozy inside, where there’s less of a chance that anyone walking by would see him, or if he should sit outside, where he’s sure that no security camera inside will spot him. As he’s weighing his options he looks across the patio and sees a man pull out a chair and sit down at one of the tables, leaning his head on a hand. His blue shirt is partially hidden in a leather jacket. Zuko looks up and sees beaded braids and a face mostly obscured by sunglasses and a dark hand, propping up a chin. When Zuko meets his gaze behind the tinted lens, the man moves his hand and gives him a lazy, blinding smile.

Zuko pulls out a chair, three tables away from him, making sure that he has a clear view of Sokka. They look at each other, silent and distant while they both wait for someone to take their orders. Zuko spends more time than he wants to admit taking in the parts of Sokka’s face that he can, eyes darting to the splatter of freckles across his nose, the plushness of his lips, his sharp cheekbones. Zuko is aware of what he looks like to others, he looks like he does that job that he does. But Sokka is so lovely to look at, so pretty, so handsome, so perfect. He looks like he should be worshipped, not working to uphold and topple governments. Sokka is as beautiful as he is talented, and more than anything Zuko wants to stand up and walk over, sit close to him and take him all in. He wants to remove Sokka’s sunglasses and his own and he wants to look him in the eyes. He wants to be close enough that he can feel and touch and know.

Instead, Zuko peers at the menu on his table, looking at the different meal options. Most of the food seems to be inspired by Southern Earth Kingdom cuisine, though there seem to be assortments of Water Tribe food throughout. Zuko decides what he wants just as a waiter returns to take his order, putting down a glass of water for him too. Sokka is still talking to his waitress when Zuko’s leaves, and he says something that makes her eyes dart over to Zuko and smile. She nods, turns, and leaves. Sokka grins at Zuko again and taps his fingers against his own water glass.

A few minutes later, the waitress returns with two glasses. She places a glass of dark pink watermelon wine on Sokka’s table before turning and walking to Zuko, putting the other on his table. She gives him a wink as she does and says, “Compliments of the gentleman at the other table.”

She’s almost giddy as she says it, probably envisioning a romantic future for the both of them, stemming from this one gesture. It almost makes Zuko sad to realize that he’ll never get that. Still, he smiles politely at her, before looking towards Sokka and raising an eyebrow.

Not very discreet, he taps against the new glass. Sokka just smiles wider, raising his glass slightly. Zuko raises his in return before taking a sip.

They eat their meals silently and decline dessert menus when the waiters offer them. They send each other one last smile before they leave, walking in different directions.

    A week later, Zuko sends a text on a burner phone that says, “I had a really good time. Are you free in 12 days?”

    Sokka knows he’s getting sloppy, with all his extended missions, and his new habit of not checking in as frequently. His friends are starting to pick up that he’s hiding  something , judging by his new caginess when they tease him about being single (“Not everyone can be in an eight-year relation by the age of twenty-six, Katara.”), the fact that he always seems to be glued to a new burner phone every week, and because he’s stopped complaining about travel times.

He just didn’t think he was getting sloppy enough to warrant Suki showing up to his hotel room, her knock as distinctive as ever (two slow, three fast, then an open-palmed  slap to the wood). He still peaks through the eyehole, sees her staring with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow back at him. Sokka swears under his breath and uses the clean edge of his bloodied shirt to unlock the door. He takes a step back for Suki to let herself in.

She does, closing the door and locking it behind her, before peeling off her gloves. She turns to look at Sokka, eyes his slightly torn and bloody undershirt, and the bruising on his arms and chin.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Suki chimes with fake cheeriness. “It looks like you’ve wrapped up business early, that means you can take me out for a night on the town today, then breakfast and shopping tomorrow, and then we can head to HQ in the evening together!”

Suki stares at him, grinning like she knows she won (Because she has). Sokka is almost annoyed at her.

“I can’t,” he says, “Well, I mean, we can hang out tonight, and tomorrow, but, uh, I got some stuff to do before I head back.”

“Well then, I can just tag along.”

Sokka sighs and hangs his head. “No, you can’t.”

“And why not?”

“You know why.” He whines. Suki laughs a little.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Sokka groans, pulls the collar of his shirt up to cover his face. “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

He can’t see Suki’s face, but he knows she grinning victoriously. She claps her hands together and lets out a, “Ha! I knew it!”

After a few seconds, he pulls his shirt back down, to see Suki going over to sit on the bed.

“Go finish cleaning yourself up, Sokka, and then I’ll grill you.” Sokka nods as he heads to the bathroom and he hears Suki fumbling for the TV remote. He peels off his undershirt before hopping into the shower for a quick rinse, hissing when the steaming water hits his damaged skin. He scrubs until he’s sure that there’s nothing incriminating left on his body and then stands under the spray for a few more minutes, letting the water relax his muscles. He takes a few deep breaths, letting the steam fill his lungs as he prepares himself for the conversation with Suki. She knows that he’s seeing someone, but she clearly doesn’t know  who  and what his affiliations are.

Sokka tells himself that she’s figured out this much, he’ll come totally clean to her, even if she might kill him in response. (She would be within her right to kill him, as a fellow spy, and as his ex-girlfriend/best friend.)

He exits the bathroom wearing a fuzzy robe and flops onto the bed next to Suki. She laughs as Sokka wriggles around to get comfortable, and they spend a few minutes watching trashy reruns of reality shows.

“So,” Suki begins, drawing out the ‘o’ sound. Sokka tenses his jaw. “You’re seeing someone.”

“Kind of?” He tries. Suki turns her head and looks at him.

“Care to elaborate, Sokka dear?”

He sighs. He knew that his evasion attempt wouldn’t work. “We… haven’t really talked about it yet.”

She hums. “Okay, and when were you thinking of telling everyone?”

“I wasn’t,” He admits, feeling a stab of guilt when hurt flashes across Suki’s face. “Trust me, you, Katara, everyone… won’t approve.”

“And why’s that?”

“He’s… kinda a spy as well.”

Suki rolls her eyes. “So? We’ve all had our little trysts with fellow spies. Katara had that thing with Haru and Jet when she was training- wait, is it Jet? Sokka, how could you, I thought you had standards!”

Sokka mimes an exaggerated gagging motion before snapping, “It’s not Jet!”

“Then-”

“It’s not someone you know.”

“What do you mean, I know everyone-” Her eyes narrow. “Why wouldn’t I know him?”

Sokka takes a deep breath. “He’s… not exactly our ally.” Suki is silent so Sokka goes on. “In fact, he’s the exact opposite of our ally.”

“You’re beating around the iceberg, Sokka,” Suki calls him out. “Building the suspense won’t make my reaction better or worse.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Sokka admits. He closes his eyes. “It’s Zuko Sugita.”

Suki is quiet, for long enough that Sokka opens a single eye to look at her. Her eyebrows are furrowed in confusion.

“...Zuko…”

“Yes.”

“Your failed target Zuko.”

“Yes.”

“Was meant to kill you Zuko.”

“Yes.”

“Will probably be ordered again to kill you in the future Zuko.”

“...Yes.”

Suki takes a deep inhale. “You’re right, I don’t approve.” Sokka sighs but Suki goes on. “But, as much as I question this decision, I know that you aren’t stupid, and I know you don’t throw yourself into mindless endeavours.”

Sokka snorts. “Yeah, I hope this isn’t mindless.”

A woman on the television lets out a shriek as someone throws a glass of water on her. Suki lets out a chuckle at the scene. They spend a few minutes watching the drama unfold.

“Are you safe with him?” She asks, tentatively.

“Am I safe with anyone?” He looks over at her. “Besides, you know, you and the gang?”

Suki looks down for a moment. “I guess not.”

They watch a few more episodes, Suki calls room service for them, and they eat food so rich that they need to take sips of water in between each bite. Sokka offers to let Suki stay the night, they can share the bed, after all, but she waves him off.

“I have my own hotel room a few blocks over.” She gives him a sly grin. “But I do expect you to take me out for breakfast tomorrow.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “I think I can manage that.”

Before she leaves, Sokka finally says, “I don’t think he would hurt me.” Suki’s head snaps to look at him, eyes wide. “I’m pretty sure he likes me too much to do anything, and he’s had plenty of chances already.”

Something minuscule in Suki’s face shifts. “That doesn’t make me feel any better, Sokka.”

“I know,” he says.

She gives him a tight hug before she leaves his hotel room and an even tighter hug when she says goodbye after breakfast the next morning. Sokka tries and fails to push down his guilt as he hugs back, and again when he gets dressed in his most nondescript clothing for his ‘date’ with Zuko at a cafe the day after.

    The natural progression of their dates is switching from lunch to dinner, a time more typically reserved for romantic outings. Zuko feels only a little bit awkward, sitting in a dark corner of a candlelit restaurant, surrounded by couples so wrapped up in each other, as he sends shy smiles to a man sitting against the opposite wall. Occasionally they’ll go on walks afterwards, always beginning their walks by heading different directions, zig-zagging through the streets and crossing each other at random, walking parallel on different sidewalks to each other. Their movements are similar enough to typical evasive maneuvers that if they pick up any tagalongs, it’ll just look like they’re avoiding typical detection.  

It’s five more months of distanced dinner dates, random texts from burner phones, and the occasional scrambled phone call when Zuko glances up at Sokka across a bar they’ve been sitting at and sees him tapping a finger on his fruity drink.

  Room… 3..5..7

Zuko raises a shocked eyebrow.

  You sure?

Sokka gives a nod so small that no one else would notice.

  Room 357

Then Sokka downs the rest of his colourful drink, slapping down a couple of bills onto the table, before walking out of the bar. Zuko stays seated, still nursing the gross beer that he ordered for lack of knowledge of what else to get, contemplating. Heading to Sokka’s room is a huge increase in risk. Even if it’s not a setup, being that close to Sokka, in private, is a risk in and of itself. He knows, through rumours and his own research, that Sokka is a formidable and talented fighter in a variety of combat types and forms.

Zuko knows that he should slam his drink down immediately, walk out of the bar and back to his own hotel room. He should tell someone that he knows what room Sokka is staying in or at the very least  not go . He should be the spy and Fire Nation subject that he’s supposed to be; show a little will power, backbone, and loyalty.

Instead, Zuko takes a few more tentative sips of his beer before paying his bill. He walks languidly back to the hotel that he and Sokka are both staying at, taking a meandering route, even when he enters the lobby. He goes to his own room, shutting the door quickly behind him. He goes to the bathroom, cups cool water in his hands as he rinses off the grime that the bar left on his skin. He brushes his teeth and he steadfastly does  not look at his own reflection in the mirror - the reflection of a man that’s betraying his country, his job, his family, with his own complacencies and non-action. He lays down on his bed for a few minutes, mind and heart racing, thinking about all the possible outcomes and consequences that he’s going to ignore.

When Zuko feels enough time has passed - for what, he isn’t sure - he gets up and walks out of his room. The walk to Sokka’s room isn’t long, only a few minutes and a single elevator ride. Zuko stands in front of the door, tentative and unsure, before knocking softly.

He almost jumps when the door opens - he should have guessed that Sokka would be stealthy when approaching the door - and as soon as the crack is wide enough, Zuko slips inside before he’s even seen Sokka. The door slams shut behind him, locks scrapping closed. For a moment, Zuko feels a wave of panic; his back is turned to a possible assailant in a locked, dimly lit ( mood lighting?  Zuko wonders) room. It’s stupid and unprofessional and if Zuko gets killed right now, he would deserve it.

Zuko turns and when his eyes meet Sokka’s, he can’t help but smile, his previous worries melting away when he sees the grinning face and wavy hair of the man he’s become so enamoured with.

“Hey,” Sokka says, giddiness seeping through his tone.

“Hey,” Zuko replies. They stand there, staring at each other for a few seconds, before Sokka takes a step forward, standing so close to Zuko that he can feel the warmth radiating through both of their shirts.

Slowly, as if he was lining up a shot, Sokka raises his arms and wraps them around Zuko’s back. He pulls Zuko close, resting his head against his shoulders, and just holds him there. Slowly, Zuko raises his own arms until they wrap around Sokka’s firm waist, fighting the urge to push him away. Zuko buries his face in Sokka's neck, feels the softness of his sweater against his scarred face, and closes his eyes. He hears Sokka sighing and can feel him grinning from where his face is pressed against his hair.

Zuko can’t remember the last time he held, or was held by, someone so close. Sokka’s embrace gets tighter as Zuko relaxes into the hug and instead of feeling scared or worried, Zuko just feels supported, comforted, even cared for. He wants to press into Sokka and never pull away. He wants to feel the warmth and pressure of another body, riddled with scars and muscle and weighed down by terrible things, against him forever.

Zuko isn’t sure how long they stand there, in the entrance of Sokka’s hotel room - a strategically terrible place to linger - lost in each other’s arms. Long enough that his feet begin to ache in his nondescript sneakers, and his arms start to protest at being held static for so long. He pushes through it until he feels Sokka let out one last pleased sigh and begins to untangle himself from Zuko.

Once they’re apart they walk further into the room, though Zuko can’t bring himself to remove a hand from Sokka’s arm, can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away to look around the room, even as he kicks his shoes off and lays on the plush mattress next to his paramour.

Sokka grabs Zuko’s hand and fiddles with his slender fingers. The tv is on but muted, and in his periphery, Zuko can see people run across an elaborate obstacle course as crowds cheer them on. The air conditioner hums and rattles. Sokka clears his throat.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asks, wincing slightly at his clunky delivery. Zuko opens his mouth, and instead of an answer, a laugh tumbles out.

“How have I been?” he repeats, giggles increasing. Sokka lets out a groan before laughing a little himself. “What kind of question is that?”

“I know! I didn’t know what else to say!” Sokka defends, shoving his face into the overstuffed pillows. Zuko schools his laughter until it subsides and clears his throat.

“I’ve… I’ve been okay. Working, you know.” Sokka peers up from the pillow, strands of hair tousled. Zuko falters slightly at the sight of Sokka looking so calm, so comfortable while looking at him. “... How about you?”

“Pretty much the same.”

They struggle through small talk for a few more minutes, both feeling vulnerable and unsure of how to talk to one another. It doesn’t escape them how this is the longest they’ve ever been around each other, that even with their stilted words and awkward delivery that they were in the midst of the longest conversation they’ve ever had.

Zuko is reminded of being a teenager and desperately trying to talk to Mai, how he tried so hard to talk to her when conversations before they dated, seemed to happen so easily.

Eventually, he and Sokka stumble upon a comfortable rhythm, both of them ignoring the fact that the other likely already knew most of the personal information that they share. Sokka speaks vaguely of his sister and Zuko nods along as if he hasn’t already read pages of intel about Katara Amarok and her work in field medicine. Zuko would respond by talking about places he visited with his family, lakes that his mother took him to go swimming, as if Sokka hadn’t compiled detailed lists of properties his family owned and the eventual fate of Ursa.

It’s a healthy in-between of impersonal and private, one that both of them found easier to navigate with the looming knowledge that their actions would be considered nigh-treasonous by many of their peers and superiors. Hours pass with Zuko laughing at Sokka’s less-than-stellar jokes, Sokka rolling his eyes at Zuko’s sarcasm and dour terseness, and with them smiling fondly as they both went on long-winded tangents and rambles.

If Zuko tries hard enough, he can pretend that the distance between their jobs, nations, and fates was as easy to cross as the inches between them in the room. He reaches out, brushes a hand against the rough skin of Sokka’s palm, grinning as he feels the pulse quicken beneath the surface.

The night was long hung outside the closed curtains of Sokka’s room, the television now playing old reruns to fill in the dead space, and Zuko could feel tiredness clinging to his eyelashes every time he blinked. The duvet covers that he and Sokka were laying on were warm and comforting, sunk in and encasing his body. If there was a risk - and there  was a risk - that came with him being in Sokka’s room, the risk of sleeping in it was tenfold.

Zuko makes a few half-hearted attempts to sit up, but Sokka’s laughter at his bedhead, or a question, or even just a soft look in Sokka’s eyes always made Zuko return. It was stupid, staying long enough that he was beginning to have to stifle yawns behind a hand, but Zuko was realizing, Sokka made him a little bit stupid. Or maybe he always was.

It’s in the middle of a story that Sokka is telling, about his hometown and snow and fishhooks, that Zuko blinks and finds that his eyelids want to stay closed more than his eyes want to gaze at Sokka some more. In any other situation, Zuko would be concerned that he was poisoned, but he’s too warm, too comfortable, too content to worry about that now.

Either Sokka didn’t notice Zuko nodding off, or if he did he figured that that was no reason to stop talking. That night, Zuko drifts off to sleep with a deep voice and a fleeting laugh echoing inside his skull. It was a nice way to fall asleep.

    Sokka smiles as he looks at Zuko, his face smooth and calm with sleep, fingers slightly curled into his palms, and hair sprawled against the pillow. Even his scar looks less severe, the muscles under it relaxed. He’s a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. Sokka spends a few minutes watching the sleeping form before he stands to try and pull the blanket out from under Zuko without waking him. It takes a few minutes, with Zuko murmuring at the sensation a few times, but eventually, Sokka manages to extract the plush cover from under his body, and carefully drapes it over Zuko’s pale skin. He goes to the washroom and brushes his teeth as quietly as he can, before returning to the bedroom, shucking off his jeans, and crawling under the covers, relishing in the shared warmth once again.

Sokka turns off the lights and the television, the only noise in the room is the hum from the aircon, and the steady breathing of the man next to him. Sokka closes his eyes and pretends that nothing is wrong and nothing is out of place.

    The next morning Zuko is eased awake by the calm, steady breathing of someone else. He blinks open his eyes, and through the blurriness of sleep, he sees the bronze skin, plush lips, and bushy eyebrows of Sokka. A thin stream of light sneaks through the curtains and lands on Sokka’s hair, illuminating the natural high and lowlights in it.

Zuko doesn’t have to go out to work until the evening, so despite the fact that if his handler tries to check on him he’ll be fucked, despite the need to put drops into his damaged eye, despite the voice in his head screaming that he needs to run or snap Sokka’s neck, Zuko smiles, snuggles closer until his nose is brushing Sokka’s chest, and he closes his eyes. Sleep washes over him like a warm bath and Zuko revels in it.

      Sokka smiles when he looks at himself in the mirror, the warmth of the bed and Zuko long faded and replaced with the warmth of the shower. Sokka feels more well-rested than he has in ages, and he doubts it's because he slept in a bit more than he usually allows himself. He tries his best to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake the half-asleep man that had reached out for him when he tried to extract himself from the bed not twenty minutes early. All sleep drunk and fuzzy, Zuko had let out a whine when Sokka had pulled away, blinking at his strong form and pouting when he said, “I’m just going to shower.”

“Come back soon,” Zuko had mumbled, flopping down onto Sokka’s pillow. He had buried his face into the soft pillow, but Sokka was certain that the tip of his undamaged ear was a bit pinker than usual.

It almost makes Sokka laugh, remembering it in the steam-filled room. Zuko's reputation as a deadly, precise, unstoppable spy seems so far away from the sleepy lump in Sokka’s bed.

The thought wipes the smile off of Sokka’s face immediately.

Zuko is a spy - an enemy spy. And Sokka left him unsupervised in his room. The room that contains his laptop, his cellphone, all his gadgets and files. Not even hidden away, just in his suitcase and backpack that is propped against the wall by the television. Sokka was so entranced in his happy daze, he didn’t consider the fact that he wasn’t listening for movement, and if he was, it would have been dulled by the constant fall of water from the shower. Suddenly the warm humid air feels ice cold as Sokka thinks about the consequences of his oversight.

He wipes the toothpaste off his mouth with the back of his hand, and as fast as he can on the damp tiles, he runs to the bathroom door, flinging it open, expecting to see Zuko hunched over his laptop, typing away.

Instead, he sees Zuko sitting against the headboard, still curled beneath the blankets, holding the room service menu. His head shoots up at the commotion, and he gives a little grin to Sokka.

“I was thinking we could have breakfast?” he asks, voice almost shy.

Sokka blinks a few times, the dread in his stomach receding. He walks towards the bed and slowly kneels on it. Zuko has to tilt his head up a little to look at Sokka’s face, still damp from steam and glistening.

Slowly, as if he was back home and lining up a shot to take down a moose, Sokka reaches out towards Zuko’s face, watching as his amber eyes track the hand until it reaches the soft skin of his chin.

Sokka tilts Zuko’s head up further, the shorter man shuffling against the sheets slightly to rise more, and eyes fluttering shut. Sokka leans down, his own eyes closing, and presses his lips against Zuko’s.

Zuko’s lips are warm and chapped, almost scraping against the soft skin of Sokka’s. He can hear the other man sigh through his nose as he presses himself up against Sokka, hand wrapping around the broad wrist which cups his face.

It is objectively chaste, a simple press of lips, but it makes Sokka’s heart race as if he was a teen sneaking glances at his crush in school. His face almost feels numb with adrenaline and behind his closed eyes, he thinks he sees fireworks.

Sokka’s sense of time disappears with this proximity to Zuko. When they slowly pull away from each other, both of them blinking their eyes open, he’s unsure if they spent seconds or minutes basking in the intimacy of each other. He leans his forehead against Zuko’s, the tip of their noses brushing against each other. Sokka knows that his own face is hot to the touch and so close to Zuko, he can see the dusting of pink that covers the unblemished side of his face.

Sokka lets out a deep breath, and Zuko turns his gaze downcast as if he already knows what Sokka is about to say. “We should probably talk about the fact that, at some point, we’ll be asked to kill each other.”

        It’s a beautiful night in Ba Sing Se, the sky an inky blanket and the stars like tiny diamonds poking through it. The moon hangs fat and shining, bathing the dark corners of the city in a pale blue glow. The lights on the innermost wall have been set to just a dim yellow glow, just enough light to see - and to illuminate the expensive jewels that all the fatcats of the Earth Kingdom adorn themselves with - but not so bright as to take attention away from the ethereal glow of traditional candles and festivities happening in the streets down below.

Zuko knows that there are no cameras, even before his eyes dart around to look for any. There are too many politicians that aren’t meant to be speaking to profiteers in one place, too many deals being made in plain, drunken view of everyone.

Zuko walks in the periphery of the festivities, hugging the wall and side-stepping nobles who are cheating on their spouses. He doesn’t care about whatever holiday all these people are using as an excuse to get drunk. He’s only here to finish a mission that’s been left incomplete for too long.

Zuko smoothes down the front of his embroidered green robes as he manages to free himself from the tangle of people enjoying the indoor, roofed section of the Wall, used to host elaborate parties for those who can afford to attend - or who are skilled enough to sneak in. The ceiling disappears, as does the top half of the wall, allowing for the noise from the streets below to carry up through the balconies as people get excited about the upcoming fireworks. A breeze rushes to greet him, blowing some of his hair off his face, no doubt tangling some of the longer strands. Zuko frowns, hand reaching up to check if his top-knot has come undone, before tossing the rest of his hair over his shoulder, enjoying the silky feeling as it passes through his fingers. It’s getting long now, Zuko thinks absently, and he’s ignored the sly suggestions and comments from Azula and his father to cut it for tactical reasons. They haven’t outright ordered him to chop it off yet, so Zuko will take what he can get.

There is a lone figure leaning against a balcony, his shoulders broad, his hair hanging to his shoulders, small beads glittering in the moonlight. Zuko stealthily approaches, the din of the party falling away with each step. All he would need to do is get right behind him, could snap his neck or stab him in the back, or maybe just push him over the edge if he was feeling like gambling with the outcome. It would be quick, it would be proper, and he could leave before any of the drunk idiots laughing behind him could notice. Zuko reaches the railing and stands several feet away from the man. Out of the corner of his right eye, he can see him glancing over at him.

“Pretty night,” Sokka says as a greeting. “Moon is full.”

“Yeah… bright,” Zuko replies, awkwardly. Sokka lets out a soft laugh. Zuko ducks his head down slightly. He hears Sokka fumbling around in his pocket, pulling out a small leather pouch, and placing it on the flat, stone railing. With a flick of his wrist, Sokka sends the pouch towards Zuko, the leather making a scraping noise as it slides across the stone. Zuko is glad he stood to Sokka’s left, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to hear or spot it as it slides over, but as it is, he swiftly catches the bag in his right hand without so much as looking down. He raises an eyebrow at Sokka, careful not to look over at him to ask  what is this?

Below, he hears people shouting, hears the boom of gunpowder igniting, and then the sky is ablaze in sparkling green light. There’s cheers and applause at the display, and another cannon sounds and the sky is painted in a glorious rainbow of colours.

Zuko looks down at the pouch in his hand, his slim fingers loosening the drawstring and fishing out the contents, and gasps at what he sees. A shining stone hung from a strip of darkly dyed leather. In the newly purple radiance of fireworks, Zuko could see that the stone was a deep blue, almost black, and it was adorned with delicate carvings of sparks surrounding a sword. Zuko tears his gaze away to look at Sokka - a dangerous move, he knows, but he couldn’t help himself - and meets Sokka’s gaze. He was smiling, but there was anxiety swimming in his dark eyes. Zuko knows what the necklace means, and Sokka knows that Zuko knows. Even without all the files that he’s collected about Sokka over the years and history classes that he slept through in high school, he would know from Katara.

Their meeting was unconventional, with Zuko sitting at a patio cafe across the street from the bistro that Katara and Sokka sat, only able to give a small wave to her before they switched to a burner phone. Katara had been critical of him, could trust him just about as far as she could throw him (or maybe less than that), and it took many more of those distanced meetings before Katara gave her approval - something that was oh so important to Sokka. She was wearing the necklace that her mother gave to her for the first few meetings, and then it changed to a new one, the stone a little brighter, the leather choker a little less worn. Zuko found out that she was getting married to her partner Aang, and that he had carved the stone that she now wore. All three of them had been quite disappointed and upset when Zuko couldn’t attend the wedding, but all of them knew that it would have put all of them in too much danger.

Zuko knows that the necklace is a risk of the highest magnitude, for both of them. Zuko’s status as a spy - the status being  LIVING  and not  TERMINATED - is already in question. Too many failed missions, too much arguing, too many enemies conveniently changing plans at the very last second, ending missions before they even began. Too much doubt in the eyes of Zuko’s superior about his loyalties. A necklace like this is like taping a bullseye on his forehead. And for Sokka, his reputation will suffer, no matter how they turn out. In the pit of his stomach, Zuko feels guilty that he’s robbed Sokka of the romantic life that he envisioned for himself, the life he deserved.

Zuko hasn’t even met Sokka’s parents yet, for spirit's sake, hasn’t gone hunting with Hakoda or tried to carve bone with Bato. He hasn’t been able to ask for their blessing in his and Sokka’s relationship, and even if he could, he isn’t sure that they would say yes. Sokka speaks of his dad and step-father with so much love in his voice and eyes, and while it’s clear that he respects them, and they he, Zuko isn’t sure that any parent would be thrilled to welcome him into their family. (Spirits, did Sokka even tell his family that he was proposing, Zuko wonders, heartbeat in his ears. Sokka loves his family so much, loves his culture so much, Zuko doesn’t know if he could stand being a wedge that divides his beloved from the few things that bring him joy and stability.)

The cacophony of worry in his head abruptly silences itself, when Zuko blinks and takes another look at Sokka’s hopeful face. Zuko realizes that they’re both terrified of hearing Zuko’s answer.

Laughter bubbles out of Zuko’s throat without his permission, a grin breaks out over his face before he’s able to school his expression back to one of neutrality. He’s pretty sure that no one is watching them though, too focused on the blinding explosions happening in the sky above. Unable to keep the grin fully off his face, Zuko brings trembling hands to his throat, working the clasp on the leather until the stone sits comfortably between his collarbones.

Sokka beams with joy, smiling so wide that for a moment Zuko thinks his face will split. An especially loud crash from fireworks startles both of them, tearing their gazes away from each other to look at the tie-dyed sky, and Sokka uses the distraction to reign in his emotions. They look at each other once again, and Zuko moves to take a step away, to slip through the crowds again, back to his hotel room, to call in a failed mission once again. But then he pauses, his head tilting to the side and hand reaching up to find his chin, earning a questioning look from Sokka. For a moment, Zuko stands still, goes over his options; this ‘failure’ will earn him more scrutiny than his previous ones, he knows, and he doubts that his new wedding gift  (!)  will be overlooked. If he goes back home, he’ll be on the run soon enough.

Sokka smiles when Zuko takes a step towards him and gently grabs his hand. When Sokka makes no moves to pull away - Zuko should have guessed that Sokka would know every choice that he was going to make this evening - Zuko tentatively places his head on Sokka’s shoulder, letting out a groan as Sokka coos at him.

They watch the end of the firework show and for the first time, they walk out of a building hand in hand.

        Zuko is pacing. If Sokka were here, he would probably make fun of him and would tell him that he’s going to make himself dizzy with all his walking back and forth. That is unless Sokka is pacing as well. Strictly speaking, he and Sokka shouldn’t be waiting in separate rooms right now, but Sokka wanted to speak to his family for a little while longer, and Zuko had no complaints. Zuko left Sokka to laugh and joke with Katara, to show off the carved abalone shell necklace that Zuko made for him to Bato and Hakoda; privately, Zuko was grateful that Sokka seemed to brag about the necklace to anyone who would listen. He hopes it’ll help his chances to get Bato and Hakoda to like him more, consider how little time he’s been able to spend with them, between clearing out all his safe houses and avoiding assassination attempts.

While Sokka spent more time with his family, Zuko went to place their offerings on the Agni shrine, reciting the steps he had to follow his head, trying to remember when he needed to clap, when to place the fire lilies on the base, and what prayers he needed to repeat to get Agni to give his blessing. Sokka had told Zuko, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t going to partake in prayer.

“We don’t worship Agni,” Sokka had said, and Zuko knew who ‘we’ were. Zuko hadn’t argued, knowing that it would be hypocritical to complain about Sokka not partaking in all of his culture’s traditions when they had pretty much ignored all of Sokka’s to be together. Zuko isn’t upset with Sokka, but now that he was alone in front of an Agni’s altar, the nervousness that had been kept at a low simmer when he was with Sokka grew until it thrummed beneath his skin.

What are we doing?   Zuko thinks, hands gripping the vibrant red fabric of his kimono. Upon noticing what he’s doing, Zuko forces himself to unclench his hands, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of the silk. It’s crazy for him and Sokka to get married. Zuko is happy to give up his life of espionage, is better off for it, and probably would be much happier if he had given it up years ago. But what if Sokka isn’t happy to give it up like he says he is? What if Sokka ceases going on missions and is bored? What if the only reason why he and Zuko work well together is because of the danger they’re in, because it’s a forbidden pleasure that they both want to partake in? What will happen when they’re both just… normal people, with jobs that don’t involve deceit or assault?

Spirits, Zuko would rather go on a thousand deadly missions than go through with what he and Sokka are about to do.

But before that thought can go any further, he hears a throat clear and he turns to see Mai. Her robes are a deep burgundy, her hair done in her usual half up, half down manner, but Zuko can see that instead of the usual clips and ties that keep it up, she’s switched them out for gold hairpieces and shining gems. Zuko smiles, seeing the effort she’s made.

“Almost time,” she drawls, stepping towards him. She wrinkles her nose. “You’re sweating.”

“I’m nervous.” His tone is almost rude but it makes Mai roll her eyes, and instead of replying with a snap, she pulls out a handkerchief from one of her voluminous sleeves and shoves it into his hand. Zuko takes it gratefully, beginning to dab his face as Mai loops an arm around his own and leads him, rather forcefully, to the small crowd that makes up the wedding party. For a second, Zuko glances over at Mai’s smooth face. Anyone else might say she looks bored, perhaps even upset, but Zuko can see the glimmer in her eyes and the small twitch of her lip and knows that she’s happy for him, maybe even excited to be attending his wedding.

Zuko thinks back, many years ago now, when they were barely adults, speaking of their future wedding - both of them half knowing it wouldn’t happen. Of course, that was before they were both made to choose between being spies and alive or being together and terminated.

They had chosen to be spies and to be alive apart. And now here Zuko was, faced with the same options and making a different choice, with Mai happy by his side.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Mai,” Zuko chokes out, unable to hide his fondness. She glances over and lets out an unfiltered smile.

“Me too, Zuko.” She puts her free hand on his arm and gives a slight squeeze. “I’m happy. For you.”

Zuko knows that those are two separate statements. He knows that what he said was two separate statements as well. They finally arrive at the same crowd of people waiting for Zuko, and he sees Hakoda, Bato, and Katara all fanning themselves in the Ember Island heat. He smiles at them politely before his eyes land on Sokka, and his smile grows wider.

Sokka’s robes are a modified version of the robes he would be wearing to a traditional southern wedding. Instead of thickly insulated and multi-layered blue leathers and furs, his robe and pants are of a thinner cotton and linen. Strips of leather and fur are strictly for aesthetic purposes, and small, stitched on stones and metal glitter with his every movement. The necklace that Zuko spent weeks carving in secret - even though Sokka told him that he didn’t  have to (Zuko knew Sokka wanted his own betrothal necklace, and his ecstatic reaction only proved his suspicion) - was in stark contrast with Sokka’s dark skin, and Zuko thought that the contrast made both of them prettier.

Sokka smiles as he sees Zuko approach, turning his head, his braids and beads shifting as he did so, to look at him. Mai gracefully untangles her arm for Zuko so that Sokka’s can replace it. Pressed against his side, Zuko leans up so that Sokka can press a kiss against his nose.

“Oh, you two are just so cute!” Ty Lee cooes, clapping her hands, making Sokka blush. Her own robes are light pink, and the headdress she’s wearing is gold and bejewelled. Faintly, Zuko wonders where she could have possibly got it. “Are we ready to go?”

Sokka and Zuko both nod, and Ty Lee clears her throat, turning to face away as she begins the procession. The walk is short and unlike any of the weddings that Zuko attended in his youth. There is no traditional music playing, there is no long line extending as far as the eye can see behind the two of them, there is no crowd watching them walk by, letting out polite applause and bows and smiles at the soon-to-be-married couple. Ty Lee isn’t even a spiritual priest or shrine maiden, she’s just the most spiritual person that Zuko knows and jumped at the chance to be involved in the wedding of one of her oldest friends.

Instead, they’re on one of the most secluded edges of the island, at a shrine that is seldom used, with only Sokka’s close family, Zuko’s two friends, and his uncle, who is doing a poor job at hiding his tears every time he looks at his nephew. The walk to the shrine is short, much shorter than traditional, and Zuko has to tug Sokka to the side so that their families can enter first. Sokka grins shakily at Zuko when he realizes what his mistake was, and it calms Zuko, to see his fiance is just as nervous as he is. A breeze comes in from the nearby ocean, rippling through the open, stone canopy, and Zuko can hear waves crashing against the cliff not far below.

When they kneel in the center of the altar, Zuko can tell that Ty Lee is having a bit too much fun with her role of officiant. She grins widely as she speaks with a dramatic, booming voice that makes Sokka’s family laugh. Zuko supposes this must be very different compared to their own, less ostentatious, traditional ceremonies.

The three of them go through the motions; thanking each other’s families and reciting small vows (Zuko occasionally having to elbow Sokka when it’s his turn or mouthing the words if he forgets). Finally, Ty Lee picks up three shallow cups and a bottle of sake that she places in the altar earlier, pouring a set amount of alcohol into each cup.  

Zuko’s hands are trembling when he’s given the first cup and brings it to his mouth. He takes a small sip, the burn familiar on his tongue, before taking it away from his lips and shuffling over to where Hakoda and Bato sit on the side of the altar. Zuko holds the cup to Hakoda first, bowing his head when the older man takes the cup from his hands. Hakoda takes a sip, grimacing at the taste, before passing it to Bato, who frowns similarly.

He and Sokka have deviated from tradition so much that he doesn’t protest when Bato then hands the cup to Katara, whose lack of reaction at the alcohol makes her fathers raise an eyebrow. Aang nearly gags when he takes his tentative drink and passes it to Suki. She holds the cup for a moment, studying the minuscule last sip, eyes glancing at Zuko. He raises his head slightly to look at her, brushing his hair from his eyes. She looks over his shoulder at Sokka, who gives her a small smile and a nod. She takes the very last sip, lips only puckering slightly, before handing it back to Zuko. He doesn’t know if Sokka’s family realizes why he’s smiling so wide, but he certainly won’t be the one to tell them.

He watches as Sokka goes through the same routine, him taking a sip of sake before going over to Iroh, who places a fond hand on Sokka’s shoulder after he takes a sip. Mai scrunches her nose when Iroh offers the cup to her, and Zuko knows that Iroh knows the implications of that and it warms his heart.

“Ew,” Mai says, though the tips of her ears are turning pink. “I’m not drinking backwash.”

Iroh shrugs and hands the cup back to Sokka, who places the half-empty vessel on the stone altar by Ty Lee.

Ty Lee holds the last cup up. “Once both of you have shared this drink of sacred sake, you will be bound together. May Agni smile upon you, blessing your union, and your newly combined family.”

She passes the cup to Zuko, meeting his eyes and giving him a smaller, less dramatic and more loving smile than previously.

He takes a sip, larger than he had previously, before turning to face Sokka. He holds the cup out to him, and Sokka wraps his warm hands around Zuko’s, just holding them for a moment. The breeze from the sea is cool against their necks, wicking away the heat from their bodies. Sokka leans over and presses a kiss against the crown of Zuko’s head before extracting the cup from his hands.

Sokka drinks the remainder of the sake, eyebrows furrowing at the taste. Already the tip of his nose is a little pinker from the alcohol. They spend a moment basking in each other’s sight, barely listening as Ty Lee begins the very last prayer of thanks to Agni to complete their wedding.

They don’t miss the sounds of rustles in distant fields, the noise of a vehicle starting, even though there are no real roads for kilometres, or the sound of tactical gear clanging as spies and soldiers alike begin to move in on them. Zuko and Sokka both frown. This was expected but they still hoped that it wouldn’t happen. They knew that Zuko already had a price on his head - one doesn’t just leave the espionage business the way that Zuko did without any consequences after all - and the fact that Sokka was marrying a ‘former enemy’ meant that some previously friendly faces took poorly to him now. More than anything, nearly everyone in the game knew about both their reputations; if they were each a force to be reckoned with individually, then they would be nigh unbeatable when together. That was a risk few organizations or freelancers were willing to take.

Mai and Suki are both on their feet the fastest, Mai unsheathing a knife that she pulled out of… somewhere, as Suki gets into a fighting stance, eyes narrowing in concentration.

Ty Lee falters in her prayer as figures appear in that not-too-far distance, approaching with a speed that points to them thinking that they still have the advantage. Mai is quick to aim and throw about a half dozen knives, taking out as many approaching people. Everyone else begins to rise, each preparing for a quick but dangerous fight.

“Ty Lee,” Zuko snaps, seeing her similarly getting into a defensive stance. She looks down at him, and then her hands, as if not even noticing she was preparing to fight. “Finish the prayers.”

She clears her throat and smiles. “Right, sorry, Zuko!” And continues from where she trailed off, though her stance does not change. She gets to the very end, giving one last praise to Agni, one last plea that he blesses her friend’s marriage, and one more thanks, when she looks up and shoves Zuko and Sokka to the ground, herself rolling across the stone floor as she avoids a beanbag. The shot hits one of the stone pillars, cracking the stone, before falling uselessly onto the ground. Ty Lee frowns.

“Hey, Agni, I swear these guys aren’t with us.”

Zuko climbs up from the floor, ignoring the ache in his side from Ty Lee’s shove, hands instantly going to Sokka to help him up. They crowd against each other, both reaching to pull their own weapons out from where they’ve stashed them in their clothes when Zuko feels a large hand clap him on the shoulder.

“We’ll take it from here, son,” Hakoda says, smiling at Sokka and then at Zuko.

“Yeah, get outta here, you crazy kids,” Katara chimes in, laughing at the glare Sokka sends her. It takes a few seconds, with shots increasingly getting thrown at them before Sokka nods and lets Bato push him towards the wall-less rear of the shrine, holding Zuko’s hand as he walks towards the edge of the cliff.

A loud crash reverberates through the arm, shaking the earth below them, and Sokka and Zuko quicken their pace to a run. Zuko can only vaguely hear Ty Lee yell, “Congratulations, you guys! Have a nice honeymoon!” before she runs off to get right in the middle of the tussle.

He and Sokka sprint towards the cliffside, skidding to a halt before they reach the very edge. They peer over the steep edge at the water below. It’s only about a three-story drop, and Zuko knows that the water below is deep enough to be safe, with few enough rocks that there’s little danger. Doesn’t make what they’re about to do any less scary.

Sokka and Zuko look at each other for a moment, both of them clearly about to try and find another way to get down, when a shot that nearly gazes Zuko’s side interrupts them.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Suki yells after them, a strain evident in her voice. “Get going, idiots!”

Whether it was the insult or the implied permission, that’s all that Sokka and Zuko need. Sokka reaches out to grab Zuko’s wrist, both of them immediately taking the plunge. The fabric from his kimono flaps around Zuko’s face, but only for a moment before he finds himself entombed in the chilly water. He feels the weight of all his layers, but his legs are strong enough to kick to the surface, gasping as he breaks through. Saltwater and his hair force his eyes shut.

“Sokka?” Zuko calls out, trying to clear his vision. He can hear yelling and fighting on the cliff up above. “Sokka?”

“Over here!” Sokka calls. It takes Zuko a second to orient where Sokka’s voice is coming from and swims blindly in that direction. He finally blinks his eyes open and sees that Sokka is making his way to the speed boat hidden against the face of the cliff. Sokka climbs aboard, holding a hand out to heave Zuko and his many layers of ruined silk onto the deck. They take a second, panting from exhilaration before they make quick work of the knots that keep the boat stationary.

“I wanna drive,” Zuko says, once they push the boat away from the wall.

“No, I’m driving,” Sokka rebuffs, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. They glare at each other for a moment, before Zuko rolls his eyes.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving.” He huffs and throws himself into the passenger seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Sokka starts the boat, and they zip away from the chaos above. With any luck, their friends are keeping everyone occupied enough that no one will even notice they’re gone.

“Next time? You planning on marrying anyone else?”

Zuko snorts and lols his head to the left to look at Sokka. “Nah,” he says, “I think this once will be enough for me.”

Sokka takes his eyes off the sea and shoots him a bashful smile.

“I still wanna drive though.”

Zuko sighs as he hears the creaking of springs from inside his daughter’s bedroom. He opens the door to see exactly what he expected: his daughter is jumping on the bed, lights still on.

“Izumi Katara Amarok, you know it’s past your bedtime,” he chides, though his tone is playful. Izumi makes one last jump before flopping down on her bed. She smiles as he walks into her room, pulling the covers out from under her and smoothing them over her.

She giggles as he leans over to place a kiss on her forehead. “Ew, daddy!” She whines, and Zuko feels his heart clench when he remembers that his baby is getting to the age where she doesn’t especially like it when her fathers kiss her. It seems like only yesterday he and Sokka were pressing a thousand kisses to the chubby cheeks of their toddler.

She peers up at Zuko, her eyes thin like his own but dark like Sokka’s.

“Sorry, princess,” Zuko says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears. She relaxes into her pillow under his gentle touch. “Did you brush your teeth?”

She nods. “Yup!”

“Good,” He says, stepping another moment caressing his daughter. He lets out a content sigh, before slowly pulling his hand away from her. “Well, goodnight then.”

“What about a story?” She begs, her little hands darting out to grasp Zuko’s sleeve. He raises an eyebrow.

“A story? Isn’t that your  ataata ’s job?” Zuko asks. Storytelling isn’t his strong suit; he’s received enough complaints from his daughter, nephew, and brother and sister-in-law for him to trust that fact.

“What’s my job?” Sokka asks, appearing in the doorway as if he was summoned.

“Storytime!” Izumi says, already shifting under her covers to make room for Sokka to sit on her bed. Zuko smiles. Izumi has both of them wrapped around her finger and she knows it.

Sokka smiles as he sits down next to Zuko, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth and earning another “eww!” from Izumi. Sokka scooches on the end of Izumi’s bed until he’s sitting cross-legged and looking at her, as Zuko twists his body so that he can look at his husband and daughter at the same time. At the thought of it, he becomes more aware of the warm stone pressed against his chest, under his shirt. He smiles again.

It feels like he’s barely stopped smiling in nine years.

“Looks like we’ll have an audience for tonight’s storytime,” Sokka stage whispers to Izumi, nodding his head towards Zuko. Izumi giggles and sits up against her pillow more. “So what’s on the agenda tonight, kiddo? The frog and the scorpion? Wan-Shi-Tong and his library? The ocean and moon spirit? The time that your uncle Aang made me suck on a toad because he said it would cure my fever?”

Izumi giggles again and shakes her head. “The two spies who fell in love!” She demands. Sokka stills for a moment, before running a hand through his greying hair, pulling some of it out of its wolf tail.

“Hm, wow. Haven’t told that one in a while.” Zuko places a hand on Sokka’s knee and squeezes. “You probably know that one better than me.”

“Please,” Izumi begs, leaning forward to plead. Sokka looks over at Zuko, who shrugs, leaning closer to him to get comfy.

“Okay,” Sokka agrees. “Tonight, for your entertainment: The Two Spies Who Fell In Love.”

Izumi gives a little clap and leans back onto her pillow. Zuko leans his head on Sokka’s shoulder as he begins to tell the story that feels so far away and yet too close for comfort.

Their daughter gasps and giggles at the appropriate places and Zuko finds himself doing the same, the characters feeling like different people than they are now. Izumi doesn’t know about all the weapons hidden throughout the house, doesn’t know why both her parents refuse to travel anywhere close to where Zuko grew up, even though he speaks of the city and museums and beaches often. Izumi thinks that both of them are a bit boring. Maybe they are now. It’s a feat that Zuko never thought they would accomplish.

Sokka finishes his story and Izumi yawns. “And they all lived happily ever after?” she asks.

Sokka glances at Zuko, and the crow's feet around his eyes crinkle a bit as he smiles. “Yeah, they did.”

Izumi smiles and doesn’t whine when Sokka and Zuko both lean down to kiss her hair, and her eyes are already closed by the time Zuko switches off her light and when he reaches her door, he and Sokka spend a moment to look at each other and at their snoozing daughter.

“Happily ever after, huh?” He teases Sokka later in bed. Sokka opens one eye to look at him.

“Do you disagree?”

Zuko purses his lips for a moment, tilting his head teasingly. Sokka grumbles from where his head is pressed against Zuko’s chest.

“No,” Zuko finally says, relenting his teasing. “I think I agree pretty wholeheartedly.”

“You better,” Sokka says sleepily. Within a few minutes his breathing evens out and Zuko can tell he’s asleep in his hold. The moon shines bright in their window, the breeze from the ocean making their curtains dance, and despite the ever-present dangers that he knows will follow them forever from their pasts, Zuko feels safe.

Yeah, I think I do agree with Sokka’s story, Zuko thinks as he drifts off the sleep, surrounded by love that he never thought he would obtain.  

[jencsi]

Let’s Talk- Finn and *those curls*

The trademark that defines Finn from the earliest age of six months old. When Karen and Patrick wander through the convent and orphanage, hoping for a miracle but not expecting to find their niece/daughter, it’s the bouncy blonde vibrant curls that stick out from the other children. Patrick recalls this hairstyle on his sister Constance at a very young age. Upon closer inspection and peering into the feisty child’s eyes, so bright and blueish green, he knows, this is their girl.

It’s the bouncy curls that sway with Finn as she wiggles in her crib, in Karen's arms, as she fusses for food and toys and attention. They start out as wispy curls but soon start to grow, wild, untamed, unmanageable much to Karen’s dismay.

It takes a few years of experimenting and tricks to make little Finn have a hairstyle that is somewhat manageable for her active lifestyle. Pigtails, sometimes braided, sometimes left in curls, one on each side. It’s the occasional ponytail that always tends to fall apart before the day is over. It is letting the entire mess of hair stay down and curly and wild, so much so that Finn is constantly brushing it out of her eyes or face. It’s the distinguished curls that stand out amongst the other children on the playground, at school, in crowds. Karen knows she will never lose her girl because she can see her from any location; hanging upside down from the monkey bars, climbing trees, swinging and jumping off swings, chasing her friends around the playground. Having long hair is a style not common for the decade in which Finn grows up but Karen enjoys this style on her daughter and it seems to give her more spunk in her personality even if it takes a few extra impatient minutes of styling daily.

Finn hates the way her hair gets pulled into tight pigtails and the occasional ponytail. She winces and wiggles as she stands in front of her mother, back to her while she works to control her mane. However, an early halloween costume of her as a lion proved useful for her hair and it was one of the few times she could actually wear it wild without scolding from her mother.

As Finn grows, her hair evolves very little. She trims it occasionally and by the time she is a teenager, it sits comfortably just below her shoulders, not too long, not too short. When it comes to her active lifestyle that turns into a job with science and lab work, she starts putting it back in ponytails regularly. It’s not her favorite look as it reminds her of her childhood and those hours spent being mauled by her mother, a hairbrush, hair ties and numerous styling products.

When she moves to Seattle, the constant rain dampens her hair frequently and that makes her sad. Her hair becomes more wavy than curly over time but still distinct to her colleagues and her boss Russell. He will never lose sight of her at a crime scene because she practically glows unless she’s wearing a hat or a hood on her raincoat.

As she walks through the lab to deliver information to him or anyone else, her hair bounces with each step and each turn of her head, each nod as she engages in conversation or shakes her head in disagreement. Sometimes he observes her tending to her hair at her locker, sighing in frustration when something isn’t cooperating or a loose strand is falling out of her updo. She doesn’t know it but what she deems as a bad hair day means nothing to him, she has no such things. She always radiates.

On her wedding to Mike, a stylist goes all out and curls her hair tight so that by the end of the night, they start to fall out and become wavy so she gets the best of both worlds. She feels her hair move and sway with her as she floats on the dance floor with him, loose strands touching her shoulders. She feels like she’s flying.

When they share a bath, he works his hands through her hair, massaging gently, watching her curls fall apart when immersed in water but slowly coming back to life as they lay together, wrapped in warm towels and robes. She feels too lazy to style it so she lets him, giggling as he attempts to curl her hair one strand at a time with his fingers, it’s really just an excuse to keep his hands on her, tangled up in her hair, fingers brushing against her cheek, her neck, down her shoulders.

It’s Nick who gets the most out of her wild hairstyle. When they kissed for the first time, he steadied his hand on the back of her head, unable to resist scratching her head, letting his fingers get tangled up in her curls. When they want to relax, he is always running his fingers through her hair, savoring each tangle and curl, so soft. When she sleeps and he’s awake before her, he does the same sweeping motion, watching those curls bounce back and touchdown on her forehead and face. She scrunches her face, crinkles her nose, shivers as a reaction to the light touch. He smirks as he watches her, savoring every touch. She finds comfort in the way he tends to her hair, brushing all of it aside to find her neck to kiss, to tickle, fingers fluttering against her skin, to tuck loose strands behind her ear, an excuse to graze his fingers down the side of her cheek and under her chin. She uses her hair as a weapon to destroy him, burying her face in against the crook of his neck, kissing but letting her curls tickle him. He doesn’t fight this feeling, instead he wants to keep her there, wrapping his arms around her so she’ll stay, squeezing her soft side repeatedly until they are both melting and high on affections.

Distinguished, vibrant, unmistakable, always bouncy, full of life and spunk, something so simple as these beautiful curls give her a unique style and status in every path she crosses and every soul she encounters.

[moonlightsbeams]

The Queen’s Court Chapter 1

The turtle creature awakes, horror filling his eyes. Flying out of the gramophone, he goes to the Guardian, who looks at the creature. “Wayzz, what’s wrong?”

“Master Fu, it’s Nooroo. I- he’s resurfaced, but.. He’s being used by a powerful negative energy, I fear that Paris is in immense danger if Nooroo’s new owner is left unchecked.”

The Guardian nods, and motions to Wayzz. The Guardian raises his hand to transform, but is struck down by crippling pain. 

With a shaking hand, he opens the gramophone, surveying his choices. He deftly selects the Ladybug and the Black Cat miraculous, but falters. “I cannot send them out alone, can I, Wayzz?”

Wayzz tilts his head. “I’m not sure I understand, Master.”

“While the Black Cat and Ladybug are strong, I cannot send them out against the Butterfly alone.”

“But who should aid them, master?”

Mater Fu examines his choices, and reaches for one last miraculous box. “The Bee is the perfect choice.”

------

Chloe Bourgeois knew she was perfect. Her daddy told her all the time, and all of Paris knew it too. She prided herself on always looking like it, and nothing, nothing stopped her from being perfect. 

So what the hell is she going to do?

She stares in distaste at the situation in front of her. A large garbage truck is rumbling by, trash stacked precariously out of it, and an elderly man in a hawaiin shirt trots next to it. She does not want to go anywhere near the truck but.. She doesn’t like his chances if that trash falls onto him. Her decision is forced into motion by the trash toppling out of the truck. 

Muttering “Ew, ew, ew, EW!” under her breath she darts close to the man, grabbing him by the nape of his shirt and quickly pulling him out of the way of the falling trash.

After thoroughly examining herself to make sure she’s still perfect, she turns to the old man, unsure on what to tell him.

Luckily for her, the man speaks up, bowing his head in gratitude. “Thank you so much for saving me, young lady. That trash would have severely injured me, and definitely would’ve humiliated me. You truly are courageous.”

Chloe pauses by the compliment, a genre of which she’s.. Unfamiliar with. She quickly preens, trying to hide her genuine pleasure. “Of course I am! I- I couldn’t just let it happen. I’m going to tell my daddy about how ridiculous these trash workers are!”

The older man nods, a thoughtful smile on his face. “A good use of your power, young lady.”

She snorts, unable to think of anything else to say. “Whatever, I need to get to school.”

She storms off, feeling slightly better than she was before.

School was uneventful, except for Marinette Dupain-Cheng thinking that she could steal Chloe’s spot behind her Adrikins! And then some new girl had the audacity to tell her off! She was going to have to put them in their place.

She sulks all the way back to the hotel, and throws herself down on her bed. “Ugh, could this day get ANY worse?”

She rolls over and is greeted by a red and black box that was definitely not there before. “What’s this? It looks old, so maybe it’s an expensive gift for me?”

She gently opens the box, and is immediately blinded by a large flash of yellow light. After it clears up, there’s a… giant bee in her room.

Chloe shrieks, throwing herself across the room. “WHAT??? BUG?? BIG BEE!!!”

“My queen, please calm down!” The bee reassures her. “My name is Pollen, I’m the kwami for the bee miraculous!”

“The bee WHAT!” Chloe screams, holding a pillow in front of her like a shield.

“The bee miraculous!” Pollen squeaks. “With it, you become a superhero, my queen!”

Chloe lowers the pillow, peeking out behind it. “A-a, superhero?”

Pollen nods. “Indeed, my queen! You will also fight along two other heros, with powers of their own! Your power is Venom, the power to immobilize anyone you want!”

“How do I turn into this superhero?”

“First, put the miraculous in your hair and say, ‘Pollen, buzz on!’ The detransformation is ‘Buzz Off!’” Pollen instructs, a reassuring smile on her face.

Chloe goes back to bed, picking up the red and black box. She pulls out a silver bee shaped comb. She tucks it into her hair. “Pollen, buzz on!” 

“My queen I still have to tell you-”

Chloe knew exactly what to do while transforming, after all, Adrikins forced her to watch far too many anime shows. After her beautiful and stunning transformations, she examines her suit. Her suit is a yellow base, with a few black stripes that dip in the middle. Her gloves end at her elbows, and are lined with black faux fur. Her mask covers her eyes, and is a yellow honeycomb pattern. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail, slightly curlier than it was before. She spins around, as translucent wings draped like a cape flutter behind you “This is…”

“AMAZING!!” Chloe squeals, admiring herself. “Pollen, I’m beautiful!” She looks around, noticing her disappearance. “Pollen?”

Before she can look for Pollen, her phone buzzes with an emergency alert. “Giant stone monster rampaging around Paris? That sounds like a job for a superhero!” 

She finally notices a top slung around her waist. “What does this do? OH NO IT’S SPINNING!” Chloe quickly figures out how to operate the top, and swings out of her window. “Look out, Paris, here I come!”

She lands on a building, examining the scene around her. “Yikes, the police have no idea what they’re doing, huh?”

Suddenly, a scream cuts through the air. Someone slams into Chloe, knocking her down. The person jumps up, and reaches a hand out to Chloe. “I’m so, so sorry! I- I just haven’t gotten a knack for the staff yet! I’m um, guessing, you’re one of the other superheroes?”

Chloe’s first instinct is to snap at the girl, insulting her on everything and anything. But, she shouldn’t act like herself, right? Secret identities are the most important thing about superheroes, right? So she takes the girl's hand and gives her a smile. “You’re fine! It took me way too long to figure out how to use my top. And yeah, I’m…” What’s my name? What had Pollen called me again? “My Queen”?

“Queen Bee. And you are?”

The girl blushes, tugging on one of her twin braids. “I have no idea. All I know is that some cat..bug..thing told me I was a superhero, and I turned into this leather�� furry!”

Chloe snorts, and takes a moment to notice her costume. A leather bodysuit similar to her, except that the girl has glove fingers pointed like claws and kneehigh boots. The girl has a cute half cloak with a blue cat paw fastening the hood. And..

Chloe gasps. “Oh. My. Goodness. Do you have cat ears and a tail??” 

The girl blushes, her ears flattening in embarrassment. “Yeah.. I guess it’s ‘cause it’s the Cat Miraculous? It’s super embarrassing.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, chatonne,” Queen Bee teases. She’s not going to unleash the full Chloe treatment, but she can’t not tease her.. “It’s purr-fectly cute!”

The girl’s face reddens, but she groans at the pun. She opens her mouth to retort, but is interrupted by the roar of the monster. “We’d better take care of this, huh?”

Queen Bee nods, a determined smile spread across her face. “Let’s go!”

The two make their way over to a stadium, lading in front of what looks like a golem made of rocks, chasing...Kim?

“Chatonne!” yells Queen Bee. “Can you get Ki- the boy away from the monster?”

“On it!” she shouts back, expanding her pole to stop the monster from getting Kim. 

“Good work, chatonne!”

“Hey, Queen Bee, aren’t we supposed to have another..” As if summoned, a blonde boy in a red and black spotted bodysuit and a black cape draped off of one shoulder lands next to Queen Bee.

“Am..I late?” He asks, clearly nervous. Nervous of what? The monster..or her?

Chloe would chew him out, asking where he’s been.. But Queen Bee wouldn’t. Queen Bee simply rolls her eyes and smirks at him. “Haven’t missed much, bug boy. So, you’ve got anything up your sleeve?”

“Um..” The boy launches a...yo-yo.. At the stone monster. Seriously? A yo-yo? Was the cat miraculous the only one with a sensible weapon? As soon as the yoyo makes contact with the monster, it roars again and..

 “IT GROWS EVERY TIME YOU HIT IT?!?!?” The cat girl yells, staring in disbelief. “HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FIGHT A MONSTER THAT GROWS IF YOU HIT IT??”

Queen Bee curses under her breath. Cat girl had a point. Her plan was just to beat it until the cops could apprehend it.. But where would they even put it anyway?

“Wait!” The bug boy calls. Cat girl and Queen Bee turn to him. “What was my power again.. Oh! Lucky Charm!” 

Queen Bee watches as the boy throws his yo-yo in the air and gets.. A wetsuit. “Planning on going swimming, bug boy?” she quips. The momentary confusion is disrupted by a giant stone fist swinging down. Chloe and the boy roll aside, narrowly missing being flattened. 

“Oh! I have a power too!” The cat girl yells. “Cataclysm!” The girl's hand is now encompassed with dark energy. 

Queen Bee dodges another fist. “What does it do?” she yells.

“Destroys anything I touch!”

“Seriously?” the boy groans. “You get to destroy anything and I get a wetsuit?”

“Where do you think the akuma is?” Cat girl shouts.

“The what?” Pollen did not mention anything called an akuma.

“The thing that turned whoever’s actually in there.. Into that!”

Huh. Maybe Chloe should’ve paid more attention to what Pollen was saying. 

“By the way, who are you two?” The boy yells. 

“I think introductions are necessary when we’re being attacked by a giant monster!” Queen Bee retorts.

“It’d be easier to call you something other than bee girl and cat girl!”

He has a point. “Call me Queen Bee, bug boy.”

“I’m Princess Kitten!” Comes a shout. Seems cat girl decided on a name.

“Well, if the two of you are going with a royalty theme, who am I to mess it up? Call me.. Sir Cocinelle!”

“Why? Are you some knight in spotted armor?”

He actually perks up at the remark. Oh no, Queen Bee can’t make fun of someone that wholesome. “I would be honored to be your trusted knight, my queen!”

Wait.. “Guys I have a plan!” She shouts. “Meet me at the top of the stadium!”

“Okay, but make it quick!” Princess Kitten yells back. “I have only 5 more minutes until I detransform!”

Yeah. Chloe should’ve really listened to Pollen. After some tricky jumps, the trio made it to the top. “So, I have some weird ‘ladybug vision’, and I think the akuma is in that fist,” Sir Cocinelle points at one of the fists.

“You’re probably right, Sir Cocinelle.” Queen Bee appraises, noticing the boost in his confidence. Is- is this kid okay? “Okay, so my power is Venom. I can freeze the monster. I was thinking, once I do that, Sir Coccinelle could pull him down with the yo-yo, and you could use that ‘ladybug vision’ to force open the fist while he’s down. Princess Kitten, can you ‘cataclysm’ the akuma and..” She notices the two staring at her. “What?”

Sir Coccinelle speaks up. “Nothing, it’s just, you’re really good at this. It’s like you’re a natural.”

Queen Bee flushes. “Oh. Um..My dadd- my dad works..in a leadership position. I guess I picked up some stuff. Does the plan not work or…”

Princes Kitten shakes her head. “I think you’re great! The plan! The plan is great!”

Queen Bee smiles at her, murmuring, “Thank you, Princess. I really appreciate it.” She turns to Sir Coccinelle. “Listen, I have no idea how your powers work, but I have a feeling that they’re the key to getting the akuma, and chattonne’s powers are the only way to destroy the akuma. Are we ready?”

Sir Coccinelle and Princess Kitten nod.

 “Let’s go!”

She signals for Sir Coccinelle to topple the monster, and quickly calls “Venom” to freeze him before he can get up. That new girl… Alexis, right? For some reason is still there, next to.. A fire hose! “Hey you! Toss bug boy the hose!”

Wide eyed, she tosses the hose to Sir Coccinelle, who looks at the hose, the wetsuit and the fist, cogs turning. He shoves the wetsuit in the fist, and begins filling it up. Cracking the fist open, he gets a purple rock, and pumps his fist in celebration. “Boo-ya!”

Queen Bee smiles, but the victory is short lived as the rock monster starts to stir. “SIR COCCINELLE GET THE ROCK TO PRINCESS KITTEN!” She screams. 

Sir Coccinelle nods, and lobs the rock at Princess Kitten, who catches it with her Cataclysm hand, turning the rock into a crumpled note.

 Sir Coccinelle throws the wetsuit in the air, with a cry of “Miraculous Sir Coccinelle!” ladybugs rush over the city, restoring all the damage, and turning the stone monster into.. Ivan? Huh. 

Princess Kitten turns to Queen Bee, wide eyed. “How’d you know that was going to work?”

“Yeah, Queenie,” Sir Coccinelle pipes up. “I didn’t really know how my powers would work, yet you did.”

“First off, bug boy, I’m your Queen, not ‘Queenie’, and since you mentioned ‘ladybug vision’, I figured that the wetsuit would actually come into use. Chatonne, you told me that you could destroy, so I used that to get rid ourselves of the akuma. All I really did was look at your powers and figure out how to use them in the situation.” She mutters, very much liking the attention. She holds out her hand in a fist. “You guys did really good. I’m proud to be a superhero with you two.”

Princess Kitten lightly bumps her fist into Queen Bee’s. “Give yourself more credit. Sure, Sir Coccinelle did some wacky thing with the wetsuit,  but it was you were the one who figured it out.”

Sir Coccinelle fist bumps the two of them. “Seriously, Queenie, you did great. Princess couldn't've gotten to the akuma without you guiding her. I think we make a great team.”

Queen Bee rolls her eyes, but smiles. “A team. I like that.”

Ally? Alexa? Rushes up to the three, a huge smile on her face, phone clutched in her hand. “OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS ARE ACTUAL SUPERHEROES!! CAN YOU TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT YOURSELVES??”

The three exchange awkward glances, until a beep from all three of them goes off. “I believe that’s our cue to go,” Queen Bee drawls. “ But If you must know, the dashing knight is Sir Coccinelle,” he offers a flourishing bow, “The beautiful lady is Princess Kitten,” she nods her head, “And I’m the regal Queen Bee.” She winks at the girl. “I’ll see you around, huh?” Queen Bee leaps off, leaving a blushing girl.

She sneaks back in through her window, crying “Buzz off!” The transformation disappears in a flash of yellow and black, and Pollen reappears. “That was amazing! I was like, woosh, and boosh! And…” Chloe falls on her bed giggling.

“My queen, I’m glad you enjoyed it! You did such a good job, you truly are meant for the Bee Miraculous!”

Chloe looks at Pollen, her eyes gleaming. “Really?”

Pollen claps her hands in delight. “Of course, my queen! Now can I tell you what you need to know?” “Oh. Yes, please.”

“So! Your partners hold the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous, which are the powers of creation and destruction…”

Chloe listens to Pollen, furiously memorizing everything, occasionally asking questions. “Wait.. so I can’t tell anyone? Not even Sabrina?”

“No, we can’t risk anyone finding out your identity and using your loved ones against you.”

“That makes sense..” Chloe notices Pollen flutter down. “Hey, are you okay?”

Pollen nods, “I’m sorry my queen, but I need to recharge.”

Chloe perks up. “Of course! What do you need? I have access to anything and everything I want.”

Pollen smiles appreciatively. “I would like some almonds, if it’s not too much trouble my queen.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I’ll get some sent up right now. I think I’ll get some chocolate covered ones for myself.”

Her phone buzzes. She picks it up, and.. “What? There’s more stone monsters?? Pollen, what’s going on?”

“My queen, did you purify the akuma?” Pollen chirps.“Was I supposed to do that?” Chloe asks, starting to panic.

“No, no! That was Sir Coccinelle’s job. You did everything right, my queen. We can figure this out in the morning, it’s getting late. Get some sleep, my queen. You did good.”

Chloe nods, trying to push away unease in her stomach. “Yeah… let’s get some sleep.”

Chapter 2

[uwuwriting]

My OCs

Okay okay so these are my OCs, I’m sorry if their names aren’t really Japanese I googled most of their names back when I started creating them. I hope you enjoy them and well let's get started. I didn’t include Sky aka Shirakumos daughter even though technically she is one of my OCs, I felt that since I have introduced her in my fics *by name* I’ll leave her a rather blank slate for yall *I can describe her as well if yall want that though*. Hope you like them and yes some of the quirks were inspired by Avatar. Love ya💖💖💖

Kenushima Akane

 Akane is in her mid 20s, her birthday is on 30th of December making her a Capricorn and is part of our favorite villain group, the LoV. She was the eldest child of two pro heroes who married because it would satisfy the media and boost their careers. She had two younger siblings, the twins Annya and Arakan. She is around 5’7 (170cm) with fairly long auburn hair which are always braided so they don’t get in her way, amber eyes and a burn mark on her right shoulder from a small scuffle with our favorite fire user. Her hair and eyes become a dark red when she uses her quirk making her even more menacing. She wears a black mask over her eyes, keeping that way her identity a secret and a rather tight uniform consisting of black leather overall-shorts matched with a black-red plaid shirt and thigh highs with black military boots. Her weapon of choice is anything you can swing. Her quirk is a powerful blood bending type which she inherited from her mothers’ side. She can control the blood in someones’ system to the point of a heart attack or a stroke. Once the blood is out of the persons’ system she can still wield it, sharpening it into a blade like shape and cut through both flesh and bone, the new blood adding to the power of her makeshift blade. Her limits begin when she gets a nose bleed followed by either her eyes or ears starting to bleed as well; the final stage is giving herself a heart attack but she has never reached that point thankfully. It’s a self-destructive quirk since she pushes her body’s boundaries everytime she activates it, making her vulnerable to diseases after a particularly hard fight. She is a master of many forms of martial arts, kicking anyone's ass without even having to use her quirk.  Her family is wreck *lmao*. Since her parents married out of convenience the kids were results of moments of weakness between the two adults. Her household wasn’t very affectionate, partnered with her fathers’ constant absence and negligence and her mothers overly obsessive quirk demands, her relationships soon turned abusive. Excessive training and brutal punishments were her mothers’ tactics to ensure a picture perfect quirk state which she could boast about in the media. Her father was a decent figure during the sparse moments when he was actually in the house. He treated his kids with some trace of humanity and not like objects but he too didn’t really care. Everything went downhill when rumours of affairs surfaced and her mother lost her senses, killing their father on the kitchen floor before getting to the children. Akane tried to protect her siblings but was easily tossed aside by her mother and she doesn’t remember what actually happened that night. The only thing she knows for sure is that she was now an orphan and one sibling short, losing both her home and her brother that night. She didn’t stay in foster care for long since she dipped, joining a group of castaways called the Deck. Due to her quirk she was named the Queen of Hearts and became one of the most feared and powerful villains in Japan. Soon she joined the LoV after Shiggy approached her, officially meeting Dabi *who is her s/o btw lol*. She’s still close with her little sister Annya and owns a bookstore so she won’t have to steal. She has morals *shocker*, killing only those who have comitted crimes varying from abuse to murder or fraud. She is against useless killing and would prefer to clear the streets from scum rather than litter it with herself. She’s kinda like an anti-hero. She joined the LoV so she could have easier access to the insights of the hero industry and slowly help take out those hero frauds. She likes cooking Mexican food, her favorite animal is the fox and she is deathly afraid of spiders to the point she once burned her table using a lighter and hairspray because she had seen a spider on it. All in all she is a lovely person *I think*.

Kenushima Annya

Annya is 15 and part of class 1-A, her birthday is on the 3rd of January *like me heh* making her a Capricorn. She is the youngest of a twin set and has an older sister, while her parents were pros. She is around 5’7 (170cm) with shoulder length dark brown hair, amber eyes and faint lightning like scars scaling down both of her arms. Dark lavender streaks appear in her hair when she over uses her quirk and her scars shine the same color many times pulsating along with the surges of her blasts. Her uniform consists of a tight black crop top with azure and magenta details alongside black pants, black boots which are specially designed to give her extreme jumping power helping her also levitate for a short period so she can unleash her attacks and lastly gloves that cover almost all of her scars *also black with the same patterns as the top*. Has basic combat skills but she mostly prefers to rely on her quirk. Speaking of her quirk, she has a combo of a water and a lightning quirk making her able to easily electrocute others without short circuiting like Kami. She can control any form of water, making her easily overpowered in seaside missions but she can also control any liquid which has some water in it. However she cannot create water from thin air, like Shoto can make ice, and she can’t freeze it. Much like her sister she uses water mostly as a whip or a blade. Lightning is used mainly as one of her ultimate moves since she doesn’t have full control over it and it tends to hurt her scars when she does use it. She can let the purple strings of light course through her and hit her target with incredible force making her excellent for range attacks. Just like her sister she reaches her limits when her nose starts to bleed and she can pass out from dehydration  due to her quirk using up some of the water inside of her body with each attack. Now for her family life. She was a late bloomer and that was unacceptable according to her mother. She didn’t showcase signs of having a quirk until the age of 9 when her mother attacked her and her siblings. In a fit of rage and despair her mother tried killing her for ruining the familys’ image with her quirklessness. Her twin brother tried to save her from her mother *just like Akane did* only to be tossed aside as well, hitting the back of his head on a nearby table. Seeing both of her siblings on the ground *and almost being choked to death by her abuser* Annya activated her quirk, losing complete control over her powers resulting in her scars and the death of her mother. Arakan was pronounced dead on arrival leaving the two girls the only surviving members of the Kenushima family. After Akane’s disappearance, Annya was moved from home to home for about a year before being adopted by a couple and living as much of a normal life as she could. Her mental health isn’t the best as one can imagine, suffering from PTSD from the incident and having self hating tendencies. Becoming a hero is her way of proving to herself that she’s not a monster and that she can indeed help others. In class 1-A she tends to hang out with the Dekusquad and two other girls who I’ll introduce down the line. Her hero name is Electra and her s/o is Shoto *lol siblings are dating siblings tf*. She likes Autumn and Winter, loves going ice skating, has many plants in her room and loves watching horror movies with her friends.

Aizawa Kaiya

Kaiya is 15 and part of class 1-A despite her father being the homeroom teacher. Her birthday is on the 19th of June making her a Gemini. She sports the legendary jet black hair, her hair is also pretty long so she always has to braid it or put it up in a ponytail and she has egirl bangs *I don’t know how else to describe them*. Her eyes are a striking azure and she has dyed the tips of her hair the same color. Ya girl is shorter than the Kenushimas, barely reaching 5’2 (160cm). Her hero costume consists of black cargo pants with multiple pockets, a black turtleneck and chest straps(?) around her waist and collarbone finishing the look with black military boots. Sometimes she might wear a gas mask which helps her control her breathing.  Now for her quirk. It’s some type of psychic power, she can hear people’s thoughts making it easy for her to know what they are about to do, giving her the upper hand almost every time, but she can aslo channel her own and others thoughts and make dark shards out of them. These shards can be thrown with amazing speed or create a protective wall in front and above her. Her quirk ,though drains her very easily, making it hard to breath and walk in a straight line. She gets light headed while the voices inside her head get overly loud. Through practice she can push her boundaries and use more of her quirks’ power. Lastly in order for her to hear your thoughts she needs to see you. Once she sees you for even a quarter of a second, she can see into your head even long after you have left her line of sight. Her family life is very calm compared to the Kenushimas. She is the daughter of Aizawa’s sister who vanished when Kaiya was five. Having no one else to care for her since her real father wasn’t in the picture, Aizawa took his niece in and raised her as his own. She was too little to remember her mother and for years she believed that Shouta was her actual dad but Dadzawa did tell her the truth. Nothing really changed, she still calls him dad and they have a lovely father-daughter relationship. She loves Eri and loves being her older sister, playing with her, doing her hair and taking her to the dorms to meet her friends. She has a pet cat named Majesty who she uses to bribe Aizawa to buy snacks. She likes rainy days, beating Shinsou’s ass during training, being pinned by Shinsou while training, Halloween, cats and fluffy blankets. She is friends with mostly Annya, Shinsou and Sky but she doesn’t mind hanging out with the Deku or the Baku squads. Her hero name is Calypso. Her s/o is Shinsou much to Aizawa’s dismay. He is salty because this happened right under his nose, Dadzawa was too busy looking out for the 1-A boys that he completely ignored his trainee pinning his daughter down during training *he is really glad that she likes Shinsou bc he knows that he is a good kid*.

TAG TEAM AY: 

@the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @bemorefiction @dnarez @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses @threeamwriting @ezoyscorner @letscheereachotheron @wolfkid22

[sh-rare-pair-exchange]

As Time Would Have It

Based loosely on the events of the final episodes of season 1, the story follows the return of Lydia Branwell to the Institute of New York but this time she ends up enjoying her time there and surprisingly she discovers something worth staying around for. Well, someone...

Rare Pair: Lydia Branwell/ Isabelle Lightwood for @sh-rare-pair-exchange and dedicated to @sfjessii​

Today was the day. Maryse had gathered them all late last night, only to inform them that the Clave had sent an envoy of Shadowhunters to stay in the Institute for a while, at least until the attacks instigated by Valentine subsided and Clary knew how to fight better. Isabelle had a feeling her mother knew more than she was telling them but when had that not been the case between them? She had made peace with that a long time ago, that’s why she was now walking the halls leading to the kitchen and pestering Alec for more information on the matter.

“Do we know at least who they are sending?” – Isabelle asked as she walked into the kitchen for a cup of black tea with Alec in tow.

“I only know that we’re getting a couple of additional Shadowhunters to deal with the increasing Downworlders attacks in New York.” – He said and moved to get a cup of coffee for himself.

“How long are they staying for?” – Izzy’s curiosity was one of the things that hadn’t changed since she was a little girl.

“Iz, I literally know what you know. Mom didn’t tell me anything more but until Clary is fully trained and ready, we can’t stand with our hands crossed and wait for the next attack. Valentine’s influence in growing with each day.” – Alec said and sipped from the steaming black liquid in his cup.

“And that is exactly why we’re accepting all the help we can get from the Clave.” – Maryse walked into the kitchen too, fixing her hair and making sure it was tightly gathered in a ponytail.

The opening of the heavy institute doors alerted them than the new arrivals were already here and Maryse ushered Isabelle and Alec out of the kitchen to meet the newcomers and see who their new teammate would be.

Time seemed to stop for a second when the Lighwood siblings saw the person standing in front of everyone else, black pants, tactical shoes and a light brown blazer, head standing high and with hair carefully braided there stood none other than Lydia Branwell.

It’s been a little over three months since the most disastrous wedding of the Shadow world, or at least since the infamous wedding ceremony of Alec Lightwood and Lydia. At first there were many shocked guests and Maryse had almost gotten a heart attack as she saw her son kissing Magnus Bane but now that she had seen how happy her boy is, she was glad he had the courage to stand up for his love.

“You have got to be kidding me.” – Alec murmured under his nose but tried to keep his expression neutral as Lydia approached them. Her stance was just as confident as before even if a tad stiff, her chin holding high but her eyes were filled with uncertainty. It was safe to say that she didn’t feel completely at ease standing there either.

“Maryse. Alec. Isabelle.” – Lydia acknowledged everyone with a curt nod of her head.

“Lydia, we’re happy to have you here. Things have been getting harder to manage with the increasing attacks.” – Maryse spoke first.

“You are all welcome to start patrolling with our teams, each of you has already been assigned to one so go find your teammates.” - She added and the rest of the newcomers scrambled already having heard their orders.

“Lydia you can leave your things and meet Alec and Isabelle here in twenty minutes, you are patrolling tonight.” – Maryse said to Lydia and turned around to go back to her own work, the Clave had sent them ten more people and they didn’t have any time to waste.

“Lydia, can we talk for a second?” – Alec asked, one of his hands rubbing his neck, Izzy could tell her brother was nervous but she got the hint and excused herself.

Seeing Lydia back in the Institute made Isabelle feel a little tense, she wasn’t her biggest fan but after she heard what the blonde said at her trial and the fact that she tried to stop it made her company a little less unpleasant.

Sparing her brother and Lydia one last glance before she went to the armory, Izzy saw Lydia saying something that made Alec let out a small smile and he extended his hand, shaking hers in return before they parted ways.

Their first mission with Lydia was a success, they managed to bring down the four demons without taking any major hits themselves. Lydia might not have been the most talkative person in the world, far from it in fact but it wasn’t as if Izzy and Alec had tried to maintain a conversation going either, the three fought well together and that was enough.

The first week went by quickly, doing most of the same stuff as before, train, patrol, sleep and repeat.

Usually, Alec spent every free moment he had with Magnus and when he stopped by the Institute, he wasn’t surprise to see Lydia training there now. Izzy opted to keep her distance but kept a close eye on Lydia, she hadn’t seen her talk much with her brother since the first day they saw each other again and most of the time they spent together they’d either train or discuss the plan for their next patrol.

Two weeks went by and Izzy could see that everyone still seemed to walk on eggshells around her, beside Alec and Magnus who were actually starting to warm up to her. Most people avoided her because they thought she’d kill them only with her glance and others were simply avoiding her because they knew she’d kick their asses on the training mat and wanted to avoid bruises. During that time,

Isabelle had been watching the blonde woman stick to her own for the entire time she’d been there, she trained on her own, ate on her own and even chilled in the garden on her own. The younger Lightwood was getting curious now and small part of her was starting to feel bad for Lydia. She was a good fighter, she’d even saved Izzy and Alec’s bacons a couple of times already and hadn’t mentioned it after that. It felt like they had fallen into a comfortable routine and their improvised team functioned well.

The fact that Lydia was strikingly beautiful was also a factor that made Izzy keep her distance from her, she didn’t want to complicate the situation even further so she pretended not to notice the glances she received from Lydia when the blonde thought that Izzy wasn’t looking at her. However, the younger Lightwood couldn’t help herself and one foggy Saturday morning she broke her resolve.

The Institute was almost empty, save for the two or three Shadowhunters left that were roaming the halls and the team that was patrolling the streets now, Alec had gone to Magnus’ and Clary was spending the weekend with Jace and Simon, trying to get them not to kill each other. Lydia was alone in the training room, she’d just finished punching the boxing bag and droplets of sweat were falling down the sides of her face. Izzy looked at her as she kicked and punched the bag, she could see the muscles flexing under her skin and Lydia’s focused expression, never breaking contact with her imaginary opponent. Izzy’s mind came up with a tempting idea and she made her way to the weapons rack and then to Lydia, holding steadily a staff in her hands.

“Come on, let’s see what you’ve got,” - Isabelle said as she threw a staff at Lydia, the challenge evident in her voice.

“Are you sure? I won’t go easy on you” - Lydia arched her eyebrow as she saw Izzy getting into position.

“I have no doubt about that but I assure you I can hold my own,” - Isabelle said with a smirk at the end and felt the snake unwrap from her wrist, transforming her electrum whip in a solid staff in the blink of an eye.

And so they began, no slow swings at the beginning like with Clary, no careful movements like with Alec, no time for hesitant attacks like with Jace... Lydia was uninterrupted, fierce chain of movement. She swung her staff over her head and managed to lend a quick hit on Isabelle’s cheek. For a split-second worry flashed in the blonde’s eyes but when she saw Izzy looking at her with fierce determination instead of anger and spite, her worried lessened. The next couple of minutes every attack was met with a block and Isabelle couldn’t help but smile as she finally found an opening and sharply thrusted the end of her staff into Lydia’s stomach, making her tumble backward in pain that only lasted a couple of moments.

“You’re better than I expected.” - Izzy said with another smug smile and watched Lydia regain her position.

“I can say the same thing for you.”- The blonde tried to sound menacing but it was a difficult task to achieve while admitting Izzy was an excellent fighter, perhaps even better than herself. Their rivalry seemed to have shifted into something else in nature.

Lydia was now standing in front of Isabelle, holding her staff in position, her feet began moving as she saw the younger Lightwood circle her. The blonde was the perfect image of control even now, composed and focused even though her breathing was fast and she already had several bruises forming on her skin. Isabelle couldn’t help but let her eyes roam over the blonde’s body, smirking as she saw the other woman struggling to keep her eyes from straying down her figure was well.

“You have a good balance but you cannot control everything.” – Izzy said as she attacked.

Lydia could feel the heat coming off in waves from Isabelle’s body standing so close to her, she could also smell the faint scent of orange blossoms that clang to Izzy’s hair. For a moment her mind got clouded and she missed the way Izzy’s lips curled up as she brought her foot between Lydia’s and sent them both tumbling to the ground. Knocking Lydia’s staff out of her hands, it landed on the other side of the training room, far from her reach as well and now the blonde found herself pinned to the ground with a smirking Isabelle Lightwood on top of her.

Even though Izzy was the shorter one out of the two of them, she held her tightly pinned to the ground now and her self-satisfied smile made Lydia wonder why she had wasted those two weeks until and hadn’t talked with Isabelle on the first day like she did with Alec. She wouldn’t say she and the older Lightwood were friends yet but they were getting there and at least things between them weren’t awkward anymore. Grabbing Lydia by the wrists, Izzy let the staff transform back to a bracelet around her own wrist.

“Do you yield?” – Izzy asked and tightened her grip just to convey her point.

“I don’t give up so easily.” – Lydia said and did something no Shadowhunter had ever tried before, a bold and daring move that nobody had tried in years. She started tickling Izzy and the woman quickly rolled aside and Lydia used the moment to turn their positions.

“That’s cheating!” – Isabelle managed to say between laughs.

“Everything is fair when you’re pinned to the ground.” – Lydia said and secured Izzy’s hand under her. Even though this had started as a fight, it quickly turned into something completely else, even though they’d both tried to actively stay away from each other when they weren’t patrolling, the tension that had now settled between them was too heavy to be ignored. Lydia’s ocean blue eyes were almost black, mirroring the desire that burned in Isabelle’s and their bodies were mere inches apart when Izzy felt the other woman’s erratic heartbeat and…

A loud clash came from the kitchen breaking the moment between them, it seemed Izzy wasn’t the only one that should be prohibited from entering that space without anyone keeping an eye on her, she had only caused a few minor fires anyway.

Lydia moved from on top of Izzy as if she had burned her, she should’ve just yielded when her back hit the ground and save herself from this torture. She quickly got to her feet and was ready to walk away, leaving a stunned Isabelle behind her when she heard Izzy calling after her but decided to ignore her.

“Lydia, wait!” – Isabelle jumped on her feet too and tried to stop the other woman but the blonde’s feet were moving quickly away from her.

Something cold and thin wrapped around Lydia’s wrist and when she brought her hand up to see what it was, she was both frustrated and surprised to see the end of Izzy’s whip coiled around her skin, enough pressure to only make her stop in her tracks as Isabelle approached her.

“You have been avoiding me ever since you came and when you finally talk to me you run away again, what is your problem?” – Izzy asked her, her dark brown eyes now filled with hurt.

“Oh, because you’ve been so welcoming Isabelle?” – Lydia asked rhetorically.

“I just…” – Izzy started but wasn’t sure where to actually start from.

“You know what forget it.” – She said and tried to end the conversation, this time it was she that was walking away.

“I didn’t want to make it weird okay?” – Lydia quickly answered frustrated and saw Isabelle stop and turn to look at her once more.

“Well, weirder at least.” – She added with a small voice and took a deep breath.

“I was the one that almost got you stripped of your runes and I know you didn’t like me before that either and now we were finally starting to work well together... I didn’t want to put at risk the way our team works.” – The blonde explained and saw Izzy cross her hands in front of her, this wasn’t her favorite subject to talk about but it was necessary.

“I saw you not only letting but also encouraging Alec to go with Magnus even though it meant destroying all your chances of leading this Institute and I also heard what you said at my hearing. I know now why you thought you were doing the right thing.” – Izzy admitted.

“Yeah well, turns out Alec wasn’t my type at all.” – Lydia said with a small shake of her head. She didn’t like having to talk about her feelings where everyone could hear her so she tried to deflect with dry humor and started walking away again.

Izzy could feel her heart beating rapidly now, she hadn’t been wrong after all, Lydia seemed to feel the same attraction as her so maybe it was time to clear the air between them once and for all. Swinging with her whip once more, Izzy tugged at Lydia’s arm until she was standing within reach again.

“Can you stop running away every time I try to tell you something or can you only talk to me while you’re on the stand?” – Izzy asked feigning frustration.

“Ugh! Do you expect me to write you a formal apology about that or…?” – Lydia was about to say something more when she felt Isabelle’s lips press against her.

The kiss was slow and hesitant at first but Lydia quickly snapped out of the surprised stupor and kissed her back, feeling Izzy smile against her.

“I expect you to stop brooding alone from now on and let me take you out tonight. It’s not our night to patrol so I can show you around the city and we can do more of this.” – Izzy said as she leaned in for another kiss.

“Deal.” – Lydia managed to say between kisses and felt Isabelle’s hands wrap around her middle, pulling her close. It was a little over three months and two weeks since the most disastrous wedding in the Shadow world and Lydia had never been happier.

[all-cursed]

Meet my first OC to have a specific fandom they’re attached to!

So I’ve never created an OC specifically for the universe of a show before, they’ve always been fandomless, but I was excited to create one for Wynonna Earp. I’m going to give him a proper page on the muse list as well as give everyone more detailed biographies eventually, but for now, this should work.

DISCLAIMER: to anyone who may have concerns, please know that I myself am Native American (Blackfoot and Cherokee), and did a lot of research while creating this character to make sure I do them justice and create an actual Native character that isn’t just a stereotype. Some parts that might seem stereotypical - such as the name this character chooses to go by - just comes with the modern era the universe is set in and the character’s own reasons. Several of the struggles he faces as well are specifically chosen because I hope to raise awareness in some small ways to the struggles that IPOC face even today. None of it is meant to be fetishising or stereotypical - some of it just exists in that space as an unfortunate reality.

Alright! Here we go.

                                                       [    i.    STATS   ]

NAME.  meecha wo’i  " crow "  redwolf .   

AGE.  23 as of 1x01 .

DOB.  nov 29th ,  1993 .

GENDER. gender-indifferent cis male  :   prefers he/him or they/them pronouns .

PREF. pansexual but has a preference for men and nonbinary individuals 

SPECIES.  human ,  witch  ,   skinwalker .

RESIDENCE.  the  ghost  river  triangle  .

OCCUPATION. former cashier ; former lead guitar in an up and coming rock band ; current bartender . 

ETHNICITY. in simple terms: native american. specifically: hopi and creek. some scottish but not by much. 

 [    ii.    INTROSPECTION    ]

POSITIVE TRAITS.   curious ,   adaptable ,  perceptive ,   creative ,   passionate ,   loyal ,   perseverant , open-minded , compassionate .

NEUTRAL TRAITS.  persuasive ,   withdrawn (at first; nervous about other’s intentions) ,   secretive , free-wheeling .

NEGATIVE TRAITS.  temperamental ,   unrestrained ,  spiteful ,   reckless ,   capricious ,   hedonistic .

DISLIKES.  sounds of traffic or loud machinery in general &  the sound of metal on metal &  the smell of cheap perfume/cologne &  hot weather &  dust  &  houseflies &  being told (instead of asked) what to do &  rap music &  wool scarves &  fluorescent lights &  lack of hygiene &  orange flavoured candies/sodas/anything that’s not an actual orange &  deep dark waters he can’t see the contents of &  mistreatment of animals &  having assumptions made about him  &  mathematics &  onions &  football  .

LIKES.  the scent and sound of rain &  physical touch &  candles , lighters , and controlled flames in general &  the smell of cedar , pine , and the forest &  music and playing musical instruments &  italian food &  raving about attractive people with others; intoxication is a bonus &  leather; wearing it and the smell of it &  glasses clinking together &  late night talks &  stargazing &  drawing / sketching &  records and record players &  animals &  'stealing’ and wearing the clothes of people he’s close with &  running &  card games &  dancing and singing & creating something out of nothing &  getting the last word .

HOBBIES. drawing &  singing and playing instruments &  exploring / learning as many places as they can like the back of their hand & people watching  &  drinking and bar hopping &  seeking pleasure and adventure wherever he can find it & collecting random things he enjoys / likes .

WEAKNESSES. he’s standoffish until he knows he can trust a person and can come off rude or aloof  & the inability to let go of most grudges &  his tendency to follow his desires and his heart before logic or his mind  &  impulsivity when emotional .

STRENGTHS. independence and ability to function and thrive alone (even if he would prefer to have company it is not mandatory) &  ability to be resourceful and adapt to new situations quickly &  handles time-sensitive situations well due to his tendency to act quick and think later &  stubbornness to stick to a task and see it through &  quick thinking &  agility and speed of inhuman proportions (thanks to his less than human side) .

HABITS. clicking his teeth together repeatedly when annoyed &  flexing  fingers & playing with his hair in absentminded / lazy moments &  silently staring at someone when he’s done with a conversation until they catch the hint and stop talking  &  if there’s music playing within earshot he always ends up swaying to the beat  &  will often make less than human sounds (growls, etc.) when angry if he doesn’t catch himself .

EDUCATION. average  student  throughout  elementary ,  middle &  high  school .  graduated with an equally average gpa of 3.0 , &  decided against college, choosing to seek education in less typical places .  fed up with his family and much of the treatment of his peers, he began to learn magic from a witch he met on one of his regular trips to wander the ghost river triangle and explore & learnt magic and about the more mystical parts of purgatory - ultimately becoming a skinwalker via the witch’s guidance and training .

[  iii. APPEARANCE  ]

FACECLAIM.  booboo stewart . 

HEIGHT.  5 ' 8 " ,  though when able to he wears combat boots that add a few inches to his height . 

EYES.  a very keen and observant hazel when he’s in human form .   when shifting , eye colour can range from yellow to red to green to blue depending on many factors - location , how far he shifts , etc .  always alert and bright unless intoxicated or in very rough shape emotion-wise . often wishes they were green or grey and has considered wearing contacts to change his eyes (human-wise) to those colours.

EYEBROWS.   defined  arch  but not so much so that it’s dramatic .  not too thin and not too bushy , and naturally neat - he rarely has to tend to them and usually only does so to shave a tiny slit or two through them as a stylistic choice .

HAIR.  long and dark ;  sleek with an ever so slight wave to it .  typically worn either down or in a loose ponytail , occasionally sections are braided .  falls just a few inches above his ribcage .  every so often he’ll dye streaks into his hair but has never dyed his whole head .

SCARS.  many . he has a variety of smaller scars from a rowdy childhood; a few faint ones on his hands and arms from scratches borne of cats and dogs . the typical scars that come from falling off bicycles or off swings ; scraped knees and cuts on chins . his forearms especially are covered in scars he prefers not to speak of .  there’s a scar on his forehead from a fight with his cousin as well as a few long scars on his back .

DRESSING STYLE.  it varies depending upon mood and whatever job he has at the time . especially fond of punk / alternative styles , likes leather , and enjoys the comfort of loose and flowing garments. whatever style he happens to choose at any given time , he wears well and somehow always manages to draw attention - whether from the jewelry he accessorises with (varieties of bracelets and cuffs , rings , pendants with gems , etc.)

LIPS.  naturally  full ,  scar at the right corner of his lip , occasionally  sore or split when he goes through anxious phases and tends to chew at his lips .

SKIN.   smooth , tanned . he doesn’t have much body hair , a fact that doesn’t tend to bother him much. he rarely engages in a skincare routine and much like his eyebrows generally stays neat and well-kempt without much effort . does not wear much makeup but enjoys eyeliner from time to time . if not for his skin tone, the dark circles beneath his eyes would be much more visible .

CHEEKS.  defined cheekbones ,   not easily flushed .  sports the occasional scars due to nervous picking when he was younger.

[  iv. ABILITIES  ]

LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english  [ fluent ] ,  hopi  [ conversational &  spellwork language ] , spanish  [ conversational ] .

THREAT LEVEL.  mediocre  to  high .

WEAPONS.  fairly efficient in his understanding of magic and can easily hold his own with either combative or defensive magic ,  but prefers when possible to rely on his own physical skills ; is proficient in hand to hand combat thanks to the speed , agility , and strength bequeathed upon him by his skinwalker nature . very skilled in knifeplay , whether throwing or up close . has little to no practise with firearms as of 1x01 . 

MAGIC. magic learnt by his mentor was primarily elemental based and neutral in that it could easily be manipulated for defensive or offensive ; he was never extremely proficient and left before he could complete his training so he is still learning his limits and the heights he can reach , and wants to branch out . as for the magical abilities granted by his status as skinwalker - he is able to shapeshift , which saps him of certain levels of energy that depend upon what creature he takes the shape of . he is also granted higher than average speed, agility, and strength because of this which he keeps with him even when not shifting.

 [  v. DETAILS  ]

➣➣ he was born in georgia originally to a loving but struggling mother and father - his mother was hopi and his father was creek, and while both parents had originally lived on their own respective reservations, they had met one another by chance during a trip and fallen in love, eventually deciding to seek out their own home outside of the reservations. his parents loved him but struggled financially; eventually his mother’s sister offered to take him in. as that was the better option rather than the three of them becoming homeless, crow’s parents sent him to live with his aunt in arizona on the rez. while they stayed in touch, his parents needed to stay in georgia, and as such he only would see them on the occasional holiday.

➣➣ while his aunt meant well, his cousins were another story. living with his aunt and uncle would have been fine had it not been for their two children; a son and daughter who constantly bullied him behind their backs for not being pure hopi as they were, often harassing him about being a ‘halfbreed’. a quiet boy at heart to boot, he faced bullying in school as well all the way through high school. his cousins, in tenth grade, snooped in his room and found his journal - which they used to out him as pansexual to the school.

➣➣ the moment he graduated, he spent as much time off the rez as possible, avoiding his cousins. on one of his frequent trips to simply explore nearby cities and towns, he found himself in purgatory. one drunken night led to following a mysterious woman into the woods. as it turned out, she was a witch. intrigued and excited at the idea of learning magic and having a way to defend himself, he quickly took her up on her offer to teach him. after a few months, she let him in on her secret - she was a skinwalker.

➣➣ she talked up how powerful she was because of it, and how no one would ever hurt her again. the more he heard about it, the more he wanted it. still unhealed from the way he was treated growing up and too caught up in the concept of never having to be beneath someone ever again, he agreed to let her hold the ceremony that would make him one as well without thinking of the consequences. when she told him that the final task he needed was to kill a family member... he almost faltered but agreed and went back to the rez. 

➣➣ he almost didn’t do it. it was night when he returned, and he could see his male cousin drinking on the porch. the concept of killing someone - even someone like his cousin who had treated him so poorly - was daunting. he might have changed his mind had his cousin not seen him arriving and was immediately being malicious; using homophobic slurs and accusing crow of having run off with a lover, talking about how disgraceful it was. and it all was a blur from there.

➣➣ bringing back a lock of his cousin’s hair to the witch, she finished the rituals and he became the creature she had promised - powerful but at what cost? still wrought with guilt despite having made the ultimate choice, crow left the forests on the outskirts of purgatory where he had been training and into the ghost river triangle itself, unable to go home after what he did and unable to stomach facing the witch. living out of his truck, he went from odd job to odd job, eventually landing a stable job as a cashier at a grocery store. around this time he chose to begin going by the name crow - both to distance himself from his past, and because if someone were to want to control or destroy him now as a skinwalker, they could do so if they knew his true, personal name. as such, a nickname seemed the safest bet. 

➣➣ fastforward to present day (1x01). after a few years of cashiering and attempting to rent rooms and apartments without success, as well as a stint playing guitar for an up and coming rock band, crow landed a job as a bartender at one of the local bars and instead of attempting to rent rooms or apartments, ended up moving into the trailer park. it was sketchy to say the least, but he couldn’t afford anything fancy and clearly didn’t handle having roommates well. a trailer seemed like the next best thing, outside of living in the woods or in his truck. his tendency to mind his own business and expect that of others meant that he mingled with normal purgatory residents and the revenants equally, pursuing his hedonistic nature as he pleased. which was all well and good, until things began to get... a lot more chaotic due to a curse and an heir he had originally had no knowledge of. 

               [ MORE TO COME THROUGHOUT                                               CHARACTERIZATION DEVELOPMENT ]

[kurtty-drabbles]

Postwoman au (part 7)

Finally, write the Krampus and Kitty time travel adventure.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @muninandhugin @tieflingteeth

In all honesty, if you ask Kitty with tact-something some people in her life lack- Kitty took this job without feeling she has a saying whatsoever in the matter. Maybe, it was true, maybe Galaticus in all his wisdom and all his status as an Outer God-one above everyone and everything. No one should forget this. Kitty felt she have no saying so, yet that didn´t stop her to form opinions.

At this very precise moment, Kitty is on her knees watching-even admiring the brazes of the fireplace- each aspect, each small detail of this strange room. It has an ancient vibe, as if Kitty travel back in time, at the same time it feels modern-she saw the TV near. Looks like a new model, at least it looks like.

It certainly isn´t how one imagines Krampus´s room. Kitty let a grin grace her rounded face as she develops some silly ideas for his room. She´s ever grateful Krampus can´t read minds. Those ideas are too dumb and Kitty has no sense of fashion.

"Your hair" his voice jolts Kitty back to reality. Krampus is looking at the ponytail and taking some hair locks in his azzure hand. Feeling the texture. Her hair is fluffy.

"Oh, yeah...I love to use ponytails" slowly her hands undo the ponytail letting her hair free once again. "You know, you don´t have to do this...." she trails off fidgeting with the ribbon used to form the ponytail.

Krampus hummed in response. Playing with her hair as a counter-response to everything.

"Really, is just hair..." Kitty is grateful Krampus is only watching her back. He doesn´t need to see her redden cheeks nor how the color is spreading to the neck.

"I want to do it, plus, you´re here already and you already undo the ponytail..." there´s mirth in his voice. Kitty won´t face him. "Your fingers are dexterous...is almost erotic to watch"

Kitty now has every reason to not turn and see his handsome face.

"I didn´t mean to make you uncomfortable!" he promises kindly. Isn´t it a bit funny? Krampus is kind but he´ll take your misbehaving kid-and sometimes your wife. Yet, he´s here being kind with Kitty just because. What a strange ancient man!

"I´m just saying...if you´re born in my...time, let´s call as such, many men would want to marry a woman with such fluffy hair and dexterous abilities" Kurt is kind.

Kitty could flirt. Could ignore. Kitty, however, has no real game in regards to some social situations.

"I´m Jewish...pretty sure German people wouldn´t like marry me" no shame on her part. Kitty wears her roots proudly. If Kurt has a problem...

"I know...in my time,  Jewish women are just women. Romani women are just women and black women are just women." his tone looks sad. "Until it was a point to distinguish and separate them..." she can feel him shaking his head. "In my time, when a woman presents to...the Gods, to the old temples, we judge her by her skills not her origins...you would get a good match" now his tail has a brush.

Her face turns slightly to the side-still feeling her checks burning- to see golden eyes staring at her amused. Mischievous. The woman pouts and turns back to her view of the fireplace.

"You´re a mysterious figure, you know that" Kitty begins as Kurt chuckles to prove his feelings. "That´s why I did my own research on you!" Kitty confesses to focus on the fire. It´s almost as if the fire is dancing.

Kurt humms again. Starting brushing her hair- Kitty will deny with all her heart if anyone claims she´s purring-slowly and Kitty closes her eyes, incline her head slightly and again if anyone says purring ...they´ll be so wrong.

"Oh, your research about me? I´m flatter, what my little postwoman found" Kurt is brushing her hair without any hush. Without pointing out certain sounds Kitty is making. Not purring, sure!

"Yes, I found out about you and Amanda"

"Uhm, not a secret, Katzchen"

"She was your secretary!" she starts not minding Kurt not an impressive response. "She was the daughter of Margalia Szardos. The lower totem of the magical community and thought if she had you like her...." now she stumbles with words.

"A weapon?" Kurt suggests amused.

"Yes, that. She thought if you were on her team she could conquer the witch community and be the Queen of the Witches" Kitty smiles as Kurt comments she´s correct.

"Margalia was killed by the council...and Amanda had a son with.....her brother" now she stops smiling. Incest sort breaks anyone´s victory.

"Oh, yes. She slept with Stefan. She named her own daughter as Amanda. She has killed as well Stefan" his tone is somber. Kitty wonders if she treads in dangerous waters.

"And the council spare her, the baby, you spare the baby...because you don´t believe in punishing a baby for the parents´ crimes" Kitty amends.

"Yes, Amanda gave her name to the baby but not the last name..."

"A witch without a surname is an outcast" Kitty pipes in. "Yana explain this to me...she´s the Demon Queen of my heart" she states and Kurt stops brushing her fluffy hair.

"Are you two...close?"

"Platonically speaking, of course. We´re platonic soulmates"

"Oh, it makes sense! I meet Yana.....she´s intense" Kurt offers this as an explanation. "She once tried to be the Zombie Queen for lols...she talks about you and her friends"

Kitty wanted to ask if he tried to hit on Yana. Yana doesn´t swing to this team at all.

"I didn´t hit on Yana. Not only Yana doesn´t swing to this team...she is 100% not a good match for me in any way...not a fan of zombies and she would claim herself as a Zombie Queen"

"Oh, that´s Yana. She was a Vampire Queen until she got bored"

"...Your platonic soulmate is all yours!"

Now his fingers are working on her fluffy hair. Time to braid it. "Your hair is lovely than Yana"

"What?"

"Shush, I´m braiding your hair!"

After a few moments. A few pushes on her hair-it may be intentional or not- the hair is done. Kurt takes the mirror to show the hairstyle.

(how it looks)

"What you think?"

"Krampus steals your kids, your wife, also do your hair. What you think?"

"Good, no one will believe the last part anyway" ________________________________________________________________________________________

Meggan Puceanu is a succubus. The world never will let her forget her such fact. NEVER. Succubus are fun for the night, no one wants to hang out with them in the day.

Meggan is all too used by now.

Brian, however, seems to not get the memo in regards to the succubus´s interaction as he´s still talking to her. Still here.

"I found some leads about the Black Queen. Selene is not being supported by Shaw, but, she has money enough for her plans...and Meggan, are you ok?"

"You still are talking with me...are you sure of that?"

And Brian was never the epitome of emotional sensibility or anything like that, in fact, not even his sister was-she tried to sleep with a married man once. Yet, Brian is not completely dumb to ignore the elephant in the room.

"When I ask you to be in Excalibur...you know the invitation is serious, right? I´ll not kick you out tomorrow"

"That´s ...new, really new to me"

"Working with someone else is also new to me...we can learn together"

Meggan wants to probe more of these feelings. Meggan has questions. Gloriana, however, is too professional to let work slide in favor of feelings.

"Do you think Krampus made the right call? Sending someone to the past is a bit dangerous..."

"Who is Krampus?"

"Kurt Wagner"

"That...doesn´t answer my question"

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Krampus is restless. Never a good sign as Santa can confirm. The two figures exchange one final look. Full of answers only for them and only them. Kitty must be oblivious if she wasn´t Kitty that´s it.

"So, my mission is to travel in time. Collect some magic rocks and return...all while not gathering the attention of the ancient figures of there. Smaller gods, right?" Kitty summarizes the situation as brief as she can.

Kurt´s face looks twisted in worry. His tail touches her hands. "You really don´t have to do this..." he looks at her braid hair and typical dress linked to the paganism era. "You can keep the dress and hair...I´ll not mind, but, please...there´s nothing forcing you to do this..."

"Is my work, Kurt, of course, I´ve to do it" Kitty answers resolutely. Even winking at him.

Kurt lowers his head a bit and rests his forehead on hers. Oh, how the height differences are a bit sometimes. Kurt did have to lower himself to do this small action. He could have lifted her up...but it would be too intimate.

"Kurt?" Kitty can´t hide her emotions very well. She tried.

"Stay away from Chernabog, promise me"

"I promise you"

With such small words, Kurt leaves Kitty and conjures the portal. Santa takes from there. "Once you collect the magical rocks...just use your key and you´ll be back in no time"

Kitty nods. Is not a hard task...

She jumps through the portal and Kurt watches as the portal closes.

"You could have tell her...you´re Chernabog"

"I...don´t know how she would reach this"

[avaria-revallier]

Chapter 4: Of family and tea

Bella was feeling miserable. She is wet -drenched- to her very bones. Her hair nothing more than a soppy mess and her soaked clothes glued to her skin. The first few hours the rain had been a comfortable change. It had been refreshing. Well, it wasn't any more. After three days of continuous rain her mood had hit rockbottom. The dwarrows were no better. None of them had talked to her since and even Bofur hadn't told any joke in a while. The only hope Bella had left was the knowledge that the sky would be clear once lunch-time had passed. 

Annoyed she brushes another wild curl out of her eyes. This kind of weather was really the worst for her hair. Taming the golden-brown curls was a quest on its own when the weather was good, but the humid air made it almost impossible to keep them in any kind of braid. Frustrated she opens her ponytail for the sixths time this day and redoes her hair. She binds them as tight as she could manage without hurting herself in the progress.

As predicted the sky clears a few hours later. Thorin stops the ponies near a large overhang. All of them were thankful for the break. The rain had washed away their enthusiasm and the cold meals were no joy either. Stiff she walks over to Gloin and Bombur who were starting to lite a fire. Bella wasn't sure how they even managed to produce more than smoke with the wet wood. Shivering she hugs her knees, drawing her legs closer to her body. Something heavy and very, very warm was thrown over her shoulders, covering her entire body. 

Peeking out from under the large coat she could see Dwalin. The tattooed warrior was standing to her right side, looking down on her. His arms crossed and a blank expression on his face he just stared at her. Dwalin could stare down almost anyone he wanted. Most people even actively avoided his gaze. 

The little hobbit lass on the other hand openly looked at him. She even sometimes searched for him while looking around and smiled as soon as he returned her look. It was confusing. How could such a tiny little creature withstand his stare when even men and steeled warriors avoided him? She was one strange lass. Not complaining, not demanding a break when she obviously was exhausted enough to fall asleep while riding. She did all the tasks Thorin had given her without a word of complain. He had seen her giggling with the young princes, laughing at Bofurs silly jokes and excitedly trade receipts with Bombur. It was strange and fascinating at the same time to observe the many faces she could make, to witness how she laughs in one moment and is serious in the next. Even now she didn't fail to impress him. Shivering next to the fire, looking more miserable than a cat that had been thrown into a river and still, not complaining. Before he himself even knew what was going on his coat was draped around her shoulders. Underneath his clothes she looked even smaller. With big green eyes she stares up at him. He returns the look, carefully not to let his expression slip. He felt better as soon as she stopped shivering, he realised. They looked at each other for a few more awkward moments. Her big honest eyes piercing him, as if she could look into his very soul. Dwalin was the first one to look away. This was a premiere!

"We don't want you to catch a cold." he declared.

"Thank you, master Dwalin. Aren't you cold now?" she replied in a worried tone.

He looked down at her once again. Only true concern was to be found in her eyes. Later on Dwalin would name this particular moment as the start of ‘the whole damn misery’. Bella tilted her head a bit when he didn’t answer.

“No worry, mistress Baggins, we dwarrows run hotter than other races.” And with that the conversation was ended.

Bella separated herself from the group after they had build up their camp for the night and tiptoed to the near tree-line. Bifur was the only one watching her. She signed him to keep quiet about it by holding one finger on her lips. The first few days she hadn’t had any opportunity as there had been no cover. The rain had interrupted her training for the last few days, but now she could finally continue. Yavanna knew she would need it soon enough. 

Hanging her waistcoat on a nearby branch she stepped into the clearing. Trees and bushes sheltered her from unwanted spectators. In one hand she holds her walking stick, in the other a smaller branch with the rough shape of a sword. Taking on a stable position she breathes in and out to calm her nerves and heartbeat. First she rehearsed the fundamental steps of blocking an attack from above, below and either sides. Next she changed her strategy from blocking to attacking and then combining those two.

“Where is the hobbit?” Bofur was the first one to notice their burglars absence. A small panic, followed by chaos erupted as all the dwarrows looked around, searching the camp for any usable hints where she could have gone. Bifur and Nori where the only two still sitting by the fire.

Dwalin spotted his cloak neatly folded at the end of his bedroll. He frowned at the sight of it. He hadn’t had the impression that she would reject his offer, maybe he should have clearly declared the coat as a gift, instead of just handing it over to her. Well, he would have to do better next time before one of the other dwarrows would snatch his chance away.

“Her backpack and bedroll are still here. She wouldn’t have wandered off without it, would she?” wondered Bombur.

The cook of the company had grown quite fond of the lass. Dwalin had seen them chatting for hours and hours about food and methods on cooking chicken and lamb and stews and what not. In fact they all had grown quite fond of the gentle little creature. She had been becoming a solid part of their company. Even if Thorin still mutated into a stone-headed idiot as soon as she looked in his direction or came near him. Dwalin could perfectly understand that trusting a stranger was not easy, but she had welcomed the company in her home and left said home to reclaim theirs. She willingly came on a quest to potentially be eaten by a dragon for Mahals sake! He clenches his hands into fists.

“I am going to look for her, she wouldn’t have gone far.” Dwalin grunted, stomping off to the trees.

Bifur abruptly stood up and follows Dwalin into the shady forrest. They hadn’t had to look for too long. Dwalin and Bifur found Bella on a small clearing, performing a fearful dance of destruction. Her staff in one hand and a -very poorly made- wooden sword in the other she spins over the ground. One step back, two forth, her feet barely touching the grass and moss. Jabbing, stabbing and slashing invisible opponents, while blocking attacks from all sides. It was rather beautiful to watch, Dwalin admitted, still frightening at the same time. Bifur next to him seemed to enjoy himself as well. His gaze wasn’t as clouded as on other occasions while he watched their gentle hobbit slashing the air.

Dwalin wasn’t sure how to announce their presence without startling Bella. Bifur took the decision from his hands as he clapped enthusiastically when Bella dodged a low swing by crouching down and forcefully stabbing her sword up.

For a second Bella froze in her very motion. She hadn’t expected any other sounds than the whispering of the trees around. The loud clapping took her by surprise. Before she could even comprehend what was happening her instincts kicked in and she threw the wooden sword in the direction of the sound. Back on her feet she looks over to the two figures in the shadows. With burning cheeks she realises that it had been Dwalin and Bifur who fell victim to her poor attempt of an attack. Bifur had the wooden sword in his hands, examining it. He only grunted at the pathetic try of carving a weapon.

“How long have you been standing there?” Bella asks breathlessly.

“Longer than you’d like I’d imagine.” Dwalin crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking down at her.

Bifur said something in rapid Khuzdul, waving the sword around, before he simply broke it apart and throws the pieces over his shoulder.

“I need that to train!” she argued.

“I agree with Bifur on this, you can hardly call that thing a weapon, neither can you train properly with that.”

Bifur nods furiously, gesturing towards her and Dwalin. Bella could only frown as he once again let loose a wave of Khuzdul.

Dwalin is amazed and utterly confused. She is a hobbit, there was no doubt. From her furry feet to her slightly pointy ears over the beardless face and the golden curls. A hobbit. A gentle creature… Well, sort of.

“Where did you learn to fight, lassie?”suspicious he watched her taking another swig out of her bottle.

Bofur sat beside her, eagerly carving a small wooden sword. Dwalin preferred to stand, arms crossed and starring once again down on the confusing creature. In this moment he realised that he knew close to nothing about her. They had been traveling together for a few month now and he knew her name and well… not much more. He could judge her character by observing her, that he could. She was forgiving, to an extend that he would consider it a weakness. She was fond of food and eating, also of talking about food. He had seen her talking to Ori too, so he could assume that she liked to read and held a great deal of knowledge. Without a doubt she was brave, as she didn’t hesitated to tell the dwarrows if something bothered her, but she never complained about minor things. All in all she was a confusing creature.

“You could say a dear friend taught me.” There was no hint of a lie in her expression, only a shadow of pain and grief over her face.

Bella averted her face from the dwarrows while speaking. Painful memories chased each other. The smell of blood seemed to once again linger in the air while cries of pain and sobs of grief filled the forrest. A shiver ran down her spine.

‘Not this time, definitely not this time. I will save them even if it takes my all!’

A large hand squeezes her shoulder and brings her back into the present. Glancing up she meets Dwalins eyes. In there she could see the same pain that hunted her. Of course the warrior would understand her, even thought she didn’t say any more about it.

In her last life Dwalin had trained her mercilessly after fighting Azog. She never knew if it was a command Thorin gave or if the dwarf pitied her for not being able to fight.

‘Maybe’ a small part whispered ‘maybe he wanted you to be safe?’

“Here, I made it with my own two hands.” He holds up a small dagger, silver vines ranking over the knob. “It will protect you when I cannot.”

“This is beautiful!” she gasped. “I – I don’t even know what to say, master Dwalin.” Gently she brushes over the delicate ornaments.

Bifur next to her stopped carving to watch them both, a knowing grin on his lips.

“Is it not to your liking?”

Was that a small portion of panic in his voice? Startled she looked up. The big dwarf had taken a step back, scratching his neck while studying the ground with extreme interest.

“What? No!” she cried out, “It is beautiful. I have never seen such a fine blade before. Are you sure to give it to me?”

Finally Dwalin looked her into the eyes. Relief and pride in his gaze he stepped closer, placing both hands on her shoulders and knocking their foreheads together. The impact wasn’t that great, yet the world went dark.

The cheered ‘namad’ slowly died. After knocking their heads together the hobbit lass slumped down, eyes closed. Bile rose in his throat, had he killed his sister? With shaking hands he checked her breathing.

“She is a hobbit, you rockhead.” Bifurs gruff voice reminded him in Khuzdul. “Let Oin check her over.”

Gently lifting the hobbit up they both left the clearing. Bifur carrying her waistcoat and the partly finished sword for practice, while Dwalin held his newly won sister, his gift for her and the staff she used earlier. Halfway to the camp they met Bombur and Bofur. Dwalin hurried past them without a word, followed by Bifur who signed ‘Rockhead’ to his family.

“She’ll be fine. Just a bit of rest and sleep and tomorrow she'll be better than new.” The healer assured the gathered dwarrows.

Those words took most of the tension from the company. Bombur excused himself to prepare tea if she should wake. Fili and Kili remembered that she had purchased a rather large sack of dried leaves in Bree and went off to get it off of Bellas pack. Dori fussed over the resting hobbit, bringing another blanket and freshening up the wet piece of fabric on her forehead. Balin drags his brother to the other side of the camp, no doubt to give him an ear full for his recklessness. Bofur volunteering to take first watch took Bifur with him, sitting on a log a few feet from Bombur.

This left Thorin, Ori and Nori sitting by their burglar. Dwalin returned after an uncomfortable moment of silence. He fussed over the lass just like Dori before, adjusting the blankets and improvised cushion to make sure she would lie comfortable. This was the first time Thorin had seen his friend so worried. He notices a small dagger laying at the halflings side. After staring a while at it he recognised it as Dwalins. Nori, who had followed his kings gaze spotted the dagger as well. He knew of all the valuable belongings of the company, how else could he call himself spymaster?

“A very nice gift,” Nori chimed half mocking half serious, “not the best choice if you wanted to court her though.”

Thorins guts froze at the mocking words. He kept his face unmoved although the sheer thought of Bella courting another- wait he didn’t even care for her! There was nothing attractive about that gentle creature. Not her hazelnut curls that looked like rivers of gold in the firelight, not the way she laughed at Bofurs jokes, or slightly frowned while exchanging knowledge with Ori. It wasn’t cute how she smiled in her sleep and most definitely it wasn’t attractive when she stood up to him or scolded his nephews when they pulled another silly prank on Ori.

“Watch your tongue, thief! She is my sister by right, as she accepted my gift. She even said she had never seen a better one.” The warrior snarls at Nori. A silent sight of relief escapes the king while he watches Nori standing up, hands raising in surrender and joining Bombur by the fire.

Thorin watches Dwalin changing the wet cloth with the uttermost care. A small red bump decorated her forehead. He winced at the sight of the injury.

“I am not sure that mistress Bella actually knows what she accepted while accepting your gift, mister Dwalin.” Ori murmured absorbed in his journal.

King and warrior looked at him in confusion. The scribe didn’t seem to notice at first and it took almost all of Thorins composure not to jump at Ori and question him in detail about everything he knew about the hobbit.

“What do you mean?” finally- finally Dwalin asked the question burning like hot coals on Thorins tongue.

“W-well… she is a hobbit after all. From what I l-learned they have a different culture. For example walking barefoot and eating seven meals a day. They don’t know the concept of dwarven courting or receiving a gift to forge - to forge a family bond.” At first Ori had hesitated, fidgeting with his hands and looking everywhere but at Dwalin and Thorin. As he ventured further into his acquired knowledge he straightened himself and continued with a firm voice. “I was quite shaken when I had to explain that stone is not simply stone but that there are quite a few differences. She told me then that dirt is not simply dirt even that could be divided into different sections and classes. – Oh, I am sorry. I am sure you wouldn’t want me to bore you with different methods of farming. Where was I… Ah, right.” He clears his throat. If only to gather his thoughts or to built up tension, he definitely succeeded. “Hobbits are friendly folk. They make friends as easy as breathing and it wouldn’t wonder me if she already considered us to be her friends. She might be still politely addressing us all with ‘master’ nonetheless she might have asked me if it would be considered rude to ask us to call her by her name. One of us should explain her the importance of a self made or crafted gift and the honour it brings the dwarf whose gift was accepted.” For a split second the shy scribe met Thorins gaze. Ori flushed bright red, mumbling an excuse and hurrying of to sit by the fire with Bombur and Nori.

It was the first time that the two of them had heard their scribe talk that much in one go.

Thorin grunted displeased. He wouldn’t mind if the young one would have talked a bit more. He wasn’t quite sure if he could trust the hope that had sparked within him. How could the lass consider him as a friend? They barely talked and when they did he usually wasn’t very polite. Well, she just rubbed him in the wrong places is all. Always challenging him with her looks, speaking up when she was displeased. Thorin simply didn’t know how to react, so he spoke to her only when necessary and even then just the bare minimum.

Bellas eyes fluttered open. Groaning she sits up, on hand pressed against her head, the other rubbing her eyes. How long had she been sleeping? The headache almost felt like a hangover. A distant memory of an evening she spend with Bofur, after they had reclaimed the mountain, flared up. They had found the cellars, full of long forgotten wine and liquor. The feeling was quite similar, even if she couldn’t remember drinking any.

“She’s awake!” the one squeaking excitedly was Kili.

Bella only hissed as the loud voice ringed in her ears. The dulled knock was undoubtedly Filis fist on his brothers head. She looked around their camp. Her dwarrows where still here, each and every one of them. For the better part of their journey she had always feared them gone after waking up. Bella hadn’t slept a single night in peace, never more than a few hours before she would sit up and join whoever was on watch.

Fili came over, handing Oin a steaming mug. Proud the blonde prince looked at Bella.

“We mad you some tea! We assumed it would please you.” Openly he smiled at her, giving her also a mug.

“Thank you, that is very thoughtful of you.”hesitating she smiled back, repressing the urge to ruffle through his blonde hair. It was a habit she had brought with her from her last life.

“What kind of tea did you make me?” she asks instead.

“I noticed that you had purchased quite a big bag of dried leafs while we were in Bree, so I came to the conclusion that you must really like that blend of tea. Kili and I thought of trying it too, so we made some for the whole company. We all enjoyed the tea you gave us back in your home. I hope you don’t mind.”

Bella grew paler with each word the young prince stated. Peeking past Fili she could make out Kili in the process of bringing another steaming cup to his lips. She reached out and grabbed one of Filis hidden knives from beneath his jacket – how could he even move with so many weapons on him? – and threw it at the dark haired dwarf, hitting the mug and forcing it out of Kilis hand.

“Don’t any of you dare to take a sip!” she yelled, while her head roared in pain. Nori was the first one to act. A sharp blade was pressed against her throat, before she could blink. Bella didn’t move. While Fili stood up to look after his brother Oin examined the contend of the tea. He waves over Gloin to bring some dried leafs with him.

“By my beard, did you plan on poisoning the dragon with your tea?” the healer asked in confusion.

“What is in it, Oin?” the low growl from behind made her nearly jump. Noris blade was pressed firmer against her skin as she turned to watch Thorin. “Wolfsbane, Oleander and deadly nightshade, also known as Belladonna.” Oin answered honestly shocked.

For a fact, Bella did know that these herbs are poisonous to most races. She had aimed for these herbs because she knew the effect it would have on, well, any other creature than a hobbit. Her plan had been to poison the trolls or at least disable them long enough for the dwarrows to take care of the matter. It wasn’t the best plan, she had to admit, yet better than the outcome in her last life. She didn’t fancy to be used as a handkerchief twice!

“Let her go, thief! She clearly saved Kili and the rest of us from dying.” Dwalin snapped. He didn’t dare to hit Nori as he feared it would drive the blade further into Bellas flesh.

Nori wasn’t even impressed, only when Thorin nodded sharply he slowly let go of her, backing away. In a split second Dwalin was by her side checking for a possible injury through the blade.

“You had me worried, namad.” He blurted, angrily staring at Nori. The thief in question backed further away.

“Namad? What does that mean?” Bella asked.

Confused she looked around, stopping by Balin. The kings advisor sighted. “One matter at a time, lassie. I guess we all have some explaining to do.” He stated, sitting down again.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the camp. Bella decided that there probably would be no better time to talk with them than now. All eyes on her she reached down and takes a deep sip from the tea.

“I agree with master Balin. I may not have told you everything, but I have never lied to you.”

[honeymoonwriting]

Overwatch loves reacting to their S/O being severely depressed and anxious.

Part 5:

💜: Widowmaker

Amélie is silent with her concern and gentle with her words during this time.  Amélie knows that she’s a lot of things. Distant, blunt, cold-hearted and cruel to those who dare to get stuck in her web, but here you are. You are an angel, and your wings wrap the darkest corners of her mind with warmth and remind her that this isn’t the woman she really is. There are days though where she pushes you away, not wanting to care for you more than she already does, but she always comes back to you. 

• If she knows that you’ve been in your room for some time, she will perch herself outside your door and wait for you to step out. She doesn’t mind it at all and thinks about you. There isn’t strong emotion behind her thoughts yet, mainly just images of you and your days where you smile a bit more. She hopes you have more of those days...

• She’s great at listening but not so great at giving advice. You can rant and talk for hours about anything, and she’ll be there looking at you with a blank expression, Despite her face, you know she cares. 

• Also, she has fantastic shoulders for you to cry on. Very strong yet soft at the same time. She will intertwine her fingers in your hair, and if it’s long enough, braids, ponytails, and buns galore. After you finish crying, she will cup your face in her hands and look deeply into your eyes.

“Je t’aime.”

💙: Mei

Mei is a saint of patience and positivity during this time. After the death of her friends and the fall of Overwatch, she always tries to put on a happy face for others, but she will break with any subtle mention of the tragedy. There were days where her mind barely focused on the work in front of her and salty streams of tears would fall and crash, and Mei was left sobbing. She cares so much and loves deeply with every inch of her being, and will understand completely of your struggles.

• She is busy with work and research a lot of the time, so she’ll leave you Snowball to keep you company for a while. The cute little helper knows an array of tricks and beeps to make you giggle and smile. 

• Mei has gone to therapy and will suggest that you do the same. Therapy is an excellent tool to help manage your feelings and to build better habits for the future. Also, Mei will gift you a decorated journal for you to log in your moods, or just to doodle in.

• Dates in your bedroom will be frequent. Ice cream, cuddles, and talking sessions are just the tip of the iceberg when you're dating her. One day Mei surprises you by transforming her lab into a winter wonderland with ivory snowflakes swirling around like butterflies.

💛: Hanzo

Hanzo will be your protector during this time. Hanzo’s body feels like a lifeless doll that has just been tossed aside with the way guilt comes creeping upon him. He has lived as this vessel of emptiness for so long until he crossed paths with you. You taught Hanzo that forgiveness of oneself doesn’t come in one day or the next. It’s a constant reminder that you can do better, and keeping that thought with you through everything. Hanzo still has a lot to learn, and he hopes that you’ll be there with him through everything.

• Hanzo will create a safe space for you that is flowing with calming incense and candles. He wants you to feel comfortable no matter what. 

Hanzo is another great listener but his advice will be very straight-forward. He doesn’t see the point of sugar-coating issues, but if you’re uncomfortable with his bluntness, then he will quickly apologize, Hanzo is adaptable with your needs and asks you if there’s anything he can do. 

Hanzo notices a lot of things before you do. Like when you forget you only have one pill left or you don’t have a fresh change of clothes, don’t worry. Hanzo has already called in your meds and there’s a pile of neatly folded clothes sitting by the edge of your bed.

🖤: Reaper

Gabrial is a guardian watching you through the darkness during this time. Gabriel is barely holding himself together after the dramatic transformation of his body and mind. He has become a monster and a weapon of Talon, but you, so caring and accepting of his condition makes him wish that a part of him was good enough for you. He doesn’t understand your love but hopes that one day he will.

• You’re the only person he takes his mask off in front of. At first, he expected your face to twist in disgust or your eyes to show any sign of pity, but you laid your hand on his scarred cheek and pressed your lips to his.

• Gabriel does miss you when you’ve been in your room. He will hover over your doorway with his fist just an inch away from knocking, but then you suddenly swing the door open. A shy smile forms on your face and Gabriel makes his way inside. He will hold you in a tight embrace and mumble sweet words in Spanish.

• If you're having an anxiety or panic attack, Gabriel will remove his mask and press his forehead against yours. Both of you breathe until your breaths are matched and your heart has calmed a bit. He will ask if you're okay and will keep a close eye on you throughout the day.

[writer-rochelle]

Statesman: Ablaze  Ch.2: Off the Grid

(a/n: here is chapter 2 of the one thing im super frickin proud of. thank you @pomelloe-me​ for bullying me in our shared google doc to make sure i get things done. ily <3)

“Can you leave the window down? My car smells like fucking fried chicken, and while it may be your fave food it's not mine.” Alicia said, shutting her car engine off. Pom chuckled, obliging her friend’s request. Both women stretched, their joints popping, as they clambered out of the small car and started their walk up the small driveway. 

The Agents had opted to live as far away from the brewery as they could, wanting to make a safe and work free environment for them to escape to. It was a pale green  3 story victorian house with white accents, and a small front porch. Two white rocking chairs moved slightly in the wind, and a white porch swing on the far right end swayed with them. A black and white rip n dip doormat sat under a black double front door, the words "go away" floated next to a white cat flipping any visitors off. A purchase Pom had made while online shopping in the wee early hours of the night. One that Alicia and Dena had found rather hilarious and Carey had simply shaken her head. 

“I’m gonna murder your boyfriend, he’s as dumb as a fucking rock, I swear it!” Alicia exclaimed, walking towards the front door of the shared home, twisting her head this way and that in a vain attempt to pop her still stiff neck.  She could hear Pom curse at her under her breath. “What was that? Use your words miss ma’am” Alicia teased, knowing Tequila was a nuisance for Pom. He had been Alicia's friend first, and one-day on a whim she had invited them to a carnival accompanying the rodeo that was in town. Soon, the three of them were inseparable. Tequila however soon developed feelings for Pom, his endless pining no secret to anyone. The ex-rodeo clown meant well, and when he wasn't trying to convince the southern beauty to go two-stepping with him, the two got along very well. 

“I said he ain’t my fuckin’ boyfriend,” Pom responded, she was frustrated but smiled all the same. She reciprocated the crush but put her job as a Statesman agent first. She refused to let anyone or anything jeopardize her career. The brunette removed the brown cowboy hat sitting on her head, using it to fan herself in the heat, waiting for Alicia to unlock the front door. 

“Whatever you say!” Alicia sang, throwing the door open. Pom followed the woman into the entryway, shutting and locking the door behind her. The smell of delicious food wafted towards where the two girls stood, as they began dispensing the arsenal of personal weapons they had into their designated shelves in the entryway. Pom hung her hat on the hook on the wall next to the door. Alicia groaned, taking her box braids out of the ponytail she had forced them into, massaging her scalp. 

"I don't know how you can stand having those things pulled back like that!" Pom said, emptying her pistols before placing them back in their holsters. 

"Trust me, one I'm gonna shave my head, and I only kept them in because I spent so much on them for that one assignment. Why waste money? Carey Ann, is that your cooking I smell?" Alicia called, making her way further into the house. She paused a moment, kicking her shoes off in the mudroom off to the left. 

“Yup! I’m in the kitchen, y’all! Make sure you leave your shoes in that mudroom, I just swept!”’ Carey called out to them from the direction of the kitchen. 

Whatever she had been making since she had come home had made the house warm and cozy, the warmth of the oven lightly combating the aircon. Carey was the oldest of the four women living in that house. She had recently moved to New York, assisting Agent Whiskey in running the New York office. Occasionally, she would return to their humble abode in Kentucky. Most household responsibilities fell on her, their other roommate Dena had been away for almost a year on assignment in Europe seeking out an alleged brother agency. Usually, Pom and Alicia were left to their own devices, sticking to take-out orders, or the occasional soup and grilled cheese combo Alicia cooked up. It wasn't often Alicia or Pom cooked, let alone cleaned. It was nice to have their Agent Mom back in town.  

Pom hastily unzipped the sides of her boots, sliding them off to reveal her cute space patterned socks, ‘The best feeling ever is taking your shoes off after a fuckin’ long day of work.’ she thought to herself. Pom’s hair stuck up in odd angles, no secret the hat that had been resting on her head all day. She combed her fingers through it, the brown tresses fell to her shoulders in thick, uncontrollable waves. 

“It’s good to see you here, and not on a fucking screen, ma’am.” Alicia snooped through the pots on the stove, hungrily eyeing Carey’s homemade fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, and mac & cheese warming idly on the stove. Alicia only two kinds of southern cooking, her Grandma Beaulah's, and Carey's (a close second).  

"Yeah, bitch. I thought you might have forgotten about us.” Pom called out from the living room, where she had placed herself comfortably down on the couch, flicking through something on her phone. She sighed, still no response from Whiskey. Had she upset him without realizing it? ‘Fuckin’ Whiskey, I wish he could’ve told me instead of ignoring me like a dumbass.’ she thought, shutting off her phone and tossing it to the other end of the couch.

“Well, if y’all acted 24 and 25 years old and not little children, you wouldn’t need me to come home to cook and clean for y’all. Dena hasn’t even been here and she still keeps her room clean!” Carey teased, swatting Alicia’s hands away from the food. Even if she had been present, Dena and Carey were definitely the neatest of the four. Carey had tried in vain to get the other two younger women to help, even going so far as to leave everything to pile up. It had taken a roach crawling across Alicia's face one night in her sleep to finally get them to step up. Now they kept a chore list on a dry erase board in the laundry room, and the katsaridaphobic agent no longer left dirty dishes in her room. 

“Girl, they’re clean. And for the record, Pom and I do take care of ourselves! For example, I did all the laundry in the house and Pom got rid of that possum that was living in the roof. Perfectly responsible.” Alicia said smugly, giggling as Pom chimed in quietly from her spot on the couch about the ‘Cunt ass possum that tried to eat her fucking face even though she had given him a slice of ham as a fucking peace offering headass’. 

“Pom, why don’t you come join us instead of mumbling with your colorful vocabulary from the couch; the food is ready.” Carey laughed, shaking her head at her roommate's antics. She grabbed the rolls out the oven, before removing her apron and oven mitts. She moved to pull a pitcher of sweet tea out of the fridge, and then stood back proudly to admire her work. Dinner was served. 

“You sound like my fuckin’ mom,” Pom uttered as she hoisted herself up from the couch, making her way into the kitchen to wash her hands. 

“I may as well be. But enough bickering, I missed y'all two!” Carey said, carrying her plate of food to the table where Alicia already sat eating. 

“I’m not really hankerin’ for anything, but thanks, Carey. I love you…fuck head.” Pom told Carey with her unique version of affection, leaning against the island in the kitchen and removing her rusty-colored jacket from her body. Pom's jokes and colorful nicknames were her own brand of love, and while it was offputting the first time she called you something like "hoe bag", you learned to acknowledge the underlying "I love you".  

“Well at least stay and sit with us, I’ve got something to tell y’all,” Carey said, patting the chair next to her. She needed to tell somebody about how she and Jack had recently started seeing each other. She figured he had already told Tequila, and felt justified in telling the girls. Pom sat down in the chair with a grunt after placing her jacket on the table. 

“Oh do tell, this wouldn’t happen to do with a certain mustached cowboy would it?” Alicia batted her eyelids, and suggestively wiggled her eyebrows. Pom knew exactly what this conversation was going to lead to. She wasn’t a fucking idiot; she noticed every small exchange between Carey and Whiskey, it was just something she had an eye for. The two had known each other for over two years and had recently started to go out with each other seriously. It was a wonder they hadn't started fooling around sooner.

“W-well...about that” Carey giggled nervously, maybe she wouldn’t tell them after all. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Carey Ann! Are you fucking Ole Jack Daniels?!” Alicia exclaimed, pointing her fork accusingly at the shorter Agent. Pom couldn’t help herself from letting out a loud chuckle, moving her long legs to sit cross-legged on the chair. 

“Alright, fine. Whiskey and I may or may not have been seeing each other exclusively for the past year while I’ve been back and forth from New York.” Carey said, casually taking a sip from her glass of tea, the clinking ice cubes being the only sound for a brief moment. 

“I fuckin’ knew it!” Agent Rum pronounced with great amusement, looking over at Carey with a menacing smile. 

“YAS BITCH, OH MY GOD! Tell us everything, and I do mean everything!” Alicia said, standing up and playfully pulling Carey into a noogie. 

The girls laughed, Carey pushed Alicia back into her chair before smoothing out her blonde curly hair. Carey was glad that the girls hadn’t reacted negatively like she thought they would. She had missed this comradery with the girls while staying in New York; she leaned forward fully retelling everything that had been happening. It was nice to finally be home. 

* * * * * 

Pom Graham was awake earlier than the rest of her housemates, as usual. Most nights she would stay up until midnight listening to her favorite kinds of music and trying to gain motivation to do her beloved hobby of painting. But she never slept for long as her natural body clock woke her up just a few short hours after she fell asleep. Still, she was always filled with so much energy. 

Pom tip-toed out of her room and down the flight of stairs in hopes of not waking her friends. She was already dressed in her usual outfit that the others rarely saw her out of. The living space downstairs was decorated with rustic, but comfortable furniture and pots of greenery scattered around. Photographs and posters could be found on the walls. 

She threw herself on to the couch in front of the large, technologically advanced television. With a press of a button on the remote, the screen came to life with the morning news channel. ‘Boring.’ Pom thought, ‘Carey must have been watching it last.’

“The daughter of beloved Kentucky senator, Xavier Dobios, is still missing and it’s sending everybody into quite the state of distress…..” Said the monotone voice of the news reporter on the TV. Pom scoffed at his words. 

“Fuck off, ‘beloved my ass’” Pom returned in a sharp whisper, smiling with amusement. She clicked another button and the kid’s channel started to play. Pom never really liked to watch television, but when she did, she would always turn on the channel that entertained her most.

“Good morning, Pomegranate.” Came Carey’s sweet but groggy voice from the doorway leading into the kitchen. Carey was dressed in cute, pink pajamas and her hair was quite the mess. She let out a big yawn. 

“Mornin’, you’re up early,” Pom responded, turning her head to give Carey a nice smile. Carey walked back into the kitchen to start preparing coffee and breakfast for herself and her housemates. 

“What do you want for breakfast? And I know you don’t like coffee, so what do you want to drink?” Carey asked from the kitchen to Pom. She sat there thinking for a moment before answering. 

“Peanut butter toast. And some water. Bless your heart, Carey.” Pom returned gently. Carey was surprised to see how calm she was. She was used to seeing the hot-tempered, mischievous, and swearing version of Pom. But she appreciated seeing this side to her too because Carey knew that’s who she really is. Pom never failed to make her laugh and smile. 

Carey made food and coffee with the sound of Pom watching the kid’s channel playing in the background. Alicia probably wasn’t going to be awake for a few more hours but Carey poured her a cup of warm coffee just in case. 

“I don’t know how you have so much energy all the time, Pom,” Carey said as she sat on the couch next to Pom, handing her the plate of peanut butter toast and a glass of water. She sipped on her own cup of coffee just the way she liked it. 

“I’ve consumed so much fuckin’ sugar in my life that I’m constantly on a sugar high.” Pom joked to her friend, smiling. Carey laughed, the sound mixing the soft sounds of the old Victorian settling over them. It wasn’t often they got a morning to themselves, and they knew they’d have to head to work soon, but for now, HQ could wait.

“GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!” Alicia yelled, bounding in the kitchen shattering the quiet moment the girls had settled into with their breakfast. Carey and Pom sighed, watching as she effortlessly leaped onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her gray sweatpants slung low on her hips, her lilac sleep shirt wrinkled, and her braids still wrapped up in the bonnet on her head; she looked crazy.

“What in Sam Hill are you doing?!” Carey said, standing up and rushing to try and push the taller woman off. 

“I have some good news, bitches! Dena’s coming home sooner than we thought!” Alicia was elated, it had been almost two months since Agent Sangria had been in contact with Statesman, and more importantly her roommates. She had been advised to keep all communications, few and far in between. Should there be a brother agency, it would be in Statesman's best interest to not alert them of their presence in their territory; what if they were a rogue organization? The return of the lively Latina was definitely a cause for celebration. 

“Wait, how do you know?” Carey asked, realizing that Alicia wasn’t budging off her pedestal. She looked over at Pom who looked just as puzzled as she was, no one had any recent contact with Dena. Everything had been dark. Pom got off the couch to get closer to them.  

“Well, as y’all know, I spend most of my free time in the lab with Ginger. And I was able to create a concealable communication device!” Alicia said proudly, taking what looked like a normal bottle of concealer. But the girls knew better, Alicia was a crazy tech wiz and inventor. Her and Ginger both could put Tony Stark to shame.

“How does that shit even work… it’s fuckin’ makeup.” Pom questioned. She couldn’t remember the last time she had set foot in the lab, or the last time she wore makeup. Pom would rather be training and being troublesome with the male agents than behind a vanity or in a lab coat. 

“Listen, I know it looks a little out of sorts but I promise it works! And the cosmetic part of the contraption is fully functional.” Alicia opened the packaging and did a swatch of the makeup on her arm. A perfect match.

“Say we can’t take any phones or even our glasses with us? Who’s gonna suspect a woman with a compact mirror and bottle of concealer? The idea is we use the idea of the fragile female that men have created against them. But my feminist spiel aside, I talked to Dena and she should be here by the end of next week!” Alicia got down from the counter, slipping her “concealer” into the front pocket of her black backpack. 

Pom leaned against the counter as she smiled, "You’re a genius.” She said to Alicia softly.

“I’m no Ginger Ale, but I try! Also, I’ve been making a bat prototype for you in the lab! I meant to surprise you for your birthday but I can’t wait any longer.” Pom smiled at this. Alicia started to continue but paused. The Statesman designated ringtone grew louder from where it was playing on their tv. Well, duty calls.

The three agents made their way into the living room, Carey grabbing the remote from its spot on the ottoman. Once they had all settled themselves on the comfy couch, she pressed the answer button. 

“Good morning, Angels!” Champagne greeted; the great window behind his head visible on the tv screen. It wasn’t uncommon for Champ to contact them while they were at home; saving more discreet missions for the four of them to take care of. It saved time, resources, and quite frankly more lives than if they were to send Whiskey, Tequila, or any of the other male agents instead. Hence the moniker, “Angels”.

“Good morning, Champ!” Alicia crowed, shifting to sling her legs across Pom and Carey’s laps making herself comfortable. Pom hastily grabbed Alicia’s feet from her lap and started to tickle them with no remorse, and her loud and mischievous laughs filled the room. 

“Would y’all stop? Jesus Christ.” Carey said, pushing Alicia’s legs off the couch and inserting herself between her and Pom. “Sorry, Champ, continue please!” Carey said, turning her attention back to the man on the screen. Pom was holding back her laughter as best as she could. 

“Well, when y’all are done horsing around, I have something for y’all to take care of. As you know, the senator is hiding his daughter trying to make it seem like she’s been kidnapped. Tonight, he is hosting a gala to impress some of the big wigs in the country and gain more support. I need y’all to infiltrate the gala and expose this sun’ a bitch before he can carry this tomfoolery on any longer.” 

“Do I gotta dress all fancy and shit?” Pom asked, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. She had makeup, she hated dresses, and if she didn't hate her unruly hair getting in her face, she'd hate doing it too. 

“I would prefer it if you did. The senator is very conservative, and has a strict dress code for this event.” Champagne said. Pom sighed angrily at this. 

“Awe, c’mon, Pomegranate. I thought you liked playing dress up.” the screen expanded to show that none other than Agent Whiskey sat next to Champagne at the grand mahogany meeting room table. 

“Whiskey!” Pom exclaimed with joy. A big grin was on her face now. She tucked her messy waves of hair behind her ears. Pom could feel her heart racing with pure happiness. Whiskey was the closest thing she had to a father, and she practically glowed in his attention. 

“Howdy darlin’, you ready to join your old man on the dance floor?” Whiskey tipped his hat, grinning at the young agent. 

The adopted father and daughter duo were the best partnership to come out of Statesman; Whiskey having taken Pom under his wing, saying that he saw himself in her. A troubled girl who needed a little guidance and TLC, and had unfathomable potential. Whiskey had promised Pom’s mother that he would ensure that the young woman would be taken care of while she was in the states. A promise that had been well kept. 

“While I’m all for sappy reunions, I need you, girls, to get gussied up and make your way to that gala ASAP! I’m sending Whiskey to pick y’all up at 0800, We got a party to crash.” Champagne said, ending the video call. 

Alicia stood and looked at her phone, an invitation addressed to a Penelope Vontrapp, and associates lit up her screen. “Well Miss Pom, or should I say Miss Penelope; it looks like you get to play the part of the daughter of some rich oil tycoon.” 

“Fuck you, I’m not wearing any fuckin’ makeup!!” Pom said while jumping off the couch to sprint up to her room before the others could stop her. 

“YOU’RE LUCKY THEY’RE MAKING A BIG DONATION IN YOUR HONOR! OTHERWISE, I’D BE FORCING YOU INTO A DRESS AND PUTTING SOME BLUSH ON THOSE CHEEKS!” Alicia shouted up the stairs, knowing that Pom was going to put on the same suede pantsuit she wore to all Statesman functions. It would be a cold day in hell before anyone forced her into a dress, and Alicia knew better than to even try and wrestle her into one.  

“Will you curl my hair, please? May as well get some joy out of tonight.” Carey remarked, making her way up the stairs. Alicia noticed the sad air around her friend, she stopped reaching out to grab her friend's arm. 

“What’s wrong? You were all chipper early, now you’re all….” Alicia made a fart noise with her mouth, hoping it would bring a small smile to her Carey’s face. 

“It’s nothing, I promise. Just forget it, okay?” Carey pulled her arm away, continuing up the stairs. But it wasn’t really anything. Was it right for her to feel a little envious that Whiskey hadn’t acknowledged her? Had Champ told him something? Or was she just overthinking? Either way, they had a mission to focus on, and this worrying and pining could wait. 

(a/n: thank you all for reading and standing by while i get in the swing of things. i now have a masterlist, and post with who and what yall can request will be coming soon. <3 roach)

[local-void-creature-izzy]

A Second Chance? Pt.2

Pt.2

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(A few years later)

“Xue Yang!” Song Lan yelled out from where he stood of the room of the abandoned building. If what that young girl said was true....No it couldn’t be. Xue Yang must have tricked Xingchen, there is no way Xingchen is actually married and is Xue Yang’s cultivation partner. When Xue Yang turned around, Song Lan was surprised to see genuine fear in his eyes.

“S-Song Lan..?” Xue said, pure panic and fear in his voice. Song Lan was impressed, not only did he look different but Xue was acting different as well. But that’s all it was, an act. And he refused to let it go on any further. “Have you no shame Xue Yang! How dare you take advantage of Xingchen and his blindness!” Song Lan yelled.

Song Lan jumped from where he stood on the roof, sword drawn and prepared to fight and end Xue Yang where he stood. “Song Lan calm down please. I don’t want to fight you. Please stop before this gets worse.” Xue said, trying to calm the raging man down even though it was futile at this point.

“Calm down? Don’t want to fight? What is your game Xue Yang!” Song Lan yelled, his grip getting tighter on his sword as he approached Xue Yang. Seeing there was no stopping him, Xue did the only other thing he could in his condition. He ran into the home him and Xingchen had made for themselves and used a tailsmen to seal the door shut. It wouldn’t hold long against Song Lan but it should hold long enough for Xue to send out a distress signal of some kind to Xingchen. Why did it have to be Xingchen’s turn for groceries....

As soon as Xue was able to find a blank tailsmen and sent out a distress signal to Xingchen, Song Lan broke through the door and the tailsmen holding it shut, Xue could feel the anger radiating off of Song Lan. “Song Lan please listen to me. I know what I did in the past and I know I deserve punishment. You can punish me like the Jin clan did just please don’t kill me.” Xue Yang begged from the corner he was trapped in.

“You beg for your life now? What about all those innocent clans that your mercilessly slaughtered. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.” Song Lan demanded, even if Xue had a reason why did he deserve to live after everything he had done.

Then in the silence of the room, through all the tension...a infant cry was heard. Xue Yang turned pale and was trembling slightly as it came from behind Song Lan. “Song Lan please...I don’t care what you do to me. Just please, don’t kill me.” Xue pleaded. Song Lan slowly turned around and began approaching where the crying was coming from, there’s no way Xue actually had...but before he could fully approach where the cry was coming from, a pain flooded him from behind. Xue Yang had hit him with the table in the home.

With the small amount of time that gave Xue, he threw open the cabinet door he had hidden the infant in and grabbed it and ran outside, at best it could give him a head start to find somewhere to hide. At least that’s what he was hoping but Song Lan got his second wind faster than Xue had anticipated, suddenly there was a tailsmen on Xue’s back freezing him where he stood. “No more tricks Xue Yang. Your life ends here and now.” Song Lan said, making his way to Xue.

The closer Song Lan got the more Xue panicked, the tailsmen holding him down like chains. The crying began again. “Xue Yang stop whatever trick you are using for that infant cry...” Song Lan was finally behind Xue Yang, he raised his sword to his neck. “And accept your fate.” Song Lan raised his sword and was fully prepared to decapitate Xue Yang. Before he could swing his sword down. “XINGCHEN!!!!” Xue yelled at the top of his lungs, sword a mere inches from his neck before it was sent flying along with its owner. “What?!” Song Lan was caught off, who saved Xue Yang?

Song Lan caught himself mid air and landed firmly while clutching where he was kicked in his chest, and when he looked up he was not all prepared for what he saw. “X-Xiao Xingchen....?” His voice faded and his words died on his tongue. Xingchen didn’t say anything, just removed the tailsmen on Xue and checked him for any injuries. “Are you alright Xue, you and the baby aren’t hurt are you?” He asked, Xue frantically shaking his head no. “No, you came right in time. A second later and we would have been....” Xue couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Y-You can see..?” Song Lan asked hesitantly, those warm dark brown eyes clear as day. “Yes, Xue gave up his golden core to restore my eyes, that’s why he didn’t attack you. A sword such as his is useless without a golden core.” Xingchen said without looking at Song Lan, his focus solely on his shaking husband. “Song Lan I consider you a dear friend, but tell me why you just tried to slaughter my partner and child?” Xingchen’s voice was devoid of emotion.

“Xiao Xingchen do you even hear yourself?! That is Xue Yang you are protecting, the one who slaughtered multiple clans, that killed the Snow Pavilion, the one who used the Yin Iron and worked alongside the Wen Clan!” Song Lan yelled, trying to knock some sense into Xingchen. Firmly believing Xue Yang had tricked him somehow.

“I know who he is Song Lan. I’ve known for years now. And if he was still the Xue Yang of the past he wouldn’t be standing but don’t you see he has changed?” Xingchen asked trying to reason with his friend. Song Lan looked at Xue and appearance wise he did appear different: hair no longer in a ponytail but down with a braid holding his bangs back, different clothes, and that psychotic look was no longer present in his eyes. But he still refused to believe this demon had changed his ways.

“I see he has changed but I refuse to believe a demon such as himself has changed. I don’t want to fight you Xiao Xingchen, I didn’t come here for that. But if I must to get to him then...so be it.” Song Lan said, raising his sword once again. “So be it indeed, Xue go find a place for you and the baby to hide.” Xingchen said, gently kissing Xue’s forehead.

Xue did has he was told despite what his mind and gut was telling him and the fight broke out. He watched as the two fought without holding back, as words were exchanged but he could barely focus on them, only worried about Xingchen’s safety. The longer the fight went on, the more scared and worried he got....so began what he knew will be his end. He looked down at the infant in his arms with a broken smile as he held back the tears. “I’m sorry I won’t get to see you grow up, I won’t be able to raise you, but you will have your father there to take care of you.” Xue said. He stood from where he was hiding and pulled out his last resort weapon, The Styian Tiger Amulet and knew he would die here.

The fight was getting worse and Xue saw the sword going straight for Xingchen’s heart, and in that moment it felt as if time slowed down. And it had...for Xingchen because the sword never made contact with him. Instead the sword had pierced right through... “Xue!” Xingchen yelled, dropping his weapon. As for Xue, he bared through the pain and gave Song Lan what he wanted, the psycotic man he was. “Is this what you wanted Song Lan? Hm? Because you got it and let me tell you something. You can kill me, have my body has proof. But like hell I’m letting you taking away the only people that gave me love and happiness. I accept my death, but you will never have my mind and spirit.” Before either one could process what he had said, Xue pulled the sword out from his heart and turned around so he was facing Xingchen. Xue used the amulet to send Song Lan flying, long enough for him to do what he had to do.

“Don’t look at me like that Xingchen...we both knew this day would come.” Xue said, he placed the infant in Xingchen’s arms and handed him the amulet and a spirit pouch. “The amulet is not bad, it will protect you both. As for the spirit pouch...well you heard what I said.” Xue said as if he knew what was going to happen next. “I love you Xingchen....and thank you for these wonderful years together.” The tears finally fell down Xue’s face and at that moment, Song Lan’s sword had pierced through Xue again.

With the last of his remaining strength and consciousness, Xue forced his spirit and mind into the spirit pouch but not before using the amulet one last time. “Xingchen...don’t be sad...” Xue coughed up blood, skin paling fast. “I’m a criminal...a delinquent...such punishment is fate...All i ask now is for you to continue on...and raise our son to be the....best he can....Goodbye Xingchen.” And with the last of his spiritual energy, he teleported Xingchen and their son to the safest place he could think of: Cloud Recess.

“Congratulations Song Lan....you won.....” With two fatal injuries, no spirit, no golden core or amulet to keep him stable, Xue finally gave into death. His body collapsing onto the ground, one final tear falling down his face before finally drawing his final breath...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be Continued in Pt.3

(Slowly getting back into my element and I’m happy with how this part came out, in the next part I’ll try to finish it all up and you’ll find out who the infant was. Hope you enjoyed this.)

[gerudosage-a]

❛  CLOSE-UP HEADCANONS.   ❜

@bransles​ asked for two, hair & six, eyes.

nabooru’s hair is, as with all gerudos, a distinctive, eye-catching flaming red. texture often differs between gerudo women, influenced by their unseen fathers, but it’s commonly accepted that their hair is always long & impossibly straight, with rumours abounding in all corners of hyrule of how it is ornately decorated & threaded with jewels. it is, for the most part, exaggeration, though nabooru will not deny that she loves the opportunity to dress up & adorn herself with fine things, as the situations which call for it are few & far between. her own hair has always been the customary vibrant red, but rather than ramrod straight, there is a gentle wave to her hair, seen most often when she frees it from its clasp at night, or the rare occasions ( such as weddings, funerals, & religious ceremonies ) where she deliberately wears it down. as a child, she preferred it just long enough that it could be safely tied back, & for much of her younger years, it reached only to her shoulders, & was often braided, to ensure it did not trouble her. as she grew, she embraced the traditional look of the gerudo & let it grow further out, to the length she maintained it at as an adult - when left to hang loose, it reaches to the tops of her thighs.

for practical reasons, nabooru has worn her hair high since she was an adolescent, embracing a high ponytail, held fast with what passed for an elastic - a small length of rope or strip of leather, tied tight enough to keep it in place. on an unauthorized raid at age fifteen ( for which she was severely punished, & now regrets for her recklessness ) she & two friends managed to get their hands on some jewellery & other accessories, & nabooru quickly laid claim to a golden clasp ornamented with the biggest jewel she had ever seen in her life. she wore it daily over the tie in her hair until her thirtieth year, in which the clasp finally broke, before deciding instead to replace it with something less ostentatious for her day to day life. that didn’t mean the golden ring she chose to replace it was plain, of course, but it was a pleasant surprise to her that her neck no longer ached from carrying the weight of a ( potentially fake ) jewel the size of her fist upon her head every day.

she also, for a small amount of time as a teenager, braided it when going on a raid, or when she anticipated a fight might occur. at the bottom of her braid, over where her second tie laid, she would slip a heavy, spiked ring, also claimed on the above mentioned night, believing that being able to swing her head & let her braid & the weapon at the end of it take people out would be an intensely cool thing to do, & would be something which would gain her infamy. she discovered instead that more often than not, she ended up hurting herself, either by the weight of the ring pulling hair out of her head, her inability to aim correctly often resulting in just smacking herself with it, or the fact that it resulted in a very visible target for those she was trying to fight against. she tried it for two weeks, & now she pretends that it never happened. instead, when in battle now, she splits between her usual ponytail, or pulling it back into a tight bun, depending on how much time she has to prepare herself, & whether or not she will be armoured during the fight.

as mentioned, on special occasions, nabooru prefers to wear her hair down entirely. for ceremonies involving her role as chief of the gerudo, she ornaments her hair with a headpiece in the traditional gerudo style, made of gold, decorated with small precious stones, & held in place both by weaving it into her hair, & liberal use of golden hairpins. it’s a rather simple piece of jewellery, all things considered, golden tines forming a sort of halo behind her head, & on more solemn occasions, she ornaments it with a silk organza veil. when meeting with the other sages, & undertaking duties relating to them, she chooses a plain golden circlet to rest atop her head, & lets her hair hang loose. it’s a tradition she regrets starting, in truth, as it’s so long it’s quite annoying to deal with when left to its own devices, & she’s ripped more than enough out of her scalp by sitting on it without thinking, but rauru is something of a stickler for tradition, & she cannot be annoyed with his complaining should she change something on a whim.

as you can imagine, living in the desert is not especially kind on the body, & the hair is no exception; serums & potions for hair health are almost as coveted in the gerudo fortress as lotions for the skin. nabooru is quite particular about her personal hygiene, & her hair is no exception. she washes it as often as is feasible, though she will begrudgingly go without if the water supplies they have begin to run low, & uses whatever shampoo-adjacent products she can in an attempt to keep it sleek & clean. she also takes great care in trimming it, that there are no dead or split ends, & though it can take a great amount of time, she brushes it thoroughly every morning & every night. sleeping with sand in your hair is not a pleasant experience, & she does everything she possibly can to avoid it.

nabooru’s eyes are one of her most striking features. upturned & deep set, deep goldenrod in colour & heavily lidded, it’s often said that nabooru’s eyes burn bright with the ferocity of the spirit she carries inside her, & she would agree wholeheartedly with that statement. the lashes which surround them are not especially long, but they are surprisingly dark, giving her an unintentional yet permanently intense look, which does work in her favour - it’s hard to stand against her, be it in battle, or simply an argument over who gets the last bread roll, when her jaw is set & her eyes are dark, & flashing like lighting. make-up is, as with most cosmetics & luxuries, a rarity in the gerudo fortress, unless they deliberately set out to steal some, but when cosmetics meant for the eyes come in, nabooru is often one of the first to scavenge from the haul. she likes to paint her lids to emphasize her eye colour, as she believes that it, besides her hair, is her most defining feature.

for most of her life, nabooru’s eyes are of no concern to her - her vision from childhood is spectacular, & she earns praise for it & the accuracy it lends her when it comes to archery, as whilst her strength allows her to nock the bow & pull the string, it is the sight she possesses which lets her hit a target from fifty paces, or one which quickly flees from her, be it on foot or on horseback.

after she is released from twinrova’s brainwashing, nabooru begins to have problems with her sight, & she never pinpoints the source, but it manifests mostly in odd sightings at the edge of her peripheral vision which leaves her in a state of lowkey paranoia, & results in anxiety becoming the background radiation of much of her adult life. she can’t fully put a name to the things she sees - sometimes it looks like insects, sometimes formless shadows crashing into her line of sight, only to disappear with the turn of her head. she believes it to be residual dark magic, meant to torment her, but with no idea how to go about identifying it, let alone how to get rid of it, she tends not to speak of it. only those whom she loves & would trust with her life ever find out what it is which makes her jump with little provocation, what sends her head spinning like a top as she frantically tries to track that which has startled her.

at the tail end of her forties, nabooru’s sight begins to go. it starts with a gradual dimming at the corner of her vision ( though it does nothing to quell the appearance of the shadows ), & she invests in a set of eyeglasses, rimmed with gold, in order to help her see better, which gives her quite a distinguished appearance, in her opinion, but they are only a temporary measure - no healer can mix a potion strong enough to save her, & she resigns herself to the loss of her sight with as much grace as she can. she has seen the rise & fall & rise again of hyrule, the betrayal of her people & their redemption, seen her daughters’ smiling faces in the sunlight, & a world thought by many to be beyond mortal reach. she cannot deny, she has seen more than enough in her lifetime than others could in a thousand. she is seventy years old when her vision leaves her entirely, but she doesn’t let it get her down too much. she has faced every challenge life has thrown at her, & overcome them all, & the family & friends who surround her have been extraordinarily supportive since the day her vision began to fade. learning how to see with her hands won’t be easy, but she has never been one to back down from what is difficult, & she has excelled at most things she has tried her hand at ( or so she says. ) why should this be any different ?

though her sight disappears, her hearing is as sharp as ever, & it helps her in training young warriors in how to be stealthy. her not being able to see them means nothing. if she can hear them, they’re not good enough. it becomes a game for the children in the fortress, to try & sneak past her as quietly as they can, & her snaps & shouts when they inevitably fail results in plenty of laughter from all involved. everything has a silver living, as they say.