#honestly i could even throw a red and blue and fire and ice trope in here

[khyann]

I wish s1 scosage was more popular

Even without accounting for the classic human x elf dynamic and the possible drama with the fact they are both allied to an enemy of the other, the parallels between them are just delicious

Both their stories involve some form of duality or "darker version of themselves", in Sausage's case is of course his whole deal with Bratwurst/Sausage Supreme and in Scott's case is Xornoth and the Stag Gods that took them as champions and who they feel is their duty to bring down after the horrible actions they comited. Also there's fact they both serve as champions to someone, Sausage being Xornoth's champion while Scott is Aeor's.

Then you have the fact they both have struggled with power and ambition that has turned them cruel against their allies and friends. Bratwurst killed all the emperors and constantly went against his friends and allies, while Scott was 1 of 2 emperors to obtain the Crown via murdering the previous holder and arguably his closest ally: Jimmy (and I will die on the hill that Scott was being influenced by the Xornoth crystal cuz his character just became so cold out of nowhere, and no that wasn't a pun).

Then when they mess up. They both are very hard on each other for their past actions. Scott self-exiles upon realizing he is bringing the winter and after accidentally freezing Gem, one of his closest friends, while Sausage becomes all but a servant to all the other emperors as a way to atone for the crimes he comited as Sausage Supreme.

They both made sacrifices in order to protect someone they loved but in doing so they lost themselves and because they tunnel visioned on saving one person they didn't realize how everyone else would still suffer. Sausage in his constant attempt to save Pearl, dooming how many worlds to experience the Rapture again, while Scott kills himself in order to stop Xornoth, but the damage was already done, the empires are in ruins, burned to the grown or in the process of doing so, his death won't bring back what is lost, Sausage's dimension hopping won't bring Pearl back. They've lost what they fought to keep.

The only difference is how they try to protect others when they make mistakes. Sausage will keep those he cares for close, be by their side so he can protect them, while Scott will push them away, so they don't have to suffer because of him.

[chokemeanakin]

could i pls request smth where the reader gets hurt on a mission or smth and hides it from anakin until it gets really bad? that trope is my favorite alskdfjk

Sister u have singlehandedly reawakened my whump side. Here you go, with a side of smut in part two ;)

A Helping Hand (part one) - Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader (whump + smut)

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Wc: 3.4k

At first, you thought you had just slept on it weird. 

The pain had come out of nowhere one day, when you went to go throw your knife at the dummy’s head like usual. A sudden burst of fire erupted from your wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor as you cradled your arm to your chest. You rolled your wrist a couple times, willing the ache to go away. You thought you might have thrown the knife at an odd angle, and maybe sprained your wrist a little from exertion. You picked up your knife and resumed, but a constant sparking pain remained. 

An injured wrist wasn’t good-- especially since that was your good arm, your knife-throwing arm. That was your talent, after all; your skills were so precise, the Republic Army recruited you to help out in the war. You were thrust into the thick of things with the clones, serving alongside the Jedi Generals, which was how you met Anakin. Without your arm, you were useless.

You set aside time every night to ice it, and when that didn’t help, you switched to soaking it in warm water and stretching it. When there was no improvement after a week, you debated going to see someone for it. It certainly didn’t help that you were using it every day, training like normal and using it for daily activities. Twisting or bending your wrist in any way sent shooting sparks of pain up your arm, but you managed to hide it around everyone… including Anakin.

It’s not that you didn’t want help-- you just didn’t need it. You had seen clones blown to bits by blaster cannons in battle, members of the Republic Army drag themselves up a bank of debris with two broken legs to continue shooting at Separatist droids, friends that served alongside you shot down fighting until their last breath. You would hate yourself forever if you made a fuss out of a simple sprained wrist.

You were a little surprised when Anakin didn’t catch on, honestly. You began switching to your other hand to complete daily tasks, and you were clumsier and slower because of it. But Anakin was so bogged down by current war efforts you barely had time to see each other, and when you did, it was very quickly just in passing. He had other things to worry about than you, and you were okay with that. However, it didn’t stop the burst of excitement after receiving the order that deployed you to Ecadus-Z, a moon off the planet Leona, where a grand Separatist droid factory was in the making and had to be destroyed-- the same mission Anakin was being deployed on as well.

You were grateful for the time you would get to spend together, even if it was in the midst of a battle. But beggars can’t be choosers, so you met him at the transport ship in the starfighter bay bright and early the day of departure. 

He was just as happy to see you, and you sat together in the cabin on the way to Ecadus-Z. It was hard holding yourself back, as it had been far too long since you had gotten to be together alone. As in, really be together. You looked forward to when you got back, as the Council was talking about giving Anakin a short break.

For now, you felt content just being by his side-- even if most of the 501st was there as well.

Once the pilot came over the coms saying you were about to touch down, everyone got out of their seats and began to ready themselves for battle. You would be dropped off in the thick of battle, so you had to come out running if you wanted to make it. 

You slung the bag of explosives over your shoulder and clipped your belt around your waist, making sure you had all of your knives, as well as one already clasped in each of your fists. The ache of your bad wrist was dulled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins as the transport ship shuttered, scraping the ground, the clones bringing their blasters to their shoulders. Explosions and screams of dying clones could be heard outside, and Anakin activated his lightsaber, looking at you.

“See you on the other side.”

The doors opened, light spilling into the cabin. You didn’t think, just ran, and prayed with everything in your heart that you would see Anakin after this was all said and done. That you would both get out alive, and that his sidelong glance in the transport ship wasn’t the last you would see of him.

Thoughts like that were only a distraction. You pushed them to the furthest corners of your mind, zigzagging around blaster shots as you made your way to the factory. Your job was to plant the bombs all around the factory as Anakin and his troops cleared the way for you, and then you would meet at the bank of the surrounding river where you would watch the factory go up in flames from a distance. There, Republic ships would be waiting to take you back to Coruscant.

With that goal in your mind, you made it past the Dead Zone in a flat out sprint-- the space between Republic warships and the Separatist factory, where both sides met in a constant spray of fire. You jumped over fallen clones and coughed smoke out of your lungs, making it to the factory in one piece. You used one of your bombs to blow a hole in the east wall, bypassing the entrance where the blaster-fire was heaviest.

Of course, you climbed through the hole in the wall only to be met with a group of freshly manufactured droids. Your knife buried itself in the closest droid's head without hesitation, followed by another and another. The droids dropped to the ground around you like ants, a single blaster shot missing you by an inch. Your arm screamed with each snap of your wrist, but you pushed through the pain as you yanked your steel blades out of the metal of the droids, planting bombs as you hurried along the hallway.

This is the way it went for a while, steadying yourself against the walls as blaster-cannons shook the ground outside, sticking bombs to the structure every few feet, and running into the occasional group of droids that you took out in a similar way to the first batch.

By the time you finished the east wing and were heading to the south, your wrist was pounding with a vengeance. Every step travelled up your arm, intensifying the pain to the point where it was becoming overwhelming-- distracting. You secured another bomb to the wall, but your grasp on the other ones in your bad arm failed, and scattered all over the ground. You cursed and chased them around the hall, picking them up and shoving them back into your bag. 

As you reached the last one, something caught hold of your arm, yanking you forward. You landed on the ground, right on top of that arm, and you were sure you could hear something pop. You cried out in agony as white hot pain blinded your senses, rolling on the ground as tears were forced out of your eyes. A blaster shot skimmed your shoulder, and you used your non-injured arm to send a knife flying in the droids direction from your place on the ground. 

The throw was off. It hit the droid on the head with the butt of the knife, clinking off and clattering to the ground uselessly. You rolled to the side as another shot missed you by a hair, sweeping the droids legs out from underneath. You grasped its blaster in your uninjured hand, but it fought back, and you forced yourself to use your bad arm to join the other as you turned the blaster in on itself, shooting its head off. 

Gasping in pain, you allowed yourself to stumble backward until you hit the wall, sliding to the ground. Your breathing thickened as you assessed the damage, realizing just how bad the damage had gotten. Your entire arm was on fire, from your shoulder to the tips of your fingers. Angry red and purple splotches bloomed from the place you fell on it, swelling to the size of a baseball. You tried to roll your wrist, stretch it out, but even the slightest movement sent searing bursts of lightning through you, unwelcome tears pricking at your eyes. 

You blinked your sight clear, yanking the blaster from the droids grasp and hooking it into your belt before heading off again. You couldn’t believe the damn thing had grabbed you. Now, your arm was hurt to the point where you couldn’t ignore it. You clutched your wrist to your chest as you stuck more bombs to the walls, finishing off the south wing and heading toward the west wing. You could hear commotion from far away, and prepared yourself for a mess.

All hell had broken loose. There was barely a west wing to speak of anymore, as the walls had been blown out and droids and clones were fighting elbow to elbow within the carcass of the hall. You were sure that’s where all the explosions had come from, and now you weren’t sure where to even put the rest of the bombs. 

A blaster shot landed between your feet, kicking debris up into your eyes. You wrenched yourself out of your standstill, unclasping the blaster from your belt and dropping droids as you hurried to the blue light at the end of the hall. Anakin was being swarmed with droids, dozens of them targeting him from every direction. He was deflecting the shots sent toward him at lightning speed, but you knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. He sent a force pulse out, knocking the droids back into each other, but more replaced them.

The clones were preoccupied with their own battles, and no one was coming to the General’s aid. You fought your way to him, heart pounding in your ears, the pain in your arm pulsing with each beat. If something happened to Anakin before you could reach him--

“Y/n, no!” Anakin caught your eye from behind the swarm. He waved you back. “Don’t worry about me, finish the mission!”

He ducked right before a blast shot could catch him in the head, slashing away at the droids. They crumpled before him in masses, but there were so many. Your blaster shots joined his saber, crippling the droids in heaps around you. In the commotion, the blaster got knocked out of your hands, so you had to go back to your knives. It hurt beyond anything comparable, but you grit your teeth and forced yourself to throw the knives from your injured arm. There was barely any thinking put into it-- you’d rather go through this pain now than deal with a future without Anakin.

You were slow and clumsy, and quite honestly you were doing awful. Only about half of your throws did any damage, and your vision was beginning to spot with pain. Not to mention, your eyes were clouded with tears and smoke, so even if you could throw right, you couldn’t see in order to do so. You lashed out at random, setting knives loose in every direction, hoping they would provide at least some help. As you reached the end of your supply of knives, you couldn’t help but feel like you were failing Anakin. He needed help, but you were too weak to do anything. 

A droid’s arm caught on the bag around your shoulder, and you cried out, crumpling to the ground against your will. The pain was making you nauseous, and your vision swam as you forced yourself to breath. You could feel Anakin’s panic and fury as he sent another pulsing wave around him, droids flying back in every direction including the one that had gotten caught on you. Broken and splintered bits of droid whizzed past you as they collided with each other. The bombs from your bag had spilt out all around you again, when suddenly through your swimming head, you had an idea.

You scrambled to set each bomb to manual detonation, and then sent them flying into the crowds gathered around Anakin. They exploded, knocking dozens out at a time. You sent them forward, one after another, until you ran out and the pulsing in your arm had you clutching at your wrist in vain, praying for something to relieve the pain.

As the dust settled, you saw the blue light disappear. Anakin appeared from out of the smoke, covered in ash and dust. A few new cuts on his face bled freely, but he ignored them as he knelt beside you.

“What was that all about?” he scanned your body, deciding whether or not to move you. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or concerned, and the thought of him being unhappy with you was paralyzing. You had tried so hard, and you knew it wasn’t enough. Your arm had messed everything up, but at this point the pain outweighed any fears you had, and you really just needed help.

“I’m sorry Anakin, I hurt my arm and I think it’s really bad. I didn’t mean to mess up, I’m sorry--,” you choked. Anakin didn’t wait for you to finish before he was pulling you to your feet, a new wave of blaster shots speeding past your heads, and you realized he was trying to get you out of the line of fire. 

He supported most of your weight with his flesh arm, reactivating and deflecting blaster shots with his lightsaber in the other. You stumbled alongside him, legs ready to give out again at any moment. You’re sure that without his help, you wouldn’t have made it out.

As soon as you breached the Dead Zone, Anakin reached for his com and ordered the 501st back to the ships. He ushered you into the first one you saw, a simple model of a Republic cruiser, and helped you into the passenger’s chair before standing before the window, surveying the damage outside. 

Hands clasped behind his back, he stood in silence before the window for a long while. Your arm screamed at you, but you watched from your place in the seat as a swarm of clones broke out of the smoke from the droid factory, trickling into transport ships and taking off into the air. Anakin waited until he got word from Rex that everyone was out, and then reached for the detonator in his belt. With the press of a button, the entire factory as well as all of the droids inside erupted in flame, the explosion mushrooming up and out. You shielded your eyes from the brightness of the fire, shaking in your seat as the force of the explosion rattled the cruiser. 

Anakin didn’t stick around to watch. He got in the pilot’s seat, lifting the cruiser into the air and out into space. Once he was sure you were safe, surrounded by stars and darkness, he turned to you.

His face was grim, tired, and covered in blood and ash. He paid it no mind as he extended his arm out to you, wordlessy requesting your injured wrist. 

You hoped he wouldn’t notice its trembling as you forced yourself to release it from your death-grasp, the one that had sort of stuck to your chest as you ran through the Dead Zone with him. Fireworks erupted behind your eyes as your wrist made contact with his gloved hand. You’re sure he was trying his hardest to be gentle, especially while holding it in his metal hand, but any point of contact was going to hurt like a bitch.

You gnawed at your bottom lip as he carefully turned it this way and that, assessing the damage. His face was drawn down in concentration, that same angry-concerned pout on his face sparking a fear in the pit of your stomach. Was he mad at you?

He brought his other hand up, meaning to skim his fingers over the swelling of your wrist to gage your response. 

“Don’t touch it--” you snatched your wrist back to your chest, shrinking away from his touch. 

“That bad?” Anakin sighed quietly, meeting your eyes for the first time. Your lip wobbled as you lowered your head in shame. 

“I’m sorry.”

You felt his hand come up to cradle your cheek, rubbing some dirt away with his thumb. His voice was soft. “You have nothing to be sorry for; it’s not your fault. Just let me see what’s wrong with it.”

He reached for you again, but you flinched away.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Your trembling was noticeable this time as you lowered your wrist into his waiting hand again. He gently took each finger and wiggled them, asking if it hurt each time. You bit back your whimpers, hitching your breath sharply as sparks of pain travelled up your arm with each movement. He let go and asked if you could make a fist, but even that was too excruciating. 

You desperately blinked the new tears out of your eyes. It was beginning to annoy you, but you couldn’t help it. The ugly look of your wrist sat deranged and pathetic in Anakin’s gentle palm, and you could see the bad news in his eyes.

Yup. Definitely broken.

“How did all this happen?” he reached behind you to grab an emergency blanket from the shelf. He wrapped your arm in it and then carefully set it back on your lap. Then, he got to work peeling back the shirt from your shoulder where the blaster had skimmed you.

“My shoulder, I got shot,” you admitted, wincing as he pulled a bit of cloth back that was stuck to dried blood. “My wrist… well it’s been hurting for a while. But then a droid pulled on my arm and I fell on top of it.”

Anakin pulled back to look at you. “It’s been hurting for a while? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I had it under control.”

He sighed again, fingertips ghosting over the skin of your shoulder. 

“You got burned pretty bad, but it’s nothing some bacta can’t fix,” he said. His voice was reserved again, eyes not meeting yours. “The wrist, well, that’ll be a different story.”

“You’re mad at me.”

He was quiet, looking at the bundled wrist in your lap. You could see the conflict in his eyes-- he wanted to be mad, but he didn’t want to direct it toward you. He was searching for a way to figure out in his own head before saying something to you that he didn’t mean, something he’d regret.

“I’m not mad,” he chose his words carefully, then shook his head. “I just… I told you to leave me.”

“How could I have? You wouldn’t have left me if the roles were switched.”

“It’s different.”

“How is it different?” Anakin’s responding gaze was weary. You both knew what he wanted to say, but he knew it would hurt you. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he tucked some flyaway hairs behind your ear, letting his hand linger. “Let’s just drop this. I don’t want to argue.”

“As long as you’re not mad,” you made him promise.

“I’m not mad at you.”

You didn’t miss the last part he added. ‘At you.’ Of course, he’d be directing this at himself. You could see the guilt in his eyes, but it didn’t make any sense. You had chosen to stay behind and help him fight the droids off, and it was you who had broken your own damn wrist. In fact, he had saved your life today when he dragged you out of the crossfire. He had nothing to be guilty for, but you knew he was beating himself up for not doing more, for not getting to you faster, for not noticing your pain. 

“I’m not mad at you, either.” If your wrist wasn’t a huge site of concern, you would have hugged him. For now, you settled with gripping his flesh hand in yours and squeezing. He gave you the tiniest smile, and then returned his focus to piloting.

[dragons-bones]

5 Questions for Writers

Tagged by: @frostmantle (thank you!)

Tagging: @ishgard, @starsandauras, @twelveswood, @autumnslance, aaaaaaand YOU (because I cannot keep track of who’s done this or not XD)

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

----

Cut for length!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

I am, of course, obviously quite fond of snarky, quick-witted characters, and my OCs banter a lot. Dialogue is one of my favorite things to write, so chatty characters in general I find easier to approach. It’s fun slinging sass back and forth! (This tends to be why I focus a lot of Synnove and Rereha most often--they’re the snark queens of the Squad and the most likely to turn the sarcasm filter off and just go off on someone. Which further reminds me I need to have Thancred and Rereha trading jabs, too, at some point...)

I’ve also really been enjoying writing Aymeric specifically, even if it is intimidating to do so at times. I obviously headcanon him as ridiculously smitten with Synnove (the feeling, of course, is mutual), and finding the right balance of “deeply in love with a Warrior of Light” without it coming off as overly saccharine or out of character is a great mental exercise. Also of course I enjoy indulging my personal fantasy of having a handsome man be a badass, deeply in love with his lady, and perfectly delighted to kick ass beside his lady!

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

Food porn. My mother’s Italian, I grew up being taught to enjoy food, I love sharing my enjoyment of food. Plus it’s usually accompanying some happier moments, or domestic ones, and is basically a cue to the readers that the story is meant to be light and fun.

I have no idea what the proper trope name would be (and going to TV Tropes to asking to start a rabbit hole dive I shouldn’t begin), but as we all know, I love Shenanigans. I typically write them in reaction to how serious the setting is; I deeply enjoy stretching how far I insert some humor and levity without it becoming crack. I think it provides some fresh air; I enjoy angst and hurt/comfort and dark themes, but frequently it’s not something I prefer to write for myself.

I also enjoy found family, battle couples, magic-as-science... Anything that gives me an excuse to write character interactions and/or worldbuild. The great fun of fanfiction, particularly in a setting like FFXIV, is that we’ve got a bare bones foundation, with some areas more developed than others, but otherwise there is a ton of room to grow my own ideas. I personally like to work within lore, but it is hugely enjoyable for me to figure out how to get certain concepts to work with the lore rather than against it. (See: my approach to arcanima.)

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

This obviously changes all the time, but there’s a couple I really love:

From Pearls of Wisdom:

It was one of the most basic principles of magic, not just arcanima: astral elements and umbral elements. It was such an accepted, unquestioned foundation that she had never even considered that the three elements most commonly used by arcanists for their carbuncles were not all the same primary polarity. Every element could manifest as either polarity, but Roksana Blackspark was correct, now that Synnove properly thought about it: wind, earth, and fire were much, much more likely to be found in a stable state. Even the Guild’s enormous aether batteries, all the way down in subbasement twelve, had been initially tricky to install until they found the right combination of overgrown elemental clusters, with most of the problems coming from the water, ice, and levin clusters.

Of course trying to infuse any sort of gem with those three elements specifically was going to fail, they were fucking overaspected to astral or umbral. The equations didn’t fucking work as they should because they were built to account for elements that naturally occurred in stable states, and so the infusions fizzled and the gemstones cracked and no carbuncles could manifest.

But.

But if she did account for instability, or, in fact, deliberately found crystals with which to infuse gems that were of opposite polarities so that the final infusion was stable…

A new thought made itself known, and Synnove stuffed the rest of her cake in her mouth, set the plate and fork aside, bookmarked her spot in the journal, and opened up the note taking program, yanking the stylus from the side of the case. As she chewed, she began scribbling in frantic shorthand. Perhaps in addition to ensuring stable aetheric polarity, she could also try infusion over time as well? Even when artificially infusing emeralds, topazes, and rubies, the stones still cracked every one time out of eight. Certainly, working with water, levin, and ice aether would benefit from a slower infusion speed, as it would allow her to keep a better eye on maintaining polar equilibrium, and if that issue was what was affecting the failures for wind, earth, and fire, then that would be two problems solved.

…Perhaps three, Synnove sucking in a deep breath and her heart pounding as she wrote. A proper balance of aetheric polarization combined with a slow enough infusion potentially meant that she could, theoretically, infuse any precious stone she desired, not just ones with a specific hardness and durability. Of course, the equations would need to be further adjusted to take into account the specific chemical properties of the specific gems and how they would need to interact with different elemental aether, but that, while difficult and tedious, was still doable.

Writing characters smarter than oneself is really difficult and intimidating, but I think I did a really good job showing Synnove’s thought process, and based on some of the feedback I’ve gotten, I succeeded! So I’m really, really proud of this passage.

From Suffer, Promise, Witness (FFXIV Write 2019 #19):

The ground shook, suddenly, and Synnove whipped her head around to the direction from which it originated, staring in shock. In the distance, an enormous red…key, for lack of a better term, pulsing with blue aetherlight, had struck the ground. The dust cloud kicked up rose immediately into the air and began obscuring it, and even from here she could see that the force of the strike had knocked down allies and foes alike around it.

Then a roar of sound—a deep, resonant thunder of triumphant, all-consuming rage—engulfed Carteneau, drawing every eye skyward, to see Dalamud’s outer shell, glowing with more of that sickly blue aetherlight, cracking open.

And Dalamud exploded.

The shockwave hit her first, throwing her and every other living being on the Plains still alive and standing to the ground with a force that punched the air from her lungs. The sound came next, shaking her bones and cracking the stone around her in an awful crescendo of combusting, howling aether. Her ears rang—or maybe it was just the screams of terror from every damned soul on the Carteneau killing fields all blending together.

The sky was aflame, and then the first of the pieces of Dalamud impacted the ground. Molten earth flew into the air, and then again from another impact, and another, and another, until the heavens and the earth were indistinguishable from how they both burned. Synnove desperately tried to sit up, feet scrambling to find purchase on the broken ground, as Galette and Tyr converged on her, eyes wide with fear as they tugged and pushed on her to get her upright.

Honestly I love this whole piece, but trying to describe what’s basically a trailer from another perspective (while also trying to portray the passage of time in an accurate manner) was difficult. I’d been dying to write the Synnove at Carteneau piece for a long time, and I just let myself write without worry. I think it came out pretty well! (Everyone screaming at me after the fact certainly boosted my confidence. :D)

From Assessments (FFXIV Write 2017 #25)

He did not attempt to step softly, as it was always a poor idea to sneak up on any warrior, never mind a Warrior of Light, but apparently Synnove was deeply enough engrossed in her text to not register his approach. Tyr, however, looked over as soon as he noticed the loud clacking of boot heels on stone floor coming closer to his mistress. He perked his ears up and came to meet Aymeric, shoving his face into the elezen’s hands.

“Maow!” the topaz carbuncle said, deep and echoing like a brass bell, only a little bone-rattling.

Aymeric laughed softly and obliging scratched behind his ears. Tyr thrummed happily, enjoying the attention for a few moments, before he disengaged and went back to Synnove. He braced himself on the rungs of the ladder and reached up with his paw to tap her foot, chirruping quietly.

“Hmm? Whazzit, honey?” Synnove said, voice distant and distracted. She did not look up as she turned the page.

Tyr sat back on his haunches and said, “Maow!”

Aymeric hadn’t the faintest idea of what Tyr had said, but Synnove most certainly did, as her head jerked up in surprise. (He winced sympathetically; when she had straightened, her spine had made an awful crack.) She frantically looked around until her gaze settled on Aymeric. She blinked rapidly, quite obviously not yet comprehending what she was seeing, until a smile finally bloomed across her features, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, fancy meeting you here,” she said, her cheerfulness tempered by the slight slur of exhaustion in her voice.

There were dark circles under her eyes, her hair was obviously unkempt up close, and her fingers were ever-so-slightly shaking from the particular combination of too much caffeine and not enough sleep, but Synnove Greywolfe was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Aymeric grinned up at her, not bothering to disguise how besotted he was with no witnesses about to see, and said, “What brings one of the celebrated Warriors of Light to Ishgard a bell before midnight?” He took a few steps closer to the ladder and held out his arms.

Synnove winced as she closed and shelved the book she had been reading. “Thal’s balls, that late?” She slid to the edge of the ladder’s seat, pushed off with her right hand and foot, and unceremoniously dropped into his grasp.

He tightened his hold on her as he caught her, drawing her close, and he dropped a kiss on each of her eyelids, relishing the giggles the action elicited from her. Another kiss on her nose, one to the beauty mark at the side of her chin, and then he finally kissed her properly. Synnove, in turn, languidly draped her arms around his shoulders and ran her fingers through the hairs on the nape of his neck, practically purring as she did. He hummed appreciatively against her lips, and they both ended up laughing into the kiss.

(Next to them, Tyr sighed, and rolled his eyes.)

Aymeric reluctantly drew away and set her on her feet, keeping Synnove steady as she wobbled and her spine cracked yet again. His beloved immediately leaned back into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and slouching so her cheek could rest over his heart. He smiled and returned the hug, resting his chin on her head. He closed his eyes and swayed with her gently, enjoying the familiar and much-missed comfort of her presence.

An older bit, but I love these two goobers, and I love writing them being physically affectionate and just basking in each other. Fucking cuties.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

FUCK I HAVE TO CHOOSE. Okay, let’s start with Pearls of Wisdom again:

Rereha threw open the doors to Aymeric’s office, shite-eating grin firmly plastered on her face as she skipped inside, and sang out, “Congratulations! It’s twins!”

Two things happened.

First, as soon as the doors opened, but before Rereha even opened her mouth, Lucia, she of finely honed Frumentarium instincts and years of friendship with a lalafell infamous across the realm for her Theatrics and Shenanigans, reached out and yanked the multitude of reports on the desk in front of Aymeric out of the way.

Second, Aymeric, who had been taking a sip of tea at the exact moment Rereha entered the office, choked and spat out said tea across his desk—and where all of the paperwork had once been not even a second before—in the most glorious spit take Rereha had ever engendered. A tiny part of her was saddened at the waste of perfectly good tea, but, wow, that had been spectacular. She gave herself a mental pat on the back and came to a stop in the middle of the office, grin widening to manic levels.

Lucia pounded Aymeric on the back between his shoulder blades as he coughed and sputtered, stopping only when the Lord Commander wheezed out, wide-eyed, voice high-pitched and halfway to a full-blown panic, “WHAT?!”

THREE YEARS THIS LIVED IN MY HEAD. THREE FUCKING YEARS I HAVE WANTED TO WRITE THIS STORY AND BEGIN IT WITH THAT LINE. THREE YEARS AND IT’S FINALLY OUT IN THE WORLD AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

From Needling (FFXIV Write 2019 #17):

Merlwyb drained her cup dry and poured herself a fresh serving (no whiskey this time, however). Grudgingly, she filled a second, and slid it over to Synnove, along with the bowl of maple sugar cubes and jar of cream. The arcanist doctored her tea as she preferred it—three lumps, generous dash of cream—and took a luxurious sip, humming in satisfaction.

“Why are you here?” the Admiral finally said, tea cup in hand and elbows braced on her desk. She wedged her feet a little firmer beneath Tyr.

“Mmmm, we had to bodily force Thubyrgeim to take a vacation,” said Synnove. She took another slow sip of tea. “Accounting realized she hadn’t taken a proper one in nigh on three years. So, we kicked her out of the Gate, with the caveat that she wasn’t to come back until next moon, and then we divvied up her usual responsibilities among the lot of us. I volunteered for the pleasure and delight of taking over our dear Guildmistress’s sennightly meetings with you.” Here the woman batted her eyelashes.

Merlwyb eyed her. “You have an ulterior motive,” she said, enunciating clearly for emphasis. “You always have an ulterior motive.”

“I enjoy the faces you make when you are confronted with the stark reality that every single one of your arcanists is capable of rewriting the laws of creation but are, simultaneously, godsdamned lunatics who should be taken out back and shot.”

“I should start with you.”

“Start with aetherochemistry; they just invented a new plague.” Synnove took the top folder from the pile and slid it across the desk to the Admiral.

“Of course they bloody did,” Merlwyb growled, opening the folder and skimming the abstract on the first page. Dear gods, did they really decide to mix malaria and consumption? Always so busy wondering if they could they never bothered to consider if they should. She plucked her reading glasses from their usual spot, sliding them on as she turned the page to the formal report, written in the aetherochemistry department chair’s tiny, cramped hand. Absently, she said, “And no, we are not testing it on the faculty of the University of Radz-at-Han.”

Synnove pouted. For the first time that afternoon, Merlwyb cracked a grin.

Merlwyb doesn’t get enough love, in my opinion, and of course I imagine she’s a salty bitch underneath the cool, commanding exterior. Couple that with Synnove probably letting loose the Full Sass (she would never behave such with Raubahn, Nanamo, or Kan-E, but she’s been an assessor for fifteen years, she knows exactly how far she can poke the Admiral and is well aware it’s tolerated only because she’s been an arcanist for so long) and the “out back and shot” line is my single favorite sentence from the whole of FFXIV Write 2019, and this is my favorite character exchange that’s I’ve done in a long time.

From Of Taunting and Tales (FFXIV Write 2019 #25)

Knock knock a-knock—knockknock! “Guess who~.”

A loud groan answered her. “Go away, you debauched scandalmonger!”

Rereha poked her head into one of the private rooms of the Rhalgr’s Reach infirmary, wicked grin firmly in place. “Now, now, Mr. Scaeva, is that any way to speak to the lady come to relieve your unending boredom?” she drawled.

The former tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion raised his arm, hand up and middle finger extended, without lifting his head from his pillow.

Rereha cackled and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. A disgusted sigh came from Nero’s direction, and he flopped his arm back down on the mattress with a characteristically overdramatic wave of his hand. She grabbed a chair sitting by the wall and dragged it behind her as she waltzed towards Nero’s bed, the wood shrieking angrily against the stone of the floor, and whistled a cheery little ditty deliberately out of tune. She could see his jaw clenched in annoyance as she set the chair up near the head of the bed and cackled again as she hopped up into it. She placed the book she had been carrying on her lap and folded her hands primly on top of it, beaming.

“How are we feeling today?” she chirped.

“Like I’ve been run over by a flock of rabid chocobos.” Nero stubbornly refused to open his eyes, instead folding his hands on his stomach in unknowing mirror of her. “And then sat upon by a buffalo.”

“That’s an improvement! Last time you said you felt like you’d been chewed and spat out by an enraged king behemoth!”

“Rereha,” he sighed, still not opening his eyes. “Why are you here? Garlond and Greywolfe are infinitely more stimulating conversationalists, for all their damned sanctimonious self-important morals and ethics.” He spat out the last word like it was a particularly loathsome curse.

“I’m hurt, Nero,” said Rereha, placing her hand on her heart. She pitched her voice to express layers of emotion: disappointment, regret, sadness. “Genuinely hurt. A friend of mine has been grievously wounded in the course of his attempts to safeguard not just Eorzea, but Hydaelyn as a whole from an interdimensional entity of vast and unfathomable power. I come in my spare time to bring some light and laughter to his dreary hospital room as he heals, and he insults me and wishes for the company of others.”

A long silence descended over them both. Finally, Nero arched one golden eyebrow and cracked an eye open to stare at her incredulously.

Rereha pursed her lips together and said pensively, “Laid it on a bit too thick, didn’t I?”

He raised his hand and held his forefinger and thumb a quarter of an ilm apart.

“Damn,” Rereha said, crossing her arms. “Ah, well.”

Rereha basically exists to let me write Sass and Irreverent Humor. Nero is full of Salt and Sass. Together they could flay someone with words alone. I also really enjoyed writing Nero being a sassmaster without using words. Wordless dialogue is fun!! :D

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

One day I’m gonna get over my hesitation about writing (and sharing) smut and fucking write the first time Synnove and Aymeric had sex. I know exactly when and where and how.

...Also Synnove getting ravished in one of the Neo-Ishgardian dresses. That’s, like, second on the list. Ooohh, and the Vacation Fic; maybe I should write that one as scenes and worry about connecting them after the fact. I think because that one will require chapters and I’m more of a one-shot person is a reason I have yet to start it.

[hellolittleogre]

Dusting off the archives

Since I like a lot of other fanfic writers are spending this time aggressively staring at different WIPs and NOT WRITING I thought I would dust off various WIPs which have stalled through the years. These are to a large extent morgue files, they will probably never be finished fic. I thought I’d share what I have written, plus synopsis or outline if I have it. I feel like they are like rings in the core of a glacier and different trends and tropes can be read in them. Some of them are also incredibly embarrassing.

Under the Cut: Avengers kid fic

Fandom: The Avengers

Paring: Clint Barton/ Phil Coulson 

Working Title: Uhhhhh.....Superspy Daddies  (not brilliant I admit)

Year written: 2012 (god help us all)

Synopsis: Clint meets Tasha when she ‘s a wee spy child and decides to adopt her. After a few years on the run they are caught up by SHIELD and recruited. There is something mysterious going on and they are assigned an alias as a family, with two dads and Natasha. Enter spy shenanigans and fake marriage and falling in love. Yay! Everything is safe and nothing hurts.

                                                       **

Natasha was seven when she met Clint. She can still remember the impact when she hit him, how she had launched herself into his body and sent them both tumbling.  They had ended up on the floor. Natasha with her knife to his throat and Clint with an arrow in his hand the point just pressing against her ribs.

It should have been easy, a clean-cut job of getting into the house, making the target and getting out again but something had been wrong, men positioned in places they shouldn’t and suddenly hostiles everywhere and a blond man with a bow taking out people with unerring accuracy.

She remembers the surprise in his face, how open it was.

“But you are just a child,” he had said in astonished and slightly accented Russian. It made her want to smile because she hadn’t been a child for a long time now.

“I am Black Widow,” she said simply, when she had planned to say nothing at all. The man stared at her.

“Ok, so, I’m going to lower my hand now, nice and easy, like this yeah?” The arrow was slowly removed from her ribs. “We have about ten minutes before my backup gets here so listen. You can kill me and go on doing what you are doing or I can get you out of here, somewhere safe and you can either come with me or go your way, but you don’t have to do this anymore.”

He is, possibly, the first person she can remember who has offered her something without asking anything of her. The idea intrigued her, that somebody could do something for you without wanting anything in return, that there could be actions without purpose or gain.

“You are not a pervert, are you?” She knows about those, they are easy, all soft words and soft hands right up to the point where they are not but then usually it is already too late. He actually laughed at that, a soft huff of air as if she had said something honestly funny.

“No, no perverts here m’am. Nobody but us chickens.” She does not understand that, it had been nobody but them and maybe a handful of dead men, no chickens at all. She frowns at him.

He sighed. “I’m Clint.”

She thought about it, the sharp edge of her knife resting against his throat, but. He has offered to do something for her without asking anything in return. He could have killed her but he didn’t. And he doesn’t want her to kill anyone, he doesn’t seem to want her to do anything. Maybe she can trust him.

“I’m Black Widow,” she says again. She doesn’t have to trust him much, or for long.

In the end they had gotten out through the air ducts. Crawled out a couple of yards behind the perimeter and Clint had then calmly walked her through the tail end of the increasingly panicked ranks of the mission, even snagging his own jacket and bow case from the back of a van. He had draped the jacked around her shoulders and pushed her lightly in the back. “Just keep your head down and walk, nice and easy.”

Natasha had to admire the audacity of it, she is not sure anymore but she believes at one point he even nodded to somebody he knew before getting her into the night. Quietly slipping away.

They go through Europe first, down through Ukraine and Romania to Serbia, Croatia and finally Italy. Clint makes Natasha cut her hair in the bathroom of a gas station. Says that maybe a man and a young boy might draw less attention. Hands her the scissors with an: I ain’t going to touch you, kiddo and closes the door. Her hair is now short and jagged and fiery red and she likes it. It takes her three months before she finally tells Clint her name is actually Natalia Romanova and he grins at her, delighted. “I’m Hawkeye,” he says.

Slowly as Natalia learns to trust him she tells Clint about the Red Room. She has a hard time remembering anything before that but she remembers training, learning and the experiments. 

They had been together for nearly a month when Clint accidentally cuts himself. Its straight across his palm and deep and painful as fuck.  Clint tries to stem the blood flow with a shirt and cursing under his breath. Natasha is strangely unperturbed, as if she can’t understand why he is making a fuss.

“Its not so bad, you just put band aid on it and it’s gone in the morning,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. Clint takes it that she meant, it will be gone in a sort of, it will still be there but at least it wont bother you fashion. As it turns out she means it quite literally.

The next night as they make camp she gives his bandage a suspicious look but says nothing. Clint is cleaning the wound with some water heated on the fire, it stings like a bitch but looks like it will heal nicely, looking up he sees Natasha across the fire, her face is white and her eyes are like saucers. Then she is by his side, prodding and poking at his hand with ungentle fingers.

“You are still hurt, why are you still hurt, why hasn’t it healed? Are you ill, what is wrong with you?” She is as animated as he has ever seen her, shaken up and honestly confused and terrified. It takes a while to calm her down to explain that when ordinary people get hurt it takes weeks and weeks for them to heal, and this is normal and it doesn’t mean that Clint is sick or dying. It is perhaps the first time Natasha lets on that she really cares. It is also the point when Clint realises how truly different she is, and the extent of those experiments. She takes out his knife and makes a shallow cut across the back of her hand and lets him watch as it fades into pink nothingness in a couple of hours.

In Croatia, Dubrovnik, Clint takes her to the beach, all blue water and fishing boats bobbing on the waves. It's the first time she has seen the sea. The water is so clear you can make out all the little fishes darting after each other along the shallows. After only half a day in the sun her skin was so burnt her back broke out in blisters and the heatstroke made her throw up on the bus back to the room they’re renting. Clint pets her hair and nods to the large woman across the aisle, who has been making sympathetic noises and has given them a plastic bag.

“Red hair, can’t stand the sun, any of them. Her mother was just the same, God rest her soul, always so sensitive.” The woman clucks in distress and finds a cough sweet in the horrifying depths of her handbag. Natalia swears she can still feel the taste of it in her nose even after she has thrown up twice.

 All she could do was lie on her stomach in their tiny room with an ice clamp wrapped in a wet towel on her back. She doesn’t cry in pain but she considers it, the possibility. There would be nobody here to punish her for it now. Cling gave her purple and yellow ice lollies, the first she’s ever had, until her mouth was skinned and raw from them. She peels afterwards and sits in the bathroom and gets Clint to peel strips of skin off her back showing her the longest ones. 

“This is so gross,” he tells her after he’s managed to peel a strip of skin all the way from her shoulder down to the small of her back. The new skin underneath the flaking was pink and tender and dotted with tiny freckles. It’s the closest to fun she has had in years.

Clint has never taken care of anyone in his life, not himself and much less anyone else. Things such as regular meals, bedtimes and food which is not pizza is pretty much new and foreign country to him.  It took him about a year to figure out that Natalia needed to go to school, because he could teach her English just fine (except maybe not words like corium and discombobulate) and some maths, as long as it had to do with geometry and seriously, he has been briefed on so many cities that they are probably good for geography for a while, but the rest of it? He has no idea. 

They stayed in Naples for six months, long enough for Clint to work out a way to get into the US and for Natalia to lose her accented English and learn a quite impressive smattering of Italian. Then, they are found. The same car stands parked on their street three days in a row, inconspicuously nestled under a great chestnut tree and Clint calmly tells Natasha to grab the overnight bag in the hall and they walk past is slowly and calmly, looking straight ahead like they were just heading for the park to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. The agents are Russian and in the end it turns ugly, they barely get away and leave corpses on their trail. They get on a plane to America a month ahead of schedule and it is a far too narrow escape. It’s only after this, after their narrow escape to relative safety that Natalia begins to have nightmares.

“Clint?”

“Yeah”

“Can you tell me a story?”

This is the third time the same night Natasha has woken from nightmares and Clint has resigned to sleeping on the floor by her bed instead of going back to his own. He has a lumpy pillow wedged under his head (in fact, he suspects it to be Natasha’s stuffed bear, Phillipov).

“A story, what about?”

There is a silence; it is long enough that he would have suspected that she had dropped off but for her calculated breathing. She is thinking about something, not sure how to phrase it.

“Angela has stories,” she says at last. Angela is Tasha’s friend from school, one of the few she has made. “I mean, her mom tells her stories about her, when she was little, what she said, when she was bad, you know. Could you, could you tell a story about me? When I was little?”

And Clint opens his mouth to say he can’t do that, he never knew her when she was little and lived in a facility where they trained her and filled her blood with god only knows what and then realises that’s not the point. Natasha knows this, but she wants a story. Not a lie, a story, about herself, when she was little, what she might have done. Clint exhales deeply and tries to think.

“Do you remember when we lived in Italy, in Naples? In that tiny apartment and your roll out bed?  Well, a couple of years before that we lived for a while in Rome, but you were so little, only four, you can’t possibly remember. We lived, you and me then, in this small apartment outside of Rome. The kitchen was tiny, but it had this huge fridge-freezer unit, this monster from the fifties in avocado green with a door thick like the safe to a bank vault and the freezer on top of it. It was like a fridge for a large Italian family with a grandma and a fat uncle with a moustache and not just for the two of us. Now it was summer and that apartment was always hot and you wanted gelato but I wouldn’t give you any because it was just before dinner and you couldn’t reach the freezer by yourself. So you had this trick of wedging a kitchen chair against the fridge, on its back legs and then climb up onto the back of the chair so you could open the freezer.”

Clint could actually see it before him, this small, determined version of Natasha, dragging the chair across the room and her bare feet soft against the linoleum floor.

“It used to make me so mad, y’know. You could fall down and split your skull, knock your teeth out, anything. And I caught you this one time, balanced on the chair with your head in the freezer and I got so mad and I yelled at you, and I said: You are driving me nuts, you’ve got to stop doing this. Do you want me to go crazy?”

And you said, without even looking away from the ice cream box: I don’t want you to go crazy. I want ice cream.”

There is silence and then Natasha laughs, it’s just a puff of amusement, there and gone again but its genuine. After a while he reaches up a hand and feels Nat stick her little paw in his. It is soft and slightly sticky, squeezing around his for a moment before she settles down.

“That’s a good story,” she says sleepily and after a while she falls asleep.  Clint is not so lucky but at least there are no more nightmares for tonight. After this she wants a lot of them, Clint tells her about fishing trips, about that time in the Natural History Museum when she thought she was lost in the room with all the gorillas, when Clint was standing right  next to her all the time.

Clint sweats the whole ten hour flight to America. Tasha curls up in her seat and pretends to sleep the whole way, the air hostess giving her a colouring book and nearly subconsciously petting her hair. There is just something about the short curls that people seem helpless to resist.

In the end it is only bad luck that Shield found them. A lot of bad luck at the same time but only chance in the end. Anyway that’s what Clint claims, Agent Coulson maintains that luck had nothing to do with it and it was the result of several years of hard work on his part and if anything it was lucky that Shield found them first and not the Russians. 

They have been living in the US for years now, slowly drifting across the north and the mid west, Clint picking up work where he can find it. They always have emergency bags packed but it was a while since they’ve had to use them. 

It was nearly five years since Clint found Natasha, or she found him, four years of Clint jumping from job to job and Nat from school to school but lately the time between moves become longer and longer. Clint had a job he actually likes, working as a bit of everything in a school for deaf kids. Natasha has friends to sit with her at the lunch table, has started playing soccer, and it turns out she is menace on the grass. They feel safe, five years have gone by and nothing has been seen or heard and maybe it has made them complacent. Maybe its just nice to belong somewhere. Tasha has friends on her soccer team and comes home grass stained and happy. She’s hit a growth spurt and reminds Clint of a foal with long gangly limbs.

It starts with a parent teacher visit, just a stupid mistake. It's Tasha’s homeroom teacher who gives Clint a considering look and remarks that he looks a bit young to have a daughter her age. And that’s all it takes to get the ball rolling, somebody looking just a little extra at the adoption papers and suddenly there is a social worker outside the door. Clint and Tasha are professional liars and it comes to nothing in the end but the notice is already logged into the system, leaving a minute paper trail for people who know where to look. And then Clint had gotten ill with the flu, enough to just not pay attention the nondescript car parked on their street for two days in a row. They are unprepared for it when Clint, kept awake by coughing, spots the stealthy movement on the street and there is no time, no time for anything other than getting out. The rain is pouring down and Tasha is still in her pyjamas, shoes held in one hand. As it turns out the location of their backup storage is compromised and Clint barely makes it out with one bag, containing a change for Natasha and barely enough cash to make it out of town. They don’t try to go to the second one, where Clint’s bow and arrows are stored. It hurts, that bow is as much a part of Clint as his arm, but if it is undetected they can come back for it and if it has been found it is not worth trying to get it back.  They make their way north on foot and hitchhike, avoiding gas stations and bus stops, suddenly nothing feels safe anymore, everywhere is strange and threatening. Clint’s flu had gotten worse and developed into a deep rattling cough that won’t let go and claws at his chest with dull teeth. There was no time to rest and the constant chill of their travel had made it into pneumonia.

They end up in a motel, where everything within the range of the little electric heater is stuffy and fever-hot and everything outside of it cold and damp. Clint lies propped up on the two slim pillows, Natasha is sitting at the foot of the bed, cleaning out her gear, her face cool and efficient. They both know Clint can’t go much further without rest and proper care, they both know they can't turn to a hospital and there is not enough money for any under the table dealings, even if they had the contacts in this part of the country.

It's only logical that she should go on alone, she has a much better chance to get away. How she is going to make it in the long run neither of them mentions.

“You have a quarter?” she asks “I just wanted something from the vending machine.”

Clint nods towards his bags and when she comes back she packs everything in her bag neatly, all her gear cleaned, three knives on her, one in her sleeve, one in her shoe and one at the small of her back. She puts the blankets over Clint. Go to sleep, she tells him. When he wakes up Tasha is curled up next to him and Shield breaks down the door.

They are being debriefed by Hill and Coulson, and a team of junior agents, even Fury is there, scowling behind the eye patch. Howard and Tony Stark is their target, it is just a scouting mission, there has been some untoward suspected HYDRA activity in Stark Industries.

The pale manila folder lands with a dull sound in front of Clint. It contains, in addition to information on the targets, the cover stories for the job.  Natasha squints down at the pages.

“I will be Clint’s adopted daughter and we are living with his brother, my uncle Phil?” Coulson, first name Agent, inclines his head slightly.

 “We felt it was best your handler was with you on site,” he says mildly.

Natasha gives him a slanted eyebrow of disbelief and snorts into her folder “yah, because a grown single man living with his brother and a young girl is not weird, at all,” she says in Russian and rolls her eyes at Clint. He tries not to laugh and hopes not too many at the table can understand. Judging by the twitch in Fury’s eye, he should be so lucky.

Just before the elevator closes Hill shows up and smacks a new folder into his chest.

“Your updated covers,” she explains, “ as I understood there were complaints about the last ones.” She gives Nat a nasty look. Clint opens the folder and starts scanning the content. There are papers, degrees even, official adoption papers and also…

“Hang on, we are married now? How is that better??”

They arrived back at the house at five in the morning, Clint practically carrying a half asleep Natasha and Phil felt so tired as if he was moving through molasses. He managed to change his clothes and brush his teeth before sitting down on the sofa and completely running out of energy. Mechanically turning on the tv and finding antiques roadshow on and just sitting there with the flickering light over him.

After a while Barton came down and slumped beside him, head leaning back and his eyes closed. 

“She’s brushed her teeth and she’s in bed now, I think actually asleep.  I hope to hell there will be no nightmares because I don’t know if I have the energy to even get out of this couch.”

“I’ll get it,”Phil says even though he feels like his spine has been boiled to the consistency of a wet noodle and all he wants to do is sleep for a week. Clint makes an exhausted noise beside him and slumps back against the couch, after a little while his head tips over onto Phil’s shoulder. He can feel the soft hair against his jaw and neck. Clint’s breath skates moist and warm over his neck and collarbone. It’s the best thing he has felt in ages and parts of him wishes he really could lean over and cover Clint’s mouth with his own and pull him close. Instead he leans back, promising himself it will only be for a second and then he promptly falls asleep.

Clint wakes up with the most awful crick in the neck. He is still on the sofa, squashed onto his side and his face plastered to Phil’s shoulder. He might even have drooled a bit on his t-shirt. At some point during the night they had managed to wedge themselves into the sofa, Phil mostly on his back and Clint, well, mostly on top of him. He tries to move his legs and find them stuck under something. Something turns out to be Nattie, curled up like a ball at the end of the sofa and her head pillowed on what might be Phil’s hip. Everything hurts like a motherfucker. Its not the discomfort that’s woken him though, it was the soft sound of the front door. Peeling his face slowly from Phil’s shoulder he raises his head to find Steve, Tony and Pepper awkwardly standing in the doorway staring at their slightly inappropriate family re-enactment of the Gordian Knot.

“Sorry Mr C,” Pepper says “the door was open.”

He really, really hopes he had the sense to take off the leather suit before he fell asleep last night.

[joannalannister]

I've seen you reblogging Jon/Dany stuff and I'm curious how likely you think that level of love/romance would be in the coming canon. Even putting aside whatever state Jon is going to be in post-resurrection, I'm not sure their past relationships suggest that each would be the other's type for instant attraction, and I don't know if they'd have time to develop much of a relationship what with the oncoming winter apocalypse. Or is it just a ship people like the idea of but don't expect?

Oh no, I don’t think the all-American, crewcut, boy-next-door Jon Snow we’ve seen in AGOT - ADWD is Dany’s type for instant attraction at all! 

Dany’s the type who likes rockstars with wild hair, and the power and danger of a big ol’ Harley-Davidson between her legs. She’s looking for a maverick fighter pilot from Top Gun to ride one of her dragons.  She wants a rebel with a cause, not a lost, grieving boy. I don’t think the Jon Snow we know is the type of guy Dany’s looking for!

But Jon Snow died. ;)

In the words of the King, “The person you put up there ain’t the person that comes back. It might look like that person, but it ain’t that person” (Pet Semetary). “Resurrection… ah, there’s a word (that you should put right the fuck out of your mind and you know it).”

GRRM has said that “Death is hard.” It changes a person. Look at the Lightning Lord. Look at Lady Stoneheart. They remember, but they’re not the same people anymore. I think Jon Snow, after spending some time in Ghost, is going to come back wilder. More reckless, more dangerous, more … rockstar. So I think Dany will find Jon very attractive. 

(from Jesus Christ Superstar) 

(Will TWOW please come out soon, because my ASOIAF / pop culture analogies are getting wilder and wilder.) 

So anyways, you can’t just “put aside” Dragonriding Rockstar Jesus Jon Snow and his Resurrection, or his Freefolk Groupies on the tv show, or his tv manbun when considering the potential for Jon/Dany. The resurrection – and the change it will bring – is a big reason why I think Jon/Dany has potential.

So how likely do I think there will be love/romance between Jon/Dany in canon? I’m certain of it. I think Jon and Dany will grow very close as they fight together to save the world, and I think that’s a beautiful thing. I’ll wager money on Jon/Dany falling in love in the books before the end of ADOS; any takers? First come, first served. 

I’m not saying there won’t be issues Jon and Dany need to work out, or that they’re just gonna say “Hi” before asking each other to winter prom so they can bang on the backseat of a dragon. 

I’m not sure their first meeting will go smoothly, or end well.

I don’t know the lay of the land for this journey GRRM is going to take us on. 

But I feel very strongly that our destination is Jon and Dany being in love before the books end. I don’t care how cliched, how trope-y anybody says it is; GRRM loves this trope-y, cliched fantasy shit. (I love it too.)

Do you remember Vaes Tolorro? Dany ate a peach in ruins bleached bone-white by the sun. The juice stained her cheeks as she ate, “so sweet she almost cried.” Vaes Tolorro is one of my favorite places in ASOIAF. It was cut from the tv show, because it wasn’t significant to the plot. 

It’s thematic significance is paramount, however. Vaes Tolorro is about life. It’s hope, in the midst of rack and ruin. It’s about standing in the shade of one of those white buildings and looking out at that sun-drenched Red Waste, at that endless sea of death stretching from horizon to horizon, and saying, “Not today. Not to-fucking-day.” It’s a glorious city, even in ruins. It’s defiant. As glorious and defiant as Casterly Rock in its own way, and I can speak no higher praise. 

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring” and all that jazz about hope and life and rebirth. 

To steal the words of Robert Jordan, “Almost dead yesterday, maybe dead tomorrow, but alive, gloriously alive, today.” 

That’s what Vaes Tolorro is all about. 

That’s part of what ASOIAF is all about: “I’m alive. I’m still here, I’m up against the impossible and I’m still trying, I’m still breathing, I’m still standing, and you’re not going to treat me that way anymore. My life has meaning, my life is valuable, and you’re not going to treat me like a kicked dog. I’m alive. I’m a human being. And don’t you forget it. Because I will prevail.” Whether the “you” is a man as small as Randyll Tarly or a force as big as the Others, it doesn’t matter. To each and every one of them, what do we say? 

Not today, motherfucker.

That’s what GRRM is saying when he writes paragraph-long descriptions of food that make your mouth water, and songs to make your heart ache, and yes, love and sex. 

Every morsel the characters eat, every voice lifted in song to ask the Gentle Mother for mercy, every “often and unpredictable” kiss … it’s a celebration of life. 

And every celebration of life is an act of defiance against the Others who would destroy all life on Terros. Every kindness, every act to humanize one another … it’s a bulwark against the Others. Every time the Tywins and Tarlys and Boltons of the world work to dehumanize another person, they’re aiding the enemy. They’re traitors to life itself. 

(I could go on and on about this “celebration of life” for every story GRRM has written, but I’m restraining myself.) 

I don’t know what Jon and Dany (and Tyrion) need to do beyond the curtain of light to save the world. But I don’t think it’s something as simple as “We have to put this obsidian rock on the crystal throne” or something like that. I think whatever they have to do will be something more thematically important, something that is a celebration of humanity. 

When they go beyond the curtain of light, Jon/Dany is Vaes Tolorro. They’re an oasis of life, surrounded by death in the stronghold of the Others. Intimacy between them is the most life-affirming thing they could do, and that’s what the series is all about. 

I’m not saying Jon and Dany are gonna fuck to save the world but … I think Jon and Dany are gonna fuck to save the world. Or at least that’s going to be part of it. I’m not even particularly emotionally invested in this ship (where are the Lannisters?), but a Jon/Dany romance is simply the logical conclusion imo. 

“A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness… .”

“We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”

I think Jon/Dany is something glorious, something transcendent, but it’s also something sad imo, because I think they’ll die doing whatever they have to do. 

(Also Tyrion needs to learn to love himself and forgive himself, and I think that’s also a part of saving the world, but that’s not what this post is about.)

******

You mention that you don’t think there’s enough time, but I have a couple things to say to that:

1) GRRM can build a whole world in two paragraphs. Despite the verbosity of ASOIAF, he can tell a whole complete, emotionally-satisfying story in 10 pages. Give him one Dany chapter, and I think we’re good to go.

2) I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I think the place beyond the curtain of light is like the Fairy Realm and we don’t know the rules of such a place. Does time flow faster or slower there? Does time have any meaning at all there? We don’t know. If precisely nine months have to pass “under the Fairy Hill” while 9 minutes pass battling wights at Winterfell to make whatever needs to happen happen, then that’s what GRRM is gonna do. *shrug* We don’t know the rules. The rules of such a place are whatever GRRM will make them.

So I would say that there’s however much time GRRM needs to tell Jon and Dany’s story. 

As I’ve said elsewhere, I think the Iron Throne is going to be melted down, I think Jon and Dany are both going to die while saving the world (I will put money down on Dany dying, at the very least), and I think the Seven Kingdoms are going to break apart into separate kingdoms.

So I don’t think we need to worry about the “Afterward” for a Jon/Dany romance. It’s like if Frodo died in the lava when Barad-dûr collapsed in the movies. idk how it will play out tho in ASOIAF. Maybe after the “Fairy Hill” of the Others’ “collapses” for lack of a better term about what’s going to happen there, it spits mortally wounded Jon, Dany, and Tyrion out at a place of power, like the God’s Eye, idk, maybe it will be like GRRM’s Laren Dorr story. Anyways, maybe nine months have passed in the “Fairy Hill” while only a day has passed in Westeros, and Dany gives birth to a child before dying? Really, I don’t know, this is just me throwing wild suggestions out there. If GRRM really does make them have a kid, I definitely think both Jon and Dany are dying, but I’m really not sure if there is a Jon/Dany child in store in ASOIAF. 

I feel certain that Jon, Dany, and their potential kiddos are not going to be ruling Westeros in endgame. (I’ll put money on that one too. I’m gonna be rich as a Lannister if anybody wants to take me up here.) Any cute Jon/Dany+kids art/gifs I reblog is purely because I think it looks like a sweet and fluffy AU totally unlike anything GRRM will do. I really, really don’t think we’re ever gonna see any Jon/Dany family time, either together or one of them as a single-parent. (That’s what fanfic is for, friends.)

******

I could use this space to make a list and give you quotes to “prove” that “Jon likes THIS quality in a woman and THIS quality and THIS one” and then I could give you quotes proving how Dany possesses those qualities

but

1) I honestly don’t care. I’m mostly here for ASOIAF themes, and when I shake my magic 8-ball of ASOIAF themes and ask it, “Will Jon and Dany fall in love and bang?” it returns an answer of “Outlook Good.” 

2) GRRM is gonna change Jon to fit this, whether it’s the resurrection, or spending 40 days and nights in the deserts of Dorne, or whatever the fuck else is happening in twow

3) Jon’s headspace is not one I prefer to spend time in.

4) plenty of other people have probably already made such a list. (Feel free to link me, people!) Lots of people are way more emotionally invested in Jon/Dany, so if such a list isn’t already out there, I’m sure someone will write it. 

What I will use this space for is to mention GRRM’s short story The Way of Cross and Dragon. Because GRRM literally wrote and published a Bible AU with dragons and Judas in love with Jesus, let’s not forget that while considering Jon/Dany and the betrayal for love, I’m not even joking.

because Judas had loved Him so, Christ gave him a boon, an extended life […]. Once Dragon-King, once the friend of Christ, now he became only a blind traveler, outcast and friendless, wandering all the cold roads of the earth […] 

And Peter, the first Pope and ever his enemy, spread far and wide the tale of how Judas had sold Christ for thirty pieces of silver, until Judas dared not even use his true name. […] 

Christ promised that He would permit a few to remember who and what Judas had been, and that with the passage of centuries the news would spread, until finally Peter’s Lie was displaced and forgotten.

GRRM says he is a “recycler” of stories, and I’m interested to see what GRRM is going to do with Jon/Dany. I like the idea of it, and I’m totally expecting it to become canon during the apocalypse.

tbh this makes me sound more interested than I am, when in reality it’s like, I’m interested in Jon/Dany simply because I’m interested in the ending of ASOIAF. Because “Jon/Dany” and “ending” are synonymous in my mind. 

But I would literally forgo ADOS in exchange for more information about Casterly Rock and House Lannister. (A large amount of information, but still.) House Lannister for life, what can I say?

[undertaleimaginationland]

Oh my gosh I think I'm in love. (Swoons.) I swear your writing just gets better. Anywho, how about some sadness? What if the S/O suddenly got a bit depressed, didn't show much interest in training, just threw things at people who mentioned their scars or tattoos, and their sass seemed to take a major blow too? And when they got home, they went to the kitchen and started baking like crazy, and when the boys asked what was wrong, they told them that it was the day their mentor died? -Blue

You never fail to flatter me, Blue. Ah, and the ol’ angst trope. I like it! Let’s get started, shall we?

Underfell

Red-

You were sitting alone in the waterfall, your feet paddling in the waters, when your phone buzzed in your pocket. Pulling out the device, a text in all caps takes up majority of the screen:

Fishface: Wanna brawl dude?! I found this really cool battle ground by the core that we could throw hands @.

Your finger hovered over the screen hesitantly. You loved Undyne (platonically, of course), but now wasn’t really a good time. You sigh as you text her back:

You: Feeling under the weather. Can’t go.

Placing the phone back in your pocket, you bring your knees to your chest and silently sulk. A stone sits next to you and you pick it up, feeling at its smoothness. 

“Dude?! Is that the tattoo human?”

“I think so, bro!” 

You grit your teeth and cover your face. Why couldn’t people leave you alone? “Beat it…” You mumbled. You weren’t having it today.

The two monsters looked at you, confused. “What-”

“I SAID BEAT IT!” You barked, boomeranging the stone to where it hit both of the saps square in the faces. “GET OUT OF HERE!” You sprang up from your spot and the two monsters bolted.

You were about to chase after them, but some heavy presence weighed your soul down. You weren’t motivated. Your determination was low and you knew exactly why.

A lump caught in your throat as you dusted yourself off. You had to get home before someone sees you cry. You’d be damned if you had to deal with that.

You started to pick up the pace, tears streaming down your face. Why did the world hate you? Why were you here and not…them?

Your fast-paced strides got you a pretty good distance before you passed by one of Sans’ sentry stations where he was (as per usual) sleeping on the job. You made sure to make your steps quiet as you sneaked past him. You didn’t want him to worry.

Finally arriving home, your stomach growled. Maybe starving yourself wasn’t the best method of coping. And so, you fired up the stove and borrowed Edge’s cook book for the evening.

“…”

You didn’t know what came over you as you observed the minimal amount of counter space left. From lasagna to cupcakes, you had no idea what food you DIDN’T make. But one thing was for sure:

You were about to guiltlesly eat your heart out.

Suddenly, the door smacked open and in trotted your salivating bonefriend. “i…i came as soon as i smelt the grub.” His eyes are scanning over the endless buffet before him, and was he really sweating? “you didn’t plan on eating all of that food on your own, right doll?”

“I did,” You admitted flatly, leaning against the fridge. “This is all one serving for me.”

Sans blinked. “oh really, doll? i find that kinda hard to believe.” He chomps into a warm croissant and swoons. “geez doll, what’s the occasion?”

You turn away and toss an empty bag of flour into the trash. “Its, erm, a commemoration meal, I guess.” You gulp, the binds of all your secrets starting to unravel. “My… mentor passed away today. I…” You feel yourself sniffle. “I-I just-”

Red started to sweat more so than he usually does and he panics. Hell, everybody knows Red is shit at comforting criers. So naturally, he does the first thing he can think of.

You startle as a cupcake is mushed onto your face, your cheeks staining red from the icing. You stare at Red as if he’s just proclaimed that he was the damn queen of England. “Did…” You feel a smile tug at your lips. “Did you just-”

“sweeten up your day? yep, sure did, doll.” Sans swiped a bit of icing off your cheek and swiftly licked it up. “y’know, i don’t have much of a sweet tooth, but i have a cavity that could sure use some fillin’. care to do the job?”

You giggled as you wiped your tears away. “You dork.” You hugged him close, nuzzling into the floof of his jacket. “I’d love to.”

Red clutched onto you tightly.

“…”

“i bet you taste sweeter than that cupcake, sweetheart.” Red purred, making you stiffen up.

You instantly pushed him away. “Heel boy heel.”

“welp.” Red shrugged with a sly grin. “it was worth a try.”

Edge-

Thank god your training had turned you into the ultimate stealth master. You hopped from tree to tree as you heard your rampant friend and bonefriend call out for you.

“HEY NERD?! WHERE ARE YA’?” Undyne draws out a spear and grunts. “I SWEAR IF YOU DON’T COME OUT, I’LL RIP YOUR DAMN HEART OUT!”

Edge worriedly shuffles through a bush to find you. “S/O! THIS ISN’T FUNNY! COME OUT THIS INSTANT!” 

When he receives no response from you, he yells, “IF IT’S ABOUT THOSE MINUSCULE NOSY MONSTERS, DON’T WORRY. UNDYNE AND I HAVE DEALT WITH THEM APPROPRIATELY.”

You fidget. Somehow, that had unnerved you even further. 

Why were you hiding the trees right now? 

Well wasn’t it obvious? You screwed up.

After a group of monsters had pointed out the heart tattoo on your back, you had gone on a blind throwing frenzy. You had even managed to throw Undyne at the monsters. Like how???

And of course, once you had calmed down, you broke down right then and there, tears and all. You had absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the two people who meant the most to you. How do you come back from that?

As quietly as you can, you stealth your way out of the forest and back to the skelebros’ house, landing with a thud on a soft snow poof.

You ring your clothes of the wet snow as the house embraces you with a warm hug. Just as you’re about to go up to your room, you notice Edge’s cookbook is lying around. An idea springs in your mind and you smile.

The door practically breaks off it’s hinges as Edge burst through the door. His angry gaze falls on you elegantly garnishing a plate of lasagna and he recoils back. “YOU!”

You gulp as Edge backs you into the counter. “E-Edge?”

Just as you thing he’s about to yell your ear off, he quickly sweeps you off your feet, hugging you close. “DON’T YOU EVER MAKE ME WORRY LIKE THAT AGAIN, S/O. GOT IT!?” His edges are poking into you, but you honestly didn’t mind.

You buried your face into his scarf as you mumbled an ‘okay’.

“GOOD.” Edge tilts your head to meet his gaze. His cheekbones are dusted a light pink. “Y-YOU SCARED ME BACK THERE.”

Oh? “Oh,” You suddenly feel extremely guilty. “I-I’m sorry, Edgy. I panicked.”

“I COULD TELL.” Edge gently sets you down and runs his hand through your hair. “WHY WERE YOU UPSET, ANYWAYS? DID WE GO TOO HARD ON YOU?”

“N-no no! It’s not that.” You answered quickly. “I’m just a little…upset.”

Edge examined your plate of lasagna from afar, eyeing its every detail closely. “UPSET?” He never looked back towards you. “UPSET ABOUT WHAT?”

“It’s about my mentor, Edge. They died today.” Well, if you going to tell him, might as well be upfront about it.

Edge quickly turned towards you, his features shaken. He wasn’t quite sure how to react. “OH.”

“…”

Awkward silence.

“…”

“MAY WE EAT SOME PASTA TO COMMEMORATE THE NOBLEMEN’S LIFE? IT IS ONLY SUITABLE FOR SOMEONE AS GREAT AS THEM TO BE REMEMBERED IN SUCH AN HONORABLE WAY.”

Before you could answer, your stomach sounded with a loud growl. Really?

“U-uh, I guess that’s a yes.” You blushed.

You were glad you had such a kind bonefriend.

[sugarsculls]

Sorry this is unrelated to the ask meme, but do you have any headcanons/thoughts to share about freezerburn??? I love it and i really don't think it gets enough attention

Absolutely! It’s very underrated by the fandom smh and it has??? All the best tropes??? Rich girl/girl from humble beginnings. The graceful one/the bruiser. Tol/Smoll. Fire/Ice. If you wanna reach you could even say red/blue aesthetics in terms of personality, not really color scheme. THE NICE ONE/THE MEAN ONE. IT’S ALL THERE GUYS.

I think it’s an underrated and underappreciated relationship both in fanon and in canon (though I won’t get into that because that could be a whole other post.) But, one thing I can say, is that there is a chance for a more in depth relationship between the two if things go a certain way. Because honestly, they’re the ones in closest proximity to each other. And if my predictions are correct (which they probably won’t be, but it would be fun to think of) then they will be the first two to meet up.

Weiss is probably going to escape with Klein’s and Ironwood’s (and maybe Winter’s) help. So we’ll go off of that.

Let’s just assume that Yang is still in Patch when all of a sudden there’s a knock on the door and in comes Weiss. They haven’t seen each other in months, haven’t heard from each other in months, and here she is, having gathered data from Ironwood on where he sent the robot arm, right at Yang’s doorstep.

Yang probably wouldn’t react for a second, and Weiss would be albeit awkward about it, probably apologizing for “intruding” and “dropping by without warning” you know, because she still somewhat wants to portray that she is still the friend Yang knew back at Beacon, so Yang could feel familiarity and comfort. I think Yang would immediately break the silence by bringing Weiss in for a hug, which she would immediately return.

Tai would probably just be in the background a little shocked because ??? the last person he was expecting to see was the recently dethroned Schnee Heiress/his daughters’ friend and teammate on his doorstep but he’d immediately welcome Weiss in.

I think the Xiao Long family could do wonders for Weiss, and show her what a family should be like. Even if it’s broken, there’s care, there’s familiarity, there’s love. Even without a romantic undertone that I low key hope Yang and Weiss to take on eventually, it could give Weiss something she’s always wanted - love.

Now some headcanons going along with this scenario:

Weiss would serve as a sparring partner for Yang. Yang is very good in hand to hand combat as we were shown in 4x9, however, brawlers are not the only opponents she will be facing. In fact brawlers are probably the least represented opponents she will be facing. Lots of the characters we’ve seen in this show fight with swords and guns and staffs and something that they can use with speed, agility, and at a long distance too. Having Weiss, basically a polar opposite in personality and fighting style, there to help spar with Yang would do a lot of good, for the both of them.

Weiss has been, thus far, training to summon. She hasn’t had any sparring partners either. So, again, it works in both of their favors.

Yang being absolutely enamored by Weiss’ summoning and probably wanna fight it.

YANG TEACHING WEISS HOW TO COOK PLEASE it would be the cutest thing??? I headcanon Yang as being a very good cook and baker, and we all remember Weiss’ failure at watching a cake bake for 5 minutes in chibi. So it would be really cute seeing Yang teach Weiss and Weiss failing miserably multiple times.

Ten bucks says they’d start throwing the ingredients at each other and start a food fight which would end with them covered in flour but laughing on the floor, almost crying in a way, because they needed that, and they missed that.

Doesn’t mean they got out of cleaning up though.

Weiss offering to help with house work and yard work but she’s never done any of that before so it all ends up being a hilarious disaster and Yang just laughs at how badly she failed but regardless helps her up.

Weiss actually being really good at caring for plants. I’d imagine she would water the flowers without even telling them and Yang probably watches from her window, or the door, and just smiles. It’s peaceful and serene watching her work. She doesn’t notice the heat in her cheeks.

The two girls having nights to themselves while Tai is out teaching or doing work and it’s just a time for them to really talk. They talk about a lot of things, about the good and the bad, actually communicating. Sometimes it’s strained and sometimes it’s natural. I think Weiss could also help bring up Blake too, and we could hear from Yang’s perspective where this has left her. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Yang still held animosity for Blake. But deep down Weiss would know Yang doesn’t truly mean it, and they’d just talk about everything you know? I’m a slut for good communication content.

Those said nights where they have the house to themselves Yang would introduce Weiss to pillow and blanket forts. Weiss thinks it’s childish at first but honestly she loves it once the finished product is there. 

The two of them fall asleep on each other a lot, often with Weiss laying her head on Yang’s shoulder and Yang laying her head on Weiss. At this point Tai would come home to a living room turned into a fort with the tv still on, but the two girls asleep in each other’s arms and would grab an extra blanket and drape it over them. Maybe even kissing both of their heads before heading off to bed himself.

Weiss coddling and baby talking Zwei when no one’s around and Yang walks in with this knowing smirk and you can’t tell the difference between a tomato and Weiss at this point she’s blushing so hard.

THEM TAKING ZWEI OUT FOR WALKS.

I’m not sure if Patch happens to have a small town or village around, but assuming they do, I’d like to think they’d go into town and try and get a sense of normality back. Maybe go for cafe dates and even window shopping.

Yang telling Weiss about Summer would absolutely wreck my ass.

IT STARTS TO RAIN AND THE TWO OF THEM START DANCING IN THE RAIN.

Weiss wanting to do something nice for Yang and Tai because of how kind they’ve been to her after escaping Schnee manor that she’d put all those skills she honed while at their home to use and make them a nice meal to show how much she appreciates what they’ve done for her.

Yang having a particularly bad day and Weiss leaving little sticky notes for her to read with compliments and little motivational one-liners. Some have really bad puns.

Yang teaching Weiss how to make better puns and jokes and Tai coming in and absolutely annihilating them because he is the joke and pun master.

Oh my god just. Just please imagine Yang teaching Weiss how to play video games. Just. Imagine.

I think Weiss could help Yang also control her anger and semblance too. Not a lot but giving her tips may help. 

I think at some point, the two girls would probably venture off on their own to start looking for Ruby since they probably where her destination is, and then from there find out where Blake could have gone. They want to make up with their team. They are the two steps forward and now they’ll take those leaps to bring their team back together.

With this in mind, and because embarrassing parents are embarrassing, Tai would probably make some dumb joke about how he’s “leaving Yang in your hands now, Weiss” and to “treat her right” and Weiss is honestly kind of embarrassed because she wasn’t that obvious right and Yang is kinda just like “DAD STFU”

Tai would actually genuinely be thankful for Weiss, because Yang needed a friend, someone close to her, someone her age, and here comes her teammate who was forcibly taken away. He’d express genuine gratitude for her coming for Yang.

MUTUAL PINING BUT NOT REALLY GOING FOR IT BECAUSE THEY AREN’T SURE IF THE OTHER REALLY FEELS THE SAME AS THEY DO

I have more to add but honestly this got UNNECESSARILY LONG SORRY LMAO but it was fun to theorize about!