#i need to watch them make up for centuries of injustices between them

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 25

Summary: Searching for the stag, Y/N learns more of her husband’s past.

Warnings: angst, fluff, sexual content

Draw your swords - Series Masterlist

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Staring up at the sky, Y/N smiles. All the stars in the sky don’t burn nearly as brightly as her love for Aleksander. So many of her sleepless nights connected to her fear of being unworthy of love were a waste – she never felt quite as happy, quite as invincible as she does when he holds her hand. It’s not about the way he amplifies her power, it’s about the way her heart feels protected, taken care of when he’s near. There’s no greater amplifier than love given to her of free will.

When her blood runs cold, when she feels like she wants to let go, she turns her face to Aleksander and his shadows and it feels like she’s home. Once upon a time, she was terrified of the darkness and all that lurks within, now she seeks it out for comfort. The darkness leads her home back to his arms and nothing compares to his embrace.

They’ve called him a starless saint in the past, a name she sees as an injustice to the galaxies in his eyes. They painted his soul black, but when he smiles she can see it for what it is - bright gold. He's never been evil, he's been in pain.

As the night is forced to retire by the morning sun on the horizon, Y/N’s attention turns to Aleksander. His hair is woven from a poet’s ink, strands of starlight stolen from the heavens he was denied entry in. His eyes are closed, the sunlight slowly reaching them and she knows soon he’ll awake and scowl as he usually does to seem more intimidating and it saddens her that he has to keep his guard up even when he’s surrounded by his own Grisha.

How many of those he trusted turn on him for a scowl to be etched on his handsome face so often nowadays? It’s a damn shame to hide such exquisite elegance of his naturally gentle features under such intense frowns.

His soft lips are parted ever so slightly, drawing her attention. Propping herself up on her elbow, she smiles down at him. He’s so beautiful, chiseled from the kind of material that’s extinct now, unique, one of a kind. No man could ever be as alluring, as charming and graceful as he is. Every word he speaks is arresting, every smile of his is positively infectious and the way he’d look at her makes him undeniably irresistible. There’s no one like him in this world and there never will be – and his heart belongs to her.

“Hmm”, Aleksander’s eyebrows furrow lightly. Pressing his lips, he swallows thickly as his frown deepens much to Y/N’s dissatisfaction.

Running her finger between his eyebrows and across his forehead, she tries to rectify his frown.

Squinting at her with his left eye, he licks his lips. “What are you doing?”

“Erasing that frown of yours. Who frowns before even opening their eyes?” She huffs, watching his eyes open and fix on her with delight.

“Husbands who have bloody-minded wives.”

Her gaze softens as a mirthful laugh emerges from deep inside his chest, brightening her mood.

“At least I’m not as obstinate and perverse as my lovely husband who was persuaded to propose marriage for a second time while my breasts were on full display.”

Lifting his head, he swiftly catches her pursed lips in a demonically passionate kiss. His lips are shamelessly, wholeheartedly devouring hers and she’s just as sincerely returning his affection. Wrapping his arms around her, Aleksander secures his left hand around her waist and his right one across her shoulder blades. His right hand rests at the back of her neck, allowing him to safety roll on top of her.

Moaning into the kiss, Y/N’s mind darkens with desire. She wants nothing more but to have him inside her, pushing her to the brink of madness with every thrust, but she can’t forget that they’re laid just outside of their tent and if anyone looks their way, they’d have quite a show.

Breaking the kiss, she giggles. “Stop”, she throws her head back.

“Let me ravish you”, Aleksander’s voice is deep and raspy. He trails kisses from her lips to her jaw, making it harder for her to refuse him.

“Someone will see”, she insists meekly with an unwavering smile upon her lips.

Lifting his gaze to meet hers, Aleksander smirks. “I don’t care.”

As he goes for a peck on the lips, a wave of nausea widens her eyes. Pushing against his shoulders, she manages to squirm from underneath her husband. Sitting up, she feels her mouth salivating as bile rises at the back of her throat. Before she knows it, she’s running toward the trees just a few strides away from the clearing where they’ve set up camp.

Sinking to her knees, she finds herself retching until only clear liquid comes up. Her stomach keeps on contracting violently, forcing everything up and out. A cold hand on her forehead and another on her back keep her from falling face first into the ground, keeping her earthed.

“Can I get you something?” Aleksander asks, his voice strong-willed and calm as he crouches beside her. Her face is pale, sweaty. Tears are running down her cheeks, bile dripping from her chin.

“You can leave”, she turns away from him. The last thing she wants is for him to see her like this. “Send Mal with water”, her voice is hoarse.

The pungent stench of vomit invades her nostrils and she heaves, but there’s nothing left inside her to throw up.

“I’ll bring it”, Aleksander grumbles.

Her throat feels sore from the acid, her mouth tastes of vomit. She never liked roses, though she did appreciate their symbolism. She enjoyed wild flowers much more as they painted the very essence of her soul. Staring at the damage she spewed across the wild flowers further agitates her stomach.

“This isn’t exactly how I want you to see me”, Y/N remarks as Aleksander returns with water.

Chugging, she lets it spill over her face to wash the vomit off too. Helping her move a few feet away in order to slightly skew her view of the vomit, to sit and lean back against a tree, Aleksander crouches before her.

Frowning, he speaks, “Why?” Her words don’t sit well with him, making his heart ache.

“Throwing up doesn’t exactly help grow attraction between a husband and his wife.”

Shaking his head, Aleksander chuckles. “You’ve never been more beautiful.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she looks toward one of the tents as Ivan emerges. Connecting her gaze to Aleksander’s once more, she lets out a heavy sigh. She wanted him to leave initially, but she’s grateful he decided to stay.

“I’m worried”, he admits sheepishly. Admitting it isn’t easy, but he can’t be quiet when his mind is screaming warnings all the time. Pressing his lips in a thin line, he glances at her shaky hands. “Something’s wrong.”

Raising her eyebrows, she manages a smile. “I’m under a lot of pressure. Nothing more.”

“I’d feel better if you’d see a healer or a medic”, he remarks and Y/N scoffs at him as he moves to sit beside her.

“They don’t seem particularly helpful for our kind.” Leaning her head on his shoulder, she hopes she doesn’t smell like a combination of sweat and vomit. She didn’t want him to worry, especially not now when there are more pressing matters they need to dedicate themselves to.

“I’m aware, but I’d like to make sure. Your well-being is extremely important, not just to me”, Aleksander reminds her and she sighs.

“I’m aware, which is why I know I’m fine and this was just a fluke.”

She lied. This is more than a fluke, but admitting it to Aleksander would cause unnecessary panic. She’s been nauseous for days now, but she never actually needed to vomit before.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he swallows thickly. “You should eat something.”

“I could eat an apple”, she raises a brow with a small smile on her face. She’s certain she’d be back on her knees, chucking up her breakfast if it was heavy. She’ll take an apple and minimize the risk while making Aleksander happy as well.

Pecking her nose, he nods. “An apple now, but something stronger for lunch. Maybe dinner can be that stag, if we find it quickly enough.”

As he goes to stand, a hand on his bicep stops him. “About the stag”, she licks her dry lips. When she was trying to find out more about Aleksander, she remembers seeing a few stories about the legendary stag. She remembers the name of it clearly, the same name her husband bears. “Why is it referred to as Morozova’s stag?”

Clearing his throat, Aleksander moves back to his spot. “Because the stag, among other amplifiers, was created centuries ago by Ilya Morozova.” Looking ahead, he sighs. “He was one of the first, most powerful Grisha to ever walk the Earth.”

“Who was he to you?” She asks, her heart beating wildly against its bony confines.

Looking at her with his breath caught in his throat, Aleksander gnaws on the inside of his bottom lip. Talking of his family, of his past feels as if needles are piercing every inch of his skin. It’s opening old wounds that took centuries to heal.

“My grandfather”, he replies reluctantly.

Inhaling sharply, Y/N’s eyes widen. “So he created the amplifier?”

Nodding, he glances at the tracker who leaves his tent that’s placed on the other side of the small clearing.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he continues, “He was a powerful Fabricator. Using his own bones, he created three amplifiers: the Stag, the Sea Whip and the Firebird.”

“How is it that you’re a living amplifier?”

Taking her hand in his, Aleksander watches as her light begins to dance across the back of her hand, seemingly flowing into his skin. “I do not know, Y/N. What I do know is I’m supposed to be able to sense Grisha power through touch and yet I couldn’t sense it in you for so many months.”

Biting her lower lip, she sniffles. “I used to deny my abilities. Repress them.”

“My mother would have known immediately”, Aleksander chuckles. She could sense it’s a sore topic, but she still enjoyed the sound of his laugh.

Looking at him, her lips part. “What happened to her? To your grandfather?”

“He died”, Aleksander’s eyebrows furrow. “I think.”

“And your mother?”

Pursing his lips, he lets go off her hand. Standing he looks back at her. “We should get you that apple.”

A crease deepens between her eyebrows as Y/N stands, “Is she alive?”

Staring at her, Aleksander didn’t know quite what to say. The last thing he wants to do is talk about Baghra. However, Y/N took his silence as confirmation. Covering her mouth in shock, she looks away with frustration.

“You never thought I’d want to know your mother is alive?” She snaps, her eyes narrowing at him as they used to when he was certain she had nothing but hatred for him.

Glancing at the camp, he makes sure no one’s close enough to hear them. They may follow him now, but if they learn who he truly is, he’d lose them. They’d want him dead and he’s afraid Y/N would be a target as well.

Stepping closer, he towers over her. The gentle features of his handsome face have grown sharper since he woke up, his gaze turning into an angry glare she saw many cower under.

“She’s never been a mother. Baghra is a monster and I’m never letting her come close to you or our marriage.”

Scoffing, she crosses her arms. “They called you a monster too, but you’re not one.”

“She is”, he sneers. “She’s a shadow summoner just as I am and she never did anything but make my life as miserable as possible. If she could, she’d kill me and everyone I ever loved and she learned from Ilya exactly how!”

Eyes wide, she swallows thickly. His words steal the breath from her lungs as her heart stops. “What exactly could she use against you?”

“Merzost”, he says through gritted teeth. “It’s a corrupt form of small science that can rule over life and death through a sacrifice of something essential from the person creating it. Ilya used his bones, but if she creates one, she could kill me. Both of us.” Luckily for Aleksander, Baghra seems to care for no one but herself, but he wouldn’t put it above her to sacrifice her own life if it means taking his.

Rubbing her forehead, Y/N shuts her eyes as her head begins to throb with new information. “Is Volcra your merzost?” Her voice is quiet, palpably defeated and yet she stands before him. She seems stronger than ever.

“Yes”, he states. “One made by accident once I lost a woman I cared about. The entire Fold was created that day.”

Swallowing thickly, she leans back on the tree for support. Her legs are shaky, unreliable. She’s barely standing.

Her entire being is wavering as emotions pull her under the surface. There are so many questions, so many things she wants to say and yet only one comes to mind.

“Did you love her?”

It’s ridiculous to worry about the prospect of him ever loving another, yet she can’t help the jealousy streak pushing away every other emotion. He’s lived so many lives, he’s been with many women before she was ever born and yet she hates the very thought of another touching him. It makes absolutely no sense, but she can’t stop herself from hating every one of them for falling in love with her husband.

Letting out a shuddered breath, he forces himself to look at Y/N as he speaks. “I could have if I was given a chance. She was a healer and she believed in me.”

Pausing, his eyes flicker to Y/N’s quivering lips. “I cared for her and they took her from me.”

Unblinking, his eyes swarm with unshed tears, each of them serve like a warning sign. “I can’t go through that again. I can’t survive losing you.”

For the first time ever, Y/N realizes what’s at stake. If he was broken enough to create the Fold and the Volcra after losing someone he claims he didn’t love, what would happen if he lost her? Would the entire world be swallowed whole by darkness? Would it finally claim him and turn Aleksander into the monster they all believe he is?

Placing her hand on his cheek, she swallows thickly. “I will never allow that to happen.”

Searching her eyes, he could see the determination in them. “I believe you. Which is why you’ll see the healers and medics and they will see if you’re truly fine.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she purses her lips. “Did you just switch from your usual intimidation tactics to emotional manipulation to get me to agree?”

“Did it work?”

Rolling her eyes, she clicks her tongue. “Yes.”

Taking her hand in his, Aleksander intertwines their fingers. “Good”, he pulls her closer with a simpering smile on his face.

Bowing his head, his nose brushes hers thus drawing a smile from her seemingly relentless frown. “I have been alive for more than a thousand years and I've never faltered. The day I met you, I learned what it means to have your heart flutter.”

Licking her lips, she closes her eyes. “I’ll never leave you. Never by choice”, she promises. “You’re in my veins, Aleksander Morozova and I never wish to part with you.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but we have to move fast if we’re to find the stag”, Mal raises his voice, aware they wouldn’t quite hear him from a distance. Seeing their sinfully intimate moment had made him feel as if a hammer slammed through his chest and into his already wounded heart.

Clenching his jaw, Aleksander pulls away. Clearly disgruntled, his gaze hardens. “I want him dead”, he growls out just under his breath.

Running the tip of her index finger across the bridge of his nose, Y/N smiles. “When you frown like that, your longevity is visible.”

Grabbing her finger, he pulls it down while she giggles. “Don’t tease me or your tracker might get quite a view”, his eyes flicker behind her briefly before returning to hers, “When I take you up against that tree.”

Licking her lips, she raises her brows. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to her cheek and then he whispers, “Then let me give it to you.”

“Breakfast is ready!” Ivan shouts, interrupting the moment once again.

Sharing an exasperated look with Y/N, Aleksander takes her hand and places it on his folded forearm. “Let’s go get you that apple.”

Fighting nausea became easier as the sun rose higher in the sky, allowing Y/N to have a proper lunch much to her husband’s glee.

Once the sky darkened with sundown, they headed deeper into the woods. Walking in a group, Y/N was stuck between Aleksander and Mal, with Ivan in the front and Fedyor in the back. Everyone else remained in camp, looking after the carriage in case Fjerdans attack.

“It’s been hours”, Fedyor complains as he notices Y/N stumble. “Do you need a moment?”

Coughing, she looks at him with a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“You say that awfully lot”, Ivan remarks as he glances at Kirigan’s deep-seeded frown.

“Because you ask me fifty times a day.”

Placing a hand over the small of her back, Mal seems troubled. He’s noticed her stumble more than once, just as he noticed her extremely light breakfast. He can hear her heavy breaths just as well as he can see her lips occasionally tremble.

“Don’t look at me like that”, she snaps at him. “I’m just a little tired, we’ve been walking forever.”

Noticing Mal’s hand on his wife’s back, Darkling scowls. He wanted to shout at the insolent tracker for daring to touch what does not belong to him, but he didn’t care to upset Y/N who seems to be anything but well. Only a blind man would believe her continuous lies of her well-being. She’s strong, but if she breaks again he fears there won’t be anything of her left to collect.

Holding up her hand, Y/N gasps. “STOP!”

Looking around wildly, she steps in front of the group with caution. A high pitched ringing draws attention from the rest of the group as well.

“Wh-“, Fedyor stars but is silenced by a glare from the Darkling.

“Do you hear that?” Y/N whispers to Mal, getting a reassuring nod in response. The sound is echoing in her head, calling for her. “What is that?”

“The stag”, Mal replies.

Lips parting with a breathless chuckle, Y/N turns to Aleksander with a beaming smile.

He’s not looking at her, rather ahead with an unreadable expression on his face – almost like a mask made to hide his true feelings, to erase humanity from his soul. Only then does she see the famed Darkling, the Black Heretic.

For a moment, she finds herself wondering what’s going through his mind – though he’s powerful, claiming the Morozova stag for himself would make him undefeatable. If he turns on her, on all of them, could she truly act against him? Would she be capable of using her sword, her light against the very man her heart is comprised of?

She hopes she never has to find out.

“Kirigan!” Grabbing his hand, she uses his current name with a force she rarely used on him since they found a way to love each other.

Blinking fast as if he’s waking up from a trance, Darkling’s eyes find his wife. Y/N cocks her head to the left, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she still holds onto his hand. Darkling stares at their hands, clasped together as if it’s the only way it should be. He stares at the way her lips part with that notion, only to allow himself the gift of looking into her pretty eyes once more.

“Go ahead”, he cracks a smile. The sound of bells ringing enchanted him, but he’s not too far gone to forget why they’re there – this is her time to shine. He wants the stag for Y/N, to empower her and give her means to protect herself. If she’s to be his equal, she’ll need an amplifier – this amplifier.

Pressing her lips together, she nods. Drawing a deep breath in, she moves in front of the group. Glancing over her shoulder, she realizes none of them are following. Swallowing thickly, she ignores the sound of heart palpitations and chiming bells in her head overwhelming her senses. Forming fists at her sides, her eyes search the woods for a clue of the stag’s existence.

Her hand ghosts over the hilt of her sword, but it trembles like it never did before. Usually, she’d draw strength from her sword. It’s what she’s good at, it’s what she spent her entire life training to become – a good soldier. Being Grisha is what she’s still learning to accept.

Hearing a branch break to her left, she turns with a gasp. Eyes wide, her lips part at the sight of a most majestic stag. With fur white as snow, it nearly sparkles under the moonlight. The antlers are large, intricately created as if they could catch both light and darkness inside and absorb their power. It stares at her, trusting as it takes a few confident steps her way.

Why aren’t you afraid, she wants to ask.

She doesn’t. She can hardly utter a single word as it approaches her. It’s as if the stag had waited for her to come just as long as Aleksander did.

Y/N’s lips twitch in awe, her breathing turning shallow with adrenaline running through her body. Slowly, she outstretches her right arm. Palm open, she reaches for the stag’s snout. Her fingers tremble as her chin quivers, yet she holds her breath as her hand touches the stag.

In an instant, a light explodes from within her. Blinding light forces her to close her eyes, holding out her left forearm to protect her vision. But when she opens her eyes, she’s no longer blinded nor is she riddled by a thousand lives worth of worries. Looking around, she giggles as the light surrounds both her and the stag with no effort on her behalf. She didn’t have to think about it or will it to form, it simply came to being.

It started as a blazing light, white – the essence so bright Darkling could hardly look straight at Y/N. But it changes, turning colorful as if spreads higher to the skies. Her light dances across the sky in brilliant color as an ocean wave he had never seen before. The sight is breathtakingly beautiful and the sound of her laugh is disarming.

“It’s time”, he raises his voice.

Looking back at him, she shakes her head. Taking her hand off the stag, the light remains as the stag turns from her and begins to walk away.

Running to her side, Aleksander grips her hand tightly. The touch of his skin further amplifies the light.

“It’s getting away”, he speaks through gritted teeth. Her smile is undoubtedly his favorite part of every waking hour they spend together but it unnerves him now.

“Yet I wield its power”, she points out. “Don’t you see?” She furrows her eyebrows slightly, “I had the power to take its life, but I did not.”

“And now you’re going to lose it.”

“No”, her free hand cups his cheek delicately. “Sparing its life is what gives me the power. Showing mercy instead of violence is what allows me to wield this amplifier.”

Frowning, Aleksander shakes his head. “What if you’re wrong?”

Raising a brow, she chuckles. “When have I ever been wrong?”

Rolling his eyes playfully, his shoulders relax. He could point out the plan to take out the Tsar, but he couldn’t remind her of the death it brought. He didn’t want to see her hurt, especially not by his own words.

“Shall we defeat the Fold?” Aleksander brings the hand he holds up to his lips, pressing an open-mouth kiss to the back of it while she awards him with that smile he loves so much.

With a nod, she leans in. She tried for so long to run from it, to avoid it and hope it disappears, but it’s impossible. She hoped to learn a safe way around the Fold, around the preaching of a Sun Summoner she’s meant to be, but there is none. There is no way through but the Shadow Fold and she’s ready. For once, she’s ready to take a stand and destroy her demons and release Aleksander of his.

“We can’t outrun our destiny. So we face it.”

Aleksander’s forehead touches Y/N’s, closing his eyes. “Together.”

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Part 26

[ceefourbane]

My Favorite Movies of 2011, 50-1

If you haven’t already read my 2010 list, I would recommend doing so, as I explain a little bit about who I am and why I’m doing this. If you don’t care, that’s fine too.

In the process of going back and examining this year in film, I noticed a couple of things. For one, it really feels like the calm before the storm in the world of superhero movies. Sure, we had a few big ones; Thor, Captain America: The First Avenger, X-Men: First Class. But in a day-and-age where the only movies that feel like they’re at the center of the culture anymore are MCU ones (and Top Gun: Maverick), 2011 suddenly seems ripe with adult dramas, studio comedies, auteur projects, and genre fare. Those are the types of movies we wish we had more of. And yet, the actual movies of 2011 aren’t that great. All in all, it was a pretty mediocre year. Welp.

I’d also like to shine a light on this year’s Oscars, which in retrospect... were god awful. The Best Picture lineup consisted of the following:

The Artist, the Descendants, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, The Help, Hugo, Midnight in Paris, Moneyball, The Tree of Life, Warhorse.

By my count, that’s two utterly pathetic movies (The Help and Extremely Loud), four relatively minor works from true geniuses (The Descendants, Hugo, Midnight in Paris, and War Horse), two masterpieces (Moneyball and The Tree of Life), and one of the most deflating Best Picture winners in Academy history (The Artist). Not great. Maybe the most stunning thing about this year’s Oscars are the ratings... 39.5 million. That number continued to go up for two more years. Depressing. I miss the days of movies mattering.

And so, here’s my fifty favorites from a year where they did.

50. 30 Minutes or Less

Lots of reasons why this movie wouldn’t be made today. Fair. But I’m glad we have it.

49. The Devil’s Double

There’s an argument to be made that the best performance of 2011 is Dominic Cooper’s portrayal of both the son and successor of Saddam, Uday Hussein, as well as a morally righteous opposite, named Latif Uahia. Effectively convincing as polar opposites, Cooper pulls off a sensational act of dualism in the middle of a smashingly fun, if not flawed, movie.

I’ll also add that in the 11 years since this came out, Cooper hasn’t been in a single good movie. That sucks.

48. Incendies

Ouch. This one hurts.

47. We’ll get there.

46. Jane Eyre

Taking these digressive 19th century novels, injecting them with some horniness, and adapting them into two-hour movies is a good idea, actually.* Not all of them work but some do. Cary Joji Fukinaga’s very faithful version of Jane Eyre is one that does. Gorgeous to look at and a breeze to get through... I’m a sucker.

*Bridgerton’s existence ceases any need for that nowadays.

45. Source Code

The Best Movies Set on a Train:

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974)

The General (1926)

Strangers on a Train (1951)

Runaway Train (1985)

The Train (1964)

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

The Lady Vanishes (1979)

Unstoppable (2010)

The Darjeeling Limited (2007)

Silver Streak (1976)

Source Code doesn’t crack this list thanks to it’s lackluster third act, but the exercise proves one of life’s surest promises: trains make for a great movie setting.

44. Nostalgia for the Light

I don’t care for stargazing as a way to spend time, but I liked watching this. A deeply compassionate documentary that grabs the heads of everybody who’s lost staring at the stars and forces them to look internally.

43. The Grey

Liam Neeson has made roughly *checks notes* 25 movies in which the premise revolves around his character exacting revenge upon a criminal organization, governmental body, pack of animals, or nature for it’s injustices. Some of them classify as B-movie pulp, others are true shit stains, one is Schindler’s list, and then there are a few that fit somewhere in between. Not worthy of any real acclaim, but also float above “guilty pleasure” territory. The Grey is one of those.

The pitch was easy: “Liam Neeson fights a pack of wolves.” Sold!

42. The Ides of March

This is the absolute highest I could rank The Ides of March, a stale and forgettable political “thriller” that runs like a slog despite being a thin 101-minutes. This is also the absolute lowest I could rank a fast-talking political “thriller” starring Ryan Gosling, George Clooney, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Marisa Tomei, Jeffrey Wright, and Paul Giamatti. I kind of hate that I like this movie, but I do.

41. We’ll get there.

40. The Arbor

I’m learning to love documentaries. It’s ones like these that accelerate that process. The ones employing gimmicks that don’t feel gimmicky, and bare a borderline manipulative emotional weight. It isn’t always effective, but when they work, they work.

39. The Arbor

In Bruges’ less successful younger brother (or in this case, technically, older brother). Gotta love those McDonaghs.

38. Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol

The Mission: Impossible movie that saved the franchise from itself. Non-coincidentally, it’s the first one that loops in eventual director and Tom Cruise business partner extraordinaire Christopher McQuarrie, who worked on rewrites. While it isn’t quite as strong as it’s sequels, there are still half-a-dozen fist-clenching and seat-gripping “fuck yes, Tom” action sequences. It’ll also forever be remembered as the MI movie in which Cruise decided halfway through production that he actually *wasn’t* going to hand the franchise off to Jeremy Renner like initially intended. Thank the good lord.

37. Real Steel

Remember when Shawn Levy made fun, cheesy, low-grade punch-fests that didn’t rely upon constant eyebrow raising self-reference and winking humor, before attaching himself to Ryan Reynolds only to do exactly that and only that? Me neither. But this is the one time he did. I vote for more movie star-led robot action movies aimed for the souls of teenage boys. The ones that had recyclable, saccharine emotional arcs and truly impressive visual animation. Deadpool was fun, but talented directors like Levy being wasted on Netflix depresses me.

36. Insidious

This was a really bad year for horror. One of the worst of the decade, actually. But Insidious, which essentially gave birth to The Conjuring, should be discussed more. It is the godfather of the movie that is the godfather of countless successful horror movies. Without it, I’m not sure how the genre fares over the next eleven years. So whether or not it’s as good as those movies (it is) doesn’t really matter anyways.

35. Kaboom

I suppose this movie could be described as somewhat of a “bizarre inquiry into male fantasy.” But that isn’t what’s interesting about it, to me. There’s nothing truly profound going on here, and it isn’t even that funny. But it is funny enough, and takes some satisfactory aesthetic swings. One of those swings is Haley Bennet getting eaten out by a French model...sheesh. I do hope that Gregg Araki makes another movie.

34. The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975

Unbelievable and shameful that these archives didn’t see the light of day until 2011.

33. Rise of the Planet of the Apes

The kickoff to a marvelous big budget blockbuster franchise that only managed to get better by the film. Matt Reeves’ triumphs shouldn’t be understated but neither should Rupert Wyatt’s, who inarguably had the hardest job — to revive dead IP. It’s a perilous haywire act that almost always goes sideways. This one just checked every box. Exceptional CGI work, a trying movie star, strong character actors doing their best, and a mega-climactic Golden Gate bridge-set action setpiece for the ages. Like I said, all the boxes.

32. Midnight in Paris

How the fuck does Owen Wilson get to be engaged to Rachel McAdams in two movies?! Two fucking movies! Hold one one sec-

-...I’ve just been alerted that Owen Wilson starred in a movie last year in which he gets married to Jennifer Lopez.* God hates us.

*Don’t worry, I don’t miss Jennifer Lopez movies. I actually saw this one, and it was quite bad. Had a good ol’ time watching it though.

31. Bill Cunningham New York

Eye-opening beauty. This movie makes me want to go back to New York.

30. Fast Five

They drove a fucking stolen vault through the streets of Rio de Janeiro in a police chase! They drove a fucking stolen vault through the streets of Rio de Janeiro in a police chase! Don’t make me say it again. I detest the Fast & Furious movies that come after Five, and most* of the ones that came before it. But I stan for Five, and if you don’t then you’re lame.

*2 Fast 2 Furious is dope.

47. Bad Teacher

29. Young Adult

Studio comedies with big, bright, beautiful movie stars at their center. Cameron Diaz and Charlize Theron — two blonde sex bombs with electric presence, charm, and comedic wit — made good ones in 2011. Young Adult has a genuinely good script and finds Theron delivering one of her best performances. Bad Teacher is only dumb fun, but it hauled in about $200 million more than the former. Regardless, they’re a relic of a sort-of last gasp for this type of movie in Hollywood. I wish there were twenty of them every year.

28. Captain America: The First Avenger

27. X-Men: First Class

A bitterly ironic transition from the types of movies that don’t get made to the types of ones that do. The state of superhero movies feels as flat as it did in the pre-MCU 2000s, and yet they’re made at a more rapid rate than ever. On the bright side, these are two quality ones!

On a serious note, I will soon stop talking about how much worse off movies are nowadays than they used to be. Because, as previously noted, 2011′s cabinets are pretty fucking bare. However, I think we need to find the right balance between over-stuffed, self-serious machismo cape movies and mega-self-aware, winking fourth-wall-breaking comedies. These two movies captured that. Talented actors, smart ideas, a shaggy-but-effective script, propulsive action scenes, and maybe a tease in the stinger. That’s the formula.

26. Martha Marcy May Marlene

I just learned that this was Elizabeth Olsen’s acting debut. What the fuck?

25. 13 Assassins

Here’s the thing. This movie is 141-minutes and the first 80-or-so are truly plodding. For a Takashi Miike movie, 13 Assassins is quite... boring? Until. Yes, until. That is until it isn’t boring. Because, I assure you that the last 45 minutes of this movie are some of the most adrenaline-charging, bone-crushing, teeth-gritting, sit-up-in-your-seat-and-jump-into-the-television minutes of a movie in the past 20 years. It is a delightfully bloody massacre that shocks every gorgasmic sense in your brain, body, and soul.

The funny part is that this is actually one of Miike’s tamest movies. That speaks volumes about how sadistic he is, rather than how “safe” this movie is.

24. Hanna

The Saoirse Ronan biopic, I think.

[sprnklersplashes]

fic based on the theory that sarah fier was the one to bring ziggy back, not nick/the devil (I thought this was gonna be much shorter than it is oops)

“Just let my sister live.” 

The voice comes to her, faded, far away, but she hears it. Hears it because someone called out to her, which no-one has done in centuries, except to make fun of her. To mock her, smear her as the with they call think she is. But not this one. This one doesn’t mock her. She begs her.

“Just let my sister live!”

The picture comes into focus in front of Sarah’s eyes, as if it’s the first thing she sees waking up. Two girls, one small with flame coloured hair, one taller and covered in dirt, clutching Sarah’s own hand. Her throat is raw from screaming, her legs weak from running. Sarah can feel it in her spirit, the girl’s hand on the bone sharing her feelings with her. Weak, exhausted, and so, so scared. Not for her, but for the girl beside her, who turns helplessly in all directions.

It’s then Sarah realises the girls aren’t alone. Coming at them from all sides are... them. The people the Goodes have cursed. Cold skin, lifeless eyes, blackened hearts. Her own heart breaks when she sees them, her stomach twisting at the injustice.

William. Harry. Ruby. And now Thomas, the latest soul to be stolen by the Goodes. 

She tried. It’s been so long since someone found her hand. She tried to show them what Solomon had done those years ago, her promise bound to her bones, but it was for nothing. Her hand is small, her body incomplete, and so whatever powers she’s managed to gain here are feeble, and no match for the Goodes and their deals. They’re ahead of her, again, and she can’t do anything to stop them. Can’t stop as the older girl, Cindy, her sister calls her, runs towards what was Thomas Slater, can’t save the red-haired girl from the knife that pierces her gut. She watches, forces herself to watch, as their respective killers hit them again and again. Knife in the side, axe in the chest. The picture grows stronger as the girls’ breaths grow weaker, the veil between this life and theirs growing thinner. Sarah feels grass beneath her bare feet, the sound of the young girl’s scream attacking her ears. Of course. Life. Death. They’re such strange concepts, and soon the girls will be making the same journey she did. At the hands of the Goodes.

And she will welcome them, and is prepared they will hate her.

The young girl moans, and Sarah can feel her life ebbing away. She may be the first to go. So young, both so young. Her sister’s body shakes of its own accord as the axe hits her again, scarlet blood spurting from her mouth, staining her pretty face.

No, she screams, but her words are a mere breeze. She runs at Thomas, runs at Harry, to try to hold them back, but she is nothing. If they feel anything, they feel a slight chill, and it does nothing to them. She falls to the ground, her limbs aching from this one attempt, and failure creeps up on her again. She can’t save them. She can’t save anyone.

“Nothing will pull us apart,” Cindy promises her sister just before the axe hits her chest again.

“Never...” The young girl gasps. “Again.” The knife hits her side once more, then a final time. Her chest stammers, flutters, and Sarah watches the life flee her body.

It’s over. They’re over.

The killers disappear, vanishing back to the underground cave, their souls trapped until they’re needed again. And the girls lie on the grass, their hands reaching out to each other, never to touch in this life. 

Sarah sits and waits to greet them.

Until someone else comes running in. He runs right through her, and she feels the darkness in his blood immediately. A Goode. One who has already taken on his family’s legacy. She retches at the sight of him, although nothing comes out. This is the boy, the man, who sold Thomas Slater. Whose hands are stained with the blood of all those innocents. And who now, leans over the corpse of his victim, and begs her not to die.

The irony is enough to make Sarah smile.

“Ziggy? Ziggy don’t die on me, okay?” he begs, clutching her cold face in his hands. Sarah’s jaw clenches. She knows love when she hears it. The Goodes are monsters, but they are human, and humans love. But this love isn’t pure, not like her and Hannah. There’s a sting to it, in his desire

“What’s going on?”

Sarah turns, her blood cold at the sound of the voice. The smaller girl, Ziggy, stands before her, blinking blearily as if half asleep. It’s common for those who just crossed over, especially if it was before their time. Sarah’s experienced far more of that then she’d have liked to. It will take minutes, hours for young Ziggy to fully cross over.

Let my sister live! Cindy’s voice echoes in Sarah’s mind, her plea to her. She turns back around, sees Nick still desperately trying to save her, sending out a plea of his own, not to God. Somewhere, wherever he is, the Devil is no doubt pondering his wish, whether he will let Ziggy go or keep her blood for himself.

“No.” Her voice is small, rusty from disuse, but it’s strong, and she shouts again “No!”. She tilts her head to the sky and screams at it, screams at the Goodes and the Devil, “You will not have her! You will not have her!”

The sky opens up, rain falling right through her. If it is the Devil’s reply, she laughs at it, and she grabs young Ziggy by the arm. Her eyes still flutter, her gaze unfocussed, her form not fully here, as if sketched in in pencil. There is still time, if she acts fast.

“Wh-what?”

“They will not have you,” she tells Ziggy, even if she can’t hear her. “Your sister begged for you to live, and live you shall.”

She pulls her towards her body, where Nick Goode still tries to breathe life into her. It’s just steps away, but it feels like miles, her legs shaking with each move she makes. The Devi holds her back, unwilling to let go of his prize. Another dead Shadysider to add to his collection. Another innocent soul, demed unworthy by those in power. He wraps his arms around her, pulls them both away from her body, refusing to let his prize go.

“Not... today,” she pants. Her hand tightens around Ziggy, who blinks in confusion. She’s still not here, she still has time. Cindy’s begging rings in her ears, rings all around them. 

Just let my sister live!

“Not. Today.” She pulls herself and Ziggy the last few steps, drags her until she is beside her body. Her own will pulls the two of them forward, the centuries of hurt burning like a furnace, but it’s something else, one key ingredient that pushes her over the edge. A sister’s love, so pure and steadfast, that it holds the veil back just those seconds more. She can’t see the Devil, but she knows he is here, and she snarls at him. “Not. Her!”

She turns to Ziggy, watches the girl’s eyes open and close slowly, her lips trying clumsily to speak. She won’t remember this at all, and Sarah is glad of it. God only knows what will become of her for now, but she’s fulfilled her promise to her sister.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and she pushes her back across.

Just before she disappears again, she sees her eyes open, her pained gasps for air. She can’t be sure if she did the right thing, saving her. Some say surviving a tragedy is worse than dying in it. She wouldn’t know. All she knows is the Devil has one less person’s blood to feed on now, but the curse remains still.

A half-victory.

“Where am I?” Sarah turns, slowly, and isn’t surprised to see Cindy behind her. She wears the same clothes she died in, but now free from blood and, whatever it was she was covered in. Sarah suspects she doesn’t want to know. She looks up at her, eyes wide and terrified, like an animal cornered by a hunter. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sarah,” she begins, but the words stick in her throat. She’s had enough of explaining herself, and only being believed half the time. Had enough of people sapping her, screaming at her, cursing her, for something she never did. “Sarah Miller.”

“Oh. Um, hi.” The young girl looks at herself, looks at the limbo surrounding them. Realisation dawns on her face, memory after memory coming back to her, and she drops to the floor, her hands pressed to her mouth to hold back her scream.

“Am I... dead?” she asks, finally. Sarah only nods and kneels beside her. She listens to Cindy’s muffled sobs, the slowly building shrieks of agony, and she lets her do what she needs before showing her where to go. It’s easy to see where this girl will end up, and at least she’ll have some peace.

“My... my sister?” she asks. “Where-where’s my sister?”

“She’s alive,” Sarah tells her. Cindy goes weak with relief, falling into Sarah’s arms and sobbing, muttering “Ziggy’s alive” under her breath. 

Sarah wishes she can do more. Wishes she could say Ziggy will be okay, that Shayside will be okay, that this whole horrible saga is finally over. But she can’t. Because the Goodes were too powerful, again, and even as her hand tightens on them, theirs does on Shadyside. All Sarah can do is hold Cindy until they go to where they need to go, and hopes that the next time someone finds her, she can do more.

Hopes that one day, she can show them what was done.

[rviner]

"Okay, well..." Bella has to admit that Felix's retort is more truthful than anything else. Making her realize that it's been months since their lives first crossed with one another, and just how gradual it's been for her mind to change. She felt so passionately against him joining them and now, she's adamant to ensure he goes nowhere else. "People have off days." she mutters, hardly a remark of the century but there's more pressing matters at hand. Bella has always wondered if people realize how much is happening in her thoughts at any given time. How, even now as she makes tea, her mind is whirring. It's against her nature to simply handover the intricate conversations she had with Percy and her brother. Even if it would help Felix, but it's also against her nature to watch an injustice unfold in front of her eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better, my family and the coven take precautions for everything. It isn't always personal." she combats thoughtfully, even though right now, it is personal. Bella considers it biased, mainly. Felix's quick sidetrack about the coffee bamboozles her for a moment as she follows to the table, a wrinkle of her nose as her gaze darts to their cups. "Oh um...I think someone drank all of it in the cafe? Or, something? I'm pretty sure there's back up but...it just needs to get passed around. Tea is good though. This is green tea. Great for calming." she urges with a raise of her brow, because it's obvious they both need it. As Bella settles into the seat opposite Felix, a slight laugh escapes and there's a roll of her eyes. Not from annoyance aimed at him this time, but from a reluctant admission. "I...actually haven't read him, but if he says to take philosophy with a pinch of salt, I'll probably like him." she mutters because Monty hasn't read every philosopher and unfortunately Bella can only be as smart as I am what the hell do you take me for Jessy and how the hell have you read so much.

But the conversation shifts as Felix can peer between the true meaning of Bella's words. At least, it means she hasn't outright told him and it eases a feeling of betrayal against her brother and Percy. If Felix pieces things together himself, she hasn't told him a thing. "It's...sort of the same thing but that doesn't...Later. We can talk about that later." she waves a hand at his quick inquiry for the ways of a coven, now more focused on the true issue they face. Bella's thoughts may be constant, but that doesn't always mean she has a clear sense of an idea. "It would probably just be...well, it could be a few things. Depending on...a few other things." she looks at him with an apologetic glance, not simply for what could lie ahead but because she can hear how vague she's being. "It sounds like you watched it. You were probably Team Damon." Bella mutters quickly with the aside. "I...didn't watch it either." her lips flicker with an amused grin as she slurps her tea.

"Look, Felix. If anyone in this town gets suspicious of you, or learns about...before. The coven would be at risk too. So, it's probably going to be something that prevents it getting so far. And we're not in the habit of killing people so it would be getting you to leave. The town." she sighs then, and the admission of it doesn't feel like a weight lifted but a weight added to. "And I'm trying to make people see that it doesn't need to be that way, but right now I'm falling short of alternative options. So. Maybe you could help me...help you."

Felix deadpanned to Bella's suggestion and he let out a small huff of a laugh. "It still would've been weird." he nodded to her. "Because we have never once not talked to one another." and even though he attempted a dry delivery, Felix could hear the obvious revelation in his own words. It quickly made him wonder why it took them so long to admit it to themselves and each other, and Felix returned the slight challenging expression that Bella looked to him with. It was taking almost all of his will power to not sweep a passing kiss over her lips, until he saw the flicker of concern over her features. "Okay...I'm listening?" Felix posed his response slowly, because something told him that she wasn't prepared to be entirely forthcoming.

He couldn't control the quick laughter that followed from her words, and he nodded his head slow and sardonically. "Yes, it is. Because precautions wouldn't even be needed if people believed me." Felix sighed, his attention turning to his cup of tea and a frown moving over his lips. "What did Juno say about the coffee again? As in...where is it?" it was hardly a pressing matter, but he would rather have a pick me up than a wind down at that precise moment. His gaze returned to Bella then just in time for her quick comment about philosophy and Felix grinned, a slight mischievous hint on his expression. "That...er..." he shouldn't, but... "Is very Wittgenstein. You like your German philosophers, huh? Which is amazing considering you fucking butchered the accent." but Felix quickly raised his hand in an immediate surrender. There had been plenty of times they both acknowledged the wrong time for a discussion, but even he could agree now really was not one.

Because Felix could read between Bella's words easily, a slow rolling tension creeping into his shoulders and forcing him to let out a low sigh. He was caught between two emotions. An admiration for Bella's determination, but an unease that she even felt the need to protect him. It spoke of something looming on the horizon, that Felix was unprepared to face head on. "Can you just speak normally?" he shrugged at her, defeat in his tone instead of sarcasm. "Your family...coven? Is it the same thing?" he digressed momentarily before he waved a hand. "They all think I did it, right? And so you're..." another defeated shrug. "What's it going to be? Like, head chop guillotine or Salem witch trials? Or is it different for a wolf if they get exiled? If you forgot, I'm not really an expert on Supernatural consequences and I feel as if my assumptions based on The Vampire Diaries-" another pause, and another raise of hand. "I didn't watch it. It was just everywhere." he added the aside before continuing. "Anyways, I think my assumptions are going to be based on stereotypes or fiction so. A little help, is what I'm actually asking for."

[steambend]

steambend’s end of year fic rec list [2020]

so i thought i’d just collate a list of my favourite fics i read this year. i’ll split it from completed to ongoing, and it will go from general to mature rated fics (each category is also in alphabetical order, because i’m that bitch). i’m sure most of these fics you will have seen or read before, but i wanted to get them all in one place and maybe start an annual tradition on my page!

these are all zutara fics

completed fics, rated: general

beautiful by dyce

zuko cannot stop noticing that katara is beautiful. 

brightest in the dark by soopersara

a less-than-friendly interruption in the crystal catacombs pushes zuko and katara together, and they have to work together to find a new path.

canon divergent from crossroads of destiny

completed fics, rated: teen and up

mending wounds by fictionissocialinquiry

'the fire prince is older. you can see it in the calmness of his expression, the relaxed carriage of his shoulders. he is smiling at her. she's never seen the fire lord's son smile.' while lost in the foggy swamp, searching for her brother and her avatar, katara is haunted by visions of the fire nation's disgraced prince. visions of peace after war, visions of honour and secrets...

stealing from pirates by dyce

without zuko to rescue her from the pirates, katara is captured... and finds that they already have a prisoner in desperate need of her help.

such selfish prayers by andromeda3116

katara's ambition, so long set aside for the good of others, breaks free and sets fire to her soul. or, katara has a vision of her canon future, casts it aside, and becomes a world-changing politician instead.

the color of the stars by bluenebulae

“roads were made for journeys, not destinations.” ― confucius

one moment changes the course of history. katara and zuko are imprisoned by the fire nation army during the day of black sun, and when they escape, they find themselves adrift in the fire nation with no one to rely on but each other. with only six weeks before sozin’s comet arrives and four nations to cross, the pair must track down katara’s allies, save the world—and learn to trust each other.

canon divergent from part 2 of 'day of black sun.'

there are worse things i could do by orosea

she thinks of how this must be so easy for sokka, to be married at home, to someone of his culture. she has nothing against princess yue, the sickly girl is kind, and frankly, far too good for sokka. which is the problem. sokka is in love with her.

and what does katara get? a marriage to a firebender. thrown into a country she doesn’t know, like fish carcass, to the nephew of the fire lord.

for her tribe, she tells herself.

rounding the edges by sadladybug

it can take some grit and hard work to grind out the sharp edges, but the effort can produce something that shines. a zutara oneshot in which katara learns a few new things about zuko, including the fact that he may be very difficult to live without. featuring unexpected teamwork, tense training moments, and more than a few awkward conversations. canon compliant(ish), book three beginning sometime between tsr and eip.

what fortune lent by lewilder

au; the southern raiders' mission aims true and katara is taken to the fire nation as a prisoner of war. as her circumstances and the political climate change, she forms unexpected alliances and makes it her mission to restore her people and find the avatar.

completed fics, rated: not rated

and you feel your heart (taking root in your body) by raisindeatre

"no one is now what they were before the war." - catherynne valente

after everything - the comet, the war, the coronation - katara tries to find the road back to herself. somewhere along the way, she also finds the road to zuko.

ongoing fics, rated: teen and up

in the kingdom of heaven by nautica_dawn

in her later years, katara will look back on the agni kai against azula fondly. in her younger, more immediate years, she wishes she'd turned down zuko's offer.

polar nights by crystalline talisman

in order to arrange a treaty for the long standing war between the water tribe and fire nation, prince zuko is sent to the south pole to arrange a truce by fire lord lu ten, where he is greeted by subzero temperatures, sea prunes, and quirky customs. this of course, is a cake walk compared to the revelation he'll be marrying the stubborn spiritual leader, katara. au. zutara.

the chief and i by jassmarie19

when the fire nation decides to take over the world, it is the temples that go down first (peacefully, and no one suspects a thing). then their eyes turn towards the mainland and all is lost for the earth kingdoms. at this onset of war, the southern water tribe shuts itself off from the rest of the world. it is a challenge at first, but the fire nation decides they have loftier goals than the tribal people of ice and water. they are forgotten.

a century has passed. the fire empire runs the world, emperor azulon at the head with his grandson, the herald of light, prince zuko of the southern isles by his side. fresh off winning the last vestige in the earth kingdom, prince zuko travels to the south to gain the last of the free world. but they come to the southern water tribe knowing nothing but snippets saved before the conquering. the herald of light has a lot of work ahead of him if he is to convince their vexing chieftain to surrender. the fate of the great imperial empire counts on this.

this might as well happen by owedbetter

stranded in a foreign country during a pandemic, zuko has a crazy idea.

ongoing fics, rated: mature

southern lights by colourwhirled

a world where the avatar has disappeared from memory. where sozin’s conquest was successful. where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand.

one last chance for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree air nomad, a runaway earth kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world.

or:

the avatar has four heads.

x

[[chapter 4: "and always, his eyes, cautiously watching her. even when he thinks she isn’t looking. it drives her mad"]]

waste no more time by owedbetter

'waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. be one.’ - marcus aurelius

no one knew where the painted lady of republic city came from. they only know that one day, she did. healing the sick, fighting injustice where she could, and ruining profiteering capitalist organisations when she could.

and ozai corporations will stop at nothing to put an end to this brand of vigilante justice, even hiring the elusive powers behind blue spirit investigations to seize and desist her from further damaging the chaos her revolutionary care is inspiring among the people... by any means necessary.

a tale of justice, love, and revolution.

and that is it! happy reading guys, and feel free to reblog and add your favourite zk reads of 2020

[bytheangell]

Hanging By a Moment

Whumptober 2020 prompt: held at gunpoint (Read on AO3)

Magnus is standing alone outside the restaurant when, through the thin fabric of his shirt, he feels the distinct press of cold metal against his back. Every muscle in his body tenses at once - he doesn’t need to be able to see what it is to instinctively know what’s happening.

“Don’t move, don’t yell,” a deep voice orders, then waits a few seconds to make sure Magnus is going to comply. He does, remaining silent and still. “Now turn around, hands where I can see them. Don’t try anything stupid.”

Magnus does as he’s told, but very slowly, trying to buy himself time to think. A million thoughts rush through his mind, but two stand out more than the others. The first is that Alec is going to walk outside and see this, and that is not going to go well. The second is that he’s in real danger here. Actual, life-threatening danger, from something so goddamn mundane as a street robbery.

On any other day - hell, even on this day about four hours prior - Magnus could’ve used his magic to easily disarm a mundane man with a gun. But now, after using every last drop of his magic between a demanding spell for a client and a surprise demon attack he hadn’t expected to help the Shadowhunters with, Magnus is tapped out. That’s why he’s walking home with Alec instead of portaling, and why they’re buying food on the way instead of snapping it into the apartment, ready to go.

Magnus isn’t sure he'd be able to flick the weapon away if he tried, and he certainly couldn’t raise a solid enough barrier in front of him if the man shoots.

Apparently, Magnus isn’t turning fast enough: rough hands grab him by the shoulder and force Magnus around to face his assailant. It’s already difficult to see in the dark, with the neon of the restaurant sign the only light between distant streetlamps. Whoever it is only has their eyes visible, the rest of their face obscured by a hat and bandana tied over their nose and mouth - not that Magnus is paying much attention to aesthetics. His eyes are drawn to the barrel of the gun pointed at him instead, and he wonders if this is how his centuries of life will come to an end. Decades of war and battles and standing up against more injustices than he can list, facing down other warlocks, werewolves and vampires and Nephilim and literal demons… he survived all of that, and a mundane being hard-up for cash may be what finally ends the life of Magnus Bane.

“I don’t have much on me,” Magnus admits, which is true. “There’s some cash in my wallet. I can grab it for you-” Magnus lowers his hands to reach for his wallet, only to pull them back up by his head when the man takes a step closer.

“No! Hands up,” the robber says, just as the door behind Magnus opens and he tenses all over again, knowing exactly who walked out.

“Alexander, darling, I’m going to advise you to stay there, please.” It takes every last ounce of self-control for him to not turn back around and look at Alec.

Magnus hears Alec take a step forward anyway, and the gun shifts from Magnus to a spot over his shoulder, which is exactly what Magnus was afraid of. The gunman is jumpy now, outnumbered even though Magnus’ hands are empty and Alec’s are full of takeout bags.

“How about we all take a second and calm down,” Magnus advises, partially for his own benefit considering the fact that his heartbeat has doubled, if not tripled, in pace since Alec stepped outside. At least now the gun is trained back on him instead of Alec.

Magnus isn’t sure if Alec’s strength and speed runes are active from the fight still, or if he’d have time to activate them or be able to beat a bullet if he tries to make a move. What Magnus is sure of is that he’d rather not find out the answer.

He’s very aware that having a gun aimed at him being the best option is not saying much for the current situation.

“Magnus-” Alec’s voice is strained and frightened, and Magnus is actually glad he can’t see his face right now because he isn’t sure he could handle whatever expression he’d find there. He can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Alec visibly ruffled, and every time was over an injured sibling. It’s a look he doesn’t think he could stomach seeing on Alec here and now, because of him, and especially not if Magnus being the cause of Alec’s worry makes him try something foolishly heroic.

“I’m fine,” Magnus cuts in, not wanting the attention back on Alec. “We’re all fine. Just take the goddamn wallet and go,” Magnus snaps, now also on edge in a way he wasn’t before Alec was in danger, too. Magnus nods toward his right side and the man, gun still in hand, steps forward to reach into Magnus’ pants pocket and pull out the wallet.

Magnus is conscious of the sound of bags crackling behind him, Alec’s grip on them likely tightening anxiously. He doesn’t turn around to confirm and instead keeps a neutral, placating expression that never leaves the masked man.

The robber eyes them both, maybe wondering what else he can get off the two of them, when the sound of voices at the other end of the street spook him, and he takes off instead.

Magnus watches him go until he’s certain the guy isn’t going to change his mind and turn back around, and then in a very undignified moment his knees go weak and Alec drops the takeout bags to the ground to catch Magnus before he falls.

“Magnus!” Alec says, supporting Magnus before moving them both to a bench a few feet away. “Are you alright?”

“Physically, yes. My pride, on the other hand-” Magnus tries to joke, but the tremor in his voice gives away how shaken up by the event he truly is.

“Let me call Cat, she can portal us home and-”

“No,” Magnus says, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. I think that was just a moment of shock. I just… need a minute.”

“You’re shaking,” Alec points out as if Magnus isn’t aware. His hands are trembling as much as his legs even though he’s sitting down. “I should-”

“One fucking minute, Alexander, please,” Magnus snaps, and Alec falls silent and still beside him. Magnus takes a few deep breaths, willing his body to stop betraying him like this.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words he says once his voice is level again, his pulse no longer racing. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” Alec dismisses. “What do you need?”

They’ve had this talk before, when Magnus needs a moment to think something through before making an important decision, even if it’s an emergency, or when he’s upset and needs a moment to distance himself from whatever’s upsetting him before reacting. Having people toss out offers and suggestions is too overwhelming - asking him what he needs seems to work best, which is exactly what Alec does now.

They’re both going through an ordeal, and Magnus obviously doesn’t blame Alec for being a little too insistent in trying to help him.

“Nothing. I really just needed a moment,” Magnus promises. He’s fine. Alec’s fine. He won’t miss the wallet or the money inside (though he will miss several of the personal photos kept within). He’s safe, and Alec is safe, and that’s all that matters.

“I wouldn’t have let him hurt you, Magnus,” Alec says, bringing a hand up to cup Magnus’ cheek so he’s forced to look at him, to see the serious expression on his face and the weight of that promise. “I hung back because you said to, but if he made a move…” Alec takes a deep breath to keep himself from getting too worked up over what-ifs. “You know I’ll always protect you, Magnus.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Magnus mutters under his breath, not really meaning for Alec to hear him but the words come out a bit louder than he intends in his bitterness.

“Of course I should-” “I should be able to protect myself! Hell, I should be able to protect both of us, and instead, I was useless back there!” Magnus says, and though his tone is sharp it’s obviously not anger aimed at Alec, but at himself.

“You weren’t useless,” Alec insists. “You de-escalated a situation that could’ve ended with someone hurt, or dead. And the only reason your magic is tapped out is because you came to protect me earlier. I don’t know about you, but none of that seems particularly ‘useless’ to me.”

Magnus knows there’s truth to Alec’s words, even if he can’t bring himself to feel properly comforted by them - not while his fight-or-flight instincts are still on high alert on the city street, half-expecting the man to come back and prove Magnus right by finishing what he started.

Magnus’ eyes drift to the bags of takeout on the pavement, the contents of the broken containers soaking through the bag and spilling out onto the ground. “Looks like we need new food,” he frowns. “But…”

“What is it?” Alec asks.

It feels ridiculous to admit that he’s still shaken up enough that the idea of staying out longer without his magic is seriously distressing. He knows Alec won’t judge, but at this point, Magnus is judging himself. He’s better than this - he should be better than this. He’s been in situations like this before, situations much more dangerous than the one he was just in... but never without his magic, and that’s what makes all the difference. Sure, Alec probably could’ve taken the guy, but it’s the fact that Magnus couldn’t - that he froze in the moment - that bothers him.

“I don't particularly want to be out any longer than we have to right now,” Magnus confesses. “I don’t want a portal,” he adds quickly because as uncomfortable as he is, they're only a few blocks away at this point. Realistically, he knows that standing next to Alec makes the chance of anyone trying to get the jump on the both of them much more unlikely. “But I’d rather not make any detours.”

Alec hesitates slightly, and Magnus knows him well enough to know he’s debating suggesting they call Cat again despite Magnus’ insistence not to. It’d be endearing if Magnus’ nerves weren’t frayed to the point of snapping. 

“If that’s what you want,” Alec agrees at length, resigning himself to following Magnus’ lead whether he agrees with it or not. “We aren’t far from the Loft, let’s get back and order delivery?” Alec offers. He doesn’t stand to leave yet, waiting for Magnus to answer first before doing anything.

“Yeah, okay,” Magnus agrees, standing up from the bench. His legs still feel a little shaky, but he doesn’t wobble. “That sounds good.”

Alec wraps his arm around Magnus’ waist and pulls him in close, an action that’s equal parts protective and comforting. For a moment Magnus nearly pulls away, instinctively wanting to prove that he’s fine enough to handle himself again. And he is… except he doesn’t want to pull away.

Instead, Magnus allows himself to lean into the touch, embracing those feelings of support and safety and doing his best not to feel weak for needing them.

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt4

hello!! sorry i’ve been posting so much, i’m just really excited to get to the bulk of the story. like i said before, if you have any suggestions, please don’t hesitate to reach out!! 

pt 1

pt 3

pt 5

(Y/N) looked from her new friends to the Fire Nation soldiers that surrounded them. A little voice in the back of her head said she could reveal herself now. She could pretend like she had been tricking the Avatar and his friends and get them captured. But if she did that, the world might lose its last hope of beating the Fire Nation. If she fought alongside the Avatar, she condemned herself to being labelled as a traitor. 

(Y/N) had been in a city of the Earth Kingdom for two years and she was sick of it. Not of the city itself, or of its people, but of living in a city occupied by the Fire Nation. She watched from the balconies as their soldiers mistreated the people whose families had lived there for centuries. They beat the men and starved the women and children. It was sickening to watch and when she brought it up to her family, she received drastically different replies. Her mother insisted that she simply stay inside all day so she wouldn’t have to hear the injustice that was happening in the city below them. Her father threatened to write to the Fire Lord that she was questioning his orders. She wondered if her father had always been an evil man, or if it was a new occurrence. 

Witnessing what the Fire Nation was doing to innocent people did not sit right with (Y/N). Sometimes she dressed in Earth Kingdom clothes that she had purchased in the market and asked people about their experiences with the Fire Nation. This war had raged on for 100 years, so everyone she had spoken to had a story to share. The Fire Nation had torn apart families, destroyed homes and crops, and imprisoned innocent children for simply being earthbenders. It made (Y/N) sick to her stomach. 

So she decided to get back at the Fire Nation. It started small, like stealing food from the kitchens to distribute amongst the poor, but she eventually went as far as sneaking into the jails at night to free innocent earthbenders. It was hard, maintaining appearances as a child of a Fire Nation general while also freeing the innocent people her father’s forces had captured. She feared every night when she crawled into her bed that one day she would wake up to soldiers standing above her. But she could not stop herself from helping people who needed her. 

(Y/N) was in the town square, playing with a few of the Earth Kingdom children, when she noticed a small group lurking in the shadows. They were dressed unlike anyone she had ever seen, so she knew she had to follow them. It was two boys and a girl walking together and peering around each corner to make sure that no Fire Nation soldiers lurked on the streets. While their backs were turned, (Y/N) made her presence known by clearing her throat. The trio jumped and turned around, and she was face to face with a boy in a yellow tunic and pants with blue arrow tattoos, and another boy and a girl from the Water Tribe. 

“You guys aren’t from here, are you?” (Y/N) asked. The girl smiled. 

“No, we’re not. I’m Katara and this is my brother Sokka. We’re traveling with Aang.” The youngest boy raised his hand to smile and wave. “He’s the Avatar.” 

(Y/N) felt her mouth practically drop to the floor. The Avatar was standing right in front of her! The Fire Nation’s greatest threat was a boy who was barely older than ten. “This place is crawling with Fire Nation soldiers. Follow me.” She led them through alleyways and secret passages until the were at the door of the basement of her house. It was once home to the best earthbender in the city, but her father had done quick work with kicking him out and sending him to prison along with the other earthbenders. The basement remained untouched by her family and its servants. (Y/N) was pretty sure those who lived upstairs didn’t even know that it existed. 

She shut and locked the door behind them. “This is the safest place in the city.” 

Sokka looked at her incredulously. “Are you serious? This is the Fire Nation general’s house! Did you see all those guys out front?” 

“I can promise that I’ve been hiding out down here for a long time. I don’t even think they know it exists.” She sat on the floor and patted the dusty earth beside her. Aang sat down, then Katara, then finally Sokka, after a bunch of suspicious glances at (Y/N). 

“You haven’t told us your name,” Aang noted, but he didn’t seem accusatory. She felt sweat begin to accumulate on her palms. Should she tell them her real name? Would they know that she was the daughter of the Fire Nation general? She looked at their kind expressions (except Sokka’s, he still looked very wary of her) and decided to take a risk. 

“My name’s (Y/N).”

“How long have the Fire Nation been here?” Katara asked. 

“About two years, I think,” (Y/N) responded. 

“Have you been here the whole time?” She nodded. 

“The soldiers...they’re awful. I’ve seen what they do to the people here. They tear families apart, they starve the citizens, they lock all the benders in prisons. It breaks my heart.” 

“We’ll try to help, in any way we can.” Aang said. (Y/N) shook her head. 

“There’s no way you can do that. The Fire Nation literally wants you dead!” 

“Trust me, we know,” Sokka grumbled. 

“We have a bit of experience breaking benders out of prison,” Katara said with a smile. “Maybe you could help us do that! Are you a bender?” Warily, (Y/N) nodded. 

“I’ve been bending since I was a kid but I’m scared to use it around here. I hope you all understand.” Aang and Katara nodded. 

“It’s settled then. Tonight, we’ll break all of the benders out of the prison and help them take their city back.” The trio put their heads together as they started to formulate a plan. 

“Hey, (Y/N),” Sokka said. “Are you just gonna sit there or are you gonna give us some intel on where the earthbenders are being kept?” 

(Y/N) felt herself smile. She scooted closer to the three kids to begin discussing their plan. For the first time in a long time, she felt less alone. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alright, so their plan didn’t go quite as expected. 

Their night began as easily as it could. They covered themselves in cloaks (Y/N) had found in the basement and traveled back alleyways to reach the prison where the earthbenders were kept. She tried her best to remember the layout of the prison on her father’s desk that she had seen for a moment, but she ended up leading them to many close encounters with Fire Nation soldiers. 

“I’m sorry!” She whispered once more as Sokka had to quickly knock out one of the guards. “I told you guys, I’d only barely seen the map! I don’t know why you put me in charge!” 

“I guess we just thought that the Earth Kingdom girl might know a little bit about the Earth Kingdom prison!” Sokka whispered back, causing (Y/N) to deepen her frown. 

“Guys, it’s okay,” Aang said, putting himself in between the two teenagers. “Where there’s guards, there’s prisoners. I heard some more voices down to the left. Follow me.” 

Quickly and quietly they followed Aang through the twists and turns of the prison. While Sokka held his boomerang and Katara had water at her hip, (Y/N) felt utterly useless. There was no way she could use their bending to help them. If she did, she would be outed as Fire Nation immediately, and they would lose all trust for her. 

They finally found the cells where the prisoners were kept. The benders looked at them suspiciously, but (Y/N) pulled back her cloak to reveal her Earth Kingdom clothes. “Don’t worry,” she said as she worked at one of the locks on the cell door. “We’re here to help.” 

She and the others made quick work of the locks, freeing each and every one of the benders that had been arrested. Although the people were weak, they assured the group that they would be ready to fight if necessary. Successfully, they led the prisoners out of the prison. That is where their real trouble began. 

Somehow, an alarm had been sounded that alerted the guards of the escaped prisoners. Fire Nation soldiers began flooding out of the prison at rapid pace. The group of four stopped in their tracks and Aang turned back to the rest of the prisoners. “Go!” He shouted. “Get back to your families! We’ll hold them off!” 

The prisoners turned and ran back toward the city. The guards there had no doubt noticed all of the commotion, but by the time they thought about stopping it, it was too late. The prisoners, although weakened, were fighting to take back their city. 

(Y/N) felt a pit of fear in her stomach. She felt like she could do nothing as Aang, Katara, and Sokka fought off the Fire Nation soldiers. Soon, their backs were pressed against each other as the soldiers had them surrounded. 

“You said you’ve been bending since you were a kid,” Sokka said to her through gritted teeth. “We could really use some of that right now!” 

(Y/N) looked from her new friends to the Fire Nation soldiers that surrounded them. A little voice in the back of her head said she could reveal herself now. She could pretend like she had been tricking the Avatar and his friends and get them captured. But if she did that, the world might lose its last hope of beating the Fire Nation. If she fought alongside the Avatar, she condemned herself to being labelled as a traitor. 

(Y/N) took a deep breath and felt the fire roar through her body. It was a powerful feeling. Her father had once said that fire ran through the bodies of the people of the Fire Nation, and that was one thing he said that she actually believed. She began shooting fire blasts at the soldiers. While they had been trained by the military, she had been trained by some of the best firebenders in the entire Fire Nation. She danced around the people she had grown up beside, knocking them unconscious with her techniques. With the help of the others, they swiftly conquered the soldiers. 

Aang landed on the ground and pointed his staff at her. “You lied to us.” 

She felt ashamed of herself. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?” Katara demanded. “You’re the enemy!” 

“I know,” (Y/N) exclaimed. “But I’m not! I promise, I’m not. I’ve seen the bad things the Fire Nation has done to this city. And I tried to help where I could. I would sneak the citizens food, or I--I would break them out of the smaller jails. I knew I couldn’t break everyone out of the prison by myself, so when you offered to help, I knew I had to take it.” 

“How do we know you’re not trying to double-cross us right now?” Sokka questioned.

“I’m the daughter of the Fire Nation general who conquered this city! I could’ve turned you in when you first got here, but I didn’t. By helping you guys, I’ve betrayed the entire Fire Nation.” She turned to Aang. “Please, let me escape with you. I promise, we’re not all that bad.” 

Aang stared at her for a moment, eyeing her up and down. (Y/N) weighed her options as she watched him ponder. If they didn’t accept her, she would have to run away regardless. She wasn’t sure if she could survive on her own, but she knew she would receive a punishment far worse than death if she remained here. 

“I believe her.” She let out a sigh of relief. 

“Are you kidding me?” Sokka shouted. “She’s Fire Nation! She’s the enemy!” 

“The Monks taught me that we can’t define one person based on the actions of the group. (Y/N) proved that she’s on our side by helping us today. She’s right, she could’ve turned us in so many times, but she didn’t.” He turned to her. “You can come with us. You know how the Fire Nation thinks.” 

Katara and Sokka grumbled unhappily, but she couldn’t contain her smile. She hugged Aang tightly as tears formed in her eyes. “Thank you, thank you! I promise, I won’t be anything but helpful to you all I want nothing more than the reign of the Fire Nation to end.” 

---

Tag List!

@soft4kei , @bubblebars , @pleasantfankingdom , @vintageroses1014516

thanks so much for reading! 

part 5

[angerstagram]

monster among men // calum (SMUT)

boxer!calum

Pairing:  Calum + Y/N

Words: 4.6k

Rating:  X. For, you know, sex.

Description:  Calum is your long time boyfriend but he’s also a boxer. When his trainer says the two of you can’t have sex before the big match, you find that much easier said than done.

Warning: Oral sex, mentions of violence (for sport).

Author’s Note: I wrote this in one go and haven’t edited it!! Please forgive the typos. Stay tuned for a part two!

——————————————

Calum threw one last punch at the now well-abused punching bag, watching it swing slowly back and forth—toward him, then away, then toward him again—and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The air in the gym was thick with sweat and dirt as men all around him trained against sparring partners, trainers, or a giant bag of sand, like him.

His trainer, Sal, came up behind him and squirted some gatorade in his mouth before helping him remove his gloves. “That was great, Cal. Your form is better than 97% of the guys in here.”

Calum smirked. “My form is better than 100% of the guys in here and you know it, Sal.”

Sal smiled at Calum but refused to boost his ego. “Well your form isn’t gonna win you a belt, Cal. Not on its own. I need you to keep up your power all the way to the last punch.” Sal was talking excitedly with his hands now, throwing fake punches at the air as though it were 1987 and he was back in the ring.

“Don’t worry about my power, Sal. Just get me in the ring and I’ll take it from there.” Calum wiped the towel Sal handed him against the back of his neck and then over the planes of his chest where little beads of sweat had gathered.

“Alright, big shot.” Sal gestured his head toward the ring and Calum climbed in, letting Sal strap the gloves back on once he was inside.

Sal slid on a pair of punching mitts and held them in front of Calum’s face. “Focus on me, Cal. Right here.”

Calum started throwing punches and Sal met them every time. Every time Calum dropped his guard, Sal would take advantage and hit Calum in the face with a mitt until Calum’s cheek was red and starting to swell.

They went on like that for the better part of an hour, before Sal finally let Calum take a break at the edge of the ring.

“It’s that girl, Calum. She’s inside your head. It’s all well and good to get laid when you don’t have a belt on the line. But if you’re spending all your time thinking about what little date you’re gonna go on and picking up a nice bouquet of pansies or some shit, you’re head ain’t gonna be where it needs to be.”

Calum knew that Sal was trying to rip him up and make fun of him by playing on age-old stereotypes, but Calum could’t even hear him.

As soon as Sal mentioned flowers Cal could smell your perfume. He could feel your skin under his fingertips, the soft give of your hips as he squeezed them. It was as though you were standing right in front of him, his mouth pressing soft kisses to the nape of your neck as you worked in the kitchen. He was pulling your back to be flush with his chest, the shape of your ass pushing deliciously into his —

“You’re not even listening to me, are ya?” Sal’s voice cut into Calum’s reverie and suddenly he was whipped back into the gym.

“I get it, no girls before the match. I hear you, Sal.” If the guys wanted to believe that Calum was a womanizer who was bedding a different woman every night, he would let them. But he wouldn’t jeopardize this match for anything.

————————————————

Calum was really, truly planning on staying strong until his match. But then he got home and you were standing there wearing one of his cotton t-shirts, barefoot and swaying your hips in time to the music playing through the stereo. Everything smelled amazing, the food you had simmering on the stovetop, the candle lit on the coffee table, the summer breeze drifting in through the open windows.

He slipped off his shoes and padded into the kitchen while you faced away from him. He knew you didn’t hear him come in over the sound from the stereo, so he had the advantage as he walked up behind you and gave you a playful slap on the ass.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, dropping the spoon into the sauce you had been stirring and letting out a yelp. “Calum Thomas!” you explained, licking the sauce off your thumb where it had splashed when you dropped the spoon.

“Hmmm,” Calum let out a low hum as he nuzzled his face into your neck, just as he had imagined earlier. He let out a soft sigh, the sound of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be after a long day. “Hey, let me have a taste, too,” he murmured, turning your chin between his fingers and kissing you deeply.

You twisted yourself in his arms so that your back was to the stove and your chest pressed against his. You loved when he came home like this; worked up from a day of hard exercise, hair still wet from his shower at the gym, the muscles in his arm thick and corded under his t-shirt where you traced your fingers.

His mouth wandered down your neck, his open mouth warm against your pulse points. You were breathing heavier now and he knew it, pressing his palm against the small of your back and drawing you impossibly closer to him.

“So, um,” you tried to string a sentence together as the feeling of his lips on your skin scrambled your thoughts. “How was work?”

Your little joke passed over him without laughter, his focus unyielding. He was always so focused on whatever task was at hand that he often couldn’t see or hear the world around him. Times like this, that trait came in handy.

You laced your fingers through his wet hair and scratched softly at the back of his head, bringing his focus briefly back to reality. Calum raised his face to yours again and smirked against your lips. “Work was great, sweetie. And how was your day?”

Calum loved playing pretend like that. Pretend like you two were a normal couple; that he had a normal 9-5 job pushing papers behind a desk in a suit and tie and you drove a mini-van or some shit. A joke that made it seem in moments like this that he wasn’t in physical danger 95% of his day and you didn’t spend thousands of hours of your life scared that one wrong punch would be the end of him.

But you couldn’t think about that now, not when he was hooking his hands around the backs of your thighs and hoisting you over onto a clear spot of the counter. Not when he was standing between your open knees and pulling you closer to his chest again, his arms circling your back and his mouth hot and needy against yours.

His kisses were urgent and all-consuming, pulling the breath of you and energizing you all at the same time. You didn’t realize he had pulled your hair out of it’s ponytail until you felt it cascade down your back. He pressed a kiss behind your ear and bit it lightly, causing you to laugh at the aggression.

“What’s gotten into you, Hood?” you asked breathlessly, teasing him for his ability to go zero to ninety in 3.5 seconds. Something in the tightness of his back and the set of his jaw told you something was up, though. “At least let me turn off the sauce so it doesn’t burn.”

Now he was laughing at you, his chest rumbling against yours. “I’m doing some of my best work here, babe, and you’re thinking about the sauce?”

“I just don’t want it to burn! I’ve been building these flavors for an hour, Cal.”

He didn’t stop laughing, but humored you by reaching over and switching off the burners. “Happy now?”

“I’ll be happier when you tell me what’s going on,” you said softly as you rubbed circles against his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the muscles there.

He dropped his forehead against yours and pressed a light kiss to your lips. He knew he would have to bring it up sooner or later, but he didn’t think he would have to say it so soon. “I, um, well.” He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck as he searched for the words. “Basically, Sal thinks that we shouldn’t, um.”

You dipped your head, searching for his eyes. Trying to follow along with his train of thoughts going nowhere. “Sal thinks we shouldn’t what, Cal?”

“Sal thinks we shouldn’t be, um, romantic before the championship match.” Cal almost looked like he was blushing. For someone that was so confident and uninhibited while you were actually being romantic, he often had a hard time talking about it when you weren’t.

Your face was deadpan as you looked at him. “Sal says we can’t fuck before the match,” you paraphrased in an unenthusiastic voice.

Now he was definitely blushing, the color rising in his cheeks and spreading to his ears. “Um, well, yeah.”

“The match that’s in three weeks.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your trainer, a man who hasn’t had a wild night of passion in over a century, says that you and I cannot fuck for 21 days.”

“Yeah.”

“And that will do…what exactly? It will help your form?”

“No, my form is great, actually. It’s my power on the last punch that needs work,” Calum replied, genuinely not realizing that you were being sarcastic.

“Then why the fuck did you come in here and start kissing me like that, jackass?” You swatted at his shoulder and dropped your head to his shoulder, huffing at the injustice of it all.

Calum laughed at your frustration, rubbing calming circles into the small of your back again but you pushed against his shoulders.

“You really can’t touch me if you don’t want me to jump you right now, Calum.”

The look in your eyes made him see you weren’t really joking. Calum felt a sudden rush of conflicting emotions; half feeling guilty that he had done this to you, and half feeling proud that he had a girl who wanted him as badly as he wanted her all the goddamn time.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, love, I shouldn’t have done that. Maybe I wanted a little something to tide me over.” He was smirking now, leaning in to give you another kiss but you turned your head to the side in defiance.

He tossed his head back in defeat, taking a step back and throwing his hands up to signal that he wouldn’t pressure you.

But that’s not what you wanted, either. It was very confusing, really. He had worked you up and then left you high and dry, so you were just as much want and need and greed as you were angry and annoyed.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back against you, shifting forward on the counter. “If you want to tide me over, I’m gonna need a little more than that,” you said against his lips, sliding your hand down the front of his shorts and palming him over his underwear.

Calum groaned and bucked involuntarily against your hand before grabbing your wrist. “Baaabe, we can’t,” his voice almost a whine.

You slipped your hand back out of his shirt obediently and placed it back on his shoulders. “Fine,” you conceded. “I guess I’ll just have to go take care of myself. You can finish up dinner, right?”

Giving his shoulders a light push, Calum stepped back, surprised. You slid off the counter and began walking out of the kitchen toward your bedroom before feeling his hand grab your wrist. “C’mon, baby, don’t be like that.”

He pulled your wrist to turn you around, holding your hand to his cheek and pressing his mouth where it met your wrist. He held it there for what felt like forever, the worlds slowing down and your heart speeding up as you concentrated on the feeling of his lips against your palm. He was looking at you from under his criminally long lashes, all dark lines and tan skin with a single wet curl hanging over his forehead.

“We can do this, together, I’m sure,” he murmured into your skin. “Now can we please eat this beautiful dinner you’ve worked so hard on?”

Breathing in through your nose and blowing out through your mouth, you focused on both calming down and cooling down. You really wished this place came with a goddamn air conditioner.

“Fine. You make the salad.”

————————————————————

A week went by like that. The tension growing thicker each day. Waking up next to Calum and feeling the shape of his body against your back, your front, your legs twisted between each other’s or splayed like snow angels. No matter the position, you woke up hot, every inch of your scorching where it touched his.

It really shouldn’t be this hard. You had been celibate voluntarily or involuntarily, for months at a time not that long ago. You were an adult who could survive a simple 21-day stretch without sex.

But that was all before you met Calum. Before you had been with Calum; known the way his body could make yours feel. Before you knew the way he could play your body like a fine-tuned instrument, his every touch lighting a fire inside of you that threatened to melt you from the inside out.

And it was in moments like this, when the early morning sun was streaming in through the curtains and causing a cold yellow light to dance over his golden skin that you felt so acutely what he could do to you. You lay awake just staring at him. At his long, black eyelashes curling so beautifully over his closed eyes. His messy morning hair curling haphazardly over his forehead. His strong jaw line creating a line that led down his neck to the shape of his collarbone where it stood out over the swell of his bare chest.

His breathing was slow, the rise and fall almost lulling you back to sleep. But then he spoke. “You’re being creepy,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you replied innocently, swiping his hair off his forehead and running your finger down his cheek to his jaw.

“Staring at me looking all sexy and asleep isn’t going to help your predicament, see cheeks,” he joked as he slowly came into consciousness.

“How do you do that without opening your eyes?”

He turned his face to press his mouth to the pulse in your wrist, one eye peeking open to stare at you in the morning light. “I’ll tell you one day.”

You curled into his side, setting your chin into his shoulder to stare at him up close. “I think I’ve been rather good, actually. I haven’t pressured you even once, even when I really wanted to jump your bones.”

He laughed, curling to face you on his arm, your bodies forming two parentheses barely overlapping each other under the mustard yellow sheets. “You’ve wanted to jump my bones, hmm?” He ran his hand down your back to your underwear, teasing the skin just under the hem of his cotton t-shirt that you had worn to bed.

“Of course,” you said, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “When you come home all sweaty from the gym in those short ‘80s shorts. How could I resist?” Your voice was joking but you really weren’t. Those were the times you really felt like no championship would be worth dying a slow, horny death.

“Well you’ve been very patient.” Calum pressed a kiss to your forehead. “How long has it been, anyway?”

“Eight days,” you replied too quickly.

Calum noticed your eagerness and laughed. “Eight days. Hm. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your heart skipped a beat but you didn’t let yourself get your hopes up. Not after yesterday, when he had texted you I have a surprise for you when you get home ;) and you arrived home prepared to see a naked Calum covered in whipped cream or something….only to find him with an extra-large pizza from your favorite restaurant. Granted, that had been a pretty good surprise. But it didn’t change the fact that you only thought of him a tease with no action to back up his big talk.

“Oh I’m certain I deserve a reward,” you replied, giving him a playful slap on the ass.

“Whatever shall we do about that?” he whispered into your ear. Goosebumps rose everywhere his breath ghosted over you.

Calum rolled you onto your back, throwing his leg over your waist to rest his full chest against yours. Maybe you could get excited, after all.

He pressed small kisses against your neck, nipping at your skin to make you gasp. When you moved your hands to twist them through his hair he grabbed them and pressed them to the pillows above your head, twining your fingers together and making your breath come out unsteadily.

He kissed you deeply, the air leaving your lungs. Suddenly your entire body was nothing but a pile of unmitigated need, a live wire that sparked everywhere his mouth touched. And his mouth on yours made you feel like he was breathing your life into your lungs and pulling it back out all at the same time.

It was an effect no man had ever had on you before. The ability to turn you inside out like this. Was it because you were in love with him? So completely in love with him that it made the want and the need and lust and sex and love all mix up with each other in your mind until they were a single force driving you toward peak after peak.

And he had barely even gotten started. He had you pinned between his strong arms, the muscles in his bicep flexing as he held himself over you. He ground his pelvis into yours, your back arching to meet each delicious thrust. God, he hadn’t even really touched you yet.

Calum held himself above you to watch the effect his actions had on you. The way your eyebrows furrowed together as he rubbed against you. The way you shivered when he traced one finger up your arm and over the swell of your chest to cup your breast over your shirt.

“I feel like I’m in high school,” you murmured. “Dry humping my boyfriend while his mom watches TV in the living room.”

“My mom is here?” Calum looked over his shoulder as though he would find her standing right behind him.

You laughed and used his distraction to push him onto his back. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.” You peeled his t-shirt off of you and threw it on the floor, immediately forgotten.

Calum drank you in above him, pupils blown out with lust, watching you closely to see what you would try to do next. His body looked relaxed but you knew that in reality he was like a predatory cat preparing to strike. That his lazy exterior could spring into action before you could realize what had happened.

Not wanting him to steal your pleasure from you, you acted before he could. First you slid your fingers down your panties and gathered some of the wetness that had grown there before rubbing your fingertips slowly over your clit. Your mouth pouted open into a gasp, reveling in the sensation, grinding harder as you chased that pleasure.

You slapped your other hand to his chest, your fingertips digging crescent moons into his bronze skin as you rolled your hips over your hand, and by extension, his growing erection.

Calum sat up suddenly. His face was still relaxed, but the speed with which he moved gave away how much your action had affected him. He pressed his chest flush with yours and kissed you hotly.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he pulled your hand out from your panties and pressed your fingers into his mouth. His tongue laved slowly over your fingertips, drawing a long moan from you, the air between the two of you growing thick and electric.

“God, you’re killing me, Cal,” you moaned. He ran his fingers down to your hips again, digging into the flesh and rolling you against him. Back and forth, back and forth, rolling you quickly toward an orgasm thanks largely to how long it had been since your last one.

“Do you,” Cal pressed a kiss to the base of your throat, “do you touch yourself when I’m away?” Calum’s voice sounded genuinely quizzical, as though he were discussing the weather or asking you for directions.

“I, um.” Your brain was short circuiting as he pressed you harder and faster against him, your wet panties rubbing against your clit like a tongue. He pressed another kiss to your bare chest, nipping you just under your collarbone before taking a nipple into his mouth.

“Well? Do you?” He repeated, his hot breath causing you to shiver where it met your pebbled nipple.

“No. Um.” The screws were coming loose in your brain. Everything you wanted to do with him, do to him, were flashing over the inside of your eyelids as he drew you to your peak. “Not since, um, not since you said we couldn’t, oh god.”

Calum pulled away and you whined at the loss. He was looking at you intently, as though trying to judge if you were being serious. “You mean that?” He slid his hand down the back of your panties and slid one finger inside you easily. You gasped at how unexpected it was and moaned as he used that hand to pull you back and forth into the grinding motion he had you in before. “You really haven’t had an orgasm for over a week?”

“Yeah, I mean it,” your voice was increasing in pitch and your eyes were shut tight. “Fuck, Calum, don’t stop.”

But Calum did stop. At least, he stopped long enough to throw you onto your back and slide comfortably to rest his head just above your mound. “You’ve been an even better girl than I thought,” Calum praised, his voice still gravelly this early in the morning. “Now let’s see about that reward.”

Calum pulled your underwear off quickly and pressed his tongue flat against you, licking a thick stripe from your opening to your clit. You keened loudly, your back arching when he finally gave you what you needed.

He didn’t intend to tease you. He really did want to reward you for your patience. But it was just so much fun to watch you writhe and moan under him as he teased one finger around your opening and licked figure eights just below your clit.

You were panting as the air of the room pressed heavily against your skin. If fucking Calum was a religious experience, having him eat you out was like leaving earth and going straight to heaven.

“Fuck, Calum. I can’t.” You had been so close to your climax before you felt your mouth on you that your brain was disconnecting.

Finally, he took mercy on you. Diving in to eat you like his last meal. He slid one finger into you, just up to the second knuckle, pressing up against your front wall as he flicked his tongue against your clit.

You bucked up into his face and he didn’t even bother holding you down, just tucked one arm under your thigh to steady himself before shoving two fingers into you up to their base.

He pumped his fingers into you steadily, pressing his tongue flat against you. He alternated his pace, pumping faster when he slowed his tongue and flicking his tongue quickly when he slowed his pumps.

“Oh my god, Calum. Fuck, I—,” you blubbered as your soul left your body. You curled your legs over his shoulders, your thighs shaking as you sprinted towards the high you were both chasing. All the want you had built up for a week had created an ache stronger than you even realized, and the beginning of your orgasm was like stretching an atrophied muscle. “Goddamn it that feels so fucking good.”

When he knew you were going to fall over the edge, Calum slowed his tongue and hooked his fingers to press firmly against your g-spot. He tapped them rapidly against that spot as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

A tear rolled down your cheek as you reached your peak. You clamped your knees against his ears, locking him in place as you finally fell over the edge. Your entire body shook as the orgasm rolled from where his fingers still tapped inside you out to your fingers and down to your toes.

Even as you reached your peak he didn’t stop, pumping his fingers and scissoring them to rub against every wall, running his tongue over you until there wasn’t a nerve left below your waist that he hadn’t annihilated.

It was like his fingers were fucking the air right out of your lungs. Connecting the two of you and unraveling you all at the same time.

“C’mon, baby. I know you’ve got another in you.”

And he was right, really. Except it wasn’t exactly a second orgasm as it was a second wave of the first that had never stopped. He stayed like that for a long time, never letting you come down, pulling one after another from you until you had to shove his face away.

He kissed his way back up your body, holding his hand still against your mound as you came down, its warmth soothing as your body shook.

Finally he pressed his mouth against yours and you could taste yourself. You didn’t have the energy to kiss him back. Your lips just hung open as your breath came out in small pants. He rolled over onto his side and pulled the sheet over both of you.

“You are really fucking good at that,” you said finally, flinging the back of your hand against his chest.

Calum nuzzled his nose against your ear, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Only the best for my girl,” he laughed, taking the compliment in stride.

You glanced down at the tent in the sheet where it lay over his waist. “Just, uh, just give me a minute. I’ll get right on that.” You gestured lazily toward his obvious erection.

“No, no. Today was about you.” Calum rolled you so that he was spooning you and ran his hand over the back of yours, twisting your fingers together. “I still need to wait until after the match.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck and breathed slowly through his nose to try and bring his own body temperature down. Your thoughts were becoming coherent again.

You turned your head to look at him, really look at him. You kissed him deeply, trying to convey to him the feeling that had overwhelmed you. “I love you, Calum. So goddamn much.”

He smiled but he didn’t laugh. The light danced in his eyes where they crinkled at the corners. He kissed you again and brushed his nose against yours. “I love you, too. Now go back to sleep.”

[kpopsnowball]

The forum, the royal court accomplished over more than 1000 years back still displayed its glory because the present day royals still respected its essence of impartial, cut throat and pure justice. They truly believed in maintaining the etiquette even though it was the 21st century now. Afterall it’s not the throne running the royal blood instead it’s the royalties running the throne. Deep meaning, serves the purpose.

The Royal Family. The name itself made people bow down to them. The royal blood, the tag not different from any ordinary but it was their ancestors what made the common man respect them. Even their generations did good deeds and strived to make their royal blood live not in the fake glory but in it’s true pride. Being it the 21st century yet the traditions of royals had still been the same. The only change was their modern attire rest everything had been passed onto to the next generations similar to that of their throne. The traditions and rituals of royals have been strict and always kept no room for opposition. The sin for argument was simply being thrown out as rogue. They had their own set of laws and rules. Everyone were abide by the laws.

The Royal court, a special established building formed for maintaining the laws and orders was created 300 years ago. The main purpose of it was to maintain decorum in the working of their bloodline and to look after the word around the world. The main person in power to make decisions being the King or the Queen. Many people believed it be injustice because the court is for justice but the monarch system was followed. But to be honest, the royals never took advantage of their crown and made sure that fair chances and justice shall be given to the victim and the guilty.

“Her Royal Majesty, the queen have marked her gracious presence in the forum. We are obliged to have her royal majesty in the evening summit of the Royal Chambers. The summit shall commence now.” The Royal secretary, the chief of the court of justice announced the mark of the yearly summit and moved back to his place while placing the book record on the table in front of her royal majesty.

The royal court, circular in inner infrastructure with the worshiped throne placed in the back centre of the room along with lines of chairs emerging from its two sides placed in semi circular outline, lining the edges of the circular shaped forum. Each chair belonging to princes, managers and secretaries. The ordinary blood victim and guilty were abandoned from entering the blood tagged forum, another established court was made for them.

“Before we start, I want every further discussed information to remain confidential in the forum and between the Princes. I hope I made myself clear now” the queen, domineering, bold and fearless demanded while examining the records, a small frown taking place over her features. She was the current queen of the bloodline, a queen without a king in her late 50s yet her glory overpowered by her dominance made people quiver in fear. The crown on her head gave birth to many renowned rulers for hundreds of years. Her face wrinkled showing her age yet her sharp features with small almond shaped intimidating eyes made people bow their heads in front of her.

“Your royal majesty, I deeply apologise for the delay but Your Royal highness, Prince Knight have not marked his gracious presence yet” the royal guard informed with a bow and marched back, leaving the forum.

“This is disrespect to the forum. Consequences will be taken against Prince Vincenzo Knight. I will personally look into this matter. The forum shall begin now” the queen ordered with a displeased expression. Her own son abandoning the forum made her blood boil. She thought of taking strict actions against him. Even if it was the 21st century, decorum of the forum and the royalty shall always remain, she thought.

“Your royal majesty, two of our companies in London are facing a major financial crisis right now. Growth rate for past two years have been increasing by 24.7% but for past few months, the loss incurred is been rising from 6% to 21.9%. The senior manager has been requesting your royal majesty to look into this matter because of the sudden loss. No exact reasons are known and the company is suffering from major crises. Other companies are doing comparatively well but the overall margins of loss are increasing every month. Financially, our companies in London, New York and Japan are requesting for our immediate help. Thank you your royal majesty” the executive secretary stated the facts and with a bow returned back to his positioned chair.

“Prince Antonio Rodriguez, what do you think of this situation?” The queen directed her attention to the Prince, the one who was the master of finances making him gain the tag of financial advisor just at the age of 23. His wisdom and knowledge unparalleled, a true prodigy of his field but the royal majesty was displeased when she found him engrossed in his phone, making her finger twitch in anger. Afterall the queen she was, she was not a person to be neglected.

“Prince Antonio!” The queen raised her voice, making your royal highness flinch a bit.

“Mom, you surprised me! Why are you shouting?Relax” he said looking up, his dark brown eyes boring into hers, the past amusement vanishing. He was piqued by her dictatorial behaviour.

“Prince Antonio where is your attention? I have been calling you”

“And I have been telling you that I am not a Prince” he pounced back.

The queen was infuriated now, her patience low as the melting point of ice.

“The Summit is dismissed for now. I want to have a word with the Princes”

The Royal Secretary, managers and the guards immediately left the forum, a cold sweat breaking down their spine, the wrath of queen was not a joke to make. Now, only the three of them were alone in the room, the third person still not making his presence seen even of when he was physically present.

“Prince Christopher, may I have your attention please” the queen mocked him. He looked up to her from his book, his dark brown eyes covered with lenses stared at his mother, void of emotions and arched a perfect eyebrow. A staring competition took place between the mother and the son, sighing he gave up and stood up from his positioned chair towards his mother who was sitting on her throne.

“Yes mom. You have all my attention now. Tell me what’s the matter”

“Chris I bet your book would be more interesting than her talk” Antonio scoffed and walked towards Christopher and stood besides him. Christopher scowled at him and gave a warning look to stop and in response the man threw his hands in air as a defeat but his eyes still challenging.

“Antonio this is not a way to talk. You need to maintain your etiquette” the queen said, curling her fingers in a tight fist, her anger clearly visible in her sharp eyes.

Scoffing, “Etiquette? Why? Why should I maintain that? I don’t want to and it’s my choice” the man was clearly disturbed by his mother. He did not like her being controlling over him. Even though she did not do anything in the past hour yet he always searched for a reason just to oppose her, afterall he knows what happens behind the royal doors.

“Antonio! I won’t hear a no. I did not ask you for your opinion! It’s my order and you have to follow that Do you get that?!” the royal majesty was now beyond angry, she liked submission and despised domination over her, her hand tightly holding the handle of the throne now.

Antonio was about to pounce back but Christopher immediately placed his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. The man gave a warning look to Chris to stop and let him go but Chris shook his head and asked him to calm down. Antonio was actually a chilled out person but sometimes anger would take the best of him whereas Christopher was quite opposite to him, being quite, composed, but not shy, his dating history was longer than Antonio. He was the calmer and composed one in the Princes. The master of general knowledge. A book worm in particular but with a sharp wit.

“This is not the right time Nio. Stop okay? We need to discuss about him first” Chris whispered to the man besides him, calming him down but his features turning tense with the mention of him.

“She would never agree” the man whispered back to his brother, traces of pain visible over his features. They truly knew their mother.

“Let’s jus-”

A loud bang was heard interrupting their conversation. The huge antique carved door which was above 25 feet long was banged open, viewing a man in all black biker outfit clad tightly to his body, showing his muscular lean body paired with black boots, his one hand holding his helmet and the other pulling his hair back.

“Our queen was missing you a lot Vince! Show her your gracious presence your Royal highness” The past pain vanishing, Antonio mocked but in playful way earning himself a scowl from the man.

“What’s up with people scowling today” he whispered to himself.

“Vincenzo this is not how you should dress and behave in the forum. Do I need to make you all learn your manners?” The queen was clearly annoyed with his sons. Their behaviour and manners were questioning her upbringing.

The man did not reply and simply walked towards his positioned chair and unzipped his jacket and threw on the chair, revealing a tight black tee clasped on his body showing off his strong firm abs.

“Vincenzo! Do you hear me? I am talking to you!” The queen shouted in the forum, making her voice echo. The man did not even budge, he was busy removing his watch and wiping off the sweat from his head.

Christopher nudged Antonio and with his head motioned him to move back. Both the brothers moved to a corner, Christopher started reading the record book kept on the nearby table, a true bookworm he was whereas Antonio crossed his arms and was enjoying the show with a smirk. He knew what was coming next.

The queen was very annoyed now, she strode towards Vincenzo and pulled his arm to face him towards her but immediately the man harshly pulled his arm back with a deep scowl on his face, his eyes fuming making the queen turn even more mad.

“Don’t you dare show me your eyes, you better know your place”

“I definitely do. Queen” the man spoke for the first time he entered, venom lacing his last words.

“I am your mom rig-”

“You have lost that title years ago for me” Vincenzo beat it to her, his eyes burning in agony, the one buried for many years. Christopher immediately diverted his attention to the scenario unfolding in front of them. He looked at Antonio and both shared a bit surprised look. It was not new for them to hear this, but after years they have heard that sentence.

“As much as you try, you can’t change the fact that I am your mother Vince” the queen replied, devoid of any emotion. Her mind completely blank.

“Don’t call me that, I hate to hear it from your mouth” Vincenzo took a threatening steps towards his mother but the queen she was, her legs stood still, her eyes fuming now at the insult.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she said,

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“I want to see regret in your eyes”

“And what if you don’t my beloved son” she smirked, evilness visible in her eyes.

“I will make you, your royal majesty” he smirked back.

She threw her head back and started laughing viciously, clapping loudly.

“Tsk tsk tsk, How would you do that son? Making air castles hun? You know that I am your queen right? The ultimate power. You won’t be able to go above me dear” a complete evil rant, it was not new for them to hear because they truly knew her colours, she was about to continue her evil motives but immediately the man’s next words froze everybody in the forum. The two brothers at the corner completely surprised and the fearless, dominating royal majesty going completely blank, a shiver running down her spine. And that was the last thing she wanted.

“What if I free him queen?”

© 𝐊𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 | 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

★𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @urowngoddess @purplepsycho03 @koishua @rr0zu @soleilsuhh @bluejaem @kunrengui @najatheangel @emuava @moon-jun @crescentjen @dundun-baby @sunryu @melonmochimoon @reiichann 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝.

★ 𝐀/𝐍: It was very amazing to write the first chapter. I actually searched a lot about the royal court and royal dress of the queen. The information I found was soo beautiful and I would definitely include it in my upcoming chapters. I wanted this chapter to be a bit of introductory to my characters and soon more things will also be revealed.

★ Please consider to leave a feedback or a reblog because it really helps me to learn and grow as a writer. Thank you soo much. Sending you lots of love and happiness❤️

★ 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐬

[sakuatsu]

YELL 2 ME ABT SAKUATSU FIC RECS PLS

oh boy. oh boy do i have much to talk about

here’s a list of my sakuatsu must-reads under the cut! complete with links, word count, ratings, and occasional commentary because i’m incapable of shutting up. this isn’t in any particular order either 

(keeping this sfw and organized into canonverse/AUs. a * means i am on my hands and knees begging for you to read this)  

i’ll try to update this somewhat regularly :]

most recently updated august 25, 2020!

canonverse:

*your highs and lows (series) by astroeulogy 

a post-time skip canonverse series born from these two questions:

1. what if sakusa kiyoomi, known too-blunt jerk, is equally straightforward about his soft, tender feelings?

2. what if miya atsumu, resident big fat jerk who doesn't care if his teammates hate him, is too emotionally stunted to notice when his one of his teammates actually likes him?

this is like the sakuatsu series but it’s blasphemous to not recommend. the first fic in the series is all that you were (4.6k, T). mind the ratings on a few of the fics, but my personal favorite is #3: a masterpiece of domesticity called you have tamed me (5.7k, T). these make me ACHE 

*sakuatsu domesticity simulator by pseudoanalytics (T)

a vaguely interactive mixture of fic, art, and html, where you too can experience the inherent romance of a big fat jerk and a too-blunt jerk attempting intimacy

this fic...this fic...op is literally one of my favorite artists of all time but Did You Know that their writing is also off the charts. what a wonderful use of second person and the pacing is so good. too much skill in one person 

*The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets by isaksara (11.4k, M)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

i think this is the fic that got me into sakuatsu in the first place lol i was looking very specifically for msby socmed fics and now here we are. this fic is unbelievably funny

*liminal spaces by hhatsuna (25.9k, T)

Fuck you, Atsumu thinks, pointing at the pixelated Sakusa in the grainy team photo on his bedside table.

It’s easier than you’d think to ignore loving your teammate.

*Better For Us Both by abrandnewheart (15.7k, M)

Where “You already make me the happiest guy alive, babe," gives way to, “I’ve not been happy for a while now.”

Alternatively known as the ‘mug fic’.

yes this is a breakup fic. yes im going to recommend it anyway. breakup fics usually scare me a lot but this one is too good for me to not say anything about. nuanced and delicious. i look at the mug on my desk and feel pain

dog eat dog eat dog world by perennials (8.4k, T)

You are your first and only line of defense against the universe.

Koi no Yokan; 恋の予感 by ymra (15.3k, unrated)

Wherein Sakusa dreams of his future selves and discovers a little something along the way.

autumn ends, but we remain by wolfsbvne (5.3k, T)

atsumu stares at his ceiling at 2am. he stares until he can make out designs in his popcorn ceiling. a cat there, an onigiri here, and then something that suspiciously looks like a mop of hair, triangle eyebrows, and oh those two bumps are moles right above what atsumu just mapped out as an eye.

(or, atsumu is in kind of in love. sakusa is maybe in like.)

your fingertips, branding irons by Ceryna (5.8k, T)

Between the accidental touches he's reconciled, the deliberate ones he's endured, and, from those he's built years of trust with, obliged– Kiyoomi has never wanted to let someone indulge.

Never, until Atsumu.

take what’s yours and make it mine by claudusdiei (5.9k, T)

atsumu falls in love four times in his life

(or: in which atsumu gets his heart broken twice, has the self-awareness of a sober mule and really likes yellow tulips)

every action has an equal and opposite reaction by akanemnida (10.4k, T)

Miya Atsumu gets a modeling contract with Calvin Klein, which sets Kiyoomi's heart in motion.

(Or: Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that the rules governing the universe are absolute rubbish at explaining matters of the heart.)

*where i want to be by tookumade (8.8k, G)

In the time they’ve been teammates at the MSBY Black Jackals, Sakusa has never been to Atsumu’s place, and Atsumu has only been to Sakusa’s a few times. There’s an unspoken understanding here: that Atsumu knows him well enough to know that nobody’s house or apartment would ever really meet his ridiculously high standards, and he is most comfortable in the home he’s made for himself.

That, and, Atsumu being over at Sakusa’s means that he has to host him and do the cleaning afterwards, while Atsumu can just flit off back to his own place. So. There’s that.

Tonight. Tonight is not business as usual. Tonight is not familiar.

*san'yō expressway, 6:17 pm by yamabato (8.1k, T)

Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe.

Kiss him again, maybe.

They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

parallax error: angle of inclination by min_mintobe (10.8k, T)

But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.

Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.

ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.

Atsumu POV.

four leaf clover by vicari_us (5.9k, T)

Once, Ushijima claimed that they ‘got lucky’. If properly honed, their body types could become near invincible weapons.

However, unlike Ushijima, Kiyoomi’s weapon required a bit more care over the years to reach the condition it had become. He was born iron, not yet forged into steel.

Exploring what it might have taken to turn a genetic mistake into an athletic miracle.

*the 28 postcards you left me by wheelspokes (8.3k, T)

Atsumu takes texting your ex to a new level by sending Sakusa postcards in Animal Crossing instead.

such a unique premise & this is so beautifully structured. stunning flow and who knew animal crossing could convey so much longing...

AUs:

Pas De Deux by hhatsuna (dancer!sakusa au: 19.0k, T)

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes, and the twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?” Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

*my love, take your time by bastigod (archaeologist!sakusa au: 9.0k, T)

There was something sublime about wandering around an empty museum. Nothing could compare to the sound of his shoes clacking against the marble floor, the morning sunlight gently streaming through the lofty windows and the peaceful solitude of ancient stone kings overseeing their silent kingdoms.

A day in the life of Doctor Kiyoomi Sakusa, Archaeologist.

i’ve literally been thinking about this fic every day since it came out. you will not find a story like this anywhere else, i guarantee you. what a clear labor of love this fic is it’s truly something so special 

three roses and a smile by strawberrycitrus (surgeon!sakusa & microbiologist!atsumu au: 19.7k, T)

“I just got this job, I’m not givin’ it up for some moral boost ‘cause I actually need to pay my rent, ya insensitive -” Atsumu waves his hands around, trying and failing to come up with the right word to convey the amount of injustice that this gaunt motherfucker has brought into his relatively simple life thus far.

“If you can’t pay your rent, go get a job at the McDonald’s over by 8th Street,” Sakusa growls, “it’ll pay more than your researcher position.”

If you even attempt assault on a coworker, forget teaching about cells - you’ll fucking be in one, Atsumu.

*Dance of the Parallax by astroeulogy (ogre spirit!sakusa au: 6.7k, T)

For the last twenty years, Atsumu’s done all that he can to break his betrothal to the ogre spirit Sakusa. If he can just make it through one more night, he’ll be free.

honestly, just read everything by astroeulogy. i’m recommending this fic in particular because it has such an ethereal voice to it. magical

across oceans, across centuries by starstrikes (pacific rim au: 20.0k, T)

Six days ago, Osamu died and left Atsumu with this: Atsumu, you have to—

(Namikira rises with the tides and rips Osamu and Vulpis Empress away in one fell swoop. Six days later, Atsumu wakes up alone in a hospital bed and learns how to swim.)

you don’t actually need to know pacrim to appreciate this. a wonderful exploration of grief and recovery. also it’s exactly 20k words which is both satisfying and terrifying 

*Notte Stellata by awkwardedgeworth (ice skating/dancing au: 20.8k, T)

"Your partner doesn't need to hold anyone's hand other than yours," Sakusa's father crouches, "And you can wear gloves."

Sakusa ponders. He hears the other skaters of rink two whiz past as they launch themselves into lifts.

"Alright," He looks up from the ice, not knowing how he'll dedicate the next couple of decades to this sport, this partnership, this boy.

what a stunning fic. a beautiful progression of sakusa & atsumu’s relationship, rife with references to real skating programs, beautifully written and structured. so full of longing i’m in mild physical pain

[simonalkenmayer]

it's neat that you've cared abt social justice for actual centuries :0 have you had any beliefs that haven't aged well? (like thinking the solar system is geocentric or something like that- not asking maliciously ^^; )

Hmmm...

I’d say several. I didn’t wake up knowing what “social justice” meant. I had to learn them by degrees.

I used to wonder why women (pardon me for using the old terminology in this setting) allowed themselves to be subjugated. I learned how incredibly backward and wrong that was within about 50 years of waking up. All I had to do was watch and it became clear how complicated and fraught and absolutely unacceptable a situation it was. How many layers there were in as many aspects of culture as can be imagined.

I used to think God might be real, and that I was being cursed. After a while, I realized God was constructed by the scientific mind to make sense of reality, and that some men saw an opportunity and used those ideas to control people.

I used to wonder if the tremendous diversity of humanity meant that there were several different species of human. That was only partly right, in that we now know that the diversity is due in one part to genetic conservation from the original hominid species that interbred and then migrated, and in the other part to genetic mutation over many many centuries--but obviously, this idea in my mind did encourage me to briefly contemplate that there might be other differences. That’s a dangerous line to walk, because if you accept the idea of “race” then you can accept that there are differences between the “races” that are intrinsic. Once you’ve done that, you’ve opened the door to racism. And make no mistake, even though I am not the same species as you, it still would be quite possible for me to fall prey to such ideas and consider you all stupid louts, and organize you according to shape, color, and value to me. Luckily, it became abundantly clear at once, through observation, that no...there were no intrinsic differences among the variety of people, and that everyone on the earth whom I met had the same feelings, needs, difficulties, and concerns, with the added horror, that some of these groups were being set upon by their fellows and given additional hardships, simply for existing. So...I learned that lesson swiftly too.

I used to wonder about the stars. To my eye, I think they look different than they do to yours. I always suspected they were some sort of place--not an object or a light source like a fire fly. To me, the sky looked...well...deep. And there’s the sun, so...are they suns? To me the curve of the earth is evident, and since I spend a lot of time in high places, I have no trouble seeing it as a globe. The one sort of geographical or cosmic idea I held that was wrong, was about the existence of the New World. I was very hopeful that the sea was an westward passage, because I wanted to go east without having to travel by land. When Vespucci realized it wasn’t, well...I felt very stupid. I carry a grudge (among other grudges) against Columbus for this slight to this day, the fool.

I’ll admit, that while I may have had these thoughts and ideas somewhat diffused in my head, there was still the press of the herd. What I mean to say is, I was always so worried about my own safety and ability to blend in, that I often did not do all that I could to be an impediment to these injustices. I often did not stand up for people I could have. I often did not intervene. I regret that. Having seen the path of history, I regret it very much. All I can do is be honest about it, and never let it happen again. I used to be worried about my own safety. I am not anymore. Indeed, now I am emboldened and enraged. And because I am me, I am cold and patient.

No more of this nonsense. It has to stop. But at the same time, I walk a line that is philosophical. This is your society. Yes, I am a part of it, but I’ve been at the fringes. I feel conflicted about stepping in. I do not think it is my place, nor in fact, does my assistance do you any lasting service. I will help in the things I think I can do from the outside. I will use the person you have made me, to help you. I will not use my nature to moderate human problems.

Humanity made a monster. And so I feel it is only right that that monster sit back and chew its lip and make the odd noise.

I’ve digressed a bit, and for that I apologize. I’ve also perhaps given off a sense of an inflated purpose. No. I don;t see myself as being a leader or any sort of baron. I don’t want any of that nonsense. I’m not interested in fame or fortune or infamy, even. I suppose I want people to see that there is continuity in kindness. Sensitivity and compassion do exist, are real, and transcend the “education” or the “enlightenment”. Your ancestors had everything they needed to be sensible and supportive. They chose not to be. For a variety of reasons. You have everything you need, and i know this because you taught it to me.

So I will stand here and be a little mirror of who you are and a harbinger of things to come, if that serves. That’s what “monster” means, anyway.

[dwellordream]

A Six of Crows Review: Joost and Inej I

This marks the beginning of my review of Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo. Before I go any further, I want to provide context for my experience/knowledge of the book and its fandom. Six of Crows was published in 2015 when I was 16. I picked it up in a bookstore and read the first few chapters idly while shopping, before putting it back down.

At the time, my dislike of what I’d read was probably primarily fueled by the realization that it was by the same author as Shadow and Bone, which I had tried to read a few years before and disliked, and because at the time I was aging out of the YA genre in general and had very little patience for many of its familiar tropes.

In recent years, Six of Crows and its companion and predecessor series, the Grisha Trilogy, have become one of the most popular YA series online. The avid fan response and promotion of it on social media no doubt led to the Netflix series being greenlit and it is obviously trending at present due to the success of the series. With all that in mind, I’ve decided to try Six of Crows again and see for myself what all the hype is about.

Some more caveats: I am 22 years old. I am aware Six of Crows is YA literature intended for a middle and high school audience. I will not be holding it to the standards I would hold an adult grade fantasy book, in terms of prose, themes, or content. I am aware that I am not necessarily the target audience for the book and these reviews are in no way intended to shame or disparage anyone who enjoys the book.

Criticism is a healthy part of any fandom and does not necessarily constitute hate. I will likely critique elements of the book in my write up. That does not mean I have a personal vendetta against the author, publishers, or the TV show. Please do not take this as a personal attack if you’ve enjoyed the book. This is just intended to promote discussion and to gather my own thoughts.

If you follow me, I am tagging this as ‘in review’ so you know what to block if you don’t want to see my posts on your dash. I will be going through 1-2 chapters per weekend. This weekend I will be looking at the prologue, aka Joost, and the first Inej chapter.

Jumping into things, here is Joost:

The prologue is our introduction to Ketterdam, the setting of Six of Crows. It’s been a very long time since I read Shadow and Bone and so all I really know is that Ketterdam is a city in an island known as Kerch, based off the map. The major countries or kingdoms of the mainland to the east appear to be Fjerda, Ravka, and Shu Han, though it is unclear how they differ from one another at this point.

Ketterdam through Joost’s eyes is a sinister and dreary place, a city under a grimy night sky and full of dangers. Joost works as a hired guard for a very wealthy man named Hoede, who keeps grishas, powerful magic users, as indentured servants. Joost is infatuated with one of them, Anya, a healer, though he knows she is not likely to return his affections and furthermore cannot wed without the permission of her owner. We also learn that grishas are at risk for being kidnapped and sold by slavers due to their value. However, the indentured servant system of Ketterdam thus far doesn’t seem to be much better than slavery, given how little freedom the grisha have.

Overall, the prologue is supposed to give us a sense for the setting of Ketterdam and interest us in the main hook of the novel, which seems to be a mysterious substance that grisha can ingest to heighten their powers for the benefit of their masters, though it has the risks of making them uncontrollable. How well is this done?

Through Joost’s perspective we can glean several things; Ketterdam is a dirty city with rampant income inequality, full of crime and corruption. Magic is an established system within Ketterdam, but the magic users do not seem to be at the type of the hierarchy despite their powers, which suggests they are a minority to the extent of which they can still be controlled by the elite class of non magic users, if they have enough money and power.

It is also very obvious through the references in the prologue that Ketterdam is heavily based off the Netherlands during the Golden Age, which was Amsterdam’s (Ketterdam… Amsterdam… not subtle) economic and cultural boom during the 17th century, aka the 1600s. Notably the world’s first stock exchange began in Amsterdam in 1602, and it was a major port and trading hub for the Dutch East and Dutch West India Companies.

It is not clear if Ketterdam is also intended to be a 1600s-esque society, timeline wise, but we know that rifles are common place and there is a thriving merchant class who rule as opposed to old aristocracy, which seems to indicate a Renaissance style setting, as well as the urban environment in general. (That said, from the advertisements for the Netflix show, they seem to have updated it to a more Victorian-era 1800s society, in terms of fashion and general aesthetics).

Overall, the prologue does its job. It gives us a vague idea of what Ketterdam is like, how the society is structured, and who holds the power. It also ends on a suspenseful cliffhanger, leaving Joost’s fate unclear. Where it falls flat is that I think a little more time could have been spent fleshing out Joost as a narrator, even if this is his only showing in the book.

His internal monologue comes across as a bit dry and mechanical, as if the author is aware he is just a means to an end to start the book off with a bang, and he quickly turns into a walking camera (just there to report events to the reader, with no internal input from him), for the second half of the prologue, as we switch to just watching Anya and Hoede through his eyes. That said, it’s not a major problem, as Joost is clearly not intended to be a main character, and his narration still effectively conveys what is happening and sets the dark tone of the novel.

What I would have liked to see from the prologue is perhaps the POV of Anya herself, or the small child she is being forced to experiment on, as that might have been a more compelling and immerse introduction to Ketterdam and its dangers rather than the fairly bland and neutral Joost, who doesn’t really feel like a character so much as a bland stand-in for the reader. If we were put in the shoes of Anya, suddenly called upon by her power hungry employer to participate in this unethical test, or in the shoes of the small boy caught up in the middle of this, it might have been both more thrilling to read and given a more gritty sense of what it’s like to be on the lowest rungs of Ketterdam’s society, at the mercy of the most powerful.

Moving onto Inej, we run into some similar problems. After Inej’s first chapter, I couldn’t tell you a single thing about her, other than that she was an acrobat as a child, that she is part of the street gang known as the Dregs, and that she intensely values loyalty. This isn’t a problem, per say, but while that’s all good to know, it doesn’t give me any sense of Inej’s actual personality, which doesn’t exactly bode well. Like Joost, she comes across more as a walking camera and occasional tourist guide as opposed to a human character with her own worries, hopes, and fears.

I think this may become a recurring problem with Bardugo’s writing - ie all tell, no show. Inej is good at telling things. She tells us where we are as we follow her to the location of a stand-off between rival gangs, she tells us that Kaz, their leader ‘doesn’t need a reason’, though she never exactly explains what that means other than that he is widely feared, she tells us that she is very fond of her knives.

But in terms of writing, we shouldn’t have to be force fed all this information via her internal monologue, which, again, entirely cuts out once the action picks up, just like Joost’s. While I don’t need her thoughts on every threat or gunshot, it would be nice to feel as if she hadn’t just vanished from the story completely as soon as the dialogue starts.

We also meet Kaz and Jesper, though I couldn’t tell you much about them utter than that Inej clearly admires, even venerates Kaz as an accomplished intimidator and chess master, and that Jesper is clearly the joker of the group.

It also feels incredibly weird that this parley between gangs in happening in front of the city’s stock exchange. Inej tells us this is because the Exchange is one of the few remaining neutral territories, but it’s also heavily guarded, which means every time a gang wants to parley, they have to pay out the cash to bribe all the guards to very pointedly ignore a meeting between rambunctious and trigger happy street gangsters on their literal doorstep.

I understand why Bardugo chose this location, wanting to contrast the violence of the gang members with the economic injustice that the Exchange and its merchant rulers represents, but it just seems a bit silly. They couldn’t meet at the docks? In an alley way? This is like picturing the American Mafia hosting a public meeting at the New York Stock Exchange with a bunch of cops twiddling their thumbs nearby.

The foreshadowing that Bollinger is the traitor (‘I’m not going to bet on my own death’) also seems very heavy handed and a little much, but I’ll let it slide.

It’s also not really clear while Inej is present at this meeting in the first place. Kaz commands her to keep watch from above, but he has also put a contingency plan in place that doesn’t even involve her, having bought out some of Geels’ men from under him. Why put Inej looking down from above if you’re not involving her in this plan? Her only role seems to be to watch, and she doesn’t even have a gun she could play sniper with. It just seems like a hamfisted way of getting Inej out of the danger zone so the author can have her as a passive spectator to the violence that follows.

This is my main problem with this chapter. It’s supposed to introduce us to Inej, but really, it’s introducing us to Kaz. Which is fine, but as he also has a POV in this book, it seems a bit lame that her own chapter is completely overtaken by showing off A. his smarts and B. how dangerous he is, despite being dismissed as a young ‘cripple’ by the likes of Geels.

Geels is also… not a greatly done villain. I get that he’s supposed to be small fry and is just a precursor to much more threatening opponents, but his every line of dialogue feels designed to show off how cool and Machiavellian Kaz is in comparison. He doesn’t seem like an actual hardened criminal who has underestimated his opponent, but a somewhat cheesy cartoon thug who unironically says things like “How are you going to wriggle your way out of this one?” with his full chest. The effect is comical, and not in a good way.

This chapter also shows off Kaz’s sadistic side in full display, which is probably one of the only interesting things about it, though it would be nice if we got any input at all from Inej on this… instead she completely vanishes from her own narration, to the point where she might as well not be present at all. Kaz has no qualms about tracking down his enemies’ weakness, such as lovers and family, and threatening them.

But the open horror and shock Geels reacts with seems incongruent, as if Kaz were the first up and coming gangster to actually consider threatening someone’s family or girlfriend. That seems pretty par for the course for violent criminals trying to claim territory and unnerve their rivals, yet Inej and Geels himself react as if no one had ever thought of sinking to the level of ‘do what I want or I’ll kill your loved ones’ until Kaz invented it. It just feels a bit silly and on the nose.

Really, my overarching issue with this chapter is that it’s not about Inej at all, it’s just an introduction to the Kaz Brekker fan club. I don’t automatically hate Kaz as a character, but his introduction is heavyhanded and comes at the cost of any establishing character moments for Inej. The most we get out of her is her brief pangs of sympathy for Bollinger despite his treachery, and her brief reference to her childhood. Maybe future Inej chapters will totally change this, but right now, it’s not a great sign of what’s to come.

I can think of about a hundred things Inej could have done or said this chapter to develop or establish her personality at all, but all we got was her briefly holding a knife to someone, and her briefly saying a prayer for Bollinger. I think it would have worked much better had this plan to catch Geels with his pants down been Inej’s invention or at least worked out between her and Kaz, rather than her just there to play lookout and admire how cool Kaz is.

Or at the very least, we could have seen the scene referenced where she searches the crime scene of the assassination, instead of that getting two lines and an entire chapter being devoted to what boils down to a pissing contest over which gangs gets rights to a certain neighborhood.

Next week, we will look at Kaz I.

[autumnalfallingleaves]

After several months, I finally wrote a thing because Wizards hit me in the feels.

~~~

Remembering.

Or,

There are consequences to changing the timeline.

~~~

Blinkous Galadrigal has, for nine-hundred years, known that there would one day be a Trollhunter with piercing blue eyes that shine like hope. Hope for victory. Hope for the next day. Hope for the future. 

He has met this Trollhunter. His name was Jim (an odd name), and his blue eyes had shone as he rallied the citizens of Dwoza to arms. Something had stirred within his breast, then, along with the utter fear that threatened to overtake him. His brother felt the same, he could tell, but he, Blinkous Galadrigal, would not give in to the terror, not when this literal whelp could stand before them and tell them they’d win, despite what they may think. He had lived a much longer life than this child. Surely, he could fight a war?

And they fought. And they won, all because of this child with hope-blue eyes and the ability to look at him and tell him he could do so much more. 

Much later, the Trollhunter approached him, after the fighting had ceased and Jim and his companions had returned to whence they came. 

Deya the Deliverer, once Callista the Calamity, stood before him and told him who this child had been: a Trollhunter, like herself, but from the distant future. Jim had told her, she said, that a day would come where Blinkous himself would be a close companion of his, and one whom Jim trusted with his life. 

He would need to know Jim, she said, but do not tell him that you know him. Let him forge his own path, but do not let him do it alone. Guide him to be the child of hope that he knew from Dwoza. 

Hope for the future, Blinkous, the Deliverer told him, and teach Jim to hope, as well.

~~~ 

AAARRRGGHH!!! has, for nine-hundred years, known that there would one day be a Trollhunter with a toothy, knowing smile that looks like mercy. Mercy for the disillusioned. Mercy for ones who do not know better. Mercy for those who deserve second chances. 

He knows this because it was this whelp who showed him a better path. Under Gunmar, AAARRGGHH!!! was always watching his back, always frightened, always waiting for the fatal blow. In the Skullcrusher’s horde, there was always a chance that you would be killed by one looking for power, no matter what your rank was. This… Jim had looked at him, smiled, and offered a hand not to strike him, but to offer a chance to start again. A chance to live a life without fear.

AAARRRGGHH!!! was reluctant to take it. What did this child know of him? Of war? Didn’t he know that there was no mercy for a killer like him? 

Kill him! The citizens of Dwoza yelled, and AAARRRGGHH!!! agreed. He was guilty of so many things. The only thing he deserved was death. 

But no. He never got what he wanted, did he? Not a chance to have a peaceful life like these Trolls, not a chance to have a family like the small, four-armed Troll and his brother, both of whom were clearly terrified by him. 

The Jim had scowled at the other Trolls and told them no, they would not kill him. Then he smiled at AAARRRGGHH!!!, and it shone like mercy, the kind where you could try again and again, and no matter how many times you slipped, you would not be punished for it. 

The boy was merciful. The general was not used to this feeling… this… this… kindness. When had he ever been kind to another? He couldn’t remember. And…

…When had he ever been merciful?

But the Jim was filled with it, and it was this mercy that allowed him to meet Blinkous. Or Blinky, because Blinkous was hard to say and that was what the Jim had called him. Blinky was skittish and anxious, but he was also empathetic and kind. He did not hit AAARRRGGHH!!! when he made a mistake. He corrected him with a smile, and not once did he ever judge him. 

It was nice. 

After the Battle of Killahead, on their way to the New World and a new Heartstone, as the Dwoza stone had died in the blast of magic that shook the heavens, Blinky told him who the Jim had been: a Trollhunter like Deya, but from the future. He and AAARRRGGHH!!! would know the boy, he told him, and they would be his teachers. 

AAARRRGGHH!!! was glad. The boy had been his savior, and he would have a chance to repay him. He would teach him mercy, AAARRRGGHH!!! decided, like Blinky would teach him hope. The mercy to be able to spare a former GummGumm like him.

~~~

Deya has, for nine-hundred years, known that there would one day be a Trollhunter with a soft-yet-strong voice that rings like justice. Justice for those unfairly slain. Justice for the generations yet to come. Justice for oneself. 

This Trollhunter was the one who gave her her purpose, her name. Before, she had been Callista the Calamity, doomed to put all she loved in danger. She was an outcast, she was bad luck, she was someone no one wanted around. She was tainted by humans, after all, and carried a human name. But she couldn’t help it. Her memories of her old life were gone. Where was the justice in that?

But Jim hadn’t cared. He saw Callista, not the Calamity. He didn’t have the history needed to judge her. He’d met her in the dungeons beneath Camelot and decided she was someone who was worth saving. He spoke of hope and mercy and justice, and Callista couldn’t help but swept away by the tide of it all. It had been a while since someone had cared enough to talk to her, and more importantly, to listen to her. 

And he listened. He listened as she told him about her story: her village destroyed, being captured by humans, given one of their names, and deemed an outcast by her kind. She lamented to him about how she wished she could avenge her village, her family, to enact justice for them.

She listened, too, and learned of how Jim was not of her time. He was from the future, and held the position of Trollhunter, a mantel granted by Merlin to protect Trolls from evil, such as Gunmar and his horde. Merlin? Protecting Trolls? A preposterous thought. 

But here was this half-human, half-Troll boy from the future, with a suit of ebony and crimson armor, and she had no choice but to believe. Maybe she, Callista, would be Trollhunter one day, and she would finally be able to bring about the justice she so desired.

And little by little, as the days went on, Jim gave her the tools to bring her justice. He gave her the courage to speak up as he pleaded with Dwoza to help them in the coming war. He gave her status she needed as she helped win the fight against the GummGumm general. He gave her hope as she sat in a crevasse, Amulet in hand, unsure if she was worthy to wield his mantel. 

It’s Jim’s, not mine, she thinks, but Jim tells her no, that the mantel is hers. He may be Trollhunter, but he is the future’s Trollhunter. The people back where he comes from need him. She, Callista, is this era’s Trollhunter, and the people of this time need her. 

She listens, and he leaves, and before she goes as well, her village gives her one last gift in the form of a carved totem.

She is Deya, and she is the Deliverer, but it was someone else who delivered her, who did her village justice as he gave her her purpose. 

So she fights. 

After all is said and done, she is visited by a specter of Merlin. He tells her that she, his champion, will have a legacy spanning centuries. Her name will be celebrated by thousands, and she will be remembered by countless others. He tells her that, when she dies, her spirit will live on in a Void Between Worlds. She will serve as a teacher for those who come after, and eventually, for Jim, the boy with eyes like hope, a smile like mercy, and a voice like justice. 

So she waits. She fights for justice, and eventually, she is killed by Bular’s sword. It’s morbidly poetic, in a way: she locked away the father, so the son takes her life in retaliation.

The Amulet leaves, and she is reborn in a world of spirits and magic, all cloaked in a blue haze.

Later, she is joined by others: a lean Trollhunter with the affinity for cloning themself to get the edge on enemies, a pacifist Trollhunter with gentle eyes and words, a Trollhunter whose son sought only to make him proud, and many more. 

Deya does not tell them about Jim. It’s too soon for them. They know the stories, of course, where a whelp from a distant land inspired the mighty Deya to take up arms against Gunmar and his injustices, but they do not know the true nature of the boy. That is knowledge for her and her alone. 

Finally, nine centuries after the great Battle of Killahead, a human is Chosen as Trollhunter for the first time. His eyes shine like a hope not seen in years, his smile bestows mercy upon whomever he graces it with, and his voice rings like a chance for justice. 

His name is Jim Lake, Jr., and as he fights, as he wins, Deya watches with a proud gaze. Her title might be “the Deliverer”, but it is he, this human child with the resilience of a Troll, who truly deserves the moniker. 

He delivered her, and in turn, she delivered the world.  

[padawanlost]

Hey Padawanlost I haven't ever asked but could the Jedi win the war without the clones? Because I don't think the Jedi had any other option. I am not saying they are right but could you tell me how can the Jedi win the war without the clones?

Hey anon! There’s a planet called Earth that has its people have been killing each other and waging war since day one rather successfully and, as far as I know, no clone army has ever been used. Of course, you might argue that it’s different because it’s citizens dying but I’d counter argue that clone lives are as valuable as any other life in the world and the fact they were robbed of their citizenship doesn’t justify them being dehumanized and killed in someone else’s place. 

As for the ‘lack of option’ excuse, that’s all it is: an excuse. And it’s one that has been used for years to justify all sort of crime, injustice and persecution including slavery. The slave owners had no choice, what were they supposed to do? Hire people? That’s unheard of! What was the Republic supposed to do? Draft people? that’s impossible! 

Seriously now, the ‘they had no choice’ is only a valid justification for a crime – make no mistake, slavery is a crime in both our world and in the GFFA – when the person is under duress and even then their responsibility is still debatable and open for interpretation. And even it was simple legal justification (and not also a moral one), it’d not be one the Jedi Order would fall under. They were never under duress and they had not been stripped of their agency.  The were offered a choice between two terrible options, but a choice nevertheless. They could’ve walked away or refused to play generals as many jedi did. 

Following the Battle of Geonosis, many Jedi chose to leave the Order rather than serve as generals in the Republic army. Others, such as the Jedi Master Sora Bulq, chose to ally with Count Dooku and fight against the Republic. By the end of the Clone Wars, it seems that the Lost Twenty had been reduced to a footnote in history. [Star Wars: Jedi vs Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force by Ryder Windham]

Each time civilization threatened to topple into ruin, the Jedi faced a momentous decision: Did the Republic’s survival require the Order to intervene directly in its affairs? At various points in galactic history, the Jedi reluctantly decided such intervention was necessary. They stepped in to prevent the young Republic from annihilating the Tionese, plotted in secret to overthrow the Pius Dea chancellory, and served as chancellors while directly ruling large swaths of Republic territory in the chaotic centuries before Ruusan. Each time, the Order surrendered the powers it had assumed, returning to its guardian role. But as the Republic decayed and the Separatists gained strength, the Jedi began to once again debate whether a more activist role was required. By 22 BBY matters had reached a crisis point. This time it was the Supreme Chancellor himself who asked the Jedi to assume a new role: A powerful army awaited Republic command, but the Judicial Forces were ill prepared to lead them. Mindful that the Separatists were led by the Jedi apostate Count Dooku, the Jedi agreed to lead the Grand Army to Geonosis in an attempt to short-circuit the Separatist threat. [The new essential guide to warfare by jason fry]

This wartime bargain caused a rift in the Jedi Order. Some Jedi welcomed the chance to take action, but others saw leading troops as a betrayal of key Jedi precepts. Even Jedi who accepted their new responsibilities were badly strained. They grappled with the morality of leading clones who had been bred for war, and watched Padawans and younger Jedi Knights succumb to impatience and anger, burning for revenge on the Separatists and their leaders. “In this war, a danger there is of losing who we are,” Yoda admitted in one of his darker moments. But the Jedi Grand Master had no idea just how much truth his words held.” [The new essential guide to warfare by jason fry]

They didn’t even have to leave, all they had to say was no. They were not under any kind of legal obligation to lead the army. They did to avoid a political problem and because they were convinced they were better suited for the job. They wanted to protect the Republic because they believed it was their duty. I would hardly classify that as a ‘lack of option’.

To make matters worse, they actually lied about the clone army origin. So they put themselves into a situation where they didn’t have all the answers. They could’ve avoided the whole thing by simply saying ‘we have no idea where this army came from and this should be further investigated.

The Jedi Master rubbed a hand over his forehead and looked to Yoda, who sat with his eyes closed. Probably contemplating the same riddles as he was, Mace knew. And equally troubled, if not more so. “Blind we are, if the development of this clone army we could not see,” Yoda remarked. “I think it is time to inform the Senate that our ability to use the Force has diminished.” “Only the Dark Lords of the Sith know of our weakness,” Yoda replied. “If informed the Senate is, multiply our adversaries will.” For the two Jedi Masters, this surprising development was troubling on several different levels. [R.A. Salvatore. Attack of the Clones]

Anyway, what could have they done other them leaving, refusing or telling the truth? They could’ve done what the governments always do: send their citizens to war. Palpatine wanted the war to be between droids and clones for this version, to avoid the massive citizen outcry. As long as they weren’t the ones dying the public would be much easier to manipulate. As clones as it was only clones dying Palpatine could keep the war going without damaging his popularity. 

Corellian senator Shyla Merricope speaks about this during the events leading up the war

The decision comes after a week of closed-door meetings between Bel Iblis and Corellian Diktat Shyla Merricope. When the Military Creation Act vote was announced, Corellia was one of its most outspoken critics, both in the Senate and the planetary government offices in Corellia's capital city of Coronet. "CorSec's men and women will not be drafted into Republic service, to die on a distant world outside of Corellia's borders. Nor will armed forces from other worlds be billeted in our homes." Merricope said in caucus, the day following the vote announcement. She later told the sector's leading newsnet, Corellia Sector Newsfeed, that she would do "whatever possible to preserve the integrity of Corellia for Corellians." Corellia Closes Borders [x]

The war was not the Jedi order’s sole responsibility. It was never up to them alone to fight for the Republic. They were part of the Judicial department, a department that hosted the Judicial Forces the Republic’s main (semi)militarized force. The idea it was the Jedi or nothing is not supported by evidence.

So, no, if they had refused the Republic wouldn’t have been helpless. In fact, many lives would’ve been saved (including Jedi lives) because Palpatine’s ban on peace talks would’ve been unsustainable without an large army to protect the Senate’s interests.

Another option would’ve been droids, a option the Republic refused because clones were cheaper.

So, how could the Jedi win the war without the clones?

By refusing to fight they would've ruined Palpatine’s plans, that’s always a win;

They could’ve demanded peace negotiations, since that was their main job;

They could’ve requested drafting or volunteers.

They could’ve requested droids;

They could’ve let the Judicial Forces take charge;

The Clone Wars were the perfect Jedi trap. By fighting at all, the Jedi lost [Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith]

Again, how could the Jedi win the war without the clones? They would’ve never won the war with the clones because the clones were there to kill them. So the best way for them to actually win the war was to refuse to accept the clone army.

But, really, the best solution possible that I can think of, is for the Jedi Council to accept the clone army but ONLY if they are made free. They could easily say it’s a against the Jedi believe to accept a slave army so the Republic would be pushed into giving them rights and actully ask them if they want to fight. So, instead of an army of slaves they would be leading a army of volunteered soldiers. Those who refused to fight could be offered jobs in the outer/mid rim planets to help the local economy and trained protection in case of a separatist invasion. 

Let’s not mistake the Republic need to fight with the CIS and the Order’s desire to help with the need for a SLAVE ARMY.

How do you win without a slave army? You don’t use the slave army. Look man, the real question you have to ask yourself is if slavery is ever justified. Because that’s what you are asking me, and my answer will always be NEVER. There’s no situation where using slave labor is a righteous choice. If you think the Jedi had it bad, try looking at the situation from a clone perspective. Ask yourself when it’s okay to breed someone, buy and sell them, shorten their lives, rob them of their childhood, deny them their rights and send them to die for a life they will never, ever be allowed to live.

The only characters who truly didn’t have any choice in this entire story were the clones.

I love the Jedi, I truly do, but I don’t need them to perfect for me to love them and I certainly won’t make excuses for slavery and cruelty just so they can be seem as perfect or righteous. There’s no valid moral justification for slavery and to be honest it saddens me to know some people still think there is.

[jj-lives]

Sing to Me: i can hear you open up to breathe - Part 2

————————— ——————————————————-

The place gets busy. Bodies pile up at the bar, servers form a conveyor belt of empty trays returning piled with new refreshments. Blake stays a half-hour late to help her boss. She doesn’t mention the time to Yang. Doesn’t explain her reasons for not approaching her after the hour she’s promised. She looks though. Every five minutes or so, she looks, making sure Yang is still sitting on the stool at the far end of the bar. Yang’s okay with it. She doesn’t need a reason; she has eyes. She can see how busy it is, and how the bartender tells Blake to leave, saying she’s done more than enough tonight. The stubborn way Blake shakes her head before restocking the beer fridge tells Yang more about her. It’s a game for her now. How much can she learn about this girl by observation alone?

It’s clear Blake’s proud, determined. Proof is in the way she demands to stay and help, the way she performs each task, anticipating most before she’s asked. There’s a quiet respect for her boss, following instructions exactly, down to the minute details. Every single glass she stacks behind the bar show the logo facing out. Every cooler and beer fridge arranged the same. Her eyes scan the bottles he lifts, seeing which are pouring low; each replaced before he voices the need. She is meticulous.

She’s all smiles and friendliness to the other faunus as they emerge from the door behind the bar. It’s painfully obvious none like crossing that barrier. They speak only to Blake, most don’t even look to the man running the bar. He in return, ignores them, deferring guidance of their tasks to Blake which they readily accept before scurrying to the safety of the store room and kitchen beyond the free swinging door. Blake is comfortable with her boss, in the familiar space behind the bar, but she fears the customers, not meeting their gaze when they speak to her. Eyes do find the servers that come to bring her orders as her boss handles the patrons at the bar; the ones she can’t stand to be near. But she’s reserved with the servers in a way she’s not with the faunus or bartender.

Yang learns so much watching her, but she wants so desperately to learn more. She needs it just as she needs the air filling her lungs.

Only when orders finally slow and patrons start to clear is he able to convince Blake to leave for the night. Eyes dart to her corner of the bar as she asks if he’s sure. Bottles need to be rinsed and recycled, more glasses need replenishing behind the bar... which needs another cloth ran down it to rid it of the stickiness dried alcohol ponds left from over spilled drinks.

Yang can’t help but feel she’s stalling, looking for excuses to not approach her. She hopes it’s not because Blake fears her too. He presses, urging her to leave and finally she relents, disappearing into the back. The next five minutes pass, excruciating. Fear of Blake sneaking out a back way creeps into her mind, crawling through cracks in her usual confident demeanor. Cracks created by a mysterious girl she can’t help but be drawn to.

Eventually, thankfully, she returns, ducking gracefully under the wedge in the bar meant for lifting. She can’t be bothered with moving obstacles that can be circumvented. Her eyes meet Yang’s. ‘Are you coming?’ they ask. Yang’s no more in charge of her actions as she is the rotation of the planet. Slipping from the stool she’s not moved from in hours, she follows. Weaving around tables, through the door into the brisk night air of Mantle, down the street. She follows. The only sounds are their breathing and feet scraping the pavement -her feet, Blake’s don’t make a sound, she’s mindful of that too.

“I would’ve been fine walking on my own.” Her eyes remain trained ahead, but the ears atop her head swivel, directionless. What it must be like to know more of the world surrounding you by sounds rather than sight.  

“I know.” Yang chooses her words with deliberate care. “I worried there might be some retaliation for what I’d done.”

They walk a half-block in silence before she speaks. “What you did,” she starts. Yang opens her mouth to stop the renewed appreciation she’s sure is coming but Blake’s raised palm stops her. “But I would be the one paying that price. For something I had no say in, in any conceivable way besides the choice of keeping a job I need to survive.”

“It’s not fair.” Her toe kicks a pebble in her way, frustrated with the world. She doesn’t miss the way Blake flinches at the action.

“No it’s not.” She adds with a sigh, “but it’s the hand my kind’s been dealt.”

More silence. Yang’s terrified stare takes in each building they pass. Not for potential dangers, for the only thing she fears from them is the unknown; which one will end her time with Blake? She’s wasting her moments with silence.

“I don’t agree with them.” Breaking the quiet feels like taking a breath after staying underwater too long, satisfying and vital. Before she allows herself to sink below the surface of silence she continues, “The things they were saying in there. I don’t agree with a word of it. How they can see somebody and say such horrid things. As if you were an object and not somebody flesh and blood. Like them.” Blake’s feet move and Yang follows. This time one ear is pinned, listening to Yang’s words. “But you’re not like them. You’re different, so much…” Yang pauses. Blake’s fists clench, knuckles just as white as they’d been gripped to the guitar on stage. “more. Better than any one of them.”

They stop again. Her grip loosens but her eyes remain glued to the distance. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough about them, though.”

“You. Them. Do you see a difference?”

Pain sears through her chest, burning in a way that stops her lungs from expanding. “You don’t?” She’s drowning again.

“My life has been a series of humans versus faunus. Them versus us.” Blake turns on her heel, crossing the street without warning. “And each time, yours celebrate and mine crawl back into the shadows, the mines, alleys, caves, gutters. Out of sight where we belong.”

“You don’t.” Blake’s quick to turn on her with a disbelieving glare, challenging her to disagree with what history has proven time and time again. But she remembers herself and softens immediately. Ribcage expanding she returns to her passive demeanor. “Belong there, I mean,” Yang’s quick to correct. Blake’s not interested in her views, staying quiet as they continue down a path that’s more alley than street. Yang can’t blame her. What’s one human’s view against an entire species, against centuries of disparity. “You don’t see all humans the same.”

“I do.” Her tone is so sure Yang’s feet falter and an ear twitches as Yang’s boot scrapes sharp along the cobblestone.

“Your boss?”

“That’s different.”

“How?” Her jaw clenches and shoulders straighten. It’s not a good sign. When Blake takes a step to the side, space between them growing Yang knows she’s gone too far. “Nevermind. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”  

Their exchange dies. Yang doesn’t trust herself to speak further and Blake seems unwilling to continue any form of communication with her. Both ears swivel; she’s not listening to her anymore.

A minute passes as an eternity before Blake steps into a darkened alcove. “Goodbye Yang.” One moment she’s beside her and the next she’s gone.

Yang doesn’t even have time to return the salutation.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A week is all that’s able to keep her away. Weiss and Ruby plead with her not to return, but she’s never been one to adhere to what others suggest. A phantom’s been following her all week, to her every meeting and sits with her at every meal. Each faunus servant she passes is accompanied by Blake’s disapproval ringing sharp within her mind. What difference was Yang to the likes of the Atlas elite, living amongst the injustice, even if she didn’t agree with it. Maybe Blake was right. Maybe all of them are the same.

She watches a dozen people enter the bar, music growing loud with each outward swing of the door. If she’s not working tonight the trip will have been a waste, but Yang’s fears hang heavier on finding her there. Blake’s upset when they last parted still bothers her. What if she still was? What if she didn’t wish to see her?

Taking a steadying breath she enters. The lackluster lighting inside is a stark contrast to the brilliant neon sign above the entrance. Tables are already half full, taken up by regulars. She’s pleased the delinquents from the past week aren’t among them. She steps around the bar to claim a table in the back corner, noticing Blake’s absence behind it. The same bartender as the previous week looks up from wiping down the polished wood that’s his work station. Eyes widen, acknowledging her with a polite nod. She returns it, sinking to take a seat at one of the smallest tables, her back against the wall.

A server hurries to take her order and she’s quick to ask for two instead of one. Nerves on high alert, their synapses fire erratically. Allowing a knee to bounce out of sight below the table she clasps her hands together tightly to at least hide their twitching. The showcases are better than last time and Yang forces her focus not to drift to the bar. The difficulty is substantial.

After the second set she can no longer refrain. Eyes glance and immediately fall on the girl she’s come for. Her hair is down tonight, framing her delicate features and flowing like silk past her shoulders. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt again, this one navy. The neck is wider and it keeps falling off her right shoulder as she bends to restock the fridges. Yang thinks her annoyance is cute, she continues to yank the shoulder up, force increasing each time. Finally giving up after Yang counts to seventeen. She pauses, hand gripping the fabric before releasing it with an exaggerated exhale, leaving it to hang where it rests.

The focus with which she completes even the most menial of tasks is admirable. Yang knows lazier individuals that hold higher positions of honour. She’d replace any or all of them for one with Blake’s work ethic.

As time ticks on Yang thinks making herself known a ghastly idea. She enjoys watching Blake in anonymity, but knows sooner or later she’ll be spotted. She can’t even make an escape as that requires passing the bar Blake hasn’t left all night. She focuses again on the stage as a man too well dressed plugs in a keyboard for his set. Yang listens through the first verse but isn’t impressed, attention drifts to the patrons instead. It’s less crowded tonight than she remembers it being last week. Would Blake have fared better with this crowd rather than the last?

Yang knows it’s hopeless, but she desperately wants to hear Blake sing again.

Occupied by a girl singing two tables over, Yang doesn’t look up as her empty beers are snatched from the table. The girl is better than the man on stage. Yang wishes her up there instead. The cold bottle placed against her arm surprises her. She hasn’t ordered another. Her wallet comes out and money removed, she holds it up to the girl, not wanting to explain she’d not asked for it.

“On the house.” She waves the bills away.

“Seriously, take the money.” Yang presses, not comfortable with the handout. Her actions last week were not in hopes of any kind of payment.

“I was told not to take payment.”

“Tell the guy I don’t want any free drinks. I don’t part-”

“Guy?” The girl interrupts. “No this isn’t from Flynt. The faunus-”

“Blake?” She asks, half to make sure and half to correct the girl.

“Yeah, I think that’s her name, cat ears?”

Yang nods, not trusting her voice. She wants so badly to tear this girl down. ‘The faunus, cat ears.’ She wants to scream. Letting it go, she makes her way to the bar, cold beer in hand. Blake doesn’t acknowledge her as she sits, taking the same stool as before. Men approach her and she shoots them down, most politely, one she’s forced to make a scene; them leaving, tail between their legs. An hour passes before Blake ventures to her side of the bar. It’s probably because Flynt, the bartender, hasn’t checked on her even though her empty bottle was pushed away ages ago.

“Do you want another?” She asks, gaze on an imaginary spot she swipes with a cloth.

Resting her chin in her upturned palm, Yang watches her. She wonders how long she can look before Blake returns her gaze. Besides the long sleeves Blake seems to prefer, she wears the same shoes and black pants as before. Her tongue sneaks to wet dried lips. Fearing she will leave without an answer, Yang asks the first thing on her mind. “When are you off?”

“Not for awhile. Do you want another drink?” Her hand stills as her eyes shift to the stage.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.” Yang smiles, head tilting to put herself in Blake’s line of vision.

“Neither did you.” Her response is clipped, but she finally meets Yang’s eye.

“I’ll have another if you allow me to pay for it.”

“I won’t take your money.” Her lips purse and her eyes stare, determined. The look sends chills down Yang’s spinal cord.

“Why?”

“Look,” Her voice is low as she leans over the bar. “I think I may have given the wrong impression last week. I was grateful for your help that night. Not many would have done the same. But I was rude before we parted ways and I want to apologize. So…” Reaching under the bar she brings a fresh beer to rest between them. Condensation already forming on the glass. “This is on me.”

Blake leaves her then. Yang occupies herself with listening to the other showcases and when Blake’s near enough for her to hear without yelling she asks again when she’s off.

Blake’s eyes shoot to the clock behind the bar, but Flynt overhears.

“Now,” he speaks up. “Get out of here.” His voice: soft and playful but fear and confusion overtake Blake. He throws a cloth at her. It lands half on her head, an ear twitches under its weight before she swipes it off. The trance she’s in breaks. “It’s slow. Go have fun.”

Tonight she doesn’t disappear into the back. She nods to Flynt and ducks under the bar, motioning for Yang to follow. Words aren’t exchanged but there’s an unspoken understanding Yang is walking her home again. It’s more than Yang hoped for. The only downfall, she can’t think of anything to say.

“Thanks for the drinks.”

Shoulders lift as Blake wraps her arms around her middle. “You’re welcome. I wanted to repay you.”

Not wanting the conversation to turn negative Yang remembers a positive of that night instead. “You have a beautiful voice.” She tries to find the words to describe how Blake’s voice -that song- made her feel. Her singing’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard, it means something. Blake means something. Yang just wishes she could verbalize what that something is.

“So do you.”

Her train of thought comes to an abrupt halt. “I-what?” There’s a pull to Blake’s lips as she keeps her eyes in the distance. “I meant your singing.”

“I know.”

Eyes flick in Yang’s direction, the twitch of muscles at the corner of her mouth both tell Yang what she’s missed at first.

“You’re teasing me.” Blake hums, chin tucking to her chest. She stiffens with the initial sound of Yang’s laughter but settles quickly. They’ve stopped walking, Yang wiping at her eyes, and Blake watching her. “You’ve got attitude. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“In a good way?” Blake’s eyes narrow. “I don’t believe so.”

“Well you do.” And for clarification, “I like it.”

Yang waits for Blake to find her steps again, but she doesn’t. She stands there staring at Yang, intently, unsettling under the flickering dulled light of the streetlamp across the road.

“Why?”

“I-” Yang looks away, again words fail her. How does one explain why they like something about someone. Yang likes to laugh, loves making people laugh. She appreciates a quick wit, a sense of humour. But even more she’s happy to find Blake keeps these traits. “Because it proves no matter how hard they’re trying, they haven’t broken you.”

She captures Blake’s gaze; her eyes glow in the midnight shadows, brilliant stars housed on earth instead of heaven. She wishes to know what’s going on in Blake’s mind, but knows not how to ask. Finding her sight wandering, Yang searches the skies for the glimmer of those heavenly relations to irises still studying her. Atlas is all she finds. A giant mass blotting out half the sky, its bright illumination drowning any stars bold enough to show their light. Her eyes take in Atlas scornfully, a scar in the night sky. How any could see it as a shining Beacon of hope is beyond her. It’s only proved to snuff out the light left with the larger populace so far beneath it.

Yang wonders if Blake’s ever seen the stars in all their glory. She knows so many in Mantle rarely experience anything outside its familiar dreary, carbon-copy roads. Has Blake ever left the walls entrapping them? Or is this all she’s ever known?

They continue, walking in silence the rest of the way. Yang would be upset, saddened at the loss of precious time, but Blake has stepped closer and she seems more relaxed. She’s deep in thought and Yang doesn’t want to interrupt.

“Thanks,” Blake almost whispers as they step to her door.

“Of course.” But she can’t wait another week to see her. “Can I walk you tomorrow?”

The question seems not to surprise Blake, but she thinks it over in anycase.  “No,” she says after a time and Yang’s heart drops. “I don’t work tomorrow, but the next I do.”

“And you would like me to walk with you?” Needing clarification, she doesn’t want to impose if she’s unwanted.

Blake studies her, just as she did the day when she asked to first walk her home. It’s intense and highly unnerving. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” Yang smiles. “Good night Blake.”

Blake returns her smile with a small one of her own. “Good night Yang.”

[harrynightingales]

Straight male writer: 6 years is nothing to an immortal! Their relationship needs ANGST to be interesting!! Me: am I supposed to believe that these two men, who have been together for almost a millennium, who KNOW that any death could be their last because their immortality isn’t guaranteed, wouldn’t speak for SIX YEARS??? (If the unspeakable happened during that time period the survivor would never forgive himself!)

i'm with you anon!!! i actually have a lot of rambly thoughts on this and now feel enabled to share them because hey, you started it! under the cut because this is long as hell

edit: just as a heads up i read this as anon referring to the writer of the ttt3 moon landing story who to be fair i don't know if he is straight, or just as a general ~straight man writer~ perspective

first of all hard agree that the idea of angst = complex and interesting is really frustrating. i say that as someone who definitely can and does enjoy angsty miscommunication based fic but it definitely strikes me as something a) quite rare for them and b) not at all required for an interesting story. there are so many potential experiences for the anthology writers to explore that focusing on conflict all the time seems. uncreative.

anyways the 6 years comment has been fully disregarded by me. in general i have the approach of picking the canon/word of god comments that i like and ignoring the rest. specifically, it strikes me as the type of thought a writer would have when first writing about immortals, the whole idea that years pass like its nothing because they live so long. i imagine the writer was guilty of the same thing that grucka himself admitted to, of picking something that sounded cool because it was ~possible with immortal characters (in grucka's case, randomly picking 6000 as an age for andy) without actually thinking through the implications and whether it makes sense.

because as i mentioned in my reply (which i assume you saw?), the human experience of fighting with someone you love and not speaking to them fucking sucks. it feels good and satisfying for all of what? a day? and beyond that you just miss that person, especially when they are so intertwined with your every day life the way joe and nicky are. and exactly like you said, why on earth would they willingly put themselves through that when we canonically know how much they value and love each other?? because the way i see it you can fully disagree with someone and be angry with them but still make it clear that you love them by communicating. and the silent treatment is truly just the absence of any sort of communication and i can't imagine a scenario where an argument would be so very important to justify that level of anger to avoid any communication for more than a few days.

to be clear the actual events of the comic are not the main concern for me. i do think the philosophical differences between joe and nicky that are highlighted are interesting and would naturally bring some tension. i even can kind of understand the choice to go silent on each other - joe really eloquently explains his point to andy, but maybe he hadn't quite figured out his own thought process enough to explain it at the time of the original argument with nicky. and the hill i will die on re: joe/nicky's relationship is that it is built on respect, i imagine they would be emotionally mature enough to not lash out in anger and potentially say something hurtful that they can't take back. so choosing to remove themselves from the situation and not speak so as to not make things worse makes sense, as an initial reaction. where it loses me personally is that you can see that both ~activities if you can call them that are really important to joe and nicky. for joe, seeing the moon landing and appreciating beauty and progress in the world, and for nicky, serving justice to more people that caused innocent people harm (the "more" very consciously there because joe obviously also believes in their work and stopping injustice, but in this case they have different priorities past a certain baseline). and going back to my idea as respect as foundational for them, part of that in a relationship is recognizing that what is important and of value to your partner becomes important to you, even if you don't fully understand it. the way that joe so earnestly talked about wanting to experience the beauty of the moon landing and wanting to experience it with nicky makes me believe that nicky would reconsider his priorities, especially taking into account the "once in a lifetime" nature of watching the first the moon landing vs simply the convenience of having the hitlist targets all at home. and similarly, even if joe isn't fully convinced that everyone on nicky's hitlist needs to get taken out, he would recognize how and why that is important to nicky and not allow it to be something that comes between them, because like i said earlier fighting for justice is something they have in common. so in my mind the most in-character ideal response would be "argument of what to do next after taking out the serial killer -> both explain their positions and why that is their priority -> COMPROMISE". 

but ANYWAYS that huge ramble aside, the main plot "fight" of their's is not such a big deal to me, especially since its clear that joe knows nicky will call and its implied that he does shortly after the event of the comics. if anything, as others have said, it just seems FAR better suited for early days in their relationship rather than multiple centuries into it when they would have PLENTY of opportunity to iron out their moral approaches to killing plus gone through Communication In Relationships 101.

it really is just the 6 years comment that grinds my gears. again, a 6 year silent treatment argument could maybeee make sense in like, the first century of their relationship, as they were figuring stuff out and also before they discovered the fact that they can lose their immortality. like you said anon, once they have that information, i truly cannot believe they would willingly waste that much time over something that can't have been all that consequential. and i really don’t understand the argument that “because they’re immortal time doesn’t mean the same thing to them and 6 years is nothing!!” because imo that’s just.. not how the brain works. like they are fully human and process emotions as humans, and the human way is that conflict/anger/stress feel BAD, especially when you’re in the middle of it. your emotions are heightened which would put you on edge and feeling irritable and the brain is absolutely NOT meant to be in that state for an extended period of time. and again, why would they put themselves through that when they could just?? do the grown up thing and have a conversation. what would be the motivation to experience those shitty feelings for 6 years when an alternative exists?? not to mention greg's comment that the two of them had never willingly spent time apart, and even if they were still (indirectly) interacting while not speaking, the emotional distance it would require to be physically next to someone and disregard them like that for MULTIPLE YEARS runs really contrary to the way the relationship is presented. 

that being said i do find this post super funny and i definitely can imagine them going through the motions of "negative" relationship experiences (can you say jealousy and lorenzo???) entirely for the sexual payoff. but again, to take it kinda seriously, even that in my mind would be based on a foundation of understanding that they do love each other and they're not really REALLY mad at each other, just

p.s. i wrote almost this whole thing in a daze about 24 hours ago and then i saw this post which makes a lot of the same points as me so hopefully this isn’t repetitive and i’m sorry op i promise i wasn’t stealing your ideas. nice to be on the same page as others though!