#it would be funny if it wasn’t deeply deeply tragic. nothing on this earth more sisyphean than trying to help someone

[cream-and-tea]

LAY ME DOWN. chapter six excerpt. unedited. featuring: fivers attempt at honest conversation at a very bad time, the first of many. a category five Pallas Mental Illness Moment. thoughts of violence.

[transcript under the cut]

don’t ask if i’m posting this excerpt just to make this joke. you already know the answer. anyways me when i try to comfort the teenager that HATES me.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @vellichor-virgo @transmasc-wizard​ @houndmouthed @muddshadow @just-wublrful @corkywantstowrite @shrunkupthejams @andromedaexists @kingsinking @lungs-and-gills @lychniscitrus @phantomnations @onomatopiya @sapphos-scientist @arctic-oceans @perilous-prologue @redbloodprose

Pallas leans their head against the stone railing and tries to think calming thoughts. Colour-coded notes, pens lined up in a perfectly neat row, the feeling of freshly laundered clothes against their skin, old-book smell, sticking their thumbs into Calliope’s eyes and watching his head explode like an overripe melon dropped onto concrete…

No. Not that. Not now. Cold water. The bite of frost in early morning air. Coffee so hot it scalds their taste buds going down. Slowly, infinitesimally, they allow themself to breathe.

Then sound, the scuff of a boot against the floor. For a split second of stupidity Pallas considers that merely thinking about Calliope has summoned her to torment them like some kind of bloody mary demon. They spin sharply on a heel, bristled, already narrowed in on a heartbeat and ready for a fight; only to find someone far worse darkening the tower door.

The man, tall and rangy with waves of blond hair pulled unsuccessfully back from his face, stops dead in his tracks, hands raised in the universal gesture for surrender. Fiver (as in the fictional rabbit, not the currency) looks, as always, like a problem that should have been dealt with years ago.

Pallas narrows their eyes, not moving an inch. “How did you know I was here?”

He shrugs, signature laissez-faire smile painted across his face, signature gaudy coat brushing just above his ankles. He's wearing red heart-shaped sunglasses and the overall effect is patently ridiculous.

Pallas isn’t certain why the Director tolerates Fiver at all. He’s a wanderer and a wretch who doesn’t even have his name logged in the ledger. He appeared out of the blue when Pallas was a child and has spent the years since darting in and out of The Library's halls whenever it suits him, like a stray cat who only wanders back when the weather gets cold. He’s far past the age of a student and yet hasn't taken up any official post, so Pallas has deduced that he is either an man so abominably foolish that the Director considers him below her notice, or he somehow holds knowledge that could be useful to the cause, in which case it’s not their place to question her. They don’t have to be cheerful about it though, not when Fiver knows things about Pallas that no one should know and insists on popping in and out of their life as if he doesn’t.

“Lucky gue-”

“You followed me.” Pallas cuts him off so they don’t have to listen to his voice. They narrow their eyes. Fiver takes a step further onto the balcony as if he has any right to.

“Calm down pal-o-mine, my ears were popping three floors away. I think everyone in this building can tell you’re out of it. I came to the place furthest away from everybody else. Trip not go so well?” He has a smile like the Cheshire Cat, it doesn’t once slip from his face. Instead of answering Pallas turns around to face the air. That’s right, they think, you’re so little of a threat to me that I don’t even care that I’m leaving myself exposed to attack from behind.

“Yeah, it’s like that sometimes,” Fiver continues lightly. “Hope it wasn’t a total horrorshow at least.”

Pallas crosses their arms on the railing and leans their chin on them. If they ignore him long enough eventually he will give up and leave. Still the footsteps draw closer and then, horribly, he appears next to them, leaning his arms against the railing as well. They resist the urge to move away, opting to keep staring straight ahead and trying not to think about the dirt smeared on their cheeks or the pine sap making their fingers stick together or their messy hair or anything else that will confirm to Fiver that they’re just as weak as he obviously believes. Heat floods to their face, ugly and rioting. What does he know? What does he know about anything?

They want to wash their jacket. They want to take everything out of their jacket pockets and arrange it all on a table and throw out anything that’s useless and then wash their jacket and then after it’s clean put everything back in the pockets and feel satisfied about all the excellent objects they have in their pockets and how well organized it all is. They don’t want anyone to look at them. They don't want to talk to Fiver, especially today, when thoughts that usually stay locked in the back of their mind have been so quick to claw their way to the surface.

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Imagine the Ember Island Players creating a romance between you and Zuko which hits a little too close to home

You sat beside Katara and noticed how Zuko sat on the other side of her. Aang faltered, obviously wanting to sit there and you smirked as Zuko obliviously missed Aang’s look. Zuko had been with the group a few weeks now but his social skills still weren’t very good and you found it made for some very interesting interactions. His attempt at telling jokes alone made you smile every time you saw him for a full week afterwards and you found Zuko did a lot of things that amused you but apparently not so much the others. “I was going to sit there” Aang whined and Zuko shrugged “so? Just sit next to me”. Aang pouted and you laughed to yourself “here” you said standing up “take my seat Aang” and you moved so he could sit beside Katara. Katara was oblivious and you sat on the other side of Zuko chuckling at Aang’s blush. “What was that all about?” Zuko asked and you smiled “ow nothing you just almost ruined Aang’s evening”. Zuko frowned and went to ask what you meant when the lights dimmed so you knocked his arm shaking your head “i’ll tell you later now shhh”. Zuko folded his arm huffily but stopped talking. The play was wonderfully awful. As you hadn’t joined the gang straight away you knew you had time to just enjoy the first few acts and make fun of the way they portrayed all your friends. Plus what could they do to your character? You didn’t have any old flames like Katara or Sokka and you didn’t have an emotional backstory like Zuko or Aang. So you relaxed arms spread over the back of the bench and waited for *yourself* to make an appearance.

The second your actress walked on stage you knew it wouldn’t be good. They had your character all wrong! Your actress flirted with everyone and acted like a lovesick idiot. You didn’t think it could get much worse and then your character met Zuko’s.

“I’ll save you from the pirates” Zuko’s character purred to yours and you spluttered. “That...that wasn’t even me! That was Katara!” you whispered angrily. You looked to Zuko for confirmation who nodded “yeah I didn’t say that to you...and I certainly didn’t tie you up while staring at you like that”. “And I did not flirt with you like that either”. You both glared as your characters bonded and they actually invented Zuko letting you go voluntarily. As Zuko’s character stared off into the distance and said your name you heard Sokka and Suki wheezing from laughter while you simmered with anger and embarrassment. “I didn’t do that!” Zuko cried and you saw he was blushing vividly. That made you blush too and crossed your arms tightly “they better not stick with this theme”.

Of course they did. By the time act 3 had ended you and Zuko were living a star crossed lovers lifestyle in Ba Sing Sei. They again got you mixed up with Katara and said Azula kidnapped you to lure Zuko to the Earth King’s palace. The act ended with Zuko charging in to save you, offering his own life in exchange for yours, but Azula outmanoeuvred him and arrested him too. As the lights went up for intermission you and Zuko paused before exploding.

“That never even happened!”.

“I knew he was in Ba Sing Sei but we never went on a date”.

“Yeah that was a different girl”.

“And you did not fight with Jet over me”.

“I didn’t even know you knew Jet!” Zuko agreed and you both paused for air.

The gang all looked at each other before bursting into laughter. “What is so funny?” you cried and Sokka smiled. “We all know none of that stuff happened, we were there too remember?”. “Yeah so...can’t we rant?” you asked. “Well yeah but why get so mad about it? Are you trying to convince us or yourselves that the idea the two you flirted is so impossible?”. You and Zuko exploded again at the thought and Sokka and the others burst into laughter again. “All i’m saying is this is a lot of emotion to come from nowhere” Sokka smiled “now i’m going backstage so yell at each other or something” and he disappeared with Suki. Katara and Toph left for snacks and Aang went to the toilet leaving the two of you alone. “But i mean it is ridiculous” you muttered and Zuko nodded “utterly ridiculous”. “Sure we ended up together a few times” you shrugged “but that was completely by chance, it wasn’t like you were hyper-aware of me or vice versa”. “Yeah not at all” Zuko agreed but he wasn’t looking you in the eye for some reason. You stared at him confused and noticed his neck looked slightly red as if he was blushing. “Wait did you?” you asked suddenly “notice me more?”. Zuko looked up and he was indeed blushing deeply “what I....of course not! I never...I mean I did learn your name before anyone else’s but that’s because we spent that time together when I helped the pirates kidnap you and you wouldn’t shut up the whole night”. “Then why are you blushing so much?” you asked and Zuko shrugged “I don’t know I...it’s just them insinuating I like you. I’ve had it a lot”. “You have?” you asked amazed and Zuko nodded “when my uncle heard you’d seen me in Ba Sing Sei and that we’d reached a deal not to tell on one another he had this annoying smirk like i’d done it for any other reason besides the fact it was mutually beneficial. Then when I went back home Azula made it seem like me and you had a thing and Mai got jealous and started asking about you and I had to explain all our interactions and it was very awkward...she wanted me to reassure her by putting you down and making the idea seem impossible but I must have failed because she didn’t believe me. So I guess that’s why it makes me feel weird, everyone keeps telling me I act differently with you and I suppose I do but I have no idea if that’s because everyone keeps saying it or if I always have”. You nodded your head but were unsure what to say. “Well which one do you think it is?” you asked eventually and Zuko paused “what?”. “If you had to guess, would you say you act differently around me because of what people say about us or have you just always acted that way”. Zuko thought, staring at the ground and basically anywhere but at you, “i’m not sure but I guess maybe the second? They must have got it from somewhere I suppose”. “The second?” you asked surprised and Zuko’s blush returned vividly “I’m only guessing, I honestly don’t know”. You nodded your head and went to speak when the others returned which stopped you right in your tracks.  

The second half of the play began of course with you and Zuko reuniting in the prison under Ba Sing Sei. You and Zuko did end up there together but you definitely did less staring at one another. You rolled your eyes as your characters began to passionately speak to one another stepping closer and closer. They finally reached one another and you laughed when your character began yelling at Zuko’s. “Ha maybe they got some things right!” you whispered to Zuko who nodded “you did yell at me a lot”. You smirked and went to apologise when Zuko’s character kissed yours. You and Zuko abruptly shot away from each other. “That is not even close to what happened!” you cried at the others who were all laughing. Zuko nodded “this is just slander! They didn’t even bother to try to get our characters right and anyone with half a brain would realise that!”. Someone shushed Zuko and he glared “shush yourself” he cried before storming from the room. He didn’t return for the rest of the play and honestly you thought that was probably wise. It got worse and worse. They still kept in Zuko’s betrayal of Iroh but changed it making you at the centre of Zuko’s struggle. He chose the crown and they made you react dramatically (even getting a love ballad moment). They then skipped forwards to Zuko at the palace, who got his own song when he realised he’d made the wrong choice. Your characters reunited not long after and promptly confessed their love for one another. Then you were both murdered by Ozai very much in line with the tragic forbidden lovers style.

“I mean I’m just glad she’s dead” you shrugged on your way out “anything to end that romance”. The others smirked when Aang paused “do you think Zuko went back home to the villa?” looking around for the angry fire prince. “No he knows we don’t know this place well, he’s probably just sat outside somewhere” you replied looking around but you couldn’t see him brooding anywhere either. When you walked out the front door and still didn’t spot him Aang frowned “okay everyone split up and look for him, meet back here in five minutes”.

You returned five minutes later to see Katara, Suki, Sokka and Toph all hadn’t found him either. “I wonder where he is” Katara frowned and you shrugged “he’ll be fine, that boy has nine lives”. “He didn’t in that play” Toph commented and you nodded. “True but that play was a mess and there’s one thing I still can’t get over. Zuko said his family and friends thought he liked me that’s where his side of this rumour started but in the play they acted like I encouraged him! Where on earth did they get that idea?”. The group all went quiet and you paused “what?”. “Well...I mean you kinda do encourage him” Sokka frowned and your jaw dropped “I DO NOT! When have I ever...”. “When we got kidnapped by the pirates you teased Zuko constantly and refused to be quiet until he spoke to you” Katara pointed out. “Yes but that was to annoy him not flirt with him!”. “Okay how about when June asked if you were his girlfriend and you replied he wishes instead of no?”. “I was joking” you shrugged and Toph smirked “or how about when I was sneaking out to see Zuko at the Western Air Temple and found you already on your way to see him? What were you popping in to see Zuko for huh y/n? Nice date by the campfire?”. “I was doing the same thing as you! I was going to see if he would tell the truth and given that I knew him best I thought I....”. The gang all erupted and you paused “what?”. “You know him best?” Sokka asked smirking and you nodded “that doesn’t mean anything it’s a fact”. “Ow is it?” Sokka asked and you nodded “It is! Fine if I don’t know him best what was his fake name in Ba Sing Sei?”. Everyone went quiet and you nodded “or how about how long ago he was banished from the fire nation? Better yet just tell me his parent’s names!” you cried. When nobody replied you smirked folding your arms victoriously “told you I know him best”. “Yeah you’ve definitely proved how much you know about Zuko” Suki smirked looking past you. You frowned before you heard someone behind you. You turned to see Aang had found Zuko and by the look on his face he’d heard everything. You blushed and looked down “Zuko we were...”. “Having a competition to see who knows me best?” Zuko asked mildly amused and you paused “well sort of...Sokka started it”. “No I didn’t” Sokka retorted “you declared you knew Zuko the best and when I asked if you were sure you started spouting your favourite facts about him”. “They’re not my favourite facts about him” you snapped and Sokka’s smirk just grew “whatever y/n” and he turned leading the way home. The others all followed and purposefully made it so you and Zuko were at the back. “Why were you talking about me anyway?” Zuko asked and you paused “ow nothing I was just er...trying to work out why the Ember Island Players thought I had a thing for you but the gang was not helpful”. “They couldn’t think of a reason?” Zuko asked innocently and you frowned “no they could actually think of lots of reasons, it appears similar to your family they were also under the impression I held a flame for you as it were”. “Ow really?” Zuko asked. He kept his voice flat but you could swear he was smirking slightly. “Stop enjoying this” you whined pushing him “it’s not funny, it’s embarrassing”. “Liking me is embarrassing?” Zuko asked and you paused “no I didn’t mean that, I just meant having all your friends claim you like someone when you can’t see it”. “You really can’t see where they’re coming from?” Zuko asked and you shook your head “nope not at all”. Zuko looked away and you frowned “I saw that, what did that look mean?”. “Nothing...” Zuko trailed off but you sighed grabbing him by the arm to make him look at you “I’m sick of everyone saying things about me for once just say it to my face!”. Zuko sighed “fine, I just think i’ve been honest with you but you’re not being honest with yourself”. “Not being honest?”. Zuko nodded “Yes, I admitted I could see where my family were coming from and how the rumours started but you’re acting as if they plucked them out of thin air!”. “Well maybe they did! I don’t see how any of our interactions could be interpreted as romantic”. Zuko didn’t look convinced. “You don’t think there’s some truth to what the Ember Island Players said? That maybe there is something here?” Zuko asked gesturing to the small gap between you. “No of course not! Do you?”. “No” Zuko yelled back and you nodded “fine! You are the most infuriating...” you started when Zuko grabbed you kissing you. You initially tensed at the sensation but soon melted into it. Zuko seemed to be trying to prove a point by kissing you passionately and not wanting him to win you kissed him back matching his intensity. Finally Zuko pulled away for air and stared at you “still not want to admit there’s something here?”. You stared at Zuko torn between admitting he was right and your pride. You were annoyed, frustrated, excited and exhilarated all at once. You were breathing rapidly, your cheeks bright red as were Zuko’s and neither of you made to move away. “I...” you started eventually “that was a good kiss”. Zuko nodded, his frustration melting away “it was, I enjoyed it...I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to kiss you for a while now”. “You have?” you asked and Zuko nodded “as annoying as it is to admit my family and friends were right, I like you and I have for a while”. You smiled despite yourself at how adorable Zuko looked all bashful and embarrassed. “I tried ignoring it for a while but then when I joined the group your friends all saw it straight away. Then tonight...the play was bad but I was frustrated that everyone seemed to see it apart from you the person I actually wanted to see it...you”. You looked down wondering how to reply “I’m sorry I bet that was really frustrating”. Zuko nodded “It was and I figured this was just one-sided but that...did you feel it too?”. Zuko looked so unsure and unlike himself it was endearing and gave you confidence. “Yes” you said shakily “after that kiss I can tell you it is definitely not one-sided. I like you too Zuko and probably have since the start”. “Probably?” Zuko asked and you sighed “I’m not good with my emotions, I can be oblivious to them so I can’t with certainty tell you it’s been going on as long as the play made it out to be but I know I like you. Right now in this moment...I hope that’s enough, I know it’s a shit confession and you probably wanted something more solid but I...”. Zuko began laughing and you paused “what’s so funny?”. “Something more solid? Y/n I’m on the run from the Firelord who is my father, my sister is hunting me to kill me and I could very likely be imprisoned for the rest of my life if Aang fails and that’s if i’m lucky...I’m not even sure if I have a future so trust me all I need is the present. To know in this moment right here you like me back” Zuko blushed but he stepped closer and took your hands “that’s more than enough for me”. “It is?” you asked and Zuko nodded “yes and if by some chance it becomes more long-term I’ll be very happy but for now I just want to enjoy this time with you”. You smiled and leant in to kiss Zuko again when someone coughed. “Hey what are you two doing?” Sokka called. Apparently the others had finally realised the two of you were no longer with the group and walked back to find the two of you as you currently were. Luckily it was dark so you moved away from Zuko but still held his hand. “Yeah we thought you’d gotten lost are you okay?” Katara called. Zuko sighed and you smirked at his expression. “We’re fine” you smiled “we were just talking and Zuko’s going to show me this beach he went to a lot as a kid”. Zuko’s eyes shot up to yours and he smiled. “You are?” Aang asked and Zuko nodded “yep, it’s not far from here so we won’t be long. You guys head back to the villa and we’ll meet you there” and with that Zuko tugged you away from the others. You smiled at Zuko and he smiled back at you “quick thinking, I didn’t think we’d get out of there so easily”. “You can thank me later” you replied when you heard Sokka gasp “wait are they holding hands? Y/n are you holding hands?”. “Run!” Zuko cried and you laughed but did as he said. You kept running even after Sokka’s voice trailed off and only stopped when you reached a sandy beach. You both collapsed on the ground and you turned to look at Zuko “did you know this was here or did you get lucky?”. “Totally the former” he smiled and you shook your head “you’re lucky I like you”. “I really am” Zuko agreed and he stared at your face tenderly. His fingers brushed your cheek and you smiled “what are you waiting for?”. “I have no idea” Zuko admitted and he leant in to reclaim the lost kiss from earlier. This time you weren’t interrupted.

[beifongsss]

firebending [zuko]

Pairing: Zuko x reader

Requested?: Yes! By a wonderful anon: “your zuko fics are all so well-written! I have a request for a firebender reader who hates the fire nation and was never trained in the art of fighting. then she/they join the gaang and learns firebending with aang from zuko. it’s awkward between them at first but cue ~ romance ~”

Summary: If someone told you that you’d end up dating the Fire Nation prince one day, you would’ve laughed in their face. If only you knew how right they were.

wc. ~5.2k

.masterlist.

~

When you first joined the Gaang, everyone expected you and Katara to hate each other. After all, you were from the Fire Nation and everybody knew Katara was the biggest anti-Fire Nation enthusiast there ever was.

They were quickly proven wrong when you didn’t fight against Katara’s harsh remarks, instead agreeing with them and even adding more scathing words of your own to show your distaste towards the Fire Nation. Since joining them, you never wore anything related to the Fire Nation. Nothing that is, with the exception of an elaborate hairpiece that your mother had left you. The hairpiece never left your body, the sunstone in the middle of it shining from its place on your head.

Escaping Ba Sing Se (and therefore the Earth Kingdom) had simultaneously been the best and worst thing that had happened to you. You were glad that Aang was alive, obviously, but being back in Fire Nation clothing was making you anxious.

Ever since the battle in the catacombs, you had been avoiding everyone. You had revealed your firebending in a panic, shooting a strong blast of fire at the banished prince as he snuck up on Katara. He had been taken off guard just long enough for you to subdue him before he realized that you didn’t know what you were doing.

There had been no time for Katara to question you after that. You had all fled and met up with her father, Hakoda, before seizing a Fire Nation ship to use as a disguise. As soon as you stepped foot on the ship, you had scrambled to an empty room and locked yourself inside. You had ignored Katara’s pleas for you to open the door, never once moving from your spot unless it was to use the bathroom or to get the tray of food that you knew had been placed at your door.

No one had known you were a firebender, and the initial shock eventually wore off as everyone found themselves missing your presence. It wasn’t until Aang woke up that you finally emerged.

~

“(Y/N)?” Sokka asked hesitantly, knocking softly on your door.

“Go away!” was the muffled reply that came from your room.

“Nope. I think Aang wants to see you.”

Sokka waited for a few seconds before the door swung open, reveling you standing there. You were wearing your Earth Kingdom clothes, trying to delay the inevitable. You looked up at him, making his heart hurt when he noticed the exhaustion in your eyes.

“Is he really awake?” you asked, your voice small. Sokka nodded.

“Hurry up and get changed. He’s on the deck.”

You nodded softly before closing the door. You opened it again a few minutes later, now dressed in red. As much as Sokka hated to admit it, you looked good in red. The Fire Nation was your home, after all. You followed him up to the deck, your finger nimbly twisting part of your hair into a knot big enough for your hairpiece.

“(Y/N)!” Aang yelled when you came into view. He launched himself at you and you caught him with a small “oof”. You giggled softly as you rubbed his head, making his hair stick up in all directions.

“Aang!” you cried in reply. “You have hair!”

Aang made a funny face at your words before fixing his hair. “Yeah, I guess I was out longer than I thought.”

You leaned down and swept the boy up into another hug, pulling him close as you held tears back. “I’m so glad you’re okay Aang. I don’t know what we would’ve done if you-”

“Don’t worry! Look at me, I’m fine!” Aang said, trying to make you feel better. He led you over to where everyone else was, Katara looking up and smiling softly as you glanced at her. “They also told me about your firebending! How come you never told us?’

You reeled back in shock, looking around wildly as everyone heard Aang’s word. When there were no negative reactions, you relaxed slightly.

“Everyone already knows huh?” you asked drily, being met with nods from everyone on board. You sighed and tapped your foot before speaking. “Okay, yes I’m a firebender. The reason I never told you guys is because I never wanted to use it. I was young when I fled and I never got a chance to learn anything other than the basics.”

Aang nodded in understanding. “But you could’ve built your skills that time we met Jeong Jeong.”

“No. After my family...” you trailed off, thinking about why you never became a master bender. Aang gave you an encouraging look and you breathed in deeply. “I promised myself I wouldn’t firebend ever again. Not after that.”

Aang nodded in understanding as you fell silent, thinking about your past. The Fire Nation was the reason why you had been all alone. They had killed your family with the weapon you now hated: firebending.

The silence engulfed the entire ship, everyone lost in their own thoughts. There was a peaceful atmosphere as the ship drifted along, but of course it didn’t last long.

Soon enough, you found yourself chasing after Aang, eventually being forced to hide in the Fire Nation as the Day Of Black Sun loomed closer and closer.

~

The promise that you had made to yourself to never firebend again was still intact. You hadn’t let any bursts of fire out, not even when you had found yourself surrounded by Fire Nation troops on the Day of Black Sun. The eclipse was a blessing to you, the brief eight minutes just long enough to make you feel normal.

Of course, you soon found yourselves fleeing to the Western Air Temple, silently mourning the loss the rest of the invasion army. Once you all settled in, you kept wearing the red top you had acquired in the Fire Nation. You don’t know why; it just brought you some type of comfort. Aang had grinned when he noticed, wondering if all your adventures in the Fire Nation had lessened your hatred towards the nation.

It had.

But not by much. Wearing the color red weighed heavily on your soul and you spent many of your waking hours debating whether or not keeping the red clothes was the right choice. It frustrated you to no end, how a simply piece of cloth could jumble your thoughts so easily. The red reminded you of the pain and grief you had experienced when you had lost your family, but in a twisted way it also reminded you of them. It reminded you of the days back when you still had them, back when you still had a home and you were happy. Deep down, you knew that you were Fire Nation but that knowledge didn’t stop your inner turmoil. And over the next few days, it only got worse with the arrival of a certain someone.

“Hello, Zuko here.”

You tried to hold back your groan, you really did. But it was as though the universe wanted to test you and had decided to do so by sending the Fire Nation prince your way. Zuko’s soft smile had dropped at your reaction, the corners of his lips quirking downward.

“Hey, I heard you guys flying around down there, so, I just thought I'd wait for you here,” he continued. Appa walked up to the prince and sniffed him before proceeding to lick him. Zuko’s face twisted up in disgust. “I know you must be surprised to see me here.”

"Not really,” Sokka said. “Since you've followed us all over the world!”

“Right,” Zuko said, wincing slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, uh, anyway, what I wanted to tell you about is that I've changed, and I, uh, I'm good now, and well I think I should join your group, oh, and I can teach firebending to you. See, I, uh-”

“You want to what now?” you asked sharply, exchanging a look with Katara.

“You can't possibly think that any of us would trust you, can you?” she asked, opening her water skin. “I mean, how stupid do you think we are?!”

Zuko’s eyes shifted to you before he answered. “You trust her. She’s a firebender.”

Your eyes widened in anger and you began to march up to the prince, only stopping when Katara held you back.

“I am not, a firebender,” you hissed, staring Zuko down. “And I am not Fire Nation.”

Zuko stayed quiet, his eyes drifting from your red shirt to the hairpiece on your head. You followed his line of sight, eyes widening when you realized he was staring at the sunstone. You yanked your arm out of Katara’s grip, angrily stomping out of the room. You quickly stripped yourself of your red top as soon as you were out of sight before sighing deeply and pulling your hairpiece out. You arrived at the sleeping chamber and sat down on your sleeping bag quietly, holding the hairpiece in your hand tightly.

You stared at it sadly, the sunstone glinting in the dim light. Without hesitation, you pulled your arm back and flung it away, watching the sunstone glint in the sunlight as it rolled towards the edge. It was gone in a second, tumbling over the edge of the temple.

Now you were truly no longer Fire Nation.

~

Your life had just gotten ten times harder now that Zuko had been allowed to join the group. The defeat of Combustion Man had been intense and you had found injured when it was all over. Unlike Sokka, you had never been good with fighting, always relying on your intelligence to get you out of dire situations. With Combustion Man however, that proved to be a problem, and you had found yourself caught in the middle of a fight with no protection whatsoever.

In addition to the pain of your injury, you found yourself dealing with the prince’s presence. You found yourself avoiding the group entirely, taking on the more tedious chores (like laundry) to avoid spending time with the group and even hanging out with Haru, Teo, and The Duke as they explored the temple.

Tensions didn’t rise until a few days later, beginning when Aang approached you with an idea. After your tragic failure with Combustion Man, Aang believed that you needed to learn how to protect yourself and he thought that the right way to do that was by learning how to firebend. You had vehemently refused, accidentally yelling at the Air Nomad as everyone else watched in silence.

The argument was put on pause for a few days when Aang and Zuko traveled to the Sun Warriors’ ruins but when they came back, Toph had sided with him as well. You felt slightly betrayed by the small earthbender but still refused, stating that there was no way you would willingly learn how to firebend. At least you still had Sokka and Katara on your side.

At least you did until Sokka and Zuko took a trip to The Boiling Rock the next day. When they got back two days later, Sokka was on Aang’s side as well. The fight with Azula on the gondola had left him shaken as he realized just how hard it was to fight a bender with just a sword. You didn’t know how to use a sword, but you could firebend and so Sokka became one of Aang’s supporters. Katara was the only one who was still on your side, but that changed when Azula raided the temple.

Everyone had been woken up suddenly, reacting a bit slower than normal as Azula appeared. She immediately lunged at you, shooting blasts of blue fire as she stalked closer to you. Your eyes were wide with fear, dodging her attacks as much as you could.

“Watch out!” Zuko yelled, tackling you from the side, a pillar crashing down where you had been standing as a result of Azula’s lightning. You grunted softly as you landed, the breath leaving your lungs as Zuko landed on top of you. You opened your eyes immediately, meeting bright gold irises before they looked away as Zuko began to scan you for any visible injuries. Zuko’s hands rested on either side of your head as he tried to keep his weight off of you, not that it helped considering you were still struggling to catch your breath.

Or maybe you were struggling to catch your breath because of how close he was.

“Are you okay?” Zuko asked, drawing your attention back to him. Scowling, you threw him off of you before scrambling to your feet, rushing to help Katara when you heard her yelp. Zuko noticed Toph earthbend a tunnel into the side of the temple, and rushed to join the others. His eyes landed on you as you threw yourself to the side, narrowly dodging another one of Azula’s deadly blasts. The princess grabbed you by the hair, laughing maniacally before dragging you to the airships.

“What are you doing?” Aang yelled, noticing that Zuko had stopped in his path.

“Azula has (Y/N)!” Zuko replied, turning around and facing the airships. “I’m gonna go get her.”

Katara rushed to Aang’s side, exchanging a worried look with him before getting on top of Appa. The rest of the Gaang joined them, holding on tight as they tried to maneuver the sky bison through all the debris. 

Zuko ran and launched himself onto the airship, landing safely on top of one. He glared at his sister, noticing that she was still holding onto you.

“Let her go, Azula!” Zuko yelled, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Hmm, I don’t think I will,” Azula replied, the blue flame in her palm growing brighter as she held it up to your face. “I think I’ll get rid of her instead. Then I’ll get rid of you. I can’t wait to celebrate being an only child.”

She inched the flame closer to your face, prompting Zuko to shoot a fire blast near her head. Growling, Azula tossed you to the side before confronting Zuko. The two siblings fought for a few minutes and you tried your best to avoid any wayward blasts. The fight stopped when they both struck at the same time, the resulting blast blowing both of them backwards.

“Zuko!” you cried, sprinting to grab the boy before he fell. You managed to grab onto his hand but his momentum sent you both tumbling into the chasm, a scream getting stuck in your throat as you plummeted. You were so overcome with fear that you didn’t notice Zuko pulling you into him, holding you close as you fell.

The fall didn’t last long, Appa managing to swoop in and save the two of you. You sat quietly on Appa’s saddle, both you and Zuko watching Azula as she kept falling.

“She’s...not gonna make it,” Zuko said softly, his arms tightening around you slightly. You watched with wide eyes as Azula used firebending to propel herself to the cliffside, sliding down a bit further before she took out her hairpin and stuck it into the side of the cliff, effectively ending her fall. “Of course she did.”

The seven of you sat in silence for a few minutes before Katara spoke up, tears in her eyes as she looked at you. “(Y/N), seeing Azula capture you got me thinking. I think...I think that you should learn how to firebend. You need to know how to defend yourself.”

“And I think that you can let go of each other now,” Sokka said cheekily, trying to diffuse the tension that had settled upon the group at Katara’s words. You shimmied out of Zuko’s hold, walking up to the Water Tribe girl and looking at her in disbelief.

“You’re supposed to be on my side Katara,” you hissed, flinching when she tried to reach for your hand. Without another words, you walked away and took Appa’s reins. The rest of the flight was silent, everybody knowing that now was not the time to be chatty.

~

Once again, you had retreated from the group. It wasn’t exactly hard considering the fact that now it was Katara and Zuko who had disappeared, gone on a quest to find her mother’s murderer. After a few days, Zuko reappeared alone and you found yourselves traveling to Ember Island.

Upon your arrival, you made your way over to Katara, who was standing quietly on the deck.

“I heard what you did,” you spoke first. “I’m glad you didn’t kill him.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” she whispered back, still looking straight ahead.

“Why?”

She turned slightly, facing you before speaking. “It’s not in my nature to kill. I couldn’t bring myself to use my bending for that. I have the chance to prevent other’s from going through what I went through; from going through what you went through. I want to use my bending for good.”

You mulled over her words for a few seconds before sighing deeply and walking away. Aang watched you quietly as he walked over to Katara, his eyes widening slightly when you walked up to Zuko.

“Ok,” you said quietly, looking up at the prince. “Teach me how to firebend.”

Zuko’s eyes widened briefly before he crossed his arms and composed himself. “Tomorrow at dawn. Be ready.”

And ready you were. Every day. Firebending was a lot easier than you expected, and you found yourself breezing though the basics and the intermediate moves. It wasn’t until you got to the advanced moves that you began to have some trouble.

“No!” Zuko barked. “That’s not how it’s done. Again!”

Your eye twitched before you took your stance again, launching yourself into the move that you were currently working on. You sighed deeply when you realized you had done it wrong again.

“Wrong. Again.”

“If you’re so good at it then come and show me,” you snapped, fed up with his attitude. Zuko straightened up before walking over to you, motioning for you to take your stance once more. You rolled your eyes, blowing the hair out of your eyes before complying.

“I will,” he said, moving your arms into the right position. He walked around you and you opened your mouth to make another comment, stopping when his hand came around from behind and gently shut your jaw. “Don’t say anything.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he spoke. He was closer than you thought, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. You shivered when his hands landed on your back, fixing your posture before they made their way to your waist. He gripped your waist firmly, shifting you into position before leaning forwards slightly, whispering in your ear once more. “Do it again.”

Fighting a blush, you did as you were told. You chuckled breathlessly when you did it correctly this time, a blast of fire leaving your hand at the right moment.

“See? You did it,” Zuko said, a faint smirk on his lips. “You’re a natural.”

You bounced up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck in excitement. His arms immediately wrapped around your waist, enjoying the closeness of the hug. You leaned back slightly, meeting his eyes as you smiled cheesily. “It’s only because I have such a great teacher.”

The two of you walked back to the beach house, joking around after a long day of training. Upon entering the beach house, Katara pulled you aside. “(Y/N)! Thank goodness. I need your help in the kitchen!”

You gave Zuko an apologetic smile as you followed Katara, being met with an understanding nod as he went off on his own. Katara handed you a tray of cups, smirking slightly before speaking. “So, you and Zuko huh?”

“What? N-No,” you replied immediately.

“I’m talking about firebending. How’s that going?” Katara said, filling the cups with watermelon juice as she arched an eyebrow.

A bright blush spread across your cheeks as you realized what she was talking about. “O-Oh. It’s going great. Zuko’s been teaching me some advanced moves now!”

Katara hummed in reply, waving you away now that the cups were full. You headed out of the kitchen in a hurry, loosing your footing when you heard Katara speak yet again.

“I bet the next move he makes is gonna be on you.”

~

The conversation between you and Katara was basically forgotten as the days went by. 

Zuko had informed the Gaang about his father’s plan to destroy the Earth Kingdom, causing you all to worry greatly. In addition, Aang had disappeared overnight and all attempts to find him had been futile.

And that’s how you found yourselves following June and her shirshu as she led you to Ba Sing Se, where Zuko’s Uncle Iroh was supposed to be. You had been warmly welcomed by the Order of the White Lotus and Zuko and Iroh had made up, leaving you with only a day to plan out what you were going to do before Sozin’s comet arrived.

It was quickly decided that the Order of the White Lotus would stay behind and reclaim Ba Sing Se while Sokka, Suki, and Toph would set out to destroy the airship fleet. Zuko had asked you and Katara to join him in defeating Azula and although Katara had agreed immediately, you were a bit hesitant. Of course, Zuko noticed and he decided to confront you about it.

“(Y/N),” Zuko said, coming up to you when you were prepping Appa for the ride. Katara was a few yards away, giving the two of you privacy. You glanced at Zuko before climbing onto Appa’s saddle, the prince following closely behind you. “What’s wrong?”

“Zuko, I,” you paused, breathing deeply. “I shouldn’t go. I just started bending and what is something goes wrong? I don’t want to be a liability to y-”

“Hey,” Zuko whispered, ducking his head to make eye contact with you. “I meant what I said on Ember Island. You’re a natural. You’ll be fine.”

You sighed before hugging your knees to your chest. “I just can’t believe that I’m actually returning to the Fire Nation, even if it’s to help you reclaim your throne. I’m just glad that maybe under your rule, things might finally change.”

Zuko stayed quiet before standing up and reaching for his bag. He shuffled around for a moment before kneeling behind you, his fingers gently grabbing your hair.

“What are you-”

“Shh,” Zuko cut you off. “Give me a second.”

His fingers weaved through your hair, putting it up into a style you were all too familiar with. He was gentle with his actions, letting his hands fall to your shoulders when he was done. “There.”

You reached up, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed over the sunstone that you had known your whole life.

“M-My hairpiece,” you gasped, tears springing to your eyes as you realized how much you had missed it. “How did you-”

“I found it at the Western Air Temple,” Zuko interrupted quietly. “It was after I came to you guys the first time. Katara sent me away and when I was walking under a balcony, it fell onto the ground. I recognized it so I picked it up. I assumed you would want it back at some point.”

Zuko fell backwards when you threw yourself at him, wrapping him up in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. A tiny gasp escaped him and you pulled back, meeting his eyes as he stared down at you. The two of you stared at each other for a few tense seconds before you both leaned forwards rapidly, your lips meeting in the middle.

Maybe it was a spur of the moment decision, kissing Zuko. Maybe it was due to to the anxiety bubbling up in you, your emotions hard to control as you prepared to end of the war in one way or another. Or maybe, it was simply two teenagers too shy to tell each other how they felt, finally sharing a tender moment.

“So, are we ready to go?” Katara asked. The two of you sprung apart, blushes on both of your faces as the Water Tribe girl smirked at you. Zuko nodded and you looked away, taking your place at Appa’s reins.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Yip yip.”

~

The fight had been a blur to you. You didn’t remember much other than the fact that Zuko had taken a bolt of lightning meant for you. After Zuko had been injured, you and Katara had teamed up to take Azula down. She had challenged you to an Agni Kai after striking Zuko and you had accepted in order to lure her away from his body. To say she had been surprised when you actually fought back with fire was an understatement.

With Katara’s help, you managed to chain her to an old grate before rushing over to aid Zuko. After Katara had done all she could, you helped Zuko into the palace where he had been taken to the infirmary. You hadn’t seen him since.

You had however, met back up with Aang, Sokka, Toph, and Suki. They informed the two of you of what they had done and in turn you had told them about Zuko’s injury. They were all worried about him but after hearing that Katara had healed him, they were slightly relieved.

The next time you saw the prince was on the day of his coronation. Some of the palace guards had come for you, stating that Zuko was requesting your presence. You felt your heart jump into your throat as you nodded, allowing them to lead you through the palace until you came to a pair of gilded doors.

“He’s in there,” one of the guards said. “Would you like us to announce your arrival?”

“No, it’s fine. I can just knock,” you said meekly, causing the guards to smile amusedly. You bowed shortly to them before turning to face the door, gently knocking and waiting for a response.

“Come in!”

The door swung open at your touch and you awkwardly stepped inside, still standing near the doorway as your gaze landed on Zuko.

“Close it,” he said, his voice quiet yet rough. You complied, stepping aside and shutting the door before inching closer. He was shirtless, thick bandages covering his torso. Covering the new scar he had earned because of you. He turned around, his face softening when his eyes met yours.

“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes scanning you for injuries the way he did back when Azula raided the Western Air Temple.

“Hi, how are you?” you squeaked, shuffling awkwardly. You winced at your words, blushing in embarrassment as Zuko’s lips quirked up. He walked over to his bed before picking up the shirt he was going to wear.

“I’m fine. How are you?” he asked, a teasing smile on his lips as he began to put it on. His smile dropped as he moved too harshly, pain shooting through his torso as he struggled to pull the fabric on.

“Spirits! Be careful,” you said, all embarrassment leaving you as you rushed forwards and took the shirt from his hands. “Here, let me.”

You helped him slide one arm in before slipping it over his shoulders and guiding his other arm in as well. You grabbed the belt used to hold it in place before standing in front of him. Your breath caught in your throat as you eyed the bandages, guilt settling in your stomach as you softly placed a hand on his chest. Zuko’s hands automatically went to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he stared at you worriedly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, still looking at his chest. “This was my fault.”

“Hey,” Zuko replied, one of hands leaving your waist to lift your chin. You shivered softly at the action, your eyes finally meeting his bright gold ones. “It wasn’t your fault. Azula shouldn’t have done it in the first place. She challenged me to an Agni Kai, not you.”

“You should’ve let it hit me,” you said, looking at him sadly. “I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if Katara hadn’t been there. Zuko, you could’ve d-”

Your eyes widened and your words died on your throat when Zuko leant down, softly pressing his lips to yours. The hand that was still on your waist wrapped around you, pulling you closer as Zuko kissed you gently. He began to pull away after a few seconds, noticing your lack of response. Mentally kicking yourself, you began to kiss back, closing your eyes as you wrapped your free arm around his neck to keep him close. Zuko couldn’t help but smile at your response.

“I took that hit because I love you, (Y/N),” Zuko whispered, finally pulling away and leaning his forehead against yours. “I couldn’t let Azula hurt you.”

“Zuko, I-I love you too,” you confessed, your eyes still closed. Suddenly, you pulled away before gently swatting his head. “But that doesn’t make what you did any less stupid.”

“Hey! I saved your life!” he exclaimed, rubbing his head.

“I know,” you said, rolling your eyes before hugging him close once again. “And I love you for it. But never, and I mean never, do that again.”

“No promises,” Zuko replied, guiding your lips to his once more. This kiss was different, full of trust and love and peace.

You pulled away reluctantly, fixing his shirt and looping the belt around him before taking his hand. “Now let’s go. You have a coronation to get to.”

Zuko stopped for a second, pulling you back to him as he looked at you uncertainly. You looked up at him curiously, prompting him to speak.

“Are you-” Zuko stopped abruptly, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Will you stay with me? Here? Even after everyone else leaves?”

You hesitated for a split second, remembering everything that you had suffered at the hands of the Fire Nation. You opened your mouth to reply, looking up to meet Zuko’s gaze. You faltered for a moment, taking in the way he was looking at you. Here in front of you stood the crown prince, the very symbol of the nation that you had spent the majority of your life hating. But he was also just a teen, and he was willing to put in the work to fix the Fire Nation’s past mistakes.

Your heart swelled in your chest as you thought about the golden-eyed boy , and everything he had done to help the Avatar. Because of him, the Fire Nation now had a chance at redemption, and you knew it wouldn’t be easy to undo centuries of imperialism and pain. Especially not when it was so deeply rooted in the nation. And so you answered his question, confident that you were making the right decision.

“Of course I’ll stay, Zuko. And I’ll be here to help you every step of the way.”

~

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[pillage-and-lute]

How about-Hanahaki disease? Gerald/Jaskier? Happy ending please!

Nonny! Darling you read my mind, I’m an ‘angst with a happy ending’ kinda gal. Just so we’re clear, I know nothing of flower meanings and I didn’t research.

TW: Gore

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Jaskier first coughed up a flower at age three.

Poets loved Hanahaki, it was considered romantic, and those prone to it were tragic beauties, destined to languish, delicately spitting blood and rose petals into a silk handkerchief. No one really wrote about how it could be brought on by deeply unrequited platonic love.

Jaskier coughed a violet into his little fist and brought it to his mother, who turned him away.

Fifteen years down the line and having graduated Oxenfurt with honors, Jaskier was old hat at taking care of Hanahaki. His feelings, although often unrequited, were also often fleeting. A night spent coughing tulips into a bowl and a sore throat the next mroning, but rarely more than that.

If it persisted for a week or more there was tea. Any apothecary in even a mid sized city carried it. It was putrid and thick and slid down the throat like a cup of slugs, but in the morning there were no petals, and after two or three days of the stuff, the disease was gone. 

He was almost thankful for being so prone to Hanahaki, it was romantic and lended much to his chosen profession. People gave him sympathetic looks and free drinks if he sang a sad song and discreetly spat a rose petal into a handkerchief. Most of the time he simply didn’t mind it, and considered himself twice blessed with his mobile heart.

Sometimes he had nightmares of what would happen if he found true love.

The notions of true love itself was romantic, but everyone knew that your true love, the one you were fated to, if they didn’t love you in return no tea would save you.

He’d watched a friend, a grad student at Oxenfurt, die of it. It was no delicate coughing into handkerchiefs, no poetic languishing. He’d held her hair back as she threw up petals and blood, crying as she clutched the bucket with skeletal hands because she could no longer force food down a torn throat. 

It had been so slow, she’d said between pulling thorned stems from her mouth. More than a decade of loving the boy she’d had a crush on in her small town village. She’d lived through it all, only occassionally throwing up flowers. Always snow white roses, for him, apparently. It would have been wonderfully artistic if Jaskier didn’t know how they looked covered in blood.

Then she’d gone to his wedding to the baker’s daughter and two weeks later he watched her cough out roots wrapped around a chunk of lung and screamed for a doctor knowing it was too late. The blood stain never washed fully out of the floor.

And she’d said it was worth it. That she wouldn’t have stopped loving him for the world, even as she said it through a throat full of thorns. 

Jaskier never understood it, leaping from town to town, avoiding long term connections while knowing all the while that if fate wanted him to fall in love he would. Denying Destiny only made things nastier, he knew. And then, in a tevern in Posada, with bread in his pants and a hole in his boot, his eyes met pure gold. 

It took a split second, less probably, for him to realize that, although he didn’t love the man yet, for love at first sight truly is a poet’s myth, he could love this man. And if he died for this man, maybe the love would be worth it after all.

The man was a witcher, who punched him in the gut and stank of onion and talked to his horse. Jaskier followed him anyway.

He followed him and coughed up flowers, different blossoms for different people, and he began to fall deeper in love. He wondered sometimes what flowers he would cough, as the bouquets turned into only one kind. 

What flower would represent Geralt? Not buttercups or dandelions, certainly. Perhaps if someone else were to catch Hanahaki for Jaskier those would be for him. Geralt wasn’t a dandelion. He was grumpy and spiky and after ten years wouldn’t even call Jaskier a friend. 

In the dead of night Jaskier feared it would be white roses, like he’d seen once before.

And then Geralt died in a collapsing building only to be alive and fucking a purple-eyed sorceress after nearly killing Jaskier with a djinn. Jaskier vomited flowers not twelve hours after vomiting blood.

Snow drops, tiny and delicate. And from that point forth he never coughed up any other kind.

It didn’t progress so quickly though. Jaskier had expected to die within a month of Geralt meeting Yennefer. He didn’t. Love and sex weren’t the same thing, and his love didn’t go totally unrequited either. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but in the quiet moments just after dawn it was enough. 

Then Geralt made a choice.

He wouldn’t kill dragons, he didn’t hunt sapient creatures, he wanted nothing to do with the dragon hunt, until he caught sight of Yennefer.

And that left Geralt and Jaskier, on top of a mountain, as Geralt screamed into the wind that Jaskier meant nothing to him. Jaskier felt the roots set in.

He wasn’t going to get the story from the others. He could barely breathe, the pain was so sharp and intense and he could feel it growing, feel the flowers growing. Little snowdrops had no right to be so painful.

He wasn’t going to make it off the mountain.

Jaskier took a different trail down, and then wandered into the forest a little way, coughing blood and stems the whole way. He collapsed under a tree, blood staining his doublet. He wished he had a friend to clutch his hand, hold his hair back and rub his back like he’d done more than twenty years ago. 

There wouldn’t be a funeral though. No one would know what had happened to Jaskier the bard. Worse, no one would know what happened to Julian, the person, the man. As he threw up a clump of flowers and blood he felt very much like the scared little boy who threw up a flower for the first time. 

It hurt. It burned and shredded his throat and he wanted a friend and he didn’t have any. He’d thrown all his eggs in one basket twenty years ago and Geralt had kicked that basket off the mountain. 

Jaskier leaned his lute up against the tree. It’d be such a shame to get blood on the lovely girl. He curled up next to it, in a fetal position on his side as the coughs wracked his whole body. 

His friend had lasted two weeks, he thought. But her rejection was a wedding. Not her best friend and the love of her life telling her never to see him again. That he was a burden. That if life or Destiny could give him one blessing it would be to take Jaskier off his hands. And Destiny was going to deliver. She had made Jaskier love Geralt, and she would kill him by it. 

Still, Jaskier would have given anything for the comfort of his friend right now. He began to cry, snot and tears and blood and petals all mixing. He couldn’t even breathe, his lungs burned so bad. 

His vision was blurry.

He could hear noises, tromping through the forest and who knew what awful creatures lurked here. Just like Dame Destiny to have him disembowled while dying of Hanahaki.

It was dark, but it had been noon on the mountain. Black clouds swirled and closed in his vision.

A strangled noise.

No monster made that noise. That was a man-made noise. It sounded very much how Jaskier had felt on the mountaintop. He retched up a flower and tasted pollen and iron.

“Jaskier!”

He didn’t remember hallucinations being part of the final stages, but the brain played funny tricks.

“Jaskier!” There it was again, and he was being bundled up tight to a chest that was not at all comfortable and smelled of horse and leather and sweat and onion. A buckle of Geralt’s armor dug into his cheek. Jaskier’s mouth was full of stems and roots.

GLoved fingers dug in, pulling snowdrops from between his lips and then Geralt kissed him. It was entirely awful and unsatisfying. 

Dimly Jaskier came to the realization that it was not supposed to a kiss, but Geralt trying to blow air into his flowering lungs. A nice gesture but unhelpful.

He lolled his head to the side to throw up another clump of root, not wanting to throw up directly into Geralt’s mouth. 

A shudder ran through the chest he was pressed against, like a tremor before an earthquake. Then a sob.

It was quiet. The worst sobs are. 

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the floor, one hand cupped beneath his head, gently cradling. Then the witcher curled next to him, face pressed against a pale neck streaked with blood, and cried.

Jaskier wanted to comfort him, to stroke a hand through soft white hair one last time and thank him for not letting him die alone. He just didn’t have the strength.

Another wretched, tiny sob, then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry.” Oh that wasn’t fair. A tear leaked from Jaskier’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt continued, face pressed into Jaskier’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean it, I was angry and tired and I’ve hurt you but please,” the voice faded to barely a whisper. “Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it, I love you don’t leave me here alone.”

Don’t leave him here alone. Jaskier though. Destiny owed him, owed them both for all she’d put them through. Don’t make him lonely, he prayed. I don’t want to leave him alone.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter, pressing even closer like he was trying to meld them into one. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I love you.”

The world went white.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with blood in his mouth. It didn’t seem to deter Geralt, who kissed him so thoroughly his head felt light. Then Geralt pulled him upright. There was blood on the ground around them, some even streaked into Geralt’s hair. 

There were no stems though.

The forest floor had been carpeted for ten feet all around them with snowdrops, planted firmly in earth instead of lungs. They were so close together it looked like a sudden snowfall, trailing to fewer and farther between at the edges of their little pool of white. 

“I...” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say but it turns out he needn’t say anything. Geralt was clutching him like a lifeline and tucking a snowdrop into his hair.

“I smelled blood,” he said, lips brushing into Jaskier’s brown fringe. “I smelled blood and was so afraid. I haven’t been truly afraid in so long and then I found those wretched flowers.” Geralt took a shaky breath. 

“I truly thought it was too late.��� He pulled back and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt’s own yellow ones were dry but the emotion was clear. “I thought I had lost you, my love.” A gloved hand, only slightly bloody stroked Jaskier’s cheek. “I thought I had lost you, my life’s greatest gift. And I wanted to lay down beside you and die as well.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “You overdramatic sod,” he said between watery sniffles. “What a ridiculous notion. And I can’t believe it takes me dying to turn you into a romantic.”

“Almost dying,” Geralt said firmly. There was panic written plain across his face, as if he was terrified that time would slam into reverse just to take Jaskier from him. Another embrace, just this side of bone crushing. “Almost dying, my love.”

“Not dead, my love,” Jaskier responded. 

As they made their way down the mountain snowdrops bloomed in their footsteps, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.

[theclockworkmonk]

What Happens When You Assume

Written for @kataang-week

(I know, I know, it's late because my life kind of got consumed by the Olympics)

Day 6: "Tease"

Words: 1,081

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

Summary: Katara finds out about a piece of Aang's past that she doesn't care for at all.

********

Katara slammed the door shut and nearly collapsed from exhaustion, leaning against the door to catch her breath. It only took a few seconds for her to start to calm down. The frozen block of ice at the bottom of the world would always be her home, but this house in Ba Sing Se that she shared with her friends and boyfriend had still become a refuge for her.

As she felt more at peace, she smiled to herself as she thought that word. Boyfriend. It had been months since the end of the war, but she still had trouble believing that she had gotten such a happy ending.

"You okay?" she heard the boy in question ask, and she opened her eyes and saw him looking at her from the doorway to their living room, his face full of concern.

"Oh, nothing new," she waved him off, "just the usual reporters and scholars wanting to know everything. Even when I don't wear Water Tribe clothes, I'm probably the only girl in the city with this skin tone, so it's not hard to get recognized as the Avatar's girlfriend."

"Well, as much as I love the whole world knowing you're my girlfriend, I'm sorry that it gives you so much trouble," said Aang sadly.

"Don't start that, you're more than worth it," said Katara, giving him a kiss. "Make it up to me by brewing me some tea."

"Way ahead of you," he said proudly.

They went into the kitchen, where a pot of tea was already sitting on the table. The rest of the table was taken up by piles and piles of books and scrolls that Aang was studying: the entire history of the last one hundred years of the Earth kingdom. Aang was determined to stop being caught off-guard during negotiations by some deeply important piece of context that made his suggestions unacceptable.

"In case you've forgotten already, I fought against an evil empire with you," said Katara playfully, "So I think I can handle a few biographers wanting every detail of the Avatar's life."

Aang frowned as he started pouring them tea. "You know, I would hope that there's still important things about my life coming. Seems a bit early to start writing my biography."

"Well, a lot of these people aren't interested in anything important, silly," Katara laughed. "They're more after gossip fuel. Does the Avatar have any annoying habits? Is he tortured and broody from the war? What's his favorite food? How was his first kiss?"

"Well I'll show them broody, if they keep sticking their nose into stuff like that," Aang grumbled, pouring his own tea.

"Oh, rest assured, I'll tell anyone who asks that it was dazzling," said Katara lovingly.

Aang snorted as he went back to reading his scrolls. "Well, I wouldn't say that, there's no need to lie to them."

Katara huffed indignantly, "Oh, excuse me, Mister Avatar, were my kissing skills not 'dazzling' enough for you?"

"Oh no no," he said quickly, still not looking up at her, "Our first kiss was amazing, once I stopped comparing kissing you to dying. My first kiss ever was a lot more embarrassing."

Aang reached for his own cup of tea and took a sip. The loud slurping sound drew his attention to how oddly quiet the room had gotten. He looked up at his girlfriend and flinched backward when he saw the look on her face. Her mouth was gaping open and her eyes were flashing dangerously.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Are you kidding me!?" Katara shrieked. "You're not just messing with me? The cave really wasn't your first kiss?"

Aang just blinked at her for several moments, before he broke into a disbelieving grin. "I...never said that it was?" he chuckled.

"This isn't funny!" said Katara, jumping to her feet. "When exactly were you planning on telling me this!?"

"Well I'm telling you now, it's never come up before!" said Aang defensively, putting up his hands. "What did I do to imply you were my first kiss?"

"You didn't have to do anything!" said Katara, rolling her eyes. "That's the natural—"

She suddenly stopped herself and bit her lip. Aang's eyebrows shot up and he gave a smug smirk.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"No, no, go on, finish that sentence," Aang teased, crossing his arms and sitting back. "You assumed that you were my first kiss, because who would actually want to kiss me, if not to just escape a magical cave?"

"That's not what I—"

"And of course if the beautiful and popular Katara hadn't had her first kiss by then, then surely short and dorky Aang wouldn't have, since you're so out of my league."

"Shut up!"

"If only all those fans and biographers knew the truth," Aang lamented sadly. "People think that the Avatar is this spiritually pure being, but to my shame, I used my extensive romantic experience to take advantage of an innocent, naive Water Tribe girl—"

He was cut off by a jet of water hitting him in the face, soaking him and filling his open mouth.

He spat out Katara's bending water and raised his eyebrows at her, as she continued to glare at him with her arms crossed.

"Really?" he asked pointedly.

"Don't tease me," said Katara quietly, pouting her lip, but Aang could tell she was trying not to laugh.

He sighed, stood up, bent the water off of him, and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend's waist.

"Would it help to know that my first kiss was only because of a dare?" he asked. "She caught me after a game of airball, her group of friends giggling behind her, and she just grabbed me and pressed her face against mine in front of half the Southern Temple."

"Oh, poor you," said Katara, rolling her eyes.

"Let me finish," said Aang. "I was so shocked that I launched myself into the air, landing in the bisons' feeding trough, and knocking her back into a fountain. She ran off with her friends crying. Nobody would let me live that down for months."

Katara didn't meet his eye, but she snorted in laughter and draped her arms over his shoulders. "Okay, yeah, that does make it a bit better."

"So, tragically, you weren't the first girl I ever kissed," Aang sighed, "could you settle for being the last girl I ever kiss?"

"Hmm. Deal," Katara whispered, and got a head start on it.

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part III: Near & Far

Description: Promising beginnings and a premature end throw you into a tailspin Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: depictions of mild PTSD symptoms, mentions of death of a close family member, disappearances, “breakups,” angst, profanity Word Count: 1882 words (~9 mins of falling in love and wallowing in angst 😱😂) Author’s Notes: If you’re still following this story, please accept a giant (virtual) hug from me to you!  Thank you very much from the bottom of my heart for supporting me and this piece of work! 💖 Without further ado, I present to you part 3 of my slow-burn Shaw fic, written for the lovely @op-peccatori​ as part of my follower milestone celebration.

As always, dear reader, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

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“You can relax, you know.  I won’t try anything funny while you sleep, not my style.  Besides, isn’t this much better than camping out on the floor?”

Nodding your head before you realize that Shaw probably couldn’t see you in the dark, your “Yes” comes out in a mewl so pathetic you wished you could immediately take it back.

His snicker shakes the bed, reverberating across squeaky springs to where you lay beside him, right at the edge of the twin mattress as you tried not to let your hands touch.

No matter how much you wished for them to.

Beyond the window, a neon signboard paints electric shadows on your walls in splashes of pink, flashing in time to a rhythm Shaw tapped out with one foot beneath the covers.

“Is it cool if…if we didn’t draw the blinds tonight?  I can’t sleep in complete darkness.” He had asked you earlier that evening, towelling off his hair as he emerged from your bathroom wearing a shirt your ex had left behind along with your broken heart a year and a half ago.

Snoopy looked much better riding his skateboard across Shaw’s broad chest anyways.

And there, in the midst of an awkward arrangement where sleep would surely prove fleeting, the sounds of the night: the low hum of the refrigerator, the pawn shop’s sign buzzing just on the other side of the windowpane…the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, steady like Shaw’s breath beside you as it counts down precious time—

“I’ll be out of your hair first thing tomorrow morning.”  

Ba-bump.

“No, there’s…there’s no rush.  Honestly.”

“Can you really afford to miss more work because of me?”

Silence.  You couldn’t refute the truth.

“Tell you what, in exchange for putting up with me, you can ask me anything you want.  I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes; surely you must be curious about some things.  Might as well find out before I go.”

Your stomach knotted, clenching tight.  He was right.  For all you know, it was now or never.  “Why did you join?  The triad, that is.”

He is silent for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to piece together.

“I’m looking for my brother.”

Out of all possible answers, this wasn’t one you were expecting.  Turning onto your side, you study the handsome profile of his face — watching as pink mixed with lavender in the most ethereal way until you were overcome with the sense that in this vast ocean of life, you and him stood on very different shores.  Eyes still fixed on your ceiling, Shaw continues.

“He was an undercover cop, working to infiltrate the ranks of the group I’m currently a part of.  I only found out by accident, and he made me swear up and down not to breathe a word of it to mom.  Then one day…he was gone.  Just...disappeared off the face of the earth.  Mom and I went down to the station every day for months, knew the names and faces of everyone who worked in that building, but it was like Gavin never even existed.

“It was too much for her.  I came home late from school one day — found her on the floor, barely breathing.  It was dark in the apartment…so dark.  She had probably just drawn the curtains.  By the time the paramedics arrived, she was already gone.  Heart attack, they said.  

“I lie awake at night sometimes, wonder how I’m going to tell him that mom’s no longer here — go through the motions in my head, rehearsing every line.  ‘Cus I know that sooner or later, that day will come.  There’s no way he’s dead.  I know my brother.”

A glimmer at the corner of his eye catches yours.  Beneath the covers, your fingers inch towards his, finding courage in the darkness to brush against his pinky as if the sliver of warmth could express what words simply couldn’t convey.

“With mom gone, there was nothing to lose.  I joined the group, worked hard…did what they needed me to do to gain their trust, all while collecting scraps of info here and there — whatever I could get my hands on in the hopes that it’ll lead me to Gav.”

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

Tiny drops of rain speckle your windowpane.  And when Shaw’s finger hooks around yours as if in a solemn pinky swear, the tears burning your eyes finally fall.  You don’t ask him how many years it’s been, the dirty deeds he’s had to sully his hands with.  You don’t question him about the father he doesn’t mention.  All you can do is watch as a solitary drop rolls down the side of his face before soaking into lavender strands fanned out on the pillow, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows back bitterness only he knew.

In spite of it all, he is the one who chuckles when he turns towards you, eyes red rimmed even as his brows rise in feigned exasperation when he says, “Why are you crying?!  I’m the one with the tragic past here!”

And when you start to cry even harder, his soft hushes of “Shh, shh…I’m sorry, that last part was a joke.  It’s all right, everything will be okay, I promise,” burrows deep into your heart and you believe him.

Because when he reaches towards you — the thumb wiping the tears from your eyes calloused yet gentle — you are struck by a sense of overwhelming tenderness:

In the carefulness of his touch.

In the way he regards you with the sincerity of some unspoken emotion.

In the entirety of this man whom the rest of the world has already written off.

And that is when you know…

“I didn’t mean to make you cry by telling you all this, I’m sorry.”

…that you are in love with him.

“I’ll make it up to you.  Ask me another question.  Maybe something less depressing this time.”  

A smile spreads across his face.  You wished there was a way for you to keep the warmth of his hand on your cheek forever.  Sniffling, you try again.

“Wh-why did you keep coming in to my store everyday?  There’s a lot of other convenience stores in the area—”

A flash of panic in those amber eyes, and Shaw is turning over with lightning speed until all you can see is the smooth expanse of his back.

“Changed my mind.  A guy’s gotta keep some secrets!  Goodnight!”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

Wrap your arms around the pillow.

“Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.”

Bury your face into its cushiony fill.

“Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

And inhale deeply.

Shaw’s scent on your sheets is faint now, so much so that you can’t be entirely sure you’re not imagining it, having gone through this ritual countless times since the day Shaw left your apartment…

…and stepped out of your life.

                   *                                         *                                          *

“Is there…any way I could stay in touch with you?  I-I just…just want to make sure you’re okay…”

Voice trailing off, you watch as Shaw gingerly shrugs one arm then another through the sleeves of his leather jacket, still wearing the Snoopy t-shirt he had slept in the night before after you told him he could keep it.  His own was torn beyond repair, stubbornly dyed in blood regardless of how much you scrubbed at it.  And when he hesitated still, you said he would just be doing you the favour of taking out the trash.  

Smoothing down the front of his jacket, Shaw glances at the phone in your hands — eyes tracing along your eager fingers, poised to type.  The expression on his face is unreadable, as if the man you had spent the night sharing secrets with was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

“It’s better if we don’t.  I’ll be fine, just laying low for the next while — boss’s orders.  And I don’t want the cops coming around to your place again.  Detective Whatshisname looks like he could be really good at hounding pretty girls like you.”

That smirk again, so familiar to you by now.  And in the compliment that would’ve made you blush bright red before, nothing but a smokescreen.

“Shaw, I don’t mind—”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?" The force in his voice cuts, and you barely breathe to feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting up your face until you have no choice but to meet his gaze.  Those eyes are dull, like molten gold frozen beneath a layer of impenetrable ice.  “Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.  Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

The shiver that runs electric down your spine makes the hairs on your skin stand on end.  It was like looking at a stranger.  Heart racing, your palms grow clammy with sweat, unsure of exactly when your phone had dropped from your hands, slipping away like…

“I don’t care about the cops!  I’ll deal with them—”

“DEAL WITH WHAT?!  You think that just because you managed to turn them away at the door that it makes you a hardened criminal?!  WE are not the same, okay?  My life is worthless.  I’ve already signed it away a long time ago, I’m ready to give it up without a second thought.  But you…you’re different. Y-you’re kind, innocent.  You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.  One day, you’ll make someone the luckiest person in the world, be a beautiful mother to beautiful children.  Don’t sell yourself short…not for someone like me.”

The silence that descends is thick, suffocating.  You don’t speak, afraid to open your mouth because it takes all your concentration just to keep the tears from spilling from your eyes.

Finally letting go of your chin, Shaw reaches behind his neck to undo the clasp on the thin gold chain he wore, the jade disc pendant that hung from it still warm from the heat of his skin when he places it in the palm of your hand.

“It’s not much, but it was a gift from my mom and the most valuable thing I own.  You saved my life, so it’s yours now.  Maybe…maybe one day, you can give it to your own child.”

Lump in your throat, you can barely breathe, let alone tell him there was no way you could accept something that precious, something that priceless.  That you didn’t drag him home that night, broken and bleeding, in the hopes of gain; not for money, not for love.

He curls your fingers around the heirloom, gentle thumb pressing on index, middle, ring then pinky in turn before your fist finds itself held tightly within the press of his much larger hand for one…two…three seconds…

…before those purple Chuck Taylors take him to your door…

Slam.

…and just like that, the man with the lavender hair is gone.

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Forgive me for trolling, but there really was only one bed LOL!  Hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter, and please stay tuned for what may be the final instalment in this Shaw saga! - XOXO

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

Thanks so much for reading! 💕 Check out more of my work here! 📚(Please do not repost/copy/alter my work.  Reblogs, on the other hand, are a-ok and much appreciated! 👍🏼💖)

[kareofbears]

Ok. . . but can you give an in-depth explanation as to how you feel about akeshu?

yes. 

rest is under the cut since this is going to be a long answer 

im a big big big big big fan of enemies to lovers. love it. loved the initial hate, the heightening tension between two characters with conflicting situations or personality types. i love the anger, the arguments, the sighs from everyone around them because they’re tired of the repetitive beef. during quarantine, i even wrote out and gave a verbal presentation to my beta explaining how an enemies to lovers arc would work through writing and all the needed dynamics in order to justify a person falling in love with their enemy. 

and yeah, the process is the best part of it. i want to be able to see the transition between worst enemy to begrudged partner to lover. that’s the best part!!! the character development!!! the molding around each other and learning to accept their character flaws!! the willingness to defend that flaw in front of other people!! 

but here’s where the problem lies: akechi goro. 

oh akechi. oh akechi goro, the bane of my existence and the object of affection by everyone in this god forsaken fandom. look, i get it. it’s really really fucking hard to resist the charm of akechi goro, i admit it. he’s so interesting, he’s so in-depth, he’s so cool and rugged and he’s such a bastard that you end up kind of being obsessed with him, and that’s fine. I'm also kind of obsessed with him. 

but i don't like him. because he isn’t a likeable character. there’s a huge difference between thinking he’s a fantastic character and loving him. because i don't love him. i hate him. i despise him. he’s caused so, so, so much grievance, so much pain to so many characters in persona that it honestly impossible to give him a redemption arc. it’s not possible. even if you go down the Black Star route (amazing fanfic, brilliant work) it still doesn't redeem him. he killed futabas mom (which literally led her to her spiraling depression and self hatred and manifested intense mental illness that led to her isolating herself from the world and made her lose her mom that she loves so much) and killed haru’s dad (how on earth can you justify that one??? god, haru wanted nothing more than to just see her dad happy again) and killed so many other random people!! and don’t feed me that “oh he had a sad life” shut the fuck up literally everyone in p5 had a sob story and you don't see them killing people. he’s complex, not likeable. 

but here’s the good part: the game doesn't want you to like akechi. i mean it. they never said what he did was okay (never. they never said it was okay), they never said that you had to like him. all they said was that you had to work with him. even in the third semester, the one people are so insistent on calling a redemption arc, isn’t a fucking redemption arc. they just want you to see who akechi really is!! without the facade!!! all they want is for you to see how complex he is, see him spiral and angry and bitter and they want you to see him turn out the complete opposite of akira. 

and here’s where we actually start talking about akeshu

akechi and akira are two halves of the same coin. akira chose the side of justice (by ironically being a criminal) while akechi chose the side of vengeance (which is ironic, since he’s a detective.) see, even with that whole crime vs justice thing, they’re connected. the person who ruined their life is the same person (shido), they both have had hard lives. but they turned out as opposites, with akira having a much better life than akechi--which is why akechi is so obsessed with akira. what does akira have that he doesn't? why did he turn out happy when he’s still miserable? and that creates a tension (which we will talk about later)

akechi and akira are rivals. they are connected, they always will be. it’s a hero/villain narrative that we all love, it’s an interesting character dynamic. it’s fun to see them interact. 

but by god, it does not mean that akechi and akira are good for each other. i would go as far to say it would do akechi a huge disservice as a character if you made them end up together. 

remember how akechi is a complex character? if akechi ends up with akira, you would essentially be ripping out all of his complexity just to have both of them date. akechi doesn't want to be with akira, and if you honestly think akechi is in love with akira id be surprised because he’s not--he’s obsessed with akira, infatuated with him. what he’s feeling isn’t love, it’s the feeling of frustration. he doesn't care about akira, or anyone. he cares about himself, and that’s it. which is what makes him so interesting because this never changes throughout the entire game!!! that's so FUN!!!

and the game never wants you to forget that complexity!! because they never gave akechi a redemption arc!! they want you to remember him as someone who’s willing to die for himself. (and, in a way, that’s the extent of akechis mercy. because before shidos palace, he wasn't even willing to die for himself, you know what i mean? he was willing to die in shidos palace because that’s what he wanted, he wanted to defeat shidos cognition of himself, he wanted to save the thieves because they were the first to listen to him and understand him, but he didn't really do it out of empathy. he did it because he’d rather die than continue living shidos lie--funny because that how he ‘dies’ in the third semester. nice one atlus)

and i get it. the game gives them such an undeniable tension that its super easy to see it as love, but its not. it’s not love, guys. that tension isn’t love, because what it’s actually tragedy. it’s tragic that akechi can’t have happiness (in canon, at least.) it’s tragic that akira, the person who loves his friends more than anything, who would die saving someone he doesn't even know, it’s tragic that he can’t save someone who’s the most desperate to be saved. and that is why i love platonic/non-romantic akeshu, because i think that concept is way more interesting than them falling in love. it’s about akira’s obvious trauma that he couldn’t save everyone, it’s about akechi’s hard-headedness about not wanting to be saved because he’s been let down too many times for him to ever put trust into anyone again. 

it’s tragic. it’s meant to be tragic. persona 5 is a game about fighting for reality, and reality is fucking hard. so the fact that these two people have such a tragic ending despite what we, as an audience, are used to (happy endings), is part of the game. they’re not meant for each other. they won’t work, they don't work. that tension isn't made out of love or sexual tension--it’s stemmed from tragedy and hate and confusion and such a deep rooted sadness from inside of them. 

they both deserve better than each other. akira deserves to be with the friends he made in tokyo, and akechi deserves to be with someone (if he lives) who isn’t associated with the metaverse at all. he deserves a clean slate, he deserves a fresh start. he deserves a reset. 

and another reason is that akira loves his friends too much. he would do anything for them. it’s supposed to be funny--the wildcard, with no vulnerability, no weakness, has the most weakness out of all of them because he cares too deeply about his friends that if one single thing were to hurt them akira would fold like a deck of cards. you think akira would do that to haru? to futaba? yeah, right. he would never. akira can forgive but he would never forget. he’d never compromise. not for his friends.

so going back to the topic of enemies to lovers--akeshu is not enemies to lovers, because there are certain rules for enemies to lovers. enemies should be fun. it should be people on the opposite team with different perspectives. enemies should not be morally horrific. the ‘enemy’ should be forgivable. both characters should still come off likable. they should both be able to stand up on their own legs as characters even if you take away their love interest. for example, hermione/draco wouldn't work because draco calls Hermione a slur on many occasions. that is not forgivable. if draco instead, i don't know, cheats off her test or something and she gets mad and they have a back and forth thing, then sure, hermione/draco could work. 

a fantastic enemies to lovers would be snowbaz from carry on. uh, zootopia? thats a great one. natsume and mikan from gakuen alice is good too!! basically, there’s a lot of actual good enemies to lovers out there. enemies to lovers shouldn't be morally ambiguous. it should be fun. it should be the right kind of tension. the characters should be likable from both sides. and akeshu does not have that. 

tldr stan akiryu and akesumi instead 

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 2 of don’t read the last page is here!

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

3

Anna sat back far sooner than she wanted to; she could have gone on kissing him like this for hours, but that was a capital B capital I Bad Idea. And so she pulled regretfully away with the dainty little laugh she'd perfected in undergrad, not in acting classes but backstage when the guys playing opposite her sometimes got the wrong idea.

"But it feels so real when I'm up there with you," they'd plead, and she'd do the little laugh and say "God, I should hope so, considering how expensive tuition is here. Good to hear my investment is paying off.”

Kristoff didn't seem as thrown off by the laugh as the others had been; he just leaned back a little and raised his eyebrows. She'd forgotten how he had a funny way of looking at a person that made you want to just open right up and spill it all out.

But she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to spill right now, and so she went the opposite direction, closing off even further. "Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way, we can stop wondering about the past and focus on the here and now. Specifically, whether you want that last spring roll or not."

There was a wounded look in the depths of his dark eyes. Good; better now than later. He gave her a familiar crooked smile anyway. "You already ate the other two."

"So you're saying you want it?"

"I'm saying I always liked egg rolls better, but I knew these used to be your favorite, so that's why I got them."

For a moment she wavered, caught between what she wanted and what she knew she should do, but his eyes stayed steady on hers all the same, still that faint hurt hiding in them. It would be awfully easy to fall in love with those eyes.

She moved away, scooting to sit beside him again where he leaned up against the couch. “So,” she said, reaching for the last spring roll and taking a messy bite, “still up to help me run lines?”

Kristoff nodded. “‘Course. Can’t say I’ll be up to par, though, I haven’t acted since our American Lit days.”

“Oh my god, I forgot you were John Proctor! ‘You’re tearing down heaven and raising up a whore’-- and everyone freaked out because they thought Mr. Martin would be pissed you didn’t leave out the cuss word but he was just like…”

She waved her hands emphatically, trying to come up with the right word. “Like...you know. You remember. He thought it was awesome, is what I mean.”

“Honestly, I don’t. I was so embarrassed I was just trying not to pass out.”

She remembered that, the way he’d turned scarlet all the way to the tips of his ears, and she wanted to kiss him again, at least on the cheek to see if she could make him blush like that again, but instead she popped the rest of the spring roll into her mouth and wiped her hands on her jeans and said around a mouthful of cabbage, “Okay, let me get this script.”

Her bag was kicked halfway under the table; she yanked it out, sending loose papers and pens rolling everywhere. “Ah-- shit, sorry.”

He scooped up the pens and handed them to her in a neat bundle while she shuffled through the papers. “God, you’d think they’d do me a favor one of these days and staple these things...anyway, okay, here’s the right order.”

Anna patted the edges neatly into place and presented the script to him. “Don’t let me peek at it, even if I beg. Oh-- and don’t tell anyone about it, either, because I don’t remember or not if I had to sign an NDA or not this time around, and I’d rather not risk it.”

He took the stack of papers with a raised eyebrow. “Okay. So who am I playing?”

“I’m a princess of some country they made up in Europe, and you’re the American journalist trying to kickstart his career assigned to cover me at the start of my...debutante something or other. Basically, I’m supposed to get married off to a prince or something, but then you come along and run into me by mistake outside the palace, and you’re super funny and down-to-earth and it’s this forbidden romance and blah blah blah, at the end I pick you but because for some reason it’s a Christmas movie I still keep the crown, too, and then you kiss me under the mistletoe and voila, roll credits. Oh, and you’re supposed to be from Georgia, so try and do that accent if you can.”

He screwed up his face, trying to-- well, honestly she didn’t know what he was doing. “Y’all--”

“Oh, god, please stop,” she said, putting a hand over his mouth with a dramatic shudder. His breath was warm against her palm as he chuckled. He was making it really hard to do the right thing, which was especially disconcerting considering he wasn’t even trying. 

She fought the urge to stroke her thumb gently against his jaw and instead pulled her hand away. “Just read it like your normal self.”

“Do you want me to try and like...act?”

“Um...if you want to, yeah. Mainly I’m worried about memorizing this. But that’d probably help, so...go for it. Unless it’s weird, in which case--”

“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” he said, and it took her a beat to realize he was reading.

She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, slipping into the posh British accent they always wanted you to do for these parts even when the movie was set somewhere vaguely north of Switzerland. “Neither do you.”

“What gave it away? The accent or the cowboy boots?”

Kristoff glanced up from the script, looking vaguely nauseated. “Are people really going to watch this?”

“Tragically, yes, because it’s another Netflix thing, and it’ll get all hyped up whether it really deserves it or not.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “This is why I stick to my DVD player.”

“You do not.”

He just raised an eyebrow, and she gasped. “Kristoff Bjorgman. You are not seriously telling me that in two thousand nineteen you still don’t have a Netflix subscription.”

“I think my roommate does.”

“Well, that basically counts as yours, then.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know, all the password-sharing and--”

She trailed off. By the look in his eyes, he actually didn’t know. “Well-- never mind. Say your line again so I can do mine.”

“What gave it away? The accent or the cowboy boots?”

“Neither.”

“Then what was it?”

She held the silence for a beat, staring deeply into his eyes, practicing her best you-mean-you-really-don’t-recognize-me face? He returned the gaze with an astonishingly good what-is-this-girl-up-to-and-why-am-I-already-into-her face, and either he’d gotten much better at acting in the last few years, or she really shouldn’t have kissed him even that one time, because there was no way that for either of them it would mean--

“Nothing,” she breathed, the line suddenly jolting its way out of her mouth. “I’m just good at reading people.”

They went back and forth through the script, and to her surprise, he didn’t give in even once when she begged him to let her peek at the lines, even when she tried to bribe him with the last dumpling. “No, Anna, you know this,” he’d said calmly, and then suddenly she had, and they’d gone right along. 

The dialogue was still edging dangerously close to falling straight off a cliff into too-cringy-for-Hallmark territory, but somehow when she was reading it with him, it seemed almost-- almost-- plausible.

Except for that bit about the cowboy boots. That was unforgivable. 

She took a sip of Pepsi and flopped back against the sofa, glad she didn’t have to keep looking at him anymore. Not that there was a problem with the view; it was a nice one, if she was being honest, maybe even a very nice one, but that little bit of sadness still hadn’t melted entirely away, and she knew she wouldn’t forgive herself for putting it there for a long time. 

It’s for the best, she reminded herself fiercely. You know you’re a mess. Don’t need to drag him into it just for old times’ sake. 

Beside her, Kristoff let out a yawn. “Oh, shit, sorry--” she said, suddenly scrambling upright, “didn’t mean to keep you up late or--”

“No, no, you’re good, it‘s only eight. I just was working a double today, got up earlier than normal.”

She bit her lip. He hadn’t made mention of that when he’d volunteered to let her come over and read lines. “I-- well. Thanks, Kristoff, so much. For your help and for letting me hang out here for a while. Let me help you clean up and then I’ll head out.”

She hopped to her feet, already collecting discarded chopsticks and napkins, trying to ignore the frown on Kristoff’s face. “Seriously, Kris, you’re a lifesaver. The audition is tomorrow, and I did my best to prepare but honestly, I just had to do a stupid radio interview about the tampon commercial so I could get an easy paycheck because I owe my sister way too much money right now so that’s what I was worried about yesterday and then before that, I was looking at other auditions online too because I feel like my agent just has to be hiding some from me but then hey it was today and the audition’s tomorrow and so I was screwed if I didn’t get help and--”

“Anna.”

She froze.

He got to his feet slowly; she let her eyes trail up his broad frame, taking in every inch of him. Had he hit another growth spurt in college? 

He held out his hand, and for an absurd moment she thought he meant for her to take it, but then he plucked some of the garbage out of her grasp and led her towards the kitchen, pressing the garbage can open with his foot. “I know it’s been a while,” he said, his voice soft but somehow insistent, “but we’re still friends. I’m happy to help you however I can.”

Anna swallowed hard and forced herself to look away at the decidedly less attractive sight of a half-eaten fortune cookie tumbling into the garbage. “Well-- thanks.”

He nodded, and now that her hands were empty it was so tempting to just grab him by the collar and pull him down into another kiss, reality be damned. So she was a complete mess and he had his life together and she was terrible at relationships and he was probably, like, amazing-- what could it hurt, one more kiss?

But she’d only just run into him again, and she shouldn’t have lost contact with him in the first place, and she really didn’t want to lose him again. You only get so many friends willing to share their apple slices with you every day even though apples are their favorite and you take more than your fair share of the peanut butter, she thought morosely. Can’t just waste someone like that.

She brushed past him and swept the script into her bag, tugging it back on over her shoulders and turning to him with a practiced smile. He hadn’t moved; just let his gaze follow her. “Well, guess I’d better be getting home, then.”

“Need a ride?”

Shit-- she’d forgotten he’d driven her over here right after he’d gotten off work, and the metro line she needed had no stops near here, so it’d be at least an hour getting home, and she didn’t really have money for a taxi but if she got in a car with him again, there would definitely be more kissing, and she just really, really couldn’t do that to him.

“I’m good, thanks! I’ll just get an Uber or something.”

He nodded. “Night, then. Good catching up with you.”

“You, too. Thanks again.”

Her heart was pounding as she slipped out the door. She found herself waiting for some idiotic reason to hear the deadbolt click shut and his footsteps walk away until they faded into silence. God, this was pathetic, even for her. She’d always been awful about jumping into things head first, especially when it came to men, and that had never once actually worked out for her. Which was how she’d ended up majoring in theatre and not even doing any education classes alongside it, and moving into her sister’s place just because it was in LA even though she couldn’t afford her share of the rent, and dating a string of guys who were too into pop-up shops or vaping or Soundcloud rap or whatever the big thing was at the moment, and now, apparently, kissing her high school best friend who definitely deserved better than whatever she was right now.

She made her way down the stairs, dialing her sister’s number already. She picked up on the second ring, just like always.

“Anna? Hey, what is it?”

“Can you pick me up?”

“What’s wrong?”

That was what did her in. She found a bush by the sidewalk and crouched down behind it, feeling the tears already start to stream down her face. “Can you-- can you just come pick me up, please?”

One of the perks of having a big sister who actually had her shit together was free pickup and dropoff service all around the city, though unlike an Uber, the rides didn’t come with no questions asked.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” Elsa asked as Anna clambered into the car, still sniffling pitifully. “I thought you were just going to go study your lines at that coffee shop and then go to the grocery.”

“I was, but then I, um…I ran into Kristoff.”

Elsa frowned. “Should I know who that-- oh my god, Kristoff from high school? The one that you had a crush on for like…”

“Years, I know,” Anna said balefully. “God, I probably still have notebooks in storage full of Mrs. Bjorgman signatures.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s a barista.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

She laughed a little at that, and some of the tension went out of Elsa’s shoulders. “Okay, fair. But he’s in vet school, too.”

“Oh, wow, impressive.”

“I know. Just imagine me trying to go back home for a visit now, they’ll all ask questions about you two and I’ll be like ‘oh, Elsa’s this super successful SLP and Kristoff’s gonna be a vet’ and then they’ll ask what I’m up to and I’ll have to say ‘doing cartwheels in a commercial where they taped some string to my shorts so it looks like my tampon’s hanging out because that’s supposed to be cute and quirky’ and then they’ll say ‘oh my god I think I saw a GIF of that’ and then I’ll have to go dig myself a hole and die in it.”

Elsa just rolled her eyes. She was used to these dramatic tirades. “Anna, you’re twenty-four. You’re not supposed to have your shit together yet.”

“You did.”

“I let you think I did,” her sister said in that infuriating older-and-wiser voice she’d perfected way back in middle school. “I’m serious, you’ll be okay. And whatever happened with Kristoff--”

“God, don’t say his name, please, or I’ll just get all worked up again, and I’ve already gotten mascara everywhere.”

Elsa sighed. “Okay, fine, we’ll save that part of this discussion for when we’re home with pints of Ben and Jerry’s. But just...I want you to know that you’re okay, Anna. More than okay. And you’re going to knock it out of the park with this audition tomorrow. I mean it.”

Anna looked away, rolling down the window and sticking her hand out so she could feel the wind smacking against it, turning her wrist so it could hiss between her fingers. Movies made it seem so much easier to have these moments with someone, to open up and cry it out and get an easy resolution. But this was her life, whether she liked it or not, and she had to put up with it anyhow. “Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 19

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse, and soon they travel across the galaxy looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 19 - Shelter

“No!”

With a sigh, Sinead grabbed the little pincushion previously balanced on her leg and pulled it out of reach of the child, who had been in the middle of pulling out one of the needles. No matter where she put it, he always found a way to get his hands on it.

She was mending a rip in her shirt, grateful for the distraction from the flurry of thoughts that kept running through her head without ever coming to any real conclusion. It was exhausting how she kept getting pulled in different directions, one second happy, the next ready to crawl under her thin blanket and never come out again.

Eventually, she grabbed some needle and thread and started on some of her clothes that were more hole than fabric at this point. It felt good concentrating on something, the repetitive movement of the needle strangely calming.

The child sat beside her and followed every movement with his big, bottomless eyes.

She had just finished the last stitch when, without warning, all light flickered off. The ship started shaking violently, and she dropped the shirt to grab the kid before he fell off the bunk. Somewhere in the pitch-black something crashed to the floor. 

As quickly as it had begun, the shaking stopped and left behind an eerie silence. The telltale hum of the engine was gone.

Sinead pressed a hand to her forehead and breathed out slowly, trying to still her hammering heart.

The kid giggled.

“Oh, you think this is funny, huh?”

He babbled a reply.

“Okay, then.”

Carefully, Sinead got up with the kid safely tucked into her arms and made her way over to the ladder, where she climbed into the cockpit one slow step at a time. The ship was entirely dead.

The cockpit was bathed in a cold blue glow from a star directly ahead, with a single planet orbiting it.

“What happened? Is that Zessol?”

Mando unfurled from where he had been crouched under the control panel, with a small torch affixed to his helmet. The light reflected off his armor. “I don’t know. Ship suddenly lost power and dropped out of hyperspeed.” He disappeared under the controls again.

Sinead strapped the kid into his seay and plopped down onto her own. It was too dark to go poking around the controls, and she would probably be more hindrance than help.

“Damn it!”

“What’s wrong?”

“The energy cycler got fried when we dropped out of hyperspace.”

“Can you unfry it?”

“… maybe.” Mando got to his feet, mumbling a long string of Mando’a. He went to the navicomputer and pulled off a metal panel underneath it, exposing a mess of wires. After a couple of minutes, it sparked, and the controls lit up, piercing red in the darkness.

"Life support's back on. At least we won’t suffocate."

"We still might," Mando said, trying and failing to turn on the engine. "The star's interfering with the comm system. I can't send out an SOS."

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine," Sinead mumbled, trying to keep the growing worry at bay. She reached for the kid. "You okay, space bug?"

The kid babbled a string of nonsense, seeming totally unconcerned about their situation.

Suddenly, the ship lurched forward, catching Sinead off guard, and she hurriedly strapped herself into her chair. The turbines were still off, but Mando had managed to patch into the back thrusters, slowly sending the ship towards the planet which seemed pitch black against the backdrop of the star.

"You think we can make it in time?"

"We have to.”

The planet slowly turned green the closer they got, details appearing the closer they got. As the ship entered the planet's orbital pull, it started shaking so hard that Sinead's teeth rattled.

She had to force the words out of her mouth. “You sure you can land it?”

Mando didn’t reply. She was grateful for that.

The green surface turned into a forest that had to span most of the planet’s surface. Very slowly, Mando let the Crest drop inch by inch until it flew just above the canopy. Sinead held her breath.

Finally, Mando spotted a clearing and angled the ship towards it. They touched down with an echoing boom, sending Sinead’s head spinning from the sudden stop.

Stepping out of the ship was like stepping into another world; light came down through the leaves, creating flickering shadows on the ground whenever the wind rustled through the trees. A thick layer of decomposing leaves made the ground feel soft and swallowed the sound of Sinead's footsteps as she walked off the ramp. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. There were no soldiers to fight, no arena to infiltrate, no droids to smash. For a moment, there was only the breeze and the sweet smell of earth.

The peace was broken by Mando, who let out a frustrated grunt. He ducked under the ship and was poking around a bit of exposed machinery, the covering lying on the ground by his feet.

"Doesn't look good?" Sinead said even though she already knew the answer.

Mando slotted the cover back into place with more force than necessary. "The cooling unit is shot. We won’t get through the atmosphere without it.”

"I don't suppose you have a cooling unit lying around somewhere, do you?"

He pointedly ignored her. “I think there’s still enough power to scan the planet. Watch the kid, okay?”

The child came shuffling down the ramp, his big eyes growing bigger as he took in the new surroundings. When his feet hit the ground, he bent down and buried his hands in the dirt. After a moment he pulled out a fat worm that wriggled furiously in his hand.

“Hey, no, don’t-“

She started running, but it was too late. The kid popped the worm, dirt and all, into his mouth.

“No!” Lifting him up, she gave him her most stern look. “No. Spit it out.”

The kid gave her a toothy smile.

“Spit … oh what the hell. I have no idea what you are, you could just as well have an entirely worm-based diet.”

Mando appeared in the opening of the ship and looked up at the bright sky. “The closest settlement is about a day's travel. You two can stay here.”

Sinead looked at the quiet ship and chewed on her lower lip. Staying an entire day in one place with only the kid for company meant a long time for certain thoughts to sit and fester. "Or we could go with you. The kid's been cooped up in the ship for too long anyway, all that recycled air can't be good for him."

As if on cue, the child started wiggling in her grasp.

"He'll slow us down."

"I've already waited five years. What're a few extra hours."

Mando watched her for an uncomfortable amount of time, long enough that Sinead started to wonder if she had offended him somehow before he shrugged and disappeared into the ship.

She and the kid waited outside while he gathered supplies. They weren't stocked for a trek through the wilderness, but if the weather kept up and the undergrowth stayed as sparse, it wouldn't be a problem. Once he was ready, they set out in the direction of the settlement, walking slowly while the kid ambled back and forth between them. He kept wandering in front of Sinead whenever something caught his attention, and when he stopped to watch a sprawling anthill, she let out a huff.

"I told you it'd be slow."

"It’s fine."

They walked on in silence. The forest teemed with invisible life; birds hid in the treetops where they trilled out a warning as the trio passed by; somewhere far off, an animal bleated, and the sound echoed between the trees. When was the last time she’d felt this calm? Not since before Loovria, at least.

That reminded her ...

"You never told me why you hate droids. Back on Loovria."

"I ... didn’t." He fell silent again until Sinead was starting to regret asking. Then again, he had heard her tragic backstory; now it was time to hear his.

"I was ..." he paused again. They passed a lone dead tree that shed white bark in thick curls. "I wasn't born a Mandalorian. My village was attacked by droids. The Mandalorians took me in. Trained me in the Fighting Corps." He spoke slowly like every word had to be carefully considered.

She chanced a quick glance at him, even though his helmet would reveal nothing. He walked stiffly and kept his helmeted face turned away from Sinead.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

He shrugged.

"You know ..." she said without being sure how to continue. The words hung in the air while she wracked her brain for something to add. "I'm Corellian, but I've only been to the planet a handful of times. My mother hated the place, she never wanted to tell me why. My father was a real Corellian, would've spent the rest of his life among the stars if he could.” And in a way, he got his wish in the end. "Now there isn't really any reason to go back." She honestly didn't know why she was telling him this.

Mando was quiet for a long time. He finally looked at her, head slightly tilted to the side. "Sinead doesn't sound like a Corellian name."

That wasn't quite what she’d expected. "That’s because it's not. I’m named after an Alderaanian woman who saved my mother’s life. She got wounded behind enemy lines, and Alderaanian Sinead dragged her to safety. My mother was never the sentimental type, but I guess getting carried through hostile territory for days leaves an impact."

"She was a soldier?"

"A mercenary. Didn't like being called a soldier, which I always thought was a bit backward. My father was a pilot, ran cargo most of his life." She wanted to ask about his parents but figured she wouldn't press her luck. "He taught me how to fly. It's a shame you won't let me touch the Crest."

"You have flown it."

"Once. And that doesn't count! Your arm was hanging on by a thread; it was either that or stay on Loovria and get eaten by a nexu.”

"If it makes it into the air again, you can fly it all you want."

Sinead flashed a smile. "I’m honored."

"Just don't crash it."

"Oh please! Didn't you hear me before? I'm Corellian! We don't crash ships."

Mando's shoulders moved with what might have been a silent snort. "Right."

"It's true. We may do what in certain aviation circles is called a forceful downward trajectory terminating in an acute surface touchdown."

"And is the ship able to take off again?"

"Eventually."

This time she was sure she heard a soft chuckle, and she pursed her lips to keep from smiling. Perhaps the fresh air was getting to him too.

They wandered through a grove of thin white trees with sparse crowns that allowed sunlight to stream through the leaves. Thick moss covered the ground, and Sinead wanted nothing more than to lie down and take a nap between the trees. The kid seemingly had the same idea because when he passed a particularly soft-looking tussock, he slumped down, his little face weary. Sinead scooped him into her arms. "You've had enough walking for now? Lucky for you, you're so small, I can just keep you in my pocket." 

"I can take him," Mando said, watching her as she shifted the child to rest on her hip.

"It's fine. You're carrying the supplies. And I think he's already asleep."

"It's a long walk for him."

"Yeah ..." she looked down at the already sleeping child. "You've ever thought about giving him a name?"

"Not really.”

“Well, you should. I can't keep calling him kid in my head. Just because you're fine with having no name doesn't mean it works for everyone else. He's gonna grow up very confused."

Mando was silent for a moment. "When the Guild business is over, I'm sure whoever raises him can give him a name."

"What?" Sinead stopped abruptly, staring at him like she'd never seen him before. "You're gonna leave him? Just like that?"

"A ship's no place for a kid."

"I grew up on a ship, and I'm fine."

Mando was silent for a moment. "It's too dangerous. He deserves to grow up somewhere stable."

"And that's impossible if he stays with you?"

He started to walk again, and she hurried to keep up. "You saw what happened on Tatooine, and the droid. What if we hadn't come back to Loovria? It's better this way." 

She looked down at the sleeping child in her arms. His small hand had gripped a fold on her jacket. It didn't feel right, Mando without the kid. She didn’t know what to say; it wasn't her business, after all, so she changed the subject. "Do you know how old he is? Can't be more than a couple of years, he's so tiny." 

"He's 50."

She let out a snort. "Right."

"I'm serious."

"He can't speak, Mando. He's not older than us. Or me, anyway."

"I have the last four digits of his chain code," Mando said, sounding annoyed.

"And what does that mean?"

"That I know his age. It's why his tracking fob is off. It's the only reason the Guild hasn't caught up. Some species mature slower than others."

The kid made a soft sound in his sleep, and Sinead pressed her palm against his head, so warm and fragile. She felt a pang of sadness; even if he was 50 years old, he was still a small kid lost in the galaxy. Who knew how long it had been since he'd last been with his family? "I guess he has enough wrinkles to pass as a 50-year-old." It wasn't very funny, but she didn't know what else to say.

"I think, maybe ..." Mando trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"I think he might be a Strand-Cast."

The word rang a bell and brought Sinead back to a half-remembered conversation overheard on Sriluur. "That's a clone, right?"

Mando shifted the pack on his back. "Close. It's more like a … a type of bioengineered creature.” / Or just engineered creature.

That was harder to believe than the kid's age. She studied his small face, trying to find any signs of him being … what? "What makes you think that?"

"I just ... think it's a possibility."

"Hm." She moved the kid from one arm to another, careful not to wake him. "Would explain why the Imps want him back." The implications made her stomach twist, and she subconsciously held him closer. "You notice anything special about him?"

Mando waited for an odd amount of time before he answered, "No. I haven't."

... ... ... ... ...

Din didn’t know why he had lied to Sinead. While he usually trusted his senses completely, there was something about the child's powers that made him uncertain of what he had actually seen. The mudhorn had almost caved in his chest, and he had only been saved by the strength of his armor. The ground had shaken as it charged at him, pain exploded across his chest when he breathed. And suddenly, the beast was lifted into the air. The child saved him even though Din wasn’t his ally.

There was a tightness in his chest, a phantom pain from the battle with the beast.

They walked until the sky started darkening and the wind picked up. Save for the grove of white trees, the forest stayed the same. The child had woken up sometime before and watched the surroundings with curious eyes. Maybe he thought they were back on Sorgan.

"I think it's starting to rain."

As he turned to Sinead, a raindrop hit his helmet, the sound so much louder in his ears. It was followed by a rapid patter of rain on leaves, and soon the rain came down hard, obscuring his vision.

Sinead was barely visible through the sheets of rain.

"Of course this planet has crazy weather," Sinead shouted over the sound of the rain. "This is on me for thinking we could have a nice walk through the woods."

He peered at Sinead through the rain and the darkness. Water dripped from her hair and into her eyes, and the kid had turned his face into her jacket. With a sigh, he undid the fastenings of his cloak and thrust it at Sinead, hoping that she would take it without a word. She offered him a wan smile. The already sodden fabric was better than nothing.

The ground was soggy, and it wouldn’t be long until the whole forest was a muddy swamp. The settlement was hours away, but they couldn't keep going like this.

"We have to find shelter," Din said, motioning for Sinead to follow him through the trees which were running with water, little pools forming between the roots.

"You know, I don't think we're gonna find a cave anywhere near." Sinead held the kid close to her chest, trying to shield him from the worst of it.

"Follow me."

Before long, cold water had soaked through his clothes. He kept glancing back at Sinead, who looked like a misshapen lump under his cloak. The kid had to be freezing.

Desperation crept up his spine, and he started to move faster.  

It had come to the point where he would have accepted a hollowed-out tree or a wide branch when his visor indicated there was something between the trees. He pushed through a thicket, wet branches slapping against his armor, and there, in a small clearing, stood an old cabin. The windows were dark and empty, and the roof drooped under the weight of dead leaves. Nobody had been there for a long time. Years of rain and rot had warped the doorframe, and Din had to shoulder it open, the wood nearly buckling with every shove. It finally gave out with a loud crack.

A lantern hung on a hook beside the door, and Din pulled it down. Amazingly, it spluttered to life with a hiss and cast a weak light on the drab surroundings.

The cabin was a single room covered in a thick layer of dust and animal droppings. There was an overpowering smell of mildew and earth, and the last inhabitants had left multiple stringed cans hanging from the ceiling that clattered when the door was forced open. Most of the furniture left behind was broken. There was a mount of ash in the soot-covered fireplace. A single bed had been pushed into the corner.

Sinead hurried into the cabin and turned in a circle. "It's better than the cave on Luria."

"How is he?" The pack thumped to the ground and Din let out a soft grunt. His muscles were stiff and aching.

She pulled back the cloak to reveal the child. "Okay, I think. He's cold."

Din grunted and set to work. It didn’t take long before a fire was lit from the remains of a chair Din took apart. There was no way he would be able to find any dry firewood outside. It sounded like the rain had picked up since they entered the hut, coming in near vertically and thudding against the grimy windows.

Sinead sat cross-legged in front of the fire with the kid on her lap. He looked solemnly into the dancing flame and now and again would bite into a piece of bantha jerky with a strange sort of ferocity.

Din watched as Sinead removed her braid and combed through her hair with her fingers. He had never noticed how long it was. She stared into the fire in an almost hypnotized way, her long fingers working through every section of hair. The firelight cast deep shadows on her face, making her look unreal, like a painting.

"Mando?"

He blinked. He hadn't noticed her looking at him.

"You okay?" She tilted her head slightly. "There's room for you by the fire if you want. You must've gotten as soaked as us."

He suddenly became aware of how cold and wet he was, his armor feeling impossibly heavy and constricting. Slowly, he sat beside her and immediately felt the warmth radiating from the fire through layers of beskar and clothing.

"You've really never taken your helmet off in front of anyone?"

He watched her from out of the corner of his eyes, grateful that the helmet hid his face. "Never."

"You weren't born with it. When was the last time someone saw your face?"

The fire crackled and threw up sparks.

"When the Mandalorians took me in. I swore to the creed."

"And that means never showing your face?"

"Yes. This is the way."

She looked into the fire with an unreadable emotion in her eyes that made Din look away. "I heard Xi'an say something like that. I didn't know what it meant, and then there were sorta more important things to deal with."

The memory of her dealing with the droid sprung up in his mind; the way she looked standing over the broken corpse with fire and rage in her eyes.

And she’d done it all for the child.

"I'm sorry for all of that."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I contacted them."

"Which you did because of me. You didn't know they were backstabbing bastards."

Maybe he hadn't known, but the revelation hadn't exactly been shocking.

"Well, it all worked out in the end. We have a new lead." Her voice faded away as she stared into the flames.

It was suddenly hard to look at her.

She let out a yawn and looked at the bed. "It's probably time to turn in. How long to the settlement?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"If the rain lets up."

She made a disgusted sound. "I definitely need some sleep if I'm gonna survive tomorrow." Getting to her feet, she cradled the kid in her arms. "You coming?"

His spine straightened as he looked to the bed. "Uh ..."

"C'mon." Sinead shrugged. "The bed's big enough for both of us, and you need sleep just as much as I do."

Din stood as Sinead went over to the bed and started pulling back the sheets, which disintegrated in her hand. When she sat down, the mattress released a cloud of dust.

"It's better than the one in the Crest," she said while bouncing up and down. The mattress springs screeching with every movement.

Din turned his back to her and pretended to go over the supplies, hands going still when she lay down to a wailing chorus of springs. He didn’t often share a bed with someone else and generally it wasn’t for sleeping. When he couldn’t put it off any longer, he turned to face the bed where Sinead was lying on her back. The kid was swaddled in a blanket, fast asleep beside her.

Get a grip, he told himself as he sat on the edge of the bed to a cacophony of squeaking springs. He tried to control his breathing, but it felt like his heart was beating twice as fast. They had been sharing the same living space for weeks, and sleeping beside her gave him heart palpitations? Giving himself a mental shake, he lay down on the mattress, which was lumpy with age and just marginally more comfortable than the floor. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to focus on a spring that had worked its way through the outer layer and was trying to shank him. The rain pattered against the roof in a hypnotic rhythm, and the dying fire cast a warm light over the small room.

Between them, the child let out a little sound in his sleep.

The mattress dipped as Sinead turned onto her side, and Din's concentration shattered.

“You’re okay sleeping in your armor? Isn’t it uncomfortable?” She spoke quietly as to not wake the kid.

It was. The fire had only succeeded in drying the outer layers and leaving everything else cold and constricting. Even if it weren’t, it was doubtful he'd get much sleep anyway. "I’m used to it.” It came out in a breath.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Sinead prop her head to her hand and give him a faint smile. "'I'm used to it' implies that it isn't." She smiled gently, her dark eyes glinting in the firelight.

Despite himself, he rolled onto his side. The child slept between them, acting as a buffer. 

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.”

Safely hidden by his helmet, Din studied her face; still damp hair lay in soft-looking waves across the mattress, and there was an unreadable look in her eyes, in the way her smile seemed to slowly slip from her lips. She plucked at the kid's blanket. "How were they, the Mandalorians that took you in?"

The question caught him off guard. He watched a spider crawl up the wall behind Sinead while he thought.

"They treated me as an equal, fed and trained me, even though I wasn't their kin."

Sinead's eyes were warm and inquisitive. "Were there others like you?"

It had been a long time since he thought back on those days where alternating grief and gratitude had made his head spin. "We were foundlings. Lots of children were affected by the war."

"Where are they now? Your clan."

He searched her face for any sign of an ulterior motive almost hoping that he would find it and shut the conversation down without a second thought, but he didn’t find any; she looked as calm and curious as before. “After the great purge, they went into hiding.” He hoped that was enough of an answer. It was all he could give.

“Oh.”

The silence stretched between them, only interrupted by the rain and the sound of some small animal running across one of the rafters. Din considered pretending he had fallen asleep when Sinead started talking in a voice barely above a whisper. "Back when … before I was …" for once she seemed lost for words. "Before everything happened. My parents were cargo runners, willing to go pretty much anywhere in the known galaxy even with a little kid in tow. As I said, my father was a pilot, and my mother was in charge of security. As a kid I honestly couldn't imagine a better life than living out among the stars. I still remember the day I learned that most people go their whole life never leaving their home planet. I couldn't wrap my mind around it."

His armor dug into his side, but he didn’t notice. Her words came out softly like she was soothing a crying child.

"We were a pretty tight-knit group. Our co-pilot Raans, I used to call him Uncle. Don't remember a time where he wasn't a part of the crew. He was married to the navigator Tir Farr. Quite the couple.”

Farr. Were all her aliases taken from people she had known in the past?

"We were our own little village. Our old gunner, who I never actually saw leave the ship, taught me how to cheat in sabacc. Said it was better learning from him than after some guy fleeced me out of all my credits." The sound of rain seemed to melt away as she talked. A sad smile played on her face as she told him about the rest of the crew, looking so small curled up on the bed, and Din felt something stir in his chest. Suddenly, the space between them seemed to shrink. If he wanted to he could reach out and touch her.

“I had this old, really cheap voice recorder that I would go around and interview the crew. Must’ve ended up with hours of stories.”

“Why?”

“It was something my father told me once that really stuck with me. ‘As long as someone remembers you, you’re never really gone.’ And in my child mind it meant that if I made sure they would always be remembered then they’d never leave. When I got older and found out that wasn’t how it worked, it sort of became a habit. Every time we landed on a planet I’d find someone who was willing to talk to me. Ended up with a pretty comprehensive collection.”

She trailed off, and the hut was once again silent. The fire had burnt down to glowing embers.

"What kind of cargo did they run?" His throat felt constricted and the words came out harsher than he intended.

"Whatever paid the most, which, as you know, more times than not were less than legal. They thought I didn't know about the smuggling, but I pretty quickly learned what was in the crates they hid under the flooring. I overheard my parents argue over when to tell me. They agreed that once I turned eighteen …" he heard her swallow thickly. “That’s why I have to find Kyen. He’s the only family I have left. No matter if … if he’s changed, I have to know. I owe it to him.”

It was too dark to see her face and for that Din was grateful. "I'm sorry." It sounded so hollow coming from him, but he didn’t know what else to say.

"Yeah. Me too."

They fell silent. The fire had burned down to glowing coals, and Sinead was a black silhouette in the darkness.

"Mando?" She whispered. "Are you asleep?"

"No."

Minutes ticked by. Eventually, Sinead's breathing turned slow. He watched the contours of her chest rise and fall and tried to time his own breathing with hers, but it was like a band had constricted around his chest, making it uncomfortable to breathe.

Forcing his eyes shut, he resigned himself to a sleepless night.

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

[high-tidethunder]

like my mirror, years ago

Also on AO3!

Babe, there's something tragic about you

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

Crawley remembered Aziraphale, from before. Much of his time as an angel was wiped from his mind the moment he hit that pool of sulfur, but some memories, big ones, those remained, and nothing about this particular angel was small enough to be forgotten. Crawley remembered vividly his radiant, sweeping wings, the halo that seemed to be sunlight itself pouring from his essence, the striking, ice blue eyes that peppered his skin, unblinking, all seeing. Aziraphale was power in a name, glory in a soul, reverence in a being.

At least,

he had been.

When God had been creating the universe and Aziraphale had wielded his incredible power with such delicacy, had created a solar system with a snap and millions of species with a breath.

Now, though, now he just looked ordinary. The only thing that defined him as an angel was the sword strapped to his back that burst into heavenly flame when brought into his grip. Crawley tried to avoid thinking about that sword as he slid through the Garden, looking for his mark. He wasn’t sure what it would do to him and he didn’t want to think about it, hoped he wouldn’t be caught before his task was completed (for that matter, hoped he wouldn’t be caught after, either).

Of course, he had the most rotten luck of all existence (not that that was hard, there wasn’t much of it yet), and Aziraphale noticed him winding through the lush growth and Crawley found himself face to face with that sword. He coiled back, tongue flicking out between his fangs with a hiss, when the angel lowered his sword and the flames died.

“Go quickly,” he said, looking around as though to check they weren’t being watched, “go quickly and don’t look back.”

Crawley wavered midair, confused, and the angel shooed him on. “Go!” he whispered urgently, turning on his heel and hurrying away, sparing one last glance behind him to check that the snake had listened.

Later, when Crawley slithered up the Gates of Eden and confronted the angel, finding that he had given his sword to Adam and Eve (“it’s going to be cold out there!”), the demon found himself wondering how, with all his infractions, Aziraphale remained among the ranks of Heaven while he himself had found himself cast into Hell for less.

Perhaps it was the achingly pure compassion the angel possessed that he couldn’t help but being drawn to.

Babe, there's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

Somewhere down the line, Crawley realized Heaven didn't care for Aziraphale in the way they should. Didn’t appreciate him. Did they know what they had in the angel? What fire, what passion laid within him? Crawley had seen it with his own eyes, seen the way Aziraphale gave everything for humankind. Was that not God’s ultimate goal? That their first creation give all of themselves to their last?

He found it funny that Heaven seemed to have forgotten that goal. That they no longer focused on that aspect of the “Great Plan” (ineffable, the angel called it, a plan too great to be known. Crawley wondered how he expected to follow it, were that the case.)

It was clear that Heaven had made its own agenda, had strayed from God’s Great Plan while staying just enough within the lines to pretend they were carrying it out, and that Aziraphale’s dedication to his orders from the Almighty was throwing a wrench in their gears. Crawley worried about him, about what the other angels might do to prevent him further screwing up their plans.

Aziraphale, it seemed, had forgotten how to be the angel he once had been.

He had grown soft in his time around humankind, no longer the force to be reckoned with, the fearlessly rebellious bastard that Crawley had gravitated to.

He put too much faith in God and not enough in himself, but Crawley supposed that doing the opposite was what made him fall in the first place. Maybe it was for the best that Aziraphale had softened his edges. Had calmed down. Crawley wouldn’t wish the Fall on anyone, much less an angel he actually admired.

Maybe, Crawley thought, maybe it was meant to be this way. Him with so much faith and me with so many questions, coming together. Finding each other. Forging something.

Then he scoffed at himself. Meant to be, who was he? A demon, or an angel? No, this was a choice he’d made. Angels were insufferable, and this one was slightly less so. That was it.

No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony

No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me

Crawley decided he hated the name The Almighty had christened him with when he fell. Had the act itself not been demeaning enough? He got it, he was a snake, haha very funny, God.

I thwarted you, he thought, I took your people, I took your “Great Plan”, I took your do not touch sign and I wrecked it all. I do not belong at your feet, I belong in your throne. I set humanity free. You may have created them, but you also caged them. They can thank me for their nomadism, for their villages, for their growth. Not you. Me and your renegade angel. (“my renegade angel” lingered at the back of his mind and he didn’t know when he’d started thinking of Aziraphale that way, as something that might be, could be, shouldn’t be his, but that was a problem for a different day. Today he’d set aside to find a name, a title, that he could call his own. Now wasn’t that very demonic in itself? Defying God’s decision to see him as slithering at their feet and proclaiming himself other, taking his identity into his own hands. That was all it had taken for him to fall, why shouldn’t he continue on that path?)

No, he decided, he wouldn’t be seen that way, he refused to be. He was clever, he was tricky, he was a whisper of temptation in the ear of any who chose to listen and he was not a snake. He was not tethered to the ground, he could go where he pleased, take what he pleased, do what he pleased.

Do what he pleased.

Maybe he took a bit too much pleasure in the acceptance from Aziraphale when he introduced himself as Crowley. But he was a demon, wasn’t he supposed to indulge?

Either way, his heart fluttered when that name fell from Aziraphale’s lips. So much kinder than the way his fellow demons had taken to it. So much sweeter. So much more...right.

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Something in Aziraphale loved Crowley, he could tell, but he didn’t think the angel knew.

Aziraphale was a perfect Heaven’s perfect angel. He was loyal, dedicated, and endlessly generous. And he would not fall in love with a demon, no matter what Arrangements were made, how many lunches were enjoyed, how many times he saved his life. He may love everything on God’s green Earth, but he would not love Crowley. Not the way Crowley loved him.

At least, not consciously.

Crowley was Hell’s worst demon, which meant something along the lines of he was their best demon, but in the most aggravating way, which made him an even better demon. He indulged, he thwarted, he secured more souls, fomented more discord and dissent than other demons, he tempted an angel. But he was never violent. Never if he had a choice not to be. And the other demons despised him for it.

Of course he was in love with an angel.

It was only right, that he mangle the rules to follow his own heart.

They were the nicest things he could mangle.

Babe, there's something wretched about this

Something so precious about this

Where to begin

What Crowley didn’t know was how much his angel loved him.

And how sorrowful that made him.

Everything in him wanted to love Crowley how he was meant to be loved, but he was a demon. He couldn’t love. Would he know how much it meant to Aziraphale to love him, to be loved by him? How much his heart swelled whenever the demon showed signs of kindness, and how painfully it shattered with Crowley’s quickness to shut down that assertion.

What Crowley didn’t know was he was lying in a grave of his own making.

What Aziraphale didn’t know is how deeply Crowley could love.

How deeply he loved every human being for breaking God’s rules, how deeply he loved “undesirable” critters because of the kinship he felt towards them, how deeply he loved God, how deeply he loved Aziraphale. But Crowley couldn’t fathom that he could be worth Aziraphale’s love in return.

What Aziraphale didn’t know is the way Crowley craved him with every atom of his being.

Babe, there's something broken about this

But I might be hoping about this.

Oh, what a sin

The apocalypse that wasn’t shredded the veil between them.

It’s funny how it happens. How when you face the actual worst possible thing that could ever happen, the version of the worst possible thing that could ever happen that your brain fabricates to protect you from what it knows is the true horror just kind of. Falls apart.

The pretense crumbled.

There was no more Angel, and no more Demon.

There was only their side. And they, for once, truly believed that. They, for once, truly believed that they could love and be loved.

And they did.

That park bench, to that bus, to that cold, sharp apartment, so late at night, so early in the morning, they loved.

They loved quietly.

The world had been disturbed enough for one day, it didn’t need the cataclysm of an angel loving a demon.

The world didn’t need to know, but they did. And for once, it was not danced around, not skipped, not overlooked because more pressing matters were at hand.

They loved, and it felt like everything that was right, everything that they had ever needed, everything their former sides never wanted to feel.

There was nothing big about it. Theirs was a gentle love, a new love, an ancient love, a love born, like a phoenix, from the ashes of so many loves that came before.

To the strand, a picnic plan for you and me

A rope in hand, for your other man

To hang from a tree

Berkeley Square had become, for them, a place of essential endings and bittersweet beginnings.

It wasn’t easy, severing yourself from everything you’ve known, everything you’d been told was there for you.

But when that everything no longer served you, it was necessary to get up and find somewhere that did.

Aziraphale and Crowley were that something for each other.

The world made sense when they were together.

And maybe, Crowley thought, maybe it was a little bit meant to be.

[thebikles]

Little Merlin Fanfic Chapter 6

Chapter 1: https://thebikles.tumblr.com/post/616315012077813760/little-merlin-fan-fiction

(Sorry I don’t have the other chapters listed but if you scroll through my blog you’ll find them) 

“Right. So I’m in danger. I don’t know… The woods look pretty peaceful to me.”

Merlin huffed in exasperation. This was taking far too long and smokey tendrils of anxiety were curling in his stomach. They were like passengers lounging aboard the deck of a sinking ship. He wished he had the strength to just carry Arthur back to the castle, whether the prince liked it or not. But at least they were arguing. All was not lost if Arthur was willing to look him in the eye.

“There’s going to be an ambush. Now would you just listen for once in your life and come with me?”

He hadn’t moved, “An ambush? Where’d you get that information? And why aren’t the knights with you?”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t exactly say that Morgana was plotting to kill him. Arthur arched an aristocratic eyebrow and all his words dried up. “I just had… you know. A feeling.” 

Arthur nodded, sarcasm dripping from his chin. He began to pace the clearing. “You’re terrible, you know that? Everybody wait! Stop what you’re doing! Call in the royal guard! Merlin had a funny feeling.” 

But the sorcerer wasn’t paying attention. He squinted into the trees. “Arthur, remember how you always said that you know something’s about to happen when the birds stop singing all at once?” 

Arthur paused. Finally a note of concern touched his face. They stood listening and found only the forgettable ambiance of rustling leaves. The forest was filled with an edgy, watchful silence. 

“Okay, but that still doesn’t mean-” 

Figures began to crest the hill then. They emerged from behind boulders and dropped from the boughs of trees on all sides. There were thirty men at least and they bristled with daggers and crossbows and swords. They wore no armor or crests of allegiance, but this only seemed to emphasize their bulging muscles and dead-eyed stares. The men did not charge or shout, they didn’t need to. They simply closed ranks and penned our heroes in and let the violence of their presence be known. 

Merlin felt like shouting “I told you so!” until it echoed against the mountains, but Arthur was already drawing his sword and stepping in front as if to protect him. 

“No,” he spoke too softly, it was like he was still dreaming and no one could hear, “You can’t fight them all.”  

A command was given and countless arrows were notched with a mathematical, nauseating click. It was then Merlin understood that there was no subtle way out of this. His magic could not be passed for luck or lost in the chaos of a battle. The arrows would freeze mid flight and Arthur would hear the incantation, see the unearthly brightness in the sorcerer’s eyes and he would know.    

 So be it. Merlin tried to ignore his trembling fingers or the dread in his stomach like a stone settling to the bottom of a lake. He just readied the sacred words, which had never felt like recitation to him. More like singing and resonating with the bones of the earth. 

But before he could cross that intangible threshold a man stepped to the forefront of the group. He raised a hand and the crossbows were reluctantly lowered. Unlike the rest he was no fighter, he carried no weapon and clothing hung from his limbs are unhealthy angles. But the mercenaries shied away as he walked among them, like he was a great white cruising through a school of fish. Even his eyes were shark-like, dispassionate, calculating and unnaturally steady. 

“Hello, little prince.” 

They both stiffened. Arthur out of pride, Merlin because he could sense there was something deeply wrong with this man. 

“You didn’t make yourself very difficult to find. It was like you were trying to carve a new trail through the forest, and you seemed to purposefully turn a blind eye whenever my company drew near.” His face contorted into a pout, “Is life at the castle really so hard?” 

“What do you want?” Arthur looked every bit the prince then, with his level gaze and chain mail and tousled hair. 

“Me? Nothing. It’s my client who’s after your head.” Arthur opened his mouth but the man was too quick, “Ah yes, wouldn’t you like to know who it is… How delightfully tragic. She wanted it done quickly, you know, so that you would not suffer and your death would be ensured. But what she doesn’t understand is that I take suggestions, not orders.”  

Merlin could tell Arthur was making a conscious effort to control his breathing, “Whatever you… have planned for me, let my servant go, he has no part in this.”

A flash of deadly excitement in the man’s eyes like a pebble falling into deep waters. “So you care for him, is that it?”

“I just-”

“We’ll keep him then. I do love a bit of leverage.” Then he turned to address the mercenaries, “Now seize them! Do what you must.” 

They had but a millisecond of eye contact. Merlin wished he could pause the universe, there was so much he wanted to say, but instead he attempted to concentrate it all into his stare. That, I-don’t-want-you-to-get-hurt-but-also-I’m-so glad-I’m-not-in-this-alone feeling. The, if-you-have-a-plan-to-get-us-out-of-here-now-would-be-a-great-time-to-learn-telepathy look. Meanwhile Arthur looked like he was trying hard to be brave, but naked fear coursed in his eyes like a river beneath the ice.  

Then many hands grabbed Merlin from behind, and a sack closed over his head, blotting out the world. 

[misseffie]

Smutty ask, you think arya enjoyed having sex with gendry? Because after AKOTSK some people were left with the impression she wasnt very happy with the results and that was part of the reasons she didnt accept his proposal. Also i read somewhere cersei telling euron robert was bad in bed was meant to hint at gendry being bad in bed as well

I’m not sure how that parallel works really, considering that Gendry isn’t the womanizing whoremonger his father was. Robert was always shown to be deeply selfish, which doesn’t translate well for a sexual partner so I’m not surprised. Robert also often raped Cersei so I fail to see how this is some parallel to Arya and Gendry. 

Anyway, there’s no reason to assume Arya didn’t enjoy it. The people who are saying that stuff are mainly just trying to be funny. Like the people who said that Gendry was so bad that Arya sailed off the face of the earth lol. They’re just trying to be funny and not thinking about it in any more depth. That’s it. We shouldn’t take it personally beyond it being some bawdy jokes. 

As an audience, we are not actually given any indication or knowledge about that side of their relationship, mainly because the writers are asking us to focus on the emotional side rather than the sexual one. Yes, even though they had all those horny forge scenes. It’s the emotional impact of them having sex and how it affects Arya later on that they want us to focus on. 

And here’s the thing, her rejection of his marriage proposal had nothing to do with their night together, and nothing she does seems to indicate that. She returns his kiss eagerly before he proposes so it’s obvious that she’s still attracted to him. Even if I sort of roll my eyes at the “Not a Lady” reason that she gives, I’m sure that that is what the writers intended with her rejection. And it wasn’t a rejection of Gendry, her childhood friend and first love, as a partner - just the Lady lifestyle. Even if the experience hadn’t been all that pleasant she still had deep feelings for him, so I don’t think she would reject him based on something so shallow.

Her face, after they had sex, was about showing her struggle with her human emotional side and the cold/revenge seeking child soldier that she’s had to become. Her character development this season was about her struggle with which path to choose. So after she has sex with Gendry and lets herself be emotionally vulnerable for the first time in quite some time she’s struggling with that - hence why she slips back into her “no one” blank expression. It feels like she’s trying to shut out the emotional side of her. In fact, when you watch the scene these are the lyrics playing over it: 

“spun away all her sorrow and pain, 

and she never wanted to leave”

Clearly indicating that Gendry was able to take away her sorrow and pain for a while and Arya didn’t want to leave that moment. Maisie confirmed it with this quote “But I guess sleeping with Gendry, seeing Jon again, realizing she’s not just fighting for herself anymore but also her family — it’s bringing up all these human emotions that Arya hasn’t felt for a long time.”  It might not be meaningful but I think the fact that she mentioned sleeping with Gendry first shows that he is a big reason her walls start to crumble this season.

So I get why her face can seem funny in that moment, but obviously, that scene was about Arya struggling with her regained emotions. If anything, I don’t think she’s even thinking about sex at that moment, as much as struggling with being so vulnerable for the first time in a long while. To me, she looks like she’s desperately trying not to feel anything and is scared shitless. That scene didn’t read as a haha, Gendry sucks in bed, sort of moment - especially not with the tragic music in the background. It was all about Arya’s turmoil. 

[abthepoet]

All my friends are dead.

Something strange is trending in my life.

All my friends die.

At the beginning of my sophmore year in college, my roommate from freshman year died tragically in a single vehicle car crash. Her name was Allison Lynam. We called her Blake. She was sassy and funny and I wish I would've taken more time to know her.

The rain was torrential the night she died. I swear I've never seen it rain that hard ever again in my life. She drove to the store along Highway 36 in Long Branch,NJ. She had off campus housing that year and had to use the highway often. The road was terribly flooded the night she died. Im told she hydroplaned, spun, and T-boned the driver side smack into an electrical pole. Her family still decorates it.

At that very same moment, in my dorm room nearby, I was watching TV when the lights suddenly flickered and dimmed. A brown out.

I had no idea but that was my friend crashing into a pole and dying. She was 19 years old.

I know this because that accident happened near the mall. That accident killed the power to nearby businesses.

I later found out that the road she died on was so badly flooded, the police intended to close it. Why they didnt get to it in time, I'll never know. Maybe that's fate.

Then there was Jessica Blain. Jessica Blain was a firecracker of a human being. She was 100% unmistakable. One of the loudest, funniest, most loyal people and friends I have ever met. She was also an incredibly gifted singer and I was lucky enough to have Chorus with her. We, along with a small group of friends, founded a new greek organization on our campus, Alpha Xi Delta. We were paired up as Twins. (you can't have Bigs & Littles when you're just starting the Family Tree). We named the family we formed Fuck Up Your Shit. Because that's what we'd do for a friend. I miss her laugh most of all. It was loud and unapologetic. She was there for me, supportive, and encouraging without me ever having to ask. The night I officially finished college we all went out to the local gay club, The Colosseum. I got wasted, of course. But Jess was the person who when I shouted 'I have to pee' on the ride home, she stopped and knocked on strangers doors and asked to let me use their bathrooms. Nobody said yes so she held my hand while I peed on a fence instead. I remember the last time we spoke. She was at a concert with a mutual friend. We hadn't spoken much since I graduated, she was still in school.

She died in her dorm room bed on Halloween as a result of asphyxiation during an epileptic seizure. She was 20 years old. The news was broken to me that very same Halloween night as I floated along in NY on a concert cruise. The World/Inferno Friendship Society decided to host Hallowmas, their annual event, on a boat this year. Nothing like being trapped on a musical boat while you grieve. I had messaged her AIM late that night to say hi. She had an away message up. I may have sent a message to a dead person. I miss her friendship more than I realize sometimes.

That brings us to James Padden. James was a warm, snuggly bear of a guy who always tried to do the right thing and let me steal his hoodies. He insantly became my best friend in a Stepbrothers-esque manner. I met James working overnights at Wawa in Leonardo, NJ. I forget how it started now, but we were standing in front of the deli and I think I tossed him a broom or he already had one. . . I cant remember now.. . . but he just took one look at me with that mischievous little twinkle that I quickly returned and we instantly began sword fighting with our brooms. Like two little boys playing pretend and having a ball. He was sweet and silly and kind. I needed a ride, and he loved to drive. Our first winter as friends, we went out doing donuts in the snow. I barely knew him, but I felt safe. We smoked a ton of weed and had so many adventures trying to procure more. One time, we got so high driving to a Dropkick Murphys concert in NY we kept going in circles, missed almost the entire show save for the last 3-5 numbers, and had a blast. I can barely remember the night, but I remember laughing hard in that car. No one could talk to me like James. We were both insecure being chubby kids and adults, but so charismatic and grandiose that I sometimes thought we were the only two who would put up with listening to each others wild ideas and ridiculous banter. We would smoke joints and take adderall and talk about everything and anything. I miss the safety and closeness I felt with him. We were always 100% platonic, but we could nap together, I could walk into his house and jump on him in bed and wake him up. Then we would cook ourselves a breakfast feast and hit the beach. He taught me to always take the back roads. I gave him advice on the ladies. He taught me about fixing cars. I helped shave his back. He called his new pick up truck, a pick'um up truck. We could wax philosophical all damn day and not get sick of each other.

It wasnt just driving he loved, it was going fast. Like so many young white men, he had tendency to be a little reckless. The universe gave him a pass only so many times.

I'll never forget when he got his motorcycle. It was the last time I saw him. It was a bright green crotch rocket. He loved lime green. I was doing yoga in the living room when I heard this obnoxious engine rev down my street. I asked myself, who the hell is making this noise?! And it was James, grinning from ear to ear with a matching helmet on his shiny new toy.

before he left I said, 'you die on that thing, I'll bring you back to life and kill you." I remember giving him this very long and intentional hug and not knowing why I felt compelled to hang on.

When he left and hopped back on the bike, I felt compelled again and took a video of him riding away from my driveway until he was entirely out of sight.

That's my very last memory of him alive. James Padden died on Thanksgiving five days after his 25th birthday. He went out for a joyride on his bike before dinner, opened up to 100mph around a curve where he couldn't see a car pulling out around the bend in time. They called a medevac, but he died on scene. I loved James dearly and I regret drifting apart after we both left Wawa and I started a new relationship. He had stuff too, but in hindsight it never seems important.

Then there's JB. I will always remember JB for his kindness and generosity. The very first time I finally worked up the nerve to go to a poetry slam, I was alone and terrified. I had no idea what to expect. JB was the very first person to turn around, introduce himself, and welcome me. He made me feel like I belonged. Years later, when I won the title of Grand Slam Champion, he immediately offered to help coach me for national competition. Except, I didn't see the messages and left them unanswered, which I deeply regret. When I started hosting my own open mic a few years after that, JB would be one of the only people to consistently come support the show both as an audience member and participant. It was at a pizza joint and he would sometimes buy me food when I had no money. He wrote beautiful poems about his two young daughters and how much they inspired him. JB always tried to make people laugh but you could tell he carried a sadness. I did not get details, but from what I have gathered he made a choice to end his life. I wish I would have gotten closer to him and appreciated him more as a friend and person. I wonder if he felt no one cared about him and I feel like I should've let him know more.

Which brings us to Crys. Crystopher Anthony Diaz was a Scorpio with a big heart and a big personality. I met him on Myspace back in the day and started Web camming. We became friends and eventually fell into this gray area of friends, together, but not. It wasn't long before I was spending days at his place, killing hours at a time downloading music, making Wawa runs, and smoking weed with his roommate at the time, Syd. You know, the whole reason I worked at Wawa was Crys suggesting it. And Wawa is the reason I met James. Crys was unlike anyone I'd ever met. He was poetic and artistic and loved animals, especially pit bulls. He loved to draw and write and had this very out loud style that favored Earth tones. He taught me about fashion and insisted on getting dressed even if it was 1am and we were just going to Wawa because you never know who you might see. We would buy new clothes at Walmart and have photo shoots. That boy drank his weight in coffee daily. If it's one thing I'll always remember him for, it's the dancing. Dancing was a passion of his and always used to talk about wanting to form a dance crew. Eventually, we ended up living together for four years. My first apartment was with him in this piece of shit duplex rented to us by a slumlord in Keansburg,NJ. My relationship with him was always defined by our Aries/Scorpio dynamic and he never let me forget it. His birthday was October 30th, mischief night. One time, after we had moved into a new place, we decided to get revenge on our old downstairs neighbor by taking a finished lobster carcass and throwing it on his lawn. . . . . . . Keansburg had a terrible stray cat problem. 😁

I have so many memories with Crystopher. Unfortunately, towards the end of our relationship things became too tumultuous. We had too much unresolved baggage and trauma to find a healthy place emotionally together. We were so financially strained for a time we hardly ate. And then when he met his new girlfriend Laura, she introduced him to her good friend, Roxy. As in Roxcicet. aka Blues. Neither of us knew what that even was at the time. But he sure learned quick. He started using them pretty frequently as time went on, and things only got more complicated. My mental health took a nose dive. By the time I moved out our relationship was trash. I basically left. At the time, I didnt have a choice. things had gotten so bad between us, the money, the using . . . we didn't act like friends anymore.

I saw him a couple times at his new place but that was years ago. Since then, he went through a lot, including homelessness and more struggles with addiction to opiates. He reached out to me and sent me a message apologizing for everything a couple years back. I never responded. I was afraid I would let him back into my life and let the all the problems back in. I didnt trust where he was at in his life. We lost touch and stopped speaking.

His ex, who used to live with us and became my friend, messaged me and told me he died a few days ago. He was 35. I'm still waiting for information, but it may have been drug related. I'm not even sure where I'm at with how I feel. I know why we stopped talking. It was the right thing to do at the time. But he didnt deserve to die so young, having spent the last god knows how many months homeless. It's fucking with me so hard because we never resolved anything. I loved this person so fucking much and we never made peace. Of everyone I've lost, he was the closest to me. I've had a lot of people die on me but none that I lived with and shared a life with. I have more memories with him than I can handle and while I know we hadn't spoken in years and why, I still wish I would've said something. Done something. Yes, i needed healthy boundaries but he needed somebody. when is being firm too firm? If we would've helped, could it have been different? But we didn't want to help at the time, you try to be tough and draw a line. Be firm. Not let yourself be taken advantage of. But is that a defense? Did that defensiveness leave a human being who's head i used to scratch until he fell asleep out in the cold to get sicker and die?

What am I supposed to learn from all this Universe? Why do you take my friends so young and so tragically? I'm only 35, I'm too young to have this much loss.

Because these are just the major players I've lost. It doesnt include my cousin Jared, who died being reckless on a motorcycle at 21 two years ago. I was 15 when he was born. I loved that baby, he used to bite my nose. But his family lived far, so I rarely saw him growing up. Last time I saw him was at my grandfather's funeral. He didn't remember me and the nose biting.

And then there's Marcos who we used to chill with. He worked delivery for our favorite chinese food place. He was a nice kid who lived with his grandparents. We would get food, smoke weed, hang out a little. Even used to buy it off him for a while. Eventually he got into the opiates too, he even wound up being good friends with Crys and being Blue buddies. But eventually Marcos died from an opiate overdose. He was in his mid twenties.

I didnt want to include Ricky because he was more of an acquaintance for me, he was more my partners childhood friend. But god damn, in the time I knew Ricky that kid was a riot. He was loud and funny and definitely marched to the beat of his own drum. Drugs took him too.

Thanks for reading all this if you've made it this far. It's taken me about two hours to type this out on my phone. but i needed to. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

[douxreviews]

Supernatural - ‘Lebanon’ Review

What a lovely episode. It didn't feature a huge battle or the culmination of a major story arc. It wasn't a musical production with a large cast. It was small and personal, and deeply emotional.

Clearly, Sam should have been the one to wish for his heart's desire, because I bet it would have been what they wanted, that Dean be free of Michael. Instead, Dean held the pearl, and what he wanted more than his own life was his father back. Not a surprise, but it says a lot about Dean, doesn't it? That he wanted John Winchester more than he wanted to be free of the probability of eons of suffering? That in Dean's heart, just like when he went to Hell, he still doesn't believe he deserves to be saved?

This heartfelt Winchester reunion would have seemed bogus if John and his boys had just fallen into each others' arms. John, an active hunter fresh from 2003 who got dropped into the darkened bunker with his sawed-off in his hands, had trouble recognizing his own sons as they are in 2019, and who could blame him? It was almost a miracle that he didn't shoot first and ask questions after.

But once the truth set in, it was lovely. I keep using that word about this episode, but it bears repeating.

The best scene was the one where John apologized to Sam for not being a good father. I honestly believe this was Jared Padalecki's best dramatic scene in the entire series. Sam told John that their argument was a lifetime ago, that he had thought for years of John on the floor of that hospital and how they never got to say goodbye. Sam was crying. John was crying. Of course, I was crying, too.

And during all of the bunker scenes, Dean's heart was in his eyes. This was what he had always wanted: the four of them together, his father expressing total love, pride, approval of him. And I loved how Dean was sensitive enough to leave his parents alone. Mary got to embrace her beloved husband one more time, touch him, kiss him, and I hope they did more than that while the boys were out shopping. Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Samantha Smith did a wonderful job expressing John and Mary's love and deep connection, especially when you consider that these two had only one scene together in the pilot episode way back in 2005. No need to mention that both of them look older. It wasn't important. The two actors aren't old enough to be J&J's parents, anyway.

I thought centering the reunion on a family dinner was, I'll say it again, lovely. These four people have never even had a family dinner together. Sam was a baby when Mary died, and Dean was only four.

Like all of the best Supernatural episodes, "Lebanon" started out funny and ended tragically. Of course the boys couldn't have their father back, and I loved that John was the strong one. John was determined that they all simply enjoy being together one last time. John kept smiling at them, a genuine smile. He stayed positive. He gave Sam closure, and he gave Dean approval. He kept holding Mary's hand as if he couldn't bear to let her go. And he took a bit of it back to 2003 as a dream. It will have to be enough.

The rest of the episode was delightful, too. We've seen way too little of Lebanon, even though the Winchesters have been living there for six seasons. I enjoyed every single easter egg and callback, and I'm sure I didn't catch them all: the clown ghost; Max stealing the Impala like the valet in "Baby;" the Winchesters using the name Campbell, which is Mary's last name and an alias that actually means something to them. The movies at the Lebanon Vista Theatre included Hell Hazers and All Saints Day.

The three kids, Eliot, Max and Bea, got to find out who those two strange brothers were, and thought that monster hunters were incredibly cool. (Well, they are until you need them.) I also loved how Marta the post office clerk melted when Dean flirted with her, while she looked at Sam distastefully. How could anyone but a monster find Sam distasteful? I watched this episode with my son Daniel, who was going, "Yeah, let's take home an entire box of actively evil occult objects, because nothing could possibly go wrong with that." And "It's never a good sign when a teddy bear has no eyes and its mouth is sewn shut." I assume "Precious Pawn" was a reference to Lord of the Rings. Loved the dragon's breath. Laugh out loud.

It was even nice to see Kurt Fuller as the nasty Zachariah again, although I hated seeing Castiel so hateful. It's sad to think of how Castiel would have been without his love for the Winchesters – although it would have been much sadder if Misha Collins hadn't been in the 300th episode. I'm glad Sam thought of the sigil so that he didn't have to kill alt-Castiel. Even though it wouldn't have mattered since time was reset and it never happened.

And the alternate timeline versions of Dean and Sam were a hoot. Especially Sam as a self-help guru with glasses. And kale.

Bits:

— This is Supernatural's 300th episode. Wow.

— There was no credit card for Jeffrey Dean Morgan in the opener. He got an end credit as "special guest star." Thoughtful, although I bet every fan of the show was already spoiled that he was going to be in this one.

— The date was the same as the episode air date: February 7, 2019. Skip day.

— I assume Mary didn't tell John that she's been dating Alternate Universe Bobby.

— The boys were at the pawn shop because of the skull of Sarah Good. She was a real person.

— As has been mentioned before, Lebanon, Kansas is the geographic center of the contiguous United States, a clever choice by the writers.

— The Agents of Doux put together an article on our favorite episodes of Supernatural. What do you think? Should "Lebanon" be on the list? It would absolutely be in my top twenty, that's for sure.

— We're getting a mini-hiatus. The next episode airs March 7.

Quotes:

Dean: (re: the dead pawn shop owner) "They always talk too much."

Eliot: "Where did they even come from? Them, or their weird sidekick with the trench coat? And what about that kid with the dumb Bambi look on his face all the time?"

Marta: (to Sam) "So you want me to give you an underage girl's address?"

Dean: "A serial killer clown. I mean, this is like the best/worst thing that's ever happened to you. You know, 'cause you love serial killers but you hate clowns." Sam: (frantically trying to burn the cigar box) "Yeah. I get it, Dean."

John: "So. You saved the world." Dean: "More than once." John: "Then it's all true. God, the Devil, you boys smack in the middle. Now you live in a secret bunker with an angel and Lucifer's kid." Dean and Sam: "Yeah." John: "And you've done this whole time travel thing before?" Dean: "Few times."

John: "I went out taking out Yellow Eyes. I mean, that was the point, right? Get the thing that killed Mom."

John: "Son, I am so sorry." Sam: "I'm sorry, too. But you did your best, Dad. You fought for us and you loved us. That's enough."

Dean: "According to the internet, you run a law firm and love kale." It's sad that even in the alternate timeline, the boys had no families.

Dean: "I googled me as well. Lot of beheadings."

Zachariah: "Earth, where you're always stepping in something. Come on, Constantine." Castiel: "I don't understand that reference." Zachariah: "You wouldn't."

Dean: (to Sam) "I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are." They're not angry young men anymore. They've grown up.

John: "I choose grateful. So to whatever brought us together, we owe you one. Amen."

Supernatural does time travel good. I could probably write about this episode for a few more hours, but I'd better stop here. Four out of four pearls,

Billie Doux has been reviewing Supernatural for so long that Dean and Sam Winchester feel like old friends. Courageous, adventurous, gorgeous old friends.

[echodrops]

Sigh...

Look, don’t get me wrong at all, I am so excited for actual LGBT representation in Voltron and I’m so glad that they chose a beloved character like Shiro to be that representation--I am absolutely not ungrateful and you will never catch me whining that it wasn’t any of the other characters such as Lance. This is a great thing! Absolutely!

But I’m still a literary critic at heart. And I still can’t turn off the part of my brain that goes “Who is writing this stuff???”

Because like, getting representation is great, but well-plotted representation would have been... you know... even better?

I’m not going to comment at all about the building of Shiro and Adam’s relationship; I haven’t seen the whole SDCC episode and I don’t know what other flashbacks they have planned for season 7/8. Maybe it will unfold on-screen in such a charming, convincing, and well-written way that we will all be writing home to tell our parents how beautiful their relationship was. I’m not especially hopeful, but I can withhold judgment.

What bugs me, what really irritates me as a writer, is the lack of foreshadowing. The second thing that went through my head after getting hit with all the spoilers was “Did this show really need another new character?” In a show that can’t even handle the number of characters it currently has, the idea that there will be time to sufficiently flesh out YET ANOTHER background character enough to make me deeply care about them is just... not heartening. We have so many characters already who aren’t getting the screen time and attention they deserve, and now I’m supposed to find room in my heart and attention span for another? Yet another character who will exist in the spotlight for the one or two episodes he’s necessary for and then will be relegated to the background forever--if we ever even see him again outside of flashbacks?

There just isn’t time in this series for new people so close to the end. Hell, there wasn’t time for new people after about the end of season two! When I think of all the characters who were introduced and then criminally underused by the writers, the exhaustion I feel at the thought of having to weigh whether or not I should tentatively extend my investment into yet another character is crippling.

I’m just worn down, man. I don’t want another character. I don’t want another person paraded on screen to do his touching flashback scenes and then shuttled off to the corner to make room for big explosions and pretty space set pieces.

It didn’t have to be like this, and that’s what bugs me. If there had been any amount of reasonable foreshadowing for this character, the audience would have been clued in in advance, and we could have braced ourselves for another person coming in now, in the final arc. We could have been building anticipation to meet this character all the way up to this moment, so that by the time he arrived, we'd have been chomping at the bit to finally see him. The groundwork for an emotional connection between this character and the audience could have been laid out so far in advance that his finally appearing would have been like a bomb going off in the crowd...

And it wouldn’t have even been hard? Tiny throwaway moments could have done this--have Shiro mention Adam in any of his Champion/captured by the Galra flashbacks. Have Shiro mention someone back home when they were all visualizing the things they missed from Earth in season one. Have Kuron reminisce about Adam as he was flashing back while escaping from the clone facility. Have Kuron ask Sam to take a message to Adam on his way back to Earth. Have Kuron name his Monsters and Mana character Adam instead because of how much his ex still means to him or something.

Like... anything? Even a single mention of the name before now?

I’m supposed to believe that Shiro was almost married to this guy, had a tragic break-up right before leaving on a mission that his boyfriend explicitly warned him against going on because it might claim his life, and apparently still thinks of this guy fondly... BUT only when it’s plot convenient to do so???

Writers. PLEASE. Throw your audience a bone! We WANT to be emotionally invested in your characters. Why won’t you give us the means to do that?

I know some people might say “Dreamworks wasn’t settled on giving representation until late in the game”--but that doesn’t mean that Adam couldn’t have at least EXISTED before now. They could have passed him off as just Shiro’s best friend, his flight partner whom he was ride or die with thanks to being Garrison partners with so long... No one would have batted an eyelash at the idea that Shiro had--god forbid--A GOOD FRIEND back home.

This character could have been foreshadowed to build expectation and make the audience feel connected to him before his appearance, which would have more smoothly integrated him into the story and made for a significantly higher emotional impact upon revealing his relationship to Shiro. But like so many other things in this show, that degree of planning just wasn’t present.

Exhausting.

And of course, this just leaves aside the whole other point that introducing a brand new character to be Shiro’s boyfriend is actually MORE complicated than at least one alternative they could have chosen. Because I mean, hello? MATT IS RIGHT THERE. BEING CRIMINALLY UNDERUSED.

It would have been significantly easier, plot-wise, to give Adam’s role to Matt, who has been part of the plot since episode 1, was at least briefly implied to have good rapport with Shiro in season 1, whom Shiro is shown on-screen risking his life for, and who came crashing back in in season 4 to ascend to a fan favorite by virtue of a) being a great big bro in flashbacks, b) being hilarious and c) having taken a level in badass, creating a--at least by Voltron standards--fairly well-rounded and very interesting character that the fans were clamoring to see more of.

And then... the writers just dropped the ball on him completely, like they had no idea why he was even in the show in the first place. Is he even there with Team Voltron when they’re all shown going back to Earth? WHERE IS MATT?

Why did they bring him back into the plot, make him cool and funny, tease us with the idea of him being an awesome support for the Green Lion, and then let that all completely fizzle out?

If they really had nothing else exciting for him to do in the plot, they could have at least kept him relevant to the story by making him Shiro’s romance arc. That would have been a two birds with one stone situation where we both get the long-awaited LGBT representation and get to keep a cool character like Matt involved in main events instead of painfully shunted off to the side.

I’m getting a headache just thinking about the thought process behind Matt’s story line. Like which writer invested enough time to make this character that lovable to the audience and then agreed to just let him disappear?

And if, again, it was a matter of not having approval for the representation until season 7, why not just make it so that Matt was suspicious of Kuron and kept his distance from day 1? Then we get a situation in which Kuron being a different person than Shiro would have at least had an impact on the plot, Matt would have looked super in love with Shiro by virtue of being able to tell something was wrong with him without the writers having to do any real work, they could have had a real reunion at the beginning of season 7, and Matt could have helped to build a new arm for Shiro as a touching, symbolic way of repaying him for sacrificing himself to the Galra arena to save Matt in season 1...

I’m so tired, my dudes. 

Yes, yes, you’re welcome to tell me I’m just unpleasable and nit-picking, but I’m not trying to trash on this show because I’m irrationally throwing shade, personally hate the creators, or some bullshit about Klance isn’t canon king--I’m just the kind of person who really, really appreciates good writing, and yes, secretly, I get really, really salty when I see people getting paid to make bad writing choices.

I love that we got LGBT representation in Voltron! But I hate that, like almost every other notable plot point in this show, it--so far!--appears to have been done without any attention to building up strong audience expectations in advance and more carefully investing in character development over time.

And seriously, if it turns out that Shiro and Adam don’t even ever reunite, and all we get of their story is Lauren’s off-screen comments about their “beautiful relationship,” I will not be surprised be so done with this nonsense.

[lovelyfictional-imagines]

Small Hands (The Eleventh Doctor x Reader)

This has been the longest I’ve written, my first Eleven(with brief Twelve, of course), and my first transition fic all in one. Keeping it short because it’s longer than usual! Hope you enjoy!!

Until next fic, - Ashley Inspiration: Small Hands - Keaton Henson Word Count: 3413

Miss you terribly already, Miss the space between your eyelids, Where I'd stare through awkward sentences And avoid through awkward silence

 Large, tired eyes rolled to the back of her head as she woke to another exhausting day. Lethargy held her down, traveling through her very bones like a leaf on a quiet river. (Y/N) sat up, gently lifting her heavy legs from the quilt’s protection, and felt the cold floor beneath her toes. The sun was pale, peeking in to tell her it was a new day, and she felt it laughing at her inability to even look it in the eye.

Going through her routine had become difficult since the Doctor had gone. Not a word from him in quite some time left her faith dwindling, causing her to settle back into the sad, lonesome life she’d had before. She hadn’t even realized just how boring she had been until she was forced to go back to her old life. That raggedy man with the funny bow tie and the fez fixation had forsaken her to remain on earth alone. Tears had fallen freely for weeks, before devolving into moisture around the corners of her eyes, until one day she felt the pressure behind them, but nothing came.

It was if even her tear ducts were spent, fed up with her constant use like the Doctor must’ve been with her. Often, she wondered if he’d forgotten her, if she ever crossed his expansive mind. Intentionally unremembered, pushed to the back of the closet in his vast mind like baby shoes or old photo albums.

That gangly, awkward spaceman simply left her on earth to fend for herself after months and months of travel. After being too close to such a gorgeously tragic creature for too long, the sudden isolation deeply affected her. Like taking a thriving plant and shoving it roughly into a dark room. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to see him again, she was so angry at first. But the rage subsided, it melted into heartbreak. Then the pangs in her chest dissolved into nothing. Any trace of what once a feeling was, it was stolen from her.

 Miss your teeth when they chatter, When we smoked out in my garden When we couldn't sleep for all the heat, Soft talk began to harden.

 It was getting harder to leave her apartment. The empty husk she lived in was cold, dark, desolate. The opposite of her warm corner of the spaceship. Anytime she spoke anymore, a ghost of the powerful voice she’d once had escaped. It had been so long since (Y/N) had spoken, truly talked to someone.

Many conversations she’d once had involved the existence of all the odd creatures she’d met with him along the way. Cybermen, Daleks, those “cute little marshmallow aliens”, and more. Most nights instead of sleeping she’d be looking into those hazel eyes, watching them crinkle in laughter or glaze with seriousness, guarding something deeper. Something they both shared. Even as he attempted to dance around her and their feelings, she felt fine. Knowing he felt the same was enough.

Until he was gone.

Their last conversation hadn’t been a pleasant one. It still haunted her at night. Months of tension built up to their last meltdown, leading to the Doctor flying her home at her demand. All her odd feelings about Amy’s brashness and Rory’s ignorance had boiled to a head. The redhead’s flirtations had finally pushed her over the edge, and (Y/N) couldn’t stand feeling like she was in the way of something larger than her. With her feelings that she, in the heat of the moment, assumed were unreciprocated, it was better in her mind that she left. In a blind fury she’d stomped to her room, throwing her old clothes in and slamming the old suitcase. Dragging it along, nose high in assurance of her decision, she passed them by on her way out. One by one their faces went by, expressions more shocked than any, until she moved by the Doctor.

Confusion and unmasked pain were evident on his face, and she couldn’t find the nerve to meet his eye.

The large doors slammed shut behind her, and (Y/N) was well down the street until she heard her name being called. Already halfway through some anonymous neighbor’s backyard, rooted in a bed of begonias, she halted her plodding, waiting for her childlike companion. Of course she’d stopped. Knowing she shouldn’t have but hearing the desperation in his voice instantly glued her in place. And there he was, in front of her as suddenly as he had been the first time they’d met.

Tall and bright and looming over her, he grinned sheepishly. Long hands fidgeted before tucking into his pockets, and then he removed them as soon as he’d moved them. Suddenly they were warm and wonderful, surrounding and cradling her face as his drew near. Then he kissed her. Kissed her silly, just about, taking her breath away. Everything she’d wanted had come true in that moment. Suddenly she felt appalled, pushing him away. Once she’d fantasized about the day his mouth found hers, a physical confirmation almost, but at that time it was the last thing she wanted. What was he playing at? A pity party for wee (Y/N), who just simply couldn’t keep her feelings as inconspicuous as she thought?

“You can’t just... just do that... and expect me to not be upset anymore. You have to... I’m sorry. Find me when you mean it.”

How the Doctor resembled a kicked puppy more in that moment than in any other they’d spent together, she would never know. Every single day since then she regretted her decision. Sometimes she’d be so eager, so prepared to hear him knock on her door and whisk her away again, that every bump heard outside sent her rushing towards the door.

Disappointment filled her every time. The suitcase remained by the door, tightly packed, and she passed it frequently, knowing a good deal of what lay in it were many articles the Doctor had worn himself. How she missed seeing him bundled in her own oversized jumpers, sleeves rolled up as he tinkered away with any and everything. Always with that smile. That stupid, goofy smile that lit up her dreary world and pulled her into one where nothing bad could happen, that one she’d seen before being lulled to sleep after a terrifying day, that one--

Stop it.

To this day she still felt the rough surface of his chapped lips that were sweet to the taste, his ever-present warmth beneath his skin, and the weight of his melancholic gaze softening like butter when they settled on her.

 Miss your small hands in the palm of mine The fact they're good at making, Miss your sitting up incessantly, And the fact you're always waking in the night, night.

 Sleepless tendencies that (Y/N) had kept under wraps for years were impossible to hide from the Doctor. Until one time she’d been too tired to move but too exhausted to sleep and he’d been so frightened for her that he tucked her into his lap and read to her through the night. Old habits die hard, but the Doctor seemed to be excellent at laying hers to rest. Never in her life had she slept so well. Shadows beneath her (E/C) eyes had faded considerably, bags had grown smaller and smaller. Her skin had been radiant, her need for coffee constantly diminished, and her mood overall had been improved.

It came as no surprise that she grew worse after her departure and the absence of him at her side as she slept. An average four or five hours that had grown to eight or nine abruptly reduced to one or three, if she was lucky, with prescription medication that only worked half the time. When respite was nowhere in sight and any hope she had was dashed, she’d sit at her desk and write. Pen down her thoughts, that often revolved around her extraterrestrial almost lover. Paint intricate pictures of her memories of him, wiry and tall and beautiful in his recondite sort of way. He could’ve started his own artistic revolution, his own stylistic movement in history, with all the indescribable sensations and colors he carried in his vivid personality.

Other restless nights when (Y/N) lived on the TARDIS, she would bake. Whip up delicious, fluffy treats that always appealed to the Doctor’s more puerile side. For hours she would remain in the kitchen, bowl in hand and a wicked look of concentration on her face. There she would lay in wait.

Then the Doctor would come sneak in, surprise her with his silly faces and odd voices, eat her cupcakes or cookies, and they’d burst into childlike laughter and whisk flour through the air. She would chase him through the halls, following his powder trail and clouds until she found him and pounce on him. And then he’d do this funny sort of motion where he pressed his forehead to hers, crinkle up his nose and they’d watch each other for ages. Even as flour fluttered and settled around their bodies, like dust in a war zone, they would go still and lose themselves in each other, in their moment of silent communication.

Should he choose to return for her someday, (Y/N) would have something sweet prepared for him. All her letters and treats would be thrust into his arms, like an offering, a material plea. Sincere, profuse apologies would sputter from her mouth, for fighting, for not listening, for being so immature and emotional. On her knees she would beg, urge him to take her with him again. Anything to escape, to be back in his presence. The humdrum of her day to day life ate away at her insides, leaving her yearning more and more for the adventures from before each day. Yearning to see his face, feel his hearts, and heed whatever it was he’d tried to tell her that day, months ago.

 And I, I hope for your life You forget about mine Forget about mine

 Knowing the Doctor too well, (Y/N) concluded he likely wouldn’t come back. More often than not when someone he cared for told him to go away, he actually listened. The knowledge that he probably locked himself away at some point and blamed himself for her frustration killed her. Guilt gnawed at her constantly, remorse at the thought of him beating himself up over a pathetic human such as her. But he was so wonderfully empathetic, this face.

He always thought so lowly of himself. (Y/N) knew it, from the way his shoulders slumped when he thought he was alone to the sad stare on his idle face. Everything he did plucked at her heart strings, the lowest ballads and the most exquisite symphonies. She hated herself for becoming so attached, for caring so much for this unobtainable, exotic being.

Only in her limited dreams she was normal, an ordinary girl content in a bland life. In some alternate universe she’d never crossed paths with him, rarely wishing it had been this one. Self-loathing set in when she felt this way, because the Doctor was and always will be the greatest thing to happen to her. She couldn’t live a life without him being in it. His life was her life’s favorite part.

 Miss your teeth dug in my shoulder, As we rolled in early morning, Miss your arm dying beneath me, As I lay there simply yawning

 Waking up alone in her too-large-for-only-her bed became the norm for (Y/N). Prior to her leaving, she and the Doctor often shared a bed, constantly straddling the line between platonic and romantic. A line the Doctor played jump rope with, always dragging her into the game. Not that she minded.

Naps galore and numerous nights were spent sleeping together, hands intertwined, or arms draped around each other. In the plush bed, piled high with blankets and pillows, (Y/N) would usually wake after him, only to find he had been awake for hours stroking her hair or rubbing her back. When she’d ask him why he hadn’t woken her, his face would go pink and he would give her a look that was so tender that it caused her to choke up even if only thinking of it. Something about the gentle way his eyes crinkled as his flushed cheeks rose as his thin mouth curled into something so absolutely perfect in her mind, and it stole the breath from her lungs and brought tears to her eyes every damn time he did it.

Even as she attempted to hoist her numb limbs from around him, rubbing clumsily and quickly, she felt his gaze on her. From behind he would curl his lanky limbs around her waist, push his nose into her messy hair and they’d remain in that position until he would leap to his feet, off on some train of thought before it had fully left the station. (Y/N) would giggle to herself and linger behind, moving off to dress and wash her face before joining him on his daily death wish.

 Please forget me, you were right dear, I am cold and self-involved, And though I'll miss you, recent lover I am weak and therefore fold

 Throughout their time together, it had mostly been pleasant. (Y/N) could seldom think of a time where she had room to complain. The Doctor was kind and understanding, attentive and caring. Though during periods after near-death experiences, he would shut himself off, sulk privately in the confines of what she assumed to be his room, hidden away deep in the maze of the TARDIS.

Upon his emergence he would always be different. Dissimilar in subtle ways, from the gold freckles in his eyes to his posture. Thinking himself so clever, she knew he assumed she hadn’t noticed. But of course she noticed. When he changed demeanors, she felt it. His mood was like the charge in the air before a severe storm. Before the rain poured until it flooded, the lightning flashed until it hit an unsuspecting tree, and the thunder rolled with a force that knocked pictures from walls.

And for once she would see a sliver of the side he hid away from his companions. That cold, calculating side that was easy to irritate, quick to anger. A dark area everyone had in their personality, but with the Doctor it was so much more intense. With the centuries he had spent in pain, in complete and total anguish, either alone or watching those he came to care about die, stuck in moral battles with himself, it was only natural for this to happen. For it to be so much more than what any human was accustomed to, like everything else about him.

 Get distracted by my music, Think of nothing else but art I'll write my loneliness in poems, If I can just think how to start

 Attempts to move out of this depression (Y/N) had dove headfirst into seemed futile. Roaming out in the streets until late at night, sitting up in her room until unconsciousness finally took her. During her off days from work she’d weave in and out of bookshelves, sit in the corners of coffee shops and watch the customers, and wander through art galleries, hoping to find some inspiration or eccentric stranger to draw her out of this slump. The most detailed paintings, attractive streetwalkers, and profound of books left her stumped, feeling silly for even attempting to get better.

The only solace she’d found so far was writing, naturally, to the Doctor. Or about him. Or sketching him. At this point it had become obsessive, and it embarrassed her immensely that she allowed this person take over her life. This person who wasn’t a person, who probably wasn’t even sparing her memory a mental second glance.

Overall it felt nice, relieving almost, to express how she felt through some outlet. She resented herself for allowing him to become so ingrained in her life, for letting him in to see her vulnerable soul. A soul she poured across the pages in a cobalt blue diary’s pages. One that she would never be able to fully expose to anyone human, not without thinking of the Doctor’s sorrowful expression, betrayal splaying across his face.

Maybe writing was a beginning for her. A beginning for the closure she needed to resume a somewhat normal life. Closure she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted.

 Dot my I's with eyebrow pencils, Close my eyelids, hide my eyes, I'll be idle in my ideals, Think of nothing else but I.

 All she could see. All she could feel and hear and taste. What was wrong with her? Could she ever more on?

 I, and I

 Returning from her supermarket run, (Y/N) found her door wouldn’t open all the way. Upon the first attempt at flinging it in, she huffed when it bounced back to her, latching once again.  Slowly she pushed it, sliding in the small gap she’d managed to make, barely fitting her grocery bag in with her. Once inside, the bag and its contents were littered all over her entryway as she released it.

There she was. That wonderful blue machine, tall and just as boxy as ever, that she had searched high and low for every time she went out. Her home, her actual home, was there, somewhere in the funny contraption that she’d missed so terribly. All he had to do was come out.

Maneuvering cautiously around the edge of the TARDIS, (Y/N) eagerly waited. Desperately wanting to see the Doctor, her Doctor again, she couldn’t hold herself back. With the intentions of flinging herself into the awkward Time Lord’s arms, she reached to open the door, but it pulled from her grasp. Shocked, she exclaimed and leapt back instinctually, prepared to run. And then she saw who had opened the door.

Short, wispy strands of silver were whipped into curled peaks atop his head. A thin, wrinkled face with annoyance etched into his features and unruly eyebrows set above those eyes, with a large, long nose in between. She would always recognize those eyes, no matter their color or shape. Whatever swam in their depths, (Y/N) had seen before. In that moment she almost saw her Doctor’s hazel eyes, recognition floating there.

He was magnificent. In a broken, mystical way that no words in any language could ever even begin to describe. Enchanting in the way only the Doctor could be, as if it was in the very nature of his people. It was something in the way he held himself, the way he naturally leaned down to her level when they were near, the way familiarity flashed on his face. Like finding your new favorite painting, or hearing a new song, being instantly drawn to it despite not knowing why, but knowing it’s your favorite without having to compare it to others.

“Who... Doctor?”

“I usually get it the other way around, pudding brain.” He smirked at her, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Doctor?” She asked again, more serious and sure this time round. Anticipation forced its way through her veins. It had to be him. Please.

Sighing dramatically, he smiled. A foreign but handsome expression, standing out on his previously serious face.

“That’s me. Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately she was in his arms, face in his neck. (Y/N) buried herself into him, taking in his new scent and feel. Suddenly he was awkward again, hands hovering out before hesitantly resting on her back. Suddenly she was crying, thick tears flowing down her face and soaking into his black jacket. In the moment she was carefree, she had her Doctor back. He was here in her arms.

He hadn’t forgotten her.

He didn’t hate her.

There was hope.

“I’m not quite a hugging person now.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

The Doctor exhaled loudly, hands slowly starting to rub her back in an attempt to comfort her. (Y/N) completely missed the countenance he’d made, oddly positioning his head against the top of hers. A certain tender look, warm and content. He’d found her. She wouldn’t let him get away this time. Not that he’d allow her to, anyway.

 And I, I hope for your life You can forget about mine Just forget about mine Oh, mine.