#it's also on ff.net under the same name | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aquietwritingcorner · 3 months ago

Text

Dreams Fulfilled

For @tmnt-write-fight for @haro0o )

Title: Dreams Fulfilled Prompt: Childhood dream finally fulfilled Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 2290 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Michelangelo Warning: NA Summary: Mikey had always wanted to be seen. It was something he’d dreamed about since he was a child. But now, thanks to a supervillain, Mikey’s getting the chance to live that dream out. After all, that was why he had created the Turtle Titan, right? Notes: Takes place after canon ff.net || AO3

_______________________________

Dreams Fulfilled

Michelangelo had always had big dreams. He and Donatello had always been more prone to dreaming about what could be than Raphael or Leonardo. Their older brothers had always been a bit more practical in that sense. Long after those two had come to the realization that they’d never be accepted by the upper world, Mikey and Don had continued to dream.

In time, though, Don’s dreams had taken on a different sense. He’d come to accept that they likely would never be accepted by the outside world, either, and he’d focused his dreams on his inventions and creations. And while Mikey had been forced through circumstances to accept that to a certain degree, he had never quite let go of his dreams. When his brothers had contented themselves to live their lives in the shadows, Mikey had never quite let go of that desire to be able to go out into the world openly.

He’d gotten a small taste of it at the Battle Nexus, when they’d fought for adoring crowds, when he heard his name cheered by people watching. He still puffed up and preened a bit when they’d go back, and people addressed him as “champion” and were excited to meet a two-time winner, who had not only won, but won during exceptional circumstances.

They’d all gotten at least some of that in the future, where no one looked twice at them, thinking they were just another alien species come to earth, and not mutated, time-traveling turtles. It had been nice to not get a second glance from people while still being able to do all of the things he’d always wanted to do.

But while that was nice, the Nexus wasn’t home, and neither was the future. It wasn’t where Mikey wanted that attention. No, he’d always wanted it back where he lived, in the world he knew best, in the place he always longed to belong. He’d struggled with the desire to be acknowledged for the good he did versus the need to stay hidden throughout the years, always trying to find either a balance or a definite reason to go one way or another. He’d never really found anything that tipped the scales one way or another.

At least, not until now.

“It’s Turtle Titan!”

“Look! Turtle Titan!”

Mikey waved at the people below as he swung across the rooftops in broad daylight, not bothering to hide himself. It was strange. It was freeing in a way, but also made him incredible itchy in a way that he couldn’t explain. It was like when he’d set up a prank, but it felt like someone was watching him and knew. Or like before a fight, when you knew someone was watching you.

But at the same time, he was out, in daylight, and people weren’t running in horror. They weren’t screaming at the mere sight of him. Even when he was on street level, people didn’t run away. There was something exciting about it.

It had all started a month ago. An alpha level super villain had appeared in the city, and the Justice Force had been called in, in force. Everyone was called to active duty, including Turtle Titan. His family had been understandably worried, and his brothers had even gone, too, although they had dealt with more of the side threats, understanding that the main villain was something that was beyond their skills.

Mikey, though, had been under the command of the Justice Force, and it had been kind of weird not to be with his brothers during a crisis like this. Still, he’d done his best, even though he definitely wasn’t a heavy hitter, doing whatever he could to help while heroes like Silver Sentry and The Green Mantle and Chrysalis had tried to stop the villain from destroying more of the city then he already had.

And yet, Mikey had ended up facing off against the villain.

Silver Sentry had gone down. Ananda’s tech had been destroyed. Nano had been obliterated to the point that his nanites were trying to construct more of themselves. The Green Mantle had taken heavy damage. Chrysalis was injured. Raptarr’s wing was broken. Tsunami was out cold. Nobody was trapped. Most of the minor heroes had been injured or were unable to go on. And it had suddenly been Mikey, Turtle Titan, and his lack of superpowers facing down this alpha level threat.

And so, he did.

Mikey knew that most of the time he didn’t fight as hard or as well as he could. He relied on others or didn’t put his all into things. But at that moment? At that moment he’d focused his everything into not only surviving this encounter, but on taking the threat down.

The battle had been fast-paced, brutal, and more than a bit dangerous. Mikey’d lost part of his cape, had other parts of his costume burned or ripped away, and been bloodied up within a couple of minutes of the fight. But he’d managed to keep the villain’s attention on him, allowing for the others to try to fall back and regroup.

And then one of the villain’s energy attacks had headed towards an area Mikey had seen the civilians taking cover in. Resolve had filled him, and he’d thrown himself in between the deadly energy barrage and the building. He’d heard his name screamed out, heard the villain cackle as the attack hit, and then heard the shock as the villain realized that Mikey wasn’t dead.

Mike had stood there, his shield now a useless smoking thing, his costume in tatters, but glowing with an orange energy, sweeping circles and curves glowing on his skin.

“I don’t think so,” he’d said, resolve filling him, his glow increasing as he stepped towards the villain. “You’re not gonna hurt anyone again.”

The villain had aimed another attack at him, but Mikey had just taken the brunt of it and rushed the villain at impossible speed, nunchucks out and putting all of his skill and energy into stopping this man who had already destroyed so much.

He’d been told later that he was like a glowing orange blur, moving impossibly fast and making impossibly strong strikes. The villain had been driven back as Mikey had attacked again and again, giving no quarter to him, until, finally, the villain had gone down, unconscious and beaten. Mikey’s power had flickered out then, and he had collapsed to his hands and knees, utterly and completely spent. He’d only managed to look up again when he heard cheers ringing out around him, and he had looked up to see citizens of the city coming out of hiding, staring at him, and cheering. He had tensed up, looking for some way to try and hide, but before he could do that, he’d realized that the citizens were chanting his name—they were chanting Turtle Titan.

Mikey hadn’t known what to do, almost instinctively trying to hide from the cameras that were around, lifting a hand to shield his face, as if that would do any good. Things had blurred after that. Sentry had suddenly appeared at his side, tugging him up and away, getting him to a waiting ambulance. He’d panicked at first, until, suddenly, Don had been there with him, talking calmly to the paramedics that were in there. He’d been absolutely drained, but he’d only relaxed when he’d heard Leo and Raph’s voices on the other end of a shell cell call Don had made just for him.

He'd spent a couple of weeks recovering and, honestly, hiding. He’d drained most of his energy and hadn’t realized just how injured he had been. He’d had to take time to recover, and that had ended up being a good thing. He hadn’t realized just how public the whole fight had been, and he’d almost been afraid that he’d disappointed his father, but Splinter had just been grateful that Mikey was alright and proud of him for protecting so many people.

Letters, fan mail, and demands for interviews for the Turtle Titan had come pouring into Justice Force headquarters, almost overwhelming in their amount. Zippy Lad had a lot of them delivered to April and Casey’s, the couple bringing them down to the lair later. They’d all sat around and gone through them, and Mikey had been touched by the amount of people that were thanking him for saving them that day, or the letters from people saying that they looked up to him.

He hadn’t known what to do about it.

But Splinter had gotten up, cupped Mikey’s cheeks in his hand, and told his son that while he should never forget his origins, that he should embrace this.

And so, Mikey was.

He landed in front of a convenience store, letting go of the line he’d been using to swing around the buildings. Almost immediately a few people came up to him, asking for autographs, or wanting to ask him questions. Mikey signed things and tried to answer some of the questions, before waving his fans off, and turning to go inside. There were murmurs as he entered, and he waved at a few people as he made his way to the counter.

“Uh, excuse me,” he said with a smile at the woman behind the counter.

She looked up in shock. “Turtle Titan!”

He nodded and slid a letter across the counter. “Yep! It’s me! I got this letter—I think it’s from your son, maybe—and I was wondering if I could just talk to him for a moment?” Mikey grinned. “I have something for him.”

The woman looked startled for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes! Yes, of course! One moment.”

She turned and called for someone else to mind the counter, and then gestured for Mikey to follow her. He did, through a back room and up some stairs that led to an apartment that was above the store.

“Please pardon the mess,” she apologized.

Mikey grinned and waved her off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. My bros and I used to make much worse messes. Actually, we still do sometimes.”

The woman seemed to relax a little at that and chuckled a bit. Stopping in front of a door, she knocked on it, calling out. “Ayan? Ayan, there’s someone here to see you.” She waited a second, and then opened the door.

“Mom, I’m—” the boy inside, maybe twelve or so, stopped talking as he looked up, eyes widening as he took in Mikey. “T-Turtle Titan?”

Mikey grinned and waved. “Heya! Got your letter! Gotta say, your art was amazing! Hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”

The boy shook his head, and immediately dropped the pencil he’d been holding in his two fingers and shook his head. “No! Not at all! Wow! No one is going to believe this!”

His mother smiled. “I’ll be down the hall, if you need anything.”

“Sure thing, ma’am!” Mikey said, before turning back to the boy. “Hey, watcha working on? That looks cool!”

The boy suddenly looked a little shy and hid his hands behind his back. “This? It’s um, it’s nothing. It’s not even good.”

“Not even good?” Mikey looked over the drawing on the table. “Dude, this is great!”

“Yeah, well, I could probably do better if…” he trailed off, although glanced down at hands.

Mikey nudged him. “Hey—don’t be like that.” He wiggled his hands in front of Ayan’s face. “Us three-digit guys gotta stick together. Show people that five fingers don’t mean nothing.”

Ayan grinned reached up with his own three fingered hands—a birth defect, his letter had said—and pushed Mikey’s away. “I guess so,” he said.

“Pfft, guess nothing. From one artist to another, I know it!” Mikey said. “Oh! Hey, that reminds me—I brought my sketchbook, wanna see it?”

Ayan lit up. “Yeah!”

It was about a half an hour later when Mikey left, Ayan’s mother taking him back down the stairs and to the backroom of the shop. She stopped him, though, before they went to the store.

“Thank you,” she said. “He’s… he’s very insecure about his hands, no matter how hard we’ve tried to not let it affect things.”

Mikey just smiled at her. “It’s no problem. Believe me, I get how being different can be hard. My whole family is different. But I think you’re doing great. Ayan really seems like a good kid.”

She smiled back at him. “Thank you. For everything.”

Mikey left the store with a small bag of food, and headed back up to the rooftops, waving when he saw Ayan watching through the window of his room. He swung away, a red-bean bun half stuffed in his mouth, and listened to people call out to him as he travelled, a contented feeling forming in his heart.

Yeah, he’d always wanted to be able to be out here, among people, without anyone being scared or afraid of him, and without feeling like he needed to hide. But more than that, he was realizing, his childhood dream hadn’t been just to be able to be seen, but it had been to help people. Superheroes were just the biggest, flashiest way to do it. And now he could do that—in the shadows as a ninja, sure, but also out in the open, where he could not only help people without having to worry about being seen, but also where he could talk to people that he wouldn’t have been able to before. People like Ayan.

And somehow, being able to reach out to and help the people around him, that felt like everything he had ever dreamed of as a child and more.

#tmntwritefight #tmntwritefight fic #haro0o #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt fanfic #tmnt michelangelo

12 notes · View notes

rlyc00l · 5 months ago

Text

BL2 AU: Rhys travels to Pandora for a simple job: take a train to Lynchwood, pick up an artifact, return to Helios. Only, he finds himself unwittingly caught in a trap that wasn't meant for him. Now stranded on Pandora alongside six Vault hunters, he has the choice between fighting Hyperion alongside them or dying horribly. Lucky for him, Handsome Jack is always looking for opportunities. All Rhys needs to do is a little bit of spying, maybe a teensy bit of sabotage, and then he's home free with a huge promotion and maybe like ten turbo-mansions. The Crimson Raider cause is doomed anyway, and Rhys is a pro at ignoring his conscience. Not that there's much conscience to ignore when you're betraying a group of murdering Vault hunters. At least, he's confident he won't have any internal conflict about screwing over that selfish jackass of an assassin.

Hey guys I went ahead and uploaded the first chapter of a fic I've also been writing alongside P0is0ned. This is one where I try to be CONFIDENT and not be a perfectionist. So I might update it a little more frequently? I mentioned this idea before but I think it would be interesting to have these two meet when they are both at their worst. Zer0 before discovering the magic of friendship and a Rhys who totally buys into Hyperion bullshit. (Also, I like writing the BL2 Vault hunters in general and IDK I just wanted to write about BL2 I have a lot of thoughts and headcanons.)

EDIT: As ff.net is perpetually broken, the chapter's also under the break!

———— The train was mostly empty when Rhys boarded, aside from the Hyperion soldiers that boarded at the same time as him. Rhys had offered them a cheery greeting, and been mostly ignored as the soldiers filed back into another car, somewhere behind them. One had stopped, asked him “You sure you’re in the right place?”

“This is the train headed to Lynchwood, right? Jack sent me on a job down there.”

“Yeah, well, keep your head down. Stay out of the other cars,” the soldier said, before following the others.

Technically, Jack hadn’t sent him, Vasquez had. But it was always better to invoke Jack’s name, and Jack had given Vasquez the job. Vasquez had simply passed it down to Rhys, and no one outside of Security Propaganda knew who the hell Vasquez was. If you said a job came from Jack, no one questioned it. No one except Vaughn and Yvette.

“Are you sure Vasquez isn’t just sending you down to die on Pandora?” Yvette had asked as the three took their lunch break the day before.

“It’s a peace offering! He knows I’m a threat, so he gives me the prestigious-yet-inconvenient job so I feel like I owe him. If he wanted me dead, he’d throw me out an airlock.”

“I dunno, Rhys,” Vaughn said, mouth still half-full of hamburger. He swallowed. “He’s thrown a LOT of people out of airlocks, they say at a certain level you reach your allotted murder-limit. Now, send a guy down to the death-planet…”

“Yeah, seriously, Rhys, you know there’s a war going on down there? And the entire planet is populated by bandits? And man-eating monsters?” Yvette gestured with her fork as she spoke. “Is he even giving you a gun or something?”

“No, Yvette, because I won’t need a gun. I looked up the route, it’s extremely safe. I’ll mostly be on a Hyperion train, there will be soldiers guarding it, it’s fine.”

Now, watching Pandora pass out the train window, he was feeling pretty confident that his reasoning had been accurate. He’d boarded at a Hyperion military post in the Highlands, its lush green landscapes a far call from the wastelands heaped with trash featured in propaganda videos. By now that green had given way to barren desert, but still not a single bandit in sight. At one point the train passed a pack of oversized skags, and later he was pretty sure he saw a body, but maybe it had been a weird rock. Ocassionally there were remnants of Atlas and Dahl’s failed attempts to colonize the planet. Broken-down buildings, being retaken by the elements. Obviously those two hadn’t thrown enough resources at the place. Jack was going all the way. Yvette would probably note that he’d be safer if he shuttered the window, but hey, it wasn’t often he got to see an undeveloped alien planet, and the glass was probably bulletproof. Rhys was starting to get the sense that Handsome Jack had ensured that Hyperion’s propaganda greatly exaggerated Pandora’s general awfulness–not that he blamed him. How else was he supposed to convince the investors? Not to mention it was a fantastic motivator for the workforce. Still, Rhys was almost disappointed. He’d wanted to see something impressive, have some good stories for when he got back to Helios. This place was just a lot of empty desert, ripe for development. At some point, the monotony lulled him to sleep, head propped against the window. The glass was cold when he woke suddenly. Outside, the desert was gone, replaced by ice and snow. It took Rhys a moment to realize that the sound he was hearing wasn’t the train, but nearby gunshots. Gunshots that didn’t fade out at the train moved. Well, shit.

He shuttered the window, hunkering down between the seats. It had to be a bandit attack, bandits were no match for Hyperion soldiers. Just had to wait it out.

Yvette had given him a stun rod before he’d gotten on the shuttle. “It’s better than nothing,” she’d said. He clutched it now, wishing she’d hooked him up with something more powerful.

Minutes passed, and the shooting went on, accompanied by indistinct yelling. Still, no one boarded his car. He wondered what bandits would do to him if they found him. They didn’t have a reputation for letting people live, except to torture them. Maybe, if Rhys stayed here, waited to unleash the stun rod until the last second, he could catch them by surprise. Then it was a matter of getting a gun from one of them, diving back behind the seats (Were those bulletproof, too?), and taking down the rest of them. They’d be lined up, it had to be easy, right? He hadn’t ever touched a gun, but they didn’t seem that complicated. Right?

His planning was interrupted by a deafening boom, and the next he knew he was flying through the air. He hit the ceiling, hard, and he knew nothing more.

It was dark when he woke, cold, hurting all over, and tasting blood. Part of him was afraid to flick on his palm flashlight, so he first tried to take stock mentally. He could only hear his own breathing, now. The gunshots had stopped. He wasn’t sure what that meant for him, but he was starting to realize that the train had crashed, or been derailed, or something. Which, maybe meant he didn’t have to worry about bandits anymore? Or, they’d be in at least as bad a shape as he was. Hopefully.

That led to the question of how bad a shape he was actually in. Okay, first, the blood taste. He ran his tongue around his mouth, finding the place he’d bitten the fleshy side, hard. Well, at least that wasn’t gonna kill him. His face stung, but in the carpet burn way, not the “there’s shrapnel imbedded in your cheeks” way. He had an agonizing headache, but maybe this was one of those times where you’d worry more if it didn’t hurt. His ECHOeye seemed alright, at least.

Fingers checked out, both flesh and cybernetic, though when he tried to make a fist on the flesh side he found himself letting out a string of profanity. Fine, okay, he hurt his wrist. No big deal. His cybernetic arm was fine aside from an ache at the connection point, he wouldn’t be helpless. His legs were good, at least. And his torso…Well, it sort of hurt to breathe, which wasn’t ideal.

Better get it over with, then. He turned on the flashlight and sat up with a groan to get a better look at himself. Sure enough, his wrist was swelling, and bruises were starting to form all over, but there wasn’t even close to as much blood as he’d expected. So, yeah, he probably wasn’t in immediate mortal peril.

He turned his attention to his surroundings. In front of him were the rows of seating, the entire car had fallen sideways and he was sitting on what had been the wall. Snow drifted in from some broken windows above him. He realized how cold he was, now. He hadn’t packed much of anything, it was supposed to be one night, he’d counted on there being a Quick-Change machine.

Okay, fine, Rhys had seen all those border planet survival shows, you had to be proactive in these kinds of situations. First, figure out where he was, maybe find one of those soldiers, if they’d survived. He rose, broken glass crunching under his feet as he walked unsteadily across the car until he found the roof hatch. It only opened part way when he turned the handle, getting caught on the snow bank the car was half-buried in. It was a little brighter outside the car, a combination of Elpis’s light and a number of small fires revealed silhouettes of the train wreckage.

He had to wriggle and clamber his way out, managing to get snow up his sleeves and down his shirt before tumbling down the bank into a foot of snow.

As he pushed himself up, he found himself facing a…glowing blue line? His eyes followed it up to the hand that held it, and the strangely featureless owner of that hand. He blinked, taking a moment to put it together.

Oh. A sword. A bandit holding him at swordpoint.

He barely managed a “D-don’t.”, knowing he should probably beg for his life. He was finding he didn’t have the energy for begging, though. Snow was already melting through his pants.

The bandit leaned in closer, not taking the sword from his neck. The light of the blade reflected on the dark surface that should have been their face. A helmet with a dark visor, Rhys realized—or maybe they were a robot, but they seemed to be shivering too, just a little.

“You are no soldier.” Their voice was deep, nearly monotone. “But you are Hyperion. / You have ten seconds.” “Ten…? F-for what?” He started to rise without thinking, only to be prodded by the point of the sword.

“To explain yourself. / Jack had someone set this up. / You’re the last one here.” “Look, I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s freezing, my head’s killing me, can we just…Not do this?”

They prodded him again.

“I-I mean, I was here for a business deal. I didn’t…”

The figure lowered their sword. A red, glowing “:\” appeared in front of where their face should have been, and Rhys found himself wondering if he was hallucinating this entire thing. “You got on the train / Meant as a place of slaughter, / Just by accident?”

Slowly, things were coming together. God, if he survived this, he was gonna never live it down. “I swear, I-I had nothing to do with this, I was told to get on this train, take it to Lynchwood. I was supposed to buy an artifact.”

The emoticon was replaced by a question mark, but they lowered the sword. Rhys didn’t move, lest he provoke them. “Get up, or you’ll freeze,” they said, turning away. They limped as they walked.

By the time he was on his feet, they were gone, only leaving footprints and an occasional spot of blood. He hesitated. Helios hung indifferently above him, framed with curtains of green auroras. He could just find one of these little fires and sit down next to it for however long it lasted, and hope for rescue. Except, a middle manager didn’t warrant a rescue, once the fire was out he’d just freeze to death. That, or Pandoran wildlife would get to him first.

Following that stranger might mean being stabbed, but maybe they knew where to find shelter. He got up, and followed their prints with his palm flashlight, hoping the snow wouldn’t bury the trail before he caught up.

He passed smoking wreckage and the corpses of soldiers. Wind bit at him as he walked, and he held his vest close, for whatever difference it made. Snow clumped up on his socks and the bottom of his pants, even as he tried to step in their prints. He tripped and stumbled a few times, there was trash everywhere, much of it hidden beneath the snow.

Just when he was starting to resign himself to a cold death in a frozen trash heap, he saw distant lights. As he neared the word “Welcome” lit up one letter at a time, over and over. Again he wondered if he was hallucinating. Was that a symptom of hypothermia? But the footprints continued in that direction, joined by more tracks. Other survivors.

As he got closer, he found that the sign was outside a structure built of snow and defunct Claptrap units. He opened the door. There was a short hallway, built of ice and more dead claptraps, and ending in a warm glow. Fire.

He came out into a low-ceilinged room with six people and a broken–but still functioning–Claptrap. Before he could process exactly what he was looking at, five of them were pointing guns at him.

He held his hands up, trying to inch towards the blazing furnace. “Please—Please don’t kill me. I-I-I–just, I’m trying not to free-freeze to death.”

His eyes found the one who’d threatened him earlier, they were the only one who wasn’t pointing a gun at him now. But they didn’t come to his defense, either. They only watched him, arms crossed. Or, he assumed they were watching him, they could have just as easily been intently ignoring him.

When nothing happened for a moment, he took the last few steps to put himself near the fire. It was hard to care about getting shot when you were so goddamn cold. There were at least six dead bodies already beside the fire, but he couldn’t make himself care about that either.

“That’s a Hyperion uniform.” The speaker was a Dahl soldier–marked by metal implants in his brow. He cocked his gun.

“I uh, I’ve got nothing against Dahl,” Rhys tried.

That earned him a snort.

Right, yeah, they’d all arrived at the same conclusion as the first one. “I had nothing to do with that, with the train, I-I was being set up to die back there, just like you.”

“What’s happening?” The eyeless claptrap demanded. “I can’t see–!” A high-pitched bleep censored out the last word.

“The mortar meat is too stringy! Where’s your pain stick?!” The masked man who looked straight out of Jack’s anti-bandit propaganda waved his gun as he spoke, then lowered it suddenly and gave a shrug.

“Big guy’s right, he’s obviously not a soldier,” the blue-haired woman said, following his lead. Her tattoos matched her hair, and his first thought was “siren”, which almost seemed too absurd, out of six in the universe, why would one be here, in this weird corpse-shack?

“Neither is Jack, and I mean, look at him,” said the pigtailed redhead, making a wide gesture at Rhys with her robotic arm– a much more primitive model than his. She looked too young to be here, he was pretty sure that was a high school uniform.

“I uh, I don’t have the kind of power Jack does, even if I wanted to kill you? Could-could you at least put down the guns, for a second?” His head hurt too much to be dealing with this, he just wanted to sit down and relax for a minute or two. “That Claptrap is a Hyperion robot, right? Arguably more Hyperion than I am. And considerably more annoying.”

“FORMER Hyperion robot!” the Claptrap addressed the wall. “Jack discontinued and destroyed my product line! I am a free robot now!”

“I saw we kill ‘im already. The guy, not the robot.” The short, weirdly muscular man spoke up. “Then get this bullymong.”

“You’re actually going to kill an unarmed man just for a label on his shirt?” the maybe-siren asked.

“Yeah, really? I-I have… several broken bones, too, I think. If that makes any difference. And, if I uh, if I had anything to do with this, I definitely would have avoided hurting myself this bad.” He looked to the one with the helmet, pleading. They’d seen him in the snow, they’d judged him innocent.

“Hurry and decide,” they said, not even turning their head to look at him. “I am eager to move out. / And kill Handsome Jack.” There was something strange about how they talked, Rhys was realizing. Measured, concise, short…

“What, you wanna freeze to death out there?” the soldier asked. “I’m not heading out until morning.”

They crossed their arms, a red “:\” passing over their visor. “Fine.”

“Oh come on, you already decided not to kill me, earlier! Could you at least back me up?”

This time they did look at him. “I have no stake, here. / And you are clearly dead weight. / You’re doomed regardless.”

“Your bones are made of toothpicks and my molars are SPOTLESS!”

“Yeah, alright, good point, I think?” the soldier said. We can always shoot him later, right? Once he’s earned it.”

The short man shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Fine,” the redhead said with a yawn. “If he kills any of you in our sleep, that’s not on me.”

At that, the group dispersed throughout the shack, finding comfortable spots, as if Rhys were suddenly of no more importance than one of the corpses by the fire. The maybe-siren hung back for a moment.

“Here,” she said, handing him an insta-health. “If you try to screw us over, I will liquidate your brain with my powers.” Okay, definitely-siren, then. “But for now, I’m not big on killing unarmed men.”

“Thanks.” He took the syringe, feeling strange about using a random needle on Pandora, insta-health or not. Still, he was in enough pain to jam it into his arm, gritting his teeth as bones realigned. “So, uh, hi. I’m Rhys.” He offered his freshly healed hand and his most charming smile–he’d better ingratiate himself with these people, fast. “I guess we kind of got off on the wrong foot, thanks for uh, sticking up for me.”

She looked at him, then at the hand, but didn’t take it. “Maya,” she said. “And I can’t say the others were entirely out of line, considering who you work for.” “Worked for. I think trying to blow me up was Jack’s way of firing me.” Always better to invoke Jack’s name. “Might have been a little too vocal in criticizing his policies on Pandora.” He’d heard of people who criticized Jack’s policies, Jack dealt with those hands-on, but bandits didn’t know that.

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, good to hear. Perhaps you can do something worthwhile, now.”

“Worthwhile, like?”

“Tomorrow, we hunt down the bullymong that tore Claptrap’s eye out. Supposedly, he can get us into Sanctuary. We’re going to kill Handsome Jack.”

#zerhys #borderlands 2 #tales from the borderlands #fanfiction #still looking for alternative fic sites? Should I like. just start posting straight to tumblr?#decepti0n

16 notes · View notes

corishadowfang · 8 months ago

Text

Questions for 15 Friends Tag Game

Tagged by @siarven--thanks for the tag!

Rules: Answer the questions, then tag 15 people.

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

Uh...not really but also kind of for my legal name? It was the name of a character in a soap opera my mom watched, and she liked it enough to use it for me.

My chosen name...also kind of falls under the same umbrella, but for different reasons, and, uh...comes with a story. So like--I was really into fantasy stories when I was a kid/teen (I say like I'm not still into them now), and I loved making up "fantasy" names, which...basically just meant shoving a bunch of letters together until I got something I thought sounded cool. One of those names was "Coriora." For whatever reason, I fell in love with this name, and it's shortened version, "Cori," and I used it for everything. Pokemon nicknames, random characters, a self-insert OC...

And my cat. Who I adopted a few months before I made my email and FF.net account. Which is when I officially started using the name "CoriShadowfang" as my primary username online. Teenage me didn't even have the thought in her mind that she could possibly identify with the name "Cori" enough to adopt it as her own, nor did she think of the potential consequences of sharing a name with her cat.

...On the plus side, it's funny to call my cat "Cori Sr.," and watch how people try to process that.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

Uh...I think Friday night? I'm pretty sure it was about something I was planning for a story, aha. (I cry VERY easy, haha, and the thing that spurs it does not necessarily have to be sad.)

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

Do pets count...?

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?

I was signed up for baseball, basketball, and soccer when I was a kid, though of those, soccer was the only one I actually liked. I ended up running cross country and track in high school (though after that ended up running only for fun, since, uh...the competitive part of that wasn't very enjoyable for me, aha). In college I did fencing, which I loved and often miss a lot, but there...really aren't many places that offer fencing around where I live. I did do some long sword for a while a couple of years ago; transition to that from fencing was an interesting experience, since the fencing muscle memory...did not go away. ("What do you mean I have to hold this with two hands?? ...What do you mean I can't just stab them?!") That ended up being pretty expensive, though, so I only got to take lessons for a few months. It was still fun, though!

DO YOU USE SARCASM?

Depends on the situation! I use it a lot less online, because I'm worried about coming across as, like...rude or mean. When I do use it, it's often toned down a lot. Offline, it depends on who I'm around, and how they react to it. (Or if I'm just...getting really frustrated. Then it tends to come out more.)

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

Uh, that's...a good question. Online, it's definitely their interests, and...I guess it's kind of also the same offline? If I'm given the opportunity, haha. Like--if I see you're wearing a Pokemon pin or reading a fantasy book or something, I'm immediately going to be focused on that, haha.

WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOUR?

Mostly blue; the bottom of my right eye has a patch of green in it.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Happy endings! I never got into scary movies very much, aha.

ANY TALENTS?

Uh...I guess writing probably counts? I'm also a pretty good distance runner.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

The middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?

Writing, haha; I joke that it's all I do, but uh...it really is most of what I do. Besides that, I like drawing, reading, playing video games, and hiking. I guess playing card games/board games might also count? But uh, I do that a lot with my friends and family.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?

Yes! Cori Sr. is still around, haha, and I also recently adopted a puppy named Luna. Obligatory pet photos:

HOW TALL ARE YOU?

5'4''

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?

Probably unsurprisingly, lit/creative writing, haha. I also really liked most science classes, too; learning about nature was one of my favorite things in school, and any sort of labs where we could go outside and actually study plants/animals were amazing.

DREAM JOB?

If money weren't a concern, and I could just do anything I wanted for the rest of my life without worrying about how to pay the bills...I would love to just write stories full time. Writing really is one of the things I'm the most passionate about, and I'd love to be able to pour my all into it without worrying about getting too burnt out or needing to take on extra jobs to make ends meet. Maybe one day...

I will tag...wait I need 15 of you...uhhh @starlightwayfinder, @cq-studios, @recusant-s-sigil, @scalacaelumx, @hallowed-nebulae, @serenedash, @thetwilightroadtonightfall, @rosie-kairi, @fin-al-mix, @kicktwine, @zmwrites, @talesabound, @gotchaocha, @bookwormally, and @lightwithinthedarknessu, if any of you want to do this! Absolutely no pressure, though! (And feel free to skip/leave out any you might feel uncomfortable answering/don't feel like answering.)

#tag game #thanks for the tag; this was fun!

17 notes · View notes

tact-and-impulse · 5 months ago

Text

At Arm's Length Chapter 25

Thanks for waiting! I had a busy few months at work, and the muse finally woke up when I was working nights. On FF.net and AO3!

Chapter 25: Red Maple Leaves

The return home was uneventful, and as the train passed by the surrounding scenery, the landscape was deepening in shades of autumn. The three of them were laden with seasonal gifts from the Aoiya too: boxes of sweets, paper, inkstones, and matcha. Business was clearly good. They were enthusiastically told to return for a full vacation, and while it was definitely a pleasant idea, they needed a break.

“It’ll be October in a week, and that means your birthday, Otou-san.” Kaoru turned to him, beaming. “What would you like?”

“A peaceful day.” He dryly said. “Except that, all my wishes have been fulfilled.”

“How do you usually celebrate, Kamiya-dono?” Himura was sitting across from them. Since yesterday, he had adhered to the arm’s length distance from Kaoru, but their shared glances were telling enough.

However, Koshijiro wanted to be home first, before further discussion.

As for Himura’s question, he answered. “Mostly, it’s quiet. We tend to the family graves and if there’s an event in town, we’ll attend. We have dinner together.”

“Otou-san’s favorite foods, especially takikomi gohan.” Kaoru confided. The seasonal dish made the most of fall’s bounty, cooking an assortment of ingredients in broth and rice.

“Kaoru also enjoys it.”

“Father and daughter have similar tastes then.” Himura grinned. The conversation turned to their favorite ingredients; it appeared Himura was going to remember them. The smile didn’t leave his face as they disembarked.

A partly cloudy sky was over the house. The main gate was undergoing repairs but the new beams looked sturdy. Red maple leaves were strewn across the front yard, as if to celebrate their safe return. Then, Yahiko barreled out of the house to greet them, and the rest followed in the exclamation.

“Welcome back!”

***

After the entire ordeal, a normal day was a blessing. Koshijiro dusted the altar, and bowed to Kyoko’s portrait. When he lifted his head, Kaoru was at his side, beaming in a rosy kimono.

“Happy birthday, Otou-san!” She hugged him, and he patted her head.

“Thank you, Kaoru. After breakfast, we’ll head to the cemetery.” Both his and Kaoru’s headstones had finally been removed, and he wanted to see for himself.

“Kenshin wants to come too.”

He wasn’t the only one; the others also hovered by the gate. Other than Shinomori’s flitting gaze and Sagara casually rolling his shoulders, they seemed relaxed. However, the experience was too fresh to lower their guards yet. The group stopped by Reijo’s new grave first, spending a few somber minutes of silence.

Makimachi tried for positivity. “It’s not a bad spot at all, the shade is cooler.”

Surprisingly, Yahiko then added. “My parents’ is under a tree.”

“Oh, really? Is it the same cemetery?”

“Yeah. Their grave is over there.” He pointed eastward, his face giving nothing away.

“Would you like to visit?” Kaoru gently asked, and although he shrugged, he had already picked up his feet. They followed him to a small plot, where the headstone read ‘Myoujin’. Small weeds had sprouted, and Yahiko hastily tore them up.

“I haven’t been here in a while, it was too crazy…”

“May we help you?” Himura offered. “And we should pay our respects as well.”

The answer was a small nod, with reddening ears. Since he didn’t protest, they all took part in the cleanup. The result was much tidier, with the additions of two sticks of incense and a wreath of susuki grass crafted by Takani. In a choked voice, Yahiko said. “It looks great. Thanks.” He clasped his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

Koshijiro also lowered his gaze, praying. Thank you for giving Yahiko life; he carries your family name with such pride. He’s a promising young man, and we’ll do our best to guide and care for him.

Once the Kamiya family graves were tended to, they headed downtown. It was Koshijiro’s plan to revisit everyone who attended the mock funeral, and return the kindness in some form, whether it was through purchasing their market wares or sneaking in a new candle for the longer nights. And nobody failed to be surprised at Kaoru’s healthy appearance. Each stop seemed to heighten the enjoyment; it then became another kind of game to speed away before the recipients realized the extra change or the gift. Watching the others gasp for breath and laugh, Koshijiro couldn’t help but smile.

Lunch was a quick meal of cold soba, given how much they’d been running around. The handmade noodles were springy and pleasant to chew, the dipping sauce was well-balanced. The bowls were empty in no time, and they were off again at a more leisurely pace.

A play was advertised in the nearby theater, and they were lucky enough to find good seats. It was an adaptation of a book that Koshijiro had brought Kyoko long ago, and although he vaguely recalled the main plot points, it was refreshing to watch in person. They were all attentive to the performance, especially Kaoru and Makimachi. The finale was a heartfelt reunion of the two main lovers, to the entire theater’s applause.

At this point, it was sunset, and they walked home under a glowing orange sky. Kaoru turned to him. “By the way, Otou-san, we’re going to have some visitors when we’re back.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t worry, you know who they are!”

Noisy conversation was coming from the dojo, and when they entered, there was a loud cheer. Smiles abounded from their friends: Maekawa and his wife, Dr. Gensai with his family, a handful of kenjutsu students and other local teachers, the group of fifteen rookie officers, and even Tsunan whose dark eye circles had somewhat lightened.

Tae and Tsubame were near the door, ushering them in. The former explained. “I spoke with Kaoru about planning this. It seems everybody accepted their invitations, I hope we’re not too intrusive.”

“Not at all. It’s a shame this wasn’t at the Akabeko. Perhaps, next year.” It really wasn’t a bother, although it would’ve been nice to send more business to Tae. He took his seat, noticing that his daughter and Himura had already found cushions next to each other.

“Speech! Speech!” Sagara hollered, and Koshijiro flashed him a disgruntled expression. The chant was picked up by Yahiko and the rookies, so with a sigh, Koshijiro stood. A sake cup was pushed into his hand, as a hush fell over the dojo.

…I don’t like public speeches.

“Firstly, thank you for being here. It’s been a harrowing few weeks, but your kindness and support were vital to our success. I’m glad to share this evening with all of you. Thank you.” He lifted the sake cup in a toast, and everyone followed suit. “Now, let’s eat.”

“Cheers!”

Then, it was a whirl of commotion, conversation interweaving with the sounds of heart eating. There was takikomi gohan, and Koshijiro’s first mouthful had a gingko nut to his pleasant surprise. Seared tuna, vegetables in sesame sauce, and agedashi tofu rounded out the rest of the menu.

He looked across the room, from Sagara leading some of the rookies in a rowdy offkey song, to Takani’s obviously wry responses and Shinomori’s attentive nods to Makimachi’s excitable mood, to Yahiko dramatically regaling a wide-eyed Tsubame. Finally, he saw Kaoru, helping Himura on his recovering side, to make sure everything was in reach for him. He caught Himura’s lowered gaze on the back of her head, the smile at the corner of his mouth. For a moment, the scar was practically invisible. And the memory of a certain talk by the river popped into the forefront of Koshijiro’s mind…

He downed his sake cup in one shot. Just for tonight, he would evade the subject entirely, the looming reality of what would happen next.

***

But soon after, on a day they spent at the Oguni clinic for their check-ups, Takani announced. “Since everyone is on the mend, I think it’s time. I’m returning to Aizu, to join a clinic.”

The others were clearly stunned by the news, while Koshijiro said. “I haven’t received another response yet from the Aizu police, regarding your lost mother and brothers.”

“It isn’t just for them. I want to move forward, and I know this is the right step for me. I’m saying goodbye to the rest of the clinic patients and tying up loose ends, before my train leaves in a week.” She appeared resolute, and the confidence in her face was apparent.

“Still, it’s so sudden…” Kaoru trailed off. “Then, do you need help moving?”

“I don’t have many things, but thank you for the offer.”

“It’s not that far anyway.” Sagara pointed out. “You can get there by nightfall.”

“Only if you sprint at full speed, and only with your reckless behavior.” Takani tartly replied, as Himura lifted his head.

“At the very least, we can have one last meal together, as a send-off.”

“Yes, that sounds like a plan.” Then, her gaze clouded over. “There is something you have to know, Ken-san.”

However, he seemed to be expecting it. “It is about this one’s health.” Takani affirmed it, and this was regarding the toll of Hiten Mitsurugi on his body, which was news to everyone else except Kaoru and Koshijiro. It didn’t faze Himura and he wasn’t regretful either.

But Takani then said. “If I had to estimate, in four to five years, you won’t be able to use Hiten Mitsurugi at all.”

Silence fell over the group, but Himura only nodded. “Thank you, Megumi-dono.” He didn’t say much more on the walk home, merely enjoying the brisk wind. His expression was contemplative. It was a bitter twist; his new vow was about using both sword and heart to live on. What would he do?

Koshijiro was mulling over this, as he prepared for a late work shift, covering a sick colleague. He stepped into the front yard, the fallen leaves crunching under his shoes, and noticed he wasn’t alone. “Hello, Himura-san.”

His hands were folded in his sleeves, and he softly said. “Kamiya-dono. May this one accompany you to the station?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t until they were on the main path that he ventured to ask. “Is there something the police can assist you with?”

“This one is actually going to speak with Saito-dono.” He revealed a sealed letter between his fingers. “Are they still searching for Enishi?”

“No, the trail has gone cold, from our standpoint here. But the chief had mentioned wanting to repay you for your deeds, and offering you a position as backup in emergencies.” Himura had become a minor celebrity among Koshijiro’s coworkers, given all that he’d done for the safety of the public.

“The payment is not necessary, but this one would like to participate in emergencies.” He conceded. “For as long as this one can wield a sword. After that…”

“Then, what about a shinai or bokken?”

His eyes widened. “Oro?”

Koshijiro pressed on. “It would be a way for you to keep your new vow, while minimizing the physical stress to your body. If you’re willing to learn Kamiya Kasshin, to continue protecting life, we would be happy to have you as a student.” In fact, Kaoru would be ecstatic.

“That is…” Himura was struggling for words, his voice shaky and uncertain. “This one will likely never be a master of Kamiya Kasshin.”

“And you don’t need to be. Even learning the defensive maneuvers would be enough. But you don’t have to decide now.” They had arrived at the station, and Koshijiro directed them away from the bustling employees and straight to Saito’s desk.

Saito barely acknowledged their entrance, pulling a sheet from a moderate stack of paperwork in monotonous routine. He wasn’t alone, a familiar tall individual sitting in the opposite chair. Free of any bandages, Sawagejo raised a hand in greeting. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has. How are you doing?”

“Back to normal, which means I’m going on another assignment soon.” He nodded towards Saito.

“Not as intensive as recent events, but an adequate investigation. So, why are you two here?”

Himura stepped forward, handing over the letter. Their gazes locked for an instant, and then, Saito perfunctorily opened it. The message must have been short, because he tossed the paper on his desk and narrowed his eyes.

“Why now?”

“This one believes there will not be a better opportunity in the future. It is the final chance to settle our dispute, as former Ishin Shishi and Shinsengumi, for good.” With that, Himura bowed. “Kamiya-dono, this one will return home first.”

After he left, Sawagejo asked Saito. “Did he challenge you to a fight?”

“One last duel. In a place known to both of us, at midnight. But you won’t be there, get moving. Kamiya, wait.” He ignored the griping of his new subordinate, waiting until the door shut again. “This time, he’s serious.”

“Yes, he is.” It made sense to Koshijiro, that Himura would request this fight before it was too late. However, he couldn’t repress his concern; neither of them would have any reservations in a true duel.

“Hmph. And there’s no outside interference, like the previous time. Unless, you decide otherwise?”

“The dispute is between you two, but I hope you will receive what you want from it.” Slightly irked, Koshijiro added. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

He laid a hand upon the hilt of his katana. “No. You’re dismissed.”

The rest of the shift was quiet, but Koshijiro purposefully stayed longer, late into the evening. He did not notice Saito leave. The clock hands aligned at midnight, without further sign of the assistant chief. An hour dragged in excruciating silence. At last, his impatience got the better of him, and he headed to the small office.

Saito was still there, smoking by the window. His eyes bored into Koshijiro, unimpressed. “Of course, you stayed.”

“I wasn’t planning on following.” He defended. “But it is past the time for your duel.”

“I never said I accepted the challenge.”

Actually, that was true. “…This chance will not happen again.”

“I’m aware. But I wanted to settle the score with Hitokiri Battousai, and after seeing him, I realize that possibility has vanished. I will have no joy in fighting the man he is now. The hunt has ended.” He blew out a dense stream of smoke, obscuring his features. Barely audible, he gave a low resigned utterance. “Fool.”

The rivalry may not have culminated in a bloody battle, but that was perfectly fine with Koshijiro. “Did you find what you wanted, at least?”

“I had the answer a while ago.” He extinguished the cigarette. “Your shift is long over and the weather is growing colder. It’s already snowing in Hokkaido.”

Koshijiro took it as an order to go home, although he didn’t expect Saito to lock up as well. The night air was bracing, the moon high overhead. “Then, good evening, Saito-san.”

“Don’t look so relieved, Kamiya. You have your work cut out for you, in this department and your dojo. Good luck.” His voice was sardonic, but in the time of their acquaintance, it was the most well-intentioned statement yet.

“In that case, I wish you the same in your mission to slay evil.” He paused. “And in carrying the memories of your fallen brethren. They were truly fortunate indeed, to have your loyalty.”

Saito didn’t verbally respond, giving Koshijiro a long stare. Then, he curtly nodded and went on, straight as a rod, in focused pursuit of the absolute justice he desired.

The house was mostly dark, save for a lantern in the dining room. Kaoru was mending an article of clothing, probably a haori, and she looked up with a smile. “Otou-san, welcome back.”

“Thank you, Kaoru. You’re still awake?”

“I’m not tired. I was waiting for you and Kenshin.” She set her needle aside, and her expression was thoughtful. “He’s been gone since dusk, and…he told us where he’d be.”

“You don’t have to worry. The matter was concluded before it even began.”

She exhaled. “Oh, good. Did you want some tea before bed?”

“I’ll have a cup, but I’ll stay with you as well.” He sat on the cushion across, noticing the haori was about Yahiko’s size while she retrieved the tea.

“Otou-san?”

“Hm?”

“Um…well, I was wondering.” She had also taken a cup for herself, staring into the bottom. Haltingly, she said. “I know your first impression wasn’t great, with the arm’s length rule, and how everything’s occurred since then, but…what do you think about Kenshin?”

He hadn’t expected her question, and he steadied his grip on his drink. “Kaoru, I don’t hold your capture against him.”

“Geez, Otou-san, I could tell that much.” She sipped from the top, before resuming her mending. “But if there’s anything you don’t approve of him, for a valid reason, I want to hear it from you.”

This was treading into the territory Koshijro was wary of, and he cleared his throat. “I see. Then, nothing.”

Her mouth fell open. “What? Really?”

“He’s a swordsman, with the protective, honorable, and courageous traits of the best. He’s kindhearted and responsible around the house. And…he deeply respects and cares for you. I’ve noticed how you make each other smile.” Embarrassed, he glanced away, only to face Kyoko’s altar picture. He could blame the late hour for his rambling. “I did misunderstand at the beginning, but perhaps, deep down, I anticipated it would come to this. Your mother and I always wanted you to choose for love, so…if he is your choice, I won’t disagree.”

“A-and the rule?”

Then, they heard the door slide, and Himura shuffled in. “This one is home.”

“Welcome home, Kenshin!” Kaoru immediately stood, her cheeks a little flushed. “You must be cold, we have fresh tea. If you’re hungry, I can make chazuke.”

“Tea would be enough, thank you.” He joined them at the table, and he peered at the fabric. “Is this for Yahiko?”

“It is, he’s growing out of his clothes. My first student has to look presentable, after all.”

“He will certainly appreciate feeling warmer too.” The atmosphere between the two was very cozy, soothing even.

The shadows shifted, and the lantern illuminated the looming figure of Shinomori. “You’ve both returned.”

Kaoru gasped. “Sorry, if we woke you.”

“I don’t sleep heavily in the first place.” He did sit down and take a teacup though, his voice hesitant. “Himura. How was your challenge?”

Despite how tired he must have been, he offered a gentle smile. “It seems this one has been given up on. Saito-dono did not accept.” He met Koshijiro’s gaze.

“No, it appears he lost interest.” The conversation lasted a few minutes longer, a mundane talk of what to eat for their dinner with Takani, before they went to bed for the remaining hours of the night.

They had a lazy morning in, and it was shaping to be a similar afternoon when Makimachi declared they had visitors. “Eiji-kun, is that you?!” She had met the boy with Himura, on the road to Kyoto. Her eyes then boggled. “And the…the Bodhisattva…”

He wasn’t alone, accompanied by Tokio and a bigger Tsutomu now standing beside her. He looked rather serious. “We’re here to say goodbye.”

Tokio explained. “My husband’s duties have abruptly called us elsewhere. He’s gone ahead to our new home, but I wanted to thank you for your friendship over the past few months. We wish you well.” She bowed, and the boys copied her. “If our paths cross again one day, I hope it will be under more peaceful circumstances.”

“Agreed, and please take care.” Koshijiro responded in kind.

Makimachi couldn’t resist inquiring. “And where are you moving to?”

“That would be a secret.” Tokio mildly answered. “But to you, Takani-san, send my regards to Lady Teru in Aizu.”

“Absolutely. If you happen to be near our home province, send a message.” She provided the name of her future workplace, a large clinic in the heart of Aizu. The trio departed, not lingering a spare minute and without looking backwards.

“Sent his family to deliver the news, while he stalks off in the middle of the night.” Sagara cracked. “I wonder where he went.”

In understanding of what Saito had said, Koshijiro turned his gaze to the north. “I suppose, a place fitting for wolves.”

At the station, Saito’s desk was completely cleared, as if he had never worked there. A short notice had been given to the chief, who announced that Assistant Chief Inspector Fujita had been reassigned by higher-ups. For Koshijiro, he privately said. “Also, he left an evaluation for you.”

“…What did it say?”

Chief Uramura only smiled, handing over the paper. “I think it’s best that you read it yourself.” The words were shockingly generous.

Remarks on Officer Kamiya Koshijiro: An interferer with many personal attachments, but more skill and discipline with one arm than anyone else in this department.

***

The end of the week drew near, and the day before Takani’s departure, Shinomori spoke to Makimachi. “It has been long enough, for the Aoiya to be without us. It’s the right time for us to leave. The first train leaves at dawn tomorrow.”

“Eh?! Tomorrow? But we still haven’t seen Asakusa and Ginza…”

“The ground will soon freeze in the mountains. We need to find a place with more sun for them.”

It clicked for her. “Oh! You’re right.” She held up her hands in apology. “Sorry, sightseeing will have to wait for next time! We have to go home with the others.” They could only be Shikijou, Hyottoko, Beshimi, and Hann’ya. But it was good, that they would rest easier in Kyoto before the snow fell.

While she and Shinomori packed their things, Koshijiro and Kaoru went to the market, buying castella for the pair to take to the Aoiya. It was a short errand; on the way back, Kaoru said forlornly. “Everybody’s leaving at once…”

“It feels sudden, but Takani-san will learn new treatments in Aizu, and Makimachi-san is the leader of the Oniwabanshuu, with Shinomori-san supporting her. They’ll grow for the better, and so will we.” Koshijiro responded. Still, it didn’t totally dispel her mood.

In the foyer, Makimachi was tying off her packed bag. When asked about Shinomori’s whereabouts, she informed them. “Aoshi-sama and Himura are having tea. Something long overdue, apparently. But Kaoru, you’ll write, won’t you? And I can come visit when it’s springtime?”

“Yes, of course! I want to stay in touch too.” The girls interlaced fingers, palm to palm.

“We can practice spar again, that was fun in Kyoto! And we’ll both do our best, me with Aoshi-sama and you with Himura.”

“Misao!”

“Right, I forgot Kamiya-san’s here.” She grinned.

Flustered, Kaoru made the excuse to cut slices of castella. However, the tea talk must have ended. They weren’t acting differently, the taller man unreadable as ever and Himura with an easygoing smile as he took a piece of cake.

Dinner was at sunset, golden light pouring over the autumn foliage. Sagara had procured a grill, so they had a raucous time, cooking over the charcoal smoke. Sanma with salt, chicken skewers, mushrooms, cubes of pumpkin. Yahiko raided the kitchen for leftovers, eager to add onigiri to the mix. Kaoru found the sweet potatoes at the last minute, and she was thrilled by Himura’s wide smile as he bit into the first one. Everyone had their fill, encouraging each other to try a freshly grilled item. Koshijiro put their happy faces to memory, as he ate in contentment. At the end, Takani served tea, and Makimachi opened a box of sweets, sharing that the cinnamon-flavored yatsuhashi were Shinomori’s favorite. The fire dwindled to embers, and all too quickly, the night passed.

The sun hadn’t even risen over Shinbashi Station, yet the train was boarding early. Shinomori dipped his head. “Thank you for hosting us. It is one of many things we owe you. And we can have tea again another time.”

Makimachi gazed at each of them in turn, but she put on a brave smile. “We’ll send plenty of letters, and New Year’s gifts too! See you later, everyone!”

Then, they had to board, their figures intent on their destination in the mountains. In a matter of minutes, the train began to pull away, and Makimachi exuberantly waved from the window; as for Shinomori, he granted the flicker of a smile.

Takani’s coach arrived later that morning, the safe passage obtained by Dr. Gensai as a parting gift. Yahiko carried her bags to the opposite seat, not even struggling with the weight. “This is nothing, you saved me from poisoning that first time.”

She had a bittersweet smile. “Ah, yes. It felt like so long ago, but it really hasn’t been. I’m grateful for how kind you all have been. Please take care.”

“You’re always welcome at the Kamiya dojo, and thank you for looking after our injuries.” Koshijiro passed her a slip of paper. “This is the info for the Aizu police, they’re aware of your arrival. We wish you well.”

“I won’t stop looking. Once I’m settled in, I’ll expand my search.” She promised. “Ken-san, remember what I said. If you feel anything wrong at all, please send a telegram to the new clinic and I’ll rush over.”

“Thank you, but this one will try not to disrupt your work.” He kindly said. “You have the important duty of caring for those who need your expertise. Do your best.”

“Yes, I will.” Then, she turned to Kaoru, lifting a familiar medicine chest. “And this is for you. These are the prescriptions and medicines for emergency treatment, everything’s labeled with the correct dosing, and…look at you, you’re so gloomy.” She tutted.

Kaoru was downcast, now that the moment of parting was here. “I just hate saying goodbye, and to do it again and again…”

“Aw, come on, Jou-chan.” Sagara clapped a hand on the top of her ponytail. “Whether it’s Aizu or the Aoiya or at Tomoe’s grave or even just the dojo, we can visit each other any time. This isn’t goodbye forever.”

Takani’s eyebrows shot up, as she concealed a smile behind her hand. “You really do say nice things sometimes.”

“I say nice things all the time.”

She let out a short laugh. “If you’re ever in Aizu and need your left hand treated, I can see you as well.”

“Thanks.”

“With that said…” Takani promptly thrust the chest to Kaoru, who leaned forward with the burden. “But the most important medicine for Ken-san isn’t in there. It’s your smile, the smile of the one he’s chosen. Not me, not Tomoe-san, but you. And maybe, it could even heal a scar.”

“…I understand. Megumi, let’s meet again someday soon.”

Her countenance lightened, and she set her shoulders in confidence. “Well then, everyone. Goodbye.” And then, she elegantly climbed into the coach. The driver snapped the reins, joining the bustling crowds.

They drifted away from the station, and Yahiko pointed out a restaurant, a line already starting to form. “We came all this way, so can we eat a Western lunch?”

But before anyone could reply, shouts broke the air. “Found him! Stop that spiky-haired bastard!” Two officers in unfamiliar uniforms were running in their direction. Were they referring to Sagara?

Kaoru suddenly exclaimed. “What is this?!” She pointed to a nearby wanted poster, with a surprisingly accurate portrait of Sagara.

Himura took it down, reading the text. “For the crimes of disrupting the peace, damaging the silk trade, assaulting Magistrate Fudosawa…”

“Damn, I didn’t realize they chased me all the way from Nagano.”

They stared at him, and Koshijiro recalled his story. “When you fought alongside your father, against those corrupt individuals…”

“Yeah, they were linked to the Ishin Shishi.” He stepped forward, closing the distance to the men and in a blur of motion, knocked them out. But it wasn’t over. A block away, more uniformed men were shoving through the pedestrians. “And they brought all their friends too.”

Yahiko was slack-jawed in dismay, and Kaoru blurted. “Sanosuke, what even-”

“Oops. Gotta run.” And he sprinted off, gone in the blink of an eye, leaving the four of them dumbstruck.

He never came to the dojo that night, or even the following morning. He had to be laying low; the Nagano officers were prowling the streets, but they stuck to the gambling halls and row houses, from the gossip at the station. None of Koshijiro’s colleagues were pleased by the unexpected arrival of these men, or their crass behavior. One of the ringleaders had shouted outside, demanding to speak to the chief. Chief Uramura, who had just healed from his injuries, had attempted a more polite conversation. It didn’t go over well, the other man barking in his face.

“From what I was told,” Koshijiro shared over dinner. “Sagara-san is a person of great interest to their employer. The magistrate on the poster had been found beaten in his house.”

“Probably deserved it, since it was Sano.” Yahiko said around a mouthful of udon. “But now, he’s a fugitive.”

“I’m wondering why he didn’t tell us the Ishin Shishi connection.” Kaoru murmured, stirring her soup spoon.

Himura thought aloud, his eyes deeply serious. “Perhaps, he anticipated this would occur, and did not want to involve us. And as a former member of the Sekihoutai, he has his pride.”

“So, what can we do to help him?”

Yahiko suggested. “Throw the Nagano people off his trail? Leave fake clues, mislead them away from where Sano could be?”

“Yes, or switch targets to the magistrate.” Then, Himura tilted his head. “There is someone who owes this one a favor. Tani-dono, who was shielded by this one and Sanosuke when Jin-e attacked. It would be a gamble, but they are related through the Ishin Shishi.”

“These are great ideas!” Kaoru agreed. “In the meantime, we can make the strangers feel as unwelcome as possible. I’ll talk to Tae, she still needs Sano to pay off his tab, and we’ll spread the word.”

“I can also speak to the chief, to inform further along the chain of command.” Koshijiro frowned. “If the corruption’s deep enough in Nagano, it will be readily obvious.”

So, they set out with their plans. Himura relayed that he had a good conversation with Tani; Koshijiro was very curious as to the details, if it forced the politician into writing a letter to the magistrate. The intruding officers had less presence each day, Yahiko cackling that they were frustrated and lashing out at each other. Kaoru stated that in town, they were rebuffed, ignored, or given nasty looks. Despite the changes, Sagara’s absence continued. They visited the row house where he occasionally stayed after a night out; the bedding was unkempt, he had obviously slept there, but no other signs of life.

After a week, an unfamiliar young man approached. Or rather, he peeked over one of the side walls and hissed in a confiding tone. “Our friend Sano says to meet him at the docks at midnight, he’ll be waiting.”

When the hour arrived, it was Tsunan who pointed them to a small fishing boat. “Over there.”

Sagara was standing by the oars, an eager expression on the dark sea. “It’s about time. I’m leaving Tokyo.”

“In that thing? You’ll capsize!” Yahiko protested.

“I’m not going that far, my first stop is in Osaka. Then, I’ll go south, travel along the coast. I’ve never been to the other islands, like Shikoku, or the mainland and beyond. There’re plenty of strong people in the world; I’m looking forward to challenging them.” His eyes blazed hungrily. “But I wanted one last goodbye, like everyone else did.”

“We’re trying to smooth things over here, but as you rightly said, it isn’t goodbye forever.” Koshijiro shook his hand. “See you later, Sagara-san.”

“See ya, old man.” He grinned. “Go easy on Kenshin, okay?”

At that moment, a whistle pierced the air. By the heavy footsteps, they were on the verge of being discovered. Koshijiro volunteered to stall, but when he climbed up to the streetside, he found a familiar silhouette, directing the Nagano officers away from the docks. “Chief Uramura.”

“Officer Kamiya. Thank you for working overtime, but I can take it from here.” He lightly said. “As for your earlier question, it seems a certain person will soon be removed from his post.”

“I appreciate the update, and your understanding.” He nodded to the disappearing shadows. He crept down the docks again, to hear his daughter speaking.

“No matter what, you can always come and see us. We’ll miss you.”

“Thanks, Jou-chan. Next time I visit, there should be a wedding. Plus or minus a kid on the way.”

“What?! That’s, you…!” She spluttered, her face red. Koshijiro’s own expression was flat and unamused.

Then, Sagara turned to Himura. No words were exchanged between them, only a look of mutual understanding and a hearty slap of their palms. With a broad grin, Sagara crammed his legs into the boat and grabbed the oars. A few splashes, and the snug vessel slipped out to the bay’s undulating waters.

The atmosphere at home was less tense, now that it was concluded, but stillness had settled in. It was true sense of quiet, that expanded in each room, and prompted an overdue cleaning session to busy their hands. When Koshijiro had finished his tasks, he took his break on the porch, next to Yahiko. He had a small glinting item in his fingers, thoughtfully staring at it, and explained.

“It’s the key to Sano’s row house, for me to use.”

“And why did he give it to you?”

“Sano said that it’d be awkward to stay in the same house with a couple.”

The phrasing of ‘couple’ was something to be left for another day; instead, Koshijiro said. “Maybe for him, but you’re still young, Yahiko. Yes, you’ve seen and done things beyond your age and beyond the capacity of many men. However, you’re eleven years old. I would prefer that you stay here, because this is your home and we can look after you. It isn’t easy to live alone, especially in the row houses. Also, when Sagara-san returns, I doubt the row house is the first place he’d visit.”

“Yeah, he’d come to the dojo right away.”

“Indeed.”

“Actually, I don’t really want to leave either. And you’re staying too, Kamiya-san.” He scratched his cheek. “I never got to know my dad; I don’t even know what he looked like. I guess…he’d be something like you. Not the face, obviously! But like, the way you talk and stuff…”

Koshijiro was also embarrassed. “Kyoko and I never had a son, so I suppose we’re in the same situation.”

Yahiko gave a toothy grin. “Yup!” They sat in companionable silence for a bit, until the boy asked. “So, what’s Kenshin going to do?”

“The same as usual, only minding the limits of his physicality. A more difficult balance now, but he will persevere, as he promised.” He hadn’t provided an answer yet in regards to learning Kamiya Kasshin, but the possibility remained open.

Yahiko made a scrunched face in exasperation. “I already knew that! I was talking about him and Kaoru. Even if it’s not a big deal, how much longer will the mushiness last?”

“…I think that’s best answered by them.”

“Ah, there you are!” Kaoru rounded the corner, a broom in her grip. Himura was amiably following in her wake. She gestured to the crisp cover of multicolored foliage and pine needles in the courtyard. “Let’s keep at it until dinner.”

“There are plenty of ingredients for takikomi gohan tonight, a reward for such hard work.” Himura caught a falling maple leaf in midair, and he offered it to Kaoru with a smile. “For you, Kaoru-dono.”

She happily accepted. “How pretty. Thank you, Kenshin.” Had their pinkies touched? It was hard to tell.

“Ugh, come on.” Yahiko griped, but he didn’t sound genuinely upset. “Here, I’ll take the broom while you two are occupied.” They did pick up their feet, but shared little smiles while the yard was cleaned.

Koshijiro knew exactly what he was expecting, but he would wait.

#rurouni kenshin #kenkao #at arm's length

7 notes · View notes

mercurygray · 11 months ago

Text

❄️❄️Fandom Snowflake Challenge Day 1 ❄️❄️

Every year, the good folks at @snowflakechallenge encourage fandom folks to introduce themselves a little more and reflect on what fandom is for them. They have a series of challenges throughout the month of January to prompt sharing more about yourself!

1. Update your fandom information. Post your answer to today’s challenge in your own space and leave a comment in this post saying you did it.

Hi there! I’m Merc, she/her/hers, 30ish, unreformed tea drinker, time travel enthusiast, and one of those viewers like you PBS is always talking about.

I love period dramas, strong female leads and women’s history. Historical Alternate Universes and Original Female Characters are a big part of my fandom brand and practice. I'm not a historian, I just play one on TV. In my professional life I work at a large museum and I'm happy to talk about museums and career development!

I am on Archive of Our Own as MercuryGray. My older work (2016 and earlier) can be read on ff.net under the same name. I also post shorter works on Tumblr at the tag mercurygraypresents

A full list of my original characters is available here. Please ask me before using my characters in any of your own work.

For the last 4 years I've run the Blind Dates OC Prompt Fest, a chance to write and test new fandom original characters. The fest usually runs in February and you should join us!

Currently I'm reblogging House of the Dragon, Vikings: Valhalla, All Creatures Great and Small, SAS: Rogue Heroes, Band of Brothers, The Pacific, Lord of the Rings, and Masters of the Air.

I think that’s about it. The askbox is open. I absolutely read your tags. There’s pop in the fridge. Stay as long as you like.

#snowflakechallenge2024 #introduction post #more about me

18 notes · View notes

esta-elavaris · 1 year ago

Text

Flufftober Day 2: Family, friends, loved ones. ~ Aemond Targaryen/OC [1,243 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

A/N: So I do intend to write a full-blown Aemond fic one day, I have vague plans in place for how it’ll go, and it’ll probably be with this OC. That being said, as of right now I probably wouldn’t recommend going into that with whatever oneshots I write for him now in mind, because there’s every likelihood that there won’t be any consistency plot-wise between these and that, other than bare bones characterisations – which is why I’m using the same name here for the OC. Sort of test-driving her character, if nothing else.

Also, her name being Jeyne was something I went back and forth on because of Jeyne Poole in the ASOIAF books, who this character is definitely not, but we’re in a world with twenty Viserys’ and fifty billion Aegons, so we can deal.

Though Jeyne would never admit it, she had – when she was younger – fallen into the pastime that many other young ladies did of imagining what her wedding celebrations might look like. Occasionally. When there was nothing else to do. For a moment or two.

Not that interrogation under threat of torture could ever pry that fact out of her.

Still, in her imaginings there were two things she’d never once dreamed of, both of which were now a reality. The first was the groom in question. As the firstborn daughter of a House of some significance, it was expected that she’d marry reasonably well. Lord something-or-other with either gold, good land, or useful connections. Perhaps two of those three.

If she was very lucky, she would like her husband. Somewhat lucky, and he’d leave her to her own affairs beyond seeing that their duty was conducted. Mostly she felt herself daring when she hoped for the latter.

Which was why she was left pinching herself when it was announced that House Greenstone would join with House Targaryen, through the marriage of Lady Jeyne to Prince Aemond. There was no shortage of tittering over her House name when it was announced, but she was much too distracted to heed it much because it turned out she actually liked the Prince. Not even in spite of his notoriously surly demeanour, but perhaps because of it.

Were he his older brother, she would find herself more inclined to distrust the surprising rapport she’d built with her intended throughout their carefully orchestrated courting process. Yes, she was not so naïve as to think that there wouldn’t been a bit of artifice to it in the beginning. Prince Aemond was a man of duty, and if his duty was to behave in a courtly manner to her in the run-up to their wedding, then he would do so. But could the same not be said for any who were polite to those they hoped to one day call an ally?

But polite, if not awkward and stilted, conversations, had – to her shock, as well as that of everybody else – morphed into real conversations. One where her mind was on simply talking to him, and not what Lady Jeyne should be saying to Prince Aemond.

If she had to mark when exactly the change had happened, she would have said it was during their third meeting. They’d exhausted the gardens, and the galleries, and so he’d asked her where in the Red Keep she might like to see next. Without thinking, she’d answered the library – and then faltered, wondering if the correct answer wouldn’t have been the personal sept used by the family here. But Prince Aemond had blinked at her, watching her carefully with his one violet eye, and then slowly informed her that the library housed historical accounts, factual accounts, more than they did song and legend.

Something in his prim and proper princely act had threatened to slip through then – not that all that came beforehand had suddenly felt false, but his words to her in that instance hadn’t felt quite so pre-prepared and indifferent.

Then, the unamused expression had slipped onto her face in response to his assumption before she could think better of it – and he’d liked it.

Which was how, over the weeks of their long engagement (for short ones led to rumours of accidents, as her mother liked to insist), they’d gotten here. To Jeyne sitting by her intended’s side – situated to his right, so he could easily look in her direction - at their final engagement feast in the run-up to the wedding, blushing as he looked at her like she was some sort of strange and wonderful phenomenon that he had yet to figure out. He kept his face impassive, gazing straight ahead as whispers reached them of how some gathered felt sympathy for her despite her sharp rise in station, for he would surely eat her alive. Jeyne followed his lead, and offered no reaction when other whispers floated by that while she was not bad looking, a prince surely could have found a fairer bride. It was easier to do when his fingers found hers beneath the table, tentatively toying with them, growing bolder but never inappropriate when she did not quickly pull back.

The crowd, she reasoned, would likely blame all of the eyes upon her for her blushes.

No, she never could have foreseen this.

The second thing, however, was something she should have seen coming. Her family. Although, to be fair to herself, it was no wonder that they held no place in her idealised daydreams.

So great was the royal family, even without Rhaenyra and her branch present (apparently Prince Daemon’s response on behalf of he and the princess to the wedding invitation did not bear repeating), there was no room for any of the Greenstones to sit. Bar herself, of course. Which meant that Jeyne was afforded the opportunity to watch in horror, from her seat at the high table in her pretty mint-green dress, as her kin made fools of themselves.

Her mother, it seemed, was determined to pick apart every aspect of the event – the décor, the bards, the gowns of the other ladies; the latter of which she made a distinct point of looking up and down with a wrinkled nose…before quickly becoming meek as a mouse the moment any of them looked back. Her father, meanwhile, was attempting to swap war stories with the seasoned knights in attendance…despite never having swung a sword in his life. Not at a moving target, anyway.

Her younger sister – who clearly felt a particular way about plain Jeyne being betrothed to a prince, even if it was “the dour one who’s missing an eye” and not the “funnier, handsomer” Aegon – was doing everything she could to commandeer the attention of all within a twenty foot vicinity of her. Prince Aegon openly laughed at the spectacle at the other side of Prince Aemond…but in a way that seemed to be laughing at her sister, rather than with her. Her brother, at least, seemed to feel much the same way Jeyne did, his head down, enduring the feast as best he could. When he met her gaze, he offered a rueful smile and lifted his cup to her.

Jeyne breathed a laugh, but that was enough to get the prince’s attention.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Before she could think better of it, too. For would it be worse to acknowledge the spectacle they were making of themselves? Or would politely pretending not to see it make him think she really did not see.

“For laughing?” he responded, just as quietly, his fingers still toying with hers. “It’s a feast.”

“For…” she trailed off. “All of that. My friends, family…loved ones…”

She did love them. Truly. She had to, did she not? They were her family. At the moment, however, she just wasn’t much of a fan of their behaviour. Prince Aemond was silent for a moment, and she was too nervous to look over and see how he responded to that. But then he made a low sort of hm noise in the back of his throat, and properly took her hand in his then beneath the table.

“In less than a week’s time, you’ll have new friends. New family…”

New loved ones. The words were unsaid, but her cheeks blazed all the same.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober #flufftober 2023 #flufftober2023 #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen/oc #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic

21 notes · View notes

masterghandalf · 2 years ago

Text

Embers by Vathara: A Too-Long Review

Embers is one of the most famous – perhaps the most famous – fanfics in the entire Avatar: The Last Airbender fandom. It’s also one of the most controversial, prone to creating very strong, very polarized opinions among its readers. The fic’s fans call it an incredible piece of worldbuilding that turns aspects of the original show on its head and enriches others with a darker, more morally complex plotline and sophisticated themes. Detractors call it blatant Fire Nation propaganda that worships at Zuko’s feet and demonizes everyone who ever slightly disagreed with him. The fact that both sides of the debate can get very… heated, to put it mildly, only furthers the controversy. At the risk of igniting old flame wars (pun very much intended😉) I thought I’d step in and offer my own thoughts on things. In brief, I think there’s a lot of positive things to be said about Embers, and I can see why it has the fandom it does… but at the same time, for a number of I reasons, some major, some nitpicky, I personally cannot bring myself to embrace it. Let’s take a look behind the cut to talk about why!

What is Embers?

First off… what’s this about, anyway? Embers is an Avatar: The Last Airbender AU fic, diverging from canon early in Book Two, written by Vathara (a rather famous fanfic writer active in multiple fandoms, and IIRC has also published original fiction under her own name) from 2009-2014. Its basic premise involves Zuko, while on the run with Iroh in the Earth Kingdom, rediscovering, based on things his mother had taught him, a lost firebending technique- fire-healing. From there it snowballs massively as Zuko gets caught up in spirit shenanigans, becomes a yaoren (two-element bender) who can also bend water, wrestles with his own legacy, and ultimately explores finds himself caught up in an ancient struggle involving spirits and dragons with more at stake than anyone has realized. The story begins in a one-shot, “Theft Absolute,” and then continues in Embers proper, and it is long – 91 chapters (not counting “Theft Absolute”) and more than 700,000 words even discounting author notes, making it longer than the entirety of The Lord of the Rings (even if you include The Hobbit too), longer than freaking War and Peace, and roughly comparable to all three volumes of Brandon Sanderson’s original Mistborn trilogy together. Woof. In other words, there’s a lot to dig into here. Though the fic itself (at least the FF.net version) does not internally divide itself in any way other than chapters, its TVTropes page splits it up into twelve discrete story arcs, which I may bring up occasionally for ease of reference. Anyway, the sheer size and complexity of the fic means there’s a lot to discuss, so with the basic intro out of the way, let’s get to it.

What’s Good About Embers?

Before we begin, I’d like to say that while my ultimate feelings about the fic are largely negative, I can absolutely see why it got popular and why its fandom has generally been so devoted to it (and since I will be talking about a lot of negative things, I did want to go ahead and put this part first, to make it clear that I do have aspects I like, and the things I don’t like should be understood in that context). For one, it’s very long, very detailed, and as of 2014 it’s complete. As a fic writer myself who has written some very long fics (none this long, though!) I have an inkling of how difficult a feat this is to pull off and can absolutely salute Vathara for the achievement. As for the writing itself, I wouldn’t call Vathara a great wordsmith, but she is, generally speaking, a solid one, with prose that feels professional-novel-quality; considering what a lot of fic (especially from a fandom that skews young, particularly at the time of the show’s original airing and the time Embers got started) is like, that’s yet another breath of fresh air. While I have some issues with the plot itself (more on that later) it nonetheless has a clear plot, one with lots of moving parts, and pulls it together generally well. In short, as a literary achievement Embers is already head-and-shoulders above a lot of fic, and not a few published novels. It also uses a lot of tropes and plot points that have a lot of appeal in the fandom. Zuko is the hero! Multi-element benders who aren’t the Avatar! Fire healing! Zuko is the reincarnation of an important historical figure! Aang’s Fire Nation friend Kuzon is an important historical figure! Ty Lee is a secret airbender! Koh the Face-Stealer is the big bad and was all along! Spirit stuff! Dragons! Any of these are things the Avatar fandom tends to eat up; Embers has all of them. At the same time, it also avoids a lot of the common pitfalls; in particular, it mostly doesn’t focus on issues of romance at all and thus neatly sidesteps the fandom’s infamous shipping wars, which is both rare and a relief, especially for a Zuko-centric story. It also has a lot of worldbuilding of Vathara’s own devising that’s extremely complex and detailed; said worldbuilding is controversial, and I can say I’m one it doesn’t really work for (again, more on that later) but there clearly was a lot of effort put into it, Vathara did her homework, and if you do like it, it’s one of the fic’s major selling points. She also includes a number of OCs from various walks of life that offer different perspectives and flesh things out more. And, of course, deconstruction fics that seek to problematize the canon and/or offer darker, more “mature” takes on the source material are always going to have a following in any fandom. Regardless of what you think, it makes you think (as the fact that I felt compelled to write this review, something I don’t normally do, should attest… I certainly wouldn’t put this level of thought and effort into a fic I just thought was bad). In short, I can absolutely respect Embers as a piece of writing and as a rare achievement in fandom, and I can also see a lot of reasons why it has the appeal it does for people.

But in the end, the story doesn’t work for me. Some of the reasons why are obvious; some are more subtle; some are more nitpicky issues of personal taste. But I’d like to take a while to discuss why, despite everything I do think there is to like or appreciate about the fic, it rubs me the wrong way. First off, I think it’s best before anything else to discuss the lion-turtle in the room.

Is Embers Fire Nation Apologism?

This is perhaps the most common accusation levelled at the fic by its detractors; that Vathara loves the Fire Nation, presents them as being in the right and the war as justified and everyone who opposes them as being evil. In fact, Embers’s tropes page used to (it’s since been removed) compare the fic directly to The Last Ringbearer, an (in)famous LotR fic (actually a published novel in Russian, its original language, but a free fanfic in English) that flipped the tale’s original morality, presenting the elves and wizards as evil, Gondor and Rohan as their dupes, and Mordor and Umbar as innocent victims of bigoted imperialism. The fic’s fans, meanwhile, says that this is a surface-level reading that completely misses the story’s nuances and ignores its actual messages. So, what’s my take? Is Embers pro-Fire Nation apologism? My answer is… no. And also, yes. Let me explain.

First off, the fic’s reputation as Fire Nation apologism has undeniably been exaggerated by its hatedom. It presents the Hundred-Year War as being wrong. The genocide of the Air Nomads was wrong. Characters like Ozai and Azula (and, posthumously, Sozin and Zhao) who were villainous in canon remain villainous in Embers. Stopping the War and overthrowing Ozai remains a goal of all sympathetic characters in the story. That Last Ringbearer comparison is, I think, unfair (and, honestly, regardless of my issues with Embers, I think it’s a superior work to Last Ringbearer in every way… but that’s beyond the scope of this review). Vathara does not try to paint Hundred Year War-era Fire Nation as being in the right or “the real good guys.”

But. But.

Embers doesn’t try to paint the Fire Nation under Ozai as heroic, true enough. What Embers does do, however, is prioritize Fire Nation POVs and Fire Nation concerns. You might argue that this is a natural side-effect of the fic’s POV centering on Zuko, but I think it goes beyond that. Cultural clash is a major theme in the fic, and this is where a lot of Vathara’s worldbuilding goes is in exploring the worldviews and practices of the four nations in much more depth than the show does (more on that in the next section). But practically any time a Fire Nation character gets into an argument with a person from another nation, the Fire Nation character’s POV gets prioritized and they’re the one the narrative wants us to side with. Characters are frequently lambasted for not understanding the Fire Nation and Fire Nation values, and if they don’t that’s their fault, but the reverse is almost never true, with almost any conflict presenting the Fire Nation character as being in the right. The Fire Nation are literally descended from dragons, it’s eventually revealed (all Fire Nationals seem to have a little dragon ancestry; a few have a lot of it); none of the other nations have anything like this going on. Fire is consistently treated as a “special” element unlike any of the others, and firebenders get to do things like keep volcanoes from erupting to protect everyone else in the world and no other nation has anything comparable going on; we also get a lot of info on how unique the Fire Nation ecology is and the specialized management it requires. The war is mostly understood through the lens of how it affects the Fire Nation, with a lot more time given to how it’s warped Fire Nation culture than the harm they’ve done to the rest of the world (indeed, a big deal is made at various points about how once the Fire Nation conquers territory, they view it as just another part of the Fire Nation and its people as their people, to be treated as such, and those who don’t follow that ideal are presented as aberrations, which is… not how empires actually work). And so on.

But the biggest issue… Kyoshi. Embershas a really weird take on Kyoshi and her role in the Fire Nation’s history that hangs over the entire fic, and not in a good way. See, in Embers-verse the Fire Nation in Kyoshi’s time was a bunch of independent islands ruled by feudal lords (who fought each other all the time but apparently never tried to take more territory than they could control or unify the islands because they knew they couldn’t hold it, because that’s clearly how aggressive warlords think *rolls eyes*). But the Earth Kingdom was attacked by Fire Nation pirates, and none of the local “Great Names” could stop them because hey, the pirates weren’t their subjects. So Kyoshi committed genocide on half the Fire Nation and forced the survivors to swear allegiance to the Fire Lord, and in Embers if you swear loyalty to a firebender, you can’t break it without dying or nearly dying (more on that when we get to the worldbuilding). So, yeah, the political structure of the Fire Nation is presented as being an unnatural imposition and it’s all the Avatar’s fault, with the war being a direct consequence of this. Yeesh. This backstory ends up pervading the Fire Nation’s characterization, providing justification for why no firebender will ever trust the Avatar and why they’re convinced the other nations want to wipe them out and will if the war turns against them or if they try to make peace. It doesn’t justify the war… but it is used to present the imperialist conquerors as victims themselves, doing something they’d never have done if an outside force hadn’t mauled them and rearranged their political system first (all that pent up aggression they used to work out fighting each other had to go somewhere, apparently…). And that… really makes me uncomfortable, not least because of how it takes the onus for starting the conflict off the Fire Nation and puts it on someone else (not the only way the fic does this, as Ozai ends up overshadowed by the real villains too) while also creating a scenario where it feels like the world revolves around the Fire Nation and the Fire Nation’s issues, with the rest of the world as supporting players. In short, while it doesn’t try to justify the Fire Nation’s actions in the present, it goes to great length to make sure those actions are understandable and Fire Nation voices and Fire Nation concerns are prioritized by the narrative while those of other nations are generally marginalized.

It gets especially obvious when you see the treatment Vathara gives the other nations. So, let’s take a look at the fic’s worldbuilding in general.

The Worldbuilding of Embers

One of the most talked about aspects of Embers is its worldbuilding; Vathara takes what’s established in canon and adds a lot of detail and complexity to it. Like most aspects of the fic, however, said worldbuilding can be very controversial; fans love how detailed it is and how it reframes their understanding of canon, while critics tend to think it doesn’t fit well with what canon establishes about the world. Personally, I tend to fall into “the worldbuilding is really interesting and compelling, but I’d like it a lot better if it was an original setting rather than trying to shoehorn it into the Avatar world,” but there are a few cases where I do think it has very profound issues of its own. So, let’s dig into it, shall we?

Bending: I’m going to address Vathara’s take on bending first, because it influences almost everything else she does with the setting. Bending in Embers works quite differently from how it does in canon. Most obviously, not only does every element have its own sub-school of healing (instead of just water), but every element has mind control powers of a different sort. Yes, really. I’ll discuss each of them in turn as I get to each nation specifically, but in general for a fic that prides itself on realistic consequences for actions and well-researched worldbuilding it's a rather... striking choice to throw in “but literal mind control” as an explanation for peoples’ actions. Also, benders (and non-benders, to a lesser degree) are often depicted as being under their element’s direct influence much more obviously than in canon, to the extent that it’s treated as genuinely surprising when someone does something opposed to their element’s philosophy; despite the work Vathara does to flesh out her various cultures, this ends up making them feel rather “planet of hats-y” at times. Ultimately, I kind of like Vathara’s bending as a magic system, creepy stuff and all, but I do think she adds so many elemental bells and whistles to things that the basic idea of magical elemental martial arts gets kind of muddled.

The Fire Nation (and dragons): I’m going to start with the Fire Nation, because it’s clearly Vathara’s favorite culture and the one where the dragon’s share of the worldbuilding goes to. And, okay, I’m a bit torn. Because on the one hand, Vathara’s Fire Nation is genuinely interesting. On the other hand, it ends up diverging significantly from the show’s Fire Nation, to a level beyond what I think Vathara intended or realized; for another, I think there’s some very problematic aspects of this society that go uninterrogated because Vathara is too busy squeeing over how awesome they are. I’m also including dragons in this section because they’re intimately (in some cases very intimately) tied with the Fire Nation, and because Vathara clearly really likes them and changes them significantly from canon.

To start with, let’s look at the political system. I’m honestly not sure Vathara realizes this because she doesn’t really discuss in in her author notes, but she somehow ends up giving the Fire Nation an entirely different form of government than they had in canon. The canon Fire Nation is clearly a centralized absolute monarchy; everything we see seems to be run by a centralized bureaucracy, its military force is a centralized, professional military, and the chain of command for both culminates in the Fire Lord, who has absolute legal, military and (implicitly) religious authority over everyone. Vathara’s Fire Nation is still a monarchy, but instead of a top-down absolute monarchy it's a bottom-up feudal monarchy where, instead of one centralized country, it’s made up of a bunch of local fiefdoms where people are loyal first and foremost to whoever their local “Great Name” is, that person has authority over the domain and then in turn swears loyalty to the Fire Lord. Needless to say, this is a completely different form of government and would produce a completely different social and especially military structure from the one we see in the show. Indeed, in the fic said social structure is greatly explored and becomes plot-critical, but it doesn’t really jive with other aspects ported over from the show’s version (such as why Embers’s Fire Nation still has a centralized professional military instead of each domain providing their own troops separately when called on, as would be the case in an actual feudal system). Unfortunately, I think a lot of the detail also comes at the expense of the other nations, with a lot of aspects of Vathara’s Fire Nation being held up as unusually awesome in-universe, whether explicitly or implicitly. Most obviously, Great Names (which, considering the Fire Nation’s Japanese influences, is a pretty clear equivalent of historical daimyo) and their heirs are awesome and Vathara really, really wants to make sure we know that. The fic makes it clear that to be a Great Name you have to be a badass, and you have to hold yourself to certain standards of behavior (even a Great Name as tyrannical as Ozai seems to have to have some standards at least where his subjects – ie, the Caldera specifically in his case – are concerned) and have to keep all the volcanoes in their territory under control so everyone should be grateful to them, and have their special court language based on Sanskrit that only they speak, and if you’re a real Great Name everyone will respect you and think you’re wonderful because you’re just. That. Awesome. Even Earth Kingdom characters are impressed when realizing that Zuko (or "Lee”) is probably a Great Name’s son and think that must make him a badass! It gets a little wearying after a while, to be honest, especially since the other nations have nothing comparable (titled Earth Kingdom nobles don’t get nearly as much focus, with a few exceptions, and the Water Tribes and Air Nomads obviously have completely different systems). At the same time, the Fire Nation is also apparently the only country that regularly fields female soldiers (this one does have some basis in canon – they certainly seem to have more of them, at the very least) and also the only country where a commoner can become a high-ranking officer, even though the sorts of feudal societies Vathara’s Fire Nation is modeled on tend to not have much room for social mobility, to put it mildly (military aristocrats are an elitist bunch, as a rule, and tend to guard their prerogatives jealously!).

Oh, and this is all held together by the Fire Nation’s version of mind control – loyalty. Basically, anyone who swears allegiance to a firebender can’t break it without resulting in severe illness or death, and powerful firebenders can even attract the loyalty of people around them and make them want to serve them, even if said people don’t want to or even know what’s happening (in some cases, like Azula with the Dai Li, even if they’re not Fire Nation!). Every Fire Nation citizen (except exiles) owe loyalty to someone, and again, can’t break it or disobey an order without potentially fatal consequences. And this is where I have my real problem with Vathara’s Fire Nation. This system as a whole is never criticized or problematized. Oh, sure, loyalty to the Fire Lord specifically is a bad thing… because it was imposed from outside by Kyoshi. In the natural state of things, every domain would be independent – but still under the control of their Great Name, still with their own little loyalty pyramid, just without the Fire Lord at the top over everyone. And, indeed, at the end of the fic, the solution to the war is… to dissolve the Fire Lord’s throne and return every domain to self-rule but keeping the Great Name/loyalty system intact. This is uncritically presented as a good thing, because this way the Fire Nation will police itself by means of domains fighting each other (and it’s made clear Fire Nationals always want to fight, and it’s a dreadful imposition to try and make them live peacefully) keeping any one of them from getting too powerful. What’s never addressed is the way this would logically lock a quarter of the world into perpetual conflict with itself, driven by the personal honor of feudal warlords whose people are essentially powerless to disobey them (and again, it’s made clear Fire Nation clans have to have conflict; we’re explicitly told Sozin’s father trying to mediate them all was doomed to failure and drove him to die young, and this was crucial for shaping Sozin’s outlook on life, his resentment of the Avatar, and his desire to redirect his people’s aggression outward). And despite Vathara’s insistence that a proper Great Name doesn’t take more territory than they know they can hold, I’m still not sure what’s stopping a particularly ambitious lord from conquering neighboring domains, forcing their lords to swear loyalty, and eventually building up enough of a powerbase to start the whole mess over again. I don’t think Vathara’s intention was for her Fire Nation to be read this dystopian, but personally, I find it very hard to read it any other way (it doesn’t help that almost all our major Fire Nation POVs are nobility, military, or both; we don’t really get the common person’s take on all this, but I somehow doubt they’re all that enthused). It does remind me a bit of PC Hodgell’s Kencyrath series (enough that I wonder if Vathara’s read it…) where the Kencyr also have a feudal society driven by magically binding loyalty to the ruling class and strict, arcane codes of honorable behavior, except that society is portrayed as deeply, profoundly messed up in ways that Vathara’s Fire Nation isn’t. Also, one last word on the concept of loyalty… it pretty much creates a society where the “I was just following orders!” defense is actually valid (yes, you can disobey orders in Vathara’s Fire Nation, but the consequences are bad enough it’s clear people generally don’t, and Fire Nationals in-fic tend to treat “I had orders” as a justification for most things) and… I really, really hope that was unintentional. Because if not… damn.

In hindsight, this may have sounded harsher than I meant it to. I really do find the concept of Vathara’s Fire Nation interesting, and “decadent empire run by corrupt, backstabbing sorcerer-aristocrats” is one of my favorite setting types, but I really wish she’d taken the very problematic aspects of this society and, well, problematized them instead of going all in on “clans and domains are awesome and Great Names are awesome and everyone wants a good Great Name to pledge loyalty to.” It’s not that Vathara’s Fire Nation doesn’t have problems, but said problems are mostly presented as being imposed from outside (the entire office of the Fire Lord, for one…) and the ideal solution is to essentially revert back to the pre-Kyoshi status quo. It plays into the overall theme, which I’ll get to at the end of the review, that yes, the war is wrong, and Ozai was wrong… but the Fire Nation itself is the real victim here instead of the people they were, you know, trying to conquer, or at least as much of a victim as they are. And, well, I don’t like the implications of that very much (and I’m less sympathetic to this sort of thing than usual this past year, considering certain current events), especially when you consider Vathara’s takes on the other nations.

Before we go on, one last word I’d like to have is on dragons. Vathara clearly likes dragons a lot. I don’t blame her – I went through a big phase of dragon-loving in my teenage years, and they still remain one of my favorite fictional creatures. In a broad sense, I really like Vathara’s take on dragons. Unfortunately, she’s shoehorned them into a setting where they don’t fit, and it makes a mess. Canon’s dragons are “the original firebenders,” fire’s equivalent to sky bison for air or badgermoles for earth. They’re powerful, wise, ancient creatures, sure, but still essentially animals. And I really think Vathara didn’t like that, because her dragons are sapient, nigh-immortal shapeshifters who can and do often interbreed with humans. On its own, none of that’s bad – I like most of those traits in dragons, and there’s mythological basis for most of it. But where Vathara tries to jam them into the place of canon’s dragons is where it gets awkward. In particular, she seems to have an axe to grind with canon’s take on dragons, at several points actively mocking how dragons are often considered animals by humans, people who don’t realize dragons are sapient, or how they are regarded as no more than sky bison (which in canon I’d say is no insult at all, but, well, I don’t think Vathara likes sky bison very much). That “can breed with humans” bit becomes particularly important, because it turns out all Fire Nation people are descended from dragons. Most of them very distantly, of course, but some much more closely, including (of course) Zuko. And we get treated to a lot of exposition on how this directly influences Fire Nation people’s psychology and culture and makes them different from other humans, especially “dragon-children” with close draconic ancestry. So basically, what it boils down to is Vathara’s favorite nation having literally superhuman ancestry (I count “being a dragon” as superhuman) something none of the other nations do (it also adds another layer to fic!Fire Nation’s persecution complex, since they think if the other nations find out they’d consider them subhuman). Normally, I’d love to read about a culture of dragon-people, but it’s just so incredibly out of place in the Avatarverse that I can’t really connect with it there, especially since I feel like it just serves to underscore that Vathara’s favorite culture is special, everyone!

Basically, there’s a lot I find conceptually interesting in Vathara’s Fire Nation, but I don’t like it as written. Personally, I’d emphasize the self-destructive nature of their feudal honor culture more, play loyalty for horror in general (not just if you’ve got a bad lord), and move it out of the Avatarverse entirely into another setting where the dragon stuff could be made to actually fit, or at least into a fic where it’s a full AU from the start in a sort of “Avatar: The Last Airbender reimagined, ultimate universe style” rather than a canon divergence AU that still accepts large swaths of the show as having happened. This is something I’ll be coming back to quite a bit, actually, since I think Vathara’s Fire Nation really highlights how much of this stuff I’d find much more palatable as original fic (or, again, full AU) rather than fanfic.

The Air Nomads: Okay, this is where I think real problems lie. Because even if I unironically loved everything else about the fic… I still wouldn’t be able to rec it unreservedly if it had Vathara’s take on the Air Nomads in it. Whereas most of my other issues with the fic are about context and execution, its take on the Air Nomads is something I find inherently irresponsible and indefensible on its own merits. Vathara’s Air Nomads disturb me – not their activities in the fic, but the meta fact that this portrayal exists at all. What am I talking about, you ask? Well, first off, there’s a running theme that starts in the fic early any time the Air Nomad genocide is mentioned talking about how it actually makes perfect sense that everyone in the world secretly hated and resented the Air Nomads and weren’t that sad to see them go. To the point that it starts getting uncomfortably victim-blamey. Then we later learn that in the distant past the Air Nomads used to be Mongol-like warlike conquerors. Okay, that’s not as bonkers as it seems on the surface (real-world Tibet did have its imperial age, and there are some interesting historical connections between Tibet and Mongolia) but considering the earlier portrayal, I still side-eye it. And then, we get the big reveal – the Air Nomads, or at least the Air Monk elders, were evil. See, the airbenders’ version of mind control is something called “Harmonious Accord” that is never really explained in detail but is apparently just flat-out brainwashing. And the Temple Elders used it to force all their people to agree on everything and to use the Air Nuns as baby factories then force them to give up their children to be raised communally. Anyone who dissented, and anyone who wasn’t a bender (canonically, all Air Nomads were benders, but clearly Vathara knows better) were kicked out and forced to live among the other nations, which boiled down to the Air Nomads inflicting their criminals on everyone else. Since they were all conditioned to not be attached to anything, the Air Nomads wandered around the world, causing disruption and refusing to deal with the consequences of their actions. Oh, and little things like “compassion” were brainwashed away too, apparently (which is, like, the antithesis of actual Buddhist belief – hey, Vathara, compassion’s the whole point). And it turns out that their pacifism was a hypocritical sham, forced on them by one bitter old monk (who started the temple system) who was jealous of the warlords and seized power during a power vacuum and remade the whole culture in his image (and apparently by forcing the airbenders to be peaceful, he somehow locked them out of most of their powers, including healing… somehow). Yeah, so basically, Vathara’s Air Nomads were a literal brainwashing cult created by an evil old man bitter because he wasn’t a good warrior as a form of revenge, and everything Aang knew about his people was a lie! I can get trying to grey up the Air Nomads a bit, break a few of Aang’s pedestals, but this is just excessive. And, sort of as the antithesis of how it seems like nobody can ever get a word in edgewise arguing with a Fire Nation character, any time Aang tries to defend his people, he’s met with evidence of some new horrible thing they did.

Now, like I said, Embers doesn’t try to justify the genocide itself. The mass murder is clearly portrayed as wrong (though it also has some of the edge taken off – a lot of the kids got out, with help, and there are enclaves of surviving airbenders around the world, including in the Fire Nation, so Aang’s not really the Last Airbender). But at the same time, the destruction of the Temples themselves and the culture that was based there… Vathara seems to think that was good, or at least necessary? She even has Gyatso, or at least his ghost, seem to agree with her on that. And, okay, I hate it. I hate that Vathara took a peaceful, monastic people from canon and turned them into evil baby stealers, for reasons I’m not entirely sure on (partially, I feel this may be to punish Aang specifically – more on that when we get to characters – but I also can’t help but wonder if a Buddhist monk wronged Vathara somehow in real life, because it’s sort of… weirdly personal). But I especially hate it because the Air Nomads are a stand-in for people groups who have faced genocide in real life – Tibetan Buddhists most obviously, of course, but others as well. And while Vathara did say in some of her ANs that she wanted to engage with the sort of propaganda that makes genocide possible… what she honestly ended up doing, IMO, was creating a culture where that propaganda is true (they’re not like us! They don’t think like us! They don’t value our culture! They don’t care about family or loyalty! Peaceful coexistence with them just isn’t possible!). And, well, by about the dozenth chapter where I feel like I’m being treated to the Protocols of the Air Temple Elders (seriously, the only thing that saves the fic from flat-out slandering the Air Nomads with blood libel is that they don’t seem to steal other nations’ children – though honestly, I wouldn’t put it past Embers’s Air Nomads) I just feel angry. Even Yangchen gets reduced to having been a brainwashed nun who had to be saved by the yaoren before she could realize her destiny as the Avatar. I just… am deeply disturbed Vathara thought going this far was okay, and desperately hope the unfortunate implications here were unintentional. Desperately.

The Water Tribes: Vathara’s take on the Water Tribes has me torn. On the one hand, she does go into a lot of detail about what the lives and customs of an actual Arctic tribal people might entail, in particular how their wars and raiding work, how their chiefs lead and gain honor, the role of women elders in the tribe as peacemakers, negotiators and sources of wisdom and authority, etc. I like all that stuff a lot. But there’s also some problems. The biggest problem, as I’ll get to when we talk about characters, is Katara. Vathara openly hates Katara, and a lot of what we learn about the Water Tribes is filtered through her take on Katara, which ends up painting a lot of it in a bad light. Furthermore, a lot of the comments Vathara makes about the research she did for the worldbuilding here comes across as, well, pretty condescending in the way she explains how “tribes” have to prioritize survival above all else (as if “tribes” are some sort of unified phenomenon), using the “E word” unironically when talking about real-life Inuit peoples, and the hopefully unintentional implication that anyone who lives in the Arctic is definitionally driven insane by the lack of a regular day-night cycle. Ultimately, this ends up painting a picture of the Water Tribes (especially the Southern Tribe; the Northern and Foggy Swamp tribes don’t get as much focus) as backwards and parochial, focused on their own communities above all else and not really caring about the rest of the world except as it affects them; also, they’re seemingly obsessed with revenge, to the point that it’s treated as fact that if a Water Tribe Avatar is born while the Hundred Years’ War is still ongoing, it will almost certainly end with said Avatar leading their people to commit genocide on the Fire Nation as “enemies of the tribe” (which also serves to feed the fic’s ideas about Fire Nation victimhood, and is part of a general trend where the fic equates “the desire to see the Fire Nation as a state and military power defeated” with “virulent racism against the Fire Nation as a people”). Also, Vathara’s waterbenders have the power to control other peoples’ emotions and bind them together towards common attitudes and goals; it’s very telling that unlike Fire Nation loyalty, this is called out as being creepy and dangerous, and Katara gets portrayed as a terrible person for doing it, albeit subconsciously. It’s not all bad – Water Tribe warriors, including Sokka, Hakoda, and Bato, tend to get fairly sympathetic portrayals (even though they do sometimes need other characters to explain things to them that I really think they shouldn’t) but then you also get weird asides like the implication that Gran Gran is apparently into murder and eugenics(!) on rather spurious reasoning. So, all in all, it’s a mixed bag, with some genuinely interesting worldbuilding I actually really like, that unfortunately often gets filtered through a seeming need to make Katara look bad that negatively impacts the portrayal of the whole culture.

The Earth Kingdom: This will be the shortest section, as Vathara’s Earth Kingdom feels very close to the canon Earth Kingdom. Even earthbenders’ form of mind control apparently just involves binding people to honor contracts and agreements, which is pretty straightforward and doesn’t get much focus. The biggest issue is the Dai Li. Honestly, I think Vathara gives the Dai Li more overt whitewashing than she does the Fire Nation. Vathara’s Dai Li are actually supposed to be an order of badass spirit-fighters, protecting the people from dangerous spirit world threats, which they apparently still do most of the time, with the whole "secret police” thing being more of a sideline. While Long Feng is still presented as evil, the overall vibe is more that the Dai Li are only corrupt because he’s in charge, rather than the whole organization being rotten (and we’re treated to a number of sympathetic Dai Li characters, most obviously Shirong, while the Gaang get called out for assuming the Dai Li are evil, even though none of their interactions with them have given them any reason to think otherwise). And even Long Feng gets a war hero backstory he didn’t have in canon. I assume this is more of Vathara’s desire to add moral greyness to the setting, but, well, I don’t think that the creepy authoritarian secret police were a group that really needed a sympathetic POV showing that they’re mostly a bunch of honorable men who just want what’s best for their city and it’s just the guy in charge who’s a bad apple, honest! She also gives Kuei a bunch of superpowers for being Earth King, which I’ll discuss when I get to the fic’s themes since I view it as part of a larger trend.

Spirits: Embers uses spirits a lot; it also really plays up the blue and orange morality of spirits in a way I genuinely like and appreciate (though Vathara seems weirdly defensive about this, like she expects her readers to assume that all spirits must be “good guys” and she has to defend a different portrayal, despite the fact that in my experience most of the Avatar fandom considers spirits to be assholes and thinks the world would be better off without them). I do have one particular issue, though. Maybe no one else cares, but as a grad student in religious studies it bugs me so much. That’s Vathara’s use of real-world deities. Agni as the Fire Nation’s patron god has some slight basis in canon, since Fire Nation honor duels are called Agni Kais (Agni is the name of the Vedic fire god… but it’s also literally just the word for “fire” in Vedic Sanskrit) but then out of nowhere partway through the fic she throws in Guanyin as a deity worshipped in the Earh Kingdom, and Tengri as the deity of the Air Nomads. Tengri, in real life, is the chief deity of Tengrism, a traditional religion of Mongolia (which ties back to the connection between the historical Air Nomads as fantasy Mongols from the fic’s history) while Guanyin is indeed venerated in China – but she’s a Buddhist bodhisattva, which is especially weird because the Earth Kingdom isn’t really coded Buddhist in either the show or Embers (shouldn’t the Air Nomads be the ones revering a bodhisattva? And this one really gets me in particular; for some reason, likely Guanyin’s comparative real-life prominence, it feels as immersion-breaking as if it turned out one of the Air Temples was now home to a sect of Christian or Manichaean monks). It’s especially jarring because the Water Tribes still revere the Moon and Ocean Spirits rather than real-world deities (and Vathara gets their names backwards – the Moon is Tui and the Ocean is La, but she flips them for some reason). Honestly, I wouldn’t use real-world deities in the Avatarverse in the first place (I have referenced Agni in some of my old fanfics, following fanon at the time, and I now consider that something of an old shame, fwiw) and if I did, I’d stick with a unified theme of Vedic deities (going off of Agni) rather than taking a grab bag of different traditions and trying to weld them into one cosmology.

The Avatar and Yaoren: Vathara’s take on the Avatar is… interesting. On the one hand, she does have a running theme of each Avatar having to wrestle with their predecessor’s mistakes which I like, and which basically became canon as we got more stories focused on different Avatars (though I do think Vathara sometimes takes it a bit too far, making it seem like the Avatar has caused more problems than they’ve solved; seriously, what did Kyoshi do to you?). On the other hand, she for some reason feels the need to retcon that the Avatar is not actually the reincarnation of their predecessors, but the World Spirit (this fic being mostly written before the introduction of Raava) choosing a new, different human host each time. And I absolutely don’t get the point to this (conceptually, the Avatar is basically a cross between the Dalai Lama and the Avatars of Vishnu, and in traditional interpretations that’s not how either of those work) and it mostly just seems to be thrown in to give Aang something else to be wrong about. Yaoren, on the other hand, Vathara loves; they’re her own creation and as two-element benders are basically mini-avatars (though they’re actually older than the Avatar) and of course Zuko gets to be one. And while the fic goes into a lot of detail about how traumatic the experience of becoming a yaoren is, the way it also lays on thick how important yaoren are and how the Avatar needs them as advisors and how the world falling out of balance is partially due to their decline and how her yaoren characters (especially Langxue) seem to have a better idea of what’s going on and how to fix it than everyone else just oftentimes makes it feel like she’s really laying it on thick regarding how amazing this creation of hers is, with the traumatic aspect being more about milking more sympathy for Zuko than something that actually affects the plot (ie, being a yaoren supposedly cuts Zuko out of the line of succession for good, since he’s now technically a waterbender… but that ends up not mattering because the position of Fire Lord is abolished anyway, and it doesn’t stop him from becoming the Great Name of Dragons’ Wings once it’s established).

Well, this is all getting a little long, so I think I’ll stop here for now and split my overall review into two parts (at least). I hope you’ll join us next time, as we dig into characters, plot, theme, and the fic’s relationship to canon. And if you’re reading this and do like Embers, please keep in mind that I’m not trying to attack you for liking it, and all of this is just my own opinion, no more, and no less. Otherwise, see you soon (fingers crossed!) for part two!

#critical #embers #embers critical #fanfic review #reviews #avatar the last airbender #long post

59 notes · View notes

xieyaohuan · 9 months ago

Text

Writer Tag

Thank you for tagging me @blindmagdalena and @saintmathieublanc! ❤️

How many works do you have on AO3?

43, but many of them are one shots and one of them is a translation.

What's your total AO3 word count?

203,854.

Ca. 120,000 of those words were banged out in just a few months during a single manic episode in 2017.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Ravishing a God (which is still incomprehensible to me as tickle fics normally never get many kudos lol)

I've got you pegged (rushed fic and cringy title)

All a king should be (a collection of 47 drabbles of 100 word -- I want to do a drabble challenge like this again for Homewell or Butchlander)

All God's children took their toll (it's not been abandoned)

Under the Twisted Weirwood Tree (my only crossover fic; I really want to finish this one even though it's no longer my fandom)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I usually do unless it's hate (and sometimes even then)

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

This is a tough one because most of my A Song of Ice and Fire fic is angst lol. Probably Heart of Darkness? Maybe Joanna (despite the relatively 'happy' ending)? But it's a pretty stiff competition.

What’s the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I would say Spinster, which is still pretty angsty.

Do you write crossovers?

I've written only one, Under the Twisted Weirwood Tree, which sets A Song of Ice and Fire characters in a semi-modern AU based on The Purge. I really enjoyed the worldbuilding for this one!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. I gave the wrong name to a character, which REALLY upset at least one person. I think I responded to them in good faith the first time, and then the second time told them to kindly fuck off.

I also used to post my fic on ff.net, where people seem to consider yelling at the author a legitimate type of feedback, and I definitely got a lot of that, but I don't consider that hate since it's just how people on ff.net interact.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do, in all kinds of directions, but I don't think it's my forte lol.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I think I might have had stuff reposted to websites I didn't know without credit, but it might have just been one of those mirror sites that didn't include all details??

Not to be cavalier about plagiarism, but my internal reports at work get stolen all the time, so with fic, I honestly don't care, since, unlike at work, I'm not actually losing any money. I think if someone took my fic, passed it off as their own, and then got famous with it, I might feel different about that, but that's never happened to me.

I plagiarized @deliciouskeys' title once (for The Dollhouse), but not intentionally because I'd been working on that fic for a while and didn't realize until after publishing the first chapter that my title had been taken.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, I co-wrote a fic with a fandom friend over 20 years ago, but we ended up never publishing it. Haven't co-written any fic since then, and I don't think I'd enjoy it.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

I don't think I have one since that would require me to maintain an obsession over decades, which is not how my brain works.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

A bunch of fic I wrote for ASoIaF like Lions of the Realm and Fatherly Love. I won't to finish all my fic because I hate not to, but with these two, I'm pretty certain I never will. Probably a few others in that same category out there.

What are your writing strengths?

This doesn't really show in my current fandom, but I think I have some pretty unique ideas. I'm also willing to experiment and play around with concepts, which I generally consider a strength on the whole.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I lean towards GRRM's ways of telling a story, but without the skill of being able to pull it off (and to be fair, he's failing, too).

Also, I will say that writing in a language other than your native language will limit you in some pretty fundamental ways that can't be overcome, and that can be frustrating.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

The most I do is insert individual words and phrases, and I only do that for languages I actually speak.

I did write one fic in which several of my characters spoke with pretty heavy dialect, and if I were to rewrite that fic now, I would really tone that down.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Published: Lord of the Rings

Unpublished and without realizing what I was doing: Asterix and Cleopatra, probably

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I haven't written published any real Maevlander or real Starlander, and I definitely want to change that.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

Hard to say, but I really like Moonlight on her Face. I'm also rather attached to Ravishing a God, but I don't count that because for something to be a true favorite, it has to outlive my obsession.

I'm late to the party on this one and have lost track of who has already been tagged, so I'm not tagging anyone, but consider yourself tagged if you want to do this!

#tagging game #writer tag #fic #writing #about me

6 notes · View notes

anti-katsuki-lounge · 2 years ago

Note

you probably already got an ask like this but do you have good fic recs of b4kv bashing? any will do like he gets 'redeemed' through consequences or just plain ol retribution

Here’s a great one where Izuku’s friends all find out. Also includes minor Shota bashing:

A one-shot series about Katsuki and U.A bashing:

My own one-shot series dedicated to Katsuki bashing (will update once MHA is over).

I also have fics where Katsuki faces consequences for his actions but it isn’t a major plot point. I’ll link both my AO3 accounts. If you prefer using FF.net, both my accounts are there under the same names as their AO3 counterparts:

A one-shot that has Katsuki be some D List villain, making far more sense than him in canon:

This fic has 1-A finding out about Katsuki’s bullying, Izuku learning some self worth, Katsuki feeling legitimate regret, and features a beautifully written version of Kacchan vs Deku 2 that actually develops Katsuki and focuses on his remorse/stupidity:

#anti katsuki bakugou #anti bakugo katsuki #anti bakugo #anti bakugou

57 notes · View notes

whimsicallyenchantedrose · 1 year ago

Text

The Girls’ Trip Fairy Tale Ending--Chapter 2 of 5

Summary: This is my combined birthday gift for Joni ( @jrob64 ), Marta ( @snowbellewells ) and Krystal ( @kmomof4 ). Happy birthday ladies! Four fandom friends are nearing the end of their annual girls’ trip when they’re suddenly visited by Isaac, the author before Henry. He gives them an each a gift--an opportunity to jump into any scene in the storybook they want and fix it. Large focus on CS, although other characters and relationships will be explored. A big shoutout to @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 for betaing!

Word Count: 2116

Other chapters: (1) (3) (4)

Can also be found on: (ao3) (ff.net)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 2

Joni dropped to the ground with an “oof”. She rolled her eyes as she got to her feet and brushed herself off. She really shouldn’t be surprised that Isaac made stepping into the book this difficult, should she?

Looking around, she found herself in the giant’s outer courtyard. She couldn’t be entirely sure when in the story she’d landed, but she knew what she wanted to fix, so she could make a relatively educated guess. At any rate, the action was taking place inside, so that’s where she needed to be.

Joni made her way through the giant’s enormous front door and looked around. In one corner stood the giant pile of rubble under which she knew Hook was currently buried. As she began the rather long trek toward him, she saw Emma rush in and begin moving stones and then reaching for the man buried beneath.

It was a surreal feeling, Joni thought, as she continued forward. She was about to meet her favorite characters. Oh, she’d met Colin O’Donoghue at a con, of course, but Colin was not Hook. She knew, however, that this was not the time for fangirling. This was the time to make her plan about how she was going to fix this situation.

She had to get to them before Emma left Hook behind! If she didn’t make it in time, she could free him herself, of course, but it wouldn’t have the same effect. She needed Emma to realize she could trust him.

“Swan!”

Joni heard Hook’s furious shout just as Emma turned and fairly sprinted toward the castle door, and Joni knew this was her chance. She stopped Emma with a hand to her shoulder.

“Think about what you’re doing,” Joni said softly.

“I am!” Emma said with a growl. “I’m doing what I have to do to get back to my son!”

Joni shook her head. “No, you’re not, you’re running. I heard what you said, that you can’t take a chance that you’re wrong about him. You’re not.”

“How the hell would you know that?” Emma retorted angrily. “He’s a pirate, and we both just met him!”

“I know that because …” Joni thought fast, searching for some way to explain her knowledge of Hook’s character. Suddenly she smiled. “I know that because I know you. I know your superpower.”

“And?”

“And, look at what you said!” Joni replied. “You didn’t say you think he’s untrustworthy. You said you can’t take a chance that you’re wrong about him. If that’s the case, that means you know deep down that you can trust him. You’re just afraid.”

Emma crossed her arms and frowned. “Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of him becoming important to you.”

Emma glanced aside, making a skeptical sound.

“Look,” Joni said, “It’s not like I’m saying you need to fall in love with the guy, go through literal hell to save him, get married and have his baby or anything. I’m just saying, let’s be strategic about this. Even if you aren’t ready to fully trust him, think about it. He may be… squirrelly… but he’s proven himself to be resourceful, and he’s knowledgeable about both this land and about Cora’s plans. He can be a huge asset to us.”

That seemed to get through to her. For a moment, all that could be heard was Hook’s continued colorful invectives and shouts of her name. Finally Emma nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I was a teacher, after all,” Joni said. “I know things.”

“Besides,” Emma said, “we’re probably better off keeping him with us than against us.”

“So let’s go free him and get off this beanstalk before Mulan cuts it down,” Joni said.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joni opened her eyes, not even aware she’d closed them. Looking around, she realized she was no longer on the beanstalk. She was in a dank stone cave, behind a set of spiky bars.

Rumplestiltskin’s cell.

It was eerie how she randomly traveled from place to place, from time to time, within this story. It was more than a little disconcerting and disorienting.

Shaking her head, Joni decided to put aside her musings of how she got here for later and just focus on the situation at hand. She’d accomplished her objective at the top of the beanstalk, so she assumed the rest of her adventure–whatever that may consist of–must largely involve her observing what was going on around her, rather than affecting the outcome–although, make no mistake. If Isaac continued to make them do stupid things, she was getting involved.

That being the case, she looked around seeing Aurora in the far corner of the cell, bemoaning the fact that this was her fault, because she’d let Cora take her heart. Beside her, Mulan comforted her. Emma stood at the bars, hacking fruitlessly away at them with her sword, while Mary Margaret and Hook stood back and watched.

“That won’t work, love,” Hook said, stepping up to Emma and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Rumplestiltskin himself couldn’t break out of these bars.”

The fight drained from Emma, and she slowly slid down until she was seated on the stone floor against the wall, her head bowed, defeat written all over her face.

“It’s pointless anyway,” Emma said finally. “She’s got the dust; she’s got the compass. She’s probably in Storybrooke already and we’re still stuck here with no way out.”

“Emma, we’ll find a way!” Snow White said cheerfully, taking a seat beside her daughter and hugging her. “We will succeed.”

“Really?” Emma asked, turning jaded eyes her way. “How exactly will we do that? What the hell use are any of us against a witch as powerful as Cora?”

“Far be it from me to side with the heroes,” Hook said, taking a seat opposite Emma, “but I must agree with your mother here, Swan. Look at this. Look closely.”

Hook produced the scroll on which Rumple had written Emma’s name over and over and over again, presenting it to her.

Emma scoffed.

“I’m quite serious, love,” Hook continued. “My old demon may be a right bastard, but he could see the future, and he knew you would be extraordinary.”

“Is that what you think this parchment is about?” Emma asked, tossing it back at him. “I’m not extraordinary. I’m not a savior. I’m only what he made me. All that’s special about me is due to the fact that Rumple-freaking-stiltskin needed someone to break his curse so he could… well I have no idea what his big plan is, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Hook shook his head. “The Dark One may be able to manipulate circumstances to achieve his ends, but he doesn’t have the power to make someone something that they’re not. You’re not special because the Dark One wrote your name on this parchment in squid ink. The Dark One wrote your name on this parchment in squid ink because you’re special.”

Suddenly Hook got to his feet, excitement in his eyes. “The squid ink! I know how we can get out of here and stop Cora!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joni blinked, and suddenly she found herself on the banks of Lake Nostos.

Interesting.

She couldn’t wait to see how this scene played out given the changes she’d made.

All around her was chaos. Cora tossed magic and fireballs in every direction, while the princess squad and Hook fought her off, looking for an opening, any way to separate her from the compass. Next to them, the lake swirled and bubbled.

A fireball whizzed past Joni’s head, and she had to lean back in order to avoid it. She wondered about the rules of this situation Isaac had put her into. What would happen to a person from the real world if they got killed within the storybook? Would they stay dead?

She decided she didn’t want to find out. Taking several steps back, she separated herself from the action.

All around her, the scene played out much as it had in canon. Snow managed to shoot the compass from Cora’s hand. Mulan deflected her magic with her sword. Emma ran off in search of the now liberated compass, and Hook saved Aurora’s heart with his cheeky line about women losing their hearts over them.

Suddenly, Emma spotted the compass in the sand, and turned to reach for it just as Cora sent a bolt of magic her way.

“Look out, Swan!” Hook shouted, seeing the danger approaching. He launched himself into her, knocking her flat on her back, and landing atop her. He quickly levered himself up so as not to crush her, but Joni could see the flirtatious look in his eyes when he realized their compromising position.

“Normally, I prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back,” he said cheekily. “With our lives on the line, though, you’ve left me with no choice.”

Emma rolled her eyes, and pushed him aside. “What, you gonna be all pirate-y and jab me with your sword?”

Hook got to his feet and offered her a hand up as he chuckled,then leaned in and winked at her. His grin turned wicked while his voice got low and intimate. “When I jab you with my sword, you’ll feel it.”

For a moment, Emma seemed lost in those flirtatious eyes (and Joni wondered how anyone could blame her), but then she shook her head, and reached down for the compass.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joni felt herself being pulled away, and she could tell something was different as scenes began to flash past her. It was as though previously she’d been a part of the action, and now she was watching a montage of the rest of season 2.

Much of the action played out the same as it had in canon.

There were some differences, of course. Without Hook and the desiccated bean he’d kept, Cora was never able to get to Storybrooke. Consequently, she was never able to turn Regina fully to her side, nor was Archie ever believed to be dead, nor did the Mills women kill Johanna.

Joni had hoped her intervention would have been enough to keep Hook on team hero, but it proved to be too big an ask. He was intrigued by Emma already, of course, but it wasn’t enough to turn him from his life’s purpose. He’d slunk off as soon as he’d emerged from the wishing well, looking for an opportunity to properly skin his crocodile. He’d indeed followed Emma and Rumple to New York and stabbed him. He’d indeed made the (incredibly stupid) choice to throw in his lot with Greg and Tamara.

And in the end, he’d indeed returned to team hero at the last minute with the bean needed to get them to Neverland to rescue Henry.

All in all, Joni’s actions had created little more than a ripple in the initial story, but as the story moved forward, that ripple grew and spread. Emma was quicker to trust him, their bond stronger from the first. Opening her heart to the possibilities Hook represented made it far easier for him to climb inside and heal the broken pieces within.

Isaac may have made dire predictions about the problems meddling with his precious storyline would cause, but Joni knew the truth: She’d made a difference for the good.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joni blinked once more, and suddenly she was back in the living room of the rental cabin, her friends and Isaac looking at her with eager eyes.

“So?” Krystal asked. “What happened? How was it?”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Isaac said. “No discussion until everyone’s had their turn! Who’s next?”

“I’ll go!” Marta said, setting her laptop aside and getting to her feet.

“Where to?” Isaac asked.

“I know just the scene,” Marta said.

Suddenly the pages of the book began to flutter again, and it opened to a page with the drawing of a large wolf and the Mills family mausoleum.

Notes:

–Happy birthday Joni! I hope your day is filled with happiness and pirates! (At least the hot fictional ones in black leather)

–When I asked what scene each person would want to go to to fix, Joni’s answer was the beanstalk. She wanted to tell Emma that she could trust that she was right about Hook, and so voila! Here is how I imagine that scene playing out–and the subsequent changes to season 2!

–Up next, on August 15, we have Marta’s birthday. To what is, I’m sure, absolutely NO ONE’S surprise, Marta requested a Graham scene. What would have happened if someone (Marta) convinced Emma that Graham was right about his heart and she was able to stop Regina before she crushed it?

NEXT CHAPTER-->

#ouat fanfiction #girls' trip fanfiction #captain swan fanfiction #fandom friends' birthday fics #2x06 Tallahassee fanfiction #my fanfiction

17 notes · View notes

the-heartstring-chronicles · 3 months ago

Text

Depending on what fandom you know me from, I'm CoriMariee, PurpleRoselets, @purple-roses-words-and-love or here @the-heartstring-chronicles, and this is my general update.

This will now be my only Tumblr where I post anything. Please follow me here if we are friends.

(I will still post on Twitter or Facebook as well if we are friends there.)

I tagged all my fandoms to find folks I know, but if you don't know me, sorry feel free to follow or ignore as you wish :))

All the text posts were put back on my old Call The Midwife blog today, after Tumblr deleted them all without warning and for no reason years ago because i guess the AI marked them as spam when the spam bot hacked me.

So I got all my missing fics back and put them up on A03 today. All of those are for Call The Midwife

I will not be using my old Call The Midwife only Tumblr anymore though now that I have retrieved my fics because I am wary of it because it was spam bot hacked before, as I said,

So this will be my only tumblr blog.

(I actually have an even older Tumblr blog, older even than my Call The Midwife one, that I don't even know if it still exists due to it being over ten years since I logged in. I am writing that one off)

But, this is my only tumblr home now.

I will leave my now funtional CTM tumblr with my CTM fic on it, existing as a backup for those stories in case A03 takes a nap , but I won't be interacting with it.

This current tumblr is where I will combining all my fandoms and posting/ reblogging content for them and doing fic ask responses for them all.

And like I mentioned, the fanfiction I'm most proud of having written In each of my fandoms is slowly being compiled by me as CoriMariee on A03. There are also fics by me under that same name on Fanfiction.net, some are the same there as on AO3 and some are just on FF.net because i don't feel those are worthy of transferring to A03. There are also a few fics written by me on several different fandom specific websites on the web. Some under the Star Trek umbrella for J/C and some for Dr Quinn Medicine Woman, I have not decided how many of those are good enough for A03 yet.

But in general i'm still just the Cori you know and if you follow me here from any fandom , you will likely see some content in which we both share an interest. Thank you for continuing to be my friend.

4 notes · View notes

savemewattpad · 1 year ago

Text

Snow On the Beach Chapter One

"did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?"

Summary:

Former Avenger Leila Whittaker lost everything in the snap–her chosen family, her reputation, and the love of her life. Three years later, she’s keeping a low profile in New York when Natasha, the de facto leader of the intelligence community, calls her back into the field for some undercover work. Leila finds herself paired with Scott Lang, known to the public as Ant-Man and known to Leila as some guy she met on the Raft six years ago.

This is fine. Leila is content with sticking with what remains of her team, and keeping the rest of the world at arm’s length. Most of them want to be there, now, anyway. And that’s fine.

It’s fine, except that Scott Lang turns out to have a way of getting under her skin, in a way she can’t quite shake off.

Chapter Summary: Scott and Leila both agree to get back in the game.

Warnings: None

Pairings: Scott Lang/OFC, past Steve Rogers/OFC

Tags: @ocappreciation @arrthurpendragon @suethor @notaboutcat (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from this list!)

FF.Net | AO3 | Masterlist

Out of all the recurring nightmares Leila’s had over the course of her life–and there have been many–this one might be the most versatile.

Sometimes it starts differently, but it always leads to the same place. She's on a stage, being controlled by puppet strings, and she looks up and finds the person controlling the strings, and it's always different, but pulling from the same pool of people. Everyone who’s ever interfered with her autonomy. Thanos, David, Johnny. Iain Warner, one time. Her past self, with blank, emotionless eyes, a few times. Occasionally more than one person, even if the people in question never met in real life.

It’s Thanos, this time. She locks eyes with him, and as always, she wakes up.

Leila isn't a shrink, but it's not hard to figure out what the dream means. What's trickier, and what she hasn't quite figured out yet, is what to do about it.

She sighs and drags herself out of bed, and tries to shake the nightmare off. Sometimes she can't; sometimes it haunts her all day. A few times she's woken up into a panic attack. Today, though, is one of her better days; she can already feel it slipping out of her mind like sand through her fingers.

She’s on her third chai latte when her phone rings. “I'm on my way,” she lies.

“Hello to you too.” Natasha sounds amused.

“Thought you were Tony,” Leila replies, stirring her latte absently. “I'm heading up there today. It's Morgan’s birthday.”

“Be sure to enjoy it, because I need you to come in tomorrow.”

Leila pauses. “So this isn't a social call,” she says, hiding her unease under a layer of snark.

“'Fraid not, Princess.” Despite being out of the field for years, Leila’s nickname, derived from her codename–Snow White–lives on. Old habits die hard, she supposes. Natasha has been calling her that for…almost a decade, now.

“I'm retired, Nat.”

“No, you're clinically depressed. There's a difference.”

“Thanks, Doctor Romanoff, I'll keep that in mind.”

“You can ponder it more tomorrow when you come in.”

“Make someone else do it.”

“We need someone with your specific skill set.”

“Make Talos do it.”

“He's busy.”

“Then make Gravik do it.”

“Also busy.”

“Then make–”

“Stop naming skrulls. Besides, we need someone with your experience with organized crime.”

“You have that experience, too.”

“I've got a lot on my plate, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

And Leila can. The responsibility Nat took on in the aftermath of the snap is extraordinary. Sometimes Leila feels bad about rejecting her offer to be her right hand. Then she remembers why she did.

It's funny, in a way, that the thing that's made her more trouble than she's worth is the one thing that wasn't even her fault. (It wasn't, right?)

“Organized criminals lost people, too. They're not gonna want to talk to me.”

“They won’t be talking to you. They’ll be talking to each other. Or so they think.”

“Yes, I understand how shapeshifting works.”

“Leila,” Nat says, suddenly serious in a way that makes Leila sit up straight. “It’s about the Trust. That’s why we need it to be you.”

Leila takes several moments to process this, making a point to take deep breaths.

“Fine. I’m in.”

“Good. Meet me at the compound tomorrow at 8.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Lei–by the way, just so you aren’t taken off guard–you’ll be working with someone.”

Leila tenses reflexively, and tries not to let that tension into her voice. “Who? Anyone I know?”

“You might remember him. His name is Scott Lang.”

It’s early mornings like this that Scott starts to have reservations about X-Con. He comes into his office, and something about the morning light reminds him of the single office they’d inhabited years prior, lit almost entirely by fluorescents, four desks crowded into the space. Him, Kurt, Luis and Dave. It’s him, Kurt, Luis, and a small number of employees now.

(He wonders sometimes, which office Dave would’ve taken, and if he would’ve liked it.)

The success of the business is great, of course. It’s great to be able to help support Cassie. It’s great to be able to keep people employed that would otherwise be exactly where Scott was when he got out of prison. And it’s great to help keep people safe.

The only problem is that the business didn’t start growing to this level until right after the snap. Scott doesn’t have, like, hard data to prove it, but he can never shake the idea that there’s a cause-and-effect there. People, now more than ever, want to feel safe. X-Con can’t protect people against genocidal aliens, unfortunately, but it can help them feel protected. Scott knows he isn’t doing anything wrong, technically–why people give him their business is their own prerogative–but sometimes it feels opportunistic, anyway.

He’s at his desk, going over his schedule for the day, when the door to his office swings open. “You have a visitor,” Jez announces.

“You could’ve used the phone,” Scott says without looking up.

“But then I wouldn’t get to spend this quality time with my favorite brother,” she replies, leaning in the doorway.

“I’ll be sure and let Matt know you said that.”

“He knows what he did.”

If Scott had more time, he’d probably take the bait, but he doesn’t. “Can you send the client in? It’s a tight schedule today.”

Jez gives a lazy salute and heads back to the front desk. Weeks ago, their usual secretary had resigned, and Jez has been “filling in” ever since. She’s not an ex-convict, and she didn't have secretarial experience, which makes her a nepotism hire by any definition, but she needs the work, and Scott’s been watching out for her since she was nine years old. He’s not going to stop now. Besides which, she’s done enough free babysitting for him over the years to have earned it, anyway.

He’s also pretty sure that nobody here–outside of Luis and Kurt, who knew her pre-X-Con–has figured out that she’s never been to prison. Not that it’s a secret, but still. She’s young, but even on her best behavior, she still has roughly the same personal energy as the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Toons.

(He remembers her first visit to him in San Quentin. “It’s weird, because I always thought I’d be the first one of us to go to prison,” she’d told him.

“Sorry, first?” he’d asked.

“Yeah. Me, then you, then Matt.”

“Why would Matt go to prison?”

“Wrong place, wrong time. I’d be locked up on drug charges, obviously.”

“Of course.”)

The door opens. He looks up and smiles. “Hi, I’m Scott, thanks for–” he pauses, and then tries not to sputter. “Hawkeye?”

Clint Barton gives him a half-smile, the kind where Scott can’t quite tell if he’s happy or not. “Scott,” he greets. “Good to see you again.”

Leila always forgets how beautiful the sky above Tony’s home is until she’s there. It’s one of those summer nights where the twilight seems to last forever, and she knows that once the sun is finally down, the stars in the sky will be actually visible, unlike the city. She can even see a few of them now, faintly.

It’s the lakeside that ties it all together, though. Isabella had wanted to live somewhere by water, and Tony had, as he did to any and all requests or mild whims that Isabella made, obliged.

Isabella is some ways ahead of them, maybe ten yards, holding a toddling Morgan’s hand. Still clearly in sight, but far enough away for Leila and Tony to talk, which Leila knows is coming–otherwise they would’ve had Leila take Morgan for a walk by herself while they cleaned up the house.

“So,” Tony says, “why’re you crashing on our couch tonight, again?”

Leila knows what he’s actually asking. Are you okay? Do you need to not be alone? Are you about to go off the deep end again? Are you trying not to relapse? She kicks a rock into the lake.

“I’m just saying, it’s an expensive couch,” Tony continues. “I feel like I at least deserve to know. Not that you aren’t always welcome.”

“I know,” she says, and she does, both about the couch and the welcomeness. Leila could ask to move in tomorrow and Tony would have the guest bedroom decorated for her within the hour. Her friendship with him is possibly the one thing in her life that she’s never questioned.

“I’m going to the compound tomorrow,” she says finally. “Nat wants me back in the field. It’s just easier to stay here than go home and come back up.”

Tony whistles lowly. “You sure you’re up for that?”

“No. But apparently I’m the only woman for the job.” She pauses. “It’s about the Trust.”

“The Trust? That crime ring we took down back in…” Tony runs the numbers in his head. “2012?”

“Apparently we didn’t take it down far enough. Or someone decided to reboot it.”

Tony nods. “Are you working alone? I imagine it’s hard to build trust, given…well, you know.”

“Given that half of the world hates me.” Leila can handle innuendo from anyone else, but she doesn’t like dancing around things with Tony. His straightforwardness is one of the things that first drew her to him.

“That’s the one, yeah.”

She smiles a little despite herself and kicks another rock. “Apparently I’m going in with someone named Scott Lang. Nat said I might remember him, from the Raft back during the whole Accords thing.” Leila had only spent a few hours on the Raft, and she doesn’t remember a lot of it. Frankly, the entire debacle is somewhat blurred in her mind. “I don’t, though. Do you?”

Tony thinks. “Right. Ant-Man. He was in Munich with Cap.”

There’s that straightforwardness she loves. Tony is one of the only people who doesn’t hesitate to mention Steve around her. The good, the bad, all of–

“Sorry, did you say Ant-Man?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Why the fuck is he called Ant-Man?”

“Cause he shrinks. He can also grow, but I guess ‘Giant-Man’ didn’t have the same ring to it.”

“I dunno, I might take it over Ant-Man.”

“Because you’re the expert on code names.”

“Snow White is a perfectly respectable code name, thank you.”

“Sorry.” He gives an exaggerated bow. “Please forgive me, your highness.”

Leila laughs. “How do you even know all this?”

“I have a vested interest in knowing the names of people who may or may not hold grudges against me.”

“That’s healthy.”

“That’s precaution.” Tony takes a few quick strides and then steps in front of her to face her. “I’m serious. Are you okay with this? It’s been years.”

“It’s only been three years. Not even that, actually,” she waves a hand. “As long as this doesn’t become a recurring thing…I’m fine. I can handle it.”

Tony watches her for a long moment, looking for any sign of indecision on her face. Finally, he nods.

“Alright. As long as you stay up long enough to watch Tangled. It’s Morgan’s favorite right now, and she wanted to watch it with you.”

Leila smiles. “Traitor,” she mutters. “But yeah. I can do that.”

Scott clears an hour from his schedule (he makes a note to thank Kurt and Luis both for taking on his meetings that day), and makes three phone calls.

The first one is to Hope.

He explains the situation: Clint Barton (yes, that Clint Barton) showed up at his work asking him, on behalf of Natasha Romanoff (yes, that Natasha Romanoff) to get involved in some kind of espionage-related, superpower-related mission-type-thing. He said he wouldn’t do it without Hope (nobody can say he doesn’t learn from his mistakes.) Barton said they wanted him for his security and heist experience more than for his Ant-Man activity. Scott said he’d think about it.

“So now I’m asking you,” Scott says.

“Asking me what?”

That’s actually a good question. “I’m asking if you think I should agree to help,” he says, “and if you think I should do it without you.”

“I mean, you’re always better off with me there,” Hope replies easily. “But if they’re trying to keep the team small, and you trust them…I think you should at least consider it.”

If you trust them. He supposes he does. The Munich incident had involved a lot of mistakes on Scott’s part, but that hadn’t been either of their fault. Neither had the way it ended.

“Have you told Maggie?” Hope continues.

“That’s the next call I’m making.”

“Make it. And think about it. But if you say no, just don’t do it because of me.”

The second call is, as promised, to Maggie.

“Hey, Scott, is this important?”

“Uhhhhh….yes. I’d say so.” He clears his throat. “I need some advice.”

“Okay, but can you make it quick? I’m on my lunch break.”

I can try? “Yeah. Totally. It’ll be quick.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

He tells her the same thing he told Hope, and then tells her what Hope said. “So now I’m asking you. Do you think I should do it?”

“No, I don’t, but that’s not the question you’re actually asking.”

“Okay, what am I asking?”

“You’re asking me if you’d be a bad person if you said no. And you’re asking me if you’d be a bad father if you said yes.”

Maggie’s ability to cut to the heart of the issue is not a quality Scott remembers her possessing during their admittedly short-lived marriage. He wonders idly if, given enough time and thought, he could pinpoint exactly when it started.

“Okay. So what do you think?”

“I think nobody could blame you if you chose to stay out of it. And I think you’re going to do it anyway.”

Scott stays silent for a long moment, and Maggie takes it as an invitation to continue.

“It’s who you are, Scott. Since the day I met you. You see a chance to be useful, to help someone, and you can’t resist.”

Scott sighs. “And Cassie?” he asks hesitantly.

It’s Maggie’s turn to stay silent for a moment. Then, finally: “I can’t ask you to be someone you’re not. But Cassie’s already lost one father. If things get too dangerous, do you think you can back out?”

Scott looks at the photo on his desk. Him, Matt, Jez and Cassie.

“Yeah. I can do that.”

The third call is to Clint Barton.

“Barton,” he answers. There’s a sort of lazy quality to his voice.

“Hey, it’s, uh, it’s Scott. Lang. Ant-Man.”

“Name rings a bell. Made your decision yet?”

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m in.”

#scott lang x reader #scott lang x oc #marvel oc #mcu oc #avengers oc #sotb

15 notes · View notes

villain-connoisseur · 5 months ago

Text

it's been a while...but hi :o

currently on my anime binge and working simultaneously on several stuff. i got all these docs mannnnnnn.

i also created a ff.net account specifically for my anime stories under lvvsiickie and also an ao3 of the same name but as a pseud.

i currently have:

Paradise Lost (Trigun Stampede | Wolfwood x OC) already published on both sites!

W I S H (WIND BREAKER | Suo x OC with a slight semi-one sided Umemiya x OC)

Vermilion Blossoms (Fushigi Yuugi | Tasuki x OC)

Two Demon Slayer ones that I literally JUST came up with during my rebinge (that last fucking episode brooooooo). All I have so far is that they are Giyu x OC and Sanemi x OC hahaha.

i do have one existing story on my main account that I will be transferring over so that's in the works. at this point, I'd rather just publish than just let them rot in my docs. i have a good variety of the older series with the current series we see today, so hopefully something catches your attention.

anyway, I'll get back to writing :3

#user talks #fic: paradise lost #fic: W I S H #fic: vermilion blossoms #trigun stampede #WIND BREAKER #fushigi yuugi #demon slayer #too many ideas...no enough time to write #i could also stop gaming almost every night...butttt hahaha

4 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 2 years ago

Text

Self Promo Sunday: “Operation Future”

This week’s little re-run is a bit more Captain Cobra than CS, in all honesty - though the CS love and devotion is certainly still present. I originally wrote it just after 5x08, desperately needing some fluff to make up for the painful reveal we had just gotten. I thought this was really more of a canon compliant missing moment fic, but as I went back to try to find scenes to make the art, I realized I had imagined more of this than I thought. In my mind, it still seems like a missing moment we just didn’t get to see though, rather than truly canon divergent. At any rate, I hope you enjoy if you give it a read (or read it again.)

Summary: (5x08 really gutted me for a bit, and now I have to write some fluff in order to recover and survive the wait for 5x10. Luckily, once I calmed down a little, I saw that there were some lovely sweet moments in the episode too, and I thought I might explore them further. This one is courtesy of Killian and Henry and their very own secret code name operation. Hope you enjoy! Obviously, I still don’t own them – if I did, I would play with them much more nicely! ;)

Also available on AO3 and ff.net, as part of the one shot collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts”

by: @snowbellewells

When Emma’s lad had first come to him whilst they idled in Camelot wondering what to do and how to proceed, Killian had arched an eloquently skeptical brow – not sure why Henry would possibly want his opinion, want to include him in this way, and imagining Emma’s indignation at their plotting a major life decision for her in such a manner. However, the genuine hope in the young man’s eyes, the tone of voice that tried so hard to sound firm and sure while under the surface beseeching the pirate for help and support in continuing to believe, and the enthusiasm when Killian listened and showed interest, quickly led the pirate to acquiesce and become Henry’s partner in his newest secret operation.

And what a worthy mission it was. Though the Captain had known this about the boy already, the joyously enacted scheme drove the fact home to him even more forcefully. His love was not the only one stubbornly invested in the happy endings of everyone she cared for – her son was exactly the same. Heroism ran in Henry’s blood as surely as the sea flowed through Killian’s own veins, and the boy was pure love for all whom he cared about, without the extra protective shell of cultivated cynicism and walls Emma had been forced to develop so early in life. Henry had always had a home, been loved (even if Her Majesty Regina had not always expressed that love well) and known that he was wanted. The boy’s belief in Right and Good was a powerful thing, not allowing him to give up nor admit defeat when others might.

Thrusting the newspaper from Storybrooke into Killian’s line of sight, Henry had plowed forward with his explanation, growing more and more enthused as he could see the man warming to his vision. “Okay, so these three are the ones I like best, but give them all a look and see what you think…” he offered as he pointed to the classified section where several homes on the market were displayed. Even as his excitement had him near to bursting and he bounced on his toes slightly while Killian took the paper and began to peruse the choices with genuine interest, Henry still spoke quietly and kept a furtive eye on the others in Granny’s to ensure that their plans were not overheard.

Somehow, it wasn’t until he really studied the homes Henry had indicated that Killian felt this gesture’s importance hit him right in the chest. Tears he refused to let fall stung mightily in the corners of his eyes as the Captain realized quickly that all of the lad’s choices were near the docks and the Jolly, along with boasting lovely views of the water. True, Henry was looking for something good his mother could hang onto, something lovely – a hard-earned reward – to anticipate as she fought for her very soul, but he was also telling Killian that he wanted his mother’s boyfriend to be there with them for the long haul, that he was a part of their little family now, and that Killian had his acceptance and love; it was abundantly clear in the way the lad had chosen only homes that a sailor couldn’t help but love.

Glancing back up and holding earnest, eager brown eyes with his own intense blue gaze, Killian hoped desperately that he could express just how much this gift meant to him. The emotion swelled, tightening in his chest, and where words usually flowed from him eloquently, all he seemed able to rasp out in that moment was, “These are fine abodes, m’boy. Right worthy choices, to be sure.” He licked his lips, striving to continue, to say thank you, to let Emma’s lad know how much he truly cared for him in his own right, as well as for Emma’s sake, but all he could do was nod meaningfully to this extraordinary and astute young man, hoping it would convey his agreement, approval, and a growing sense of paternal love – all the things he was unable to force from his throat aloud just yet.

He could see though, as enthusiasm lit Henry’s gaze and the young Author gave him a determined nod in return – as if setting their course – that he should never have doubted the Truest Believer. Whether he had been able to voice all he felt or not, it would appear that he and Emma’s son also understood each other.

“Well now, Master Mills,” he gave Henry a playful, secretive smile, keeping his voice soft, but allowing a degree of joviality as well, “if we are in accord, perhaps we should shake on it and seal the deal? A gentlemen’s agreement of sorts?”

Henry literally beamed back at him, extending a hand to take Killian’s inconspicuously proffered right and finalize their arrangement – their gift for the mother and savior they both loved. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he said with equal good humor.

Killian circled the house he liked best, jotting down a tentative note of “This one?” beside it, then handed the classifieds back to Henry, who tucked the paper into his tunic for safekeeping. The lad had begun to back away, looking the tiniest bit awkward and unsure for the first time, when Killian couldn’t resist speaking once more to offer his appreciation and approval, even if it was not truly his place. “This is a stellar notion, Lad,” he murmured, hoping to show his fervent sincerity in even a quiet tone. “I do believe your mum will be quite happy with it.”

Henry’s head dipped for a moment, bashful, and then, in a quick shuffle, so brief Killian almost thought he was imagining it even as it happened, the teen jerked forward, hugged him tightly, and then fell back and moved away before the man could even respond. Watching Henry’s retreat as he neared his grandpa, and Charming turned to clap him on the shoulder in greeting and welcome him into the little circle he had formed with his wife and Henry’s infant uncle to enjoy the repast Granny had made, Killian felt warmed from the inside and a smile lingered on his face. He was more strengthened for the struggle than ever, well aware that he was not alone in battling for Emma’s happiness, and as her two greatest loves united, they could not fail.

~~~00~~~00~~~00~~~

Four weeks later…

Henry stands on the front walk, looking up at the façade of the two story house he and Killian had picked as their favorite back in Camelot. Dew still glitters on the grass in the yard, and he huddles into the heavy wool of his coat against the chill of the cold, grey, early morning. The house is every bit as perfect as it had looked in that newspaper ad, and his mom does live here, but somehow things are still all wrong, and nothing has turned out the way he had hoped.

Not only is Emma still the Dark One, but something is wrong with Killian too. At first, Henry had attributed it to the fact that they were back home with no memories of their time in the other realm, and the frustration he knew the Captain must feel at thinking he had failed his love and seeing her so cold and distant, fully embracing the entity he had fought to destroy for hundreds of years. Henry had felt pretty guilty himself, though Emma had assured him that he was not one of those who had failed her, and he knows that his partner in crime, the man he thinks of as a stepdad, must be hurting even more.

The young man has tried to seek the Captain out, to listen, or to ask for sailing lessons as a distraction – even to enlist the man in a new mission to help his mom together. However, it seems that lately Killian is avoiding his company, keeping his distance for no reason that makes any sense to Henry. When they are in close proximity, as when they had used the Crimson Crown to summon Merlin, Killian is as encouraging and loyal as ever, assuring Henry he has faith in him, but otherwise there is a distance that Henry doesn’t like. One that had not been there before. Even without all his memories, the boy is nearly certain of it.

Clutching the old ad in his hands, Henry looks down at the picture of the house now standing before him, and Killian’s flowing script indicating it as their choice. Henry doesn’t really understand what has happened. He doesn’t know what he needs to do – yet. But he will not be deterred. His mom deserves her Happy Ending. Just as she had been so determined to provide for everyone else, Henry is going to see that she receives no less. He knows Killian needs to be here in this house with them. He needs these two people – his parents, he hopes, if they can have two seconds of peace all together to enjoy it – to be back to themselves and in his life once more.

Sighing, he admits to himself that hope seems lost right now, but he won’t give up on Operation Light Swan, the joyous reunion he and Killian had planned, nor on Killian and Emma themselves. He loves them. They’re family. And in his circle at least, family always finds each other. This house is meant to be the happy home of their dreams, not a cold, lonely mausoleum where Emma can hide with her darkness and heartbreak. He’s the Author and the Truest Believer, and even if it is his mission alone now, he will find a way.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @stahlop @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @thislassishooked @wefoundloveunderthelight @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @scientificapricot @tomeandflickcorner @winterbaby89 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @cosette141 @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @xsajx @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @nachocheese-itsmycheese @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks

#self promo sunday #ouat 5a missing moment ff #operation future #captain cobra one shot #cs one shot

21 notes · View notes