#may throw some spines on him later but only for the sake of his children tbh

[sokkascroptop]

traitor. (sokka x f! reader) pt 1

part 2 | part 3

Azula was good at that, doing and saying things that made you want to yell back. It was her favorite thing to do on purpose and had become like second nature by accident. Y/N, in response, had become very good at holding her tongue over the years, and very good at calming herself when she wanted to lash out. More than once when they were children Azula had lobbed a fireball in her direction that had singed the clothes or skin it was aimed at. 

“Do you remember when we first met?” Azula asked. She was lounging on a chaise near the window cleaning her nails with a sharp blade. The sun was setting behind her basking her in a glowing, warm light. It made her gold eyes brighter, gold eyes that were staring intensely at her, waiting for an answer. 

“Of course I do. I came to the palace for a party with my parents,” Y/N responded. She was a ways away on Azula’s bed lying on her stomach. She flipped over and hung her head off the bed letting the blood rush to her cheeks. Azula was smirking at her. 

“No, at school. When I chose you.” Azula tossed the knife she was using and it thudded into the dark wood of her door frame. A door frame that was sliced with notches of where the girls–her, Azula, Ty Lee and Mai– would measure their heights when they were younger; or where Azula would stab her knife deep in the wood, for safekeeping, she would always say. 

Chose. That was a word that Y/N was familiar with. It usually meant that you were special, but to her, to Azula and the girls and Y/N’s parents, it just meant she was lucky. 

“Of course I do,” Y/N repeated.

Y/N started at the Royal Fire Nation Academy for Girls later than most. She was already nearly ten and had always had a slew of private tutors. But her father had been recently promoted to Commander and it was insisted that his daughter, his progeny, had the right type of upbringing–and apparently that meant not running through the forests of Ember Island barefoot. 

She not-so-fondly remembered the heavy uniform they wore, so different than her thin cotton pants and tunic she was used to. The Capital City was in the same climate as Ember Island, so why did they wear silk? It was so hot. Y/N had hated moving back to the Capital City, and out of their summer home that had become her year round home the minute her mother decided it was much better to be away from the city. 

“That first week was hellish. I’d never had to listen to authority before, or hang out with children my age and suddenly that’s all I had. You saved me.”

“Saved you,” Azula scoffed. “I do remember you being quite the little heathen.”

“Hey! I just meant from lashings from the teachers,” Y/N laughed and threw a decorative pillow at Azula’s head. She caught it quick as a cat-snake with one hand and brought it to her chest. 

They sat in an easy silence, Y/N wondering why Azula had brought up the moment they met. The first words that she’d ever said to Y/N echoed in her mind. “We’re going to be great friends.”

Azula wasn’t wrong when she prophesied that they were going to be great friends. Azula wasn’t necessarily the ‘welcome with open arms’ type, but she did whatever was closest to that with Y/N. She became a part of them, almost instantly. They had class together, they ate lunch together, they went back to the palace and trained together. Everything, together. Ty Lee was the most friendly of them all, she often braided Y/N’s hair over and over, taking it out and braiding it back, just to have something to do with her hands. Mai was sweet once you got past her glum exterior. Azula was, well, Azula. She was cold one minute and hot the next, literally. Her emotions changed as quickly as the weather. She might throw a fireball at your head if she was mad. But the next moment she’d sweeten you up with fruit tarts she’d stolen from the kitchen and all would be forgotten. 

Y/N kept thinking about Azula’s words as she trained with one of the palace guards later that evening. He wasn’t the best with a sword, but he was a fire bender, and that gave her a better workout. 

Y/N was a non-bender, but masterful with a sword. It was her father’s favorite hand to hand weapon and he had insisted on her training with it even at a young age. By the time she started at the Royal Academy, she was able to beat her trainers regularly.

Becoming friends with Azula gave her access to some of the best fighters in the Fire Nation, and even that was becoming boring. 

Y/N slashed at the guards neck. He threw a fireball at her that dissipated harmlessly where she once stood. She landed in a crouch and kicked her leg out at the back of the guards knee, it buckled and he fell. She bounced to her feet and pointed the tip of her sword at the back of his neck. She saw a swatch of pale skin there which dripped with sweat. A small part of her wanted to dig her sword in and draw bright red blood. 

A slow clap echoed through the courtyard that awoke her from those dark thoughts. Y/N smiled at her friend and patted the guards shoulder. “See you later.” 

She jogged to join Azula who was starting to walk away. “Come to watch and fawn over me for old times sake?” Y/N giggled and wiped the sweat off her brow. She sheathed her sword and felt the familiar weight bounce against her hip. 

“You give yourself far too much credit.” Y/N could tell Azula was in a good mood. A better mood than she’d seen in a while. They reached Y/N’s room and she dropped her sword on the bed.

“Why are you so chipper, ‘zula?”

The left corner of her mouth tilted up in the ghost of a smile. “Father wants to speak to you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“I think I know what it’s about but I won’t ruin the surprise. Come on, we don't want to keep him waiting.”

Y/N’s stomach turned. She’d only stood in front of the Fire Lord a handful of times. The first being the first time she traveled to the palace when she was very young. At the time she didn’t know the weight of what she was doing, now she did and she was filled with terror. What in Agni’s name could he want with her? She was just a Commander’s daughter who had befriended his daughter. 

The throne room was cold despite the summer heat outside and the fire burning around the Fire Lord. It was dark as well, the black marble floor and columns absorbed the only light from the flames licking upward to their Master. The only sound was the crackling fire and the click of Y/N’s boots; Azula was always so light footed she hardly made a sound. 

A drop of sweat leftover from Y/N’s workout dripped down her spine and she shivered at the feeling. Ten yards away from the throne, Y/N dropped to one knee and bowed her head. Azula bowed slightly and stood behind Y/N’s right shoulder. 

“Fire Lord, it is an honor to be in your presence,” Y/N said. She could feel the heat from the flames now that she was closer. Whether from nervousness or the warmth that filled her face, she began to sweat. 

“You may stand.” The Fire Lord’s voice was higher than she remembered. It didn’t fit the aura he gave off and he sounded bored. Y/N stood with her hands behind her back at attention. She didn’t want to have any excuse for Azula to chastise her when they left. “Azula tells me that you are gifted at sword fighting.”

Y/N fought the urge to send a questioning look to her friend. Azula talked to the Fire Lord about her? She stared at the black outline of his tall figure seated in his enormous chair. “I’m adequate, sire.”

“Beating every single one of my palace guards is more than what I would call adequate,” the Fire Lord remarked.

“Your palace guards are extremely well trained in fire bending but not in sword fighting, sire.” Y/N grimaced and ducked her head, cursing internally at her mouth that was too quick for her brain.

Azula chuckled softly behind Y/N. Now she did turn around to stare at her friend. She whipped her head back not knowing how disrespectful it was to turn your back on the Fire Lord. 

“Azula will be leaving tomorrow for the Earth Kingdom to capture my brother, General Iroh and the Fire Prince Zuko. I want you to go with her.”

Y/N paused for a beat. Capture them? The last she heard was that they were on a pointless mission to catch the Avatar. Iroh was disgraced and went with Zuko when he was banished because Iroh couldn’t face his brother when he abdicated the throne for his failure at Ba Sing Se. What could they have done searching for a dead Avatar that could get them into more trouble? Y/N could feel Azula’s sharp nails dig into her arm behind her back and she knew she had waited too long to speak. 

“It would be an honor to accompany Fire Princess Azula on this mission, My Lord.” Y/N clasped a fist in her left hand and held it below her right palm and bowed deeply. 

If the Fire Lord was pleased with her, his tone didn't show it. “Wonderful. You’re dismissed.” 

Y/N couldn’t get out the room fast enough. 

Azula was more excitable than ever on their walk back to their rooms. She grabbed Y/N’s arms and tugged like she was a small child. “This is going to be so amazing for me, Y/N! For us!”

Azula seemed to notice Y/N’s hesitation to agree with her. This earned her a sharp look. “Don’t you want the honor and recognition that bringing home two traitors would give you? You’d be promoted higher than your father. Agni knows you’d be more deserving of the title.”

Y/N gave Azula the smile she was waiting for. “Of course. I guess I’m still a little shell shocked at the Fire Lord giving me such an amazing opportunity.”

“Well you can thank me for that.”

Y/N stopped at the door to her room. “Thank you, Azula,” she said before she could snatch the words back. Azula rounded the corner to the stairs that would take her to her room and Y/N took a deep, calming breath, working hard to push away the anger the Azula had incited. 

Azula was good at that, doing and saying things that made you want to yell back. It was her favorite thing to do on purpose and had become like second nature by accident. Y/N, in response, had become very good at holding her tongue over the years, and very good at calming herself when she wanted to lash out. More than once when they were children Azula had lobbed a fireball in her direction that had singed the clothes or skin it was aimed at. 

She slid down the wall inside her room. Did Y/N want the honor and glory that Azula talked about? She should, with how she was raised, but now that it was offered on a silver platter, Y/N wasn’t so sure that it was for her. Recently, it became all Azula wanted to talk about. Training and war meetings had become her life so suddenly. And if they were Azula’s life, they were Y/N’s life as well. Y/N wasn’t allowed to sit in on the war meetings but it didn’t matter because Azula always came back to relay what happened in them. ‘Relay’ was the wrong word, more like brag about them. Azula was anything but informative when she spoke. Y/N tried to find some interest in the things the Fire Nation was accomplishing but to Y/N it just turned her stomach. She’d never admit it to anyone, especially Azula but she was sickened by the war. 

When did life become this way? All about war and capturing cities and cleansing the world? She wished things were back to simpler times when the girls ran the palace wild and teased Zuko and the maids. She knew that in the past three years since Zuko’s banishment, Fire Lord Ozai had been calling on Azula more and more frequently, upping her firebending training to half the day. But Y/N never thought it would come to this. 

Y/N skipped out on dinner that night, just told the maids to take the tray of roast turtle-duck back to the kitchen. Her stomach had been in knots since leaving the throne room. Her and Azula were leaving. Sure, Y/N hadn’t lived with her parents in years; this would be her fifth year of calling the palace home, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like she was going to come back. 

Y/N instead slid into a hot bath that she drew for herself for once and mulled in her thoughts. As if the steam in the room was steeping her memories like tea leaves she thought of what this mission was supposed to entail. Things that happened around the palace and behind closed doors were usually hidden from her unless she heard gossip from the servants or occasionally, Azula. But she didn’t seem like she was going to give up any information about it. What did Iroh do to betray the Fire Nation? He was one of the best General’s they’d ever had, even after his defeat at Ba Sing Se. And what did Zuko do that was even worse than his banishment? 

None of that matters, she told herself. Her previous ideas about the kind of men they were didn’t matter anymore. If the Fire Lord said that Zuko and Iroh needed to be captured, then that’s what needed to be done. 

A/N: uh oh, settle in for more inner angst as y/n tries to figure out where her heart lies. what is more important? honor? friendship? peace?

[dwellordream]

“Even beyond the age when girls might be encouraged to play in the city streets, their presence was sanctioned by another activity: the healthful walking between home and school, and the long constitutionals judged critical to a maturing girl’s health. If the lives of Victorian girls were defined by disciplines, one of those disciplines was daily exercise, most commonly long walks, sometimes of several hours’ duration, from one side of town to the other.

Good daughters embraced a walking regimen as religiously as they did a regimen of diary keeping. Like writing, though, walking suggested form rather than content. In their long rambles from one side of town to the other or into the country, or their promenades back and forth along Main Street, girls achieved a level of social freedom which ran against the grain of chaperoned domestic propriety. 

Most physicians and advisers agreed about the benefits of walking. Writing in the 1890s, the Ladies’ Home Journal quoted ‘‘a celebrated physician’’ when it endorsed walking as the preferred form of exercise. ‘‘Tennis, he believes, is too violent; cycling renders women awkward in their walk; cricket is also an uneven exercise; at golfing the strokes made are not conducive to the cultivation of physical beauty.... Riding is one-sided, and croquet is not exercise at all. Walking, however, may be fast or slow, according to the desire or health of the individual. Walking is probably the only exercise which calls every part of the body into active and healthy motion.’’ 

Earlier, a writer for the same magazine instructed American girls how to walk: ‘‘Let the arms swing free; throw the shoulders back, the chest forward and the head high.’’ Another columnist recommended other sports for girls, including tennis, bicycling, rowing, and any men’s sport ‘‘with but one exception, foot-ball.’’ But she fell back on walking as both the simplest and ‘‘perhaps the best,’’ suggesting that girls build up to six miles per day. Walking was an approved form of exercise for a range of Victorians, but it was clearly girls who had both the most time and the most need for its healthful effects. G. Stanley Hall, in his opus Adolescence, suggested the special role which walking filled in the lives of unmarried women, who ‘‘are, and ought to be, great walkers.’’ Walking, Hall implied, might tap energies otherwise likely to go to unhealthy activities, such as ‘‘estheticism’’ or the solitary vice of ‘‘self-abuse.’’ 

He explained, ‘‘Dr. Taylor thinks . . . that the difference between boys and girls in learning self-abuse on account of the more obvious anatomy of the former is overestimated, and that the latter, more commonly than is thought, not only find their organs and use them improperly, but are more difficult to cure of this vice.’’ A healthy alternative for unmarried women was to spend that excess energy in walking which married women and mothers might spend ‘‘normally in other ways—’’ an allusion both to the demands of raising children and to coitus itself. Walking was exercise, therapy, and ideology all in one. Sarah Browne, a married woman writing at midcentury, explained her walking in language appropriate to her region and class: ‘‘I walk again this forenoon in search of health—my walk is a principle, a religious duty, so the time is not lost.’’ 

Time spent walking was time invested rather than squandered. Less intense than modern jogging, aerobics, or weight regimens, the walking of nineteenth century girls nonetheless could compete in seriousness; what it lacked in strenuousness was compensated for in its duration, sometimes occupying two or three hours of the day. Margaret Tileston’s sister Mary was afflicted with health problems throughout her adolescence in the 1880s.

Undoubtedly Margaret’s regular walking, on the streets of Salem, Massachusetts, at first in her sister’s company, was in part a response to Mary’s ‘‘search for health.’’ Beginning at the age of thirteen, Margaret worked up to two hours per day as the time she was expected to walk. Even when it was bitterly cold outside, Margaret walked. Even when she had no company, she walked, ‘‘simply for the sake of taking a walk.’’ 

Some of her walking took place at school recess, but that still left an hour and a half of walking to do either before or after school. When she missed an hour of exercise, she recorded it in her diary. She sometimes walked early in the morning before the sun came up. (One May morning she got up at 4:20 and walked an hour before breakfast.) She often did not return home until after dark, one winter night not making it back until 7:00 p.m.

After one day of walking, during which she had ‘‘thought a good deal,’’ she still found herself short of the required two hours, so she and her sister walked up and down in front of the house before going to bed. Only once did she confess to her diary that walking two hours was ‘‘a tiresome thing to do daily.’’ As befit her self-improving temperament, she instead used this bodily discipline as the occasion for a mental one, explaining that during one long walk she had ‘‘got some more ideas about walking.’’ 

Seldom do we have witnesses—or walkers—quite as disciplined as Margaret Tileston, but documents of other teenage girls suggest that walking was considered both a preventative and a palliative. When Alice Stone Blackwell’s head ‘‘felt as though I had been hung up by the heels and all the blood had run into it, filling it almost to bursting,’’ her cousin Emma ‘‘prescribed a walk, and we found our way to the chocolate factory.’’ When she took a long circle route home from school—‘‘about 7 miles I should think’’—she relayed her sense of accomplishment: ‘‘Am at present in serene enjoyment of a good conscience and blistered feet.’’ 

…In addition to being a discipline, however, walking was a necessity for most maturing girls. Going to school in the nineteenth century usually meant walking to school, often in company with friends and classmates. Between discipline and necessity, there were enough agemates walking in the streets that urban girls rarely needed to walk alone.

Indeed, the hours spent walking became opportunities for sociability, for making and broadening acquaintances, for flirtation. The walking that began as a discipline or an expedient eventually turned into an occupation in its own right, which gained its meaning from the opportunities it offered for peer relations beyond adult authority. Walking to school in itself could become a highly choreographed peer ritual. 

Jessie Wendover attended public high school in Newark, New Jersey, in the 1880s and 1890s, and in her diary she enumerated her walking companions. When she was fifteen, Wendover often collected friends as she went so that ‘‘we eight went down together.’’ Sometimes, however, they would break into pairs or regroup, as when one friend ‘‘got one of her amusing cranky spells on and tried to make herself believe she was mad at me, and said she would not walk with me.’’ The foursome broke into pairs then, with one pair removing their hats as they puffed up the hill, and the other sitting on the stoop and laughing at them. For Wendover the significance was that ‘‘we four have gay times going to and from school now-a-days.’’ 

…For the more reserved Margaret Tileston, walking in the Salem streets only gradually expanded her social world and encouraged her to take initiatives within it. After a slow beginning in coeducational Salem High School, Tileston gradually discovered connections to her community. ‘‘I can scarcely take a walk without meeting one of my school-mates or at least some one that I know,’’ she observed in the spring, after beginning classes the previous December. She soon began to walk with some of these schoolmates, noting the next fall, ‘‘I begin to feel better acquainted with the girls in my class.’’ 

The next winter she noted the company of a boy: ‘‘Dick Manning walked along with me for a part of the way.’’ By the following month, she confessed in the spine of her diary, she felt bold enough to initiate relations: ‘‘I bowed to Master Smith on my way to school.’’ The next week, the group of girls she was walking with actually invited some boys to ‘‘turn round with us, but they could not.’’ The confidence Tileston was gradually accruing allowed her on her own to overtake a boy that month and accompany him to school. Margaret Tileston did not record the ensuing conversation, but she did note some of the subjects she touched on in her long walks with other friends. 

On one three-hour walk, she and her companions talked of friends, boys, teachers, and dancing. In different walks that summer of her sixteenth year, Tileston mentioned conversations ‘‘about calling boys by their first names.’’ Margaret Tileston was a purposeful young woman, as her extraordinary diaries make clear. Yet even for Tileston, the meaning of walking gradually incorporated its sociability.

For many girls less focused than she, walking up and down city streets—or ‘‘promenading’’ as detractors would describe it—nearly lost its function as exercise in its fostering of peer intimacies. Ruth Ashmore, the Ladies’ Home Journal columnist championing restrictive morality, cautioned that if there was a possibility that a girl might be joined by boyfriends on a walk, she should be accompanied by a chaperon. (And in any case, a girl of eighteen should not go out without a chaperon.) 

This was only one of a long collection of warnings—observed mostly in the breach—offered by advisers anxious about the freedoms of girls in the city. Ruth Ashmore’s advice ran at cross purposes with other, older codes of courtliness which made men responsible for the safe passage of women through city streets. In reflection of this chivalric remnant, it was customary for boys to escort girls during and after evening events, dances, or parties. Often these escorts seem to have been assigned by the hostess. In a later interview, Etta Crawford recalled her life as a girl in frontier Portland, Oregon, in the 1860s and 1870s. Customarily, she would receive written invitations to dancing parties in homes, which specified the name of the escort who would be responsible for getting her to and from the event and for seeing ‘‘that you were properly escorted all evening.’’

She was careful to distinguish this constant attendance from the practice of ‘‘dating’’ popular in the 1930s at the time of her interview: ‘‘We really didn’t have dates. Mother considered we were too young. . . . I don’t approve of this present-day manner of traipsing around half the night. None of the boys that attended me to the dances were on calling acquaintance.’’ This imposed arrangement was reflected in other girls’ accounts of such evenings.

At the age of twelve in Milwaukee in the 1860s, Cassie Upson wore her white dress and pink sash to a ‘‘sociable,’’ returning home at 11:30. She declared that she had enjoyed herself ‘‘only pretty well,’’ perhaps because of her partner: ‘‘I think my escort’s name was Clark. Oh! he was a gawky.’’ When Jessie Wendover attended a boy’s birthday party in 1885 at the age of thirteen,  she noted that there were about a dozen ‘‘couples there.’’ She arrived at about 8:00 p.m., she said, and returned home at the extraordinary hour of 3:00 a.m., noting that ‘‘Harry Mccarthy saw me down to supper and home.’’

Wendover led a protected life and was most often accompanied by her parents to and from social affairs and when she went downtown in the evening. It appears, though, that her parents on the Atlantic seaboard shared with Etta Crawford’s on the Pacific Coast a parental protocol which sanctioned the assignment of ‘‘escorts’’ for girls as young as twelve and thirteen.

Whether assigned or not, though, it was incumbent on boys or men not to leave girls unescorted in the evenings—especially as those girls became young ladies. (This chivalric convention put a strain on outnumbered high school boys, who nonetheless remained responsible for their female classmates after evening events.) 

While a student at the Harvard Annex, Annie Winsor recorded an embarrassment in the diary written for her parents. She had attended an evening party in Cambridge which her attractive Latin instructor was also attending. She and a fellow female student had agreed to go home together. (She reported that her friend ‘‘trots to and fro from Miss Smith’s at all hours and did not a bit mind going from here alone.’’) The two young women timed their departure carefully: ‘‘We waited till Mr. Preble [their teacher] and two girls had got safely out the door and away, and then started downstairs, and with averted eyes ‘thro’ the entry, opened the front door, and there stood Mr. Preble leisurely fixing his neck handkerchief—evidently waiting for some one.’’ 

The friends ‘‘felt like two children caught at the jam-pot and no way of escape.’’ The consequences were preordained. Mr. Preble would be obliged to walk everyone home, which was indeed what happened. In a letter to her brother, Ellen Emerson, daughter of Ralph Waldo Emerson, described her discomfort with such genteel expectations when she returned from a party.

Her escort, she explained, was a Mr. Soule, ‘‘who— I can imagine your exultation—made me take his arm. But the experiment confirmed me in my old opinion. It is easier and pleasanter to walk alone and be able to keep one’s dress out of the dust. There!’’ Like other chivalric practices, being escorted was a ritual meant to convey obligation as well as protection. Girls’ presumed need of escorts provided access to welcome and unwelcome suitors alike. 

Cassie Upson noted in 1866 that ‘‘that abominable little nip of a Perkins’’ had walked her home from church and had discerned only that ‘‘I wasn’t quite as talkative as usual.’’ A reprinted item from a student newspaper in Kingston, New York, in the 1880s suggested that girls reject the terms, replying, ‘‘‘I would rather be excused,’ when asked by young gentlemen for the privilege of escorting them home from church at night. The practice may be hard on the ‘boys,’ but it is one which every self-respecting girl will adopt and adhere to. For a young lady to be asked on coming out of church, . . . to surrender herself to the society of some young hoodlum who has been waiting outside while she was decorously attending divine worship, is an insult which would justify a kick from father or big brother.’’ 

Rather than seeking contact in ‘‘this sneaking, unmanly, vagabondish way,’’ an interested suitor should ‘‘call upon her at home, and take pains to ascertain whether his society is agreeable to her parents as well as herself.’’ This item suggested the dilemma embedded in the system of boys escorting girls: sometimes the solution was worse than the problem it was meant to address.

The practice of escorting equally opened possibilities for flirtation, of course. The Milford student newspaper slyly noted that the ‘‘girls of ’88 all believe in ‘protection’—after class parties.’’ Lily Dana noted one such arrangement: ‘‘Of course Brinckerhoff went with Edith Barry and I saw them turning up one of those lonely streets by the Catholic church, in just the opposite direction from her house. Mother says she does not think it was proper.’’ 

Whether proper or not, it was clear that intimacies contracted within approved contexts of school or church would have ample room to flourish even within genteel practices coming and going in the city streets. The historian Beth Bailey has found radical changes in courting practices in the 1920s resulting from the movement from the maternally supervised ‘‘front porch’’ of home to the ‘‘back seat’’ of male-owned cars.

The fact was, though, that many middle-class girls in the nineteenth century were not at home but at church or at school, and in the evening they were presumed to need male escort well beyond the surveillance of their mothers. During the day, girls had more freedom to walk on their own. These less formal walking arrangements—ostensibly undertaken to run errands, to get to or from school, or for exercise—provided ample opportunity, too, for flirtation. 

Alice Blackwell and Lizzie Morrissey, both writing in Boston in the 1870s, though from different class perspectives—found themselves unwitting walking partners in such scenarios. When Alice Blackwell, nearly phobic about encounters with boys, went to meet two schoolmates, the pair was otherwise occupied, talking loudly and waving handkerchiefs to attract the attention of two boys. Alice was so mortified that she hid behind a hedge and finally strode home by herself, ‘‘descended to the cellar, groped my way to the milkroom, and soothed my irritated feelings by drinking an enormous quantity of milk.’’ 

When Lizzie Morrissey walked to a nearby square to hear a public band concert with two friends, she reported that the walk down was nice, ‘‘but when we got there Ida soon left me for Art Woodride and didn’t come back again; I felt provoked. Then Hattie left me for two fellows, but she came back and introduced them.’’ After this bad experience, Morrissey concluded that she would ‘‘never go to the square again when anything is up with either of them.’’ Part of her subsequent isolation within her house might have been a response to discovering herself abandoned by her best friends in favor of flirtatious promenading. 

A more willing participant was Mabel Lancraft, a high school student and spirited daughter of a Fair Haven, Connecticut, oyster grower, whose 1880s diaries cover her fourteenth through seventeenth years. Lancraft spent much of her time in her early teens promenading and flirting outdoors. One summer day of her fourteenth year, for instance, after a trip to the ocean, she and her friends were playing house—‘‘I was the mamma and they were the children’’—when a neighborhood boy came along and suggested they go to the park. ‘‘So we went and we met Mr. Hovey down there though he didn’t approve of us going.’’

The group of friends continued to play, though, picking up others. ‘‘Sadie and I had our arms around each other and Sadie was my beau.’’ The boys accompanied the girls nearly home and exchanged compliments. ‘‘Sadie said I was awfully pretty and if she was a boy she would be in love with me. And he [Ed Dupee] said what pretty eyes that Miss Lancraft has got and he agreed with Sadie.’’ 

Mabel Lancraft later drew a line through the above, an early—and ineffective—moment of reserve; Lancraft grew more daring as time went on. By the end of the summer, she announced boldly that she and a friend met two boys of their acquaintance ‘‘and we raised and we promenaded up and down with them in front of Mr. H. Olds.’’ At the beginning of the summer, Lancraft simply disregarded the advice of a neighboring adult; by the end of the summer, the opportunity to flout respectable opinion was part of her pleasure.

Mabel Lancraft’s early teenage flirtations were generally confined to friends and schoolmates, whom she met and bowed to in their mutual walks around her Fair Haven neighborhood, to the station, and also sometimes through downtown New Haven. When she was seventeen, though, Mabel Lancraft confessed a modest initiative with a stranger. ‘‘Coming out in the car a young fellow stood up in front of me and I am afraid I flirted a little.’’”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Friendship, Fun, and the City Streets.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[another-emotional-wreck]

My Only Sunshine -- chapter 1

Warnings: Mentions of blood, language

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's note: this fic takes place during 1983 but I need to clarify some things. In this universe, DOFP never happens because Peter was born in ‘66 instead of ‘56 to avoid anything weird between him and OC. Also, while the events of First Class take place, Erik eventually just comes to stay with the X-men and lives there full-time. He’s still Peter’s father, it just happens later than it does in canon, and no one knows yet.

Nyah Walker's physical appearance for anyone who wants it :)

1 | 2 |

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We passed through the front gates and I sighed once again. I was already pissed, and the gloomy weather really wasn’t helping.

My dad rolled his eyes at my attitude. “It’s for your own good, Nyah. Not just yours, but for me and your siblings, too.”

“I know,” the sound was muffled from behind my fist. The trees were blurry and covered in snow as we drove down the path leading to the school. “Couldn’t we have waited till the end of the school year, at least?”

“You know the answer to that question.”

I turned towards the window again, hating the fact that he was right. The school was a large part of why I was in this situation in the first place, but it didn’t matter. I don’t even know what really happened-- how come I got expelled just cause the school didn’t wanna believe me?

The rest of the car ride was silent, but the falling snow brings a feeling of peace over the awkward quiet. We finally reach our destination and I see a building that looks as if it was built in the decades before I was born. I stepped out of the passenger side and somehow the building managed to practically double in size. The sky seemed to be getting darker and the building started to lean over me and I got dizzy up at it and it wasn’t until my dad greeted the man in front of us that I snapped back to reality.

My dad extended his hand to greet a man in a wheelchair. “Grayson Walker,” he said.

“Professor Charles Xavier.” He smiled, and it seemed genuine.

Just behind Charles stood another man wearing a dark brown vest under a beige jacket. He was fidgety, and couldn’t meet my eye for more than about a second.

While I studied the man, Charles stuck his hand out to me. It took a nudge from my dad to realize that he was trying to get my attention.

“And your name is?” He asked politely.

I hesitated before speaking. “Nyah Walker.” Sure, Charles seemed nice enough, but there was something about him that seemed strange. Not bad, just different-- as if he were hiding something.

“Wonderful to meet you, Nyah. The man behind me is Hank McCoy.”

“Hello, both of you.” He offered a small smile which I couldn’t help but return, but even he seemed to have something else on his mind.

“I suppose we ought to get inside,” the Professor broke the silence, turning the joystick on his wheelchair. “I’d hate for any of you to catch a cold.”

Despite the bitter cold, I had completely forgotten about the snow. Wrapping my coat tighter around myself and adjusting the bag on my shoulder, my dad and I followed Hank and the Professor through the doors of the mansion.

The place managed to look bigger on the inside than it outside. A staircase in the back of the main hall split in two directions, leading to what I assumed was the dorms and classrooms. Hank and the Professor led us farther down to an office, having both my dad and I take seats on the same side of the desk.

“So,” the Professor began. “Nyah, if you wouldn’t mind, could you walk us through what exactly happened that day?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. “Take your time,” said Hank. “it’s uh-- it’s not something that’s easy for everyone to talk about.” At that, he gave the man next to him a pointed look.

“Right...” I began. It definitely took me a little while longer than it should have to gather my thoughts. “Well, uh. About a month ago I got into an… altercation. Some prick--” my dad made a point of clearing his throat. “A kid from my homeroom, Jackson Dill, made some sick joke about my mom.”

I noticed Charles rest his chin on his fist. “I swear I’m not an angry person, but he just kept pushing. Saying stuff about how funny it was that my mom was dead, cause usually, it’s the dad who’s gone in families like mine.”

Hank looked confused. “Families like--” Charles cleared his throat and glared at Hank.

“I did my best to keep my cool. My friends came to my defense cause the teacher just so happened to not hear anything, but it still ended with me storming out of the classroom. Naturally, my teacher chose that time to look up from her papers and followed me out. Not sure how, but I ended up in the bathroom. The halls were pretty dark, so maybe I just lost my way?”

My gaze slowly moved from the men in front of me to my shoes and my voice got quieter as I began to mutter more to myself. “Honestly-- the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t even remember walking from the classroom to the bathroom.”

Hank opened his mouth to speak, his brow furrowed. The Professor held his hand up. “Let her finish, Hank.”

My stare flickered between the two before I continued. “Instead of locking myself into a stall like someone with common sense, I was hunched over the sink. My head was spinning and my stomach was churning and I had heard of people seeing red when they get angry enough, but that felt like something so much worse.”

There was so much darkness, I could hardly lift my head enough to look in the mirror and see that my eyes were all red and my hair was everywhere-- I think my nose might have been bleeding, not sure though. The most noticeable thing was that the lights started flickering…” My words petered out at the end of the sentence.

Was this even worth going over again?

“What’s the matter?” The Professor asked when I stopped. “Is that all?”

“No,” I muttered. “It’s just that things get a little… hard to believe from this point. I don’t even think my dad believes me.”

“That’s not true Nyah, I just--”

“Yeah. You just think I don’t know what I’m talking about. I get it.”

The two men in front of us looked mildly uncomfortable, so I took that as my sign to keep talking. “There was no weird weather or anything. Actually, it was pretty nice for December, so the weird thing with the lights went out outta nowhere. It wasn’t until a while later that I began thinking that the flickering might have been caused cause of me.”

God, my mouth was so dry. Since when did my heartbeat get that loud?

“The school says that what got me expelled was what happened to the teacher who came after me. In my defense, no one really liked her. She was always rude and her class was hard for no reason other than the sake of being difficult.” My dad, never one to appreciate my jokes, glared at me.

I sighed. “The point is, she came into the bathroom and grabbed my arm. I’ve never been a huge fan of being touched in the first place, and the fact that I felt like my body was being turned inside out wasn’t exactly helping.”

“Almost automatically, as if-- like I knew what I was supposed to do-- my eyes locked on her shadow-- don’t ask me why cause I don’t know. The next thing I knew, she was on the opposite side of the bathroom, unconscious. My eyes grew wider than I ever thought possible and in an instant, I was back in the classroom. Things were back to normal, except my teacher was gone and the entire school was pitch black.

Things happened. The teacher claimed that I shoved her-- as if I could throw her all the way across the bathroom, and the final decision was to expel me without pressing charges. About two weeks after all of that, my dad got a call from someone saying that they could help me.”

The whole thing was insane. Everyone was talking about it, especially how Mrs. Rio came out of it with a fractured spine and I just-- appeared in the back of the classroom looking shaken and sporting a bloody nose.”

The last time something like this happened, some kid blasted a hole through the stalls in the boys’ bathroom.

Hank and the Professor looked at each other for a while, seeming to have an entire conversation with nothing but their eyes.

Bits of words and phrases came out of their mouths.

“She’s… than anything we’ve…”

“But are we sure we… nothing’s ever…”

“We’ll just have to… and… as we go.”

My dad broke into the conversation. “Excuse me,” I could hear the impatience in his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Well, she’s enrolled.” The Professor said finally, turning towards me. “That is if you’d like to be.”

*********

“You’d be allowed to leave whenever you choose, of course.” The four of us walked in line with the Professor. “We would never make you do anything against your will, but I do hope you understand that everything we do here is for your safety.”

“Of course,” I said. “I understand.”

The bell rang signaling the end of the school day. Kids of all ages flooded the halls and at that moment I couldn’t help but think that I may have been in over my head. The students here used their mutations so… freely.

Apparently, I said that last part out loud. “Yeah,” Hank smiled at the passing students. “No one’s shunned here, Nyah. You’ll be in an environment where you can learn and grow along with everyone else.”

My dad turned to me. “I think these people will be good for you. Might as well try it out, right?”

A grey blur flew past us making everyone’s hair and clothes blow everywhere.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “Might as well.”

*********

“And this is your new room!” the white-haired girl smiled at me warmly as she stood in front of the open door.

I nodded awkwardly, taking in the room. It was small enough for me, with the bed in the corner and a window that had a view of the yard-- full of children running around in winter coats and laughing.

A little boy caught my eye. His head was tossed back and his mouth was open, and it took me a moment to realize that it was still snowing and that he was trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

I couldn’t help but smile to myself, which I immediately stopped once I noticed Ororo staring at me awkwardly. “Thanks again, uh--”

“Ororo. Ororo Munroe.”

“Thank you, Ororo.” I tossed my duffel bag on my bed and plopped down right next to it. Ororo still stood in the doorway, almost unsure.

“Everything alright?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said, her smile fading slightly. “It's just that you seem, uh, nervous.”

I thought I had been hiding it well enough. “How’d you know?” I asked. “Is knowing people’s emotions your, what’s it called? Your uhm…”

“My mutation?” She grinned at my sheepish nod. “No, but would you like to see it?”

I nodded again. God, I felt like a little kid, barely knowing what to say or using my words.

Ororo’s grin managed to grow even bigger. “Watch this.”

Her feet left the ground and she crossed her legs under her. A ball of lightning formed in her hands and grew as she expanded them. Her smile grew into a frown as she concentrated on making it bigger, eventually making it the size of her head. She clapped her hands together just as her feet came back to the ground, sparks flying like fireworks.

I clapped in excitement as Ororo took an overdramatic bow. I giggled once again as she walked over to me, her eyes asking for permission to sit. I nodded.

“So what exactly is your mutation?” My smile faded and Ororo’s face grew worried. “Oh no, I’m not trying to pressure you! You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I was just--”

I smiled slightly. “It’s alright, I just have no real idea how to explain it.” a sigh left my lips as I fell back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Feeling Ororo do the same next to me, I turned towards her.

“It’s only happened a few times since the incident at school. I still don’t know how my teacher ended up against the wall on the other side of the bathroom, but I swear I don’t remember touching her.”

She thought for a moment. “Telekinesis maybe? I know someone who can do that.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Wanna try it?”

*********

I had been staring at the pencil in front of me for about five minutes before I turned to Ororo in exasperation. “I feel stupid.”

“Yeah, you don’t look much better.” Ororo deadpanned.

I shot her an annoyed look and she raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Just sayin’.”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Welp, telekinesis is off the table--”

“Same thing goes for mind-reading, elemental manipulation, teleportation--”

“Yeah, okay, I get it.” I snapped.

Ororo looked mildly annoyed at my reaction before her gaze softened. “Hey, we’ll figure it out, you just need time.”

“That’s easy for someone who both knows how to use and enjoys having their powers.”

She snorted. “I’m not exaggerating when I say it took me years to become comfortable with my abilities. I was terrified of who I was-- what I was-- for so long. But here, while it has its flaws, I felt at home. Accepted. Being around people like you can do so much more than you think.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I guess you’re right.”

Ororo looked at me for a moment before shooting up from where she sat. “I have an idea!” Her eyes were wide and I could see the gears in her head turning.

“Something tells me I should be worried…”

“No no, it’ll be fine, but I just remembered--” somehow, her eyes managed to grow wider than before. Something about her eagerness to try whatever she had in mind was slightly unsettling. “Whenever new students are having trouble using their powers for the first time, the Professor will make them feel whatever they were feeling the very first time their mutation emerged.”

“Wait a minute.” I squinted, trying to figure out exactly what she was getting at. “So you--”

“Think we should try and replicate the emotions you were feeling the day your mutation first arose? Yes. Yes, we should.”

“But… you don’t have any sort of mind control. How are we gonna do that?”

“I’ve already got that figured out!”

Ororo took one look at my anxious face and rolled her eyes playfully. “You’ll be fine. There’s just someone I need you to meet.”

[deprough]

Snowballs and Saviors

11/30/2020 Dincember Prompt: Snow

My Dincember prompts are part of a serial story I’m telling. This is the first part of the story.

“What do you think, Sheriff?” 

Corrie glanced up at the tall man and pursed her lips. “I think,” she said slowly, “that we don’t have much choice.”

Kado picked up the reins of his gurt and clicked once. The wooly herbivore started forward, and Corrie’s gray gurt, Cursehead, followed before she could give the command. Through the gunship’s front windows, she saw the armored man notice them, then disappear into his ship. A second later, the ramp lowered into the snow.

As they drew closer, Corrie asked herself once again if she was really lucky enough to have a bounty hunter drop into her backyard at this exact moment. If he was who Old Relston claimed, he could be exactly the person they needed. Corrie distrusted luck like that, though, even when the man stepped into view and she admitted it was probably that guy.

“Welcome to Zalzus,” Corrie called as they came to a stop in front of the ship. “You’ve landed outside the town of Libu. I’m Sheriff Corde Melne, and this is my deputy, Kado Soummu. May I ask your business, sir?”

That black visor bounced between Kado and her a couple of times. She wondered if their knitted garments, handmade from dyed gurt wool, looked cheap and primitive to him. “Do you always greet arrivals so directly?”

“No,” Corrie said honestly, her breath frosting the air. His didn’t, which meant his helmet contained it. Bet it has environmentals in there. “But I’m hoping you’re the Mandalorian who travels with a kid.” Just saying it made her uneasy.

The man looked to the side, telegraphing irritation. What’s the point in covering your face if you don’t control your body language? she wondered. “For your sake, you’d better be offering me a job.”

“What else would we want?” Kado asked curiously; Corrie swallowed her annoyance with her underling. Kado would someday be a great cop, but he was still naive. Someday, he’d get that jaded shell he needed to be a peace officer in the Outer Rim; sadly, it might be during their current crisis.

“People want lots of things from me,” the Mandalorian stated.

“I’m sure you have your charms,” Corrie said wryly, “but I need your skills, not your vagueness. A Hutt prison ship has crashed not far from our village. The Hutt in question won’t round them up, and we’ve already had one death. You up for taking in twenty men?” 

“Can you pay me for twenty bounties?” he asked bluntly.

“No,” Corrie said. “We’ll give you what we can, about half the Guild rate per head, the full resources and support of the sheriff's office, and room and board as long as you’re working for us.”

“Who died?” the Mandalorian asked.

Corrie blinked, thrown by the sudden topic change. “Pardon?”

“You said you had a death. Who died, and how?” he asked.

Drawing a deep breath and trying to not remember the scene, she said, “My uncle, the last sheriff. Vinor Cyone. He tried to track one down. We only found his bones, but we think his spine was snapped.”

The man stilled or stiffened; Corrie couldn’t quite tell what changed about his stance, but he’d definitely had a reaction to that news. “My condolences,” he said after a moment. “How did his body decompose so quickly?”

“One of the prisoners is a Wookie. I can’t say his name right, but his nickname is Maneater.” Corrie didn’t have to say more; they all heard his sharp inhale. 

“Where am I staying?” the Mandalorian asked.

“My mother’s house,” Corrie replied, feeling relief and hope flood her. She kept her voice neutral; there’d be time for relief once he’d proven he was as good as his reputation. “She’s got space. Do you have a bike or somethin’ up on that ship?”

He didn’t, of course, and so that was how Corrie ended up with a Mandalorian sitting behind her on Curse’s fuzzy back. They weren’t quite touching, but every so often, the gurt’s sway bumped their bodies together. He did have a child with him, not that Corrie had seen much of it with the bassinet sealed against the cold. Amusingly, he had the same model she’d used, though his seemed to have some modifications.

He remained silent on the ride into town, which was fine with Corrie. She pulled her yellow scarf back up over her nose, grateful for the warmth. The kids were out, playing in the snow, and they stopped to stare as the group rode into town. “Your kids really seem to like snow,” the man said suddenly.

Corrie frowned a second before she caught his misunderstanding. “It just snowed last night. Zalzus isn’t an ice world. We have seasons. For the kids, snow means two things: fun and Lifeday is coming.”

He grunted. “Your town celebrates Lifeday,” he said flatly.

“Yep,” she said, wondering what he had against the holiday. He didn’t elaborate or ask further, and it wasn’t her business.

She stopped in front of Mom’s house, turning and offering her arm for him to dismount. He slid down as Mom stepped out, beaming. Like Corrie, she was stout and short, with gray curls instead of brown. “Welcome, sir! I’m Brama Cyone, and my home is your home. What is your name?”

“People call me Mando,” he said simply, removing his gear from Koda’s gurt. 

Wondering if he actually ever answered questions, Corrie pointed at the next building over. “That’s my house. Mom and I share the stable behind the house. One of our folks is loaning you a gurt, if you can ride.”

“I ride.” He turned to Brama. “Can I see my room now?”

“Of course!” Brama led him into the wooden two-story house. The bassinet followed him like a loyal pet.

Koda turned to her. “Wow, he’s… I don’t know. Weird.”

“He’s a man who travels the edges of civilized life making a living off people who break the law,” Corrie said, pulling her gray wool coat tighter around her. “I’d be more worried if he were normal. I’ll see him settled and meet you at the jail.” 

~  *  ~  *  ~

“-- and this is Terian Novex,” Corrie said wearily, glad they were almost through the files. Her five other deputies, even Talee, the nightwatch, had met their hunter and stayed for the briefing. Corrie pulled up the next file, scraping her fingers through her brown hair as she waited for it to load. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched their guest; he’d sat down in the wooden chair at their table. His shiny, high-tech armor looked out of place in the simple whitewashed room. It probably also kept him warmer than the rest of them; the Jail’s single pane windows leaked the heat from the stove.

The click of knitting needles and carding wool filled the room’s silence as they waited for the ancient holo projector to render the image. Corrie had considered asking her deputies to not work on their side projects, but dismissed the idea. If Mando was uncomfortable, he could speak up and ask them to stop. A grainy image of the Zabrax woman appeared on the holo and Corrie started again. “She’s a hitman for a rival Hutt--”

“Half of these bounties are,” Mando sighed. He sounded tired, which was somewhat gratifying. 

“Hey, does your kid want to go outside and play?” Koda asked, drawing attention back to the bassinet. The alien child inside stared hopefully out the window, watching the other children at play behind the jail. As if sensing their attention, he turned and looked at them. All ears and eyes, Corrie thought again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mando said, sounding nervous.

“It’s safe,” Corrie said.

“Where I go, he goes.” 

“Poor guy,” she said, without thinking, and sure enough, their guest visibly bristled. “Calm down, I mean he wants to play, and we have a bit more work. Hold on.” She went to the backdoor and opened it. “Nuia!” she bellowed, and the girl turned and trotted through the snow toward them.

The sturdy teen stomped off her boots and came in. “Yes, sheriff?” she asked, but her eyes had already fallen on the baby and a besotted smile crossed her face. She waved at the baby, who stared at her, then waved back.

“Can you take the little one outside? Keep an eye on him but let him play with the tots?” she asked.

“I’d love to--”

“Where I go, he goes,” Mando interrupted. 

Corrie turned to him. “Then go play.” 

His head pulled back. “What?” Her deputies, used to her way of doing things, grinned and rose to stretch and get hot drinks.

“He’s a kid. He’s bored stupid here with us. So if the only way he gets to play is if you play with him, then go play.” Corrie waved her hand toward the door. “I need a break, and maybe you’ll realize by the end of it that we need you more than you need us, and we’ll protect you little one like our own.”

“You have children?” he asked. 

“We all do. I personally have two. Raina’s playing with the tots and Lonneric's probably in a snow fort ambusing the other warriors-in-the-making.” Corrie waved again. “Just go.” 

She feigned indifference until he was outside; then all seven of them crept to the window to watch. Mando stood outside stiffly, watching his little green child helping the baker’s daughter build a lopsided snow tower. “He’s hopeless,” Koda finally said. “Stiff as rock.”

“Yep.” Corrie pulled on her coat, gloves, and boots again. 

“Whatcha doin’?” Kend asked, his playful grin telling her he already knew.

“Just checking on things,” she said innocently as she slipped out the front door, pulling on her woolen hat. She eased around the side of the building, scooping up two handfuls of snow and pressing them into a ball. 

It was perfect -- heavy and wet without being drippy, compacting into a nice ball in her gloves. She peered around the corner, pleased to see his back toward her. She glanced at the window to see Koda shaking his head in bemusement. 

More than a few of the kids had seen her; Lonneric had already followed her lead, starting to make snowballs as fast as he could instead of throwing them as soon as they were complete. 

The kids staring at her gave him warning, and he half-turned toward her. Recognizing her window of opportunity closing, she threw the ball at his helmet. It wasn’t the best example for the children, but if you wore a helmet to a snowball fight, you were asking for headshots, in her book. 

She hit her mark, smearing white powder over the side of his head. He jumped and spun, hand on his blaster and for a second, she thought she’d made a terrible mistake. Lonneric had already followed her lead, and this blow hit his chest. Mando let go of his blaster, and Corrie relaxed, even as she scooped up more snow. “No,” he told her firmly, “don--”

One of the Kelshin twins nailed him in the face, and then Mando was at the heart of a flurry of snowballs. He put his hands up and crouched, but didn’t seem to know how to react to the kids pelting him. 

A snowball nailed her, and Corrie shrieked playfully. “Traitors!” she shouted as she also became a target. Her own son hit her next with a loose ball that exploded across her shoulder.

“Down with the adults!” Lonneric shouted, and the battle cry echoed across the field. 

Laughing, Corrie fought her way to Mando’s side. “C’mon!” she cried, pulling on his arm. “Run!”

After a moment of hesitation, he followed, stumbling after her to the back door of the jail. They staggered inside in a rain of balls, then pushed the door shut sharply. A few more snowballs hammered the door; then they could hear the children cheering. 

Corrie straightened up and pulled off her wet gloves. She looked at Mando and laughed. “You look like a snowman decided to become a Mandalorian.”

He looked down at himself; the snow had stuck to his clothing but not his silver armor. “You look like an insane woman who just got into a snowball fight with kids,” he said sharply.

Corrie held her smile with effort as she shed her hat and scarf. “Yeah, but I bet you’re ready to work again.”

He didn’t answer her, and as she hung up her outwear, she continued, “We were talking about Terian Novex--”

This was going to be a long partnership, but she didn’t regret dragging him into the snowball fight. They’d both needed it.

[hailing-stars]

febuwhump day 3: living nightmare

read on ao3 

jan’s a living nightmare

The lake house living room was covered in yarn. There were unfurled rolls of every color, nestled in baskets, surrounding the armchair Tony sat in. There were stacks of knitted sweaters sitting on the coffee table, on the space on the couch next to Pepper, and under the window. Morgan laid on the hard wood floor, belly down, coloring, but also nestled in a sea of hand knitted socks.

Peter dropped his overnight bag on the floor to announce his arrival, but none of the Starks gave him any attention. Pepper focused on her work, Morgan on her coloring, and more strangely, Tony on the pair of knitting needles in his hands.

“Um,” said Peter. “What’s going on? Why does it look like a craft sweatshop in here?”

“Daddy’s practicing his knitting,” answered Morgan. She kept her eyes on her picture, but at least she had the decency to answer him.

“I’m not practicing,” said Tony, his hands working the knitting needles quickly and effectively. Peter had to admit the stitches looked pretty skillful. “I’m perfecting. My sweaters already ions better than Jan’s, anything else is just an added bonus.”

Peter wandered further into the living room, sort of hesitant, sort of afraid. “Um, who’s Jan?”

“Peter,” said Pepper, releasing a long, weary sigh. “Please don’t ask.”

“Daddy says that Jan’s a bitch.”

“Uh, no, honey, remember dad said she’s a witch,” said Tony, cutting in quick, with a tremble in his voice as his eyes momentarily darted away from his knitting and over to Pepper.

Morgan’s hand stopped moving across her coloring sheet, and she sat up, her eyes widening with understanding. “Oh yeaaaah.” She looked at Pepper. “He said witch.”

“For god’s sake, Tony, this is why the other moms don’t like you.”

“The other moms love me. It’s just Jan.”

The name was said with so much disdain Peter might have thought he was talking about Thanos or the other Peter, not some women with a middle-aged sounding name.

“Okay, I’m lost,” said Peter. He plopped down on the floor next to Morgan. “Somebody fill me in.”

It was a tale Peter didn’t fully know if he understood and had started with Tony being desperately bored during the day. So bored, Pepper had gotten fed up with him trying to interfere at SI and told him he should join the PTA for Morgan’s kindergarten class.

“That was the biggest mistake of my life,” said Pepper, before Tony went on with the story.

He described the PTA as a nice group of parents headed by the monster Jan, who took an instant disliking to him. Her transgressions included telling Tony the wrong time for meetings, suggesting Morgan was a bad influence on the children, and other petty things. He ended with a transgression Peter couldn’t disagree with.

“She called me old enough to be Morgan’s grandfather,” Tony told them.

“Mr. Stark…” said Peter. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but you are pretty old.”

Tony growled and one knitting needle slipped off the other.

“Retirement’s been really weird for you, huh?”

“Guess this just means I’ll give the sweater I made you to someone else,” he said, regaining his control over the knitting needles and refocusing on his stitches.  

“What?” asked Peter. He scrambled up off the floor and looked around. Tony pointed to a stack of sweaters folded neatly in the corner of the room.

“You made one for me?” asked Peter, pulling the red and blue sweater off the top of the stack and holding it up. There was a black spider stitched on the front.

“You don’t have to we –“

“Are you kidding? This is awesome!” Peter had already pulled the sweater over his head. “It’s like having a grandma!”

“My husband,” said Pepper. “The iron grandma.”

Peter straightened his new favorite sweater over his chest. It was the warmest hug, but there was something missing.

“… Mr. Stark,” said Peter. “You think you could knit me some matching socks?”

“No.”

Peter felt his excitement melt away. “Oh, ok – “

“But I can teach you how to knit your own.”

“Yes!”

Peter spent the rest of the evening learning how to knit, being told by Tony that the knitting needles were neither weapons nor toys and enjoying every minute of it.

*

The next time Peter visited the lake house he’d thought he and Mr. Stark were going to be in the garage, working out a few suit upgrades, but instead, as soon as he shut the front door behind him, he was shouted at to join Mr. Stark in the kitchen.

He ditched his overnight bag in the foyer and braced himself as he wandered off towards the kitchen. Something weird was probably going on. Retirement seemed to drive Mr. Stark insane, and once he walked through the archway and into the kitchen, Peter was sure he was right.

It had been transformed from the last time Peter saw it. Instead of looking like a nice family kitchen, it looked a lot like the set on one of those baking competition shows he and May watched together after dinner.

Mr. Stark had a pink stripy apron tied around his waist, a hairnet on his head, and a wooden spoon stuck behind his ear.

“Mr. Stark what’s going on…?”

The smell hit him as he walked further in the kitchen, the most amazing smell. It propelled his legs to walk over to the counter where a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies sat on one of the many cooling racks. He stretched out his arm, his hand hovered over the biggest cookie, only for Tony to slap it away with a spatula.

“Hey!” said Peter, waving his hand around. “That hurt.”

“It did not.”

“Well it burned at least.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Tony told him. “And it serves you right.”

Peter muttered under his breath and surveyed the kitchen once more.  “Does Pepper know what you’ve done to her kitchen?”

“She does. She’s not thrilled, but she doesn’t have a say. I kicked her out.”

“What?” It didn’t sound right. Peter tried to picture a world in which Mr. Stark had the authority to kick Pepper out of any room.  

“She refused to wear a hairnet,” Mr. Stark went on. “Speaking of – “

A hairnet flew at Peter and he caught it. “My hair’s not even that long!”

“Tell it to someone who cares,” snipped Tony. “I’ll be damned if Jan finds a hair in one of my cookies.”

“Not Jan again,” said Peter, with a groan.

Mr. Stark was keeping him up to date on his battle with Jan through text message and phone calls. He didn’t understand what their deal was, why the two of them hated each other so damn much.

“She’s a menace, Pete,” said Mr. Stark. He waved the spatula at him. “She’s a living nightmare.”

Peter rolled his eyes and put the hairnet over his head, deciding to humor the old man. “So what’s the mission?”

“Tonight,” said Mr. Stark. “We’re making cookies. We’re making ten times the amount of cookies Jan will make, and not only that, they will sell better than hers at the school bake sale.”

Peter nodded and got to work. He let Mr. Stark order him around the kitchen, let him tell him he was stirring too hard or not hard enough or he took a batch out just a couple of seconds too soon and now they had to throw them all away. By the end of the night, they were both covered in sugar and flour, apron included, and Peter was exhausted.

“Mr. Starrrkk,” croaked Peter, half his body leaned up against the kitchen counter. “Can I please have a cookie now?”

“I suppose you’ve earned it.”

Peter didn’t move, but just a few short seconds later, Mr. Stark was putting a plate with three cookies and a glass of milk on the counter in front of him. He sat straight up and shoved one into his mouth.

“So, what do you think? Are we gonna outsell Jan?”

Peter nodded. “She doesn’t even stand a chance.”

*

A few weeks after Mr. Stark’s victory at the elementary school bake sell fundraiser, Peter sat in Morgan’s school auditorium between Pepper and Happy and watched his little sister in the play. He watched Mr. Stark, too. His mentor had wrestled the one adult role away from Jan’s clutches and proudly performed along-side his daughter.

He wore a large yellow dress, what Peter could only guess was a bra stuffed with toilet paper and a grey wig. If he hadn’t become Iron Man, thought Peter, he might have a nice career as an actor.

He was expressive and funny, and most of all, the kids adored him. They were all so caught up with his act, it was though they were all just playing pretend among themselves, and not for an audience.

There was just one hang up, with a black-haired kid forgot their lines, but luckily, Morgan knew them. She whispered them into their ear.

After the play ended, Peter stood with Mr. Stark out in the hallway, waiting for Morgan to say goodbye to her friends.

She walked into the hallway to join them just as Mr. Stark started to adjust his fake boobs, muttering something about finally understanding why Pepper complained so much about bras being uncomfortable.

“There she is!” said Mr. Stark, once he saw Morgan. “The star of the play! Morguna, I’m gonna need your autograph right now before you become too famous and busy to deal with your dear old pops.”

Morgan laughed. “I’ll never be too busy for you.”

“Oh really? Can I get that in writing? I think I’m gonna need it when you turn into a teenage monster like your brother.”

“Pete isn’t a monster,” said Morgan. “He’s too polite.”

A terrible, spine curling sound of heels clicking against the floor invaded their private, family moment. Peter turned and saw Mr. Stark’s archenemies Jan dragging her child, Peter recognized him as the boy who’d forgotten his lines, down the school hallway.

“Did I raise an idiot?” she asked him, in a low tone.

“Mom – “

“No,” she cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. When we get home, you’re memorizing those lines or you can say goodbye your PlayStation goodbye.”

“But mom,” he whined. “What’s the point? The play’s over.”

She stopped, bent down, and yanked him forward. “The point is next time there’s a play you won’t forget you’re lines, will you?”

He didn’t answer her, but it was the smart move. It wasn’t asked in a tone that was meant to be answered.

They watched Jan and her son leave the hall in complete silence. Peter only felt comfortable talking once he was sure they were gone.

“Mr. Stark,” he said. “I understand now why we hate Jan.”

Mr. Stark simply nodded.

“I think you were right the first time, dad,” said Morgan. “Jan’s a bitch.”

No one corrected her.

*

It was a petty thing, Peter knew, what they were doing. He knew it was petty when he fake called in sick to school, knew it was even more so petty when Mr. Stark had lied to Pepper about where they were going when they climbed into the car and raced off to the rec center for bingo day.

They stormed into the building pumped with adrenaline, ready to beat Jan at her favorite pastime, bingo.

Mr. Stark had a plan. He’d buy as many cards as they would allow him to, which turned out be way too many cards. Peter watched as Mr. Stark lined them up on the fold-up table they claimed.

“I don’t know,” said Peter, scratching his head. “Are you sure we can keep up with all these?”

“Pete, we’re geniuses,” said Mr. Stark. “Of course we can.”

A breeze blew in from the open window, causing the cards to blow off the table and scatter all around on the floor. Peter was on the ground, collecting them, when he felt a dark presence hover from above. He stood, the bingo cards in hand, and came face to face with the Jan.

She looked Peter up and down and a made a tsk-tsk noise, before directing her glare to Mr. Stark. “I didn’t know you played bingo, Tony.”

“I don’t really. Thought I’d give it a shot.”

“And at my rec center? What are the odds?”

Mr. Stark smirked. “I can understand why you’d be intimidated, since both my sweaters and my cookies sold better than yours. Wouldn’t want to lose to me a third time and all that.”

Jan laughed and it was equally terrible as the sound of nails sliding against a chalkboard. “Oh, you won’t beat me a bingo, but I’m sure you’ll try your best with that metal claw of yours, bless your heart.”

“You can’t talk to Mr. Stark that way,” said Peter, taking a step forward.

“Down boy,” said he, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him backwards, just as Jan’s shoes clicked against the floor and she walked over to her table. “We’ll let our game speak for itself.”

“Okay,” said Peter, nodding his head, until he realized that didn’t make any sense. “You’re aware that bingo is a game of chance, right?”

“Maybe, but we have dozens of cards and twice the amount of eyes. Odds are favorable.” He sat down while Peter lined the cards back up on the table. “Get your head in the game. Keep your eyes sharp and your marker ready.”

Peter nodded as he sat down. The two of them uncapped their bingo markers at the same time and wore faces that suggested they took this just as seriously as they did every other Avenger’s mission.

It was petty, Peter knew, as he kept his eyes peeled and slammed his marker down on the squares that were called out. It was petty, but petty was all they had, the only shot they could take at Jan.

Not even Spider-Man and Iron Man couldn’t protect a child from their emotionally abusive parent, but they could beat them at bingo.

And that’s exactly what they did.

It was Peter who ended up screeching bingo at the top of his lungs. His eyes shifted to Jan right after he did and saw her delightfully defeated face. It was better than the fifty-dollar gift card to Olive Garden he got for winning, a gift card Mr. Stark let him keep for himself.

Their spirits were high they walked back into the lake house, only to come crashing down when Pepper greeted them at the door.

“Did you two happen to go play bingo today?” she asked.

“Um,” said Peter. He pulled the gift card out of his pocket and offered it to her. “Do you like Olive Garden?”

Pepper let out an exasperated sigh. “Really, Tony? Aiden called Morgan and said he can’t come to her birthday party unless her mean dad apologizes to his mom.”

“Apologize?!?” asked Peter, his voice going high. “That’s an outrage! We didn’t do anything besides win! She’s the one disrespecting Mr. Stark!”

Mr. Stark only chuckled and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I got her number in my phone, I’ll give her a call.”

“WHAT?”

“Relax, Pete,” said Mr. Stark, walking away, with the phone pressed to his ear. “It isn’t for her. It’s for Morgan, and Aiden. God knows he should see what a loving home feels like.”

Peter watched Mr. Stark disappear into another room, disappear to apologize to the devil herself. Apologize for doing nothing, except winning. The unfairness of it out ate away at Peter, though it was soon replaced by some clarity, by an awareness about how lucky he really was.

Mr. Stark was his grandma and his grandpa and his dad, the same way May had to both his mom and his dad once Ben died.

He was lucky in that he was surrounded by great people, that he never lacked love, even if he was missing two parents and an uncle. That he still had people to teach him what was truly important, and sometimes, that you had to apologize to the devil.

[eastonia-blog]

I’m going to do a weird.

I know a whole lot of us are stuck at home due to the COVID19 outbreak and all our respective governments attempting to flatten the curve. So I’m going to break out my VAST library of fanfiction recommendations for you to read! Please bear in mind that my tastes in fics are not necessarily like yours so the following 15 Fandom reccs might be hit or miss. All ships and above T ratings will be tagged with brackets, all crossovers will be mentioned in those same brackets. Also, if I mention it’s part of a series, I’m not just recommending the fic I mentioned, I’m recommending the whole series. I’ve tried to recommend a different author’s fic each time. So! Let’s start with the 3 fandoms I mention in my blog description.

1) ATLA Fate Deferred (Zutara) Aang remains in the iceberg ten years longer. Sozin’s comet comes, the world keeps turning with no Avatar to save it, and by the time he’s finally found by a waterbender and her Fire Nation husband, a lot has changed. [Zutara established relationship full series rewrite; Now on Book II: Earth]  Cheating at Pai Sho (Canon Divergence) “You said you were the Avatar!” “…I lied?” Aang doesn’t get rescued in episode two, and no one’s seen him go glowy yet… so he starts bluffing. Hard. Or: “The Avatar joins Zuko’s quest to find the Avatar.” In which Zuko doesn’t join the Gaang, the Gaang joins Zuko.  The Undying Fire: Blood and Fire (First in the Undying Fire Series, eventual Zutara) Book 1. In which rescuing the Avatar from Pohuai Stronghold doesn’t end so well. It’s a tough life being a banished prince trying to get home, especially when the Avatar just wants to be your friend and keeps making everything confusing. Oh, and did Zuko mention he somehow healed the kid? Yeah, that happened. Stalking Zuko (First in the Stalking Zuko Series, eventual Zutara) Katara has developed a new hobby. At the Western Air Temple she takes to stalking Zuko. Much silliness and shenanigans follow. In chapter 20: Katara and Zuko return home to the others. Katara hates the F word and she comes to a decision regarding Zuko.  Embers (Canon divergence) Dragon’s fire is not so easily extinguished; when Zuko rediscovers a lost firebending technique, shifting flames can shift the world…  2) Percy Jackson and the Olympians The Father (Percabeth in the GFFA, eventual Anidala) It all started with a wish, but because it was Percy Jackson it couldn’t have been a friendly goddess granting him a wish. No, it had to be Nemesis, goddess of revenge and balance. Now Percy and Annabeth are stuck in a strange new galaxy right when an ancient and powerful darkness finally begins to stir.  Glass Figures (MCU Mashup) I lifted my gun, pointing it towards the minefield of shattered fragments, and kicked the small coffee table out of the way.Only to stare down at an awfully familiar face, which split into a somewhat lopsided grin. The intruder raised his hands in a mocking surrender. //“Long time no see, dude.” //I lowered the gun. “What the hell are you doing in South Peru?” //Or in which Clint Barton and Percy Jackson have a long personal history that starts in high school. All Together, Cousins (Canon divergence) When Thalia ran away with her toddler brother, Jason, she slowly gathered her cousins: she and her cousins being Big Three children. As Jason gets older and their motley group expands to six, Thalia resigns herself to the fact that she won’t always be the leader of the pack. As she accepts that, something more is coming, able to challenge even the gods above. A Crown of Golden Leaves (Historical AU) Annabeth, a Lady from the declining polis of Athens, must marry the Heir Apparent of Rome to save the rapidly expanding world from a threat even the gods couldn’t foresee.  Deluge (Percy in the Arrowverse) Barry has to deal with yet another Metahuman that Zoom has pitted against him. But this ‘Metahuman’ is an unwilling pawn in Zoom’s plan and really wants to find a way around killing the Scarlet Speester. But how can he when Zoom is holding something against him? 

3) DC Firework (First in the Sparks in the Dark Series) Orphaned and removed from the only life he’s ever known, Dick feels like there’s no light left for him in the world. His new benefactor, however, still sees something worth saving… Chronological beginning of the Spark in the Dark series.   Iron, Fire, Mirror-Glass After a brutal confrontation with Bane, Bruce comes away with a broken spine and the certainty that his days as Batman are over. An unexpected discovery offers him another chance—but at what price? The story of a man who risks his soul for the sake of his mission, the dangerous creature he names Robin, and the unlikely partnership that will shape the legend of Gotham’s Dark Knight.  Get Back Up There was a mole, one who played a long game. The team was betrayed, crushed. Robin nearly died. What are they going to do now? Only one chirped the answer. Get back up. WARNING: lots of talking, little action, many follow ups  Five Times …Five times Damian thought of Dick Grayson as his father, and the one time Dick thought of Damian as his son. Future-fic. YJ characters will show up later. Batman!Dick and Damian as Robin. With guest appearances from Jason, Tim, Cass, and Steph.  Unveiling the Mystery Series of one-shots about the team learning a little about Robin (Dick Grayson).   With all the fics, I heavily suggest you also read what else these authors have to offer in their archive.

And now here’s the plethora of other fandoms I read fics in under the cut!

4) Harry Potter The Horse (Mature) Looking after a Muggle animal should be easy compared to saving Hogwarts from Voldemort. Harry and Draco might disagree with that. Featuring Luna, Marauders, peppermints and, of course, a tall, black, badtempered horse named Simon. The Potions Master’s Nephew An accident occurs and Professor Snape finds himself trapped in his fifteen-year-old body. Enrolled into Harry Potter’s fifth year, he is forced to hide his true identity. Girls, drama and teenage angst do not bode well with Severus. Keeping Up with the Grangers (Dramione, Mature) Mr. Malfoy, I invite you and your mother to tea next Tuesday, May 25th at 2o’clock to discuss recent events. Dr. Helen Granger //…  …// He glances at the boxy too-uniform numbers flashing on the face of Richard’s radio. It’s nearly noon, and he should be getting ready to leave; but there is still a harsh tension in his shoulders and neck that he wants to work out before Hermione finds him. It is, after all, Tuesday; and while his Tuesdays were designated ‘tea with Helen’ days previously, they are now ‘lunch with Granger’ days, ever since the chance meet-up with the Weasel’s wife and the insufferable swot herself. Faceless (Dramione, Mature) New year. New love. New threat. A powerful enemy is on the rise, and Hermione Granger finds herself intertwined in a relationship with Draco Malfoy – only she doesn’t know it’s him. / / RUNNER-UP: Enchanted Awards Summer 2017 for Best Relationship Development 

5) Devil May Cry And the Rest is Silence (Mature) The destruction of the Saviour wasn’t the end. Too many people had too much invested.  An Uncle’s Thoughts Dante’s thoughts and feelings regarding one particular quarter-demon kid. Vignettes that span from the start of Devil May Cry 4 through Devil May Cry 5, and beyond. Fortuna’s Fool Events after DMC5 with flashbacks to the events we briefly see in DMC4SE only with Vergil telling Dante all about Nero’s mother. Family ties are so complicated, aren’t they? Family of Happenstance Some orphans have happy endings, getting adopted or finding their family. Having a demon slaying half devil for a father tends to throw a tiny monkey wrench in the process. AU Father!Dante, Son!Nero. Rated because hunters don’t exactly have clean mouths.     

6) Power Rangers (Focus on Might Morphin’ and Dino Thunder teams) Of Love and Bunnies Set just after Dino Thunder. When Angel Grove announces another Power Rangers Day, Tommy takes the Dino Rangers to Angel Grove for a reunion with the original team… including Kimberly. TommyKim, JasonTrini, KiraTrent. The Reason (Part 1 of eclyptyk neo‘s Dino Thunder AU) COMPLETED. DT. AU. Years go by as Tommy Oliver becomes accustomed to his job as a teacher. A person from his past returns. The new ranger team grows interested in its outcome. How will these new changes between rangers young and old be? Sequel: Ordinary World Change of Hearts (Wild Force)   PRWF: When Jindrax and Toxica set out to find themselves, they had no idea that their greatest adventure was only beginning. Chronology Conundrum DT/MMPR - After a strange mutation is released in Reefside, the five Dino Thunder Ranges find themselves thrown back into the past, circa 1995 Angel Grove. Somehow, they have to figure out how to make it back to their present without destroying it or themselves. And if they succeed, they must navigate the consequences of their actions in the past, while still protecting Reefside. 7) Merlin (Mergana leaning) The Other Version of Events What if Merlin and Arthur had met when they were children? What if a mysterious illness fell over Ealdor and Merlin was blamed? What if Arthur had actually felt sorry for him? What if destiny was thrown at them in a whole new way? AU, no slash, Bromance, A/G M/M… You get the idea.  Flipping the Coin, Part 2 of Coins (2nd story in the Coins Sage but 1st multichapter) Merlin and Gwaine are sent on an adventure to discover their past and stay one step ahead of Morgana. Fearing for them, Arthur and the other knights set out to find them, but soon discover much more than they bargained for. Alt version Season 5. Sequel to “Two Sides of the Coin” Angst, Adventure, BAMF, Bromance, Redemption, Twists on Arthurian Legends.  The King’s Legacy “I hope you are rolling in your grave brother, I will find your son, and I hope he is like you. I will ruin him and gain a lovely weapon in the process.” Cenred spat on the grave, “I win Balinor.” .Sequel posted.  The Warlock’s Quickening (First in the Albion Cycle) Merlin might have come to Camelot to master his magic, not to end the Purge, but he’s not going to sit idly by while his kin suffer. Oh no. Whether it’s releasing a chained dragon, smuggling sorcerers out of the city, or trying to change Arthur’s mind, he’s fighting back. Now. Series rewrite beginning after 1X02 featuring Proactive!Merlin. AU. 

8) Dragon Ball Under the Radar (Gohan/Videl) Gohan is living life as a secret superhero, but Videl is making it her business to find him out! How will Gohan manage her and Saiyan hormones? Will he fess up? Or will he try to live his life -puts on sunglasses- “Under the Radar”? *applause* Thank you! Thank you! And GOODNIGHT! G/V obviously. Rated T because adult situations and language in later chapters. COMPLETE! Golden God (Mature) To save the lives of millions, Gohan is forced to expose himself as a Super Saiyan, proving that his tricks are indeed very real. And it drives the whole world to insanity. Warning; becomes a little graphic goes as it on. Walking Towards the Sunset Bardock’s curse sends him to a mysterious place where weaklings are abundant and an odd trio claim to be his family. Eventually giving in, he stays with them to discover that Earth is more unlucky than Planet Vegeta. Impatiently waiting for his son’s arrival, Bardock has to survive a new life with his estranged family and a certain girl set on finding the truth. (Saiyaman-Buu Saga) Plus One (Gohan/Videl, Mature) Tired of being pursued by the gold-digging, glory-seeking, Satan obsessed freaks of the world, Videl will resort to the only method open to a celebrity like her to find Mr. Right. 9) Sailor Moon (Mainly SenshiShitennou) The Crystal Age (Rewritten) In an alternate version of Season 1, as a result of Beryl’s curse at the end of the Silver Age, Tuxedo Mask and the reincarnated Shitennou are fighting a losing battle to save the city and find the lost princess. Sailor Moon has disappeared, Sailor V is working on her own, and the other Senshi are still just ordinary girls. Sequel to The Silver Age. MxU, SxS. Please R&R. Hooligans It’s after Galaxia and time for University. The Senshi and Mamoru settle into life in Great Britain and meet some old friends. Inner Senshi x Shitennou and Usagi x Mamoru. Modern Timeline. Strong language, crude humour, hilarity and sexual situations abound, be warned, there will be some heavy angst later on too. Never Gone R A single choice can change the course of Fate: a choice, say, like waking up on time. If that choice were made, Chiba Mamoru would never meet Tsukino Usagi; but, he WOULD meet Unami Seiya and the burden of Terra’s future would fall onto his shoulders. Never Gone AU. The Dinner Hour (Part of The Dinner Series) It can be hard to be patient in the face of eternity. But good things come to those who search and refuse to give up on their dreams. R/J. (Sequels: Dinner And Again, Dinner at Last completed!)

10) Les Miserables (Warning: Enjonine ahead) When Apollo Met Persephone (1st of the 1830s AU) The revolution, or at least the first part of it succeeds. Enjolras confronts political and personal realities. Eponine is suddenly faced with more opportunities than she ever thought. Can they guide each other in a world that needs them as much as they need it? Les Choses Qui Sont Arrivées Après “You must flee Paris at once.” Enjolras and Eponine. The thief and the leader, the marble Apollo and the dark street girl… two wholly different survivors of the Revolution are forced together under a dangerous circumstance. Can they successfully fight their demons as well as each other? Neither of them knows quite what is going on, or what will happen when they figure it out.     Teacher of Man The first time Enjolras and Éponine meet, it is their wedding day. (arranged marriage AU) My Best Friend’s Wedding Éponine Thenardiér always thought that Marius would eventually come back to her, until the wedding invitation came in the mail. Now she is going to do everything that she can to get him back from that blonde tart Cosette. Nothing goes according to plan and even her partner in crime Enjolras is becoming an obstacle. E/E. 11) Naruto Beginnings  Naruto was six years old when he met the man who changed his life. …Now he’s kind of just hoping he survives it.  An Inch of Gold (Part of the Legacy of Fire series) Team 7 is sent on a mission to investigate a disturbance outside of the village, where they encounter an unconscious girl in a crater. The mysterious Sarada insists she’s a shinobi from the Hidden Leaf trying to rescue her teammates. When the team discovers she possesses a Sharingan, things become even more unbelievable. [Part of the Legacy of Fire Series]     Guilt of Innocence Uchiha Sasuke abandoned Konoha in his persute of power to join Orochimaru. However, this was only a cover story. In fact, on Tsunade’s orders, Sasuke is to act as Konoha’s spy within Otogakure. One agreement and his path had changed forever…  Blind (SasuSaku) It was almost time, Orochimaru was going to take his body as a vessel. He hated being used…he refused to be used. With that thought, he took the kunai in his hand and slashed across his eyes.     

12) Legend of Zelda (Zelink) The Conviction to Save The princess is dead. Those are the words being whispered in the streets. A great shudder sweeps across the land of Hyrule as news of its beloved monarch’s passing spreads like wildfire. In the midst of the ensuing chaos, a humble village doctor happens upon the body of a gravely injured young woman on the road. Legend of the Miraculous (Concepts taken from Miraculous Ladybug)   A legend retold through many a tale, but when a darkness resurfaces after so long, Athena and Sheikhan Wolf must return again! Will Link and Zelda be able to combat this threat? and will they figure out each others’ identities? Come inside and take a look! Hit List AU. It all started as a typical day at Ordon High, until a sudden school shooting turns the life of Link Hero upside down. Now, surrounded by enemies, can Link save his friends and escape the school alive? (Edit 10/2015) Counting Stars Link finds himself caught in the middle of an elaborate gang war. Lucky for him, being a B-list superhero makes that predicament a tiny bit easier. / Modern AU ZeLink, inspired by Spider-Man. Under Revision! 13) Hunger Games Vox Libertas Due to things playing out a bit differently in the last few minutes of the Quell, the rescue also goes a bit differently than expected. Now Peeta has the responsibility of representing the Rebellion thrust upon him. No pressure. *AU Mockingjay. Part I of Dandelion in the Storm AU. Mainly Peeta POV.*     Someone To Watch Over Me (Everlark, 1st in the Series) A HG rewrite. What would happen if Peeta was just a little bit bolder, and Katniss a little less emotionally confused? You’d be surprised. Let the Games begin. This is an AU, but I’ve tried to stay as canon as possible. Rated T to be safe.     Enthralled (Everlark, Gadge, Mature) Thrall (þræll), n., a slave or serf in Viking Age Scandinavia. After a successful raid, Gale is rewarded with a slave girl: the Saxon noblewoman Madge. Meanwhile, shieldmaiden Katniss grows closer to captive monk Peeta. Gadge/Everlark historical AU with background Odesta and other pairings.   Katniss, Vampire Slayer (Mature) “Into every generation a slayer is born.” the man droned out slowly, quietly, in a way that made her think he was quoting something. “One girl in all the world. A chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer.” //  Haymitch mocked. “One girl in all the world. Ain’t I just lucky it had to be you.” 14) How To Train Your Dragon Becoming Lífþrasir (Hiccstrid) People often wondered what kept Hiccup going during those early years. When that single, most-treasured thing is taken from him, there is little left to keep him on Berk. The day Stoick returns, and the day before the best recruit is finally chosen, Hiccup leaves Berk; little knowing that he would one day return under … strange circumstances. H/A, R/F, rated for violence.     HTTYD Easter Special Sequel to “The Unholy Offspring,” set after the season finale. When Alvin the Treacherous threatens Asgard with a rogue demigod’s help, Hiccup and Berk’s Dragon Riders must prevent an early Ragnorak. It doesn’t help that Alvin has learned to tame dragons, and that the only god that can help Hiccup is a sullen, suspicious boy named Mud. Happy Eos week, Hiccup!     The Blacksmith’s Apprentice (Hiccstrid) AU. Hiccup never took the shot on that fateful night-and the war continued. Three years later, Berk is beset by dragon raids and hostile tribes while the boy who should have saved the island is merely the assistant in the forge. With only Astrid as his friend, fate gives Hiccup one more chance to end the war and become the hero he was meant to be. Hiccstrid. Snap (Hiccstrid, Mature) He was just supposed to fix her back, and she doubted that at first. She definitely didn’t expect to get dragged into the ethics of a girlish crush. Modern AU. 15) Star Wars Double Agent Vader The one where Vader turned double agent for the Rebellion about three years after ROTS, and Leia is now his primary contact with the Rebellion. Or,  a man attempts to escape slavery by turning into one of his culture heroes, teaching his daughter how to do magic, killing people, and flower arranging. A New History During a heated battle, Dooku escaped into the past! Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker follow to stop him, but discover that Dooku went to the past where Obi-Wan is a young padawan to a very much alive Qui-Gon Jinn. Now, the two must go undercover to stop Dooku’s plans from coming to fruition in order to save not only the future, but also young Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn. Pulse AU for ROTS. As Padme’s life hangs in the balance on Mustafar, a stream of brilliant light causes Anakin to reconsider his choices. Jedi Shmi AU Shmi leaves Tatooine with Anakin and goes to the Jedi Temple.

[siriuslyblack12]

chapter 5

As the following week passed, Remus and Sirius found themselves dancing around each other: walking on eggshells. They hadn’t really spoken since that fateful day in the science lab and neither wanted to push the other into anything. The tawny-haired boy doubted that his love was requited, without looking hard enough to see if that was true.

 After confiding in the girls about what was said (with Sirius’s permission of course) the first thing they did was laugh confidently, unbelieving that he hadn’t just confessed his crush. Lily’s not any better, Remus thought. She knows that James likes her and she still won’t tell him. He’d covered his ears childishly to block out her out as Dorcas tried to pry his hands away.

 “Remus Orpheus Lupin.” Marlene announced as they sat in Privet Fields, wading her fingers through the grass as they onlooked James and Sirius, racing each other to the top of a climbing frame, Peter and Mary cheering them on.

 “That’s not my name and you know it.”

 Her brows furrowed, “You are the most disastrous bisexual I have ever met, and I’m dating Dorcas.”

 The girl in question punched Marlene lightly in the shoulder, pushing her short, brunette hair out of her face, smirking to herself. “You’re the one who was practically throwing yourself at me every excuse you got.”

 “Was not.”

 Dorcas scoffed. “So you don’t remember mysteriously tripping so that I could catch you every single day? Asking McGonagall to change the seating plan because Kingsley was ‘distracting your learning’?”

 “He was! I’m not that hopeless.” Marlene harrumphed.

 Dorcas’s smirk shifted to a genuine smile as she kissed her cheek. “I never said you were, babe.”

 Remus also smiled, watching them adoringly. He’d seen them both make fools of themselves before they’d finally gotten together. They were the most deserving people of happiness, and happiness they had found together.

 His attention was brought away by the harsh shouts of Mary, who’d gotten to the top of the frame before James and Sirius even after giving them a head start. “Fuck yeah!”

 Sirius was tangled in the rope, limbs flailing. “There are children present, Miss MacDonald.”

 “He’s right, we can’t have you corrupting our ickle Peter, can we?” James said from where he was helping to free Sirius.

 Lily rolled her eyes from beside Remus, not quite committing to it, “I think he was corrupted the day he met those two. If anything, Mary saved him.”

 Remus agreed, “We all were, Lils. My teachers used to love me, I’d just sit in the back of the class quietly and actually do work.” That wasn’t entirely true, but no one had to know. “I had a clean record, no detentions or anything.”

 “Maybe it’s a good thing then, I couldn’t even imagine how boring that’d be.” Marlene started.

 “How boring what would be?” Sirius was now untangled and stalking towards where Remus and the girls were situated on the field, wilting daisies surrounding them as their coats sat beneath them and the damp ground. His hair was tied up in a manbun, a few curls not quite reaching and framing his face messily, lighter from the summer sun.

 Lily answered him, “Remus was telling us all about his shameful past as a teacher’s pet.”

He gave her a scandalized look as Sirius said, “Our Moony? He would never. I specifically remember him pulling a prank and blaming me for it, that’s actually how we met.”

The girls erupted, laughing and shouting praise, clasping him on the back. He saw a mother give them a pointed look from across the field, tearing her eyes away from two boys aimlessly kicking a football back and forth. It had been in year 7, one of the first days of high school, when he’d taken one look at Sirius Black and something inside of him just knew.

 And he hadn’t made any progress since.

  ~~

  “Sirius, mate, how is that even possible?”

 “It’s not that big of a deal, but I’m not exactly complaining.”

 Sirius was stood in the middle of the pool changing rooms, 6:00 am, wearing nothing but a speedo and a swimming cap. Morning practices were always the worst, especially when he’d tossed and turned all night with no real sleep. In front of him was Frank Longbottom, teammate and friend, dressed in a similar state to him.

 “Your time went down 5 seconds, for fucks sake! It’s incredible,” Frank gushed. “No one here could do that if they tried.”

 “Bet Coach still makes me work harder, no amount of improvement in the world could make him like me.” Sirius and his coach had never gotten along, considering he had a great relationship with the Black family, and it often worked out against his favour.

 Frank gave him a sympathetic nod, tightening his own cap before padding out of the room to find the rest of their team. Temper rising, Sirius messily shoved his bag into a locker and followed his friend.

 I have more important things to worry about than a stupid coach.

 But it would be nice to be liked.

 A few moments later water flowed fast all around him, his mind only focused on the movements his limbs. Every trouble faded out of his head as he kicked, hands dragging almost lazily as it was second nature to him. This was where he could feel safe. This is where the highs and lows of life couldn’t reach him, his muscles hard at work. The wall was right in front of him, getting closer by the minute as he stretched out his arm to touch it and when he did he felt a surge of happiness shoot up his spine and through his blood.

 He ripped his goggles off excitedly to realise he was the first one to finish warmup, eyes scanning the board to see the set they’d be doing. It looked difficult, and would definitely take a lot out of him, but that was exactly what he needed. No time for overthinking. So exhaustingly yet refreshingly, he swam and dived and turned and flipped until his head felt fuzzy and his legs ached.

 Coach shouted at them to get out of the pool and line up against the wall, voice calmer than usual. It was almost startling, how Fabian and Gideon could fuck about and not get given push-ups, how Frank could lean over and whisper to Sirius without being caught.

 “Bet he’s announcing the new Captain,” He explained. “He’d have to be stupid to consider anyone but you.”

 Sirius laughed dryly, “Don’t get your hopes up, Frank. Alice has been kissing his arse for weeks, I barely stand a chance.”

 “But you’re the best swimmer here!” Frank exclaimed.

 “If you don’t shut up now I won’t stand a chance at all. I won’t even have legs to stand on.”

 His eyes went quickly to the towering height and corkscrew hair of the man speaking, broad shoulders filling out the team t-shirt. His face was angry and intimidating, which seemed to help the team win often enough for him to continue. “I expect a better swim than that, especially coming off your wins last night. I didn’t come here to watch mediocre swimmers.”

 There was a general hum of acknowledgement, “All of you have the potential for excellence, but I expect very few of you to come into your own.” He paced up and down the line menacingly. “Selecting a Captain did not come easy to me, considering that the job takes responsibility and maturity.”

 Gideon smirked back over at him as if to say ‘can’t be you then’ as their Coach continued, “The person I have selected may not demonstrate these things 100 percent of the time, but gala after gala has proved their worth.” Sirius now shifted in anticipation. “So, without further ado, your Team Captain for the rest of this year is…”

 I was unfocused last week.

I didn’t finish that set one time.

My fly needs work.

 There’s no way he’ll make me Captain.

 “…Sirius Black.”

 Frank and some others jumped on him immediately and he had to wince as they shouted right down his ears. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing but was elated nonetheless as the rowdy praise evaporated into polite applause and surprisingly authentic smiles. It came to an end, not without a warning from their coach and swimmers filed out orderly. Before Sirius could follow he heard a stern voice call him back.

 “I need to talk to you, Sirius.” His Coach said.

 He turned back around and folded his arms complyingly, prompting the man to continue. “You did well last night, I was quite impressed actually.”

 “Thank you, I appreciate it,” Sirius stumbled, taken aback by the sincerity.

 “You’re not exactly the most easy to work with, nor the most responsible.” Don’t hold back with the compliments, Sirius thought internally. “However I know a good swimmer when I see one, and I’ve seen you with our junior swimmers, they love you.”

 Sirius choked back a smile, “I love helping them, ‘s nice to give back, you know?”

 A t-shirt was placed gently in his hands, the same one that his Coach was wearing but in a smaller size. The team logo shone from where it was embedded on the right and his title was sown neatly below it. He was brought out of his trance by a contrastingly harsh voice, “But one slip up and that t-shirt goes to Alice, mark my words.”

 He couldn’t help but groan. “I understand.”

 “You can leave now, Sirius.”

 “Happily.”

  ~~

  Remus peered over his book for about the thousandth time that hour, watching James obnoxiously flirt with Lily as she rolled her eyes, contrasting the way her cheeks pinked. This interaction had been going on ever since they’d gotten to school just half an hour before, and it was becoming quite exhausting to watch. He took a look around the practically empty library before shifting his focus back to his book.

 “Lily, you have no idea what you’re missing out on! I have a lot to offer.” James sang.

 “And what would that be exactly?” She said sharply.

 He hesitated for a moment, ruffling his hair to make it even more messy before saying, “A lot! I don’t even know where to begin.”

 “Of course you don’t,” Lily sighed. “Better luck next time.”

 James huffed, his lips forming a pout as he slumped back into his chair. Remus braved a look at the scene and so his eyes lifted to meet Lily’s fierce blue ones, pleading and disturbed. He wondered what could possibly be going on in her head when even though she liked him she still rejected his advances.

 James perked up suddenly, “Sirius, mate, can you tell Lily about everything I have to offer? How much she’s missing out on?”

 Sure enough, Sirius was walking gracefully into the quiet of the library, hair still damp and clinging to his ears from what must have been a morning practice. His hoodie was half unzipped, giving a peak of a tight graphic t-shirt beneath it. “I’m afraid there’s not much to say in that department, Prongs,” He laughed.

 “Fuck off, I’ve got class.” This only made him laugh louder as James continued to sulk even when leaving the room. He really is a child.

 Sirius sat himself in a chair right next to Remus, his hair almost brushing the other’s nape when he leaned over his shoulder to assess the book in his hands. With a slow turn of his head, the two met face to face with longing and shyness. Through the corner of his eye Remus could see Lily stand and call out to James, flicking out her phone, but he couldn’t bring himself out of the weighted moment.

   Sirius leaned forward carefully, until he was close enough to reach up and run a hand through Remus’s curls.

 “I really do like the haircut,” his voice was down to a low whisper. “Not that I didn’t like it before, I just… like it more now, I guess.”

 Remus’s breathing hitched as the hand that was carding through his hair moved down to his cheek, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone lightly. Well, it’s now or never.

 “Is there anything else you want to get off your chest? He asked, matching the other’s whisper.

 “Yeah, there is actually.”

 “Me too,” The moment he sounded the last syllable Sirius’s other hand came to rest on the other side of his face. It was only just occurring to him what was happening. Sirius’s hands are on my face. Sirius likes me. Oh shit.

 “Can I kiss you now?” The boy in front of him questioned, way too casually from what it was, thumbs tracing circles on his flushed skin. Quickly and simply, he nodded until he felt soft lips on his own.

 He thought fireworks must be going off somewhere outside because holy shit. Sirius’s lips were warm against his own, insistent yet gentle, and certainly better than he could have ever imagined. He realised he wasn’t really doing much so he wrapped his arms around the dark-haired boy’s waist and brought him as close as possible to his body. A thought ran through his mind like broken a train, that he could never be close enough to Sirius. Remus felt a tongue run over his bottom lip as the kiss deepened, both boys letting out sounds of contentment. He never wants to stop kissing this boy; He wants to die kissing this boy.

 It did stop eventually, but not without both of them savouring it as best they could. As they parted, Remus kept his eyes closed for a few moments, desperately trying to hold onto the feeling. When he finally did open them, his eyelashes fluttered in a way that Sirius thought to be simply criminal, and so he leaned back in to kiss him once again. Remus tasted like chocolate and mint, a taste he tried to memorise in the next few minutes they spent with their lips almost molded together.

 This time they only stopped as distant hollers got increasingly louder, hollers that they soon figured belonged to their friends. Dorcas was holding her phone up, obviously recording the new couple’s (couple? Is that what they were now?) reaction. Mary handed Lily some change, Remus noting that they must have been betting on this. Fucking Lily.

 He buried his face in the crook of Sirius’s neck out of embarrassment, realising that maybe that was something he could do now. Maybe. This was only reassured by strong arms folding around his shoulders, hands bracketing his head to keep him there.

 “As much as I appreciate the well wishes, we’d much prefer if you could kindly fuck off, thank you.” Sirius addressed the audience of smug faces around them, ending it with a kiss to Remus’s head.

 “I knew you like him! I told you, didn’t I Lily, I told you!” James jumped up and down like an excited puppy, quite an unusual sight to behold.

 “You like me? I hadn’t noticed.” Remus replied dryly, his voice dripping in his signature sarcasm as a surge of confidence swept through him.

 “Moony, I think you’ll find that I do like you. A lot actually, and I would really like to kiss you again.” Sirius said in a much softer voice than he was used to hearing from the boy.

 Remus smiled back at him, “I think that can be arranged,” Before leaning back up into a now familiar kiss.

 “Prongs, you didn’t even know he was gay, how could you possibly know they liked each other?” Marlene shouted.

 “Oh please, I’m not blind.”

 For the first time in a while, Remus could say that he was truly happy.

[raendown]

Pairing: KakashiIruka Soulmate au: The one where you can only see color of any objects that your soulmate has touched; everything else is black and white

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

When he figured it out after so many years Iruka was angry. His soulmate laughed about it of course because he always did think these kinds of things were funny. Iruka did not. It was just confusing. Confounding. The biggest mystery he’d been trying to figure out since he was a child when he first noticed the pattern. How could there be so many signs that his soulmate was in the same village and yet he’d never touched a single doorknob? A strange thing to notice, possibly, but once he did it stuck out like a sore thumb.

More than half the people in the village could see the color of the doorway which led to the room where shinobi came to sign for new missions. Iruka had heard many people describe it as dark brown wood with a faded brass knob. To him both looked like different shades of grey. It wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine the colors because he could. He had seen colors before in many varied places around town and each new discovery was a thrill that raced up and down his spine like lightning. But what he had never seen the color of was a doorknob and it boggled his mind. How could someone touch so many things yet never open a door?

One of the things which kept Iruka sane was his classroom. Most people would say it was because the Academy was his safe harbor and he found himself at his happiest when surrounded by his beloved children. Those people would be only half right. What he liked best about his classroom was actually the colors. The walls, the ancient posters, even some of the books were visible to him in brilliant color. A handful of the desks, as well. They existed as light brown islands in a sea of muted white and grey. Iruka liked his classroom because it was easy to tell that his soulmate had spent time in here and he liked to imagine them attending lessons the same way he had, a small body sitting behind one of those light brown desks and flipping through one of the bright blue textbooks.

Random other things around the village showed color for him: a single table inside an old café, every stool at the ramen stand, random books in his favorite book store, handrails and patches of brick in dark alleyways. Iruka would visit a friend in the hospital only to realize that the blankets on the bed were a soft blue. He would visit another and notice the faded yellow sheets. He could see the mission room where he worked after school in minute detail, every desk and wall lit up like his soulmate had gone around and run their hands over everything. There were times he suspected that rather than the idea that they visited frequently enough to touch so many things over time because he could never understand how they would do so without ever touching the blasted doorknob.

The most common thing for Iruka to see in color were trees – for whatever reason. He was hard pressed to find a tree in Konoha which did not register in leafy shades of green and rich browns. Fall was his favorite time of year, when the greens would turns to a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges and yellows and purples. He liked to see them carpet the earth until color stretched as far as his eyes could see.

As a child he had reasoned that it would be easy to find his soulmate because their clothes would bloom with color. You can’t help touching what you’re wearing after all. His theory held until one day when he got lost in a crowd and a kind man knelt in front of him, offering to lead him back to his parents. The man’s clothes showed up green and blue and white, small red triangles running around one sleeve. After that he took notice of what he hadn’t before: that weird kid who wore a jumpsuit everywhere showed up in green, though his necktie stayed grey. His neighbor Rin flounced through life with a new color for her shirts every day but never for her shorts. Over the years people came in and out of Iruka’s life, sometimes in color and sometimes in grey, and he realized his theory had been wrong.

Even years later he couldn’t help but be a little bit annoyed when he thought back to the day when he finally figured it all out. His whole day had gone wrong from the moment he woke up to realize his alarm had failed to go off. His students had been rambunctious, Anko had stolen his lunch again, and he’d had to chase a sleeping Hatake Kakashi out of three different trees in the school yard. If the man wanted to nap he should just go home!

By the time Iruka arrived to his shift in the mission room he had very little patience left and a vein in his forehead ticked ominously when a young genin told him the Hokage wished to see him in her office. He stomped his way to the upper floors of the Hokage Tower and when he stood in front of Tsunade’s desk there was nearly a visible cloud of steam above his head. She only smiled at him in faint amusement, entirely unbothered by one of his infamous moods.

“Iruka-sensei I’m afraid I’m going to need you to play scribe to someone for a little while today,” she told him. The corners of his mouth turned down and his head tilted to one side in question.

“Scribe? Forgive me my lady but you have dozens off off-duty shinobi at your disposal and I’m supposed to be working the Mission Desk right now. Why me?”

He didn’t at all like the frozen look of her smile. “I’ve just had one of my jōnin come back with important intel. It needs to be recorded but he also managed to shatter his right hand on the way home; I’ve seen him make attempts at writing with his left hand, it’s even more illegible than usual. Yours, on the other hand, is perfectly neat. I need you to record what intelligence he managed to gather and copy it in triplicate for the council meeting tomorrow.” Tsunade smiled wider and it was a strained thing, pulled at the edges in all the wrong ways. Iruka narrowed his eyes.

“My writing is no neater than any of those in the cipher department,” he pointed out. “And they would likely have the clearance this kind of thing should have. I don’t. So…?”

“Do you enjoy thinking yourself clever?” His Hokage asked him, dropping the smile and replacing it with a frustrated look instead. He shrugged.

“I might not be very clever but I’m also not stupid. You’re not telling me something.”

Tsunade made a sound of disgust as she yanked open one of her desk drawers and pulled out a ceramic bottle. Iruka scrunched his nose at the sight of her sake but said nothing. He was impertinent but not so impertinent that he would tell the Hokage what she could and couldn’t do.

“Fine. He’s wounded and grumpy and hopped up on meds. We need to get this information out of him as soon as possible but he’s being difficult so we need someone to deal with him who won’t take any of his bullshit. You’re good at dealing with children, Iruka-sensei, and Kakashi is nothing more than an overgrown child.” She paused to throw back a mouthful of sake, stress obvious in every line of her body. “My hope is that he won’t find you a threat and will therefore speak to you where he hasn’t spoken to anyone else. If we can find him, that is.”

“You may wish to try the schoolyard. He’s been napping in the trees there all day.”

He sat still under the very long, tired look that she gave him, raising an eyebrow but offering no comfort. He was feeling bitchy too. Tsunade turned away and hollered for her ANBU guards to go check the Academy grounds for Hatake Kakashi and bring him to her at once.

Ten minutes later her guards retuned, one of them popping his head in the door to say that Kakashi would be arriving any moment. Iruka watched them close the door and wondered why they didn’t just leave it open if they knew someone was coming. He got his answer when a large mass of blue and green thumped against the window right behind the Hokage’s desk, wiggling it open with a small bit of trouble and then tumbling in with a low curse.

Kakashi stood but did not straighten, keeping his shoulders hunched inward slightly. His right hand was trapped in a cast and held at a protective angle close to his chest. His one visible eye was glazed and Iruka sighed at having to deal with someone ‘hopped up on meds’ as Tsunade had put it. He would have wondered why she didn’t just heal the injury but Hatake was famous for injuring himself so badly that even this world famous healer threw up her hands in frustration. This did not bode well for his poor mood.

“Brat! Are you incapable of using the door?” Tsunade growled as Kakashi slunk around her desk. Iruka blinked, pulled from his internal musing.

“Don’t like doors,” Kakashi mumbled as he made his way over to the couch sitting along one wall. Two of the cushions and the back of it were a horrible mustard yellow. Kakashi sat down on the third cushion and Iruka felt his heart skip several beats at once as he watched it light up, fading in like a developing photograph until it was the same ugly shade of the rest of the couch.

And that was when Iruka realized the answer had been much too obvious this entire time. He understood why so many things in the village had color and yet he’d never seen a doorknob that wasn’t grey. He understood why every tree in Konoha showed up in his spectrum.

Because Hatake Kakashi was his soulmate, the man infamous for never using a door where there existed a window and who spent his recovery time between frequent injuries napping in tress around the village. Iruka’s bad day compounded with the frustration of his discovery as he watched Kakashi curl up on the couch, hazy eyes sweeping each corner of the room like he expected to be attacked any minute. The poor man was high on pain killers and Iruka did not care.

“HOW?” he demanded, startling both Tsunade and Kakashi with his sudden outburst. “We’ve been living in the same village this entire time! We’ve crossed paths thousands of – UGH! Just how!?”

Kakashi barely managed to dodge the paperweight Iruka threw at his head before storming out. Tsunade watched the chūnin go, baffled and a little worried. Then her attention was turned back to her injured jōnin when he began to coo and turn the paperweight around and around in his hands.

“Did you know this is red?” he asked her dazedly. “I didn’t know it was red! Pretty!” Tsunade’s jaw dropped so low she nearly dislocated it.

Later – much later – Iruka would apologize and explain himself and he would of course feel very bad for the way he behaved. Kakashi would laugh it off and make a comment that earned him a swat up the side of the head. The two of them would blush and talk circles around each other until Iruka gave in first and kissed Kakashi with all the pent up emotions he had been waiting to unleash on his elusive soulmate.

All of that would have to wait, however, until his temper cooled down and Kakashi wasn’t drugged to the point where he didn’t even realize he’d just found his other half.

It wasn’t the meet cute Iruka always pictured but even he had to admit it was just so very them.