#me being down bad as usual

[cecedownbad]

TOUCH

Summary: Leon got a temporary partner, he wasn't keen on it yet why did you look at him like like that? Why did your touches leave him falling apart? [Leon X GN!reader]

Warning: No Y/N, slightly suggestive, this was self indulgent, I made Leon a softie but also not *wink*

Word count: 1.9k

I wrote this right after I got all the achievements for RE4R, I'm so down bad. Pictured ID Leon for this one. [Put the MDNI tag after editing, Listen kids don't be reading things you aren't supposed to.]

Enjoy

A rare occurrence this was, where the independent agent would be assigned a partner to work with. He didn't welcome the idea but upon insistence from high authority, it was something that required no refusal. To the other however, you were not new to the concept but had other reasons for finding it difficult to work with another. Just this moment however, the idea didn't seem so bad, not when the man crouched before you had features meant to be carved on statues.

"Do you mind if I..." Admiring the soft strands that covered Leon's eye, you grazed a few to catch a glimpse of those baby blues, those eyes that seemed to shift at the softest contact with light. Oh what a dream they were but the other could only flinch at your touch. "—What do you think you're doing?" The question left his mouth hastily, the brush of your fingertips had him startled enough to sound like he could have raised the weapon in hand to your throat. But what should have scared you, only made you want to gaze further but the situation around had sent its own hints that were hard to avoid, so with hesitance, you retract your hand and place it by your side, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine, let's get this over with." This wasn't meant to be complicated. Leon had his own share of grueling missions, ones that he'd imagined that he'd never return from. So, why was it that information retrieval required a party of two, one of which already seemed distracted, by their partner no less. "They're moving out, I'll take this exit, you take the one on the east end. Go." He instructed, you truly were distracted. Following his orders was easy, but the way his voice sounded so rich, the gruff undertones left you waiting for what else he could say, a second look from him gave a clear idea that it was all you would hear.

With a nod, leaving the area, you'd trace every corner of the building, inspecting any unusual anomaly that laid before you, clearing hallways as you pass by. It wasn't any different on Leon's end, though there was one anomaly that couldn't seem to dissipate, it was the slight warm touch of your fingers by his cheek. He'd been entranced by that way your eyes would gaze at every bit of his face, all the indentations had been marked. His awareness of this wasn't something outlandish, he knew that few found him attractive but the stare that you'd left him with screamed something so raw.

Taking his thoughts, he rubbed away your phantom touch and dragged on with his mission at hand, the one thing he should be focused on. "Helios coming in, I have spotted hostiles at the exit gates, waiting for your approach Condor one." The static grated through Leon's comms, leaving any hesitation behind, he answered, "Copy, keep eyes on the hostiles."

Leon made it by your side shortly after, with total silence weighing over you, this was the opportune moment to take down the guards. Taking a final look at your gear and checking your handgun, the time to slip away had arrived and with the help of your support operative, a vehicle with an armed driver was provided. The question still rested, why was it that two agents were required for this mission, either one of you could have retrieved the information. And with that still lurking at the corner of your mind, subtle glances at Leon were made.

Curiosity took ahold of the question that popped up, along the way the question was lost to the farthest reaches. The car had been silent along the way, not even the radio could overtake the hold it had but the silence opened the gates of your fleeting observations to run wild and with that, so did your senseless curiosity. The man next to you had been gazing out the window, his hand rested on the side of his neck, with his elbow placed on the car door. The light from the window had blanketed him with such vivid beauty, almost as if it embraced him. The clothes that he wore were simple, dawning nothing more than a jacket and a dark shirt on the inside.

Unlike before, you'd try and make your glances more discreet but really, how could that be possible when his very frame looked as though it was meant to be painted, as if he was the only source to study. Your eyes were caught by his, Leon didn't make do with ignorance this time, "Do you enjoy staring at people that much?" His tone was not contempt, in fact his question was rather genuine with its details and all he wanted was an answer from his temporary 'aid'. "I'm sorry, I just—I really did not mean to make you—"

"You keep looking like I'm the last thing alive, I'm...curious, why?" His back turned away from the window, the rays now outlining his figure gently. The answer to that question was so obvious, it almost poured out a second later. So you answer, an ounce of hesitation now whisked away, "Because, I find you...beautiful." it slipped out with ease that it caught you off guard at the departure.

"Beautiful? Listen, I'm not up for insults."

"No, I find you beautiful, I can't help but stare." He'd never seen someone face him with such words in conviction, as if nothing could phase the fact. You raise your hand to his face, the action - slow but you never felt so light, "May I?" A question that sounded so desperate, he responded by shutting his eyes, accepting your touch.

Tenderly your palm rested on his face, soothing his skin with your thumb. He didn't seem to mind, no, he didn't mind at all. He once refused the touch of any other, after all, the pain knew nothing more than the soft warm touch of another now. Leon didn't refuse, he couldn't turn away, your hand caressed his cheek, slowly parting his hair from his eyes like before.

The sensation no longer makes him flinch but want. That scared him, he couldn't believe that he'd crave the touch of another in such a way he could've lost himself. No, he shouldn't want any more but oh, the way you'd gaze at him, the way your eyes followed all his indentations, he lost himself in your hands.

It didn't go past you, you noticed it as well. You retracted your hand, it hurt you but the sudden loss had Leon peering at you. All you did was caress his face yet he seemed to have wanted more but that led to the two recording their surroundings. The vehicle had reached its destination, you thanked the driver and hoped to all the constellations that the glass divider between the driver and passenger seat gave away little of what was exchanged before.

As such came your formalities, this was where you'd expected to part ways with Leon, the two of you report to different authorities afterall. You contact your support operative and file in the report at your desk.

"It went well I assume, no slip ups?" The woman sat before in the desk eyed your files. Her glasses rode all the way down to her nose. "Yes, working with Leon Kennedy made it a much smoother retrieval. I do have a question though." You needed to ask, that one recurring question, "Since you did well and I have some time, go on." She accepted the query.

"Why were both Leon and I assigned to this? When we got there, the place could have been easily swept by either me or Leon alone." It wasn't daunting in any way, a simple query but the woman furrowed her brow and peered at you with rather tense eyes. "It was an order from someone else, we had expected the location to be more guarded, it was good that it wasn't."

It barely answered anything, but you accepted it, walking out the office and returning to your very own. When you would have expected to be alone with your thoughts, you see a surprising figure at your desk, it was Leon. "Hey, I'm guessing you just finished with your report?" He asked.

"Yeah, did you...want to ask me something?" You eyed the way he'd been leaning on your desk, had he been waiting here a while? That rested on your mind and the thought didn't bring any discomfort. He looked down from where he stood, but his eyes met you just as fast,

"Back there, I..."

".....back there you? Hm?"

"I didn't—I didn't hate what happened, I have something to ask you, how long have you been, watching?"

"Huh? oh no, I never tailed you or anything, I just looked from afar. Believe me, I wasn't stalking you or—" His question caught you off balance, this time it did bother you, causing profuse apologies slipping out but he caught you from spewing any further. As your eyes darted away, trying your best to focus on anything but him. Though that went all up in flames since he placed his hand at the back of your head, making you look directly at him, "Look at me, I'm right in front of you." Leon wasn't harsh with any of his movements, that tilt was only meant to make you look at him in your fluster but this had gotten you to go quiet.

It was his turn to mark your every feature, he could never miss a thing at this set up. "You really know how to get to me." He pressed his thumb to your lips, running over them both, parting them softly. His eyes were trained on you, as though you were the only one there. Leon's eyes fell from your eyes to your mouth and landed on your hands, which he grabbed, taking it up to eye level. He placed your hands over his lips, grazing them softly against it. Your stomach rolled for miles at this point, his actions were captivating and it made you scream all sorts of profanities that your mind could make up.

"Look at you, I shouldn't make you wait any longer." Oh he knew what he was doing. How could that very man who looked as though he could have fallen apart by touch alone be standing before you, locked in place, holding both your hands together, like a cuff. "O-okay, uhm, I need to get back to work, I'm guessing so do you, can I go now? Please?" Your plea was practically begging, you didn't hate any of this but it didn't make your heart grow any quieter. He let out a small laugh, as though he'd triumphed, won an achievement no one said he could. He let go of your hands, relieving you of the hold.

You seated yourself right after, clearing your throat to dissipate any other unwanted thoughts. Expecting to see him walk out of your office, you waited but he didn't, instead he turned your chair to face him, your eyes landing on his chest before looking up at him.

"I'll see you later."

The words were so simple yet he left you by grazing your face. The soft touch similar to the one you both exchanged.

He left you wanting more.

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[aroaceleovaldez]

What is the PR disaster in question that made Rick announce TSATS? I wasn’t active in the online fandom at that point

Of course! This was awhile ago so it figures people don't remember it/aren't familiar:

Basically a couple years back (2020) the fandom had some posts circulate discussing the ways different characters in the Riordanverse were written poorly or offensively. There was a masterpost that went around tumblr but the two major points people were particularly focusing on were Piper and Samirah (particularly because Piper had featured prominently again in Trials of Apollo recently and the third MCGA book had further emphasized and discussed Samirah being Muslim, since it was supposed to take place during Ramadan). Basically each had multiple posts breaking down the ways they were depicted incorrectly or offensively. The entire fandom for a little bit was VERY intensely discussing this (and it's around this time the "RR crit" tag got very popularized on tumblr - it did exist before, but suddenly was being used VERY frequently - cause it was that wide-spread - though the discussion took over basically every side of Riordaverse social media on different platforms). People really wanted Rick to respond to these criticisms, so he did!

He made two blog posts, one about Piper and one about Samirah. He has since deleted both so the links are to archived versions. The short version: he essentially tried to justify his poor research and double-down that he hadn't written them offensively, actually, people were just being mean to him. The fandom, of course, reacted poorly to this.

[Further elaborated events under the cut since this got a bit lengthy]

(Fun fact, this all happened within a month or so of the time i posted an open letter on aphobic tropes in the Riordanverse that Rick replied to, and then he immediately followed with announcing that Reyna was intended to be ace-coded [which cause a LOT of fandom debate] before Rick dipped for a couple of weeks, and then came back to post the blog posts in response to Piper and Sam stuff. So I like to jokingly refer to this as "The time I imploded the fandom/drove Rick off of twitter." Twas I that set the house ablaze.)

Rick fully left social media after this and the LT Musical social media manager became Rick's social media manager for the time being.

So this all happened June/July of 2020. Tower of Nero would end up being published in October of 2020 and a few months after that Rick would state that he was done with the series and wouldn't be writing any more series installments involving Percy, and also that he wouldn't be writing a Nico quest following Tower of Nero as it "wasn't his place to" and encouraged the community to write their own versions of Nico's story.

The community continued to circulate the tumblr posts and discuss the topics of Rick's offensive character depictions, and this is also where we see the dramatic shift in how the fandom depicts Piper in fanwork (though in most cases it is admittedly not an improvement 😬) because of all this discussion. This is also around the time when the fandom brought Viria under scrutiny claiming that she was whitewashing Piper as part of the same discussions, through the justification that she was drawing Annabeth as having tan skin (which she does canonically), and if Annabeth has tanner skin then Piper then that's whitewashing Piper? Except they were using completely separate images of not fully rendered Piper art versus Annabeth in dramatic lighting, so it's all very awkward and poor logic, and did actually get kind of racist. A lot of people were calling it "Tannabeth Blackchase" (yeah, i know) or similar and a common sentiment you'd see repeated is "Don't draw Annabeth as having darker skin than Piper, because that's offensive/racist/whitewashing." (Note: it was not phrased "don't draw Piper as having lighter skin than Annabeth" - we also won't get into certain offensive depictions of Native Americans, but I digress). But yeah, the Annabeth stuff in all that did not age well at all.

Anyways, in October of 2021 however Rick would announce that he was co-writing The Sun And The Star - with a lot of heavy emphasis on how Mark Oshiro works as a sensitivity reader, and some false advertising from the official social media that Mark Oshiro was the first time a non-Riordan author would be collaborating on the series (disregarding the ghostwriters completely). One of the big criticisms in the breaking down of issues in Rick's writing was his lack of ever seeking a sensitivity reader, and fans claiming that a sensitivity reader could solve a lot of the problems. This was basically Rick's "look! I totally listened!!!!" (though it did little to actually improve things, based on the book) and in TSATS as well Piper gets a large cameo at the end where the text very directly addresses a lot of points made in criticism of Rick's writing of her.

We also then of course got the CoTG trilogy later, explicitly stated to be for advertising purposes for the show.

So basically, short version: Rick came under scrutiny for a lot of offensive writing within the span of two months, made some bad blog posts doubling down about it, left social media. TOA ends. Rick says he wasn't going to continue the series/write what would become TSATS. Community celebrates the end of of the franchise but also continues to discuss Rick's poor writing and the blog posts at length. Rick suddenly announces TSATS and Mark Oshiro's involvement. Everybody gets distracted from being mad. Show announcement stuff also happens and the discussions peter out.

[syn0vial]

most relatable Boba Fett Moment™ in the expanded universe is when he very calmly and curtly walks away from what should be a highly emotional conversation (much to the annoyance and disgust of the person he's speaking to), locks himself in a washroom, then proceeds to have debilitating panic attack for several minutes before standing up, composing himself, and walking out in the exact same unruffled manner like nothing happened :^)

[bmpmp3]

finding out ur coworker is way older than you thought and having to very quickly reorient how you talk to them

[mythalism]

im normally not one to defend this asshole because a lot of the criticism of solas is great and valid but i need ppl to stop acting like solas is bringing down the veil to bring back arlathan because he believes it’s “better”.

solas does not romanticize or idealize arlathan. his goal of bringing down the veil has absolutely nothing to do with arlathan being morally superior to present thedas. most likely, his goal has nothing to do with restoring the empire of arlathan at all, and rather is about reversing the damage the veil did to his People- elves, maybe. spirits, more likely.

he is vocally critical of elvhenan as an empire on several occasions. he literally tells dorian not to romanticize it and compares its corruption and depravity to TEVINTER:

he also literally orchestrated a slave rebellion and threw a coup?????

he exhibits some nostalgia, maybe, for things like architectural marvels and of course the magic, but to act like solas ignores the reality of the political corruption of elvhenan and wears rose colored glasses, dreaming about ripping the veil apart and letting everyone die to create a perfect elven utopia just like the last one? it’s a major disservice to his character.

if i were to speculate, id guess that there’s far more to his motivations than we even know at this point, most likely (definitely) regarding the blight, considering how heavily implied it is that he created the veil to contain it, and that that also majorly plays into his need to bring down the veil regardless of the potential loss of life, but since it’s speculative ill can it for now.

regardless, the whole point is that it wasn’t perfect, elvhenan was deeply flawed, but it’s not about the empire, it’s about his People and his personal responsibility to atone for what he did to them. in trespasser he does not say he will bring back arlathan or elvhenan. he says “i will save the elvhen people”. whether you think he’s right or wrong isn’t really relevant (it’s relevant to your own playthrough and relationship to the narrative, of course, but not to the greater themes of the story), it’s not about right or wrong, or whether or not one society was more just or “better” than the other.

even a low-approval solas who HATES your inquisitor and tells a human inquisitor that they proved him right about their people being small-minded and crude will still approve when you help the refugees in the hinterlands and when you leave flowers at an old womans grave. he will still develop respect for cassandra, a friendship with varric. he still plays 4d mind chess with the iron bull to cheer him up. he will still tell blackwall that he will remember the people of the inquisition for their courage:

solas is not weighing thedas versus elvhenan on the metaphorical scales of justice and finding elvhenan worthier of existence, and destroying the other. he is a man who loved his people and in trying to save them, he made a mistake that doomed them, and feels he has to make it right, no matter the cost.

solas’s is not the story of a god making judgement calls on the worthiness of those beneath him, finding them lacking, and condemning them to death. it is a story of a man who has completely lost himself to the enormity of his guilt. it is a story of well-intentioned mistakes, of impossible choices and who has to shoulder them, of losing your personhood for a cause you believe in, of whether or not the ends justify the means, of accountability versus complacency, of progress versus stagnancy, of the role of violence in radical progress, of absolution of guilt, and of loneliness. right or wrong doesnt matter - he knows it's wrong and suggests the process will turn him into a monster. but its not about right or wrong, its about a man alone on an island, who can’t bring himself to surrender, who can't help but fight, knowing it all might end with him.

[howtodisappearcompletelyand]

20/10 stars little guy

[bondagebimbo]

heads up: (TW blood/blood loss mention from accidental injury in post and tags)

probs not gonna stream tonight because I feel so dead and I actually just physically hurt myself really fucking badly, not purposely—don’t think I did this intentionally, and have to clean up a giant bloody fucking mess now so I’m just 🫠 ugh. I hate being inconvenienced with shit like this due to my own fucking issues with my coordination and a lack of reaction time because I feel weird right now in general and I’m struggling to feel like an actual person mentally so like … it definitely fucked me up today when I was distracted and unfocused and managed to hurt myself.

I’ll see how I feel tomorrow night after dealing all this, but if I do stream tomorrow then it’ll likely start around 7pm (east coast US time) as that’s the most common time I’ve been recommended. a post will be made beforehand on whether I plan to or not to, along with the twitch link.

but right now I just REALLY need to clean up this fucking mess and lay down. I got myself BAD and I think I need to try and nap after I clean this up because fucking hell, it hurt, and it made me feel sick at the same time so 🙃

[ghosttotheparty]

also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

[scopophobia-polaris]

The fact I have to boot up totk AGAIN, honest to God yall after I make this one fuckass post it is au only I am not doing zelda discourse no more

[muffinlance]

Would you be willing to do one where the g'aang meets zuko with his dragons and is like? Wtf? Because I would appreciate the image of aang seeing thw dragons and going, can I pet em, while sokka or katara is like, can I fight dragons? No, no I cannot, and the other is going, not evil fire lord, bet. Please?

(Continued from parts one, two, and three.)

“My older brother should have had the throne, of course,” said the man Aang had come to meet. “But he was still mourning for his son, when… Well, when I think of it now, it was the beginning. My father, poisoned in his bedchambers. My wife, missing in the night. It took me years to piece together what must have happened. It was unthinkable, for a child so young to…”

Aang swallowed thickly, his hands balls on his legs. “Zuko… did all that?”

“When he was younger than you are now. There was always something wrong with that child,” former Fire Lord Ozai said, from between the ruin of his twisted lips in his scared face. Aang wasn’t sure how much farther the scaring extended, but… but he could see it creeping down under the man’s collar, emerging again on his hands. “I was not—I am not—a good man, Avatar Aang. I know that. I was like King Kuei, sheltered in my palace, unaware of the true extent of this war. A spare prince; I was never meant to rule. Neither was he. But obstacles were removed from his path, one by one, until I was the only one who stood in his way. I was not a good man, Avatar. But I would never try to kill my own father.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Aang said. “And… I accept your offer, Sifu Ozai.”

Sokka and Katara shifted behind him, uneasily. Long Feng gave no sign as to his opinion, beyond being the one to make this meeting with the Fire Nation’s rebel leader possible. But there were very few firebenders not under Fire Lord Zuko’s control. Aang had to learn from someone. And… at least Ozai understood, how dangerous fire could be.

* * *

Earth King Kuei had thrown out the treaty his advisors had spent so long negotiating, and slapped together his own private agreement with Fire Lord Zuko after only a few days; Ba Sing Se and the eastern part of the continent were left intact and under Kuei’s reign, while the western coast was handed off to the Fire Nation as tribute. 

The North Pole’s borders remained closed.

The South had been the first nation pressed into an end-of-war treaty, while the Fire Lord’s dragons watched on.

The Air Nomads… if there were any left, still hiding somewhere, they hadn’t come out for Aang.

* * *

Master Yagoda wasn’t a fighter, and claimed that one world journey was quite enough for her lifetime. She’d remained in the South Pole after Aang’s training there was complete, to help her new tribe.

Long Feng’s responsibilities as the Earth Kingdom’s own rebel leader made it inadvisable for him to place himself in enemy hands. The Fire Lord and King Kuei were close; if Long Feng were taken prisoner, he would be handed off to Ba Sing Se for a quick trial, and likely a quicker execution. 

Sifu Ozai’s injuries made it impossible for him to truly fight by Aang’s side, of course, even if he didn’t face an even swifter death than Long Feng should they be captured on Fire Nation soil.

But this was Aang’s job. He was the Avatar, so he had to do this. He had to give all the nations of the world a chance to grow, free from the Fire Lord’s enforced peace. 

“We’re not leaving you now,” Katara said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her brother mirrored her, a moment later.

They’d started as his escorts, in this terrifying new world. He’d trained under the same master Katara had; learned everything there was to know about healing, from Master Yagoda, who’d used the false peace to travel south. Healing was… it was so much better, than the training Sifu Long Feng had put him through, the precise way earthbending could be used to contain or kill. Or Sifu Ozai’s lessons, hard learned, about just how much fire it took to truly stop a fellow bender. At least Ozai had been sympathetic to Aang’s concerns, to the culture only he seemed to remember. Ozai didn’t want his son dead, either. He still loved him, even after what he’d done. He just… wanted him stopped. 

Fire didn’t kill easily. But it could definitely stop someone. And then Aang could heal him, and just… keep him in jail. The Fire Lord had a little sister, kept hostage all these years, who Ozai thought might still be convinced to join them. She could be the new Fire Lord, with Ozai as her regent. And then the Earth King’s main ally would be gone, and Long Feng could go back to reclaim his home for the people, instead of the nobility who’d grown rich on war without ever stepping foot outside of their walled inner city. 

And. And Aang could travel, and relearn this world, and practice his healing more. That was what the world really needed: healing. 

But it was like Yagoda had taught him. Sometimes a break had to be reset, before it could really heal.

* * *

It was… really easy, getting into the Fire Nation palace. They rolled Appa in soot, and came in the night. Landed on a roof. Entered through an upper window on an inner courtyard, where guards wouldn’t think to stand watch. The Fire Nation had uncontested aerial supremacy, after all.

They knew where the Fire Lord’s rooms were; they were Ozai’s old ones. They were also very empty. Which they’d been warned about, because apparently the Fire Lord did his best evil planning at night when his advisors couldn’t reign him in. 

There was the flicker of candlelight under the sliding doors to his office. And… no guards. Which led to a round of is-this-the-right-place looks shared between them, but. This was where the map Ozai had given them said to go. So they had another round of looks, with resolute nods this time, and then Katara was sliding open the door as he and Sokka ran in and…

…And a very tired looking servant was standing in front of a desk, shuffling papers around like there was something he’d missed in them. His long hair was partially tied up in a frazzled bun, but mostly down his back. He blinked at them through a pair of glasses that were almost an exact match for the ones in fashion at King Kuei’s court, like he’d gotten them from the same artisan. And also there were some ink stains on his face, like maybe he’d fallen asleep on some still-drying documents. So… maybe a scribe? 

“Where’s the Fire Lord?” Sokka demanded, club raised.

“...I can see the family resemblance,” said the servant, who had turned fully to face them, and oh. He… had the Fire Lord’s scar. And there was the Fire Lord’s crown, being used as a paperweight at the edge of the desk. 

“Does Chief Hakoda know his children are here to assassinate his ally—” Fire Lord Zuko said.

“ ‘Ally’ is a little strong,” interrupted Sokka.

“—Or do the Water Tribes have their own ‘rebel leader’ now?”

“ ‘Assassinate’ is a little strong, too,” Aang said softly, shuffling his feet, his hands tight around his staff.

The Fire Lord stared at him a moment. “...Ah. So my father would prefer that you maim me, and drop me in a dark cell for the rest of my life?” 

“Umm.”

Zuko stared, and stared, and then pushed up his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “Listen. Can we just… reschedule this?” 

“Reschedule,” Katara repeated. “This.”

“You haven’t attacked me yet, so this isn’t technically a diplomatic incident. It’s just… a scheduling conflict?”

Sokka snorted, and then looked vaguely angry at himself. Katara elbowed him. Aang kept gripping his glider, but maybe a little less tightly.

“We got news of an earthquake on Shojima not even two candlemarks ago,” the Fire Lord said, sliding his glasses back down. “Which means the tsunami is on its way to the main coast by now, if it hasn’t hit already, and I need to get these out if the relief supplies are going to be on their way by morning. So we can either have a really fast assassination attempt and then I have to add ‘explain to the world why the Fire Lord killed the Avatar and a nation’s heirs’ to my schedule sometime this week. Or we can talk first, but I don’t have time for that, so can we reschedule this to…”

And the very evil Fire Lord turned away from them to begin shuffling through his papers.

“First,” Sokka said, pointing a finger at the teenager, “Aang would be more than a quick fight, rude. Second: I’m still working on the second, but seriously, rude. And third, what do you mean you’d put our fiery-death-explanations into your schedule sometime this week?”

The Fire Lord didn’t seem to be listening. But he’d apparently found his appointment book, so that was good? Except for all the flipping.

“I can do… lunch tomorrow? If you’re okay with actually eating while we talk. I’m not allowed to skip meals, or Captain Izumi cancels my appointments ‘for national security’.”

Sokka slowly lowered down his pointing finger. 

“Talking would be good,” Aang said. “I like talking.”

And then they got to meet Captain Izumi, which was a lot scarier than meeting the Fire Lord.

And then they realized that what they’d thought was vaguely tacky dragon-print paneling along two walls was actual dragon skin and this wasn’t an office it was an open-air veranda and—

“Quick fight” might have been an accurate prediction, yes. 

More accurate than Sifu Ozai’s map.

(Read more prompts || Longer ATLA fics || Original works)

[autisticrosewilson]

I love Jayrose but not the way DC writes them most of the time, the better version of them that exists in my head without the racism, misogyny, or classism. The real them, unburdened by the bad writing of the weirdos (derogatory) at DC headquarters.

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I think of so many stupid shenanigans between Wriothesley and his daughters in the Addison Lee verse. They tell Wriothesley crazy shit all the time, their daddy-daughter secrets, and it drives Neuvillette nuts that Wriothesley won't snitch.

Sigewinne, whispering into his ear: Today at school I punched a boy because he was being mean. I waited until it was recess, and made sure that no one was watching, and I punched him. Everyone knows he is a liar, so noooo one believed him when he cried about it. And Sigewinne is aaaalways a superstar so Mr Vautrin didn't suspect a thing !

Wriothesley, mildly concerned: Uh huh.

Sigewinne: Papa would say Sigewinne has to be nice to everyone, but, Sigewinne thinks bullies need to get punched sometimes, b'cos, b'cos otherwise, they think everyone is just gonna let them be mean

Wriothesley: Y'know what. That's fair

[perilegs]

my sweet little baby man is no longer with us

[moeblob]

AU where Brent is a drone to help out at crime scenes and offer input after Right finds the drone. And basically he befriends the really weird guy possibly controlling the drone but has his doubts as to how human the drone's source can be. So Right and Brent just go around trying to solve crimes while Right just calls the drone "Fuckwad (affectionate)".

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.