#not doing a great comet wrapped but it would include

[clarasteam]

"The most exciting part about doing a musical at the Donmar is doing a musical at the Donmar"

I didn't know what to expect from this, but I loved it. I hadn't seen the show before, and had listened to the OBC recording in preparation. I'm still not sure about some of the costuming choices and their effects; I liked the set more than I thought I was going to after reading about it online. the lighting was amazing, as lots of people have said already. the band was great, and this CAST, holy shit. hearing them in that intimate space of the Donmar was just magical. it's press night tonight and I am more keenly interested than I thought possible in how the critics are going to respond.

[azulaang-chakras]

If ATLA had a fourth season, what do you think would have been the plotline of Book 4 and what would likely have been the good and bad parts of it?

So, let's go over the context of the infamous season 4 so that I can give this question a proper response.

For those who don't know, season 4 is basically a rumor with only one shaky leg to stand on. One of the head writers, Aaron Ehasz, claims that he was asked to envision what a season 4 would look like and that he spoke with Bryke about it, but that it never came to pass because Bryke became involved with the 2010 thing that we never speak about. Bryke deny these claims and say that there was never going to be a season 4.

Frankly, due to Ehasz's bullshit over on the Dragon Prince production and the way Sozin's Comet Part 4 wraps up, I truly believe that there was never going to be a season 4. While it is true that the team did run out of time to include everything they wanted in the last episode, with Zuko's storyboarded reunion with Ursa being the most famous and tragic casualty, that episode still wraps up the series pretty cleanly. It's as close to a Return of the Jedi as we're likely to get in a television program.

In order for a fourth season to work, 4 seasons would have to have been the plan from the very beginning. As is, ATLA works perfectly as a trilogy. From the start, ATLA's premise is that Avatar Aang must master the other three elements before Sozin's Comet arrives at the end of summer. He must defeat the Fire Lord to save the world. With one season devoted to each needed element with plenty of lessons learned along the way, the progression of the story is rock solid. Sozin's Comet has our hero standing triumphant over the main antagonist as a fully realized avatar. A season 4 is, imho, unnecessary, but let's continue with our scenario here, that a season 4 came out in 2009.

With the disclaimer that this is all speculation and imagination on my part, here's what I think that a fourth season comprised of 20 episodes could have been:

100 years of war have come to an end and the world finally enters a new age of peace. I'd want to start as close to S3E21's end as possible, with a year-long timeskip being the absolutely maximum that I'd want to start at.

For as much as the comics get wrong, and they get a lot wrong, the gist of their initial premise is a good one. The transition between war and peace is uneasy, despite the wishes, intentions, and efforts of our heroes, and it becomes filled with a variety of political conflicts on every level. Colonials who see themselves as Fire Nation and not Earth Kingdom who make the return of conquered territory difficult is a great concept, so it can be easily included in our hypothetical season 4.

The primary external conflict of season 4 could be a threat that is both new and old. Former Fire Nation military members, loyal to the old empire and offended by the new fire lord's quest for peace, form a secret cabal to return to the old status quo. They can't fight out in the open like the old days, so they have to work from the shadows. They're fighting for everything their nation once was, what it's supposed to be, what it could be again. For convenience's sake, let's call these antagonists the Secret Flame.

Our main internal conflict is represented in the parallel arcs of our protagonist and deuteragonist: Avatar Aang and Fire Lord Zuko. If there is a central theme to this season 4, it would be the conflict between responsibility and personal freedom.

Aang has to balance two monumental missions: rebuild his nation and continue saving the world by putting out new fires. One of the key aspects of his development is acknowledging that with the changing world comes sacrifice. In this case, it's that the many adventures that he loved going on with his friends are going to end. He simply won't have time to live as a simple nomadic monk, no matter how much he wants to. A recurring subplot throughout the season can be Aang meeting people who, even if he doesn't know it yet, will end up following him and joining as new Air Nomads.

Zuko has to lead by example, teaching his warlike nation that they were wrong. He struggles, as his people skills are not always the best and even a matured Zuko still has a temper that can get the better of him. Let's be honest, Zuko needs all the help he can get when it comes to politics. We can include a tearjerker reunion with Ursa very early in the season and have her as a presence at his side, advising her son throughout the season's conflicts. As a viewer, I'd be excited as hell to learn more about the woman who murdered the fire lord to keep her baby boy safe.

We'd also see this parallel between Aang and Zuko in their love interests. Mai, as the fire lord's girlfriend, is seen by many as the future fire lady, even if they aren't engaged yet. What would it mean for her, who's always had to be quiet and well-behaved for the sake of her father's political career, to face the real possibility that the rest of her life would be dictated similarly by her potential husband's royal role? Would her love of Zuko prove stronger than her desire for personal freedom?

Katara, meanwhile, has always felt a devotion to protect the innocent and fight against oppression. This fire in her still burns strong in a world at peace, and she begins developing into a first-rate diplomat. However, her nation's needs and contributing to world peace are heavy burdens, especially for young shoulders. She doesn't get to see Aang or the rest of her friends much, and that only adds to the stress. It would be tragically fitting that Aang's entrance into her life made her a kid again, reminding her what fun is, only for duty to demand separations from him and the fun that we all need in our lives. Heavy work loads and long distances can put a strain on any relationship, let alone one so young.

To reinforce that struggle, the rest of the gaang feels the same way. Burdens continue to pile up and they miss one another. This overall melancholy and nostalgia for "the good old days" is established early in our season 4.

Side plots for the rest of the cast can include:

Sokka being prepared by Hakoda to succeed him as chief.

Toph continues to be her awesome self. Her experience with teaching Aang has opened up a desire in her to teach others. We could also have an episode about her resolving the conflict with her parents. Due to the fact that this is a Nickelodeon cartoon, it would probably end with the Bei Fongs apologizing for their mistakes and accepting Toph for who she is.

Suki having a subplot of her own is mandatory in my eyes. This is a young woman who has always been defined by selfless duty. Does she feel a desire to return home that conflicts with her sense of obligation to the rest of the world? Can the warrior and the girl live in balance with one another? (side note, if there was any time for shenanigans and side adventures, I would demand that Suki get to be involved)

I'd like to see Ty Lee in a supporting role for Suki's storyline, acting as a reassuring friend who as a unique perspective on the season's main theme. She was born into nobility but briefly found a way to follow her dream and escape to the circus, only for that to end when Azula came knocking. Now, Ty Lee has a new role in life that she got to choose, and the responsibilities that the Kyoshi Warriors have is easier for her to manage because she has their support. It would serve as a nice balance, Suki being the experienced but conflicted leader of the Kyoshi Warriors while Ty Lee acts as the eager, resolute newbie of the group (I'd also like them to interact this season because I ship tysuki. Nickelodeon wouldn't let me make them canon in 2009, but I can work under the radar)

There's little to no room for pure filler, so I'd like to see the many minor characters get meaningful contributions to the main plot, parts of episodes where they get to shine. We can also continue our main themes for the season, such as showing Haru and Teo following in their fathers' respective footsteps as young leaders of their community, a reunion of the Freedom Fighters and them figuring out what to do now that they've won their freedom, and the White Lotus leaders figuring out what they can do for a world that they won't be in for much longer.

After our stage is set, our villains initiate our inciting incident. The Secret Flame's first act is a failed assassination attempt on Zuko and Aang. This sets the gaang off on their mission to uncover and take down the conspiracy. At the end of the season's first act, our heroes uncover one of the Secret Flames' big plans. In order to overthrow a fire lord, they need a replacement. Ozai, being depowered, is of no use to them. Thankfully, he had another child who is nothing like her brother.

Following the Final Agni Kai, Azula was sent to an asylum to receive professional help. The gaang argue on what to do, with most insisting that Azula be transferred somewhere with maximum security, until someone correctly points out that they don't know how many members that the Secret Flame has, and that because those members are also in the military and government, they can infiltrate any Fire Nation prison or fort. Zuko is unwilling to send her to the Earth Kingdom or Water Tribe, as his dealings with their leaders makes him uncertain that he can trust them with his sister's safety. This is when Aang suggests a third path: that Azula accompany him. He can be trusted to not only keep Azula from the SF but also subdue her if she attempts an escape, and he can even help continue her recovery. Pretty much everyone hates this idea, especially Katara and Mai, but Zuko sees no other viable alternative and agrees.

Azula's recovery in asylum hasn't exactly been going great, and the reunion between her and the gaang is tense to say the least. Aang proposes the plan to her in a somewhat dishonest way, phrasing it as a means of giving her a degree of freedom for the sake of her recovery without mentioning the Secret Flame. She laughs at him but accepts, and thus we have the premise of our second act: Aang travels the Earth Kingdom with Katara, Toph, and Azula to keep the latter out of the chaos, while the others continue their mission against the SF.

Katara and Toph are primarily there to make sure that Azula doesn't kill Aang in his sleep. Azula's response to her new situation is to make her guardians' lives a living hell. There is so much comedy to be mined from Azula getting under everyone's skin, especially Katara's. Aang has to act as peacemaker, and no good deed goes unpunished. Azula continues to be Azula while Katara's frustrations continue to grow.

On a more serious note, this is the most amount of time that Katara has gotten to spend with her boyfriend in a while, and she has to spend it watching over the woman who once killed him. Her anger is only compounded by the fact that Aang was the one who suggested this situation and his continued attempts to help Azula.

The second act of our season 4 harkens back to the more episodic nature of the first three seasons. We have our group flying to new locations and dealing with minor conflicts that feed into the major one, letting our characters breathe and develop. For Azula, her time with Aang and co in the Earth Kingdom forces her to slowly realize the same lessons that Zuko learned. Despite how difficult she is, we do start to see cracks in the old armor as she struggles to come to terms with the truth, that the Fire Nation was wrong, that her father was wrong, and that she was wrong. Ozai and the FN forged her into a weapon to be used. She has a chance to have her own life and be her own person, to be a better person. She becomes mildly less confrontational, but the progress is slow going and Katara and Toph are just as slow to trust her.

Meanwhile back in the Fire Nation, Zuko and co are trying to find the SF but their searches turn up dead ends, traps they barely escape, and potential informants winding up dead (killed off in a TVY7 manner, of course). The stress builds into arguments that can test friendships and relationships. During this time, I'd like to see Ursa playing a strong supportive role in large part for the finale I've got planned.

Near the end of our second act is when the SF catch up to Team Aang and a big fight ensues. In the midst of it, an SF member manages to get Azula on her own and fills her in on the details that Aang left out, convincing her to join up with them. Meanwhile, the others realize the conspiracy's big plan: the SF are going to attack an upcoming conference of leaders from around the world to restart the war.

This sets the stage for our big finale, and while it's not going to be as big as Sozin's Comet, we can still make it a huge battle, with the Secret Flame pulling every single soldier who rejects peace to their side. A coalition of Earth Kingdom, Water Tribe, Fire Nation, and Team Avatar fight against them, but Aang notices that someone is absent from the battle. Azula is watching from afar. While the last shreds of the imperial conqueror are still holding out, we see that her heart isn't really in this.

Aang tries one last Hail Mary and gets behind enemy lines with Ursa, believing that she might be the key to ending all of this once and for all. While Aang battles with the SF members, mother and daughter reunite and it's tense af. They finally have their long overdue heart to heart. Ursa's message boils down to this: "Whatever you might feel towards me or your brother, ask yourself: is this what you want? Will endless fighting for the approval of a tyrant and a fallen empire make you whole/happy?" And Azula's response: "No."

It's in Azula's rejection of the Secret Flame and all that they represent that truly puts the final blow to the old Fire Nation. The tyrannical empire has fallen and will never rise again. The SF are defeated and imprisoned. The resolution of the conference establishes that the road ahead of them is long and difficult, but that the future is bright. The world is finally at peace. Our last group scene can be our weary heroes enjoying tea together, echoing season 3's finale in a more subdued fashion.

In the last episode, we could get an epilogue showing the various fates of our characters, culminating their individual arcs throughout season 4:

Sokka is Chief of the Southern Water Tribe and a member of the White Lotus

Toph is the sifu of her own dojo, not a fucking cop

Suki I'm up in the air on. We could have the sukka happliy ever after with her as chieftess and also in the WL, which would probably be the more emotionally satisfying option. Or, we could have part of the side plot them drifting apart but settling as good friends, with Suki returning to Kyoshi Island with her girls at her side. Leaning towards the former, but I could go either way.

Ty Lee is happy on Kyoshi Island, maybe show that she's on better terms with her bio family. We could also see her teaching chi blocking to the KW and acrobatics to the younger kids of the island.

Our last glimpse of Azula is her traveling the Fire Nation on her own, having taken several of Aang's lessons to heart. The princess turned nomad has a long road ahead of her, but just as the world found lasting peace, so too can she.

Let the old timers know some peace and relax in their final years. Iroh in his tea shop, Pakku with Kanna, Jeong Jeong and Piandao doing something idk. Bumi can remain as he always is.

Zuko and Mai get married, because I want it and they deserve to be happy. I think they can make it work. Ursa watches with a smile and tears in her eyes. She'll continue supporting her son as an advisor, while also looking forward to becoming a grandmother.

In the Southern Air Temple, Aang has a moment to reflect. The temple around him is buzzing with activity as the new Nomads settle in. We see Katara directing them, the two having found a way to make it all work. With his future wife and friends' support, Avatar Aang has started the first chapter of the return of the Air Nomads.

The End.

People who read my fanfic know that a lot of these plot points that I shared here also pop up in my work, though I want to stress that I didn't take this opportunity to put forward my own agenda. Things can work in my AU because the primary couples are azulaang and katoph. While I feel that I got those couples together through organic, canon-compliant means, those same means would not work in this hypothetical 4th season. Thus, I made several key changes.

To answer your question, anon, do I think this could work? Yes, but it would not be easy to pull off. Again, our three canonical seasons wrap up into one whole almost perfectly, so a season 4 would struggle against the feeling in the audience that it was tacked on. As mentioned earlier, our season 4 finale is nowhere near as epic as season 3, but perhaps it could work on its smaller scale. Therefore, we need strong character to work to make up for our smaller scale conflict.

This turned out to be a long but fun "what if" theorization. Thank you, anon!

[littlegingermochipie]

anastasia au / アナスタシアバージョン zukaang week 2021 day four | ba sing se season 2 au / 平行宇宙

aang woke up under the control of dai li, while zuko and iroh lived in ba sing se three years after banishment. set as canon divergent version before crossroads of destiny. more of this story below the cut!

excuse my fuzzy brain for incoming plotholes maybe hehe yeah wow i love impulsiveness. anyway yeah sozin comet ain't comin until like, 120 AG-ish

zuko and iroh stopped searching for the avatar and peacefully worked under quon's patronage at ba sing se.

fortunately, due to their successful tea business, they found better access to knowledge of the avatar, as well as various air nomad's relics and textual informations. they decided to keep everything at their secret warehouse, hiring bands of thugs to keep it safe.

unbeknownst to iroh and zuko, four years before they lived as refugees, dai li was the first one to find aang in his iceberg state near eastern air temple.

hundred years ago, aang briefly fought against fire nation army at the temple alongside pathik, gyatso, the nuns, and several young monks. he was saved by pathik from dire situation by getting thrown into the ocean.

long feng planned to raise the boy as their secret weapon so earth kingdom could rise, taking down the fire nation.

upon woken up, aang was hypnotized, and could only remember that he's an orphan named liu jun, born as earthbender.

he was told that the markings on his skin was a curse since birth by angered spirits, and to never let other people see it or they'll be facing the consequences of his misfortune.

he lived like a bird in a cage under long feng's watch and the head of dai li's tutelage. for six years long, he felt horribly stressed.

one day, aang finally found a way to get out of his residence by tricking the caretakers, sneaking and riding on earth kingdom's logistic vehicles.

once he's out of the food supply cart, he found and saved momo from being sold by black market thugs in the lower ring. there, he stumbled upon zuko and iroh's secret warehouse.

zuko was mad for the intrusion, but quickly realized something about the boy's appearance. iroh, however, noticed that this liu jun has upper class upbringing, and concluded that he's one of the rebel child who wanted the taste of outer walls.

zuko just blatantly state the obvious; "kid, you really, really look like the avatar in that painting," but aang was like, "who's avatar?" and ended up being educated about hundred years war history.

aang felt shocked by the tattoos he saw on the painting. still, he quickly dismissed the idea that he might be a living airbender, since their tattoo was supposed to be a sign of mastery, not a curse like long feng said. he didn't tell this to iroh and zuko, yet.

"aish, you must be mad for ever thinking i'm the avatar. he should be an old man by now! i'm afraid of being near fire or under the water for too long, and i dislike being in cramped spaces with damp air. how am i supposed to bend those elements?" (those are also the mental issues resulted by long feng's braingwashing, ofc)

either way, he needed to hide from long feng. aang quickly sealed the deal to iroh's offer who gave him the chance to help their tea shop in the meantime. well, anything but being under dai li's supervision works.

for a week of working together, zuko had noticed a lot of strange things in aang; like how he could easily play kangling (air nomad's bone flute), how his footsteps were so light he almost can never be heard walking, and how he never want to bathe and get dressed with other people nearby.

in the hunt for aang, long feng sent royal guards to every corner of earth kingdom territory. finally, they found aang at the warehouse. chaotic pursuit ensues. iroh and zuko managed to save him—at the price of being labeled as criminals.

with the help of june, iroh and zuko found their way to their old ship and crews. they brought aang there, and asked who he actually was since he's so important for the dai li.

from zuko and iroh's research, the only living people who could confirm the avatar's identity was bumi, who's in omashu, and the temple sages. too much risk for those, ofc, so they opted to go to the empty eastern air temple for more hints.

there, they met pathik, who went, "monkey feathers! aang, is that you?" to which aang replied, "nah, i'm liu jun." and pathik's like, "but i can sense your avatar spirit! and-and your tattoos, let me look at it!" but aang was so, so afraid of showing it.

then, by nudging his inner ki, pathik managed to trigger the avatar state out of aang, causing him to remember everything, including his airbending ability.

zuko and iroh be like, "well, shit, he's really the avatar," and their journey went rather hellish from that, with both zhao's fleet and the dai li on their tail.

after being informed by pathik that he had bonded with an air bison named appa, aang wished he could find him, since appa's the only family that might remain alive with him in this world. zuko promised that they would find appa.

under the pretense of companionship, zuko secretly plotted to give aang to ozai, while he and iroh helped the boy to master four elements by travelling around the world.

feelings were hindering him on the way, though. months of travelling together did that. "i think we could be good friends, even in another lifetime, if not a hundred years ago." oof, aang.

just like dimitri and anastasia, zukaang had deep bonding session at the boat with their dancing dragon and firebending lessons. iroh did smile knowingly at them.

betrayal slapped hard when aang found out about zuko's actual plan during their fight against zhao at north pole, who revealed with, "you befriend this dishonored prince, avatar? all he wanted to do was to send you to the fire lord as a nicely wrapped gift! this was all a ploy to earn your trust, to take you down by knowing your exact blind spots! you are merely a tool for him to regain his former identity!"

ouch. they got separated from there. aang then teamed up with the eventually formed gaang at the other side of the world, while zuko getting scolded by iroh, "you don't only lose someone that you care about, but the hope of the whole world! your hope! hadn't the past three years taught you something? hunger for power only bring despair to you!"

both once separated parties then reunited with the crossroads episode. aang ended up dead, katara swore to finish the fire siblings off, and zuko went absolutely mad, drowned in grief.

it's up to zuko now, to actually fulfill his promises; from finding appa to saving the world from his father—all without knowing that katara could revive aang. angst angst angst, final boss, zukaang banging then everyone lived happily ever after ♥

the musical scores would be:

a rumour in ba sing se

once upon an agrahāyana

caldera holds the key to your heart

learn to wield it

learn to wield it (dancing dragon reprise)

in the dark of the moonless night

feels great to finally manifest this draft of zukaang anastasia au for @zukaangweek uwu

[forever-rogue]

Hi! Wondering if you’re gonna be taking prompts from the 360 you posted. If you are would you be able to do 36 and 54 with Din? Would love to see those with him!

Prompts used: 36. "Does he know about the baby?"

54. "H-how long have you been standing there?"

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: pregnant reader

THE MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Boba?” you reached for the Mandalorian’s arm and stopped him from going any further into his new hold. You wondered, for an amused fraction of a second, if you should attempt to address him as King Boba, just to get a rouse out of him. But the severity, the harsh reality of your current predicament placated any desire to do so. Fett turned to face you, pulling his helmet off so he could see you properly, “might I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course,” he set the helmet down on the aging wooden table as you inhaled and exhaled slowly, “what’s wrong, little one?”

“I was wondering...once you and Fennec are settled and Din plans on leaving,” you found the ground intriguing as you studied the worn soles of your shoes before continuing on, “might I stay on? With the two of you? I-I know I’m not as skilled as either of you, but I swear I’ll pull my weight and do as much as I can - whatever you desire. I would just like to stay here.”

Boba paused for a moment as he looked you over and contemplated what you had asked him. He had no issue with you staying on, absolutely none, knowing you were both capable and a quick learner. It was the reason behind the sudden request that caused him to consider his words. As he watched you, and you grew increasingly nervous, a single tear, one of nerves and worry rolled down her cheek and fell to the sandy ground. 

“Of course you can stay,” his hand went to your shoulder as he delicately squeezed it in a sign of reassurance, “make sure your Mandalorian knows of your plan. It would be a great shock for him to be blindsided.”

“Yes.”

“Does he know about the baby?” he chanced his question, although he was sure he wasn’t too far off the mark. While he had no children of his own, he’d been around enough women to know when someone fell pregnant. Maybe the bounty hunter was extra perceptive, maybe it was a trait of the Mandalorians to all be nurturing and familial, but from the look on your face, he knew he was right on money. 

“How did you...I haven’t told anyone,” your eyes were wide with worry as you looked around to make sure no one had heard Boba. If Din were to ever find out, this would be the last way you wanted him to do so, “I-I found out two months ago and I just...I don’t know what to do. I’m scared and nervous and worried. I can’t just tell him - he’s got too much going on to worry about something else. I can’t do that to him.”

“You think it is a better idea to never tell him about his child and take away any decision he has in this?” ever the level headed negotiator, Boba had a point. Your lips pulled into a frown as you shrugged your shoulders, “he deserves to know. Whatever decision he makes after that is up to him. It will tell you his true measure, although I am sure that is already quite apparent.”

“Boba, he’s the Mand’alor now,” you reached for his arm and held it tightly in your grasp, “I-I can’t have him worry about a silly thing like this. Especially not after...Grogu.”

“Tell me then, just what do you plan on doing with the babe?” it was a fair question to ask, and one you really needed to think about. The baby was going to come one way or another, so you would need a plan as quickly as possible, “were you going to have it and hide it? Hand it off to someone else? Raise it on your own and expect that he would never find out? He is your riduur-”

“And he is the Mandalorian and the Mand’alor,” you grew frustrated, not with Boba but with yourself. You knew he was right, you knew that you needed to tell Din but… it wasn’t that simple, “I can’t hold him back with a baby.”

“Suppose you don’t tell him,” Boba held up a hand for a moment as a musing glint entered his eye, “suppose you remain here and have ths child. Do you think he’s never going to come back to see you? Or for business? It would be awfully suspicious if he came in three or four months and found you round with child. It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together. It would be a greater pain, I think, if you were not to say anything and he came back to find the truth. You owe him at least some honesty.”

“You’re right,” you confessed quietly, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, “of course you are. I’m scared, Boba. I don’t want him to be angry and hate me or the baby. I don’t want to hold him back either. I want him to be happy…”

“He’d be a lot happier if you’d come to him with this first,” the voice startled you to your core as you realized exactly who it was. Swallowing the lump in your throat, your eyes widened in worry as Boba offered you an encouraging nod. Turning on your heel, you found Din watching both of you with intent; his expression was almost unreadable as your hands started to tremble.

“How long have you been standing there?” what a stupid question from a stupid girl.

“Long enough,” his voice was pointedly neutral as you nodded in understanding, “I think we need to talk.”

“Yes,” you agreed as you shuffled over to him, preparing yourself for the worst. 

Din was silent as he led you back to the quarters that served as your temporary home while you’d helped Boba and Fennec settle into their new roles. You followed close behind and swallowed the lump in your throat as he sealed the door. 

“It is it true?” he asked softly as his gaze shifted to your belly; there was still no evidence of your pregnancy just yet. But soon enough there would be, “you’re with child?”

“Yes,” you admitted, a hand slowly coming to rest on your belly, “I am. I found out…”

“Two months ago,” he finished for you as you nodded, “and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I was scared and nervous, Din!”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked softly as you refused to meet his eyes, “Cyare?”

“I wanted to,” you whispered, “I planned on it-”

“When?!”

“Eventually,” you’d seen your husband angry before, but never quite like this...never at you, “I was scared and I panicked and there was so much happening at once.”

“You were scared?” he asked as you nodded. Din stepped closer and stopped in front of you, looking at you curiously as he realized just how hard this was for you as well, “were you scared of me?”

“No,” you grabbed his hand and quickly cut him off, “never of you. It was just everything all at once. With losing...him, everything with the Mandalorians and Boba and Fennec. There could not have been a worse time for this to happen. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“You’re sorry?” a look of confusion marred his features as his eyes softened and crinkled in the corner, “whatever are you sorry for? In case you forgot, this didn’t happen just because of you. It takes two...nothing in life seems to go to plan, but that doesn’t mean this doesn’t have to work out, Cyare. You are my riduur and that is our child.”

A large hand found your belly as he pulled you into him, wasting no precious time before he wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back, just as tightly, just as fiercely, clinging onto him like it was the only thing in life that mattered, “I should have told you sooner, please forgive me, Din. I should have come to you first…”

“I’m glad I found out,” he whispered as he pressed gentle kisses to the side of your head before pulling back and cradling your face in his hands, “before something else happened or we were separated. I’m not mad, I’m happy - really happy. It doesn’t matter that the timing isn’t perfect or we’re in a different situation than we thought we might be. I’m happy, Cyare. I love you beyond measure, and that includes our whole family - Grogu, and whatever other children we’ll have.”

“Yeah?” you asked softly, barely above a whisper as he pressed his forehead against yours, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he agreed, “I hold you in my heart forever - you are my home, my heart, my family. We’ll figure this out together, I swear. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything, Din.”

“Don’t stay here,” he pressed a kiss to your lips, “stay with me.”

“Yes,” your smiled against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

[beifongsss]

Being Zuko’s S/O

Pairing: Zuko x reader

Requested?: Yes! By an amazing anon! “being zuko’s s/o would include hcs ?”

let’s jump right in.

i didn’t really like this :( but i hope y’all enjoy it. i might go back and write another similar hc down the line.

.masterlist.

~

y’all meet for the first time in ba sing se

it’s sort of like a jin situation where you come in to the tea shop constantly

iroh totally knows you have a crush on his nephew

he always makes him serve your table

you flirt but poor baby doesn’t know what flirting is

you try to be straightforward and tell him that he’s cute or that he looks nice that day

zuko lee doesn’t know how to reply and you always leave him a stuttering mess

you stop coming in for some days and zuko finds himself being sad

he totally misses you

unbeknownst to him you have been helping out the avatar while the gaang is in ba sing se

sorry i’m a sucker for the lovers on opposite sides of the issue trope

a few days later you walk in and you’re sort of bruised up from a mishap that occurred

no surprise there

zuko is low key worried and tries to find a subtle way to ask if you’re okay

“are you worried about me lee?”

“n-no why would i be worried about you?”

he totally is

after a few days you stop showing up again

but zuko doesn’t have time to worry about it because that’s when he gets captured by azula

you aren’t there for the battle in the catacombs, too busy making sure that Sokka and Toph aren’t doing anything dumb

of course, they are

but y’all save the earth king and bosco and mai lets you go so it’s all good

you and lee, who you later find out is zuko, don’t fully start to bond until ember island

feelings start to emerge but you’re all a little worried about sozin’s comet

before leaving to fight azula, he kisses you

“what was that for?”

“i just needed you to know that i kinda like you.”

“well i kinda like you too lee.”

you pull him into another kiss before telling him that he owes you a date when the whole thing is over

he does indeed take you on a date to the jasmine dragon

iroh is so proud of his nephew for finally getting the balls to ask you out

he asks you to be his girlfriend that same night, not wanting to waste any more time being without you

y’all are the cutest couple hands down

he’s protective of course, but he knows you can take care of yourself

(he still makes sure the palace guards follow you everywhere)

((and yes, i mean everywhere))

both sokka and suki flirt with you

they like to get a rise out of the new fire lord

you always chastise them but make sure to throw a few flirty remarks back

zuko gets jealous way too easily

but it’s because he really loves you and he’s afraid of losing you because he’s made so many mistakes and how did he ever get you to go out with him??

he’s also pretty insecure, especially about his scar

but you love him and you always reminds him that his scar isn’t ugly

if anything, it shows just how much he grew and prospered and chose his own destiny in life

and you love it

you’re the only one who can convince him to take a break from his fire lord duties

so the gaang relies on you a lot to make sure zuko is staying healthy

you make sure he isn’t overworking himself

when you notice him getting real tired you try to distract him

“zuko come cuddle me!”

“I’m busy (Y/N)”

you break out the puppy dog eyes

he gives in way too quickly

he doesn’t want to upset you

little does he know you’re only doing that because you wanna make sure he’s getting enough rest

zuko takes you out on a lot of dates

but your favorites are the ones spent by the palace garden’s pond

y’all feed the turtle ducks

he’s so soft when it’s just you and him, telling you stories of his childhood

he likes to stare at you a lot too

“zuko stop staring at me”

“i can’t”

he then swoops in for a kiss and you can’t help but blush because wow

zuko’s a great kisser. fight me.

he holds on to you super tight because as stated before, he’s afraid of losing you

you don’t mind because you just love being in his arms

as the time goes on he becomes so much better at flirting

his favorite past time is making you blush

he succeeds 89% of the time

you’re also zuko’s number one advisor

he gets a lot of criticism bc his s/o is his advisor

your suggestions work 99% of the time

that shuts everyone up

zuko rarely ever lets you sleep in your own room

he loves sleeping with you in his arms

or he loves sleeping wrapped up in your arms

he’s not picky

overall, you’re the person that makes him the happiest

and he never lets you forget it

because he just loves you that much

~

i forgot i had a taglist omg im sorry

@mywigglybaby​, @bubblebars​, @musicalkeys

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

I really liked reading your fics of Lotor watching movies! Do you think Lotor would like watching Atlantis or lilo and stitch? And who would he watch them with? (Hopefully either Allura or Pidge)

Movie Time with TSL Lotor – Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)

It was a cold and rainy morning on the planet of Olkarion, with an emaciated Galran prince swaddled in blankets on the floor of the paladin’s lounge room. Lotor still wore his night robe and Earth-fashion pajamas, his white hair disheveled from sleep. He yawned. His face pulled tight with his harvesting scars, and his long fangs gleamed in the lamplight. He tiredly scratched at his cheek. “Why did you wake me so early, little one?”

Across the room, a pajama-clad Pidge sat cross-legged, plugging in a few cables. “Because. It’s Saturday.”

The bleary-eyed man blinked. “I know not what a Saturday is.”

She looked up, readjusting her glasses. “It’s the day where people get up to eat cereal and binge-watch cartoons. Like a tradition. My brother and I used to do this all the time. And sometimes my dad too, but he slept in a lot.” Her face twisted in a pout. “And everyone here sleeps in for, like, ever.”

“Even the princess?”

“Even the princess.”

Lotor’s gaze slid to the container of milk, courtesy of Kaltenecker, and then to the sacred box of—he narrowed his gaze curiously—frosted cheerios. Pidge had procured two bowls and two little spoons. He raised his nose and sniffed delicately. The box smelled of sweetness and grains, and saliva swarmed through his mouth in anticipation of food. Beneath the blankets, he scratched at his stomach. Wakefulness began to seep through him at the thought of eating and watching more animated drawings from Earth. “You wish to share in this…tradition with me, then?”

“You were sleeping out here on the couch,” Pidge deadpanned, giving him a look, “so you were gonna share in it no matter what.” A small emotion came over her. She glanced down, returning to connecting the cables. “And my brother’s still off-planet, so you’ll have to do.”

He huffed in amusement. “I am a companion of convenience, then. A replacement brother.”

“Yeah, something like that.” She began to scoot away from the cables, grabbing for her cereal bowl.

Lotor quirked a brow. His blanket shifted around him as he picked up the remaining bowl, mimicking her actions. “What is the topic of today’s entertainment adventure?” He watched curiously as she dumped cereal into her bowl and filled it with milk. And then he followed in kind, hesitantly dipping his spoon into the concoction and biting down.

His slit pupils dilated at the sweet taste.

His fangs crunched down loudly.

Pidge munched more quietly, but her lips stretched as she moved to turn on the movie. “It’s called Atlantis: The Lost Empire.”

Lotor’s elfin ears flicked in interest. “Lost empire?” he repeated curiously, voice muffled by cereal.

As the movie began to play, Pidge’s face brightened. “The whole movie involves an old human legend, about this advanced civilization that sunk under the sea in a sudden cataclysm.”

“Fascinating.” His explorer’s heart lifted in excitement, the sleeping disappearing fully from his eyes. In that moment, it did not matter to him that he was 10,000 years old or watching something that was most assuredly meant for children and families. “Does the legend have any form of validity?”

“Well, being mentioned by Plato, who was a real philosopher—” she pointed to the screen to the opening quote—“has made people search all over for it. But so far, nothing’s proven because there’s a lot of sunken cities on Earth.” She paused. “The movie definitely takes some creative license with ancient human tech, too. Like, ancient humans did not fly in fish ships.”

“I see.” Lotor crunched down happily on the cereal, eyes wide. The screen brightened with the cartoon colors of human animation. Strange, fish-like planes streaked through a blue sky in a panic. Lotor instinctively leaned along with the framing of the movie, as if he were on the ships as well. “Calamity is rather fun to indulge in when it’s not real.”

“I know, right?” Pidge grabbed onto her blanket, wrapping it around her.

And the two remained sitting on the floor of the great lounge, increasingly lost in the tale of Atlantis.

***

It was at some point after Milo Thatch’s introduction that Lotor hesitantly spoke up, his voice catching oddly. “This animation.” He tried again. “I thought you said once that humans were unaware of the planet Altea.”

Pidge pushed up her glasses, still cradling her cereal bowl in her lap. “Yep. Didn’t know about it at all.”

Lotor puzzled at the screen. He hummed, setting his cereal bowl down on his lap. “This Atlantis bears significant similarities to Altean technology and to its people, down to being significantly advanced even ten-thousand years ago.”

The human girl blinked. And then her face twisted in a mischief. “Oh, yeah. It might have more similarities than you think.” She began to waggle her bows. “Including to a certain Altean princess.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Also, you kinda remind me of Milo,” she declared. “Just saying.”

His eyes slit further in consternation, for at that moment, the somewhat bumbling but intelligent character of Milo Thatch was sitting in a water puddle after his museum colleagues rejected his proposal. For good measure, Lotor crunched down on another bite of cereal. “I may enjoy ancient history,” he declared, voice muffled, “but I am not as scrawny as he.”

Pidge poked him hard in his ribs, which still jutted out beneath his sleeping robe. “You’re right. You’re scrawnier.”

Lotor flinched away, shooting her a playfully dark glare. “A temporary consequence of being harvested by the witch. I will reclaim my health, and then you will regret making fun of me so.”

Her face split in a wicked smile. “Nah. You’re definitely Milo. Muscle can’t hide that you’re a nerd.”

He sputtered, waving his cereal spoon. “And what of you? With your books and codes. And cat memes.”

“Oh, I’m a nerd,” she declared. “I just own it proudly.”

The fallen prince ate of his cereal in a light disgruntlement. He watched Milo as the character awkwardly stumbled through meeting a busty blond human woman and then a spastic old man in a bathrobe—his objective always set on discovering the secrets of Atlantis and its sources of power.

Milo Thatch owned a cat too.

Lotor’s face began to heat in realization that he did have a lot in common with this strange human man.

***

By the time the character Milo Thatch met the Princess Kida of Atlantis, a real princess had sleepily trailed into the movie room. Allura’s long, pink robes slipped against the tiles of the halls, her curls a tumble down her shoulders. She yawned and proceeded to stumble her way over to Lotor and Pidge.

With little preamble, she flopped over them.

Pidge barely managed to raise her bowl of frosted cheerios in time, squawking. Lotor froze entirely as Allura’s white curls spilled across his lap—her warm cheek leaning against his leg.

“It’s too early for movies,” the princess whined lightly. She snuggled against him and wiggled a bit to get comfortable, laying across two bodies. “I could hear the sound all the way from my room.” Lotor’s attention split from the animated Princess Kida to the living, breathing princess in his lap. His elfin ears flicked back, and his sharp cheeks heated.

Pidge grumped and tried to shove her off.

The princess did not budge, save for a grump right back.

Lotor had long finished off his bowl of frosted cheerios—leaving not even a drop of milk in his wake. But he carefully pushed the bowl further away, in fear that her hair would end up in it. “We are watching Atlantis: The Lost Empire,” he murmured to her, voice straining. “Would you not like to watch it with us?”

Allura made a noncommittal noise, appearing to fall back asleep, the lines in her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled deeply. The action suggested she had grown to trust him a great deal, for the back of her neck lay bare where her hair had parted.

Lotor swallowed hard.

He turned to look at Pidge, who had sighed and given up trying to push Allura off—instead, she’d moved to accept Allura’s robe as something of a blanket and had rested her arms over the back of the princess’s legs.

Lotor hesitated, knowing that the paladins often piled upon each other as a means of displaying familial affection.

As Milo Thatch moved to swim alongside Princess Kida in search of the Heart of Atlantis, Lotor moved to brush his fingers against the waves of Allura’s curls.

It was a soft, hesitant action—testing the waters of her trust. She made a soft noise in response, her lips sleepily stretching. Her elfin ear flicked lightly as the calloused pads of his fingers ran over it. The action itself meant things to Alteans and Galrans, for only family and lovers touched one’s ears.

The princess nuzzled against him.

His heart skipped. Careful of his claws, he continued to toy with her hair as he turned his attention back to the movie, in which Milo’s very interest in Atlantis had now endangered the Royal Atlantean family.

Lotor bit his lip, feeling a great protectiveness for Allura wash over him.

***

The movie indicated that Atlanteans received their power from a great, sentient crystal—the animation of which was not unlike pure quintessence.

“Do you think,” Lotor asked quietly to Pidge, “that it is possible your Atlantis was real, and that some piece of a quintessence-rich substance—a comet, perhaps—landed upon your Earth?”

Pidge looked over at him, readjusting her glasses in interest. “I suppose it would be possible, but you’re suggesting then that Atlantis is real. And that the power in this movie is real.”

“How do you know it isn’t?”

“What would you do with it?” she challenged right back, raising a brow. “You got plans for that power or something?”

The fallen prince made a face. He was still absentmindedly running his claws through Princess Allura’s hair. “No. I simply fear that concentrated sources of quintessence may have this effect in our world—that it bonds to a host and…overtakes them, somehow.” His white brows knitted together. “As it did my own mother, who has been lost to quintessence, and a demon has taken her place.”

Pidge’s gaze fell to Lotor’s hand, which ran along the tip of Princess Allura’s ear. The princess herself was fully asleep against him, her mouth open with a trail of drool slipping against Lotor’s pajama-clad leg.

The girl’s face curled with a sneaky smile. “You’re worried about Allura? Afraid you’re gonna lose her over something, because you loveher?”

Lotor’s eyes snapped to Pidge, his face heating. “I know she has successfully navigated Oriande, but…” He fell silent with emotion for a time before he could add, “My mother came across something of great power, and it changed her.”

The strain in his voice made Pidge’s mischievous smile falter. She hesitated.

The movie played between them as the animated humans fought to steal Kida, who was bonded to the crystal.

Pidge eventually said, voice softer, “Allura’s really powerful. We’re not gonna lose her over anything.”

Lotor’s throat tightened. He continued to stroke Allura’s hair as she slept against him. “You do not know what I have seen quintessence do to people. Even now, if certain groups knew what all Princess Allura could do, they would seek to control her, just as the evil humans in this cartoon wish to do with the crystal-bonded Kida.”

An emotion came over Pidge. “Well—I mean, we wouldn’t let that happen.”

Within the movie, Milo Thatch had accrued a small band willing to risk their lives to retrieve the princess.

Lotor watched, his heart rising in a pound. “Do tell me that they save her,” he demanded. “I will not watch the rest of this if the Princess Kida dies.”

The human girl gave him a look. “It’s a children’s cartoon. They’re not gonna kill off the princess.”

His breath caught oddly, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing. He pulled his hand away from Allura’s hair. “Right, yes. Of course, they wouldn’t.” He breathed out slowly. “That is well.”

“You take these shows too seriously,” Pidge warned. “Half the fun is knowing that it turns out okay, but not knowing how. You just gotta watch.”

“And Princess Kida?” Lotor demanded. “She is not permanently bonded to the crystal by the end, is she?”

Pidge groaned. “Oh my god. Just watch the movie.”

The princess suddenly whined at the loss of Lotor’s touch, her blue eyes cracking open. “No,” she pleaded blearily. She disjointedly reached up, searching for Lotor’s hand. “Keep petting me; it was quite nice.”

He looked down at her, face tightening in a mix of amusement and protectiveness. “Apologies, princess,” he said, moving to run the back of his knuckles against her warm temple. “I will do as you wish.”

She made a happy noise, settling back into sleep.

***

Lotor did not relax until after Milo Thatch had released Princess Kida from her prison, and until after Princess Kida had saved Atlantis and reappeared from out of the crystal’s aura—to land in Milo’s arms.

“You see?” Pidge called, waving her hand at the screen. “What did I tell you?”

Lotor swallowed down emotion. His fingers stilled against Allura’s stiff curls and the warm of her cheek. Despite the fact that he knew the story to be a children’s fairy tale, an odd burn appeared in his eyes. He exhaled shakily. “You were right,” he relented. “The princess lived.”

“Exactly,” Pidge said. For all her youth, she narrowed her eyes with a critical level of awareness. “They saved the princess. Because she had people to fight for her too.”

He raised his vulnerable eyes to her.

An unspoken truth wavered between them—which was that he and the paladins would fight to protect Princess Allura in much the same way, if it ever came to it.

Then, Pidge broke the mood, her expression shifting with a demonic mischief. She waggled her brows. “You love Princess Allura.” She began to shove at Allura’s legs. “Wake up. Lotor wants to declare his undying love for you and tell you that he’ll save you from crystals and evil people and—”

“—Stop it,” he hissed, his cheeks heating. He grabbed for one of the extra pillows that hung off the edge of the couch—and he flung it directly at Pidge. “You gremlin.”

It struck her soundly, but it did not hide her cackle, nor did it stop Princess Allura waking up from all the unsettled movement and raised voices. Her eyes opened a slit. She made a noise of confusion. “What is—going…on?”

She sleepily raised up from Lotor’s lap, her white curls tumbling down her shoulders.

Pidge opened her mouth to respond with a tease, but Lotor smoothly cut in. “Pidge was just putting in another movie,” he said, voice straining. “Weren’t you, Pidge?”

Allura turned to him, still rapidly blinking her eyes. In that moment, she appeared so entirely vulnerable that Lotor struggled against an instinct to gather her into his arms. “Oh, another one?” She yawned. “But I think—I missed all of this one.”

The human girl crawled away, reaching for her watch with her movie collection on it. “Don’t worry,” she called merrily. “I’m sure Lotor wouldn’t mind reenacting it with you one day.”

“I should hope not,” he retorted, his lavender cheeks still in a flame of emotion. “I’d prefer the princess not be in danger at all. And I am not a Milo Thatch.”

“You are definitely a Milo Thatch,” Pidge deadpanned. “Allura, tell him he’s a Milo Thatch. You know he is.”

The sleepy princess only half-understand the plea. She rubbed at her eyes before leaning back against Lotor, resting her heavy cheek against his shoulder, curling up against him. “He’s—my Milo,” she murmured groggily. “Thatch.”

Lotor pressed his lips together, and he damned the skip of his heart.

Allura’s Milo.

He managed a glare at Pidge, but it lacked fire.

The human girl simply smiled back with that demonic mischief before turning away to look for another movie.

[poptod]

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 11, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Thunder for the God.

Notes: this is it! the final chapter. I wanna say thank you to a few people cause I rarely ever respond to comments directly, mostly cause i never know what to say, but @diasimar, @edteche2, @moon-stars-soul, @crewman-penelope, @hah0106, thank you so fuckin much for your comments!! it really kept me going while i was working and really motivated me. im rly worried this last chapter is gonna disappoint but i gotta post it at some point! WC: 1.7k

+

A feast was held. Of course it was––the only way Egyptians knew how to celebrate was with plenty of food, plenty of booze, and lots of sex. Already people wrote songs of your exploits, performing them as they waited for you and Ahk to appear in the courtroom now filled to the brim with the people of Memphis. Clashing drums and lutes accompanied by harps and singing voices all came from behind the walls, but the room Ahk prepared himself in remained mostly quiet, occupied only by you and himself. Piye was busy tending to the citizens with the help of Gyasi, who offered his services in helping the now-blind vizier.

"I never thought to see this day," Ahk said softly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His outfit, which had taken about an hour to get on (plus makeup), left him the striking image of the Pharaoh you had first met––drowned in gold, in gemstones, reeking of rich, spoiled tastes.

"What, that you'd be attending a party in your own honor?" You asked with a chuckle.

"No," he said, turning to you, "I didn't think I'd see you willingly stand beside me."

"I didn't either. I hated you."

"Rightfully so," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, again, for how I treated you."

"You could've been a lot nicer while kidnapping me."

"I know. But you're happy now... right?"

"Yes," you said, grinning. "What would you do if I wasn't?"

"Abandon everything," he said with a careless shrug. "Run away with you. Leave it all behind."

"Even with a feast outside those doors?" You asked as you stepped closer. He took advantage of that, pulling you in by your waist and smiling when your chests met.

"Well, I might have to go to that first. But afterwards, I would go anywhere for you. Do anything. You are mine, now," he said, growing soft as his lips brushed against your temple, "and I have fought long to prove it."

"I think you belong to me more than I belong to you," you chuckled.

"Perhaps you're right," he said, swaying with you to the muted tunes of harpstrings. "I don't mind either way as long as you love me."

"I do," you mumbled.

"Say it," he said, parting from you to look you in the eye. His hand came up to your face, stroking the soft skin of your cheek as he gazed into you, searching for words he had longed for all this time. "Please."

"I love you, Ahk."

There he went again––tears down his face, dripping into and caught by the smile that spread across his rosy lips. He leant in to kiss you, still wet with those salty tears, but you happily returned his affections.

Until his kiss grew deep, devolving into him biting at your neck again, pressing himself against your body till your back inevitably hit a wall. He sandwiched you there, running his hands from your chest to your hips and back up to your face.

"Now then, your people wait for you. Don't disappoint them by not showing up," you warned him, but there was little resolve in your tone, already torn up by the blush pervading your cheeks.

"I'll be quick," he muttered against your skin, followed by a laugh when you groaned.

"But you can also do this later, when you can take your time," you said, but couldn't stop yourself from smiling even as you tried to push him away.

"I can do it twice."

"Ahk!"

"Call my name again, love," he said, drawing away from you with a shit-eating grin.

"We can do this after," you said as you fully pushed him away. "Even during, depending how the evening goes."

"I like how you think," Ahk said, offering his hand to you with a cocked chin raised high. "Ready to go?"

You nodded.

The doors before you opened, and a short walk up to the throne led you to overlook the crowd, scanning over every citizen's face whose eyes fell to you. Without a word spoken from you or Ahk, silence fell in the hall crowded past the brim. Torches flanked either side of the long room, illuminating the moving heads, as well as marking the searing smoke of meat and the plates of food presented out on the many tables.

It was not unlike the feast for Amun, but this time the only human images standing on a podium were you and Ahk. No more golden statues. Now what remained was the Pharaoh in all his glory, glowing as though blessed with an ethereal light, sheer silk with sewn gold cascading from him like a comet trailing the sky.

Once most everyone's attention was on the Pharaoh, he spoke.

"I know that much of my rule has not been through peaceful times," he said, meeting the eyes of every listener. "I thank you all for your patience with me. We have seen the rising of my brother's empire, and it has ended in ruin––we have seen the death of three Pharaohs, myself included."

A quiet laugh murmured through the crowd. Out of the corner of your eye, you spied Piye sticking to the wall by themself. You jogged over, whispering a beckoning, before taking their hand and personally leading them up the pedestal.

"I am sure you have all heard of what I've done. The events that have come to pass. Whether or not you have the whole of the story, or any true part of the story, is what worries me. I want all of you to know why I did what I did––why, exactly, I am not a heretic. You deserve that much."

Ahk spoke as though conversing with an old friend, something you were sure made his approval rating amongst the populace skyrocket. He continued that tone of voice, that familiarity, as he recounted the long events of the past few months, from your appearance in the castle (which he labelled as a gift from the Gods), to Ma'at herself locking Amun into the sky. They all listened closely, believing every word of their loving Pharaoh.

"I did what I did to protect myself, my people, and my friends. They were necessary evils. But now I have Ma'at's blessing, and I take my rightful place as your Pharaoh," he said with a growing confidence that boomed in his projected voice. "I am Ra's Son once more."

An eruption of cheers and shouts burst your ears, and you grinned from ear to ear, glancing to your side to watch for Ahk's reaction. He was smiling as well, prideful as he deserved. Piye held their own small smile as well.

Instruments came back in full swing, humming and thrumming with the vibrations of the tall chamber. Though at first they were the melodies of many songs, playing one after the other without pause, they converged into a tune that filled your head, seeping into the thoughts of every listener. You paid little attention to the words they sang in perfect harmonies till a word caught your attention––your name. Looking out across the citizens of Memphis, of Kemet, you realized they were singing about you.

The fire that reigns on the burning King will never yield to the sword! The spells that remain pour down in the rain as the Nile boils in the sea

What wonders they bring! This thunder for the God, Amoke and the hundreds that sing the name of the God, Amoke

Pray to the earth for a saving grace As the magi searches the planes The dead, they seek The living antique a God of his own who can't rest on his throne Call to the name of the holy

We sing to thee! Sunset for the God, Amoke Sing praise for thee! Thunder for the God, Amoke Thunder for the God, Amoke! The beauty of the God, Amoke!

Your mouth hung open as you watched them sing, ignorant to Ahk, who was now smiling at your shocked expression.

"... and so will you be remembered," Ahk murmured, his arms wrapping around you as he came up behind you. "A God for all of time.”

“My Amoke."

~+~

You had access to great temples––to places of worship hundreds of years old, intricately detailed spells shown on every wall, bases of golden statues littered with flowers and offerings. Instead you stuck to your tiny altar, hidden away in one of the smaller storage rooms not in use. Ahk didn't quite understand it, but he allowed it happily, and left you alone to your devices.

The only item standing on your altar was a tiny statuette in the form of Mahjur. If Ahk found out that was who you were praying to, you weren't sure what he'd do, so for the time being you kept it secret. Besides that, it was nothing more than a table you set incense and tiny plates of food and water on.

It was the only light in the room––the tiny rushlight, the lit incense drawing smoke into the air. Layers of it fell above your head, knelt low in respect of the God who had helped you.

Physical feeling fell away, and in that moment, your forehead pressed to the table, you realized the many prayers you'd sent into the stranger of an underworld were being answered at last.

A single, high note rang in your head as the image of open, glowing eyes pierced your thoughts.

"Is Ahk ssssafe?" They asked in a whisper in your head that you could barely hear.

Yes, you thought, keeping your eyes closed to maintain the connection.

"... you haavvvvve.. other questionss... correct?"

Amun is an all-powerful God, yes?

"Yes."

How did we escape him? How did we hide away? Why did he not pluck me from the sky? How did we survive the ire of a creator God?

"Ahk hasss cccertain experiencess... with Gods. He issss ssssmart. He isss untraceable by annnny Gods' mmagggic."

How? You pleaded.

"He hass died annnnd come back. He issss... undead. No longer human. Nnnnot entirrrrely."

You swallowed thick, forcing yourself not to open your eyes from surprise.

And Piye?

"A mmmmagi. Invvvvissssible. Too... absorbed innn the world.. to see," they hummed, glowing eyes still probing your thoughts.

... and me?

There was silence for a moment, and the eyes blinked, but remained within your head.

"You... are not.. hhhhuman," they whispered.

Your eyes flew open.

What?

––––––

If you want to hear the song I wrote about in this story, I actually recorded it and you can find it here.

[abacus-and-paper-money]

Comet Theory Thursday: The Private & Fucked-Up Life of The House

[CONTENT WARNING! Today's analysis gets a little darker than normal, and there will be discussion of abuse/child abuse, manipulation, and similar topics. Please proceed with caution, and feel free to dip if things start getting too dark or something triggers you. ^^] It's no secret to anybody that the Bolkonsky household is incredibly fucked. I mean, they literally introduce themselves that way. "Andrey's family, totally messed up." But since today's vote was literally UNANIMOUS, and to make up for my inactivity because of finals this week, I thought that I'd do an extra-good and thorough job on this one. I've pulled out the off-broadway recordings, which I don't normally listen to, as extra evidence. Additionally, I've done some research on domestic abuse for some additional proof. Also, if you haven't already, please read the warning at the top of this post before continuing. Content under the cut! [Usual Disclaimer: This is an analysis of Great Comet and Great Comet!Bolkonskys, and does not include any canon from War & Peace. I consider them separate universes. :D Plus I haven't actually read War & Peace-]

Alrighty, welcome to the analysis! Let's just dive right in. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that everybody is kind of on the same page in the "OPB is an asshole, Mary is baby and deserves NONE of this shit," book. And, surprise surprise, that's exactly what I found more of. Not only is he an asshole, but it's to the point of emotional abuse. So, let's look at the symptoms of abuse and child abuse. According to Mayo Clinic (which is a very credible source, I did my research, guys) here are some symptoms of abuse/child abuse. I've written down here the ones that seem to be visible in Mary. These include: • Loss of self-confidence or self-esteem • Social withdrawl or a loss of interest or enthusiasm • Depression • Desperately seeks affection • Difficulty establishing or maintaining relationships • Challenges with intimacy and trust • Inability to cope with stress and frustrations • Seeming fearful • Seeming anxious to please the abuser And some characteristics of abusers/abusive relationships that I see in OPB & Mary (from Healthline, which is for the most part pretty reliable, minus the occasional pseudoscience article lmao): • Name-Calling • Sarcasm & Belittling • Threats • Orders • Walking out in social situations, and therefore leaving you with all the pressure • Trivializing & making excuses for their behavior • Interrupting • Cutting you off from others or society in general, directly or indirectly All of this sounds pretty damn familiar, right? "And I have no friends, no, never go anywhere," "Insolent girl!" "Bring me my slippers! Bring me my wine!" And from the Off-Broadway: "Silence!," etc. Okay, let's analyze more thoroughly, now that we have some basics down. Mary's anxiety and tension is through the roof from the minute we meet her. (Fun fact, costume designer Paloma Young said that the numerous buttons on Mary's dress represent her anxiety and the urge to fiddle) Mary's general personality and emotions are pretty easy to understand right away. Anxious, caring, socially awkward, and most of all, lonely. Which she talks about a lot. Which she wouldn't do, if it didn't bother her. She desperately wants a friend or a spouse, somebody to care about her. Though that latter is probably moreso the only way to escape her current predicament. "And I have no friends, no, never go anywhere," for example. We also have the line "Will I ever be happy? Will I ever be anyone's wife?" Which almost ties the two statements together, equating happiness with being somebody's wife, and therefore escaping her situation. So, if she's so desperate for somebody to be friends with, why does she judge Natasha so hastily? Well, there's a few reasons. First off, she knows her father doesn't like Natasha, and she's been conditioned her whole life to always agree with what he says. There's also Mary's intense jealousy of her. Natasha has always been adored by everyone, including Mary's own brother, who seems not to care about his sister very much. There's also the possibility that Mary just wants Natasha out as fast as possible, to avoid her father becoming angrier, which would most likely be taken out on her. It's also important to take into account that Mary probably doesn't know how to even MAKE friends, considering she's been cut off from society for so long. Her strained and anxious "oh. Oh hello. Won't you come in?" Conveys that pretty well. Then, we have the commanding. It's relatively normal for parents to tell their children to do things, but OPB is so fucking order-y about it, with the "Bring me my slippers!" and "Bring me my wine!" And shit. And even worse, the off-broadway recording includes "Silence! Silence!" And "You shut your damn mouth girl, Shut your damn mouth, I can hurt you!" Also found in the off-broadway recording, Mary says "He could beat me, or treat me like a dog. Make me fetch wood or water, and it's just how it is. Oh father, I love you father" OPB also has a tendency to make his daughter feel like she's the one at fault, or she's the one who's being bad to him, which is one

of the biggest characteristics of abuse. We have "This is just how it is, It's just how he is, I'm always to blame," and of course the "I disgust myself" from the end of the song. "This is just how he is," plays a significant role here, too. Mary's in a constant internal struggle between being angry at her father, and being angry at herself while she makes excuses for him like "He is a tired old man and must be forgiven." She tells herself that she's the one at fault here, no doubt because that's what she's always been told. "He is old and feeble, and I dare to judge him." On the other side of that, there's the anger that comes out occasionally. One of the most telling moments between Mary & OPB is the whole "I can hurt you" bit. OPB says it first, threatening her. (possibly something he's carried out before?) Then they both say it together, and then Mary's "but I never, ever, ever, ever would! No, father, I love you, father." What I'm seeing is Mary trying to retaliate against the first "I can hurt you," but simultaneously getting scared back into submission by her father. Her reaction is to immediately take it back, and then offer her love to show that she isn't an enemy. Also, if you watch her on stage, during the "Never, ever, ever, ever"s she's looking around at the audience, a little panicked, and almost rushing to tell them that she didn't mean it. Shifting gears slightly, we're now gonna look at how Mary feels trapped. Her constant mentions of both time and loneliness show that she feels powerless and unable to escape her situation. Even from the very first time she says anything in the story: "But besides the couple of hours during which we have guests, there are also twenty-two hours in the day." That's oddly specific, isn't it? I mean I know how math works, a couple + 22 = 24, but still. Mary seems to be acutely aware of time and it's passing. The feeling like she's running out of time heightens her anxiety, because the older she gets, the less appealing she'll be to suitors, and therefore less likely to get married, and therefore much less likely to get out of her situation. OPB also seems to be purposefully scaring off suitors so that she has no chance of getting away in a socially acceptable manner. Mary also doesn't seem to be getting any support from her brother either. When Andrey comes home near the end of the show, Mary is onstage, waiting for him. She stands up to greet him, but instead he just pushes past her to sit on their father's chair. The fuck, dude? Anyway, that about wraps everything up. Overall, I've come to the conclusion that Old Prince Bolkonsky can suck a dick, and Mary deserves none of this shit. Hope you enjoyed! I worked really hard on this one. This week's topics will be posted in a bit!

[enby-todoshindeku]

I put together a list of bnha fics I think are particularly well-written and I decided to share it with y’all. I included little excerpts since this rec list is mainly about writing style, although I’d never rec a fic I didn’t enjoy overall. This is by no means a complete list of well-written fics, just the ones I’ve come across.

And In His Eyes, A Galaxy--He's beginning to grow convinced that he is interacting with some strange fey spirit and that if he says or does the wrong thing, the spirit will disappear. He's not sure he wants it to disappear. He feels like that would be sad, in the same way that the loss of a beautiful forest is sad.

Pied Piper--These were the hands that had failed to save her, that had failed to grasp those thin fingers that had reached out to him so desperately, yearning to be saved. So desperate and yet not so much so that she wouldn’t leave with her captor just to save him. He who was supposed to save being rescued by the one who needed rescuing.

Yesterday Upon The Stair--He feels her more than he sees her, a floating cold spot in the heart of the black hole. Izuku reaches out, and his fingers brush something that burns like dry ice. He wraps his arms around a familiar small form, and when he breaks through the other side of the darkness, he takes her with him.

Rule Of Three--Ah, there was the other reason Amber made Giran uneasy. Their eyes. A kid should not have eyes that intense. No-one should have a gaze that intense. Giran felt that he was being weighed any time Amber even glanced at him, only a couple of his clients could ever do that, and they were all high-ranking villains, or especially skilled vigilantes.

The Dark Below--The sound is barely above a whisper but louder than a comet crashing into the earth, its sonic boom travelling outwards for dozens of miles before the death and destruction that follows. It grates at his ears and tears at his soul because it is a song he knows down to the marrow in his bones. And he knows if he ever truly hears it, and not merely this echo, he will be torn asunder. It is a song older than life, but it is a song that can end it.

Indefinite--He reached out to the wall beside him, resting his fingers against the smooth surface as he walked forward. The friction warmed his fingers the slightest bit as he came across a door, cracked open just enough to let light out. He looked inside, the sliver of light pressing a perfect line down his face and neck before it hugged the folds of his clothing.

With Great Power--He knew better than to expect a dark lair filled with stolen riches, littered with skeletons, and decorated with the blood splatters of the foolish mortals who dared approach. Yet something about the scene screamed wrongness. Even the way the man poured tea into two delicate teacups and set one in front of Izuku was somehow abhorrent.

Conversations With A Cryptid--Not for the first time, Izuku found himself questioning even attempting to pull information from such an entity. Morality as it existed in this room had no meaning. An abstract idea that was bounced around to suit All For One’s conversational needs. A bog-standard tentacle monster had more conversational manner than the person in front of him. For starters, it probably had elementary manners and followed polite naming conventions.

Inadvertent Wilderness Therapy--The day stretched on. The land never seemed to change. All the krumholtz on this side of the lake looked exactly like all the krumholtz on that side of the lake. The next lake looked just like the lake before it.

For Their Sakes--The voices pressed against Hawks’ mind and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. They retreated just as hastily and the pain went from ‘white-hot knives in his brain’ to ‘red-hot needles in his brain’.

A Soft Tongue And Sharp Teeth--Adults in particular loved to be nice to him until he said no. Some would just get angry, some would grab his arm, some would grab chains. He kept saying no anyways, and when people didn’t listen, he bared sharp teeth and he enforced his words. Afterwards, he told nobody. His tongue was too soft.

[tcm]

How Do I Corrupt Thee?...Let Me Count The Ways By Theresa Brown

Facing the most consequential American presidential election of the 20th century...let’s talk movies. Movies are important because they help us see things once removed that we sometimes don’t see right in front of our very eyes. One of the great political movies in cinema is ALL THE KING’S MEN (‘49). The acting in this film is top notch with everyone demonstrating what happens when one’s values are compromised, and what happens when they’re not.

Willie Stark – Demagogue

“You’re a hick and nobody ever helped a hick but a hick himself...You’re hicks too and they fooled you 1000 times like they fooled me. Now I’m gonna fool somebody. I’m going to STAY in this race. I’m on my own and I’m out for blood. Now listen to me, you hicks... Nail up anybody who stands in your way.”

The star is Broderick Crawford as Willie Stark, who gives a towering performance that earned him a well-deserved Academy Award. Son of comedic actress Helen Broderick, Crawford’s been around since 1937 appearing in nothing memorable that would set him apart from the crowd. But he got the opportunity to play this role and he’s great. As Willie Stark, he starts off as a low-level, small-town community organizer/lawyer with a devoted wife and son. He wants to run for office, thinks he can do some good. He takes a real licking in the election.

Stark unknowingly gets used by the power brokers to split the ‘hick’ vote. As long as he stays in his lane so the big boys can put in their candidate for governor, he’ll be okay. But a tag-along reporter sees that Willie is being framed and tries to offer him a little campaign advice to be more of himself:

“Look Willie, you tell ‘em too much. Just tell ‘em you’re gonna soak the fat boys and forget the rest of the tax stuff...Willie, make ‘em cry, make ‘em laugh. Make ‘em mad, even mad at you...But for heaven’s sake, don’t try and improve their mind.”

To finish the job of opening Willie’s eyes with a crowbar, booze and a drunken bang is the political operative sent to babysit Willie. She tells him: “You know what you are? Why, you were the goat. You are the sacrificial goat. You’re a sap because you let ‘em!!”

And with that wakeup call, he quits being a stooge and tells the people how he really feels about their condition. He gives his famous “I’m a hick...” speech. There’s a great montage and voice-over by John Ireland showing Willie’s rise to the top: the deals he makes, the threats he levies, the hands he shakes and the dames he messes around with. He takes to it all like a duck to water now that he plays in the swamp with the rest of them. His home life falls by the wayside, compartmentalized into a little back corner in the dusty rural area he’s from, and he keeps his enemies closer.

Willie’s got a slick coat to him now. He ups his game with proper diction. Upgrades his women, too. He goes from Anne Seymour (sincere working class) to Mercedes McCambridge (pitbull powerbroker) to Joanne Dru (bubble-wrapped high society girl). He starts to use people, squeeze them and throw ‘em away. He’s got power now...and wants more.

The Reporter: “You throw money around like it was money.”

Crawford: “Money? I don’t need money. People give me things.”

The Reporter: “Why?”

Crawford: “Because they believe in me.”

Sadie Burke - Power Broker

“If you won’t let me sleep you might at least give me a drink... You’re not going to be governor.... You’ve been framed you poor sap. And how. Oh, you decoy. You wooden-headed decoy.”

No time like the present to bring Mercedes McCambridge into my essay. Sadie is Willie’s equal and she is magnificent! McCambridge takes the working girl mantle from Rosalind Russell and wears that pin-striped suit like an armadillo’s skin. She’s one of the boys in the back room of smoky politics. And she looks just grand in there. She fits. She’s all about getting paid. She smokes, she drinks, she flicks cigarettes. She’s not the glamour girl but she’s got balls and can get you where you need to go. She’s what you need when you want power. She clutches, she claws, she growls and she spits out words like a sub-machine gun.

And she doesn’t mince words. She can spot potential. She feels a kindred spirit in John Ireland, like she can level with him. She thinks he’s a bit like her; but he’s really not. And she totally sees something in Willie Stark. She wants in on the ride just like everybody else. She fancies herself as the one to control the power. But underneath all that, she’s a woman. She gets jealous (“Was she pretty?”). Her comparing herself to her society rival is a poignant scene. You can tell she doesn’t get tender loving.

But McCambridge does not shy away from who Sadie is; there’s no heart of gold. She ends that scene with a growl.

Jack Burden - Observant Reporter

Editor: “Stark is getting too big for his britches. The Hicks are getting too smart. We are now supporting Harrison.”

Burden: “How do you square that?”

Editor: “I work here.”

Burden: “Well I don’t, not anymore.

Editor: “...You won’t find it easy to get another job.”

Burden: “I’m too rich to work.”

John Ireland plays newspaper man Jack Burden sent to cover this fluke of a human interest story that is Willie Stark. He is a rich young man trying to find himself, not wanting to rely on his wealthy stepfather. He serves as us, the audience/bystander/observer of events. He has principles and believes Willie can do some good. Burden’s also in love with a girl from his set and works towards being an independent success so he can marry her. But...his hands get dirty too.

He brings lambs to slaughter introducing, or delivering, his wealthy family and friends to Willie...including his fiancée. He watches Willie change and give in to power and is horrified. But he doesn’t leave. By the end of it, Jack’s holding on to the tail of a comet. He betrays friends and sheds principles like a viral load. When Jack tries to convince an old friend that Willie is right, his friend says:

“He’s right because you want him to be right. Because you’re afraid to admit you made a mistake.”

Anne Stanton - Society Girl

Anne: “I understand you. It’s myself I don’t understand... Maybe we’d better stop seeing each other.”

Willie: “No. No we won’t stop seeing each other, will we?”

Anne: “No.”

Willie: “Because you believe what I tell you.”

Anne: “Because I believe what you tell me.”

I always thought Joanne Dru was an interesting actress. Never could quite peg her as a specific type. She gives off a Gene Tierney-vibe to me in this movie. She plays Anne Stanton, the society girl the reporter’s been in love with. She tells the reporter (Ireland) she wants him to be somebody...he wants to marry her...she promises to wait for him. But he drifts from job to job. How long’s a girl supposed to wait, and why wait when Willie is already there? Willie’s stepping up in class when he’s got Anne Stanton strung out over him. Yeah, strung out. She seems addicted or doing something she’s not very happy doing; that she can’t help doing. Is she another innocent bystander swept up in things? Is it love at first sight after she first hears him speak? I don’t know about love, but she is drawn to him. She’s intoxicated by power. Disillusionment will be hard.

ALL THE KING’S MEN is a solid movie; practically ripped from today’s headlines. It feels adult. It doesn’t feel dated. It speaks to our current political climate in so many ways. Power seems to suck people in like a vortex. Some go through a sort of “I wish I could quit you.” The movie is a lesson for us. We can look at the Willie Starks of the world and learn to recognize a demagogue when he’s rallying right in front of our eyes.

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 5.2 (Bit 2)

From here | Bit 1 | Bit 2

It took me all week to put this little bit together. Work stress messed me around royally. Fortunately I have some time off lined up in a fortnight, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

We’re getting there. I have a list of threads I’m tying off as the boys manipulate me along the way. I hope my stressed out writing is up to par with the rest of the fic - that is one downside of pausing mid-fic for any length of time is that the mood shifts and my writing changes. Also, the format of this fic doesn’t really lend itself to the short posts I’ve been doing of late, but it will have to do. I hope you enjoy this little bit anyway.

Thank you to all of you who have answered my little poll on what to write next. This is the result. Those of you who voted for The Hero, I will get there as well. These three fics demand ends even if it has taken me a year (yes, it is reaching that point for The Hero at least). Thank you all for your wonderful support. You guys continue to just be amazing ::hugs you all so much::

This is for @scattergraph​ It was last year’s @tagsecretsanta​ fic and it is still being written, now closer to this year’s Christmas. Apparently, it is We’ll Be Finished For Christmas :D Talk about a fic getting totally out of control. Thank you so much for bearing with me on this tome. I love this fic. It has taught me so much. I just hope I can finish it with due credit to the rest of it.

-o-o-o-

There followed an extensive rundown on a random ball of rock and ice currently traversing their solar system.

It was interesting, Virgil had to admit it, and it was great seeing Alan so enthusiastic about it. Of course, once he started on his heroic tale of his and Scott’s encounter with Halley’s Comet, Virgil found himself tuning out.

He’d heard it a few times already.

At some point he was able to drift away from his babbling brother, step out onto the balcony and grab breakfast off the remains of the buffet that had obviously been left out for him. The last of the morning was as beautiful as the rest of the week had been. He had to admit that they had been very lucky.

A glance down at the caldera as he munched on a pastry, most definitely not cooked by his grandmother, and he spotted A Little Lightning resting quietly at her dock.

He found himself staring at the boat. Her yellow stripe, ever so Gordon, her gleaming hull, their short and shared history…

“She’s a good looking ship.”

Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin for the second time in less than half an hour.

Gordon arched an eyebrow up at him. “You okay, Virg? How are you feeling?”

Exasperated. “I’m fine.” He turned away, his eyes dancing across Mateo and its petrel colony.

A bird squawked loudly as if in recognition.

Gordon snorted. “So I hear.”

Virgil glanced back at his brother. “What?”

All innocence. “What?”

“Gordon...” His tone was all warning.

His brother downed his drink. “So, we going to open that pile of presents or are we keeping them as ornaments?”

Virgil frowned. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Johnny had to discover a comet to keep Alan distracted while we were waiting.”

“Sorry.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Gees, Virg, it’s not a problem, just c’mon. Join us.” And he was being dragged back into the house where everyone had gathered around the Christmas tree.

For the next hour or so it was simply family, friends, gifts and laughter. Scott in particular, was in a jovial mood, his grin an apparent fixture on his face. Mel was never far from him.

It became very clear that Scott, and possibly Gordon, had been Christmas shopping that morning, probably on the other side of the world, because there were presents under the tree that hadn’t been there the night before. There may have been an abuse of International Rescue technology to obtain it all, but the smiles on their guests’ faces when presented with Christmas gifts may have been worth his brothers’ transgressions.

Almost.

Virgil sat on the lounge, a brother either side of his feet peering up at him as he opened a present wrapped in green tissue paper. The material inside was also green and when he held it up, it unfolded into a t-shirt.

Written across the front were the words ‘I’M FINE’.

Behind the curtain of fabric, a brother snorted.

“Gordon.”

“What?”

Virgil exhaled and dropped his hands into his lap with the shirt. Glaring at his grinning brother, he held Gordon’s gaze for a moment before shuffling out of his seat and standing up.

Both Alan and Gordon scampered away from his feet.

“Virg…” Scott’s tone was worried.

Virgil ignored him and continued to glare at Gordon.

The aquanaut’s expression faltered a little and Virgil mentally tagged himself a point.

He then took the trophy by shucking off his shirt and undershirt in front of all of them.

The breeze was cool through the open doors of the balcony as he awkwardly dragged the new t-shirt over his head, aware of every eye in the room staring at him.

He pulled the green material down over his healing incisions and glared at his brothers, starting with Gordon, who appeared somewhat gobsmacked a moment before once again bursting into a grin, and following around the room to each of his other brothers.

He didn’t fail to notice a strange smile on Kayo’s lips as he did so.

“Now, I hope this means I don’t have to keep repeating myself?”

Silence and lots of staring.

A snort from Gordon. “Sure, Virg. We all think you’re pretty fine.” He followed it with a snicker.

There was an odd sound from Penelope’s direction, but when Virgil darted a look at her, she appeared to be smothering a delicate cough.

Her eyes were sparkling at him though.

Oh, for the love of-

“You’re great, Virgil.” Alan was grinning.

“Like china.” John was not even trying to keep a straight face.

“Whatever you say, Virg.” Scott had his arm around Mel and was grinning like a loon.

Somehow the points were being racked up by his brothers now.

His glare turned flat and he lowered himself awkwardly back onto the lounge. He didn’t miss Gordon’s attempt to reach out and help him.

Another glare and Virgil grunted, crossing his arms across his chest in an almost pout. “You’re lucky I love you guys.”

There was an outburst of more laughter. Virgil tried to hold his disgruntled expression, but a kiss by Grandma on the cheek broke his determination.

“You’re a shit, Gordon.”

“And you love me.” Still grinning.

Virgil couldn’t help himself. He grabbed the Fish by the scruff of his neck and wrangled him into a half hugging noogie, messing his hair up royally. Virgil had to admit that Gordon was likely playing along because his big brother certainly wasn’t up to wrestling with him, and as Penelope burst into laughter, Virgil found himself getting soppy.

The noogie turned into a full-on bear hug.

Chlorine scented hair caught in his nostrils.

“Virg?”

“Huh?”

A wheeze. “Need to breathe.”

“All your fault.” He let his brother go.

Gordon sat up on the lounge, straightening his shirt and running his hands through his hair. A glance of fond exasperation and he turned away. “Okay, Allie, time to see that painting.”

“So, it is a painting?” Alan shot off the floor and dashed over to the tree where the huge present was leaning against the wall.

There followed many exclamations at Virgil’s skill in painting Thunderbird Three in flight. Hell, even John put in a request for one of Five, so maybe he managed the stars part of the project accurately enough.

He must remember to ask Alan to grab some shots of John’s ‘bird next time he was up there. Or maybe he would hitch a ride and go up himself.

That thought led to visualising possible compositions, moving Five around in his head, whether he should include Earth in the background, which bit of Earth – Tracy Island, of course – which constellations, what time of year, whether he could lean on artistic license or whether inaccuracies would bug his brother silly. Most likely the latter, so there would be some research involved. Perhaps Alan could help him with that. Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. A good excuse to spend some time with his little brother.

He eyed Alan and the young astronaut turned a questioning look in his direction. Virgil just smiled a little at him.

Alan’s face burst into a grin and Virgil found himself subject to another brotherly hug. “Thank you, Virgil.”

He returned the hug with gusto. “Anytime, Allie.”

Apparently, today was the day for being soppy because he clutched his brother tighter.

Anytime.

-o-o-o-

TBC

[moonlightstars16]

‘Only Hope’

Years before a certain shy book lover and friendly part-gem sweetheart met Connie Maheswaran did a lot of things her parents told her to do. One of the many activities/hobbies was singing. At first in her schools choir, then she got solos. Her vocals were beautiful and something you might a-kin to a classic musical like 'My Fair Lady' or 'The Sound Of Music'. However it wasn't something Connie felt okay doing in that particular setting. But she did so anyways with hardly any complaint. Thankfully she had her violin lessons to replace it. That was something she did find enjoyment in, but the constant mom-over-her-shoulder about practicing was getting tiresome. Until they sorted things out year later...among other things.

Besides the arts she was dedicated to her studies. At first it was difficult to keep up. Then she began to do nothing but study and practice and soon, learning all different types of things became second nature. When it came to astrology and space, she was enthralled. Even more so when Steven came into her life. He was right, being to space multiple times was not something to just gloss over. Those memories where kept close in her heart. Still space camp was something she wanted to experience as well. A part of her wanted to see the differences and similarities of all she gathered already.

One of the things she loved most about were the stars. As cliched was it sounds, Connie loved every aspect of the stars. The scientific and the more ethereal essence they each seemed to hold. One of them was a comet she had dreamed of seeming again since she was a child. It was coming around to earth that evening and, with the help of a few gem friends, they had planned to watch it together with a huge telescope and with Steven's old warp/greenhouse room roof pulled back it was going to be a perfect night. Well it would've been a perfect night.

While they had discussed things post the whole 'corruption' ordeal and his therapy visits, about their relationship. They knew they were more than just best friends. Connie felt it for a long time. But when cram school and other aspects of her life began, worry set in. Questions of 'What if's?' and others about the future flowed through her mind. Asking Garnet would be nice but unpredictabilities were possible and the future could change so she didn't feel like asking. When she realized how much Steven was holding in and going through, that's when things began to shift more clearer. Yes she had school, but she called to check up on him every single day. Yes she had other friends, but he was still on her mind whether its concern about his physical or mental health or just because he makes her smile.

Life is chaotic and odd but she knew, or rather hoped, that Steven would always be in her life in one form or another. It was increasingly obvious with each passing day that her feelings for him grew bigger and bigger. It was love. In love. Of course she wasn't going to rush things, I mean besides both being still young and neither ready for commitment like that of any kind. Well they both now know. It was the hope of someday that kept them going. Tonight was going to be the night she would finally confess all that she was holding back(because of fear and for making sure he was in a stable place to handle any sort of new emotional truth bombs). However she didn't expect things to turn out so unexpectedly.

Upon arriving at a specific time, she let herself in per Steven's request (which took a lot of convincing), and headed up to the roof. However he wasn't there. Everything was set up and ready, including hot tea, some snacks, a few blankets and pillows, the huge telescope and speakers for music. Even the telescope was set up in just the right direction. Connie sighed with a smile briefly before returning to a confused look on her face. It wasn't like him to be this late, even now. Her phone buzzed and she looked down to see a text from her best friend.

'Hey sorry I got caught up in some gem related stuff. Don't think I'll be able to make it. :'( But please enjoy the comet and your welcome to stay for however long you like. :)'

Her heart sank a bit. She understood things happened and he loved to help. Of course being careful in that area. However she desperately wished he was here with her and not anywhere else. After a thoughtful moment she decided to stay. Thinking it was best to not be rude after all he did to set things up. Pearl probably got involved with the telescope positioning but other than that Steven did go through all that trouble. Putting her bag down she pulled up her music and connected it to the speaker. Laying down as her favorite songs rang throughout the echoed walls, even though the roof was open.

It was a nice evening, many stars filled the night sky, the temperatures were great, it was a beautiful night. Still, she was lonely. Checking her phone for the time, noting how much closer the time was for seeing the comet, she wished that he was here. Hoping he would make it after all. Then it occurred to her that she didn't text back. quickly she typed up her reply.

'Aww man! Well maybe another time. :)'

It was a small reply but it was all she could say in the current moment. Afterwords she set her phone to the side and looked above at the stars. Her thoughts only around one person. Steven. He brought out a side of her that she never thought was possible at the time. Maybe she would've discovered it later in life, but he made it more special. With a hand over her heart she closed her eyes and sat up.  Listening, humming and soon singing along to her music. Specifically one certain song she adored.

There's a song that's inside of my soul It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again I'm awake in the infinite cold But you sing to me over and over and over again So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands And pray to be only yours I pray to be only yours I know now you're my only hope

Standing up she walked over to the telescope, leaning against it slightly as her eyes, glazed over with tears looked up towards the twinkling evening sky. Sing to me the song of the stars Of your galaxy dancing And laughing and laughing again When it feels like my dreams are so far Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again

Stepping away towards a bush filled with flowers, she picked one up and held it close to her heart. Glancing upwards once again. So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands and pray To be only yours I pray to be only yours I know now you're my only hope

Her skirt flowed with her slight twirl and the slight cool breeze that brushed passed her as she aimlessly walked by the table. One hand gliding across the smooth surface. I give you my destiny I'm giving you all of me I want your symphony Singing in all that I am At the top of my lungs I'm giving it back

Stepping towards the room she poured out everything she felt inside. Lifting her arms up, entwining her hands together as she hoped so desperately that he would soon know this about her. The love she felt for him. He had a symphony and she wanted to be apart of it. Apart of his life, forever. So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands and pray To be only yours I pray to be only yours I pray to be only yours I know now you're my only hope

Sitting back down she leaned forward and hunched over slightly. Clutching the sweet flower to her chest. Trying to ignore how ridiculous she was being in the moment. Still her heart felt heavy and she needed to let it out. Even if it was silly because it was just one night their will be others and she will tell him one day. But still it was hard to ignore a few tears staining her cheeks as they fell. Her breathing was deep as she tried to contain herself. Suddenly, she felt two arms wrapped around her and she gasped at the familiar sensation.

"Connie..."

"I thought-"

"I got out of it when I realized I rather be here. Besides it turned out to be not that important anyways."

"Oh.....How much did you hear?"

"I heard it all of it. In fact I was surprised that text I sent was just given to you now and not like two hours prior." Steven slightly laughed as he breathed out air. Connie giggled under her breathe slightly, though her cheeks were probably prominently red by now. Steven reached up with one hand and gently placed it under her chin. Encouraging her to match his gaze. "Is this why you were so eager to come here tonight?"

"I-...I do want to see the comet with you of course. But...I also wanted to tell you all that I was feeling since you told me a bit ago that you felt okay for anything. I mean since you were talking with your therapist and all about it. The emotional stuff I mean." Making a mental note of her bad word choices didn't make this much easier. He sucked in her breath sharply upon hearing those words.

"How long?"

"I-....about two months...." Her face fell once more hearing herself say the timeline out loud. Perhaps this was too soon.

"Connie I-....I'm glad you finally told me."

"Inadvertently so." She mumbled as he chuckled a bit more loudly.

"Either way I'm glad you did....Because now I need to tell you this properly." Pulling back he turned to her back and draped a beautiful heart shaped locket over her neck. "I once knew this girl I was trying to impress. When really all I needed to be was myself. We became the best of friends and now I don't want to be apart from her ever. I screwed up on a certain relationship concept and my own insecurities didn't help things. But through it all she stayed and still held her feelings for me. One I want to give back properly. " Clasping the chain he turned her around, seeing one hand over the beautiful pendant as her eyes locked with his own.

"What is it?" He took both her hands in his and pulled it to his chest. Laying them both over his beating heart. Letting the position linger before letting them go and slipping his hands around her backside. Pulling her close as she leaned against him. Both sitting on their knees and not caring for the pain that they felt. A smile spread across both of them. First Steven then Connie as he told her something wonderful.

"I love you"

"I love you too"

It was a magical moment as their lips touched and the kiss grew. Later they could be found laying on the blankets, holding onto one another as her head rested against his shoulder and his arm wrapped around hers and her waist. Looking up and reminiscing everything and nothing. Including the beautiful and colorful comet.

It was a moment where their hopes finally had an answer.

They relished in it deep in their hearts.

[shadowsong26fic]

Coming Attractions!

First Monday of the month, which means Coming Attractions Post!

(Especially since I skipped last month, whoops…)

Before we get into it, as I always do in these things, plug for my Discord server--it’s pretty quiet, but basically a slightly more interactive version of this tumblr. Sometimes I talk a little more about origfic or other stuff than I do here, too.

Also, this is not my only hobby! As some of you may know, one of my others is lacework, and I now have a sideblog for that. I have pictures of my completed projects up there, and will probably have more stuff as I start…well…making more stuff.

Anyway. On to the actual writing stuff aka why most of you are here (also a few requests for feedback/Opinions behind the cut).

So, I didn’t get much done over the month until, like…the last few days. In part because work got super bonkers for reasons I’m still Cranky at but that is a vent for my personal blog, lol.

Precipice:

I have threeish scenes left, which I’m probably going to do as one more chapter (unless they end up Super Long, then I might split it into two). That’ll close out Arc Seven, and the first big chunk of this fic. As I’ve said before, I’ll split off into a sequel fic (working title Protectors) at that point, along with doing a sort of…interquel, working title Preludes, that mostly deals with integrating Rebels content. Also probably Maul.

Right now, I’m tentatively planning six installments to Preludes? Mostly because six feels like a nice number to work with, lol. These will be one-shots that aren’t super interconnected, all taking place during the six-year timeskip. These are the ones I’m thinking about doing as of right now (subject to change, and I welcome suggestions!):

one involving Kallus on Coruscant, shortly before he gets reassigned to Lothal;

one involving Hera and whoever her contact is in this AU (since Ahsoka’s doing something different from the Fulcrum stuff);

one where Kanan and Ezra connect with Obi-Wan et al. (probably through Hondo);

one with Luke, probably similar to that one episode where Leia turns up in Rebels canon;

I really do need to figure out what the heck is going on with Maul, don’t I.

…something else????

The only ones I’m 100% sure about including are the one with Kallus and the one where the various Jedi link up because those are necessary and/or plot-relevant, though I’m still working out specifics (especially on the Jedi one). I may also include something with Thrawn, since I’m doing something different with him than canon did. Like I said, I welcome thoughts/suggestions/etc.

Protectors will then pick up six years after the end of Arc Seven, with Arc Eight. And, as a treat, the working titles for Arcs Eight and Nine are Escalation and Watershed. In theory, I’m planning to post Preludes alongside arcs eight and nine, but we’ll see.

…anyway, uh, what I forgot to mention earlier is that my plan is to wrap up arc seven/the first fic in this series this month. Hopefully I will actually pull that off XD. And then we move on to the other stuff.

Other SW Fic Projects:

Big Bang is coming up again! I think signups will be next month? I’m considering three different plotlines as of right now, though that’s assuming I don’t come up with something new and exciting and/or another ObiAniDala plotline, which is what I seem to do every year…which one I end up doing probably depends at least partly on how S2 of the Mandalorian goes, since two of the three ideas heavily feature Bo-Katan. Of course, one of those lacks a plot and the other is pretty episodic/involves a lot of blank space I still need to fill in…

Anyway, we’ll see how that goes after the show airs and I get more event information, especially since it’s going to be structured differently/teaming up writers and betas much earlier in the process, which will be nice and possibly help chronically-undecided me actually pick something so I’m not scrambling to finish at the last minute but given that it’s me I probably will be anyway XD

As for other SW projects…I still owe a few meme fills from, like, April…but otherwise, extant projects are mostly back-burnered for now.

AtLA Projects:

Aka, the reason why SW projects other than Precipice and SWBB (and any one-shots/prompt fills that occur to me) are back-burnered, lol.

I am working on an AU outline, set to come out this month. There’s a couple of fulltext fics I’m playing with. I haven’t gotten any actual text written down yet, but I know where I’m going with them, at least to start.

The AU outline will be a canon-divergent thing set during the Ba Sing Se arc, and will be hopefully out Soon.

Fulltext fic #1 is…basically, the premise is, Lu Ten had a lover during the Siege, the soundtrack to this fic involves a lot of West Side Story, he left her with someone to remember him by, and then there’s some mindbending and complicated politics after his death. I think I talked a little more about this in a previous post? Anyway, one of the things I’m considering is whether to just tell this story linearly, or to start several years later, and go into the whole star-crossed lovers backstory as she regains her memories of what actually happened. The advantage to the first option is that it’s easier to work with shifting POV, which I prefer; and also involves more canon characters more quickly. The advantage to the second is that I think it would work really well for this particular storyline? Assuming I could get people invested in her and/or Ba Sing Se Politics/Worldbuilding that fast …y’know, when I think about it like that, maybe linear is the best option, lol…

Fulltext fic #2 is an Avatar Zuko AU, where he figures it out at age thirteen, and at that point decides he has roughly three and a half years until the comet, aka three and a half years to figure out how to make all this work (not to mention at least starting to learn air, water, and earth), and hopefully by then he’ll know what he should be doing with it? Whether it’s to resurface and Prove His Worth by defending the Fire Nation during the leadup to the comet, or something else (though Something Else doesn’t quite occur to him until he starts doing the other stuff). This will heavily feature at least one of my old OCs, and probably a few others (and likely one or two new ones), especially during the first two years. I’ve got things more or less worked out up until Aang resurfaces and Zuko’s plans have to shift/he has to cut his earthbending year short (much to Toph’s annoyance). Because once Aang is awake, everyone thinks he’s the Avatar (he’s not; there’s another explanation for how he iceberg’d for a century), and that fact just escalates All Of The Things.

((I’ve mentioned before that I am Pathologically Incapable of not creating a bunch of OCs and AtLA is a particularly strong example of that, so...yeah, that’ll be a Thing in pretty much anything I write in this fandom))

…anyway, this should be fun, once I actually get actual text down XD

Original Fic:

I did write one thing last month! Which was nice. Hopefully, I’ll get a bit done this month, too. For those of you who don’t know, most of my original stuff is posted on rainbowfic, which is a great community and if you guys do original stuff you post online, you should come join.

I’ve also started poking at a couple of new concepts, because that is how my brain do. Including one Arthuriana story despite the fact that I’m not super into Arthuriana but then my brain was like “what if Mordred was a girl?” and welp. Here I am.

NaNo:

I’m proooooooobably going to do a similar setup to what I had the past couple years--set myself a wordcount goal, but not bind myself to any single project. Depending on how things go this month, either with Precipice!verse or SWBB or my AtLA stuff, or if that Mordred thing catches on, I might try to prioritize one or more things (like, have my goal be 20k on X project, and 30k on other stuff), but I’ll decide that closer to the date.

…I think that’s everything! What are you guys up to lately? Does anyone have NaNo plans? Any thoughts on stuff I mentioned on my docket, so to speak? What’s on your mind?

[sonicfanj]

Seeing Shadow in his Friends, Enemies, and Maria

So, I’m always one for my odd opinions and outlooks and the one that been on my mind of late is one about Shadow. Now I know Shadow is a very easy character to like and make fun of all at once, but one of the things that I like about Shadow is his nuances and his tendency for self-reflection and introspective moments. Like Sonic he is aloof, but unlike Sonic who knows himself, Shadow has difficulty even approaching himself and as a result tends to attract attention from those who reflect aspects of himself in different ways. How responds to these people says a lot about him and how he views himself which I find to be absolutely fascinating.

Friends

So I’ll start with one that is both easy to see Shadow in, but shows a lot of the interesting nuance mystery still about Shadow and how he views himself.

Omega

So, Omega being the Eggman hating machine that he is should be a pretty straightforward character to see Shadow in. Primarily in his need for vengeance no matter what. Shadow himself when he debuted no matter the reasoning behind it perceived himself as a weapon that needed to fulfill his vengeance. Omega is clearly no different and it is obvious that Shadow sees a lot of himself in the machine. They were both made by members of the Robotnik family and find themselves not living the lives they were created for. They are almost family in a way and considering at least through 06 how much trust and care Shadow showed for Omega (why would you take that away SEGA?) there is no doubt that he is extrememly important to him.

Where it gets interesting with Omega is not in the similarities he shares with Shadow and how much of himself that Shadow sees in him, but how Shadow generally treats him. Though Omega is almost entirely a cold weapon of a machine living for a singular vengeance much like he was until Amy reminded him of what Maria asked of him, Shadow did not distance himself from Omega once they were a team. He showed concern for him, considered his insights when appropriate, and trusts him to have his back. This is even after he lets go of his own need for vengeance, yet in a way he constantly has a reminder of it beside him in the form of Omega making Omega serve as much as a warning for what he can devolve into even while he is one of his closest friends. It is such a strange contrast and I believe it would be quite engaging to see what we can learn about Shadow through this relationship.

Rouge

Now Rouge might be a bit more difficult to see Shadow in, but I think a lot of that has to do with their personalities at a glance. Both of them are for the most typically self absorbed individuals, even if for different reasons, but will step up and do the right thing when they need to, no matter how dirty they get in the process. They also typically keep their true feelings on matters hidden unless really pushed, though they have opened up to each other on occasion which is always fun to see. This is especially interesting since the biggest similarity they share is keeping up a facade that makes them seem more unapproachable and callous then they really are which makes Rouge a very kindred soul to Shadow.

Shadows unspoken trust in Rouge says a lot about how he values those parts of himself but fully embraces the importance of keeping himself at arm’s length from everything around him. Shadow values this quite a bit and rarely lets anyone through his icy shell, including Rouge who he will actually grow visibly irritated with when she doesn’t respect his shell. This reaction is kind of interesting to me as to an extent it is an irritation that to me reads of fear. Considering how he lost everything when the Ark was raided though it should not be a particular surprise. He lost everything that made him who he was then and his exterior shell like Rouge’s is a part of him, and something that he values to keep himself whole.

Enemies

Shadow’s enemies are an interesting batch of characters who all reflect Shadow in different ways and clearly highlight how shadow feels about those parts of himself.

Black Doom

Another easy one like Omega, Black Doom is a clear representation of Shadow’s potential to be a complete monster. But as Shadow at the time was craving an identity for himself and a sense of purpose, being a monster was more tempting than it probably ever should have been. But sure enough Shadow listened regardless to what Black Doom had to say and did not finally truly take action until he had seen the full extent of Black Doom’s plans.

Now this puts us an interesting place as it shows that Shadow has a great deal of patience for dealing with the monstrous nature that he possesses. He humors it. Listens to it. Lets it stretch its legs and show itself completely. Yet when it comes time to deal with it, he doesn’t just chase it back into the shadows (sorry for the pun) but chooses to utterly eliminate. Shadow kills Black Doom, destroys the Black Comet, and turns his back on the Ark and everything it represented, even joining forces with G.U.N. in 06. Shadow didn’t just face his the monster inside of him, once he allowed himself to see all of it, he destroyed every trace of it that he could and distanced himself from everything else he couldn’t bring himself to destroy. Too me this makes him look like he is absolutely terrified of the type of monster that he could become and actually makes it easier for me to come to terms with how he acts in the IDW Comics to an extent. Knowing full well the type of monster he can and his unique relationship with Eggman it is little wonder the whole Metal Virus Saga left him in a very foul temper. The terror he possesses for what he can be drives him harder than probably any other motivational force in his life, especially having turned his back as much as he can on his memories of Maria.

Mephiles the Dark

The recolor of a recolor in the flesh, and yet still one of my favorites if only for his relationship with Shadow (06 had it’s problems but Shadow’s campaign was not one of them to me). Mephiles and his plan are one of the biggest messes in the Sonic franchise and that allows him to encapsulate Shadow perfectly. He’s a mess of an individual driven by vengeance and hung up on his power and need to see the plan he follows through to its end. He will let nothing stand in his way but will gladly accept the aid of any he can manipulate to his ends. Almost a perfect description of how SEGA wants Shadow branded right now, even to the extent of wanting to ignore everything that made Shadow who he is, only dwelling on the most trivial of aspects. He is pettiness and arrogance in Shadow’s form and acts as a constant temptation towards deification through his own power while trying to stir his fear of being nothing more but a tool that has outgrown his usefulness to his masters.

So how how does Shadow face this enemy and part of himself? He pretty much tells it to stuff it, and is backed up by Omega who is a kindred soul and has nothing against turning on his masters if the need be (you only did it to yourself Eggman). When presented with all of his fears, insecurities, and everything that his power can bring him, Shadow chooses to fight everything. Be it his master, himself, or anyone else. Shadow has a very firm grasp on what he is, and as much as he fears it, he has no intention of ever giving in, fighting on without end. But like Mephiles, it also shows that Shadow feels the need to keep himself under control, but has to fight against himself to keep himself under control. The consequences of not doing so could be catastrophic (the destruction of the Earth, mankind turned into food, the end of time itself, etc...). That Shadow stays so cool through it is a testament to his resolve, but without his friends as support he buckles under the weight of the responsibility and lashes out like in the IDW comics (so why are you seperating him from his friends SEGA?).

Infinite

Now there wasn’t nearly as much interaction between Shadow and Infinite as there should have been, but that doesn’t stop the daft jackal though from reflecting a part of Shadow. Above all else what Infinite represents is Shadow’s pride, arrogance, and hypocrisy, especially as Shadow has pretty much become him. The constant boasting about himself and his power. The need to dismiss the strength brought on by friendship, and sole the belief that no matter what he can resolve any situation. Infinite is nearly everything that SEGA is trying to make Shadow today, yet they simultaneously tell a story about how wrong it is to be like that through Infinite. It’s a mixed message on SEGA’s part, but not so for Shadow.

Where SEGA says that Infinite is in the wrong even as they try mold Shadow into him, Shadow’s response is so much more in character. Arrogance, pride, hypocrisy; they’re all parts of him that he readily accepts and as a result is completely indifferent to Infinite. It is a curious form of acceptance, yet when it comes to these aspects Shadow just is both physically and philosophically. it isn’t that he openly embraces or rejects these parts of himself, but rather pays them little heed, accepting them as a part of him that does not require his attention. As a result, Infinite proves no threat to Shadow as this is one part of Shadow that he just accepts without thought allowing him to judge the jackal on his actions, not even recognizing how well reflected he is by him or the effects that those aspects can have on others and the world around him. In this regard Shadow reads to me as neglectful of this aspect of personality even though it drives a lot of his actions and personal agency. Yet it reflects him so well as it highlights why it is so easy for him to be so reckless and actually makes it easier for me to see why he’d end up messing up so badly against the Zombots. Go figure.

Maria

Finally wrapping up and giving them their own entire category we get to girl who gave Shadow his heart. No matter how much he tries to walk away she is always right there with him when he is kind, and when he is curious. She is the innocence in him that allows him to occasionally step outside of his icy exterior and the force that drives him to protect. And even his 25th Anniversary comic shows that he still thinks about her and that he walks in the direction illuminated by her beliefs. Or in short, she is everything that Shadow wishes he could hold inside of himself and keep safe no matter how hard his exterior has to grow. Yet with her is soft, gentle, delicate, as likely to break as she. She is as said above, his heart, made even more intriguing as some scholars believe the name to be derived from a word for love. This makes Amy being the one to snap him of his end the world kick all the more symbolic than I ever realized as her name can be interpreted to mean beloved or love )depending on how bad you’re butchering the French origins), especially since other possible meanings include “sea of bitterness” which reflects his personality most of the game, and “rebellion” which in turn relates him to Sonic and his rebellious personality. Again, it makes Maria his heart. And how does Shadow respond to this?

He protects it with everything he has, and is utterly devastated when he loses it, clinging on desperately to the memories and keeping them deeply buried inside himself. At his heart Shadow is extreme frail and knows it, building layer after of protections to keep himself safe, Be it his cold exterior or the lies he tells himself abut himself and leaving her behind which again the 25th Anniversary comic proves is a lie he tells himself in my opinion. His reaction also kind of puts him in the role of the Beast from beauty and the Beast as it is this simple girl who gives him his heart and keeps him from being the monster he fears becoming more than anything else. In a way it’s kind of beautiful and makes me appreciate Shadow that much as a character.

As I stated at the start of this opinion piece, part of what makes Shadow one of my favorites is his nuance and self-reflective and introspective tendencies. Writing it out it opened him up to me in more ways than I really realized he could be opened up and actually brought me a lot of peace with how he is being handled in the IDW comics so far. I may not like, but it actually is more in character than I realized and that is a feat that heavily impresses me with Ian Flynn’s writing considering what SEGA is doing to him. Still though, these are just my opinions and I wonder what everyone else thinks of them and how they see Shadow in his friends, enemies, and Maria.

[clarketomylexa]

halley’s comet and other extenuating circumstances ch. 2

read on ao3

The diner is empty. 

The laminated sign in the window — decorated for the season with one, shiny, pumpkin sticker grinning jovially — reads ‘open’ in black, block letters but this early, people are still respecting what they think is common courtesy and staying away until a more agreeable hour. 

Which is fine by Lexa because she gets paid either way; whether she’s pouring coffee or finishing the Calculus B homework Clarke lured her away from last night — cheeks flushed and still in her uniform from practice—in a booth in the corner. She runs a finger over the mauve bruise on her jaw at the thought. 

(If Gus has noticed, he’s had the grace not to say anything). 

“Did you know Venus is the hottest planet in the solar system?” 

“No.” 

“It has the average surface temperature of four-hundred and fifty degrees Celsius.” 

“That makes sense,” Clarke says: “‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’.”

“Are you saying that the temperature of a planet six-hundred and twelve miles away is dictated by your sexual preferences?” 

“Are you calling yourself hot?” 

Clarke grins — game set and match — and Lexa feels herself falling for her a little harder. 

In the month since Clarke invited her to the game, her life has become a John Huges cliché; they have graduated from car-pooling to holding hands to kissing beneath the bleachers after cheer-practice and it’s safe to say it has given Lexa whiplash. Not the bad kind though—if there is such a thing—but the kind that she imagines you would get if you got on a roller coaster without strapping in, or even expecting to get on a roller coaster in the first place. 

Clarke is her roller coaster and Lexa was so wholly unprepared for her to appear when she did, Lexa’s head hit the back of her seat and she hasn’t stopped feeling dizzy for it since. 

She watches Clarke rest her sneaker on the worn, laminate cushion of the booth, a windbreaker—turquoise and blue with the logo of a brand Anya drools over when they drive to the outlets two towns over on the sleeve—over her t-shirt and jeans and she looks prettier now, drenched in weak Fall sunlight, with syrup on her fingers, than Lexa has ever seen her. Which includes the moments she’s spent sitting on the end of Lexa’s bed with her arms crossed over her pale-pink bra and her lip gloss on her chin, flushing prettily while Anya berated them for going at it too loudly. 

It's game day today—Fridays still don’t agree with her but they have gotten more manageable now that she has a reason to partake in the festivities, even if her reason is more the half-time show than the game itself—but Clarke has forgone her uniform for the morning at lease. Instead, it sits beside her in her gym bag, waiting until after her morning student council meeting to be put on and Lexa thinks she’s relieved. Not because she doesn’t like Clarke’s uniform but just the opposite.

“It’s a joke that that book spent a hundred days on the bestseller list,” she clears her throat, copying a problem from her textbook into her spiral, worried she’s thinking too loudly. When she looks up, Clarke has her cheek in her hand and is grinning at her. 

“What?” Lexa asks. 

“Nothing.” 

“Clarke.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

Lexa nudges her under the table and Clarke squints at her happily. Her chin slides off the bracket of her palm and she sits up, placing her hands on either side of her plate of hotcakes as she leans over the table to kiss her—a sticky-sweet kiss that tastes like syrup and toothpaste somewhere beyond that. It’s slow and sweet, filling Lexa up with liquid sunshine from the pit of her belly to the top of her ears until all she can feel is Clarke’s grin against her mouth. She can hear footsteps somewhere beyond their booth—Gus probably—and when she starts paying attention again, back from the faraway planet that the feeling of Clarke beneath her fingers always sends her to, their teeth knock. 

Clarke leans back on her hands and Lexa goes to apologise when she sees her lips curl under her teeth. She smiles down at her breakfast—the picture of a naughty bashful school girl—as Gus meanders past with a rack of dirty mugs, doing his best imitation of ignorance. 

It isn’t convincing in the slightest. 

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Clarke asks when he’s gone, lowering herself back to her seat. One foot sits propped up on the bench of the booth and the other remains under the table to play footsie with Lexa’s.   

“If you want me to,” Lexa says softly as if worried if she speaks too loudly the sunshine will drain away and she will have to wait the minutes until Clarke sees fit to kiss her again, cold and sunshine-less. The thought almost doesn’t bear thinking about. It reminds her of the excruciating minutes between AP English and Biology—the only passing period in the school day when she and Clarke don’t manage to find each other—and it’s excruciating.   

“‘Course,” Clarke says executively. “We have to plan our costumes.” 

“Costumes?” 

“Costumes.” Clarke quirks her brow cheekily. 

A phone alarm goes off before Lexa can ask anymore and Clarke rummages through her backpack to silence it, checking the time as she does. “Shoot. I need to go.” She swings her backpack over her shoulder, then her gym bag and pries two ten dollar notes out of her bi-fold, handing them to Lexa as she slides out of the booth. 

“I’ll see you at lunch?” she asks, kissing Lexa on the cheek. 

“Yeah,” Lexa nods, then looks down at the money in her hand. It’s too much for breakfast. “Clarke—” 

“The tip’s for my waitress,” she grins, waving to Gus who looks up from where he’s studiously stacking glasses by the counter as she goes. “Tell her I think she’s cute.” 

//

Lexa isn’t nervous about the pumpkin patch until she hears people talking about it. 

(Well, that’s a lie, because the day she isn’t nervous about spending time with Clarke is the day that the stars descend from the heavens). 

When Clarke first brought it up over lunch with Octavia and Lincoln, it didn’t seem like it would be any different from their breakfasts at the diner or their study dates that turn very quickly from English to Biology of the kind that probably won’t be tested on the SATs. In fact, when she was younger she loved Halloween for that very reason. She remembers Anya saving quarters their parents gave her for taking out the trash to buy them tickets for the kid’s haunted hayride the Greens put on every year, presenting Lexa with her ticket and paper bag of candy corn like she was bestowing her sister a great honour. 

Then, Anya started the sixth grade and suddenly, the thought of a kid’s anything was morally reprehensible, let alone sitting in a moving vehicle for any length of time longer than the eight-minute drive to school. Lexa made a habit of being busy on Halloween after that. 

She thought the function of it remained the same though, no matter how many years she missed sitting in her room streaming Scream one through four on her laptop. Or at least she did until her calculus substitute let the class dissolve into a rapturous discussion of who had invited who to the pumpkin patch and, suddenly, it seemed like the most important thing in the world — more important than Spanish homework or SAT prep. 

It makes her panic as she stands in her room after school, surrounded by the casualties of an uncharacteristic rampage through her closet. The white and green of her Polis High School debate team has been relegated to beneath her bed. So has her track uniform and instead, every dress, skirt, shirt and sweater she owns lies trampled beneath her socked feet.

Lexa never saw herself as someone who would participate in the trashy, teen-film cliche of changing thirty-two times before going out but she thinks she understands the necessity of it now. This is a date — an honest to God date. Since Clarke asked her to the football game they’ve been falling into things without thinking about them — falling into hanging out after cheer practice, falling into eating in the cafeteria together at lunch, falling into the routine of having breakfast together at the diner on Friday morning while Lexa works a shift — but this is premeditated and it makes her nervous. 

In the end, she goes to Anya for help, who looks at Lexa past her mascara wand when she asks to borrow her clothes in the same way she would if Lexa told her she was quitting model UN to join the prom committee. 

“I thought you didn’t go out on Halloween,” she says, returning the wand to its tube and setting it on her vanity between a mug of makeup brushes and a jewellery stand. She has a t-shirt on and a towel wrapped around her head — halfway to getting ready for a date with Raven — and Lexa squirms in the doorway, looking for familiarity among the gauzy curtains and framed prints on the wall. She thinks she can see the edges of a mural they painted in elementary school hidden beneath the edge of an Urban Outfitters tapestry. 

“Clarke invited me to the pumpkin patch.” 

Anya doesn’t seem to need any more explanation than that. Her lips curl into a smile and she rises from her desk, herding Lexa towards her closet where she pulls two hangers off the rack and holds them up to her. After a moment, she puts them back, sending Lexa to her room for a pair of jeans and when Lexa returns, a tight, white longs-sleeve and a cable-knit jacket sit on the bed. She hands them both to Lexa, nodding in approval once she’s changed. 

It’s the most sisterly thing Lexa thinks they’ve done in a long time. Anya pulls the wrinkles out of her shirt and tucks the hem into Lexa’s jeans, maneuvering her in front of the mirror like she would when Lexa was seven years old and being bribed with Birthday Cake Pop-Tarts to be her dress-up doll. 

She sits down obediently on Anya’s desk chair when she’s asked, parting her lips for Anya to apply a coat of lip gloss she isn’t sure she asked for and staring at the join in the ceiling Anya points out as she pulls out a tube of mascara and, by the time she’s done, Lexa feels even more nervous than she did to start off with. 

“We don’t do this very much,” Anya says once she's satisfied with her handiwork and miming rubbing her lips together to blot the lip gloss. Lexa follows suit, looking past her sister at her own reflection in the mirror atop Anya’s dresser. 

“You’re busy I guess,” she shrugs, which isn’t exactly a lie, but it’s also the favourite excuse for not doing things in their family, from Sunday night dinners to the summer vacations they took annually before their father got promoted. 

They are busy though, Lexa reasons — Anya with cheerleading and Lexa with everything else — it’s OK not to be living in each other's pockets. They were close when they were younger — inseparable actually as if Anya was trying to make up for the fact that they were half-sisters by being twice as involved — but school only seemed to exacerbate the distance between them. 

“Not too busy to be your sister though,” Anya challenges, stern-faced and Lexa smiles in spite of herself. “OK?”

“OK,” Lexa nods, rolling her eyes as Anya chucks her chin. Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she fishes it out, reading Clarke’s message — ‘I’ll meet u at the diner after your shift <3’ — and smiling. 

When she looks up, Anya is watching her with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. She hands her the tube of lip gloss she used and flicks Lexa’s hair behind her ears before shooing her out of her room with a shake of her head and a “go meet your girlfriend, Lexa” and this time, Lexa complies. 

//

“Could I get two ciders please?” Clarke asks, leaning on the toes of her sneakers to reach the vendor, the sleeve of her jacket falling down her arm as she hands a twenty dollar note over the lip of the trailer’s window. 

(Strike breakfast, Lexa thinks, thoroughly flustered beneath Anya’s jacket and the thin layer of makeup her sister had insisted on, this is the prettiest Clarke has ever been. Lexa would trade this morning’s syrup-stick kisses for Clarke’s chapped cheeks and the palm of her free hand pressed flush to Lexa’s own any day).  

“I’ll pay!” She says, lunging forward and replacing Clarke’s rolled up note with one from her bi-fold, flattening it against the side of the truck before handing it over. 

“You don’t have to—” Clarke tries to argue, mouth thinning into a pout when Lexa bats her away and accepts two take-out cups and a paper bag of apple cider doughnuts that feel warm in her hands. 

“I got a big tip from a pretty girl today,” Lexa explains, shrugging as the wander back towards the picnic table Octavia has saved for them along the fence-line. 

“A pretty girl? Should I be worried?” Clarke teases. 

“Probably not,” Lexa reasons slyly, watching as Clarke drops her jaw in faux-outrage. 

“Watch it, Woods,” she says. “Or this’ll be the last time I invite you out on a nice date.” 

There’s that word again, Lexa thinks — date — and it makes her stomach knot even more than it already had on the twenty-minute drive here. 

This is certainly the most date-like that hanging out with Clarke has ever felt, from the way Gus had acted like a proud father hanging his daughter off to her homecoming date when Clarke came in to pick her up at the end of her shift — ‘your face,’ he’d said, pointing to the mascara on Lexa’s lashes and the shine of gloss on her lips, ‘you look…very grown-up’ — to the way they had driven here with their fingers linked over the gear stick. 

Even paying for Clarke’s drink feels oddly official — so far they’ve stuck to paying for their own meals at breakfast or football games, or if they share a milkshake they split the bill down the middle — and it’s scary in a way Lexa hasn’t quite found anything scary before. 

(It makes her feel grown-up when she thinks about it. Strangely permanent like none of her extracurriculars, good grades on the fridge or compliments from her parents ever have. Like, if she looks back at this moment in ten years, she will see herself here holding hands with Clarke beneath the Jack-O-Lantern lights and it will be as clear as it is to her now). 

“So’re we doing the maze?” Octavia asks eagerly as they sit down — Clarke sliding onto the bench on the same side as Lexa instead of opposite her as she would in a booth at the diner. It makes heat bloom through her body despite the evening chill. 

It’s nearly six o’clock now, and the string lights threaded overhead paints the twilight yellow and gold and flickering orange. To their left, the fields of pumpkins have almost fallen into darkness while, to their right, the Green’s barn is lit up, the lopsided scarecrow Lexa remembers from her childhood Halloweens sitting atop a pumpkin pyramid outside. 

Every few minutes a shrill scream will come from the direction of the maze and a terrified teenager will come running out of the exit, laughing and gasping for breath, happy to be back amongst the relative safety of the throng of families and little girls in Elsa dresses milling about in the light. 

Lexa doesn’t think any part of it appeals to her. She hasn’t stepped foot inside a haunted attraction since she was eight years old and facing her first Halloween without Anya’s coat sleeve to cling to — the jump scares in Scream are thrill enough for her — but when Clarke nods, and Octavia and Lincoln do too, she doesn’t have any choice but to say yes. 

Grinning, Clarke takes a sip of her cider before she slides a cold hand beneath Lexa’s jacket and fastens her fingers in her belt loop, leaning her head against Lexa’s shoulder. When she leans up a moment later to kiss Lexa gratefully she tastes like hot cider and allspice and the fake strawberry flavour of her lip balm Lexa has come to know.  

Words roll around in her head — words like date and girlfriend — but the longer she finds Clarke pressed against her, warm and real and present in a way Lexa never could have imagined her to be when she watched her sip her root beer floats from behind the counter on game days, the more she finds her fear draining away. By the time their ciders are finished and their doughnuts have been eaten and Lexa is standing in front of the maze, staring at the gruesome party store prop poised over the entrance, she doesn’t think it even existed in the first place.

“Are we doing it together or separately?” Lincoln asks, handing out the slips of paper and plastic Bic pens for the scavenger hunt. 

“Separately,” Octavia says immediately, sliding under her boyfriend’s arm in a way that makes Lexa think she’s going to use the opportunity to find a quiet annex on the far side of the maze and make out. 

“Don’t worry,” Clarke whispers when Lexa blanches at the thought — every horror movie ever made says splitting up in a corn maze is begging to be hunted down by a masked psychopath. “I’ll protect you.”

(It occurs to Lexa as she’s being pulled through the darkness that she’ll never stop finding extenuating circumstances for Clarke).