#too raw a reminder of who he had become during the time war

[wayward-wren]

If I think too hard about how the Doctor is so ready to sacrifice Jack Harkness then I start feeling shrimp emotions.

Even before Jack gets his immortality. In the Parting of the Ways, the Doctor sends Rose away but he knows. He knows he's sending Jack to die, and Jack knows it as well. And he doesn't even try to get Jack to safety.

The Doctor is willing to send Jack to his death and Jack will always be willing to die for him.

[porkcracker]

hello everything is fine? If requests are still open, I would like to know if you can do the reaction of the Decepticons (Megatron, Tarn, Overlord and Soundwave) with a Cybertronian s/o who is a cannibal and uses a fucinheira? Is she a powerful and insane warrior? If you don't want to write, ignore it, thank you.

Hi, thanks for asking, I'm haunted by chronic pain, but my life has had a rather positive turn the last months that had me really busy. Also why this ask is answered so late. Delightful selection of bots you got there, since it isn't really clarified, I went with separated headcanons and different scenarios for each character, so I hope you enjoy this.

Decepticons x Cannibal!Fem!Cyb!Reader

Megatron

Megatron has seen his fair share of cannibalism even before the war, so the action itself isn't anything new to him

It's during the war that he sees it used as a freely chosen way to fight, instead of an act used by desperate bots

He, himself, has not done it and will probably not do it unless necessary

That you indulge in cannibalism discourages him little to pursue you

There are enough equally insane bots in his faction as that he doesn't really care any more in the later parts of war

If you wear the muzzle from your own freewill, he will get a rush of power every time he is reminded that you are his, and he has the control to take it off you and send you after his enemies

During the time of your relationship, he gets use to tasting raw Energon due to you often tasting like it

You're a terrifying power couple, Emperor and Empress

Tarn

Being a cannibal in the DJD is nothing special

You start of as normal teammates, really if anyone had expected a relationship than not between the two of you

But still it happens, and it's an awful thing for any traitor

While Tarn likes to keep a somewhat cultured appearance on the average, and doesn't like you eating in your shared quarters

When it comes to punishing traitors, he greatly enjoys talking in his voice about his beautiful and vicious girlfriend and complimenting your appearance while feeding you the matching parts of the traitor

It's a very sweet bonding activity in your optics

During your time together, you start and stop wearing muzzles again and again, purely for the effect it has on the traitors you hunt

Still, you can never fully decide to stick to wearing one or not

Overlord

As a Gladiator you earned a terrifying reputation of eating your defeated opponents, something that lead to you wearing a muzzle whenever not in the ring fighting

As you continue to win and get stronger, the ring overseer formed a plan to get rid of you, to stop the loss of more fighters and set you up in a match against the at that point, unbeaten fighter, Overlord

You did not beat him either, however, the overseer miscalculated in the way that Overlord and you knew each other, and he let you life in your defeat

When the war started, you followed Overlord, a deranged type of partnership having formed between the two of you

Becoming a Deception had nothing to do with ideology for you, rather you only joined because your partner did

You two gained a reputation quickly as you not only killed happily anything that moved, but also had the favour of Overlord eating his defeated enemies, often even while they were still half alive

Soundwave

Soundwave meets you long before the war starts

On the streets are many desperate bots that will do anything and everything to survive, including eating others

You kept to already offlined bots whenever you could, but there were a few times you ended someone weak

Anyway, you meet Soundwave as another bot on the streets

His companions are wary of you as he is too, but over time and reoccurring run-ins with each other you get closer

When Soundwave suddenly vanishes, you assume he offlined

Life gets even tougher, and you end up with a few more crimes under your belt ending with you in a cell, muzzled for your tendency to get fuel through offlined bots

You only get free once the war breaks out and join the Decepticons, learning only then that Soundwave is still online

As old friends you hit it off and some time into the war even become a couple

Soundwave is also the one to free you of your muzzle, if the enforcers weren't already offlined he would have killed them for this

[shoshiwrites]

"gamble" or "quiet"? kissing out where nobody can catch them? - for Jo & Egan, of course, because I live the life of an enabler handing you another juicebox 🧃

You are the best, Killy, and thank you to you and @mercurygray for helping me break my little sick-time writer's block ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!

close to you

She’d gone with Kay back to London for a few days. Enough time to catch herself up, wire the stories she hadn’t already, knock her head against the wall a few more times over what did and didn’t go through. The damn blue slashes. Black ones too. Hell, a woman at the corner newsstand had showed Jo a letter from a boyfriend, cut into the RAF’s version of a paper snowflake. It fluttered strangely in the humid breeze, in the young woman’s hand. 

She’d seen Bill March’s broken arm, sustained in some manner during an air raid, though the correspondent still had his usual cheerful smile for her, and the pallbearers carrying a distant cousin of Kay’s out of the church in Marylebone, all of twenty when his ship had been torpedoed off the coast of Italy.

She’d gotten back to Thorpe Abbotts on a Friday afternoon, the air still soupy, her suitcase with a half-broken latch and her bitten nails, a growing hole in her last pair of stockings.

It wasn’t raining. Maybe that counted for something.

Trousers then, and maybe she was optimistic, thinking she felt the air cooling a bit around her. There were small scraps of blue sky, like she’d found them in the bottom of her mother’s rag bin. Calico up in the firmament.

The coffee’s warm, if bitter, she hardly pays attention to that now. A few Clubmobile women cleaning trays in the kitchen take pity on her and sneak her a donut. She dips, sloshes, remembers the good old days of milk and cream, and wanders back outside, wondering if she’d made a mistake in coming here straight from London. Her room is still hers in Norwich. Mrs. Fitzgerald had made sure she knew that. It’s a kindness she doesn’t quite have the words for. 

She’ll stay in the Clubmobile quarters tonight, on the extra cot. She’d left a book in Crosby’s care last week and he’d returned it to Tatty Spaatz, a piece of stationery stuck in the middle with neat, if hurried, observations. His handwriting reminds her of Evie’s, the block print of a planner.

“Major Egan will be happy to hear you’re back,” Tatty says, and there’s almost a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, her lipstick the color of red wine.

Jo hardly keeps stone-faced, a little scrunch somewhere between a question and an acknowledgement, distaste and curiosity. “I haven’t seen him,” she says.

They yawn, the seconds between the conversation outside and when he’s walking, seeing her, redirecting his path. His eyes look like he’s been squinting in low light, the mask-marks raw across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He’d come out of his office. Post-mission administration, she thinks. Letters home. He writes them longhand, someone had told her. He’s never spoken about it. She’s never asked him.

And she’s not sure happy is the word she’d use, right now. But Tatty knows what she said. Happy is on the ground. A girl smiling at you. The smell of her hair, clean. 

The question comes on an exhale, the tie loosened around his neck. “You wanna go for a walk?”

It feels faintly ridiculous, the way she’s not used to being asked. And it’s faintly ridiculous too, the way propriety and a respectful difference between his boots and her lace-up shoes becomes a sneak-around, a glancing journey to the far edge of the airfield, the side of an outbuilding backed by trees. 

Maybe he wants something else, she thinks. Another jigger of whiskey, playing cards on the table, chips or dice or jacks. Someone else. Someone who lets him forget.

He kisses her before they’ve even stopped moving, as she rounds the corner in the half-tall grass. 

She hasn’t snuck around like this in — god — she can’t remember. Years. 

She can’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this. A sunlit kitchen, softer. Before the leather interiors of fancy cars and class rings. She never thought it could be dressed like this, callused hands and muscle. The flutter of tiny wings falls still. A fly buzzes around their ankles; she can hear it between the sounds of his mouth, breath hot between them.

She can feel that little swatch of damp at the small of her back, the feeling of her hipbones beneath the wool of her trousers. He breaks away to kiss the side of her mouth, the short hairs of his mustache brushing her upper lip. 

John, she wants to say, but maybe she can help it, the desperate act of naming him. It all sticks in her throat, like a glob of too-soft caramel. Hardening. John, John, John. “Afternoon, Major.” 

He looks like he’s trying to decide something, kisses her again by her nose while he does. She’ll do the same if he’ll let her, the cuts of the oxygen mask and the freckles she can see in the light. “Afternoon, Captain.”

[zhangyulian]

PAINT ME RED WITH YOUR BLUE - snippet

Inspired by listening to 2step - Ed Sheeran

Hey guys! I wanted to share a snippet of a work to y’all fellow Avatar fans. :)

This is an idea for a story I’m working on RN. It will be from Spider’s POV for the most part, pre-recom capture.

Time was supposed to make pain easier to deal with. At least, that’s what he was told by all the adults around him when he asked them their opinions on how to deal with painful situations. It seemed like a harmless question any child growing up into teenage-hood would ask, but in all reality Spider was trying to find a way to stop the constant aches festering in his chest, a place where bandages and medicinal pastes couldn’t reach. The older he got, the more conscious he became of where these pangs of hurt, guilt, jealousy, and the turmoil of emotions came from, yet, he masked them with smiles and laughs when he entered the world of Eywa’eveng, unwilling to taint her beautiful planet with his sorrows. Especially when he was around his best friends, he wouldn’t let moments where he knew he couldn’t participate in certain activities get to him because he was human. And the son of an enemy. Despite how accepting the rest of the Omaticaya had become of his presence in their village, there were certain people who always reminded him of who and what he was.

Someone who had been left behind by those who were supposed to care for him, abandoned on a planet that would kill him.

A place where he wasn’t necessary.

A burden.

Unwanted.

Coming to terms with that resulted in restless nights of silent sobbing. Those days he refused to leave his room in the shack, instead turning to the little trinkets he kept from his friends he considered family—the bow and armbands Neteyam helped him make when he declared Spider a part of their family, the wooden carvings he and Lo’ak worked on together on his tenth birthday to mark them both as best bros, bracelets and anklets from Kiri proclaiming him being the brother she never had, an intricately weaved blanket gifted from Mo’at to ensure he never slept cold. During these days, Norm and Max left him food outside his door every day in respect to his privacy. It was the least they could offer him. The gesture helped to ebb away the rawness in his throat and pounding in his head. They were the only things that grounded the human boy. He was not a child of anyone alive by blood or relation—he knew that was too much to wish for. But the acknowledgement of his presence by these people was enough for him to get over the turmoil that plagued his mind before he steeled himself to enter Eywa’s world again.

With each passing day, a small voice in his head asks him how much longer he could sustain himself like this? He was too afraid to answer it back, fearing the acknowledgement of the truth.

When the humans returned, the days into his late teenage years blurred together into a mix of adrenaline, fear, and uncertainty. War brought on a whole new layer of complicated emotions Spider couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He helped where he could with prepping the war party, helping Norm and Max and the other scientists with any equipment they bring back to the lab, wanting to make himself useful and keep his mind occupied. That he could do.

Seal the mask tighter, make sure nothing leaked out from underneath the smiles and laughs. Everything was going to be okay. Even if it wasn’t.

[the-endless-traveler]

The World Outside

How long since I ever stepped outside that dome? Thirty years, and I counted them. It's a short lifespan for a Viera like me, but there was people on the other side that I wanted to see again. See if they remember me, or if they will be shocked by what I have become. After all, I spent thirty years in the strange new world I ended in...

It all started after I got my permit and headed to Shaaloani. Nothing too unusual for a Sage of Sharlayan that was looking for the history of her clan, even if two thousand years have passed from their exile from Tural to the deadly jungle of Golmore. I expected to find anything that would retrace the origins of my combat style to the Vipers of Tural, and Yyasulani was where the Shetona lived... Some of them at least. The last area I would scout out for my own goals... Then that thing happened.

The thing is that dome. It appeared out of nowhere while I was in a village to get some rest, and all of a sudden the entire world got warped into something different. It wasn't any form of Allagan technology, and it wasn't anything made by Sharlayan either, and many of the people I was with died during the sudden attack that followed our shift to this unknown place. Damned be those... things. Humanoid, soulless machines made entirely for war attacked us as soon as we appeared her, killing many villagers and exhausting my Aether to keep the rest alive and protect them with the other fighters who got caught. Others died by the sudden levinstorm that fell from the darkened sky, or because the area got destroyed enough they got claimed by nature itself. What a joke... and what was that weird place anyway?

I decided to explore the entire area on my own after a few days, trying to find a refuge for the few survivors under my care. I couldn't abandon them, not after I fought for them, after all. Of course, the ground decided to fall under me when I was exploring and I fell into a geyser of raw levin. The raw aether coursed through my body and I only remember falling to the ground after the surge of lightning only evoked pain beyond measure and a feminine voice.

Queen Sphene. A kindhearted woman who pulled me off the geyser and healed me with the curious technology they have in Solution Nine, the electrope. I wasn't dead, but they had to isolate my entire body for the sources of levin they used to mend my wounds, and according to the medical staff, my Aether was definitely imbalanced towards Lightning with no chances to recover it. This is where she offered me to easemy pain with a regulator, a headpiece that would help balance everything and ensured my chances of living. Did I consumed souls during my time recovery, I don't know, but I accepted her offer. I learned later what regulators could do and refused to use any souls... But they were an useful addition into a world I never knew. Then... the truth happened.

I learned to hunt and to work for my share of life with my new abilities. Electrope was a breeze to master, and my flow of Aether opened my body to new techniques. To hell with my legacy, if I was to be stuck here it would be better to defend myself and the people, rather than to seek a past that was probably taken by the dome. I made multiple weapons and finally, my trusted gunblade came through as the perfect addition to my new life. I knew those weapons would channel Aether into bullets, and I would channel Lightning instead, but that was serviceable for two years. I was with another hunter who died in the work and I brought them back to the Outskirts. The body was taken care of and I left to make a grave where he fell as a reminder when the regulator activated itself. I was wondering why I was here, and the half-grave I built had a name. The regulator reactivated but nothing would make me forget who my friend was. I had nothing but anger in my mind and I returned to Solution Nine, locking myself within the home I secured for one, single task: break the regulator.

I made it. I hacked this piece of hell and ripped it off its main functions, and it took me only three years. It was now a database, a way to never forget anything I ever live, and despite my obsession, I made a few friends in Solution Nine who would see me for my skills with electrope. I went from hunting at full time to hunting when I was needed, and making weapons for the hunters who needed help... And if someone wanted to have access to forbidden knowledge, I could help. Oblivion, the resistance, tried to rope me into their ideas, too. I didn't accepted, but I didn't refused to help them either... I just wanted to be by myself for a while.

I... wished I had a way to get out. Then the Vanguard happened and I saw my chances to leave. Not because I hated Solution Nine or Neo-Alexandria, but because I had friends outside the dome, people I cared about.

And thirty years passed.

[junicai]

Relationship with WAYV

➣ KUN ☾ karia

if it wasn’t for dotae potentially coming to kill him, he would steal aria into wayv

he’s the cool dad? 

they can’t spend a lot of time together because none of their schedules match up, but aria takes every third or so weekend out to come have dinner in the wayv dorms

she’s surprisingly close to the china line, and its a combination of ten dragging her to his dorm for an entire month and them just kinda adopting her when they realized she was a foreigner as well 

yuta can fight them, she’s one of them now

he doesn’t like to baby her a lot, and she really appreciates the break from being the “maknae” so to speak 

however does that stop him from giving her the forehead kithes? no

aria sad? forehead kith

aria mad? forehead kith

aria smad? forehead kith + kuddles (kun cuddles)

he has sent her a passive agressive text when he found out that she wasn’t eating enough again and had almost passed out

but he finished it with a heart so its ok

if she isn’t smiling at all times, someone will die

aria feels like she can trust him with a lot; that no matter what she tells him, he’ll never out her or make fun of her

kun actually took a two-week online course to learn how to make traditional japanese dishes when aria mentioned missing her parents

he originally was going to learn how to make irish dishes, but he changed his mind after seeing what they were

“im not giving my kids boiled cabbage and mashed potatoes what kind of post world war-”

wants to give her a chinese name but hasn’t yet because he hasn’t found the one that fits her right and he wants it to be perfect 

aria teaches him japanese phrases in exchange for him teaching her a little bit of mandarin

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

aria saw kun’s back as she entered the practice room, the man standing with three other members in the centre of the floor before the choreographer came in to start their practice. coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, peeking her head around from where she was. “hi!” she smiled brightly.

“hi,” ten chuckled, showing her the camera that had just filmed all of that. 

➣ TEN ☾ tenaria

Whipped(TM)

so so gone for her its upsetting actually

yangyang and aria share the position of his baby 

except aria willingly accepts the title while yangyang would rather fling himself from a rooftop

ten’s instagram is half his cats, half miyazu aria

he posts her dancing practice on his story a lot, with a variety of captions ranging from “thats my baby  ♡( ◡‿◡ )” to “yah that’s not right...(눈_눈)”

such an enabler for her bad ideas 

aria wants to go shopping at 4am? ten agrees, now they’re sitting by han river eating ice cream

pls he’s gonna get her in so much trouble one day

when they walk together, ten likes to take her hand and put it in his pocket 

its under the pretense of not wanting her to get lost 

he just wants to hold her hand

yes he has lost her in a shopping mall, and NO it wasn’t his fault

ten always complains that they never have schedules together and he misses his baby 

“we have superm-” “I NEVER SEE YOUUUU (ﾉಥ益ಥ)ﾉ”

if they’re in the same room ten is either watching her out of the corner of his eye, or is actually wrapped around her like a boa constrictor 

hugs n kithes all around

only he is allowed make fun of her mistakes in dancing 

anyone else gets deaded. he will fight for her honor how dare you insult his baby 

sm give these ttwo a dancing duo video pls 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

the first and only time aria and ten had a duet was during their last concert on superm’s first world tour. during the second half of ten’s solo performance, aria emerged from the left side of the stage, coming to join him in the centre stage. no one had ever seen aria as serious as she was then, both herself and ten becoming completely different people in the moment. midway through, aria spun with her back to ten and leaped backwards into the air - eyes closed - completely trusting ten to be where she needed him to be to catch her. 

➣ WINWIN ☾ winria

a love hate relationship at its finest

they don’t actually hate each other it’s just really funny to pretend that they do (especially because yuta complains that 2 of his favourite people aren’t getting along)

winwin is so savage towards aria but it’s ok she claps back twice as hard

at first, before czennies had seen enough of their dynamic they thought that they actually did hate each other

but that’s not true they just don’t know how to express, affection, without brutally insulting the other with a loving tone

they are, surprisingly, the most stable pairing in 127 - they have a dynamic and rarely stray from that, which is a good comfort for the fans

despite what they might say to each other, they don’t mean any of it - and winwin has been seen several times raising his eyebrows with a questioning look at aria to make sure she wasn’t taking any of his playful jabs to heart

oh god the flexibility

the entirety of nct is terrified of them

the day sm gives them a circus act is the day that kun and taeyong have a heart attack

quietly supportive of each other - catch aria “playing” with a water bottle and not getting up to get it when it conveniently rolls across the floor and into winwin’s leg

he makes sure to save some new chinese sweets whenever the wayv members get packages from their familes, and sneak it into aria’s room before the managers can catch her breaking her diet

not really physically affectionate with each other, which played into czennies idea that they didn’t like each other but aria cleared it up in a vlive

“winwinnie and I, well. we don’t hug a lot because i know he doesn’t like it as much as i might, so i try to show him i care with other things :)”

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

winwin and aria going in to each other on knowing brothers, to the point where the mc’s had their eyes popping out of their head and waved about to stop the segment before aria could start attacking winwin’s cooking methods-

nothing is off limits when it comes to them

➣ LUCAS ☾ arihei

besties 

please they’re so cute together - tol child next to tini child she barely comes up to his chest :(

bear hugs

he just swamps her in his arms, and when he doesn’t feel like being bent over he picks her up 

complains that she’s too heavy but then immediately after will throw her around like a softball 

someone tell this man to be careful with her she’s not a barbie doll 

singular braincell energy

don’t get it wrong, they’re both super smart 

so it’s just - being smort together, but then nearly dying because neither of them remembered that you couldn’t eat raw cookie dough when there are eggs in it

she adores how he’s so confident in the things that he does - like convincing the entire nct fandom that he was fluent in english? king behaviour

so aria looks up to him (literally) but also because she wants to have that confidence some day 

lucas says they’re not close and then aria pouts and he takes it all back

nczennies made a 14 minute compilation titled “lucas melting like a popsicle in australia for aria” 

and literally what the title tells you, this man goes :(( when he sees her 

lucas was actually the person to convince her to go ahead with the [redacted] proposal - and reminded her that it was too good an opportunity to pass up just because she felt like she was outgrowing the boys

he’s so proud of her

and she’s so proud of him 

they’re so proud of each other and it makes nczennies want to cry because they never are seen together 

sm stop separating the platonic soulmates first markhyuck and now arihei smh

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

during a photoshoot, aria was standing off to the side of the boys, dressed in white suit to contrast the boys’ black ones. the photographer was calling out to her to get her to move closer, but she couldn’t hear him from so far away, and so lucas (who was on the end) just walked over to her, gripped her by the biceps and lifted her vertically and to the left a little bit. 

“luc-LUCAS?”

“you had to move :)”

➣ XIAOJUN ☾ arijun

honestly these two aren’t super close, just because their schedules never matched up until the NCT 2020 promotions

even when aria was dragged to the wayv dorms, xiaojun kept his distance from her because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable 

even so, when they were filming Make A Wish together, they seemed comfortable enough around each other

there was a mutual agreement to not try fill the silence with awkward small talk, so they sat in silence when left alone together

they’re both shy :( someone needs to get them to talk to each other :(

even so, aria was all supportive smiles and thumbs-up when she saw him getting nervous before their first public stage as the unit 

he was a little intimidated of her at first, but also really curious about how she was holding her own against the other members

not only physically, but her vibes are tiny let the man be concerned ok

his first impression of aria was just: small quiet? she was sitting apart from the other boys in the practice room, and he almost wanted to go over and ask her if she was ok; before she was approached by donghyuck and her face broke into a bright smile 

aria’s first impression of xiaojun was: eyebrows he was really handsome? at first, she thought he was in the wrong room, seeing as the SM modeling auditions were happening in the next room down

any arijun shippers are starved of content im so sorry guys 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

currently still up for debate between the fandom :(

➣ HENDERY ☾ aridery

ah these two 

you might as well sign a waiver if you decide to do anything with them, because they can and will get you killed 

kun can testify

ten’s the enabler but hendery is the do-er

super giggly around each other, for no reason at all

hendery could pick up and throw a basketball and suddenly aria’s on the floor in literal stitches 

have a secret code 

no seriously

they don’t text in words, they just send various reaction memes and a colourful variety of emojis to convey emotions and scenarios 

it’s become quite a beautiful language actually 

got some nice proverbs in there

they’re like, cousins but the ones you only see at family reunions but get so hype to see them

that energy 

asides from the chaotic, murderous vibes they possess as a duo

hendery knows what it’s like to miss home, to miss your parents, etc etc

and so he tries to make aria feel as home as possible - especially with wayv, because they’re all foreigners who know how she feels 

whenever he gets packages from his parents who have sent things over, he always makes sure to keep some of the small treats/sweets back for aria

1. because he knows she’ll appreciate the thought and she gives good hugs

2. because he knows she’s on a diet constantly and never allowed eat these things when she’s in the dorms with managers around 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

filming the Resonance “Wish” event, aria was put in a skimpy minimalistic mock-suit to differentiate from the others’ clothes. unfortunately, that left aria with a little too much shoulder and chest on display than she would like, and she was noticeably uncomfortable with her clothes, constantly pulling it up and even going so far as to just hold it with her hands. 

hendery saw this, and knew he was finished filming his segment for the time being, so he pulled off his own jacket and tossed it over to aria, who caught it with a grateful smile. “thank you,” she mouthed to him, tugging the dark blue material over her shoulders.

➣ YANGYANG ☾ ariyang

aria. has 9 days of age on this boy and will never let him forget it

“respect your elders you brat” “9. DAYS.”

european pals 

they feel so cultured when they get asked about europe, and then are kindly reminded by hendery that A. Germany started 2 world wars, and B. Ireland was just a British colony until 100 years ago. 

they both hit him for that

aria teaching him curse words in irish and yangyang teaching her curse words in german? more likely than you’d think 

they met before yangyang’s debut was announced, in a practice room that had let them accidentally overlap their practice times 

instead of working it out between them, they actually just started to alternate their songs - and the other gave them some good, constructive criticism 

most of the time

when they found out they were going to be in 90s Love together, they were so happy 

it was going to be their first official schedule together

all the behind-the-scenes videos are just aria and yangyang being children and then ten coming over and cooing at them 

they love ten, but they will trash talk the man behind his back 

yangyang confessed to her that he sometimes feels nervous when speaking korean, like he’s going to make a big mistake

so she tries her best to teach and correct him where she can, and make him as comfortable as possible 

if you look at any of the 90s Love promotions - aria is always beside yangyang

he bit her ear once

she doesn’t know why and he won’t tell her

but now when she makes fun of him, he threatens to do it again 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

aria skating onto the rink during filming, and yangyang following her because she promised to teach him how to skate backwards.

“ok just, think like you’re leading with your heels. press your knees in, and push outwards, with you-no no that’s forwards. go backwards yangyang.”

“no no no thats a WALL YANGYANG STOP-” 

[writingsbychlo]

it’s been a long, long time | bucky barnes

word count; 5,808

summary; you’re preparing to spend christmas alone, not expecting your soldier to make it home to you in time.

notes; this is a forties bucky fic, and it’s out of the normal mcu world, so he never falls off of the train, etc. he was just a prisoner of war. inspired by this song, take a listen, you’ll recognise it.

warnings; injury, reference to human experimentation, reference to death.

Staring blankly at the letter on the table, you ran your finger over the corner of the paper. The last letter signed from your lover, dated over fourteen months ago, a sigh on your lips, and the burning in your eyes came springing back to remind you of the tears threatening to fall once again. 

The box beside you sat open, several other pieces of paper spread out around you, the fire in the corner crackling weakly and you thought maybe you should get up and put another log on it, but you just didn’t have the energy. Your cheeks were stinging, skin raw and eyes puffy and red, your throat raw from sobbing, choking back your cries, although you were all burned out by now. 

It had been three years since you had shipped your lover off to the war, a kiss on his lips and a smile on his face as he was taken off to lead the 107th into battle. You’d written him every week, sending your letters to wherever he was, his own coming back to you in bountiful return, and you’d collected every single one in a box that you kept under your bed, close to your heart, to remember him forever. 

The clothes he’d left with you had lost their smell years ago, and as of a few months ago, the boxes form his apartment had been sent to you. You’d spent a week straight with his sisters and his mother, sorting through everything, comforting one another when that news had finally come.

You’d known something had been wrong the moment it had been over two weeks since you’d heard from the man you loved, that something must have happened, the trenches expanding, taking him closer to the front line. After a month, you’d taken a trip across town to visit Peggy, a woman who had been a stranger to you and was now one of your closest friends, only to find Steve hadn't sent her any letter yet either.

Two months later, you had received a letter, one from Steve, who had been battered and bruised and completely exhausted, and without a best friend, who’d been taken during a firefight, a prisoner of war, officially announced missing in action. Even so, you’d been strong, you’d kept your hopes up, writing to him, as he was in the medical bay, listening to him get better, and saving up all of the drawings he’d done for you while unable to perform his duty. The letters had become less frequent, of course, once he was back in action, leaving you once again to realise just how cold and empty everything felt now. 

You had run out of your favourite red lipstick a while ago, never bothering to replace it when you didn’t have paper to press kisses to as you wrote your lover back, and the cupboard door had fallen off a while ago, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to open up the boxes of Bucky’s things to find his toolbox and repair it.

A year to the day, an envelope with an army insignia on and a handwriting you didn’t recognise, announcing that ‘missing in action’ was now presumed ‘killed in action’, but you’d known it before even undoing the seal. That letter was in the box too, a tragic tale from beginning to end, following the first letter you’d received, shaky and jerky, written on the train, only hours after you had said goodbye and sent from still within America, before he’d ever been shipped away to his death in order to defend his country, to the final letter, confirming that the soul who’d perfectly matched your own would never be coming home to you. 

With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself up from the wooden chair, back aching a little, and the darkness outside told you just how long you’d been sitting there, and you became overly aware of the room you could barely see now. A chill swept over you, an orange glow from the dying flames keeping it alight, and a sad laugh took over you as you realised just how pitiful you’d become. If Bucky could see you now, you knew exactly what he’d say. What the look on his face would be like, or how he’d shake his head at you, before rolling up his sleeves and being determined to fulfil his role as ‘man of the house’. 

You were supposed to take on all roles now, you were supposed to look after your own household and future, and so instead, you rolled up the sleeves of the shirt that was loosely buttoned up the front that didn’t belong to you, and started by making your way over to the stove. Filling it up at the tap, you placed the metal down on the hob, lighting a match and flicking on the gas, watching as it sparked up. It left a glow throughout the otherwise dark kitchen, drawing out the pale moonlight that had been bathing the walls and tiles. 

There was so much to do, so much that you wanted to get done, and yet you had no idea where to start, feeling like you were drowning in your thoughts, your mind becoming your worst enemy. You flicked on a lamp, warm and golden light pooling over the room and casting out the shadows, making you feel slightly less alone as the dark was cast out. Windows went black, the outside no longer visible to you, except for the pale linings of now along the edges of the glass, snow still falling as winter closed in. 

It was cold, the chill in the December air making it so, and you knew you would be getting ready for bed within a few hours, and so in that light, you busied yourself with the fire next. Piling on logs, tinder, old scratching of newspaper until the glowing ashes had revived into roaring flames, the cage over the fire doing little to protect you, pops and cracks sounding from the logs. 

It was less lonely now, a warm fire and some lighting making you feel like you at least had some kind of will in the world to take care of yourself, to stop everything from slipping away as you felt like you’d died right alongside him, but rather to live your life, and keep going on in the way you knew he’d want you to. The kettle was whistling, and you followed the sound, turning down the flame as the water bubbled, and finding a rag to cover your fingers with as you unscrewed the cap. 

You had to search for the teabags, for the slightly fruity ones that always helped you to calm yourself a little, digging through the kitchen drawers, and pausing as you shifted through the boxes. Behind your teabags, an old box of cigarettes, ones you hadn't seen in a while but were painfully nostalgic, the edges of your lips flicking up in a smile. Your tea was forgotten, fingers brushing over the packet, before pulling it forwards. The tangible smell of the crushed leaves met your nose, and you pulled them out. 

It was an indulgence you were considering. The smell had never bothered you so much, and it was rare that Bucky had ever lit up a cigarette, only when he was stressed or overly nervous, but you were considering it now. The acrid taste would remain in the back of your throat for days to come if you did, no matter how much time you spent trying to rid yourself of it, even if it felt like the perfect moment to have one, giving you a few simple hours of respite from your self-torment. There was a lump forming already, and you tried to swallow it down, flicking open the lid and bringing one to your lips. 

Dropping a tea bag into the pot, stirring it slightly until the water changed colour, a herbal scent filling the air, and you searched for a single teacup and saucer as the roll hung from your mouth. Moving the pot from the flame, you leaned down, bringing it to the hob, and holding it carefully between two fingers, trying to light it, before jumping harshly at the knock that sounded through the house. 

It echoed, fingers on wood leaving a sharp noise that bounced from every wall, and you glanced straight up to the clock on the wall. A brow raised, the hour far passed what would be considered appropriate, especially this close to Christmas, at the house of a woman living alone. Dropping the roll from your lips, you stuffed it haphazardly into the packet and sealed it away in its drawer, before hurrying through the small home to the door. 

Looking through the gap in the wood, you couldn't see much, a tall figure, hands tucked in the pockets, back to you as they looked down, kicking at the snow, but you couldn’t make much of the hunched-over figure. You were sure it was a scam, or someone coming around to offer you blessings last minute, and so you left the lock on sealed across the door, cracking it open and shivering a little at the icy wind that swept in as you did. 

The figure turned, and you looked up at them, eyes sweeping over their figure before realisation clicked in your mind. Longer hair and creases and wrinkles on the skin that had once been smooth. A patchy beard, new scars and sunken eyes, a frown where you knew a smile, but those eyes were the same, the same pale blue that always looked at you with love and admiration, and you could feel your heart leaping into your throat. 

“Hey, doll.”

You slammed the door, feeling the pounding on the inside of your ribs make your chest feel as though you were aching, breaking part from the inside out as your forehead rested to the panels of the door, hearing his chuckle from the other side, before you were shakily sliding your hand up to find the lock, dragging the chain across and opening it up, before revealing the man to yourself once again. 

He was facing you fully now, a grin on his lips that wasn’t nearly as bright and enthusiastic as it used to be, but still dazzling and beautiful, and you were silent as yous stepped aside, letting him over the doorstep. As he entered the light and stopped being as hidden from you as he had been, you could see the true extent of his injuries, a gasp leaving you before you could stop it. 

Scars and worry-lines weren’t the only new developments. There was purple dotted along his skin, blue and yellowing at the edges as the bruises healed, and there was still fresh cuts on his skin now that you could see him. The stubble on his jaw was hiding a batch of cuts and marks, marring his skin, and you felt tears leaking from your eyes as you took him in. He closed the door, locking it up tight again, before his shoulders were slumping, and he was letting you take him in, his entirety, everything that had come back to you. 

He wasn’t the same person he was, there was more bulk to him, the army routines, constant exposure, exercising for entertainment and lugging equipment around had certainly made him bigger, but as he stood before you, looking somewhat broken, he looked smaller than ever. You wanted or hold him, cradle him in your arms and never let him go, but you felt like if you did, he’d turn to dust in your hold, or you’d wake up and realise that it was all just in your imagination, a conjuring you had created on a cold and lonely night to ease the aching in your heart. 

You had no idea what the extent of his injured under his clothes might be, unable to see anything of him. He wasn’t in the military uniform you’d sent him off in, the proud green with badges and ribbons, his name stitched across the front was gone. A pair of ripped and well-worn great trousers, a t-shirt with a logo on in a language you didn’t recognise and a jacket over the top, all of it looking as though it had been scavenged, blood on it that still seemed fresh, and it was all too overwhelming once again.

With a shaky hand, you reached out to him, cupping his face, fingertips smoothing over his skin cautiously as you tried to assess where you could even put your hands, where would hurt him, before pulling away when you realised he was still covered in dirt and dried blood, greasy hair and mud crusted to the ends, and he was so far from the man you recognised that you wondered whether he was even the same person inside anymore.

Pushing back his hair, you chuckled weakly as the flakes crumbled away, tucking the longer strands behind his ears and deciding he definitely needed a haircut, and taking a step closer to him as your eyes found his. Longing, sad, relieved; so many emotions were swirling within them, enough to make your stomach feel like it was twisting up into knots from nausea just at the sight of him. As you learned in, he produced his right hand, from his pocket, cupping your face lightly as the other remained tucked away, thumb smoothing over your skin. 

Tipping your face into his hand, you held it to your face, eyes squeezing closed and you couldn’t’ hold back your cries anymore, a loud sob leaving you as you realised the touch on your cheek was real, not something you’d dreamt up for yourself to keep you company in the cold and the dark as you missed your soldier dearly.

“Please don’t cry, babydoll. What do I always tell ya’, huh?” You grinned, knowing the words he was bringing up, choking on the laugh you wanted to release, but tears flowed from your eyes. “Oh, baby, no. You’re too pretty ‘a dame to cry.”

His accent had faded, that familiar Brooklyn boy you loved had become a man of war, the same cocky teen you’d met years ago on the school courtyard was a new person now, and your emotions were taking over, crying in his hold, before his finger was wiping under your eyes, moving down to your chin to tip your face up towards him. 

“Please, sweetheart, say somethin’. You’re killin’ me here.”

“That’s not funny, Bucky!” You glared at him, pulling away enough that his hand fell from your face, and he nodded, swallowing thickly as the amused expression on his features slipped away. “I thought you were dead! I got a letter, you haven’t written me in over a year, I went into mourning, I stayed with your mother and your sisters, we comforted each other! Where were you?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed, your anger draining from you at the way his voice cracked and trembled a little with fear, and you couldn’t help the tears that were flowing over once again. “Germany, maybe? No, it was colder than that, perhaps, Russia. Almost my entire unit was taken, I had no idea how long it had been, I lost count after a few weeks, they did experiments an-” He couldn’t get his words out, he could barely speak, and you shook your head, trying to wipe his own cheeks dry, breath shared between you as his forehead pressed to yours. “I’m sorry.”

“God, James, don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

He could only nod, and your throat felt raw with every breath you took, your mind spinning with a dizzy kind of vertigo that left everything else to melt away as he became your first focal point. Your legs felt weak, but you weren’t willing to step away, to let yourself drop to the floor no matter how much you wanted to let yourself give way, as the crushing weight of the day destroyed you.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to say.” He laughed lightly at your words, tucking hair away behind your ear, before tipping his head up enough to brush chapped and cut lips over your forehead. “Why didn’t you send me a letter?”

“I did, but I couldn’t wait any longer, I think I beat it here.” You took his hand, lifting it down form your face, before pulling him through to your kitchen, a room he was more than familiar with, and for the first time in a long time, you were accompanying your teacup with another. You no longer wanted the drink, and you doubted that Bucky did either, but you needed something to fill your time, just to occupy yourself. “I love you, doll.”

You turned, to the nose that was bumping against your temple, no more teasers to cry, sadness and confusion ebbing away as you allowed warmth and bliss to heat you up from the inside out, a feeling you hadn't felt since you’d let him go, the part of your heart that had been missing for so long was finally returned. “I love you too.” 

You shifted, moving to catch his lips with your own, but he pulled back a little shaking his head slightly, and you frowned, peering up at him with wide eyes. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to tell you something. Then you can tell me if you still love me.” Your brows rose, stepping back from him a little, and his head dropped. It was as his hand came across his body to untuck the one still hidden in his pocket, the sleeve falling limp as it was revealed. The right hand came up, pushing the material from his shoulders, shucking down his body and letting it drop to the floor. Bile rose in your throat, a hand clapping over your mouth, before a full-body wrack was shaking you from head to toe.

“What happened to you?”

“I think that’s pretty obvious.” He whispered, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight. His left arm was gone, the shirt sleeve knotted at the top where what was left of his arm ended, and you forced your hands up to the buttons on his chest, feeling like your arms were tied down with weights as you undid the buttons. When the final one came undone, white undervest revealed, you moved to push the fabric away, his hand sealing around your wrist, head shaking. “I didn’t come back in one piece, it’s not pretty under there, doll.”

“What happened?”

“Tests, nothing good. They injected me with something, a lot, my arm got infected but apparently, I was showing a good reaction to whatever they were pumping me full of.” He shrugged, letting you go with a nervous sigh as you continued to push away the shirt, helping him peel it down his arm, trying not to let your shock show as the remainder of his arm was revealed. When it left his fingertips on his right side, it fell away to join the jacket. “Guess they’d rather I lose an arm than they lose an asset.”

There were bandages wrapped gourd the patch, only a little of his arm left, not even reaching half-way down where his bicep would be, but the bandages were clean and fresh, no blood soaking through, and it was a blessing that you couldn’t have been more grateful for. “I love you, James Barnes. I love you so much.”

“Even though I’m not whole anymore?”

“I love every part of you, inside and out, no matter how much or little of you there is.” Finally, he smiled, the first honest and true smile you’d had from him in years, and he dipped down, lips pressing to your own tenderly. It was a moment you’d never forget; late into the night, days before Christmas like a miracle, having the man you loved back in your arms as he kissed you sweetly, just like he used to when he’d see you before he left, and everything in your life clicked back into place at long last. “Please don’t lose any more of yourself, though, before this war ends.”

“Well, I hope not, because I won't be going anywhere for a long time.”

“When do you go back?” He shook his head, stealing another short kiss from your lips, making you smile into his touch. 

“I don’t, doll. The army has no use for someone who can’t shoot a gun.” You felt stupid for even asking, jaw dropping as you tried to speak, and he seemed to sense the drop in tone, his arm smoothing around your waist to pull you in closer to him, a hug that was long overdue. “Besides, if I went back, who would help you get a Christmas tree? It’s less than a week ‘til Christmas, where’s your holiday spirit?”

“Wasn’t feeling very festive when I thought that the man I loved was dead.”

“I’m home now, though.” He mumbled the words against your lips, barely letting you nod your head before he was diving in for another kiss. You had so much time to catch up on, but these kisses were deeper and far more intimate than any before them had ever been, because you’d never had this kind of pressure on your relationship before. You’d never almost lost him, feared for his life or felt like you’d been so alone, never had you been abandoned in your loneliness, and he’d come to sweep you back up out of the darkness. 

It was evident in every drag of his lips with yours, it was clear in the love that he poured into the connection, each time his tongue flicked out to play with your one, in every panted breath, squeeze of his fingers into your flesh as he held onto you, pulling you just a little bit closer, and letting your arms circle his neck, pushing ourself up to meet his height. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re really home?” You questioned, still a little unsure that this wasn’t a dream, and he didn’t even hesitate before replying;

“Yeas, baby, I’m really home.”

You could only hum, soaking up every moment that you got to spend in his arms. “You should look the part, then.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He was a little scandalised, pulling back with a dropped jaw, brows shot up and hidden in his hairline from the length of the strands, your head shaking fondly as you brought up your fingers to play with his hair. 

“You need a haircut, and a bath, and a shave. You look like a mountain man, not my Bucky.”

“I need to get into my own clothes, and my own bed, with my girl. How about that?” He slipped his hand down, finding one of yours and linking your fingers together. 

“Only after you let me clean you up and sort your wounds. I’m not risking you getting ill, I only just got you back.”

“I’ll take that deal, babydoll.” He grinned, a final kiss, before the stove was being turned off, tea abandoned as it went cold, and he was tugging you from the room. “I’ll go and get a bath running, meet you upstairs?”

You could only nod, pressing your lips to a cheeky lined with scratchy stubble, before moving around the downstairs of the small home to prepare yourself for bed. Even as you plunged yourself into darkness and put out the fire once again, it felt warm and comforting, simply the presence of someone you lost returning to you being more than enough to light your life back up with bliss and joy. You could hear him moving apart upstairs, the creak of the floorboards as he wandered around, and the sound of the water heater starting up, loud and humming as it went, a groan under the pressure of the workings as it needed a little fixing, but that was something that could be left for another day. 

After checking all the doors and the windows were locked, you began to make your way upstairs, cold wooden planks under your feet making you shudder a little as you went, following the sounds of the clattering around in the bathroom. On the wooden counter under your mirror, he had located his blade, that which has been tucked away in the back of the cabinet, placed down on the counter and he was leaning over the tub. 

He was still fully dressed, or, as dressed as he’d been when he’d left the kitchen, and you leaned against the doorframe, watching him as he adjusted the temperature of the water. 

“You gonna’ stand over there all night, doll?”

“I didn’t want to startle you.” 

His shoulders shook a little as he laughed, turning to face you, and holding a hand out towards you. “Don’t think you could if you tried, sweetheart, I’ve been.. different, lately. Everything seems enhanced. It’s odd, I guess it’s just the war making me more alert.”

You shrugged, brushing it off and wrapping your arms around his waist, his chin balancing atop your head as he hugged you closer to himself, hand settling in the small of your back. 

When the water had finished running, he helped you out of your clothes, doing the best he could with one hand, wincing at himself a little when your top got stuck around your shoulders, apologising in a whisper despite the soft laughter leaving you. When you settled into the water, it was a shock to press your back against his chest, warm and soft and welcoming as an arm fasted around your waist, fingers spreading out over your stomach, where you were more used to simply feeling the cold metal of the tub pressing into you. 

You couldn't remember the last time that you’d felt this way, the last time that you hadn't been filled with worry and fear, or the overwhelming sense that you would never see him again. You were filled with love and passion, a renewed sense of life that made you want to pick everything back up and carry on, like these last couple of years hadn't been the worst of your life. 

A sponge was moving over your skin, lathered up a little with a bar of soap and running over your body, before you were leaning forwards, twisting in his arms, to be able to get to his chest. Now that he was undressed, you were able to see the extent of the wounds, the blood around him turning a murky brown and red as you cleaned him, revealing which patches were simply grimy dirt and which were battered and bruised fading marks that were only just beginning to heal, and would certainly do much better with your nurturing and tender supervision. 

When you were clean, fingers weaving through his hair as you washed the greasy strands until they were clean and shiny once again, you settled over his lap. 

“Are you sure, baby?”

“About what?” Your brows furrowed, his lower lips worried between his teeth, before he was bringing a hand up to rub at the spot his arm had once been. There was a lot of scarring, still somewhat fresh, a terrible job done of it being sewn up, and you knew that even when the inflammation and swelling around it went down, it would probably never heal fully, and you wanted to support him for every step. “I told you, I love you, and I would never want to be without you.”

“I know, but it’s going to be different. I won’t be the same man, I’ll struggle with a lot of things. I don’t want you to feel obligated to me, or stuck with me.”

“I am stuck with you, you’ve owned my heart since we were teenagers, James, I’m never going to want anyone else. I can take the bad, because it comes with a whole lot of good, too.” He leaned in, bumping the tip of his nose with your own while letting out a shaky breath, relief flooding through his system.

“That sounded an awful lot like ‘for better or for worse’.” He grinned, and you pecked the dimple that appeared over his cheek, knowing where it would be, the crease of such a bright smile burned into your mind by memory, feeling him smile even wider. “The only thing that got me through the war, all those months locked up in a cell, was picturing making good on that promise I made to you the night before I left, that I’d come home and put a ring on that finger and sweep you off your feet.”

“My answer is the same as that night.” You mumbled, hands holding onto his jaw, bringing his lips in towards yours and he puckered them, receiving the soft kiss that you were offering to him. “I still want to marry you.”

“Good, because I don’t want anyone else.”

The water was growing cold around you, and while you couldn't have cared less about it all, you didn’t want him to catch a chill or risk getting an infection in a still-healing wound, and so you stood from the tub, water running along your body, stepping carefully over the rim as he held your hand to assist you, before you were searching for a towel. Wrapping it around yourself, you helped him too, sealing the towel around his waist for him and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

Pulling the plug on the drain, you turned to find Bucky standing in front of the fogged up mirror, a patch wiped clean on it, as he rubbed at his wet hair with another towel. The strands were now lapping around his chin, long and knotty, and you moved through to the bedroom to pull the stool from your vanity through to the bathroom, placing it behind him and pushing him to sit down on it with a hand on either shoulder, leaning over him to kiss his cheek. “You should let me cut your hair.”

“Really?”

“Definitely, you need it.” There was a leather wallet with a comb and scissors tucked away in the drawer, he remembered its location, producing it for you with a grin, before he was soaping up along his jaw, and lifting his blade.

“Shave first, hair cut after.”

“You’ll look like my Bucky again.” You whispered, comb running through his hair gently, detangling the notes as you listened to the rhythmic drag of the blade along his skin, taking away the stubble that had been created. Once his skin was clean, bruises and marks revealed but flesh smooth and soft again, you were set to work on his hair. Chopping away the bad memories, clearing it all, chunks of soft brunette strands falling to ground and curling as they touched the tiles, severed from his scalp never to return as they carried away the memories. 

The locks disappearing from his head was like lifting a weight, the pain and torment of all that he had been through slipping away. As his hair shortened and began to become springy atop his head, flopping over a little in the same playful style he’d always worn it, the dark and sad look in his eyes cleared a little. He was watching you work, watching you chop away his past to remove those years from his life. 

“It looks good. Not great, we should probably take you to a real barber to get it perfected, but it’s better than it was.”

“Anything is better than it was, sweetheart.” He promised, reaching his hand up to cover yours that was sitting on his shoulder, and his eyes dropped down to look at it in the mirror. “Will you help me bandage it back up, please?”

There was a slightly embarrassed tone to his voice, words cracking a little as he spoke, but he squeezed your hand a little tighter and leaned back into you, letting your touch slip down to rest over his heart. There were gauze and wrapping in the small first aid kit under the sink, and as you shuffled through it, you made a mental note of everything you needed to patch up your boyfriend until he was healed, sealing it up and securing it tightly over his body, and he gave a happy sigh as the scarring was hidden from sight.

He followed you through to the bedroom, going through every drawer and his entire closet, familiarising himself with things he had forgotten than he’d ever owned, while you watched him from the bed with a smile. When he finally settled on his favourite shirt and pyjama pants, you lifted the covers, welcoming him to join you underneath them, and the bed felt crowded with his large frame beside yours, unfamiliar but treasured. 

As the candles were blown out, the smell of smoke drifting around you as the blaze dissipated, and you reached out for him, the place where you were so used to being able to rest your head being different now, and he huffed out. 

You shuffled forwards, heat crawling up your cheeks as you pressed your head to his chest instead, and he lifted his hand up to sit on your waist, smoothing around you, and trying to decide whether he wanted to play with your hair, or trace patterns on your back. “I’ll never be the same.”

“Do you still love me?”

“You know I do, doll.” It was too dark to be able to make out his features, and so you pressed your face into his neck, leaving a few chaste pecks there. 

“Then you’re exactly the same person I’ve always loved.” His hand came up to find your cheek, pulling his head back and stroking his thumb over your cheek. “Stop thinking I'm leaving you, Bucky, because I’ll always be right here with you, so just kiss me, sergeant, and remember that I adore you.”

A chuckle washed over your face, warm breath fanning across your skin, before the tip of his nose was dragging over your cheek, lips brushing your own. “Yes, ma’am.”

His lips sealed over your own, a goodnight kiss better than any there ever had been, even more so than the first time he’d ever kissed you; a quick, uncoordinated and messy collision of lips after he’d walk you home from a study group when you were just teens, because this was the promise of a future, returning you to your lover, your hearts becoming on, once again.

[fakeikemen]

The "Cave of Two Lovers" foreshadows the Zutara interactions in "Crossroads of Destiny"

[And maybe after that too; (yeah this part will be purely based on speculation)]

(See also: A meta that everybody has already written but I haven't because I was living under a rock and watched Avatar very recently)

Like seriously, it is so obvious? I see people try to interpret "The Legend Of Oma and Shu" in so many other ways; like yeah, you're free to interpret it however you want but— most people try to make sense of it while thinking that the tale is just a random occurrence? But it's not.

And here's why:

(I'm so sorry, I tried to add the "keep reading" link here because this gets kinda long but it just won't work) (Also click on the pictures if you want better resolution).

The tale of Oma and Shu is about two lovers who belonged to villages that were at war against each other. To continue meeting each other, they learnt earthbending to create caves in the mountain that divides the two villages. But one day Shu didn't come to the caves. He'd died in the war. So Oma unleashed a terrifying display of her power. And then when people were willing to listen to her, she called off the war and strived for peace between both the villages. As a result the city of Omashu was created— as a monument in remembrance of their love.

So in comparison:

1. Two people belonging to the opposite sides of the war

(Other than the 100 year old war that has been going on, Zuko and Katara are involved in a very fundamental conflict: Capture the Avatar Vs. Protect the Avatar.)

2. With the same colour scheme:

3. Share intimate moments in a cave lit by green crystals:

A popular argument for this comparison is that; Oma and Shu had a positive impressions of each other when they first met. Unlike Zuko and Katara where Katara's first impression of Zuko was pretty negative because he invaded her village.

Zuko and Katara's first proper conversation happens in "Crossroads of Destiny" i.e.; the scene I'm talking about here. After this interaction that they have, I think it's safe to say that they did have positive impressions of each other. (Until Zuko made the wrong choice.)

Other than that, about the colour scheme being a coincidence: Here and here are posts by @marsreds about how the colours are definitely not a coincidence.

But seriously guys? Oma and Shu were the FIRST EARTHBENDERS and yet, instead of greens and yellows they were designed with RED and BLUE?!? (I'll take about Oma's green dress below.)

And on that note, why were Zuko and Katara the only ones who were thrown into the catacombs when everybody else was being held at the dungeons? The dungeons wouldn't have been easy to escape, neither for Zuko nor for Katara.

It's because Zuko and Katara were meant to share an intimate moment in a cave that was supposed to jog our visual memory to remind us of the caves built by Oma and Shu.

(Seriously though, I wasn't really paying attention during CoTL and thought that the Omashu legend was just put in to consume screen time, so I missed the red/blue thing. But then I watched CoD and saw the catacombs and I was like: "Isn't this like that cave made by the lovers?" And then I proceeded to have an oh shit moment because, I knew that Zutara was not canon so I never even considered the possibility of the narrative hinting at anything between them but then this happened. I mean, it's pretty darn obvious).

The colour of the crystals being the same in both caves is no coincidence either— if they just wanted two random caves with crystals, then they could've used a different colour because crystals of different colours exist:

Moving on,

The Visual Cues:

According to the colour coding Zuko = Oma (red) and Katara = Shu (blue).

So,

EXHIBIT A:

I feel like this one speaks for itself.

(I personally think that in this parallel Oma is in red because Katara at this point still sees Zuko as the face of the Fire Nation.)

EXHIBIT B:

This sequence of frames show Oma (dressed in green, like Zuko was in the catacombs) and Shu (dressed in his usual blue), standing on neutral territory and reaching out to each other and then being torn apart by the war.

Pretty much like:

The first time they are in each other's presence without the cause of their conflict (i.e. the Avatar), Zuko and Katara reach out to each other empathetically and attain bone deep understanding of each other within a matter of minutes. This whole encounter is in Ba Sing Se, which counts for the neutral territory because it hadn't been completely taken over by Fire Nation at that point.

And honestly? The raw vulnerability and intimacy of this scene and the high emotional energy of their powerful dynamic is just— wow. (I put off my binging spree for a whole day because I didn't have the heart to see Zutara not become canon after all of this.)

And soon after, Zuko and Katara face each other in battle, their tentative friendship torn apart, as they fight from their respective sides of the war.

EXHIBIT C:

Whenever Oma and Shu appear in the same frame during the visualization of the legend, Oma is always on the left half of the frame and Shu is on the right.

Similarly, throughout all their interactions in the Catacombs, whenever the frame exclusively includes Zuko and Katara, Zuko (like Oma) is on the left half of the frame and Katara (like Shu) is on the right.

The parallels (or foils rather):

#1

In CoTL, we see Song who is a healer (cures Iroh of his poisoning). She mentions that she hasn't seen her father since a Fire Nation raid took place in her village. Zuko empathises with her and says that he too hasn't seen his father in a long while. But then he refuses to say anything else about it.

Later Song tries to reach out to Zuko and tries to touch his scar— which Zuko prevents her from. She shows Zuko her own scars to show that she understood him.

And yet, Zuko doesn't open up to her.

After a while of life-changing and eye-opening experiences, in CoD, when Katara has her meltdown and cries while saying that her mother was snatched away from her by the Fire Nation; Zuko sees an opening to offer an olive branch and he takes it, he empathises with her and tells her that how his mother was snatched away by the Fire Nation as well.

Then Zuko opens up to Katara in a show of complete vulnerability. He openly talks about his scar and what he feels about it. In response, Katara offers to heal his scar and then Zuko lets her touch his scar.

It was nothing but a deliberate choice to make Song slightly parallel Katara (a healer, lost a parent because of the war) and then making Zuko not open up to her and not let her touch the scar, only for Katara to be the one he opened up to and allowed to touch the scar.

#2

After being trapped with Aang in the cave in CoTL and sharing an intimate moment with him, as soon as they find their way out, Katara runs straight ahead without looking back.

But after her time with Zuko, trapped in the Catacombs in CoD, while leaving she turns back to look at Zuko.

Judging by the amount of time the animation puts into showing us Aang's disappointment at Katara running off and into making it clear that Katara did look back at Zuko and that Zuko looked right back at her, to me, it feels like the choice to show this was pretty deliberate.

(Turning back to look at a person while leaving is a romantic trope that has been overused to death? Or is it just bollywood?)

Also I wouldn't have paid this much attention to this small detail if not for the fact that just a hint of the Omashu legend theme is played here?

No, I swear I'm not making it up.

The Omashu legend theme is used in CoD:

The Omashu legend theme is largely dominated by the music of a stringed instrument (forgive me, I don't know what it's called) alongwith a steady melody playing in the background.

In CoD, when Katara and Zuko start conversing for real, (i.e.; when Katara says: "I'm sorry I yelled at you.") what sounds like a variation of the background melody in the Omashu legend theme, starts its subtle ascent as the background score, but sans the music of the stringed instrument.

It is when Katara says: "Maybe you could be free of it." [About Zuko's scar], when then first hint of the stringed instrument is heard. It is only a single note of the strings but it's there. And this "single note" sound keeps on repeating at regular intervals with the melody building up until Aang and Iroh burst into the catacombs.

But then, when Katara is leaving with Aang and she turns back to look at Zuko, this time the music that plays for a few seconds at best, is dominated by the stringed instrument again and this time it's unmistakable.

Also I don't think this music is used anywhere else in the course of the whole show? So it can't really be a coincidence? But I don't really know. I'm saying this on the basis of as far as my memory can reach.

And this is as far as canon stands testimony to what I am trying to say here.

But what about the second half of the story yk, the dying thing, you say?

Well this is where the speculations come in.

Speculation Time:

#1

As a thumb rule, a romance foreshadowed by a tragic tale is meant to have a happy ending.

So this time when Katara's (Shu) life is in danger (Azula's lightning bolt), Zuko (Oma) steps in at the nick of time to save her life (by jumping infront of Katara to intercept the lightning).

(Since I have crossed the limit of images in a post, here is a post by @araeph which illustrates this point.)

Yes, I am completely aware that Zuko taking the lightning bolt for Katara is not his declaration of love for her. What I mean to say is that the whole scene was so very painfully obviously romantically framed (the immediate change in music when Zuko realises where the lightning bolt was headed, both of their expressions, Zuko's agonized "Nooooo", the slow-mo throughout the shot).

I am also aware that Zuko would've taken the lightning bolt for anyone. But it is the narrative that demands that Zuko take the lightning bolt for Katara and Katara only. Because this has atleast 10 different payoffs (a direct callback to the Book 2 finale where Azula had shot Aang with the lightning; the grief of which was for Katara to bear but this time Zuko himself stands between the lightning and Katara instead of being the silent spectator, the culmination of both Zuko and Katara's personal character arcs, Zuko's scar would parallel Aang's: Aang got it because he chose Katara over the world and Zuko got it because he was willing to give up the world to save Katara, etc, etc).

Tl;dr: The lightning scene wouldn't hold all that much weight if it wasn't Zuko taking the hit for Katara because the narrative literally demands it.

#2

This is where we start wading into really murky waters.

From mucking around on Tumblr due to Zutara feels™, I came across this post where some of the ideas for Book 4 were written:

• The Southern Water Tribe experienced the longest series of attacks from the Fire Nation. Zuko and Katara become political partners and work together to help end the animosity and repair relations between their two nations.

• Just like how Zuko learned to appreciate the Earth Kingdom, he would learn to appreciate the Water Tribes. Katara also learns to respect the complexity of Fire Nation culture. There is no such thing as an “evil” nation.

And that basically means that Zuko and Katara would've been working together to de-escalate the hostility between their respective nations and improve the relations between the two nations, while learning about each other's cultures simultaneously as the world would be in the process of being rebuilt after the war and they would be major role-players in shaping the new world.

Which is quite similar to how Oma strived for peace between the two villages and then as a result of the improved relations between the villages, the city of Omashu was built as a monument to the love story of Oma and Shu; which might just be symbolic of building a new world where both the villages could live in peace due to the initiative taken by Oma on behalf of herself and Shu.

The story would've come a full circle; that's all I'm saying.

If you've stuck around for this long, thank you for taking the time to read this long ass post with points that you may already have read ♥️

[passable-talent]

Part 7 of the Dai Li series please!!! Excellent work again, as usual- I'm DYING XD

guess how long it took for this request to come in?

eleven minutes!! thats a new record!!

and so we return... ANOTHER whole month later!

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 |

“I need you to tell me what happened to Iroh.”

Zuko kept your gaze, his eyes almost wide. You didn’t look away, couldn’t let yourself. A few heartbeats passed, and he looked away, shame clear on his face. 

“He was put in jail,” Zuko said, closing his eyes. “I visited him often, but when I went to help him break out during the eclipse, he was already gone.” Slowly, his gaze returned to you. “I wish I could tell you I knew where he was.” It made sense, what he was saying, and you knew he wasn’t lying. You had hoped something else had become of Iroh, that day, that maybe he’d escaped after securing yours, but some part of you knew that he was likely jailed in the Fire Nation, if not dead. 

Broken out, though. He had made it out- just like Zuko. Maybe, someday, they’d see each other again. 

But for now, you were satisfied. Zuko, though responsible for Iroh’s imprisonment in an odd way, was ashamed of it. And you wouldn’t hold against him actions that he was paying for. Your heart beating, yet stinging like a raw wound, you fell back into his chest, spending any long moment you could in his arms, the sky darkening around you and revealing its stars. 

The days before Sozin’s Comet just felt odd. 

Four days from the comet, you went to a play, which didn’t mention you at all. That pissed you off- you were instrumental to their escape from Ba Sing Se! Who the hell else would’ve protected Katara from Azula if not you? Not to mention Zuko died in it, which surprised all of you, most of all, Zuko. 

His upset from the night before bled into the next morning, when he attacked Aang. The terror in your chest, when you saw the fire struck toward the avatar again, was thick and visceral. You never thought you’d see him attack Aang again, not after Ba Sing Se, and you didn’t understand what had happened that made him so violent, so suddenly. 

But when you attempted to come to Aang’s aid, and stood between the avatar and the prince, you caught his gaze. That malice that you’d seen in Ba Sing Se, that you’d hated so much, that you expected to see now, in a prince gone mad- it wasn’t there. 

Zuko wasn’t doing this out of hatred for Aang. 

It stunned you enough that the prince slipped past you, continuing his attack. You watched as a spectator, until they dove into the attic, your mind swimming. What could Zuko be thinking?

Okay, so he was confused at Aang’s complacency. Real interesting decision making process there, Zuzu, attacking him to resolve such an issue. 

Three days from the comet. You run a drill- which didn’t make much sense as an actual plan, you had to say, but not many of these other teenagers had the benefit of actual military training like you. Your job was to draw fire with Sokka and Suki- and, though Sokka didn’t admit it, to be an earthbender who could throw up a shield at any time. It was fun training, which you hadn’t really gotten to be a part of for a while. 

Two days from the comet, and Aang is missing. 

Which is really, really, really bad. 

Like, sure, the kid wasn’t exactly super ready to face Ozai, but he’s still the avatar, right? That’s still got to count for something. And he’s missing, leaving a very gifted and still extremely underqualified gaggle of teenagers to face the Fire Lord. 

So you went to the Earth Kingdom. Zuko took you to an old friend named Jun, who seemed to go way back, back to before you’d met Zuko. She seemed like she’d be helpful, but then revealed even more deeply unsettling information- Aang was gone. Which was much, much worse than missing. 

So, facing the Fire Lord without the Avatar. How fun. 

And yet, there was a glimmer of hope, in the form of an old, smelly sandal, which really made you wonder why the hell Zuko still had it. And, really, now that you thought about it, how Zuko even got it. The Shirshu could definitely catch a scent from that- anyone with a half working nose could. 

One day from Sozin’s comet, and most of it was already gone, spent chasing a shirshu across the Earth Kingdom. Appa was the best, letting you sleep on a massive paw, and though he was itchy, it was much better than taking the time to set up your beds. Though, your rest didn’t last long- quickly you were ambushed, a ring of fire surrounding you. Four men looked down upon you, and though you didn’t recognize three of them, you did know King Bumi, and assumed that the others must be friends, if he were in league with them. 

“Well, look who’s here!” Bumi said, a snorting laugh following his words. You saw relief and joy on Sokka and Katara’s face, and so you knew that your assumption was true. It seemed like, for the first time in a few days, you were about to catch a break. 

“What’s going on? We’re surrounded by old people.” A smile cracking your face, you had to be grateful for Toph, and her outlook on the world. 

“Not just any old people. These are great masters, and friends of ours!” She bowed to an old man with long white hair. “Pakku.” 

“It is respectful to bow to an old master,” he said, returning her bow, “but how about a hug, for your new grandfather?” You raised an eyebrow as the siblings reacted with surprise, but not too much, like that was a normal thing to say, if exciting. Following their conversation, though, you picked up enough details to figure out a bit of the history that they must’ve had. 

“And this was Aang’s first firebending teacher!” Katara explained, and Sokka went on to explain the name of the third. 

“Master Piandao,” he said, and you smiled brightly, even if it was to yourself- this was truly a lucky day. 

“So, wait, how do you all know each other?” Suki asked. 

“All old people know each other, don’t you know that?” Bumi said with another snorting laugh. 

“We’re all part of the same ancient secret society,” Piandao explain, causing your gaze to shift to the matching uniforms they each wore. “A group that transcends the divisions of the four nations. 

“The Order of the White Lotus,” Zuko interjected, and you looked sideways at him, wondering how he knew that. He had a smile on his face- he looked hopeful. 

“That’s the one!” Bumi answered.

“The White Lotus has always been about philosophy, and beauty, and truth,” Jeong-Jeong began, and as you crossed your arms over yourself to protect them from the wind, you were glad that such a society exists in such a war-torn world. “But about a month ago, a call went out that we were needed for something important.”

“It came from our Grand Lotus,” Pakku said, diverting his eyes to Zuko. “Your uncle. Iroh of the Fire Nation.” While Zuko’s expression softened, yours brightened- Iroh was as trustworthy as you had always known him to be. You were glad to know that he kept peace just as much as he preached it. 

“Well, that’s who we’re looking for,” Toph said. 

“Then we’ll take you to him.” Reaching Jun and her shirshu, it felt sure that you were going to see Iroh again. But when you followed her for a day, the inevitability of it dribbled away. Yet here, again, your hope renewed, that you could see him again, and be reminded that there was at least one adult in the world that you could really, deeply trust.

“Wait,” Bumi shouted, shoving himself to the midst of the conversation, “There’s someone missing from your group. Someone very important... where’s Momo??”

“He’s gone,” Sokka said, clearly deeply troubled by having Bumi’s nose pressed to his face, “and so is Aang.”

“Oh well, so long as they have each other, I’m sure we have nothing to worry about!” Bumi said, prompting you to wonder what the king had seen and experienced to allow news such as a missing avatar to not startle him. “Let’s go!” 

It was a surprisingly far walk to the Order’s camp, in which the old masters caught up with their friends, and filled each other in on details. You kept quiet, having not personally known any of them. 

The sun came up as you reached the camp, and Zuko entered his uncle’s tent, to wait. You sat outside with Toph, but decide not to practice your seismics- whatever was happening between Zuko and Iroh deserved to stay between them. 

A nice stew was your breakfast, the gaang all sitting around its pot, with Iroh sitting at the head of the group. You’d sat between Zuko and Toph, one leg propped up on its foot with the other extended in front of you. Iroh had given you a long hug when he saw you- delighted that you had continued your path alongside the avatar, and secretly even more delighted that Zuko’s path had also lead him back to you.

“Uncle, you’re the only person other than the avatar who can possibly defeat the fatherlord,” Zuko said, and though you heard his mistake, you only smiled into your stew. 

“You mean the Fire Lord.” Because you could count on Toph to do it for you. 

“That’s what I just said,” Zuko snapped, but it was merely his temper, not true anger. “We need you to come with us.” Iroh seemed to consider for a moment. 

“No, Zuko, it won’t turn out well,” Iroh began, and you lifted your head, ready to hear true, unfiltered Iroh wisdom. 

“You can beat him,” Zuko insisted, before looking sideways across the rest of the group. “And we’ll be there to help.” You gave him a smile, but ultimately turned your attention back to Iroh.

“Even if I did defeat Ozai,” he began, “and I don’t know that I could, it would be the wrong way to end the war. History will see it as more senseless violence: a brother killing a brother to grab power.” Slowly you brought another bite of your stew to your lips, but once you had, your chopsticks slowly maneuvered around your fingers, finding a way to fidget as you considered. “The only way for this war to end peacefully is for the avatar to defeat the Fire Lord.” You let out a quick breath, recognizing the sense in his words, but feeling worry reveal itself. Wasn’t Aang... gone? Off world?

“And then... would you come and take your rightful place on the throne?” Zuko asked.

“No,” Iroh said, quickly, like he’d been prepared for such a question. “Someone new must take the throne- an idealist with a pure heart and unquestionable honor.” He was speaking directly to Zuko, and you understood before he’d had to say it. “It has to be you, Prince Zuko.” 

In all the time you’d known Zuko, you had known him as a lot of different things. Refugee. Waiter. Friend. Crush. Traitor. Enemy. Prince. Fire Nation. And in all that time, you’d realized his lineage, as the eldest child of the Fire Lord, and certainly most sane. Yet, in all that time, you’d never considered what he was poised to become: the Fire Lord himself. 

In that moment, you nearly felt the need to bow, or scoot away, as though you were reminded of his royalty, the true meaning of the term ‘prince’. Wasn’t the bloodline of the Fire Nation royals considered to have been made royal by the spirits? 

Inferiority didn’t even begin to cover it, but you’d worry about that another day. 

“Unquestionable honor?” He asked, looking away from his uncle. “But I’ve made so many mistakes.” At long last, days after you felt like you had finally forgiven the prince, you were put in a position where you could accept or deny the way he had hurt you in the past. But you weren’t just an earth kingdom citizen, not anymore. You were world-travelled, a soldier, a warrior, a friend to the future fire lord and the avatar alike. You knew the mature and good and right thing to do. And in that moment, it wasn’t to hold above him the things he’d done to you, but instead to recognize the way he’d overcome them. You shuffled closer to him. 

“Yes, you have,” Iroh admitted, his gaze briefly meeting yours. “You’ve struggled, you’ve suffered.” Gently, you took one hand from your bowl, and laid it on his, where he’d left it on his knee. He didn’t look at you, but his fingers slid around yours slowly. “But you have always followed your own path. You have restored your own honor. And only you can restore the honor of the Fire Nation.” 

“I’ll try, uncle,” he promised, and you knew he would make good on it. 

“Well, what if Aang doesn’t come back?” Toph asked, and you once again thanked her for saying the things you couldn’t seem to get past your tongue.

“Sozin’s comet is arriving, and our destinies are upon us,” Iroh declared, using his chopsticks for emphasis. “Aang will face the Fire Lord. When I was a boy, I had a vision that I would one day take Ba Sing Se. Only now do I see that my destiny is to take it back, from the Fire Nation, so the Earth Kingdom can be free again.”

“That’s why you’ve gathered the members of the White Lotus,” Suki said, her words prompting you to look around at the dozen other old masters, who would be more than capable of pulling your mighty home city from the grasp of a few Fire Nation soldiers. 

“Yes,” Iroh agreed, turning his gaze back to the prince. “Zuko, you must return to the Fire Nation, so that when the Fire Lord falls, you can assume the throne, and restore peace, and honor. But Azula will be there, waiting for you.”

“I can handle Azula,” Zuko said, malice written across his face, but this time for your first real enemy. 

“Not alone,” Iroh insisted, “you’ll need help.”

“You’re right,” Zuko admitted. “Katara, Y/N. How would you like to help me put Azula in her place?” A devious smile spread over Katara’s face.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, and you couldn’t help but smile as their gazes turned to you. 

“She’s had it coming,” you said, cracking your knuckles of your free hand into your thigh. 

“What about us?” Sokka asked, from between Toph and Suki, “What’s our destiny today?” 

“What do you think it is?” Iroh asked, halfway to his next mouthful of stew, and for a moment you saw Mushi again, being cheeky back at the Jasmine Dragon when he suggested you do something that would put you in Zuko’s path. 

“I think that,” Sokka began, considering, “even though we don’t know where Aang is, we need to do everything we can to stop the airship fleet.”

“And that means, when Aang does face the Fire Lord, we’ll be right there if he needs us.” Toph’s attitude, as though she would take on the comet herself, and win, filled you with a sense of hope. You could win the day. 

You rested your back against Appa’s saddle, leaning over the side to say your goodbyes to the Order. 

“So if I’m going to be Fire Lord after the war is over,” Zuko said, once again reminding you of such an insane fact, “What are you going to do?” 

“After I reconquer Ba Sing Se, I’m going to reconquer my tea shop!” You couldn’t help but laugh, remembering the place you’d fallen in love with Zuko, back before the world had fallen down around you. You could imagine going back there, when it was all over. “And I’m going to play Pai Sho every day!” His happiness, his hope, was infectious. 

“Goodbye, General Iroh,” Katara said, and you leaned down on your elbow, as though you could give him one last hug before you left. You already had- but that didn’t curb the impulse. 

“Goodbye, everyone. Today, destiny is our friend. I know it.” You could believe him. For that moment, you were filled with strength, and the feeling that though the day would be hard, it would be won. It had to be. 

Appa kicked off from the ground, and you crawled to the front of the saddle, closer to Zuko. 

“Hey, Zuko?” You asked, taking a deep breath. 

“Yes?” he didn’t look away from Appa’s path, but turned his head toward you. 

“When this is all over, I...” you swallowed, hard, but kept yourself from putting it off any further. “I’m ready to love you again. I think I already do.” 

And then, in that moment, for Zuko, there was a thousand more reasons why he needed to win the day. 

-🦌 Roe

stay tuned (aka request) for the series finale... 

edit: | part 8 |

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[geekgirles]

Your Heart

A centuries-long feud between two of the world's most mysterious and otherwordly species is put to a halt by a sudden crisis. Danny Phantom, unofficial protector of Amity Park and indisputable King of the Ghost Zone, seeing no other choice, must make a risky decision for the sake of his people and loved ones.

But can a ghost truly trust a witch given their people's history? Or will he fall under the spell of the hypnotising Queen of the Witches of Amity Park?

READ ON AO3

Word Count: 5725

CHAPTER 1 -- Desperate Measures

Neon green.

Neon green eyes. 

The same sight that has accompanied him ever since that fateful day when he was fourteen and he entered his parents’ portal to the Ghost Zone.

The very first time he looked himself in the mirror after the accident he was greeted by those very same eerily green eyes, coupled with no little amount of panic and anxiety. And how could he not be frightened at the sight? Not only his eyes had changed colour, he himself had drastically transformed, too. 

What once was a cascade of black hair falling down his face had become an avalanche of white strands. The black and white jumpsuit he’d worn as he entered the portal was still black and white, but the colour scheme was reversed. Surprisingly, instead of looking even paler than usual, his complexion gained a healthy tanーas soon as he learned what he had turned into, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the ridiculous notion of a dead guy having more flesh-coloured skin after dying. He couldn’t even recognise his own voice! And it wasn’t the typical “my voice sounds different now that I hear it recorded” type of different. No. There was a certain...echo to it. 

Just what had he turned into?

As that first excruciating month after the accident would prove, he’d become a half-ghost, half-human hybrid.

He, Danny Fenton, was a halfa, as the locals liked to call him. 

And by ‘locals’ he didn’t mean the people living in his hometown, Amity Park. He meant the ghosts living in the Ghost Zone. The parallel dimension to Earth that his parents had dedicated years to find, hence the creation of the Ghost Portal that led to the start of his rare condition. 

And no, he couldn’t say ‘unique’ because there was another halfa that had been around for twenty years prior to his own accident. But he wasn’t going to go in detail about that; thinking about the fruitloop always put him in a bad mood. And he already had enough on his plate as it was. 

To say his first year as a halfa was difficult would be an understatement, maybe as much of an understatement as it would be to call the sinking of the Titanic a midnight swim. 

His first year with ghost powers had been brutal. There was just too much to take into account when living a double life. And if having a secret of such magnitude could take its toll on an adult, then that was nothing compared to what it could do to the already delicate psyche of a teenager. Wait, psyche? He wondered to himself, Where did that come from? Maybe Tucker is right and I need to meet some new people… Psychological talks are always a tell-tale sign that I’ve been spending too much time with Jazz.

But it was true, wasn’t it? 

While his classmates at Casper High worried about pimples, or getting their first girlfriends or boyfriends, or fitting in with the A-listers, thoughts of his secret being discovered plagued his mind 24/7. It was a miracle he hadn’t outed himself the moment he got his powers, given how little control he used to have over them. 

And it wasn’t like he could just train his powers and figure out what to do from there in peace. Oh, no. That would’ve made things easy for him and, as he would come to learn over the years, the universe just loved making things unnecessarily difficult for him. He was the cosmos’ favourite chew toy. 

No, of course not. He had to learn to use his powers while countless mischievous ghosts set out to complete whatever crazy agenda they had or to pummel him to the ground materialised in Amity Park for the first time in...let’s see...ever?

He also met the fruitloop which, of course, always brought lots of pleasant memories of an obsessive psycho attacking him, mocking him, drooling and pointlessly flirting with his mum, trying to kill his dad, only to then do a complete 180 and try to convince him to abandon his ‘idiot father’ and join him as his own son… No, no! Not going there! He really couldn’t afford losing his temper at the moment. 

His only saving grace those first few months had been his best friend, Tucker Foley and, some time later, his older sister Jazz. 

Tucker was the first to know about his secret because he was there the day of the accident. Though not a fan of the paranormal, Tucker was really into technology; always had been. Unfortunately, that earned him the nickname of ‘Techno Geek’ back in their high school days. But it was precisely that interest in the crazy inventions his parents often came up with that had led them to checking out the, then busted, Ghost Portal. And it had been his friend’s conviction that the two of them could surely make it work that had led to his molecules getting rearranged. 

Jazz was a completely different case. 

Growing up with ghost-hunting parents, meaning they focused their inventions on the paranormal side of life (and that included ectoplasm-filled dinners), Jazz had taken it upon herself to be the ‘responsible, trustworthy, and caring’ (her words, not his) older sister. Since they were little, his sister wholeheartedly believed it was up to her to make sure her brother was safe and got the attention he needed, seeing as their parents could be scatterbrained, at best. 

It goes without saying that such a mindset, though appreciated as they grew up, turned her into a meddlesome know-it-all in the eyes of any younger sibling. But if the aforementioned younger sibling happened to have developed ghost powers just as he hit puberty...well, that made her a nightmare. 

The first few months Danny tried keeping his sister at arm’s length, much to her chagrin. But she eventually learned his secret anyway and kept it away from their parents, something her little brother could never thank her enough for. 

How did she learn his secret? According to her, she found out during Danny’s first encounter with the misery-inducing ghost known as Penelope Spectra. But she didn’t reveal that she knew until a certain turn of events.

Said turn of events?

In his shortsighted search for power, the fruitloop had freed Pariah Dark, the dreaded Ghost King, from his eternal slumber and imprisonment. And not only did he free an ancient, power hungry spectre, he also stole the Ring of Wrath, the powerful item Dark needed to gain infinite power alongside the Crown of Fire already in his possession, and took it with him to Amity Park, endangering everyone in the process. 

Pariah’s plans to conquer the Ghost Zone anew, only this time he coveted Earth as well, had led to many events in a surprisingly short amount of time. But the most surprising of them all was his ascension to the throne of the Ghost Zone. 

After an agonising battle where he risked his very life from merely trying to go toe to toe with the tyrannical spirit, his quick decision-making made a difference that day. Stealing the Ring of Wrath and the Crown of Fire from Pariah Dark in an attempt to keep such raw power away from his person, Danny finally succeeded and imprisoned him once and for all inside the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. 

That day, he saved both his world and the Ghost Zone. 

That day he became Danny Phantom; Amity Park’s greatest hero.

...until he, and everyone who had previously been celebrating him, found out that a link between him and the ring and crown had been formed after he defeated Pariah Dark, which made him the new ruler of the Ghost Zone. 

All at the tender age of fourteen.

At first, he tried bargaining with the Observants and Clockwork, ghosts who would act as his rule’s Council from them onwards; he tried convincing them of how unfitting he was to rule an entire dimension. And to this day, he still maintained that belief. Back then he was fourteen, he couldn’t even drive, let alone rule over an entire race he barely knew the basics of! Many of the Ghost Zone’s inhabitants were his enemies, on top of that. Just because they’d agreed to fighting by his side during Dark’s return didn't mean they would suddenly be okay with him being the boss of them! What’s more, many of them would surely challenge him for the throne; his rule would be forever accompanied by war and anarchy! And most importantly, he was half-human. How could someone like him, who had an entire life outside the Ghost Zone, ever be fit to be its king?

But the Observants and Clockwork would have none of it. 

The Ghost of Time took advantage of his “I know everything that could and will happen” powers to toy with his weakness: protecting his home and loved ones. Clockwork simply pointed out that, as the new Ghost King, he could actually keep a closer eye on his subjects than he did in the Human World, and use his position to protect Amity Park from ghosts by merely implementing some laws. Not to mention, that due to the sheer power he would possess, most of his adversaries would have to be complete morons to even entertain the thought of challenging him, meaning the amount of ghost attacks his hometown endured would decrease drastically just with him as their ruler. And, of course, there was the issue with Vlad… As Clockwork would helpfully remind him, if he didn’t accept his position as new king of the ghosts, then Plasmius was sure to take advantage of it to claim the Ring of Wrath and the Crown of Fire for himself. 

And a world ruled by Vlad Plasmius promised to be a thousand times worse than anything Pariah Dark could submit his subjects to. 

All of it, every single point in his favour, Clockwork said completely offhandedly. As if he were talking about his plans for the weekend instead of slowly but surely bending Danny’s decision to what he and the Observants believed was the best outcome. Every word was uttered as if he didn’t know the, then, ghost boy would do anything to prevent such a terrible future from happening. 

As if the choice was truly his to make. 

And that led him to where he was now, seven years since he accepted his newfound role. 

In some ways, he remained the same. 

His hair was still the same snow white mess falling down his face. His green eyes were still vibrant and alert, if perhaps filled with a maturity and sense of responsibility that weren’t always there. His skin was still the same tanned complexion he wished he could get after sunbathing, rather than the nasty burns he would easily get. And most importantly, he was still doing his best, dedicating every single minute of his life, to doing the right thing, to protecting the innocent, and to trying to balance his responsibilities as Danny Phantom, the Ghost King and unofficial protector of Amity Park, and Danny Fenton, an university student trying to get his degree in Astrophysics while keeping his parents and acquaintances in the dark when it came to his secret. 

He still loved space and, albeit harder to achieve, he still dreamed of eventually becoming an astronaut. His sharp wit and tongue had only been honed with the passage of time; his ability to outsmart and to get his opponents to lower their guards enough to defeat them had saved his butt countless times over the years. Deep down, he was still the same Danny. The kind, compassionate, and caring boy who wanted to ensure everyone was safe. Sometimes at the price of his own mental health. 

But for every single thing that had remained unchanged, many more evolved alongside the boy.

For starters, he no longer was a boy, but a man. At twenty-one, there was no trace of the baby fat that once adorned Danny’s face, having been replaced by a sharp jawline and sculpted muscles caused by several years of physical exertion. His once scrawny figure was now replaced by broad shoulders, defined pectorals and abs, and bulging biceps. With his jumpsuit accentuating every single sinew of his body. 

The jumpsuit itself had undergone minor yet noticeable changes. The white collar covering his neck  and collarbone had gradually extended until it reached his shoulders. His biceps were now adorned by two white bracelets each, and his white gloves included several bottoms which activated the different mechanisms he had scavenged from his parents’ trash and had Tucker include in his suit over the years. Just like he traded his old belt for a far more refined utility belt, which also held several surprises. And yet, the biggest change was the logo on his chest. Or rather, the fact that he now sported a logo at all. It was a rather simple, yet witty, design. A white ghost shaped to include both his alterego’s initials; ‘DP’. 

It was rather ingenious. 

He couldn’t claim the credit for himself, though. He hadn’t created the logo. It was the strangest experience and still, one of the most touching.

One day he was flying over Amity Park, patrolling to make sure everything was as it should, when, thanks to his enhanced senses, something caught his eye. Sitting on a bench in the park was a girl but, for once, he didn’t pay attention to her appearance. He couldn’t, for he was too entranced with what she was doodling on her notebook. Doodles. That was all there was to it, really, but amongst black cats, roses, and the occasional “spooky ghost”, her design for his logo stood out. 

He asked Tucker to add it to the latest update of his suit as soon as he went back home. 

That very same logo adorning his chest was also engraved on the verdigris medallions keeping his black and white cape on his shoulders. That cape, alongside the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Wrath, were his designated attire as the Ghost King. Jazz figured he could alter his appearance a little depending on the role he played at the moment in order to avoid making the citizens of Amity Park jittery. “We want them to accept you as their protector, Danny,” she once said, “the less you remind them that you’re the current king of the Ghost Zone, the better.”

That was him. The self-appointed protector of Amity Park, and the leader of the Ghost Zone, and his highest priority would always be to ensure everyone’s safety. 

Which was why he was about to do what he was going to do. 

“Great One,” Frostbite, the honorable, trustworthy leader of the Far Frozen, called out to him, “are you certain there is no other way?”

His King appraised him with a resigned look. Frostbite and his people were some of the first ghosts to accept and respect him, immediately declaring themselves at his service after he defeated Pariah Dark. His imposing appearance, that of a hairy snow monster with sharp teeth and claws and an almost unmatched proficiency in the art of cryokinesis, hid his noble, gentle, and wise interior. The leader of the Far Frozen was an ally, a mentor, a friend...But, unless he came up with an alternative of his own, he couldn’t be of much help at the moment. Sighing, Danny shook his head. 

“There probably is, Frostbite. But we’ve already lost enough time. If we don’t act soon, who knows what could happen.”

“I would.” A disembodied voice announced from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. If he were still fourteen, that trick would’ve made Danny jump a few feet high. But that was no longer the case, and he knew the owner of the voice all too well. “High chance, it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Have you come here to offer an alternative, Clockwork?” Danny crossed his arms. A part of him knew it was futile to expect a straight answer from the Ghost of Time, his lips were sealed when it came to revealing the future. But, somehow, he still hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to, as of date, his most reckless decision. 

In a way, the ghost’s appearance seemed fitting. With his fluctuating age and his cloaked self, carrying a staff around, he resembled the Grim Reaper himself. Depending on his answer, he could either save or doom him. 

“I’m afraid not, boy. And even if I did, I most likely wouldn’t be allowed to tell you.” Clockwork shrugged, but the smile on his face somehow made the halfa suspect he didn’t lament anything. 

 Gesturing with a hand at the child-like ghost, Danny turned to address Frostbite. “There you have it. This seems to be our only hope.”

“But, sire,” Frostbite started, worry apparent on his canine features, “surely you are aware of the risks we will be taking ifー”

“I know,” his King interrupted him with a raised hand, “you don’t have to remind me. I was hoping things wouldn’t come to this but we can’t afford to lose any more time. You said it yourself, Frostbite. Aside from a very few ghosts like Wulf, who doesn’t even fully understand the workings behind his power, they are the only ones who know how the Ghost Zone’s portals work. If we want to put an end to our current problem, we have got to ask them for help.”

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Frostbite sighed, “I know, Great One. But I cannot help but fear they will either refuse to aid us in our time of need, or agree to it only to eventually betray us.” A low growl erupted from his throat. “These are extremely treacherous and unpredictable beings, my King.”

“I’m well aware of the risk, Frostbite.” The halfa reassured his friend, putting a hand on his furry shoulder. “But think about it this way: if they refuse, we can start looking for alternatives and avoid any unnecessary trouble from them; and if they accept with any sort of hidden motive, all we have to do is keep our guards up.” 

Now presenting himself as an old man, Clockwork nodded at Danny’s words, “It’s truly all we can do.”

Seeing as there truly was nothing else they could do, the leader of the Far Frozen could only pray his King’s noble, yet dangerous, decision wouldn’t become their downfall. Sighing, he finally nodded, silently expressing he and his people’s loyalty to their king, no matter what path he chose. 

The halfa smiled at his friend’s understanding nature, but it was short lived. Squaring his shoulders, he motioned to his companions to follow him. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”

The three ghosts made their way around the corridors of the king’s lair inside the Ghost Zone. The hallways and rooms were empty, for once, since the ruler had previously given orders to stay away from his lair that day. It was a day for deliberating his next move, the last thing he needed was to be distracted by his subjects. 

He was doing this for them, after all. 

Opening the gates, they stepped out into the island, where a green-skinned, ghostly postman was waiting for them. The irony was not lost on Danny: the same ghost Vlad had used to trick his mother and him all those years ago would now be essential for his plan. 

With Frostbite and Clockwork flanking him, the young king approached the spectre, a serious look on his face. Extending out his gloved hand, he handed him an envelope. “You know what to do with this.” He stated firmly. 

Bowing his head as a sign of respect and understanding, the postman took the envelope from his hand, flying away to the nearest portal. 

All that was left to do was wait. 

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

Purple. 

Purple eyes. 

Once again, she was greeted by the very eyes that marked her fate. Just by having violet eyes, her fate was sealed and outlined for her the day she was born. For twenty-one years she had been greeted by the same sight: striking violet eyes, glossy raven hair framing her face, and fair skin that contrasted greatly with the rest of her features. And even to this day a part of her was still surprised that it was all happening to her. 

When she was a little girl, her mother and grandma would often warn her of the future that lay ahead of her, a future she wasn’t even sure she wanted. Whenever her mother spoke of what was expected of her, it all sounded far too difficult for her little mind to understand. And worst of all, far too boring. 

Why would she want to host parties and ceremonies? She was too young to even know what they were like! Whenever her mother started talking about the parties she would attend, a bubble of excitement grew inside of her. She was going to go to the grown-up parties instead of staying at home! She was going to have fun and do whatever it was the older girls did there!

...only for her mother to burst her little bubble, as always. 

The moment she felt the slightest excitement about the things her mother told her about, the woman would then go into a hundred details that sounded anything but fun. 

No, she wouldn’t be having fun at the parties, but tending to her guests. No, she couldn’t dress however she liked once she was older, there were expectations set on her. No, she couldn’t turn anyone she disliked into a frog; of course not!

And her younger self always found herself wondering: what’s the point in being a witch if you couldn’t do anything with your magic?

Thankfully, when her mother became too much to bear, her grandma was always near. Growing up, Grandma Ida had been her role model. She was fun and understanding when her mother was strict and unyielding. She was wise and the ideal mentor when Pamela acted hysterical or unreasonable. But above all else, her Grandma understood her when she was an outcast in her own society. 

Being an outcast among witches, how cruel could destiny be?

When she was a little girl she didn’t understand she was an outcast so much as she knew something was wrong with the other girls from her clan. They were never mean to her, per se, but they also never wanted to play with her. 

Not like she was ever allowed to play much, anyway. 

She spent most of her time awake listening to her mother’s lectures, or trying to pay attention during her governesses’ lessons, or, and this was her favourite part of the day, watching her Grandma in action. 

As she grew up, she started connecting the dots, understanding the reasons behind her sheltered and lonely upbringing. 

The other girls would never say a mean thing about her, nor would they get too close to her, because she was off-limits. If they ever disrespected her, their families might find themselves in a tight situation and fall from grace. But if they ever included her in their activities, making her feel like one of them, then she could be distracted and get sidetracked from her studies and her true purpose. 

Such was the life of the future Queen of the Witches. 

Growing up, she often tried to rebel against the role imposed on her since birth. A role she was forced to play ever since she opened her eyes for the first time and that forsaken violet colour appeared from behind her eyelids. 

Although a witch didn’t exactly become the queen of her people due to their genes. That is to say, the position wasn’t inherited; it depended on the most important asset a sorceress could ever possess. 

Her affinity to magic. 

Whoever had the strongest, and hence was the most powerful spellcaster among them, was destined to be her clan’s leader. But that didn’t necessarily mean anyone could be queen either. 

That popular belief among pop culture that spread the idea that anyone could do magic if sufficiently trained was absolutely ridiculous. You were either born with the ability to do magic, or you weren’t. Period. 

Another popular misinformation humans seemed to be suckers for was the idea that magic came from ancient artefacts or spellcasting. In reality, magic came from within every witch; from their anima. Their own essence. In truth, magic was the ability to channel their essence and project it into the physical realm with the added help of their knowledge of the secrets of life. 

Because when it came to magic, there was nothing more powerful than knowing the secrets of the universe. If you knew the secret to something, you knew how to master that something. 

Based on those principles, witches chose their queen according to the strength of her anima, and although the throne wasn’t supposed to be passed down from mother to daughter, it was worth mentioning that they did have a Royal family of some sort:

The Mansons. 

The family she, Samantha “Sam” Manson, belonged to. 

And what was it that turned the Mansons into the closest thing her people had to a Royal family? Their violet eyes. 

Their eyes were a tell-tale sign of a superior kind of anima. Just like their irises, it would manifest itself into purple energy; the only kind of energy that could survive dark magic without being corrupted. Sam’s own energy manifested itself in the form of a sparkly, purple mist, confirming her potential as her clan’s greatest spellcaster. 

Sam spent the first years of her life cursing her luck. She didn’t want to be queen! She wanted to have friends, to play, to see the world from beyond the clan’s manor’s windows...She...she wanted...she wanted to live. 

For years she hated her amethyst gaze, a cruel reminder of a fate that had already been outlined for her the moment she was born and from which she could not escape. But then, her Grandma Ida, the Witch Queen before her, died when she was fourteen, and Sam learned to value her unique eye colour. 

It was the only thing she had to remember her grandmother by, after all. 

Since Ida never had a daughter, but a son who would eventually marry Pamela, a lesser witch, the clan had seemingly fallen into anarchy. Several witches tried battling each other for control, while the members of the Council deliberated in search for a better solution than mindless duels that could massacrate the coven’s numbers. 

And it was during that time that Sam finally embraced what for years had been her greatest curse. 

Taking a stand, she casted a paralysing spell in the manor’s Grand Hall, forcing everyone present to stay put and listen to her. With that simple move, she achieved two things. Firstly, she got her people’s undivided attention, and secondly, she reminded them just who possessed the strongest anima. 

Although Sam would never admit it, having so many unwavering gazes looking down on her disturbed her a little, but she forced herself to go on with her plan before she lost her nerve. Using that newfound courage, she reminded everyone that, not only was she Ida’s only granddaughter, but she also had violet eyes and, as they’d just witnessed, the anima to match. She brought up the countless hours she’d spent studying to become their coven’s next queen, and she fought tooth and nail until they recognised her as the heiress to the throne. 

When the Head of the Council had reminded her of her age, still being too young to rule, Sam made a deal with them. The Council would act as her regents until her 18th birthday, when she became of age and would ascend to the throne as her Grandma, who was considered one of the best queens they’d ever had, would have wanted. In exchange, the girl promised she would dedicate those years to study and train to become the leader her people deserved. 

After much deliberation, the Council accepted her offer. 

Just as Sam kept her part of the deal. 

The four years she dedicated to her duties as future queen shaped Sam’s view on her lifelong duty. She always wanted to change the world for the better, now she had the means to do so. As Queen of the Witches of Amity Park, she would focus her efforts on diplomacy between the rest of the covens spread throughout the globe and hers. She would personally deal with any trespasser or crook who dared threaten her witches’ safety. She would focus her energy on rebuilding the link with nature her people used to profit from. 

But above all else, now that they were wandering freely around Amity Park, her coven’s home, she would protect her people from those traitors. 

No witch would suffer because of them ever again.

That was three years ago. Now at twenty-one, Sam was proud to call herself the Witch Queen, a duty and a privilege she was honoured to shoulder. 

Lost in thought, she gently stroked DeMilo’s head. The venus fly trap had been her familiar since her Rite of Passage back from her 14th birthday; it was the last ceremony Grandma Ida was able to attend. Unfortunately, the memory of her rite was tainted by a rather...unpleasant event, making it almost impossible to reminisce without the feeling of nausea creeping up on her. 

After their Rite of Passage, witches got their familiars, signalling they were finally full-fledged members of their birthclan. But while most young sorceresses got cats, or ravens, or any other animal ーsome animals being more stereotypically “witchy” than othersー, Sam got DeMilo. As unusual as getting a plant as her familiar was, it didn’t matter. The girl’s natural affinity to nature made it incredibly easier to harvest the herbs and plants they needed for their spells. 

And DeMilo was ten times more interesting than any house cat, anyways. And a hundred times more hygienic than a drooling dog. 

“You’ve been staring at the mirror for almost an hour now.” A heavily accented voice broke her out from her stupor. “And then they say I’m vain.”

Turning around, the queen found her lady-in-waiting, Paulina Sanchez, leaning against the door of her quarters, her arms crossed. At her feet lay several toiletries and different kinds of make-up. 

Avoiding her gaze, flustered, Sam apologised, “I...I’m sorry. I was waiting for you to come back with what you needed and I guess I got lost in thought.”

“No kidding,” Paulina snickered as she made her way to her Queen’s side. With a wave of her hand, she beckoned the items currently resting on the floor to float towards her, a soft pink glow enveloping them. “Is there, like, anything on your mind? Anything we should worry about? Because, last time I checked, everything was going smoothly for us. Except for that one nutcase still trying to hunt us, but nobody is taking her seriously anyway.” She shrugged, not feeling concerned in the slightest. 

Sam frowned a little at her words. She knew of the so-called witchhunter, and although Paulina was right that nobody seemed to take her seriously, it wouldn’t be unwise to keep an eye on her. The last thing they needed was another massacre like the one from The Great Burning. “No, no. Nothing like that, don’t worry.” She dismissed the idea with a motion of her hand. “I was just thinking about the past, that’s all.”

Paulina replied with a noncommittal sound as she started brushing her Queen’s hair. Normally, Sam limited herself to be pampered exclusively if she had an important meeting with the Council or the other clan leaders to attend, such as Coven Night, her people’s most sacred ceremony. But there was another reason why she had called Paulina to dress her up for. 

“Is there anything going on that I should know about?” she asked her lady-in-waiting, her eyes never leaving her reflection on the mirror. 

The Latina’s gaze hardened, “Harriet is trying to get more witches on her plan to get rid of them, but, so far, everyone seems to be loyal to you and your orders.”

“As they should.”

Unbeknownst to anyone, the Queen’s two handmaidens, Paulina and Star, were also her most trustworthy informants. They had eyes and ears all over the manor, without even using any surveillance spell. The other witches tended to look down on them due to their Valley Girl attitude, which often made them look far less capable than they really were. Which was perfect for them and Sam, because that way any possible conspirators would lower their guard around them. 

If anyone sneezed in the manor, they would tell her. 

Paulina was about to ask about what course of action they should take, when a shrill voice broke the quiet atmosphere, immediately drawing the attention from everyone present in the large house. 

Sam hastily stood up from her chair just as Star burst the doors open, surprise etched to her skin. Making eye contact with her queen, she hurriedly arrived next to her, doubling over and panting from racing all the way there. 

Concerned, Sam put a hand on her shoulder as she ordered Paulina to bring her friend some water, but the blonde stopped her with a wave of her hand. “No,” she breathed, “this...this is...too important.”

“Star, what’s wrong?” The violet-eyed girl asked. 

Instead of an answer from her handmaiden, she received a neon green envelope closed by a wax seal. If the colour of the envelope weren’t unusual enough, the seal was shaped after a glaringly familiar logo:

A ghost shaped to include two initials; ‘DP’.

In cursive, the envelope said it was directed to the ‘Witch Queen of Amity Park.’ And an array of red, capital letters was pressed against its green surface, reading:

URGENT

Sam couldn’t hold back her astonishment, a hand barely covering her gasping mouth. Absent-mindedly, as if under a spell, she took several tentative steps back, until her back collided with her vanity. She could not believe her own eyes.

The Ghost King was personally addressing her. 

[katnissmellarkkk]

Alrightttt, I’m on a roll so we’re going onto chappy five 🥳🥳🥳😎😎

I know the movies made the Capitol — re: basically only Effie and maybe Caesar — have those ridiculous made up accents but .... I actually feel like the description of the Capitol accent in the book is supposed to be like the Kardashians or Paris Hilton’s voice. 🤷🏼‍♀️

“Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s. no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them.” Like this is a pretty good description of how Kim Kardashian and her sisters talk. And Suzzy C did say she was inspired by the juxtaposition between war news footage and ridiculous reality television shows so... I think my theory of the Capitol all talking like they’re on the Real Housewives of LA is pretty valid.

Just imagine Paris Hilton as Effie and Nicole Richie as one of her preps

Lolololol this whole section of waxing is reminding me to go get my legs waxed 😭😭😭 straight up calling me out here, Suzanne

I like how Katniss says her stylist “apparently has no interest in seeing her until the prep team has addressed obvious problems.” Like you can tell from her narration she was expecting to feel the same was about Cinna that she does about Effie and her prep team.

The “gritty loam that takes off dirt and three layers of skin” is probably just a strong exfoliator 😭😭😭 my girl knows nothing about quality skincare 🤧🤧 someone build a Panem Sephora

She mentioned them waxing her underarms.... girl, did you have hairy armpits before this? Idk why this revelation is new to me

“Grease her down!” Just sounds wrong 😅😅😅😅 I need to stop being annoying omg I’m like a twelve year old

Hmm it’s funny to me that Katniss refers to Octavia as plump. You’d think in a place like the Capitol body image and weight would be very important. Unless it’s like back in the old, old days when being overweight was a sign of wealth. Which would make more sense so this was an unnecessary thought process curtesy of Samantha

Katniss faking a smile and thanking her prep team shows she does know how to play the game and fake it better than she says.

So ... okay, hear me out, I’m not trying to get over the top or make this into something it’s not but ... the whole stylists / Cinna coming into the room and staring at her naked is a little weird. Especially considering Cinna isn’t Lenny Kravitz who’s like a bit older than her but actually like a twenty-something year old dude.

But okay, here’s the thing I was getting at ... Cinna’s one of the best people in this series and you can’t deny that. Even if you find him boring, he’s still one of Katniss’ closest people. Also he’s probably gay. But like ... what about the other stylists? I don’t wanna be that person who makes everything more than it is, but like, this scene just sounds like a perfect opportunity for some Capitol creep to assault a teenager idk I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill just ignore Samantha okay.

That’s nice that he complimented her mama though 🥰🥰🥰

So Katniss calls District Twelve the least desirable district but ... doesn’t District Eleven suck too? Like she also later says District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest but doesn’t she also say Rue is worse off than her and Prim? Make up your mind, Suz.

Cinna claims he asked for District Twelve but did he really get an option? 😅 If it’s his first year and Katniss claims the newbies get them anyway 🤷🏼‍♀️ Samantha is once again, reading too much into this.

Awww, Katniss is thinking about how long it would take for her to assemble this fancy meal at home 🤧🤧🤧 it would take her days and the Capitol just has the necessary resources at their disposal and they just takes it for granted. And yes, I’m aware this is supposed to be calling all us readers out who take so much for granted I know. We’re the Capitol.

“How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by?” It’s honestly so sad but so vital to her character that Katniss has zero hobbies or real free time. Her life is about surviving. She doesn’t get to live or enjoy very much of her time. She dedicates everything to keeping Prim — and her mother — alive, sacrificing everything a teenage girl should be doing. Sacrificing even the things the other girls in her world get to do. She mentions the merchant girls and the Seam girls who are more experienced romantically and sexually and socially than her. Because she doesn’t get to be a kid or innocent or even happy, in order to focus on her and her family’s survival. And the things she does enjoy, like spending time with Gale or dancing with Prim (mentioned in Mockingjay) she downplays in case they’re taken away, because nothing good is secure in her eyes. 🥺🥺🥺

Okay but what did Katniss’ facial expression give away that Cinna knew exactly what she was thinking? Or is she just less emotionless than she and Haymitch both claim? Ironically I think they’re the only people who call her emotionless which can easily be chalked up to their self-hate and terrible self-esteems.

Katniss is so afraid they’re gonna make her be naked for the parade 😭. Honestly though they’re children that’s so creepy that they’re even allowed to make 15/16/17 year olds be naked in a parade. I mean I know they kill kids every year but isn’t there like child pornography laws in Panem? 😭

“You’re not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?” Is so foreshadowing 😭😂😅😎 Caesar Flickerman’s voice “Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire!”

Honestly though Cinna is smart to make Katniss recognizable in the arena by leaving her with simple makeup. I know and the sky is blue we all know this already beating the dead horses until the farmer comes home.

“It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman.” It’s true though 😅😅😅😭😭 he was always a rebel. I actually think he may have asked for District Twelve after Katniss volunteered, because he saw the potential in her. Poor Peeta. Baby, I’m rooting you for even if no one else is.

Also I always found it a bit .... curious? That Peeta had a female stylist and Katniss had a male one? Not just because of the required nudity, you’d just think men would do better as a boy’s stylist and a woman would make a better girl’s stylist. So yes, my whole Cinna was interested in District Twelve because Katniss seemed like a good symbol for a rebellion idea seems very plausible.

I know I know I know I read wayyy too much into this stuff sometimes a cigarette 🚬 is just a cigarette 🚬

Katniss being relieved when Peeta shows up 😭😭😭 because even if she won’t admit it and even if she won’t let herself trust him, she still sees him unconsciously and completely against her will as a comfort because they’re in this thing together in a way, even if they’re supposed to try and kill each other

And honestly, it’s such a like... relatable feeling? To feel alone and nervous and uptight and then someone who you recognize — even if you maybe aren’t even friends with but you at least know — shows up and you just instantly feel less alone. I’m totally looking at this through shipper goggles and I’m not even ashamed you all knew who’s blogging you were reading ight? 😂🤣🤷🏼‍♀️

“He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all.” And he’s gonna learn a lot more about it when he falls in love — for real, falls in love, not a childhood infatuation — with the girl on fire. 🥰🥰🥰

But also, I love this particular line on a reread because it totally is an indicator towards their future. Like Peeta knows about fire, he’s experienced with how to handle it, and later on, he becomes the only person who truly comes to understand Katniss, who represents fire, in a way that no one else could ever imagine.

Hmmm, Katniss’ point of view here, talking about how Portia and Peeta’s team seem all giddy and air-headed and it’s only Cinna who seems reserved makes me rethink my previous imaginings of Peeta’s stylist. Maybe she’s just a Capitolite idiot and nothing like Cinna. And my baby got a raw deal here then too. Good thing Haymitch loves him more. Just kidding 😅😅😅

But also I wanna know why Cinna is hesitant to accept congratulations for his and Portia’s idea? Wasn’t he at least lowkey excited about it when he pitched it a page ago?

Their horses are coal black 🐴 😅. I like that they went the whole nine yards with the theme. Nothing but the best for the kids on Death Row.

Aww Katniss asking Peeta what he thinks about being set on fire is so sweet and pure for some reason. I just find their commodore here cute ok

“I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine” this is literally their first friend type of interaction and it’s so pure y’all leave me be I’m emotional for them

🙃 Also lowkey reminds me of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Everyone look away ok I’m sorry

Peeta’s shady/annoyed Haymitch comment and Katniss’ joke at his expense 🤣🤣😂🤣😂😂🥲🥲☺️🥲🥲 they’re bonding it’s so presh

“And suddenly we're both laughing.” I hope they laugh a lot together post-canon 🥲🥲🥲. If they can make the other laugh during their terrible circumstances, then they can make the other laugh anywhere. 🤧 Except in Thirteen because he’s hijacked and she’s certifiable and they’re both so used and abused and 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Okay I have to say, Suzanne Collins really builds up a lot for certain events and then just like grazes over the actual action of said event? Like she builds towards the tribute parade but then kind of rushes through off the actual event itself? It’s a common theme in her writing. And I don’t like it at all ngl.

Oh wait she doesn’t actually rush the parade events the paragraph before just looked like she was about to I jumped the gun 🤣😂🤭 but what I said is still completely true for many events in these books sorry not sorry

I’m definitely reading too much into it but the fact that District One — the favorite of the Capitol — gets snow white horses and District Twelve gets coal black horsies kind of ... seems to imply something .... 🤭

Cinna just lets out a sigh of relief “it worked” like ... way to fill your tributes with hope, dude. “Yeah, you’re totally safe, don’t be scared-OH THANK GOD THAT WORKED I wasn’t actually sure you wouldn’t blow up.” But actually this answers my previous inquiry about why he seemed hesitant I guess he wasn’t even sure this wouldn’t burn them up that’s nice 🤭🙃

It’s a literal trial by fire *cue drum hit* 🥁 aww, I just cracked myself up 😭

“Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" This is caught halfway between being very Capitol-y and very father-brotherly and idk which way to take it but it’s kind of cute 🤭

“For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling.” This is such a significant line because Katniss isn’t saying Peeta is technically good looking (like when Haymitch said they were decently attractive) or someone else thinks he’s good looking (i.e Gale, her mother and lowkey Finnick) but she’s saying she herself thinks he’s attractive. Girl, your crush is showing.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta.” I’m sure Cinna actually did say that but this just seems like a very good opportunity for Peeta to hold the hand of the girl he has a massive crush on. 😭😭😭

Okay Cinna gave a thumbs up so he actually was saying that but can you imagine Peeta’s excitement right now?

I mean, yeahhhh, there’s the certain death looming over him too but like live in the moment, babe. 🥰😘🤗👌🏻

I like that Katniss says the crowd is at first like 😳😳😳 before they start cheering like they’re thinking “what are these backwoods, hillbilly kids doing this year?”

“At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces” okay they both have to be pretty naturally attractive people objectively, because you illuminate my face without much makeup and no one is gonna be cheering.

“Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you! I hear Cinna's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand.” I wonder what the true difference is for Katniss between Cinna and Effie saying this to her? Maybe it’s that Effie is just outright mean to her sometimes whereas Cinna shows her nothing but kindness from the start and expresses sympathy and understanding? It’s probably that he’s already earning her trust versus Effie who’s just cruel I’m not over her comments on the train ok

“I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock.” Right from the start, Katniss refers to Peeta as solid and steady. Idk, I feel like this is something that the movies really misses along the way. Katniss wasn’t always strong or confident at all and Peeta, at least publicly, exuded those qualities pretty well. Samantha’s complaining again ™️ 💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

Also this is just outright foreshadowing how Peeta will eventually become her rock. Or that he will be soon painted a rock ... pick and choose which way you wanna go with this. 🤷🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️😅🤣

“As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd.” Okay, see I feel like Peeta really gives Katniss confidence in herself. If he’d been there in District Thirteen and they’d done propos together, she probably would have been a thousand times better.

But also this makes me think Katniss actually has it in her to be a charismatic, confident, alluring celebrity. She just chooses not to. 🤗🤗🤗

But this also reminds me of “She has no idea the effect she can have” okay imma move on and stop focusing on every little detail

I say that every chapter 🤧😅

“The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement.” Say whatever you want, Katniss is still such a girl underneath it all. She gets excited over people liking her and cheering her on. And I know it’s because it increases her chances of getting sponsors but still

Honestly Peeta trying to showcase Katniss and let her take the spotlight is so selfless and indicative of his ultimate plan to help her win but also ... I can see how Katniss would believe it’s too good to be true and he’s messing with her. That he’s just playing the game to earn her trust, get her guard down and manipulate her later.

See, Peeta is actually framed at the start like the typical, standard YA love interest turned villain. In majority of YA books, at this point the boy is kind and sweet and helpful to the girl until she trusts him completely and then he turns on her and uses everything she gave him to destroy her. But the difference is, Katniss refuses to truly trust him and she is guessing his game incorrectly at every step. And then it’s revealed that it was never a game and he truly isn’t messing with her and everything he’s done that’s seem too good to be true and not even remotely plausible has actually been genuine and heartfelt and that, my friends, is why Peeta is above all other YA love interests. Because Everlark is actually the foil to many of the cliches. That was a long speech over some incoherent thoughts I’m so sorry if you suffered through that.

“It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it.” Awww he is her rock 😭🤧🥺

"No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." Okay this part is so cute and so blatantly setting Peeta up as her main love interest omg 😅 this isn’t the least bit subtle or disguised. But first off, the fact that Katniss is also Peeta’s stability here too 😭😭😭 and second of all, she takes time to notice his blue eyes against the firelight? She was attracted to him from the very start, y’all. That’s indisputable. 👌🏻😎🤧

“It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other.” I agree with you, baby, it’s not fair at all. But you two take care of that situation nicely. Or not. Y’all do start a dang war. 🤭🤭🙃🙃

It’s rather ... ironic that it’s District Twelve’s chariot of them all that is pulled up and stopped directly in front of President Snow’s mansion. I know it’s a book, certain details like this are definitively contrived, I know get over it. 🤦🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

So uh. Snow is a small thin man? Why do I suddenly imagine Danny Devito as Snow 😅😅😅😅🤣🤣🤣🤣 y’all know he’d kill the role

“The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering.” Okay, this is such a great line and it’s so significant to the rest of the series? The fact that Katniss — and Peeta, let’s not forget our boy — became symbols of the revolution. Like this line is deep if you think about it. The worse things in Panem got, the more the civilians looked towards Katniss and Peeta for hope 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰

Omg now after Songbirds and Snakes, we know the national anthem. I’m sorry, babies, that you have to endure that I’ll get you out of there 🙉🙉🙉

I feel like in part, the Capitol camera crew — Cressida, Pollux .... Pollux’s brother... is that you here???? — put so much attention on District Twelve because it would create some resentment and competition between them and the careers 🤭🤗

“I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all.” Insert Gretchen Wieners “I can’t help that I’m popular!” 😅😅😅😅😅

“I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands.” — they were hanging on so tight 😭😭😭😭

“Thanks for keeping hold of me.” He’s so sweet ☺️☺️☺️ I love him even if he’s kind of an idiot sometimes but so is Katniss so let’s not point fingers

“I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. [...] And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness” Omg I know Katniss views this as him trying to manipulate her but the fact that he’s actually just admitting the way he’s felt for years is so 😭😭😭😭 if only you’d spit it out sooner, Bready

“he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.” She literally has a crush on her fellow tribute and her first line of defense is to decide he out to get her for making her feel this way 🤣😭🙃

“The more likable he is, the more deadly he is.” The more my crush grows, the more deadly he becomes. I know I’m reading this with shipper goggles but guess what? I’m unashamed. 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️ who feels guilty for reading this book with an Everlark bias not this girl right here 🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️

“I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.” Okay first off, she says cheek here but according to a chapter ago, she claimed the mark was on his jaw... so in other words, she’s incredibly short. If a medium height guy has a bruise on his jaw and she has to stand on her tip toe to reach it... well... hashtag LittleKatniss

And second off.... can you even imagine how Peeta must feel. He genuinely complimented her here, the girl he has had a crush on forever, and she responds by kissing his cheek. He was probably really happy at this moment. And also this probably played further into his buying into her false display in the arena. That here we have her clutching his hand, smiling and laughing with him and kissing his cheek. Idk what I was trying to say necessarily but I made myself sad wow way to go me 🥺🥺🥺🥺🤧🤧🤧

Anyways! Those are my very over the top and too detailed thoughts! Hope you enjoyed if you read this! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳😎😎😎😎😎😎😎🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[jasontoddiefor]

As Lightning to the Children eased Chapter 14

Chapter 14 is out! Read on AO3!

Padmé did not call Anakin out when she found him hiding in her living room, arms tugged beneath his knees, his chin resting on top of them. He didn’t look like he had gotten any sleep lately and she was not about to stop him from getting at least some rest.

Instead, he merely put a cup of tea in his hands and went about her work. Halfway through midday, she got the call she had been waiting for.

“Senator Organa,” she greeted her ally and friend. Bail Organa was a good man, friendly and charming on top, and Padmé wondered what would happen if she were to let him meet Obi-Wan sometime. The two seemed like the kind of people who’d get along like a house on fire. “How are you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Bail replied. He glanced at Anakin once but didn’t further react to his presence. “And yourself?”

“Exhausted, if I’m honest,” Padmé said. “The war hasn’t even truly started and I already feel as if I’ve aged years, but let’s not linger on that. How is your charge?”

“Adjusting,” Bail said. “I offered to take him home to Breha, but he decided that he wanted to stay on Coruscant. I’m not sure whether it’s the proximity to the Jedi or if it’s because he has to protect me in turn for keeping him safe, but I decided it would be beneficial for his health to remain at my side.”

Padmé smiled at him, honestly and truly happy. “I’m relieved to hear that.”

Finally, some good news during this catastrophe. When the Jedi had taken them all back to Coruscant, nobody had been too sure what to do with little Boba Fett. Technically speaking, his father – no matter how undeserving Padmé thought him of the title – was a deceased criminal and there were enough people who wanted Boba to pay for his father’s crimes. Hi status as a clone also didn’t really improve his situation. Padmé would have taken Boba in himself, as would the Jedi, but neither was quite the right fit, and when Bail Organa had offered to take him in, then that was just good fortune.

“If you ever need someone to babysit, I can jump in last minute,” Padmé joked.

Bail smiled and nodded. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Padmé, but I believe Boba would protest quite heavily against being babysitted.”

“He can be part of my protective detail then,” she amended. “I’m sure he will do excellent work.”

X

The Council room was dead silent.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” Qui-Gon asked, allowing disbelief to seep into his voice.

Whereas some of his fellow Masters smiled in tired exhaustion, others only rolled their eyes.

“A new member this Council needs,” Yoda said. “Wise in the Living Force you are and raised a brilliant Padawan you did. A new member of this Council you may be if you accept.”

Qui-Gon wondered what Dooku would say about this. His Master had already departed with his own clone battalion, heading straight to the Outer Rim and into the zones that promised the most gruesome battles. Dooku was a brilliant talker and given his relationship with the Senate, he’d probably be more useful on the Council than Qui-Gon. He had already been on the Council once.

Qui-Gon knew he was stubborn and thick-headed and unlikely to change his mind unless proven wrong. Both Dooku and Obi-Wan had told and shown him so often enough. Qui-Gon wasn’t chosen for delicate and amicable peace talks. He usually went to do the negotiations where they expected things to blow up, and more often than not, they did.

He was not the best option for a War Council, especially when he struggled to wield the Force as he used to.

“Why me?” he finally asked when he didn’t know what other question there was left to voice.

“Love this Order more than anyone else, you do. Had Knight and Padawan Skywalker not found their way here, found your way to them, you would have. Listen well to the world, you do. Not afraid to speak your words, you are. Ready for this, you are.”

Not yet. Speak first. Right a wrong, my dear child, explain your scars—

“I have to talk to Anakin,” Qui-Gon said, his heart hurting at the thought of the youth, yet rejoicing at finally getting a glimpse of the Force again. “I cannot give you an answer before I spoke to him.”

The Masters nodded and Qui-Gon left.

X

Anakin was easy to find, hiding away in one of the lowest accessible levels of the temple. These days, he was either at Obi-Wan’s sickbed when Obi-Wan was asleep, at his mother’s when she wasn’t telling him to finally go talk to Obi-Wan, hiding away in Padmé’s apartments or down here. Qui-Gon had first thought that Anakin would try to go deeper, search for what lingered beneath the warm marble of their temple, but he never moved from his spot.

“Anakin.”

The Padawan winced when his name was called, then slowly turned his head only to return to staring blankly at his hands. He looked absolutely miserable, tired too. Qui-Gon sighed.

“Do you remember the mission to Naboo? When we accompanied Padmé back to it?”

Anakin gave no sign that he was listening to Qui-Gon, but he decided to keep talking anyway. “When we entered the ship, you collapsed. Something set you off, something incredibly dark and harmful, and, best I could tell, it flipped a switch for you. Revealed something it shouldn’t have.”

Anakin’s hands curled to fists as Qui-Gon sat down next to him. “Obi-Wan and I didn’t know what to do, so we- no, I decided to do what I thought was best. I blocked those memories, dressed them up in kinder images.”

Even now, so many years later, Qui-Gon remembered it so clearly. The chains wrapped around Anakin’s entire body, the sun burning him, reminding him that he was not supposed to be there.

“And then, when you tried to heal me later on, you needed the knowledge that I had hidden from you to do better.”

“To let you die, you mean,” Anakin said. His voice was hoarse as if he hadn’t spoken in days. “It would have stopped me from resurrecting you.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed. “I would have died and it would have been alright because it was my time. My actions took away something you should be able to recognize subconsciously and I want to apologize for it.”

Silence followed Qui-Gon’s statement as they let his words linger. It was true. That he realized now. Whatever he had done, it had shifted something within Anakin that wasn’t meant to be shifted sideways.

“I think you made me human,” Anakin replied, wings unfurling as bones cracked. “I don’t think I was meant to be human.”

His eyes were still closed, but Qui-Gon could still fill all of them watching him, waiting for a reaction, a confirmation.

“No, you were not,” Qui-Gon replied. “And I’m sorry I made you something you weren’t supposed to be in my fear of what you might have become in that moment.”

“I want to be human,” Anakin muttered. He stretched out his fingers, sharp claws, golden like his teeth, bleeding as if from scratching his arms raw, trying to dissect himself and sew his flesh back together in the right way, anything less hurtful. “I don’t want to be like this. Everything is so loud and I’m always too much and if I get angry, I break the world apart. It isn’t fair that I can feel so much, but I’m not allowed to embrace it.”

“Oh, Anakin.” All thoughts of logically expressing this to his Grandpadawan were forgotten. “Who told you that you can’t embrace your emotions? You just can’t let them become too much. You can’t let them consume you. You need to find your balance again.”

Qui-Gon knew it was a cruel demand to make when he had been so afraid of what would become of Anakin almost a decade ago now. There was no telling whether Anakin would still exist once he found that balance again or whether he’d return to his silent parent. After all, what parent would abandon their child if not because they knew they weren’t needed anymore?

“I’m scared,” Anakin admitted. “I was afraid my mother would be put back together again wrongly if I healed her so I lashed out and murdered all of them in cold blood and then I was scared to lose Obi-Wan and instead he lost his arm because of me and I’m scared that if I try to fix me, I won’t be me at all. I know I can do it. I’ve been looking, I can see where you used your paint on me, but I just—”

Anakin looked up, bright blue eyes staring at Qui-Gon as he cried and wrapped his arms around him, hiding his face in his robes.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Gently, Qui-Gon held onto Anakin. How strange that a being as bright and strong as him needed an anchor as fragile as Qui-Gon. He ran his fingers through Anakin’s hair, humming a melody under his breath he’d been taught years ago on a small Mid Rim planet.

Minutes passed, hours without either of them moving until Anakin’s shoulders stopped trembling.

“I can’t tell you what the right path is, Anakin. You have to decide that for yourself. The only advice I can give you is this question: do you love the Jedi?”

“What?” Anakin’s confusion was painted across his face in broad brushstrokes.

Qui-Gon smiled. “I asked if you loved the Jedi?”

“Of course! You’re my home, my family! How could I not?”

“Good.” Qui-Gon nodded. “Then you will remind yourself of the fact that you love your family and that your family loves you every day and every action you take will be in this knowledge. Do not act against this love in your heart, Anakin, and may it ease the burden on your mind.”

May it guide you well.

X

Obi-Wan’s hand trembled. He hardly had any control over his new appendage and it frustrated him to no end. He was a perfectionist at heart, had spent hours training his fine motor control to become a Master of his form. He tried to keep his breathing under control, to focus, and not let the pain overwhelm him. If not for his own sake and to resist the temptation of just throwing his lightsaber halfway across the room, then for Anakin.

His Padawan already felt so guilty for Obi-Wan’s injury, he didn’t want to make him feel worse.

He couldn’t stand the thought of looking at Anakin’s sad eyes.

“Rough night?”

Obi-Wan turned his head around to find Shmi standing at the entrance of the training hall. Her injuries had healed well during her stay with the Healers, only a few faint scars across her face and shoulders revealing what she had been through. She was dressed ready for battle, wearing the new armor the Jedi had been given. Obi-Wan had tried it on once and immediately wished he could message Satine and ask her whether he could borrow one of hers for the war. Mandalorian armor was so much more comfortable.

Not that he thought the Jedi should wear any at all.

“Are you shipping out?” he asked.

“Yes, Dooku asked for backup. Apparently, he’s been dealing with a Sith apprentice – a different one than the one you encountered on Geonosis – and intends to chase her down. Someone must take over his battalion. Since he dragged me back home from Tatooine, I’ll return the favor.”

“Take Anakin with you,” Obi-Wan heard himself say. “He needs to get out of the temple.”

“You haven’t talked yet,” Shmi stated, her tone not allowing for any disagreement.

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. “And I don’t think Anakin will talk to me as long as he hasn’t gotten a proper break. So, please?”

Shmi studied him for a moment, then she sighed. “Alright, but the moment you’re fit for duty, he’s your Padawan again.”

Obi-Wan managed to crack a smile at that. “Of course, I’d never trade him for another.”

[andromedasstarship]

faceless, nameless - chapter 1

photo credit - unknown 

pairing - kylo ren x reader 

warnings - canon-typical star wars violence, depictions of pain/near death experiences, sadness, depressed reader, angst, betrayal, hospital rooms, injured reader 

summary - Poe opened his mouth a few times as if to speak, but nothing came out. After a few instances of this, you decided to address the elephant in the room. “You think Ren will come looking for me, don’t you?” 

blog rules 

a/n - the next chapter is completed as well and will be uploaded tomorrow after editing! thanks for reading :) send an ask/reply to be put on the taglist. 

masterlist // read it on ao3 here 

prologue // next chapter 

-----

the moon 

Unlike Kylo, you had never felt the need to wear a mask during your days with the First Order. Kylo had requested, near begged you to- worried you’d become too identifiable and therefore an easier target-, but your job wasn’t to intimidate. Your job was to be a diplomat and a strategist and the nicer face of Order. It was quite difficult to create the intimate bonds your job required if you weren’t able to show your face. Across the galaxy, they had many names for you- the devil’s whore, Lady Ren, concubine-, but no matter what someone called you, you arguably ended up having one of the most identifiable faces in the entire galaxy.

At the moment you weren’t sure if that was working better or worse for you. Sprawled out in the sand, in a pool of your own blood, a pair of Resistance pilots were standing over you. Their outfits were gaudy, you thought, bright orange and quite the eyesore. They were arguing about something, you were pretty sure it was whether or not they should save you. You forced yourself to focus and strained to process what they were saying. 

“This is Kylo Ren’s girl, do you understand that? Kylo Ren’s girl. We touch her and we die.” The blonde haired one was saying. 

“Do you see Ren around anywhere? Or anyone from the First Order?” That came out of the one with dark curly hair. He was undeniably attractive, you thought. “If we save her, maybe we’ll have a bargaining chip” 

“That or he’s gonna think we kidnapped her and shot her and then he’s going to blow us all up!” Good point, blondie, a little off given the circumstance, but he didn’t know that. 

They didn’t even try talking to you, good guy optimism or not, the faraway look in your eyes and your labored breathing told them it wasn’t worth it. 

Eventually, you felt them pick you up and start carrying you somewhere, presumably their ship. The dark haired one had won the conversation with his whole ‘we’re the good guys’ mantra. Not that you were complaining, you didn’t necessarily want to die. When they dropped you on a table and started working at getting your wound cleaned you decided it was safe to let your mind go to sleep. You’d thank them in the morning if you woke up. 

----

You did, wake up, but it was days later and you were in a rather nondescript, too bright, makeshift hospital room. Never one for dramatics, you didn’t try pulling out your IV or ripping bandages off or jumping out of your hospital bed. You just laid there and made a list in your mind of what happened; it was the first time since being shot that you had a true moment to think. 

Kylo had come to you in the morning and told you he was taking you on a surprise trip to a nearby planet that had a beach. 

You and Kylo laid on the beach for hours, he was rather distant, but that wasn’t cause for concern. 

He kissed you like he was never going to kiss you again. 

You felt a blaster shot rip through you and immediately assumed you were under attack. 

Kylo was holding the blaster.

Kylo laid you down on the sand and left without looking back.

You laid there for..., you weren’t sure how long. 

Resistance pilots saved you. 

And now you were at...? 

You took a better look at your surroundings. Too white walls, little in terms of supplie- especially in comparison to the splendor you were accustomed to-, scratchy sheets, no windows and one single metal door. You were undoubtedly in shock, still unable to process the extent of your injury, how close you’d been to death and especially the part about Kylo. There was also the IV taped snugly to your arm, you could only imagine they were pumping you full of various drugs and pain meds; they probably did it to keep you sluggish for when you woke up and not to help keep your emotions at bay, but you appreciated it nonetheless. 

The drugs made it difficult to keep track of time, but you assumed it had been just under an hour when Pretty Pilot walked into the room. He must’ve not expected you to be awake, judging by how wide his eyes got when they met yours. 

You decided to be the one to break the silence. “Hello.” 

At that the pretty pilot fully entered the room, letting the door shut with a bang behind him. “Hello.” 

“Am I allowed to ask for your name?” You asked. 

“Poe. Poe Dameron.” 

“I’m assuming you know my name already then?” You asked, shuffling in your bed to get a better look at him. 

“Everyone knows your name.” Poe replied, walking further into the room. He pulled out a chair that had been next to your bed and sat down, looking up at you. “How are you feeling? You were out for nearly a standard week.” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that came out of you; or the painful moan that followed after the movement sent a sharp pain up your spine. “I feel like I got shot.” 

Pretty Pilot Poe grinned at that too. “Guess I should’ve seen that coming huh?” His face got a tad bit more serious and he continued, “do you know where you are?” 

“With the Resistance I assume?” 

He answered with a nod and leaned back in his chair. It was clear he was unsure how to proceed with the conversation, your years as a diplomat had taught you well in interpreting body language. This must’ve been uncharted territory for both of you. The First Order rarely took prisoners alive and the ones they did were never alive for long, nor did you have much involvement in their time with the Order. To your knowledge, the Resistance had never captured anyone of importance, not even a lowly officer or trooper. You briefly wondered what it was like when Poe and the blonde one carted you into the Resistance- ship, base, you weren’t really sure-, and plopped your dying body into the med bay. 

Poe opened his mouth a few times as if to speak, but nothing came out. After a few instances of this, you decided to address the elephant in the room. “You think Ren will come looking for me, don’t you?” 

Poe’s face morphed into a form of shock, but you could tell he was glad you had breached the subject of Ren. “We know he will.” 

“No. No he won’t,” you started, rolling your head to the other side so you were looking away from him, “Ren’s the one who shot me and left me-” 

Poe gasped loudly, effectively cutting you off. You rolled your head back to face him and couldn’t help the little smile that formed when you saw his more than bewildered face. At least one of you was processing the betrayal. 

“If your people are smart, you won’t attempt to contact him or the Order and tell them that I’m alive.” You said quietly, giving him the most serious look you could muster. 

Poe’s mouth was still opening and closing, a bit like a fish, but he managed to shake a nod your way. After a few moments of silence that were getting close to uncomfortable, he shot out of his seat. “I need to, um, tell my team. I’ll be back later.” He was out the door before you could formulate a response. 

So, it’d been a standard week since Kylo- you weren’t quite ready to swallow that truth yet. It’d been a standard week since you’d last been on Starkiller. You wondered if any of your friends missed you. Not that you had a ton on base, but over the years you’d grown quite close with Phasma and as much as Kylo hated it, you and Hux got along very well and worked wonderfully as a team. 

The longer you were awake the more aware you became of the pain. And, kriff, was it bad. Your muscles were sore, the sand had rubbed the back of your arms and legs raw, and every time you breathed you felt a sharp pain originate from the general area of your blaster wound. 

When the door opened again- your guess was two hours later-, you watched an elderly woman walk in, Pretty Pilot right behind her. When your eyes met with the woman’s, you knew exactly who she was; she had the same eyes as Him. You’d also definitely seen her from Resistance intel the First Order had intercepted, but Kylo hated a tangible reminder of his past so those photos were never up long. 

General Organa took the seat Poe had been in before, Poe himself leaning up against the wall behind her. 

“So, Poe tells me Ben did this to you.” General Organa said, breaking the silence. 

“He hates that name,” you said, feeling the slightest amount of guilt at how the woman’s face turned down at that, “but yes, he did. I don’t have the answers you want.” 

General Organa reached a hand out, gently covering yours, and gave you the type of look only a mom could give. For the next hour or so, her and Poe bounced random questions off of you while graciously answering all the ones you had. At some point, food had even arrived for the three of you; a wholly ‘good guy’ gesture, even though you couldn’t stomach more than a few bites. 

Before the General and Pretty Pilot left, she gave you a very simple ultimatum. The Resistance would allow you to stay as long as it took for you to heal and they would aid the process. When you were healthy again, you could either join them or be blindfolded and dumped on a completely random, hopefully inhabitable, planet in the Outer Rim. The only reason the majority of the council had agreed to take you in, was due to your intimate relationship with First Order happenings and plans; hell, you’d created most of them yourself and the ones that weren’t personally designed by you, still had to be approved by you. She didn’t expect an answer right then, which you were grateful for, but you all knew the deadline wouldn’t be too far out. 

----

For the entirety of your stay, three standard weeks to be exact, Pretty Pilot would come into your room at least once, for hours at a time, and talk to you about anything. The first few days were pretty awkward, you had most certainly personally killed some of his comrades at least once, but you were both quite the conversationalists and his ‘good guy’ charm came equipped with second chances. You learned you were both fiercely competitive when it came to card games. A bit too competitive, seeing as one game got you so worked up you pulled a stitch or two, elongating your healing process. 

Poe even tried to help you process your grief. He talked you into speaking to the designated Resistance therapist, who you were certain was just the person who gave the best advice and not an actual licensed professional; it didn’t matter much to you. She was a kind older woman, who sat across from you for 30 minutes a day, talking about this and that and ‘how are you really feeling today miss’ and ‘it’s okay to feel your emotions’ and other therapeutic nonsense. You had a feeling that these people thought you were incapable of feelings, not a horribly misplaced assumption, given your prior occupation, but it’s not like you were heartless. You weren’t- heartless-, you were just avoiding the reality of your situation for as long as possible. Some days, you felt like you weren’t even in your own body, just a soul looking in. 

When the dam finally broke on day 13 of your hospital stay. The betrayal of having Kylo, the man you loved, turn his gun on you and leave you for dead quite literally brought you to your knees. It had gotten so bad- a mix of screaming and full blown sobs, you’d even thrown up at one point-, that one of the nurses had to medically knock you out. Even when you were able to refrain from crying each time you opened your mouth, you couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that had made home in your bones. 

In all honesty, you probably weren’t the most reliable narrator in terms of your recovery period. Half the time you were either drugged out of your mind or stuck in a deep depression. Kylo’s betrayal had made you desperate for someone or something to accept you; a newfound fear of abandonment and worthlessness.  

In the end, you made the deal with General Organa. You made it explicitly clear you would never outright hand them First Order battle plans or ship layouts- couldn’t handle the way it would make you feel like a traitor, couldn’t handle the idea you could be the reason one of your friends was killed-, but if they were on the right track about something you’d assist them. Saying yes left more questions to be answered and various topics to be addressed; you had made a brief list of them when making your decision. 

Would you be able to stomach becoming a Resistance soldier who would be asked to kill First Order soldiers?

You couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized, so you’d have to change your appearance. 

How would they inform the rest of the Resistance of your presence, at the moment only a handful of high level officials were aware. 

The ones who know, understandably, didn’t trust you at all. 

Joining the Resistance, in the way that you were, would be the furthest thing from easy. Good thing you were never one to shy away from a challenge.

-----

a/n - wow!!!!! i cant explain how excited i am for this story. thank you so much for your kind words and support so far. my heart is more than full. comments/replies/reblogs/likes always appreciated :) 

taglist - @egguuuu​ @sunflowersandotherthings​ @clarizuliani10​ @kylorendrip​

no permission is given to copy or republish my writing on any other platform or account. if you see this story outside of my blog or my ao3 it is stolen work. i do not own nor claim to own star wars or any of the character involved in it. 

[ladykissingfish]

Bedtime with the Akatsuki (Part 2/2)

Kisame A lot of Kisame’s nightime activity is centered around taking care of his legendary sword Samehada. The blade is, after all, a sentient creature, and therefore needs to be treated with the proper respect. He re-wraps it, speaks to it, tells it his plans for the upcoming day. He also brings it with him to the dinner table (which makes the others horribly uneasy) because Samehada enjoys being around all the different types of Chakra, much the way Kisame enjoys being around the different personalities. One time Hidan made Kisame angry, and Samehada reacted by darting from Kisame’s side and leaping in front of Hidan, sucking his chakra right out of him. He drained so much that Hidan’s vitals all shut down, and the others actually believed he’d died ((Kakuzu actually cried tears of joy)); but the idiot just ended up internally regenerating a few hours later, much to everyone’s chagrin, Kisame isn’t really a nighttime sleeper in the way that the others are; he’ll take short naps throughout the entire day, but that’s really it. When not sleeping he’ll go for long walks, or, if the water is clear, a dip in the stream. He might also spend some time talking with his young sleepless partner Itachi, or having tea with him after the others have gone to bed. Zetsu Zetsu will rarely join the others for dinner, because the sort of food being served really isn’t to his tastes. Very very rarely he can convince Konan to give him a hunk of raw meat ((although this runs up against interference from Kakuzu, as the old guy doesn’t like “throwing money down the drain for the tree to eat bloody chicken”)). Doesn’t stay home at night; evenings are an ideal time for him to go scouting. He travels through the earth at enviable speed, sometimes spying on nearby village operations, sometimes doing a pre-run for an Akatsuki team’s upcoming mission. Zetsu doesn’t sleep too often, but when he does, he prefers to do so outdoors. His color and foliage help him blend seamlessly into all the other plants, so he’s never detected unless he opens his eyes. Also likes to take infrequent evening “baths” by immersing himself in a pond or stream (although he as to be careful not to overdo it; too much water can really mess up his insides). Tobi/Obito Eating around the others had always been a difficulty for Tobi, because doing so requires that he move the mask. For the longest time he’d simply tell the others that he wasn’t hungry, and then go and sneak leftovers to take to his room later ... but, very surprisingly, Deidara was the one who stopped this. On his own, he had a meeting with the others about what he guessed was Tobi’s dilemma, and then sat him down and explained, in his own gruff way, that “We all don’t give a damn what you look like under there, hm. Nobody is going to be staring at you, so just sit with us and eat, dumbass.” And true to Deidara’s word, nobody tries to look at him while at the table. Tobi has found a way to move his mask about a quarter of the way off his face, so only his mouth is exposed, but still; everybody remains respectful of his desire not to be looked at, even Hidan. After eating, though, the maturity of the situation is dropped and Tobi becomes Tobi again, pestering the others, running around the halls; either Deidara or Sasori remind him to take a bath for the night, which he outwardly balks at ... but inner-Obito loves. The water couldn’t ever be hot enough, and Obito likes to “borrow” bubble bath from Konan whenever he can, letting the luxuriant smells take his mind away from his troubles for a bit. Bedtime always starts off okay; Obito is tired from putting on Tobi all day ... but actual sleeping is difficult. Obito is plagued with gruesome nightmares about death and loss, and largely left alone to deal with them. He’s tried to go to Deidara’s room ((for some reason the blonde’s constant angriness is something Obito finds soothing)) but Deidara locks his door. Sometimes Obito will force himself back to sleep but often he’ll wander outside, away from the base, to walk along the forest and stare at the moon. He’ll

always return before dawn, just as bright and energetic as everyone expects him to be.

Konan Konan spends a good deal of the early evening cooking. At first she didn’t really agree with Pein’s One Meal Mandate, but after a few times she starts to see the value in it. Cooking for her is a way to relax, and shrug off some of the tensions from the day. And everybody is really appreciative of her culinary efforts; there’s never a single pan or plate that comes back with food on it. She doesn’t really talk much herself at the table; she prefers to listen to the others. It’s interesting, the personalities that emerge when the topic isn’t war or death or fighting. After dinner, after dishes and cleaning (which the sweetheart Itachi always helps her with, whether she asks him to or not), Konan goes into her room for Konan-time. Her favorite thing to do is write in her journal; when she was a young girl and the man known as Jiraiya came into her and Nagato and Yahiko’s lives, he was always working on a manuscript for a book that he said he’d call Make-Out Paradise. When he left, he left behind the drafts of this work in progress, and ever since then, Konan has been scribbling out alternate endings and continued scenes to the (admittedly scandalous and definitely perverted) collection of tales. An embarrassing hobby, maybe; but one she enjoys. After writing, she’ll carefully apply an overnight face mask and go to bed, closing her eyes and laying flat on her back. She’s a fairly heavy sleeper, and her internal clock faithfully wakes her up every morning at the crack of dawn. Well, either that or an early-morning shouting match between some of the more rambunctious Akatsuki members. Hidan Anyone looking at this guy would think he has a normal nighttime routine. He’ll come back from a mission, he’ll wash up, he’ll eat a pleasant meal with “the family” — and then the scariness comes out. Hidan will pack up his scythe and his jashin bible and head out from the house, in search of converts (or sacrifices) to his wonderful religion. Most of the people he finds are rogue ninja, or travelers making camp for the night in the woods. Man, woman, young, old — nobody escapes the wrath that Lord Jashin reserves for blasphemous disbelievers. A good night will yield Hidan 2 or 3 sacrifices; a GREAT night, a dozen or more. It used to be that he’d drag his victims back home for the rituals, but the other members complained to Pein that the noise and the screaming made it difficult to sleep, so Hidan is forced to carry on his activities away from the base. When he returns, the immortal is satisfied but utterly exhausted. Without bothering to clean himself up, he’ll drag himself to his room and throw himself down on his bed, often falling asleep face-first in his covers. The others will complain about the mess he leaves in his wake ... but that’s what Zetsu is for. Hidan has a deal with the plant-man that he’ll leave him some good “juicy” parts of his victims intact, as well as tell Zetsu where to find them, and Zetsu cleans up the bloody wreckage from the hall and (in the morning) the bathroom. Actually more of a win-win for Zetsu alone, but it works for Hidan. Kakuzu For this guy, bed time is budget time. He’ll sit at the dining table as Konan brings out dish after dish, and stay there long after the last plate has been cleared away. So focused on crunching his numbers that he’ll have to be reminded to actually eat. Kakuzu is the Akatsuki’s treasurer, which means it’s up to him to ensure that every member on the team is financially prepared to face their upcoming missions. Pein will give him a list of who’s going where the next day, and what possible expense they may run into ((the Akatsuki isn’t exactly a paying job, but Pein ensures that the members always have a reasonable amount of money on hand, to sustain them/keep them fed during their journeys)). Kakuzu takes what money is in the treasury and doles it out accordingly. When he’s done with that, he goes to his own room and counts out his OWN money. Kakuzu takes on capturing many bounties

in his spare-time, and the majority of his gains are kept solely to himself. He feels he has to do a count every night because he doesn’t necessarily trust those around him ((especially Hidan)) to not “borrow” from him when he’s not around. Evenings are also when “Dr. Kakuzu” receives patients; sometimes Deidara will come to him and ask him to tighten the stitching on his arms(which he carelessly loosened with his damn excessive bombing), sometimes Hidan will need bits and pieces sewn back on after one of his sacrifices goes south. One time Itachi came to him and requested stitching from a gash he’d received down his rib cage ... by far one of the worst injuries Kakuzu had been asked to treat, but the kid didn’t even so much as flinch. When the money and the medical appointments are finally finished, Kakuzu will get into bed with a magazine (the guy has a hidden love for architect and interior design) and usually end up falling asleep before he’s gotten past the first few pages.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

BROKEN

Pairing: NYX ULRIC x GENDER NEUTRAL!READER

Words: 3.401

Warnings: angst; fluff; mention of sex; raw emotions; kinda dark (?)

A/N: This is the sequel to ‘Reckless’. But ‘Reckless’ got written with a female reader. Because I’m trying to change my writing style to suit more readers, I changed the female reader of ‘Broken’ to a neutral reader. So, basically, ‘Reckless’ was about a Glaive who worked kinda thoughtless during missions. They jumped into every dangerous situation they could find. Nyx wasn’t too fond of their behavior and so, he seeked a conversation with them. Because both held unspoken feelings for each other, the conversation turned into something intimate and heated.

‘Broken’ is the darker sequel to give a bit more background to the reader. But I wrote it so that you can read it as a standalone.

Three weeks had passed since you and Nyx had your little heated 'discussion' in the Glaives' headquarters. As promised, the same day, Nyx had kept his word and visited you to show his arguments again and again why you should be less reckless. This night was the beginning of something great...and undeniably intense. None of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Almost nowhere. Even if you tried to keep it secret in front of the others, you found ways to have fun with Nyx wherever you wanted.

Nyx was drawn to your wildness as if danger was your second nature. Quickly, you noticed Nyx’ animalistic side while you were drawn to the way Nyx saw you. He gave you the feeling to be wanted. He gave you closeness where you usually just got rejected.

But like always when it became good, your past was haunting you no matter how far you would run. You had run to the farthest point you could find on the map - to Insomnia - and yet, Ryan had found you.

You hoped to get distracted as you joined the Glaives. On the battlefield, the war sounds and the screams of your dying enemies would be louder than the other voices in your head. Ryan would get silenced.

Nyx was right, you were reckless. Thoughtlessly, you ran into every new fight no matter what size the enemy had because the language of your blades were the only one you could speak fluently. Violence was what you knew the best because then, Ryan disappeared.

When you were with Nyx, the voices also became silent. When you were enjoying the man's satisfying presence, everything in your head died down to the point that Nyx was everything you could think of.

But as something else started to grow inside of you, a little, small thing called 'love', Ryan was back with full force to remind you what you were and what you had done.

"You bring death to everyone around you! You bring bad luck to everyone you love! You're the reason why everyone dies! I wish you would be dead instead of them! I hope you will never be happy!"

"No, I'm not like that! No! No! No! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!", you cried out, pressing your fists against your head to fight against the pain behind your temples.

*

For the twentieth time, Nyx checked the time on his watch and frowned. Slowly, he paced up and down at the meeting spot, becoming more and more impatient the longer he had to wait. It was unusual. For three weeks, he was dating you and every single moment had been amazing. With you, everything was so intense, passionate and lust-filled.

Then, Nyx had tried his luck and had asked you out to have a real date with dinner, maybe a movie. He wanted to show you that he saw more in you than just a sexual partner. In his eyes, you were more than just a fling. You could be more. More like a couple. You had been cautious with your answer and now, as you didn't show up, Nyx thought that he might have been too eager. That it was maybe too early for you. Maybe you felt caged by him…

Five minutes later, Nyx decided he had waited long enough and so, he walked to your place. He wanted to know what your problem was. Why were you acting this frustrating because Nyx really thought you two had worked past it. You had grown a bond. So, why were you trying to destroy it again? Nyx already searched for the problem by himself.

Nyx walked his way up the stairs to your apartment, already kinda angry but stopped as he heard something: "Go away! Why can't you just leave me alone! I'm not what you say! It's not my fault!"

Nyx’ hand froze in front of the door as he was just about to knock. He heard the angry, frantically and muffled cries behind the door as if you were screaming at someone. Without knocking, Nyx opened the door to help you but as he stepped in, the picture in front of him let his blood run cold. There was no one else in the small room except you.

Your place was more spare than Nyx' own if that was even possible. You had a bed and an old, worn wing chair. In one corner hung a used punching bag which was still swinging, obviously you had trained until the moment you had broken down in front of it.

Nyx' eyes were glued at your frame. You were just dressed in shorts and a trainingstop. Your hands were bandaged for the punching bag. You were covered in sweat while you had been slumped down on your knees, holding your head violently between your fists which were pressing against your temples. Your eyes were squeezed shut and so, you hadn't noticed Nyx yet.

Softly, Nyx closed the door. On his way over to you, his eyes fell on a bunch of pictures. He had seen them before. They were like his own: family memories with smiling faces and proud parents and a brother. They were old and the color faded on the edges but he never asked you about them because he wanted to give you the time to do it on your own.

Nyx knelt next to you, not daring to touch you because in fear to scare you. He was even scared on his own to see you, this usual tough person in such a state. You never had been this vulnerable in front of him, or in front of someone else or … at all. Nyx leant forward, searching your closed eyes, "YN? Hey, it's me-"

By the sound of his voice, your head snapped up to meet his glance. Nyx saw your bloody eyes, your lashes were spikey and your face was frozen in an expression of pure agony. Like a blank nerv, pain, hate and loathing were displayed on your features that Nyx became speechless.

"Leave me alone, Nyx!", you hissed.

He had seen you angry before but nothing was compared to what he saw now in your eyes, "No.", Nyx said calmingly, closing up on you slowly, "I won't leave you alone like this.", he said softly. Just to see you in such a state broke his heart.

"I said you shall go!", you cried out angrily, punching against his chest to gain more distance between yourself and his caring, blue eyes that made you angry. As he didn't move, you snatched out one of your blades from a hidden spot to threaten him.

Nyx moved quickly, grabbing the blade from your shaking hand and threw it aside before you broke down in his arms, crying violently against his chest.

Nyx sat down on the ground, leaning against your bed and letting you cry. He tickled your neck and stroked over your hair and back to calm you. Nyx had no idea what had happened and he didn't dare to ask. Whatever had triggered this, it had to be something extreme you barely showed someone, hiding everything like this somewhere deep down inside of you. Caging it to prevent yourself from breaking.

Five minutes later, you slowly calmed down. You felt exhausted and empty, physically and emotionally. You noticed Nyx' arms enclosing you softly but also determined to keep you close, to give you comfort. You felt guilty that he had seen you like this but you couldn't change it now where the damage was done.

You just could explain it, "Everyone of our village died that day as the imperials came.", you said low, your voice barely a whisper and hoarse from all the crying. First you thought Nyx hadn't heard you but his grip became stronger around you and so, you continued with the urge to explain yourself while snuggling closer to his chest, "That day, I lost everything. Everyone I knew died. Except me and my brother. We got rescued by some hunters. But, you know, I ... I should have died there with all the others! I should be dead instead of being alive!", you said desperately, feeling how new tears were crawling to the surface.

"No, YN. No. That's not true. Why do you think that?", he asked concerned, trying to keep his own emotions out of his voice.

"Yes, it is true! My brother was right! I always brought bad luck to everyone around me!", you argued angrily. You clenched your fists, trying to hurt yourself with your nails digging into the palms of your hands to let yourself feel something else than grief.

Nyx was shocked. He couldn't believe what he heard, "Yo-your brother? He said all these things?", he asked in disbelief.

You looked up quickly but as you saw his eyes, you had to draw your glance away again, "Yes. My brother, Ryan. The hunters had helped us. Brought us somewhere safe but after we realized what had happened, Ryan said it was my fault that our parents died. He casted the blame on me and you know what? He's right. Our mother died because she saved me and as she got shot our dad tried the same. Both would be still alive if it weren't for me. So, before I will be the reason for more deaths, I ran away."

"H-how old were you as you ran away?", Nyx whispered. His blood was slowly fueled with anger against your brother who had said all these horrible things.

"I don’t know… I guess, I was thirteen, maybe twelve as I left the hunters. Since then, I've been alone. And I will always be alone. It's the only way for me.", you whispered, determined to stay by your habit.

Nyx leant back to look into your eyes, "You're not alone-", he tried.

"Yes, I am! And that's how it should be!", you hissed and felt bad for snapping at him.

"No. YN, look at me, please.", Nyx asked and as you raised your head, he smiled softly, stroking wet strands of your hair out of your face before he cupped it, "You're not alone. You have friends here. You... Y-you have me.", he said carefully with an insecure smile. For a split second, he saw that he got through to you. Your eyes became clear with hope before the self-loathing was back.

"No. I don't have you. You can't stay with me or otherwise you will be dead like everyone else.", you whispered before you looked away.

Nyx' heart broke all over again. The pain you felt was nothing new to him, it just seemed to be so much worse than what he felt usually. Carefully, he forced you to look at him again, "Listen, as a Glaive, nothing is certain. We both know that. Obviously, our lives aren't made for certainty. But I will stay by your side as long as I can. Trust me."

"I'm bad luck. Why would you want to have someone as broken as me, anyway?"

"Because you're the toughest person I have ever met. You have so many scars and you still keep fighting. You never back down. The fire you're carrying makes me speechless. Everyone around you comes first. I admire you so damn much for everything you stand for. Your handsomeness makes me speechless. You're so damn sexy and sensual that it is addictive.", Nyx said honestly.

"You just say that because the sex is great and you want more of that.", you whispered sadly.

"No! I mean, yeah... Of course, it is great! But I... YN, I tell you that because it's the truth. It's the truth that I see you like this. And ... it's also the truth that I'm falling for you.", Nyx whispered with a pounding heart.

"Y-yo-you do- what? No! You can't do that!", you called out, panic appearing in your eyes. You even tried to leave Nyx' side, to crawl away from him.

Nyx kept you in place and chuckled softly, "You can't forbid people to like you and you can't prohibit me to love you.", he said softly. It was a very long time since he had said these words. He wanted to comfort you, sure, but they weren’t just meaningless words out of niceness. Nyx really meant them.

And to his delight, he saw that you believed him. New tears were building in your eyes. You looked sadly at him but at the same time, your eyes filled themselves with fondness for him. A tear rolled down your cheek and Nyx caught it with his thumb, "Please, don't cry anymore.", Nyx whispered and pressed a soft kiss on your lips which tasted salty after all the tears shed.

As he leant back, you stopped him. You clawed your fingers into his shirt, pulling him back to you to kiss him softly. Just slowly, you increased the pressure of your lips, noticing that he waited for your next moves, for your pace before he adjusted to it. You felt vulnerable. You hated it that he had seen you like this. And yet, that he was there meant the world to you.

Someone was there for you. Someone who seemed to love you even when you were broken like this. You knew that Nyx also had lost so many things. He couldn't save his mother and sister and suddenly, you realized that your recklessness all the time had to be the worst for him. Nyx feared to lose you while he would be helpless to rescue you because you jumped right into danger.

Slowly, you leant backwards, landing on the cold floor with Nyx on top of you. You snaked your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck to keep him close.

Nyx felt that you needed physical contact and yet, it was something completely different than usually when he was with you. You had wanted him before but that was always demanding, aggressive and determined. Almost animalistic. And now, you were so soft, caring and slow with him.

Your kisses were delicious and filled with love that Nyx melted against you. You kissed him longingly that he forgot to breathe. Your hands roamed over his body in admiring moves, savoring him and his flaws because for you, they were non-existent.

You grabbed the rim of his plain shirt, pulling it slowly up and over his head just to touch his hot skin again in the next second. You stroked over his back. Admiring every single scar you could find softly with your fingertips. You traced along them, stroking along Nyx' spine to produce goosebumps on your way.

Nyx shuddered against your frame as he felt your caring touch moving upwards to his neck. You raked your slender fingers through his hair and combed it with them. Carefully, you played with the braids as if you never had touched them before. You stroked along the small beads and enjoyed the feeling of Nyx' extremely soft, feathery hair. Never before, you noticed their softness like in this moment.

Reluctantly, Nyx left your sweet lips but his lungs demanded oxygen. He created a small space to look into your eyes which were sparkling with admiration he had never seen before. You wanted to say something, Nyx saw it but instead, you just gnawed on your lower lip. Slowly, you stroked from his back, over his shoulders down his chest.

Under Nyx' intense glance, you moved your hands down Nyx' upper body. Along his scarred chest, down his abs and to his hips before you opened his pants. Slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his glance. Connected with his blue eyes, you started to roll your hips against him to increase the friction even more.

Nyx knew what you wanted. And there was no way he would deny your request to have him. Slowly, he crawled back, offered you his hand to stand up before he undressed his remaining clothes. You followed immediately and pushed Nyx down on your bed to crawl on top of him.

Fascinated, Nyx watched you taking your time with him. While you made your way up along his body, you kissed every inch you could find: his hips, his ribcage and his collarbones. Before you reached his lips, you bit softly into his neck which caused him to moan deeply with desire. Nyx stroked along your back and clawed into your shoulder blades as he felt your teeth digging into his skin.

With you in his arms, Nyx rolled you around, bringing you into a position to enter you teasingly slow. You moaned low with closed eyes by the pleasurable feeling caused by Nyx. You clawed your hands into your bedsheets, arching your back while Nyx captured your lips with his own for a passionate kiss. He always enjoyed every moment with you but now, this was intimate in a different way. None of you were driven by desire rather by the urgency to show your deepest emotions you held for each other.

***

As the sun rose, you sat in the wing chair to watch Nyx sleeping peacefully. He was tangled with your blanket, arms hugging one of your pillows. His braids and strands were tousled while his chest raised slowly up and down. One single tear slipped from your eyes and rolled down your cheek. You wiped it away violently. You knew what you had to do…

*

As Nyx awoke, he knew the bed was empty. There wasn't much space left and he didn't have you in his arms anymore how he had fallen asleep. He pushed the pillow aside. His quickened heartbeat let him awake completely as he realized what it could mean that you weren’t there.

Nyx sat up and that was the moment where he saw you sitting in your wing chair, staring at him. You were crying again but this time silently and this was far more worse and painful for Nyx to witness than the emotional outbreak the day before, "YN? Since when do you sit there?", he asked carefully, noticing that you were fully dressed with a bag to your feet.

As you heard his voice, you blinked and looked at him, "A few hours. I wanted to leave but I- I... I saw you sleeping and couldn't go...", you whispered.

Nyx hurried out of the bed, kneeling in front of you, "I'm happy you're still here.", he said softly, cupping your face with his hand, "That's what you do, right? Leaving when it gets too much?", he asked but you just nodded as an answer. Nyx searched your eyes, "How many times have you done that before?"

You looked away, shrugging your shoulders, "I don't know. After the tenth time, I stopped counting."

Nyx sighed. He had moments where he felt lost but you were it. He had Libertus, Crowe, Pelna...you had no one. And that for a far too long time.

You looked at him, "I couldn't leave you, Nyx. I should have, but I- I couldn't... I can't give you what you deserve. I can't make you happy...", you whispered.

"Trust me, I don't even think I would deserve happiness-"

"I'm serious. I- I couldn't love you. I mean I can't love you... I don't know how. I'm not able to do that.", you breathed sadly.

"You don't have to. Why can't we just be together? No naming. No label. Just we.", Nyx offered a different way.

With doubts, you looked at him, "You still want that?"

"Oh, yes. I won't give up on you so quickly. Not after I saw so much of you.", Nyx breathed meaningfully and stood up, holding out his hand as a reason for your decision to stay.

You looked at his hand. At this strong hand that had driven you crazy and that gave you comfort at the same time. Without thinking too much, you took it. You placed your hand in his and let him guide you back to the bed. You undressed a few clothes and cuddled next to Nyx' side, curling up into his arms.

With a content smile, he inhaled your scent and pressed a soft kiss on top of your crown. Both of you were broken but at this moment, neither of you were alone because you had found each other.

[phantom-curve]

did I shatter you? pt. 4

part one: you’re not my homeland anymore | part two: when a good man hurts you | part three: there’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me | part four: my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand | epilogue: what died didn’t stay dead

The tea in Julie’s mug had gone cold by the time Luke finally sat up properly. His body was hunched over, exhaustion and sadness etched in every line. When he looked up at her she could see the still drying saltwater stains on his cheeks. He reached up to scrub at his red rimmed eyes with the palm of his hand. Julie placed her full mug down on the table, slipping off the couch to sit on the floor in front of Luke.

The light from the fire cast shadows across his face. He looked so forlorn and broken andyoung. Like the Luke that had come running to her after the last big fight with his parents. Like the Luke that had coaxed her out of the darkness of losing her mom. Like the Luke she had fallen in love with when they were just teenagers with the entire world at their feet and stars in their eyes. Her entire being ached. She ached for Luke and herself. For the life they had lost and the pain they had both suffered in silence. If only they had been able to talk like this back then. They might have been able to avoid this past year of anguish. Instead they had hidden behind the band and their lyrics. Too many assumptions, too much hurt and blame, and not enough authentic communication had toppled them like a house of cards.

“Alex and Reggie told me I should call you. Told me I had to fix things, but I didn’t think anything was broken.”

His voice was hoarse, scratchy and raw with emotion. He didn’t reach for her. Just studied her face in the dim light like he was seeing her for the first time.

“God, Julie, what happened to me? How did I become that guy?”

Julie inhaled sharply. He wasn’t really asking her, she knew that. But she couldn’t help herself.

“I don’t know, Luke. It crept up on both of us. I didn’t even see it until it was already a part of our everyday normal. I didn’t know how to stop it by then, we had been living it for so long.”

“It wasn’t just Bobby or any other bullshit excuse though. You’re right, I was cruel to you, and I didn’t even see it. Even at the end, I thought you would come to me because that’s what you always did, and I never once thought that I should be the one going to you. Even though it was always me picking fights and...I just...how could I do that to you? How could I hurt someone I love so much like that?”

His voice was bleak, the expression in his eyes borderline hopeless. It almost sounded like he was begging her to give him the answers. She didn’t have any though. She hadn’t ever figured it out either, and it still stung when she thought about how he hadn’t ever turned that rage on Reggie or Alex. Only Julie got that kind of special treatment.

“I don’t know, Luke.” She repeated.

It was all she could offer him. Her hands flexed against her thighs, desperate to touch him.

“I ruined us, and it was for nothing. I ruined the best thing in my life for nothing.”

The last statement sounded like it was meant more for him than for her. It was filled with rage and guilt and shame. His head dropped. Her chest burned.

“It wasn’t just you.”

She had to be honest. He was opening himself fully. She had to do the same. He raised his head to look at her, confusion and self-loathing clear on his face.

“I was too quick to adapt. When you first started lashing out at me, I didn’t push back. I knew you were hurting, and I wanted to do anything I could to ease that heartache. At first, I let you treat me like that because I thought it was a way to take the pain away. And then I just got so used to it, and I kept taking it until we snapped. It’s not all on you.”

He was shaking his head, frowning and opening his mouth to argue, but this was something Julie was sure of. He was responsible for the brunt of the emotional pain endured during their relationship, but a relationship was more than one person. She had some amount of blame in this too. She cut him off before he could get the first denial out.

“No, Luke, I’m at least a little responsible for this too. I’m not some weak little damsel in distress. I knew what you were doing wasn’t okay, and I let you do it anyway. I changed myself to become a person who would accept that kind of treatment. I put our relationship over my own well-being, and it was wrong. I should have stood up for myself and I didn’t. And then I cut and ran instead of fighting for myself.”

“I shouldn’t have put you in the position to have to defend yourself against me! I should have been the one protecting you, not hurting you!”

Luke’s hands fisted in his hair, body folding over again. Julie couldn’t stop herself anymore. She closed the space between them in seconds, throwing her arms around his body. He didn’t hesitate to catch her, his own arms snaking around her waist as he buried his face in her neck. He sobbed into her skin, the muffled cry of “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” repeating over and over again. She could feel his tears soaking into the collar of her shirt and her arms tightened. His hair still smelled like the peppermint shampoo she used to buy him. Her heart pounded out a familiar rhythm in her chest, the same word repeating in her mind in time with the beat: homehomehome.

They stayed in the embrace for a long moment. A river of comfort flowed back and forth between them. It felt like Luke’s soul was seeking out every frayed edge of her own, smoothing out and repairing the damage that had lingered for the last year. Their bodies shuddered in time, both of them pulling away at the same moment to look into each other’s eyes. Luke looked like a new man, determination shining from his pores.

“What happens now?”

He was asking her, but she already knew what he wanted. She just wasn’t sure she could give it to him. She gently disentangled herself, scooting back just a bit so there was enough space between them for her to breathe. Insecurity reared its ugly head, reminding her of all the reasons they had ended in the first place.

“I don’t know, Luke.”

She sounded like a broken record. Her fingers twitched restlessly. She reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, forcing herself to take a deep breath and try again.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way that I love you.”

His eyes lit up, and she pushed on.

“But just loving you isn’t enough. What you did...the way you treated me...I can’t go through that again.”

The light was dimming the more she spoke, but she had to get it all out, even if what she was about to say would undoubtedly hurt him. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I can’t trust you like I used to. You broke something in me, and I still haven’t been able to fully fix it.”

He stared at her for a second before slowly reaching out with his palms up. He left them lingering in the space between them. Heart in her throat, Julie reached out to lay her own hands in his. She looked up from where his thumb rested gently on the back of her hand, eyes locking on his, drowning in the depths of emotion she found there.

“I love you more than anything else in this entire world. More than Sunset Curve and The Phantoms. More than my parents and Alex and Reggie, and I will even tell them that to their faces. There is no me in this world without you. No music worth making, no band worth having, without you by my side. I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you whether we’re together or not. You don’t have to forgive me now or ever. You don’t have to take me back. Just give me a chance. Let me earn back your trust. I want my best friend back, Jules. I’ll do anything, just...please, give me a chance?”

Julie’s head swam, pain and fear and hope and love all warring within her, fighting for dominance. It was so hard to think when he was staring at her with those puppy dog eyes, offering her the world. She wanted more than anything to believe him. Wanted to go back to the golden age of their relationship when everything had been so new and shiny and perfect. The memories of how it had ended haunted her. She didn’t think she would be able to repair herself from a second heartbreak at Luke’s hands. He could read the doubt on her face. His hands tightened around hers, pulling her attention back to his face.

“Just a chance, Jules. That’s all I’m asking for. You can give me rules to follow. You can sic Alex and Reggie on me if I start to fuck up again. Hell, I’ll ask them to do it myself. I’ve been a ghost this last year. I don’t exist without you in my life somehow.”

Her heart screamed at her to tell him yes. Her head begged her to be careful. Her soul yearned to be complete the way it had been when Luke was at her side. His eyes pleaded pleasepleaseplease.

“I’m not going to say yes right now...but...maybe...we can try.”

She was cut off by his loud whoop. Without warning, he launched himself at her. He tackled her to the ground, squeezing the air from her lungs, whispering thank you over and over again like a prayer. She wasn’t sure if he was thanking her or the universe.

“Luke!”

She pushed against his shoulders but couldn’t keep the smile from her voice. He pulled back just far enough to look her in the eyes, leaving the rest of his body on top of hers. Her skin burned under his touch. His eyes were shining brighter than she had ever seen them before. The smile on his lips nearly took her breath away. She forgot just how pretty he was. She stuttered for a second before forcing herself to close her eyes and take a deep breath. She kept her eyes closed, hoping it would help her keep her head.

“You have to be serious about this. I’m willing to try and be friends again, but I’m not making any promises. And I’m not promising that it will ever become anything more than that. I’m gone the second you pull anything similar to that shit.”

He didn’t respond. She slowly peeked her eyes open. His face was inches from hers, something she couldn’t quite identify coloring his features.

“Julie Molina.”

He said her name with a type of reverence that could only be called devotional. A wave of butterflies rioted in her stomach.

“There is nothing that matters more to me than loving you the way you deserve every day for the rest of forever. I know it’s just words now, but I swear, I will never hurt you like that again. If it takes me the rest of my life, I will prove to you that you can trust me.”

Julie felt stunned. She hadn’t ever heard that much sincerity in Luke’s tone before. Hadn’t ever heard him speak with such passion unless it was music related. He was serious. Her heart felt a little lighter, the hole shrinking ever so slightly. He was staring at her with so much love she had no choice to believe him.

“Okay.”

It was just one small whispered word, but they both knew it was more than that. It was an eternity, stretching out in front of them. A new beginning, like the dawning of a clear morning after a night of thunderstorms.

The exhaustion seemed to hit them at the same time. It had been a rollercoaster of a night, the emotional whiplash draining both of them. In another moment of unspoken agreement, Luke stood, offering his hand to Julie, pulling her tight to his side when she was on her feet. He held her for a minute, both of them secretly reveling in the fact that they could finally touch like that again. They moved together to dump their untouched tea in the sink and shuffle into the bedroom they had once shared. Both of them craved the kind of healing they could only find in the other’s arms, even without speaking of it. Julie didn’t let herself linger over the implications, too tired to fight the comfort Luke’s body offered. They fit together seamlessly, bodies relaxing at the homecoming. Julie never realized how big this bed had felt without Luke’s limbs wrapped around her own. For the first time in a year, sleep came easily.

When she woke up the next morning and found Luke in the kitchen making coffee with the sun streaming through the window behind him, it felt like the universe had finally been realigned. There were still wounds to stitch and trust to be earned. Julie didn’t know what would happen with her solo career or the band. Couldn’t be sure that Luke wouldn’t renege on his promises once they left their New York bubble and went back to the snake pit of LA. They weren’t magically back to what they had been, but where there had once only been a dead end, they now had a new path to try. What had once been shattered was now on the precipice of repair, the glue just starting to set. Luke turned to see Julie standing in the doorway and the smile on his face promised a lifetime of atonement and devotion. They had a chance again. Julie stepped into the sunny room, her footsteps marking the first page of their new story.