#what a way to convey pure victory

[beevean]

The Great Ace Attorney 2

Great Pursuit ~ The Resolve of Naruhodou Ryuunosuke

[chilahh16]

"I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime."

What would you do when you lost the very person that stood beside you all throughout everything? When things became shitty and the world seems to grapple you into failure anytime it gets.

Charles Leclerc was lost. The world seems to spin in black and white - toying with him as it continue its motion. The he now found no real happiness in the times where a smile and laugh should be there. He's a way into the dark and cannot find a light to guide him back.

He was no fool to not know when it all started - when everything came crashing down; and when he felt drowned. Who was he to forget when almost everyone that witness their story has yet to let go, and when everything reminded him of her. That beyond the talks of Formula 1, people still whisper of her name, the kindness, the warmth, and being the iconic woman that she is.

Everything's still etched in his memories. 2019 was a year where his hard work has paid off - all the sweat and tears poured in order to win on that fateful day was worth it. But it was her who made it all complete. Y/n L/n did not only cry for him as his car blazed along the finish line, she cheered for him loudly, repeating his name again and again as she jump in exhilaration. She yelled the words " He did it", "He's a race winner", and " He won, my Charles won". She ran towards parc ferme alongside his team exuberating elation and pride as he triumph. And as he exit his car, he ran towards them, hugging his team with her in it as they bask in his glory. But it was not the highlight of his win, it was when she guide his face-covered helmet toward her and kissed the place where his lips would be. They stood there, envelop in a bubble, as the circuit cheered for him. All Charles felt at that time was the pure burst of love he has for Y/n. He relish in the feel of her touch as her hands found their place on either side of his neck. It was not visible to others but Y/n saw the tears that ran down his cheeks as he stood victorious on that day's race. His eyes spoke volumes of what his quivering lips cannot and she smiled for him, understanding what he would like to convey.

" You're a race winner, Char. I am so proud of you." she whispered amongst the loud cheers but Charles heard her, causing his smile to widen.

" Thanks to you. I am here because you're with me. So, thank you for sticking by my side." he uttered though muffled by his racing helmet but, Y/n did not mind. She'll hear every single words coming from him as she finds his voice a cacophony of melody that somehow lulls her soul to calm.

" Go up there, Champ. Claim that top step." she urged as someone called Charles to the cool down room.

The hesitation was evident on those forest green orbs of his as he cling on her - hands tightly holding her in place. Gripping her waist and settling his face in the crook of her neck like his life depended on it. Y/n chuckled before she kissed the forehead of his helmet.

" I'll stay here so you can see me. You'll hear my voice cheering for you from that top step. Now go. You still have a trophy to get."

Reluctantly Charles let go as the determination in her eyes says everything. He walked backwards toward the room, eyes staring deep into hers as their distance widen. Even when the congratulatory pats and cheers echoed around him, his eyes never stray as he mouthed his declaration of love which she smiled at - his antics never failing to amuse her, before a fond look settled in her feature, answering him with utmost honesty and love.

' And I love you.'

It was after the celebrations that he was made aware of how proud and happy Y/n is of him winning. His teammates had teased him all throughout the night of how lucky he was. That no other driver has their woman jumping and cheering so loud that it can be heard from the grandstand. Charles can only smile and laugh to their stories but it was when Arthur showed him a video of Y/n hyping up and jumping inside his garage as he neared the finish line that he placed credit to the truthfulness of his teams statement. He truly is lucky to have her. And seeing how she is with everyone, doubled the love he has for the woman. He believed in God but is not one to pray. However, in that moment as he watched her walk towards him, an endearing smile set on her lips, he prayed that she'll stay beside him, always.

As he raced in his home circuit for the 6th time, it was her face that he sees. The conversations that they had before echoed in his mind as he pushed the car to its limit. To every turn, memories of her came and when he speed past the finish line, he saw her jumping proudly for him as her hands waved in the air knowing that he triumph not only in any race but in his home race. He exit his car and a wild smile showed as he raised his arms, further solidifying that he indeed won. He ran to his team clad in red and that is when his smile fell.

No longer was there a woman waiting beyond the barrier shouting his name and yelling as she proudly relish in his victory. No longer was there a kiss on his helmet nor the familiar warmth that came only with her. His first win in his home country did not taste as sweet as he had imagined before. Try as it may, she no longer stand beside him. A new figure occupied her space and no matter what he reasoned himself, he envy her. It is Y/n's rightful place, always has, always will be. But what is he to do?

The kiss he earned that day felt bitter as much as he would like to love it.

Charles indeed was right when he said he was stupid. Because looking at the now, he wish more than anything to once again hear her proudly cheer his name, see her jumping and exude happiness upon seeing him. He would of given anything just to get her back and see her with him as he came as the victor but, it has already been lost. That even attempting to follow her and get her back would prolly incur her wrath. Was it selfish to want her to be angry just so he could see and feel her again? Because he does not know what to do anymore. He had lost the woman he vowed to spend the rest of his life with. He had lost her. Lost her to death.

And as he stands on the top step that day, he let himself cry and crumble. With the country's anthem on the background, he remember his days with her. And as he raised the winner's trophy, his eyes did not linger on the people below, he stared through the sky hoping, praying that she can see him that day. It was a first that people of the world saw the vulnerability in Charles. Everyone know even without uttering anything. The win was for Herve and Jules but, it was Y/n's as well. It was hers and so much more.

Everyone realized, it may be that their love was fleeting but, it was a love of a lifetime. Hence, Charles will love her even when death parted them in this life. He'll continue loving her until they are together again. Because no matter what, she is for him as he is for her. Always.

[dragon-communion]

Headcanon time for each of the Empyrean children.

Ranni did present strange physical traits related to her moon when she had flesh. However: the dark moon thrives on subtlety, and chiefly presents its influence through frost at the most dramatic. Ranni probably had an easier time than the other two of keeping her uncanny abilities under wraps, and after she shed her flesh it wasn't a concern anymore. I guesstimate she used to passively make the temperature drop just by existing, judging by Blaidd's armor. She can quite literally just be the cold now. She only has four arms because her new body is technically a modified combat marionette. It's unclear what her rune might have been, but I wonder if it was literally just Destined Death and she didn't so much "cast it away" as "call dibs and never collect".

Malenia is the Empyrean we know best. Her benefactor is the Scarlet Rot, whether she likes it or not, which manifests as a scorpion. She passively and uncontrollably rots the people around her, though she can actively choose to let more rot out it seems. The rot also changes the landscape around her- I imagine her bed might've grown a lot of mushrooms that the staff were in endless war with, and the laundresses had a high turnover rate. In her goddess form, in addition to utilizing a giant lotus flower, she has wings made of butterflies and her own hair. Vaguely angelic wings seem out of the norm for the insect-like rot god, and I'm tempted to say they're a deliberate mockery of whatever Malenia could have been if left alone. Her rune allows the bearer to heal every time they do damage, which thematically fits both a goddess of victory or a goddess of rot, taking life in order to flourish.

Miquella is where the fun begins. Headcanons exponentially increase beyond this point.

The two previous Empyreans were chosen by a specific god. The Dark Moon, and the Scarlet Rot. Miquella is uniquely notable for his complete and utter aversion to gods, and the ability to reject their influence. In-game we mostly use this to reject the Flame of Frenzy, though I find it interesting that his alter ego also dabbled in directly fighting off Frenzy. Was Miquella ever selected by an outer god? If so, did he just invent a way to reject them the same way he worked on rejecting the Rot?

It's hard to say, and I've been trying to make inferences based on Miquella's powers, abilities, and implied abilities. This includes but is not limited to:

dominion over Sleep via St. Trina

an affinity for holy damage in weapons and spells he personally invents (what exactly is holy damage? is it specifically Erdtree related or more of an expression of pure faith?), and his soldiers exploding with holy damage

eternal youth and abundance, definition unclear on that though

affinity for trees and flowers

advanced smithing skills and the production of unalloyed gold (how? maybe from his blood?)

lots of references to his blood (is that where the abundance is?)

divine curse/ability to passively make people love him, and potentially the ability to directly amp that up at will

cocoons. possibly as a form of baptizing people into his cycle of life, possibly as a form of immunizing people to the scarlet rot. the Cleanrot Knights have insect wings where their tassets should be. is Miquella capable of turning people into bugs? are his cocoons a way to meddle with the makeup of their blood, which he seems to have an affinity for? is he injecting people with his blood a la Mohg and then wrapping them up to wait? where does the silk come from

unalloyed gold. potentially meaning white-gold, which would be thematically interesting concerning the albinaurics. Haligtree tabards are white and gold

possibly related, but he spends his life conveying a message of hope and belonging that i've always blamed partially on his extremely absent and emotionally distant mother. he's trying to literally do her job but better in all ways.

I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Miquella's outer god had actually been Frenzy. I'm not hard set on it, but I do like the idea- hope versus despair, plenty versus oneness. He definitely had some reasons to feel despair, and he seems determined to offer a second chance to everyone maligned by the Golden Order who can actually feel it. I don't think the living dead really have emotions anymore, just perpetual motion.

Sometime I should try writing my full crack theory pitch for Miquella, god of Frenzy.

If I examine some of his more uncanny abilities, they seem to divvy up into two subcategories: psychic damage and physical growth. Trina is/was a part of him, and she got dominion over induced sleep and flowers. Miquella has charm and flowers. I think part of his affinity for plants comes from the core concept in Elden Ring that kids in general come from plants, at least under the dominion of the Erdtree. Malenia had flower kids via the rot. Births are implied to come from the amber dripping from the Erdtree. Miquella, cursed with youth, is stuck in this state of perpetual growth with nowhere to go- so that could mean he's constantly growing things around him, and part of the quality of being nascent is being somewhat flowerlike. I like the idea that he just has too much blood, either because his body overproduces it or he trained it to overproduce blood because he's an Empyrean and his body just adapts to excessive bloodletting.

When he was removed half-formed from his cocoon, he had four insect wings. Which is why I think the wings on the Cleanrot Knights are his fault somehow.

(I have not played the DLC and I am ignoring it right now, I was spoiled on his appearance and I didn't like it at all, which is why I'm writing this)

I think that, like Malenia, his apotheosis would involve wings somehow. Maybe insect wings, maybe flower petal wings, maybe something else. I don't know what his great rune is beyond abundance or what it would have done- maybe something to do with healing, like Malenia's- but while Malenia has always been visually associated with the valkyries, Miquella is incredibly fae to me. Or angelic, if you want to go that route, but the flowers and the treehouse with a secret entrance and the charm ability all scream fae even without the uncanny subtle insect theming. Not a changeling child, but there's definitely a theme present in some fairy tales of changelings being fae children that can never grow up.

Most of the outer gods are expressions of Death in some way, possibly because Marika outlawed death and the cosmic order got a bit fucked up. Miquella's main association with death is through Sleep- while there is no obvious outer god associated with that, it could just be a comparatively young god. People haven't really needed to get drunk and forget on such a massive scale before, until the Shattering- before that is was mostly oppressed and chronically ill people. One could argue Trina was actually the part of him meant to become a god, since Empyreans seem to be meant to be female or at least alchemically represent the feminine aspect.

If I snag that imagery for a second- white queen, red king- while Miquella seems to visually be very blatantly the white queen, if I squint at him and then look at Trina I can see a way for him to be the red king. Mostly the repeated references to his power coming from his blood. Godfrey counts visually because his second phase is literally covered in blood. No reason Miquella couldn't be the same.

Both Miquella and Trina are selling a world of peace and love, so it's an interesting idea. Especially since the white queen seems to wear the matriarchal pants of the relationship in Elden Ring- I wonder what it would look like, for Trina to be the dominant force in their little binary system.

I digress.

If I use the format I used with the other two Empyreans, we get: Miquella's benefactor is (???) whose symbolism is (???) and whose effect is (???). He passively and uncontrollably (charms people/grows things) around him. His god form involves lilies, fairy wings, and some sort of insect somehow. His rune probably had something to do with abundance, effect unknown but maybe involving healing somehow.

His ability to grow things and make them flourish might have something to do thematically with his ability to make cocoons. I still want to know how he does it. Spinnerets? His blood, somehow? Maybe he's like a queen bee but for silkmoths.

I'm very distracted by the hypothetical AU where Trina wins god-paper-scissors and has Miquella become her consort, now.

I'm still not entirely sure what Miquella's god form would look like, but it absolutely needs flowers and wings and maybe weird eyes, judging by the rest of the Empyreans and Marika. It'd probably be gold, which is boring considering Marika already has that covered, but maybe he could do something fun with the color white. And some purple. Maybe his hair's made of flowers and he's got a third eye or something, to contrast Malenia being made of butterflies and having no eyes.

[blueteller]

So, Let's Talk Themes in TCF!

"Themes" is such a weird topic for me, not gonna lie... I always feel like it's something you're just supposed to know and feel instinctually – like rhythm in dancing. Which, btw, I'm not really good at. So it's difficult to talk about without that background anxiety that I'll totally flop and miss the point, despite my best intentions.

Still, I decided to give it my best shot anyway, and try to decide what "themes" there are in "Trash/Lout of the Count's Family", and why I like them, because that part is subjective and thankfully, I can decide without freaking out over the "correct" answer.

First, let me make one thing clear: I don't believe TCF was written to convey a single theme or idea. It's an adventure story, and it's supposed to be pure fun. Which it is!! But nevertheless, there is a lot of effort and thought behind it, and I believe that thoughtfulness from the author manifests itself clearly in the overall work, so it's definitely worth talking about.

Now, with that lengthy explanation of what I'm going for out of the way: what are the themes in TCF that I noticed (and like)?

Found Family

Beloved Hypocritical Hero

Overcoming Prejudice

Victory in Working Together

What makes Humanity, what makes a Monster

Healing and Moving Forward

Misunderstandings

Found Family is the most obvious theme, overall, so I don't think it requires much explanation. Cale doesn't "find" his new family on purpose as much and trips all over them, on total accident – then proceeds to adopt them all, despite his inner monologue telling the readers over and over that he intends no such thing. It's pure comedy, but it's also incredibly wholesome and heartwarming. Cale has the biggest, softest heart of them all, and he's the only one who doesn't see it. I wanna squish his cheeks and coo over how cute he is most of the time.

Beloved Hypocritical Hero is the second theme, which isn't apparent at the start. Cale's biased inner monologue does his best to convince us that he's totally selfish, and doesn't intend to be a paragon protagonists who selflessly helps others in the slightest! ...However, over the course of the story it becomes clear that Cale is one, big, fat, liar. He is exactly the sort of hero he constantly denies he is. His whole spitting-blood-from-power-overuse act practically became a meme at this point. Still, despite how frustrating Cale's blatant hypocrisy is, we can't help but love him all the more for it. I'd like to say that he gets better overtime, but.... yeah, personally, I don't see much progress on that front. He did promise Raon he won't get hurt one time, and he managed to keep that promise, but then he (spoiler alert) went ahead and stabbed himself right after, so. Yeah. Cale is a hero and a hypocrite and we all love him. That's definitely a major theme in the story.

Overcoming Prejudice is the best way I found to describe the whole plot of "anti-darkness attribute" propaganda in TCF. What I love about it is that the author found a much more interesting way to convey the theme than just make it about "fantasy racism". It isn't just about the Dark Elves, it's about Necromancers too, and all people using dead mana. The best part is that dead mana is, in fact, used by the very higher-ups who spread the prejudice in the first place, proving without a doubt that it's all 100% hypocrisy and there is nothing wrong with dead mana in the first place. It's all propaganda, and it serves a purpose. The true beauty of this plot unfolds when the Sun Twins show up, and Cale brings in Mary to help Hannah with her dead mana poisoning. Jack goes through an entire arc of realizing what "true light" is, and that despite the "voice of the Sun God" constantly ringing in his ears to eradicate all darkness, he comes to his own conclusion that it isn't what the power is, it's about what ones does with the power. It's just, beautiful. I feel like that part of the story doesn't get enough credit. Mary is one of my favorite characters, and Jack and Hannah combo is amazing as well. Definitely one of my favorite plotlines in TCF.

Victory in Working Together is another obvious theme throughout the story. It isn't just reserved for the good guys, either: the bad guys have a ton of alliances, too. The difference is that the good side is based on genuine intent, without stabbing each other in the backs, while the bad guys only pretend as long as they need to, then throw away their "allies" to the wolves when it's convenient. It's portrayed less as a "message" and more of a purely pragmatic fact: to get anywhere, you need to have support. Cale knows this from the start, which is why he manages to make so many allies in such a short time. This theme is simply about being able to overcome the biggest of obstacles, as long as you honestly work together with others and put all your effort into it. It is the simplicity of it makes it so effective, in my opinion.

What makes Humanity, what makes a Monster is an interesting one for sure. In a world full of so many interesting races, the final boss is – always – human. Be it Venion Stan, Redika, Prince Adin, Queen Elisneh, the White Star, or even the Sealed God – all of the main villains are either purely human or started off that way. I think it's very much deliberate, in order to show how what makes these people evil isn't some in-born characteristic; but only their choices. Not to say that non-human characters aren't ever bad, of course not – there is a bunch of evil non-human characters all over the story. But evil, true evil, is always a choice. And thus, non-human characters who choose good are more "human" than the "monsters wearing human skins". I won't call it an allegory, because it isn't even as indirect as that: it's a fundamental truth of life that the only real monsters are people who are rotten on the inside. And since the author put so much effort to make all the fantasy races in TCF feel very much human-like, it only makes sense that their choices is the thing that makes them evil, not their race. Even actual Monsters aren't all pure evil in TCF! I truly appreciate it. It's such a simple concept, but it works extremely well.

Healing and Moving Forward is one of the themes which honestly melts my heart. It doesn't simply apply to Cale; it applies to everyone in the cast. Everyone in Cale's group comes in damaged, scarred, hurt or threatened in some way, and comes out better in the end. From the children, to the adults, the entire group heals through their "Found Family" and their quest to defeat the evil forces threatening their world, in order to achieve a peaceful, happy future. Every time we see the evidence of it – like Cale admitting his life is precious, Eruhaben agreeing to extend his life, Choi Han attribute changing, and so on – it feels like an amazing triumph, and yet completely natural and earned. One could simply call it "good character development" and move on, but I see a commond trend and it deserves to make itself a theme of its own. It's not just about everybody finding their place in the family: it's about them growing as family. And doing so, despite their traumatic pasts. And since I once called Cale a "poster child of trauma", it's no wonder he's the one who has the most of "healing" and "moving forward" to do of them all. I hope it continues all throughout book 2!

And of course, I saved Misunderstandings for last. I think the name speaks for itself. TCF is practically a comedy built upon misunderstandings; except misunderstandings of the BEST kind. The misunderstandings where people look upon Cale – tired, in-denial, clueless Cale – and see whatever they need to see the most in the moment: a saviour, an inspiration, a leader, a friend, a parent, and so on. Many misunderstandings result in people seeing Cale in too-good-to-be-true light, which is always funny (Clopeh instantly comes to mind). The thing is: Cale deserves most of it, even if he doesn't believe so. Because it's not about what Cale actually is that matters in those situations: it's about what others need. Cale inspires just by being, well, himself. And that inspiration is what changes people. It's Cale doing his best and affecting others, that makes all the huge waves of change. In my opinion, there is no better misunderstanding than one which results in inspiration: because even if "truth" was revealed later on, the effects of it were 100% real, and something to be grateful for. Imagine if you had a terrible day, and you suddenly saw someone smile at you, and you felt better. Even if the person wasn't actually looking at you in that moment – that doesn't matter!! What matters to you is that your day DID get better, and that person was to thank for! That's the beauty of TCF's misunderstandings. Cale will never truly comprehend the gratefulness of others, without understanding how he can affect them without even trying. ...Then again, his obliviousness and hypocrisy is one of the many reasons why we love him 😊

Let me know if there are other themes in TCF you like!

[thefudge]

i need thoughts on saltburn -- even if you didn't like it!!! <3

sorry for taking so long to answer this, but i only finally watched the movie this week. i kind of wanted the hype and polarization to die down a bit so i could form my own opinion.

so, i enjoyed it! it has issues, but it was a fun and clever romp. any movie that ends with a "murder on the dancefloor" dance sequence will earn a smile from me because that is one of my favorite songs of all time and i don't know how emerald fennell knew that about me, but there were constant little moments in the script that made me go "ahh, we'd be friends in real life". i felt that way about promising young woman too, even if i ultimately disagreed with quite a few of her creative choices there. but her style & humor and the way she frames sexual content is similar to my own palate/writing. i especially appreciate the way she makes arousal and desire interesting, how she explores abjection but also intellectual stimulation. what makes the character of oliver irresistible to the entire household in the film is the way he can tap into people's desires in a very unexpected and creative way. he constantly surprises them by giving them what they didn't know they wanted. it's interesting that, from oliver's skewed perspective, it's felix who is supposed to be the object of desire, the person everyone wants to be around. but we the viewers can see oliver is the true loathsome subject and object of desire for those around him (and for the audience too, as we sort of can't look away from him).

i agree with people who say felix cared more about oliver than the reverse. in fact, the cleverest thing this movie does, imo, is show that oliver could be happy, but actively chooses not to. this isn't to say the posh oxbridge types fennell makes fun of in this movie do not ring true or that the social satire and snobbery isn't accurate. but it's more that oliver doesn't need to fall into their sphere of influence, doesn't need to measure himself using their standards. yes, the environment is classist and unfair, there are big structural issues that oliver cannot control, but oxford doesn't have to be his whole life, it's only a couple of years. the fact that he is there already gives him a leg up in the world. given his smarts and his magnetism, oliver could have done very well for himself after university without needing to latch onto saltburn. the clever twist for me is that oliver is also privileged, and not just because we see he's comfortably middle-class with a supportive family, but because he has options, he has choices, but he actively chooses to be miserable and hateful, because he hates and looks down on the ppl around him. yes, the saltburn entourage is filled with bitter, toxic people, but some of those people would've probably done anything for him, and would have genuinely loved him. but the truth at the core of oliver is that he prefers a room to be empty, he prefers to have saltburn all to himself as this pure luxurious space that is devoid of humanity.

at the end, oliver is both wonderfully effective and deeply unimaginative. don't get me wrong, i really liked his character and the gremlin freak energy he conveyed, i rooted for him along the way, i mean barry keoghan plays it too well not to, but despite his victory dance at the end, it's sort of drab that oliver's greatest achievement is saltburn. despite being the brilliant predator who hunted down all competition, he is not brilliant enough to see his prize is empty. he's not smart enough to see, that at the end of the day, he is just like the cattons. he loves and hates felix because he loves and hates himself. there are many moments in the movie where oliver stares into mirrors or his reflection is doubled in reflective surfaces, and i don't think it's just to signal his duplicity or multiplicity, but rather the fact that....it's all olivers, all the way down. he thinks he's such an outsider, but he is saltburn, he comes to embody it physically in the very last dance. and even his predatory cleverness is overrated; most of the cattons fall easily, they want to go, there's an emptiness at the heart of their lives and at the heart of saltburn that oliver wants to embrace.

and i do think that emerald fennell had some of this in mind; i don't think my interpretation is necessarily the right one, but you can see she's doing more with this than directing a satirical romp. i think we're actively invited to see beyond oliver's seduction and into the emptiness of his dreams. that's why some of the deaths in the end come off as slightly ridiculous and excessive, because it's not about his cleverness anymore, he's just the last person left when the party is over. he's still a character you can root for and have fun with (and be drawn to), but the film encourages you to question his narrative from the start, not just his literal narration to rosamund pike, but the overarching idea he has of himself.

anyway, this is all to say, i rather liked it! i didn't love it, but i appreciate what it was trying to do, and i think it's more clever in that regard than people give it credit for. i do think it's a more mature effort than promising young woman. i am kind of hoping emerald directs a nonconventional romcom next, because i like her approach to certain intimate moments, mixing tenderness with violence. i'd love to see a punch-drunk love-esque love story from her.

(i do also want to give props to barry keoghan again, because i think the movie wouldn't work half as well without him. he elevates a lot of moments and he is so compelling to watch)

[musingmemories]

@ofdrivensnow sent: ❝ 𝚠𝚎'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜. ❞ from 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐲 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲.

Hours back and forth. Arguing was a nasty feeling Lucy Gray avoided on the regular, or so she told herself. Passionately disagreeing, she'd prefer to call it, but anger? Oh that sat hot in her chest, immovable, refusing to budge and fueled by nothing but anger, guilt, and emotional turmoil amplifying rather than calming. Boiled down to one teeny tiny trait of hers called stubbornness. The exact reason why she was a singer, feelings drawn from emotional recall she could tap into and convey, pure emotion driving the song’s undertone and portraying what she wanted her story to tell.

Arguing was a different kind of art. It went on the fly as she waxed poetics, hitting the same driving points over and over in multiple ways until it left her confused and out of breath. Walls were hit, words taken out of context and twisted by either party, but the root of the problem itself that Coriolanus too seemed stubborn to let land and accept was one simple truth: he’d lied to her.

Unfortunately for both… they weren’t quitters.

"Then just admit it, Coriolanus." It caused her voice to almost splinter despite feet planted firm as the tallest and mightiest tree. "You've been lying to me from the very beginning. This was based on a lie... first to make me shine for my victory, then yours. It's why you still won't tell me about the third..." Himself... a joke, a slap to the face. Not that of a proud member of the Capitol.

[thatgirl101blog]

Surprise!

I couldn't contain my excitement as I sat in the audience, waiting for Bret's match to start at the WWF show in LA. You see, I had planned a surprise for him tonight. Bret was my favorite wrestler, and I had admired him from afar for so long.

As the lights dimmed and the music blared through the arena, my heart started racing. The energy in the crowd was electric as Bret's iconic theme song played. My eyes were fixated on the ring, eagerly waiting for him to make his entrance.

But little did Bret know, I was about to turn his world upside down. As he stepped into the ring, his eyes scanned the audience, unaware of what was about to happen. That's when I made my move. I had managed to secure a front-row seat near the aisle, strategically positioned for my surprise.

With butterflies in my stomach, I stood up and held up a handmade sign that read, "Bret, you're my hero!" His gaze met mine, and his expression shifted from confusion to pure astonishment. A smile spread across his face as he recognized the familiar words on the sign.

The match continued, but I could feel Bret's eyes on me throughout. There was an undeniable connection between us, fueled by the surprise and admiration we shared. It felt like time stood still as our eyes locked, the electricity between us pulsating with each passing moment.

Finally, the match came to an end, and Bret emerged victorious. The crowd erupted in cheers, but my attention was solely focused on him. I made my way backstage, nerves and excitement bubbling inside me like a cauldron.

As I reached Bret's locker room door, I took a deep breath and knocked. The door swung open, revealing Bret standing there, still sweaty from the intense match. His eyes widened with surprise as he saw me standing before him.

Without a word, he pulled me into his arms, wrapping me in an embrace that felt like home. His touch was electrifying, and I could feel the passion and gratitude radiating from him. In that moment, all the barriers between us disappeared, and we knew there was something special between us.

With the sound of cheers and the echo of the crowd still ringing in our ears, we found ourselves in a hotel room, lost in each other's embrace. Our lips met in a passionate kiss, our bodies longing for closeness.

Time seemed to stand still as we explored the depths of our connection, fueled by the mutual admiration and surprise that brought us together. Every touch, every caress spoke volumes, conveying the unspoken words of longing and desire.

In that hotel room, we let go of the outside world, allowing ourselves to be immersed in the magic of the moment. It was a night filled with passion, excitement, and a connection that surpassed all expectations.

As we lay there in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of our encounter, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the surprise that brought us together. This unexpected rendezvous would forever be etched in both our hearts, a reminder of the power of surprises and the strength of our connection.

[floram00n]

Hey, I'm trying my hand at writing a fic, this is my first time, so please comment any writing suggestions down, I want to improve my writing. Thank you :)

This idea came to me after listening to Mary On A Cross by Ghost. This is an Archbishop Cream CookiexReader fic because there is a horrible lack of fics for him.

🩷Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me🩷

Archbishop Cream Cookie x Feared God!Reader Word Count: 545 words

Being a God should have been a great thing, but for you, it isn't. You weren't as beloved as your peers. You were one of the most feared gods of the Créme Republic, more feared than Death themself. The only ones who really prayed to you were the paladins (as they believed you brought victory), but even then, they feared you.

The only other person who prayed to you was a man who carried the faith of the Créme Republic. This was none other than Archbishop Cream Cookie. But you couldn't help but wonder, why? Why does he pray to you specifically. Sure, your divine power could bring prosperity to the Créme Republic, but there were other gods that could do that, like the goddess of the Harvest. You brought victory in battle, which earned you names such as "_____ the Ruthless" and "_____ the Merciless." It hurt you. It truly did.

Does he pray to you purely out of obligation or out of pity? Part of you wanted to know, while another just wanted to pretend he prayed to you simply just because. Occasionally, you would appear to him during the times he prayed to you. You enjoyed these visits because you both had great conversations. But you also had another reason for enjoying these visits. You had feelings for the archbishop. As ridiculous as it sounded, you truly did. Everything about him was perfect, from his soft eyes to his kind and gentle voice. If you didn't know any better, you could've mistaken him as a God amongst cookies.

Today, you wanted answers to your question of why he prays to you. You heard him praying, so you thought it would be a good time to pay him a visit. Once you arrived, he greeted you. "Hello, my dear," Archbishop Cream Cookie chirped. " Dear? That's a name I've never heard before, " you playfully reply. "Whatever do you mean, Divine One?" he asked. 'Should I ask now?' You wonder to yourself. Archbishop Cream Cookie gave you a knowing look before saying, "I could sense something is wrong. Do you mind telling me?". "Why?" you ask. "Why what?" "Why do you pray to me when there are other gods who are more loved than I am?

You and the paladins are the only ones who pray to me, and yet they are afraid of me too. You are the only one who's even made offerings to me. So why? Do you do it out of obligation or pity?" He paused for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "What's so funny?" you ask in a somewhat defensive tone.

The Archbishop then started to speak, "My Divine One, I am aware of the other gods, but I chose you," he said. He then continued, "I believed that you were the one the Republic needs the most, the one I need the most." he stopped his sentence after realizing what he said. You looked at him in slight shock, then carefully replied, "If this is your way of conveying romantic attraction, I accept it, but don't I scare or intimidate you?". After processing what you said, Archbishop Cream Cookie smiled, put his hand on your cheek, then stated, "My dear, your beauty never ever scared me."

@kalopses-sonderes @tremendousconnoisseurgardener

[sentinel-kinjo]

"The Game of Life", Tsurugi Kinjo Centric

Hi, Tumblr community. You may recognise me as sentinel.kinjo on instagram, and some of you may know me as Psycho Police on discord. Regardless, I am here, and I figure this is the best way to share my writing, as there is no chance in hell that I'm waiting for an AO3 account.

I aim to post my works often, here. :)

-

This fanfic is pure Tsurugi angst, and was a practice in using extended metaphors to convey a message. Hope you lot enjoy.

Word Count: 1,159 words

Characters: Tsurugi Kinjo. Juu Kinjo (mentioned), Yamato Kisaragi

Summary: Surely, there is a reason as to why Tsurugi only loses chess games these days.. Does he ever put up a fight? Or is something greater stopping him?

0:57 ————|——— -2:10

A pawn can always take on a queen, if necessary.

To win at any cost.

Efficiency yields the bloodshed they turn a blind eye to. 

Pushing the pawn forward, one space at a time to stare upon the ivory heart of the queen, while his unused comrades make their undignified exeunt from the world. Their heads were never graced by digits that forced their hand. No. They were less experienced, unmoved and awaiting the bishops, the rooks and knights with blades that cut fingertips that slid closer to them.

Yet still, the pawn kept moving forward, avoiding his fate by luck alone. The wrong place at the wrong time, and suddenly, his imperviousness superseded his meekness.

His team dropped around him, infested by those who absorbed goodness and light through blackened hearts. You don't know the full story. When you saw that interview, you saw the grace of someone calm, moving forward without a tear in his eyes. His shoulders were still, mouth dry, holding back bile at the news of someone else having fallen. It was all in the name of efficiency. This pawn was the best one, how puny and weak it seemed didn't matter so, as long as it trudged into the next square. A broken spirit meant nothing if it was never discussed beyond mild utterances.

You don't know what happened that day, the day where birds sang a solemn, tuneless song from above to fill the thick air. Everyone was saved, every hostage was unharmed, thanks to Tsurugi Kinjo, who cried in his first interview, uncertainty and fear bubbling into screams of guilt - I did it, I did it, why won't you hear me

The recording was deleted. No harm, no foul, no one the wiser for it, no one the more knowing than any other under the beauty of blissful ignorance.

The camera was burned, the camera was thrown away, and he was fed his lines so quietly, until only his voice was heard - the closest taste of autonomy was drunk with salt-tears that no one was ever privy to in the linear nature of time. But it would replay in his mind again and again, punishing him for his transgressions in an endless loop, an undeletable, untitled recording.

But he did the right thing. The eyes of the law shone down on him, beaming and congratulating him for succeeding. The terrorists were all dead, there was one left standing amongst the defenceless. The crowds urged him to carry on, his rehearsed, stern expression making headlines as the youngest up-and-coming police officer. There were no cries of injustice as long as Tsurugi succeeded. Pawn, child, whatever- as long as he stood a chance, they would push him again on the board, let alone the cracks, hair-thin against his surface.

Reminders of the battles he fought and the battles he won, ranking rising ever higher for the jerky actions he took, akin to the marionette on a string, or two, or eight. God, he sobbed; what he couldn't control was his only source of freedom - for no strings could manipulate them until he had none left to cry. Tear stricken lines on his cheeks replaced by dirty scars, slashed close to thin cheekbones. Pawn, child, whatever. He was what was left before victory's grasp, the closest one defending the king, or the Chief of Police.

How cruel, he wished someone would cry.

How cruel is it that an all-powerful king should send his pawn to fight his battles.

But he was alone again on the battlefield, battered and bruised until he was nothing.

Tsurugi saw nothing of himself, his hands were not his, his head a scrambled mess of shapeless thought, hopelessly unarranged for as long as eternity was allowed to be.

Tsurugi was numb, his body filled with hissing and wailing static - but still made to move. His mouth was static-filled as well, following orders like the good soldier he was. But what is a good soldier or a good person, if all they are is the culmination of the rules they are contracted to follow, unable to cross the dotted line? What is a good person if they are fearful of the consequences of retreating, rejecting, contesting?  

He will be remembered as such when he is dead, a calculated incentive to let the good die on around him while he waits his turn, kneeling and trembling before the also defenceless queen.

Tsurugi wanted nothing more than to lie back and let the war-torn world live on, beyond the point of no return he feared most. His good persona was rewarded with prestige, honour, another board to survive alone.

 They died, again - same white, innocent pieces collapsed and bleeding, choking their final song of apologies, regrets and everything in between.

Tsurugi had to watch as he abandoned them for retribution's sake, to make those he couldn't hurt once pay for their sins, their misdeeds circling them to the path of the grave. One down, two down, three down and four, until his own hands were coated in their residue, reminding him of the price he had to pay.

An eye for an eye, a death for a death. That was Tsurugi's motto, and how infamously revered it was amongst the newly damned who fell by his index point. He was kept alive in the dog-eat-dog (or pawn-eat-pawn) world to win - his destiny was set and decided by his strings - unhandled, they still danced to his father's discordant melody. An eye for an eye, a death for his death. Everyone's motto as a police officer, and everyone nodded with glazed over eyes, guns meticulously raised in the same position to unite and confront those who opposed.

Tsurugi joined and imposed the same until the fallen begged for mercy - lives beyond pawns like his. To save what is dear to them outside, to protect a friend, to help someone escape alone, God, make it stop.

Chess is supposed to be easy. One side was yours, the other belonged to your opponent. One side was light, one side was dark, malignancy and altruism decided in advance between them. One evil, one good.

The shades of the boards were polarised, Tsurugi's fingers skidding between the boundaries of good and evil down to the minute gradient separating them.

Alas, he was made a mockery of. Blackeneds were not Blackeneds, and the innocent were soon damned to hell, breaking Tsurugi.

Hairline fractures came in black, seeping and bleeding from his eyes, his mouth, when he pulled the trigger to end it, to cut the strings that jerked him up - to kill the deserved, when he was one all along.

Chess is supposed to be easy, and yet..

"I win again, Kinjo.. You're making this way too easy on me, you definitely could have won this game.. a while ago, now."

"Sorry. I just.. It doesn't feel right. Having a pawn go up against a queen.."

A pause.

"It's cruel."

3:07 ———————| -0:00

[accommodatingalternative]

I hope this finds is way to you, Andy :)

kmb

The Ecstasy

By John Donne

Where, like a pillow on a bed

A pregnant bank swell'd up to rest

The violet's reclining head,

Sat we two, one another's best.

Our hands were firmly cemented

With a fast balm, which thence did spring;

Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread

Our eyes upon one double string;

So to'intergraft our hands, as yet

Was all the means to make us one,

And pictures in our eyes to get

Was all our propagation.

As 'twixt two equal armies fate

Suspends uncertain victory,

Our souls (which to advance their state

Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me.

And whilst our souls negotiate there,

We like sepulchral statues lay;

All day, the same our postures were,

And we said nothing, all the day.

If any, so by love refin'd

That he soul's language understood,

And by good love were grown all mind,

Within convenient distance stood,

He (though he knew not which soul spake,

Because both meant, both spake the same)

Might thence a new concoction take

And part far purer than he came.

This ecstasy doth unperplex,

We said, and tell us what we love;

We see by this it was not sex,

We see we saw not what did move;

But as all several souls contain

Mixture of things, they know not what,

Love these mix'd souls doth mix again

And makes both one, each this and that.

A single violet transplant,

The strength, the colour, and the size,

(All which before was poor and scant)

Redoubles still, and multiplies.

When love with one another so

Interinanimates two souls,

That abler soul, which thence doth flow,

Defects of loneliness controls.

We then, who are this new soul, know

Of what we are compos'd and made,

For th' atomies of which we grow

Are souls, whom no change can invade.

But oh alas, so long, so far,

Our bodies why do we forbear?

They'are ours, though they'are not we; we are

The intelligences, they the spheres.

We owe them thanks, because they thus

Did us, to us, at first convey,

Yielded their senses' force to us,

Nor are dross to us, but allay.

On man heaven's influence works not so,

But that it first imprints the air;

So soul into the soul may flow,

Though it to body first repair.

As our blood labors to beget

Spirits, as like souls as it can,

Because such fingers need to knit

That subtle knot which makes us man,

So must pure lovers' souls descend

T' affections, and to faculties,

Which sense may reach and apprehend,

Else a great prince in prison lies.

To'our bodies turn we then, that so

Weak men on love reveal'd may look;

Love's mysteries in souls do grow,

But yet the body is his book.

And if some lover, such as we,

Have heard this dialogue of one,

Let him still mark us, he shall see

Small change, when we'are to bodies gone.

[meaqui]

Futbol.

Maybe it is appropriate to start with football or soccer as the Americans call it. A sport that's long been alien to me, could now possibly be one of the most fundamental things that turned my life around completely.

It started with the women's world cup, just a year ago. On pure coincidence and availability of the channel, I watched the final game of the tournament. It started with me rooting for England, my husband's home country. It started with me wanting the English girls take the trophy back home for the first time in 58 years. I was ready to see them win. It seemed like they were a crowd favourite.

It started with England coming out dominant. These girls looked like they were going to win it. In a matter of minutes, I became enamoured with the way the ball was being handled across the pitch. The red and white players' kits just became a blur and I was just looking at bodies kicking one ball around. There was so much running. So much passing. So much excitement. The display of strength and agility was impressive. Then Spain scored the first crucial goal in the 29th minute. A young Spanish girl has scored only her second goal for her country in her whole life. It moved me and my heart swelled with joy for her.

It turns out, that would be the only goal of the match. And Spain won their first women's world cup. They lifted the trophy, and I was moved again. How am I feeling so much for a sport and for women I had no connections to? And why did I feel so much happiness for a young Spanish girl that I didn't know?

It was a curious moment. I wanted to make sense of it. She stepped up to the podium, this girl who scored the winning goal. I was so excited for her and so happy for her.

The television was on and she was there live on the screen, teary eyed and still catching her breath. There was a single microphone in front of her and I could hear her voice. I could hear sounds. But nothing was processing in my mind. I blinked, trying to understand her words. Yet, I struggled to understand her emotions - her triumph, her joy, and her underlying fears. In that moment, I felt a great divide that separated me from the intense feelings while watching the game. It was an inexplicable void filled only with unintelligible sounds. I realized then that none of the Spanish team - the winning team, spoke any English. Should they speak English? Was it even reasonable for me to expect them to? It struck me then that I couldn't fully comprehend the depth of their happiness and their struggles because I couldn't understand their words. And in a matter of seconds, the language barrier became too wide, forming a poignant moment reminding me that their language and all its nuances conveyed messages of triumph, passion, resilience, and determination. And I couldn't receive the message in the exact moment that they said it to the world.

And so after the game, FIFA panned out of the television and the echoes of celebration disappeared, I sat on our couch in a 'half-state' - suspended between exhiliration and contemplation. I've discovered a new sense of inspiration and empowerment, through women coming together and achieving a historical win. In that moment, I knew I had to learn Spanish to understand what the victory meant to them...and to me.

[ancestorsofjudah]

2 Kings 9: 11-13. "The Maniac."

The Hebrew word for maniac is m'shuga, which means, "footloose, untethered, unwrapped." It is also a term that has roots in the characteristics of a prophet which explains their anointed status and why they say and behave in strange ways.

Why is it relevant to call a man of God, sent by the Prophet Elisha a m'shug?

11 When Jehu went out to his fellow officers, one of them asked him, “Is everything all right? Why did this maniac come to you?”

“You know the man and the sort of things he says,” Jehu replied.

12 “That’s not true!” they said. “Tell us.”

Jehu said, “Here is what he told me: ‘This is what the Lord says: I anoint you king over Israel.’”

13 They quickly took their cloaks and spread them under him on the bare steps. Then they blew the trumpet and shouted, “Jehu is king!”

Cloaks which are of the purest white, are a symbol of Kohanim, the Temple High Priests, which the script says were behaving like a bunch of randy soldiers when a young prophet shows up to ascend a new king. He did his duty and ran, leaving the new sovereign behind, feeling kind of foolish.

The Kohanim consider the prophet's task legitimate and pay homage. The comment about bare steps refers to the requirement for bare feet during victory oblations.

Very nice bare feet are a sign of intense Jewishness because in order for the feet to remain soft, ruddy and supple like they are supposed, the environment around their owner must be spic and span, free of debris, filth, or injury.

Just as the Kohanim used their white cloaks to cover the bare steps imply the temple or military barracks were bleached pure white, so the soul must be purest white in order to lay down the cleanest tracks for the feet.

One would not convey a new king along a route that was unclean or littered, nor would his court or the Assembly agree to any such thing.

The Values in Gematria for the above verses are as follows:

v. 11: the Value in Gematria is 13533, יג‎ה‎גג‎‎, "a roof." The Hebrew word for roof is gag, and the presence of a young prophet under the roof is the beginning of the three part analysis method called Chabad, Chochmah, Binah, Da'at, "hypothesis, data, evidence" via "a spiritual exposure":

"The housetop seems to indicate a certain spiritual exposure. Someone on the housetop opens himself for something, preferable something soothing, or higher.

Since societies at large were often referred to as houses (particularly the "houses" of the national deity), their "roofs" might refer to the apex in information technology and ultimately national councils, where conversant senators came to exchange and discuss the latest intel.

The alphabet was arguably the most sophisticated thing to come out of the Bronze Age, but the literary traditions that carried it went much beyond what we today call a good yarn. Mankind's most ancient stories contain a level of complexity that is truly mind boggling.

Whether by intuition, natural selection or some other technique, the ancient stories that we know so well are the mere wrappings of vast data banks and pools of wisdom, ranging from the Standard Model of Elementary Particles to Relativity Theory, evolution theory, cosmology, sociology, psychology and an untold library of technologies.

v. 12: the Value in Gematria is 8439, חדגט‎, hadget, "cut through to the winepress of vision."

v. 13: the Value in Gematria is 7012, זאֶפֶסאב‎, zefesab, "what God hides within something that is fashioned."

"The verb עצב ('asab II) means to form or fashion. It's used only twice in the Bible. Job declares YHWH formed him (Job 10:8), and Jeremiah writes about women making images of a goddess (Jeremiah 44:19). In both cases, something is fashioned in the image of something else, with the intent of forging an emotional bond with that creation.

The derivatives of this verb are:

The masculine noun עצב ('eseb), literally meaning something fashioned. It's used only once, in Jeremiah 22:28, where the prophet speaks of king Coniah (=Jehoiachin) as a despised vessel.

The masculine noun עצב ('oseb), meaning idol (Isaiah 48:5 only).

The masculine noun עצב ('asab), also meaning idol (Isaiah 10:11, Jeremiah 50:2, Hosea 4:17). This word occurs always in plural."

Until there is proof of intuition, everything we think we perceive is just an idol. Even the making of a king is just the forging of another idol until the man acts like a king. It is ideal if he starts doing so when he is the Prince, but that is on another planet far far away.

If the Prince and the King cannot prove they are men, and not idols made in the images of goddesses the prophet that appoints them is just a m'shugana. If the prophet is correct, then as the Melachim says, the ground becomes hallow and is safe for all men to walk upon, completely unlike how it was when Ahab and Jezebel were in charge of things.

[fatewoven]

cont.

There's a certain bleakness in finding hope where one expected certainty. He was certain of his victory, the plan to dominate the Absolute and spread the will of his God across the land. Yet, overconfidence was his undoing as always. A character flaw his former master pointed out many times over, often with glee and a smile too wide for a human — perfect for a devil. Casting aside the pleasant memories from hell, Enver blinks slow, feigning disinterest. An air of boredom to convey Wyll's presence is quite tedious. Damn him for giving Enver hope by sparing his life. What a noble soul, indeed! Every bit the folktale hero the people sing-song about in taverns across small settlements. 

If only they knew it's a role as any other. A mantle. A mask. Why, it's doubtful even Wyll knows who he is, either. (A boy astonished to hear praise from his father for once, perhaps. It's a memory Enver finds hollow delight in, nowadays.)

Enver should hate and seethe and plot a way forward, return to his Lord's graces and retake his rightful place as tyrant. What Enver feels, instead, is simply exhaustion. His old friend draws smoke into her lungs, ready to drag him back to hell. And Wyll? The newly appointed duke seems willing to dive there with them despite his (endless) responsibilities. 

Pity that aiding these two is the only option to avoid a worse fate in Avernus. 

"If it were simple as sticking some enchanted steel in her chest, then you wouldn't need me, my dear Duke." Regardless of his tone, flippant beneath the polite tone, it's clear Wyll's stern reminder motivates his hands to move quicker — nimbly tinkering with delicate parts that form a crude heart. "Oh, that reminds me. You've been leaving your post quite frequently, I've noticed. Banal, isn't it? The constant squabbling amidst nobles while everyone cries out you are not doing enough." A gold-clawed finger etches a rune into one of the parts, testing the frequency for magic. "There's a reason I considered killing them all. It would make many problems so much easier to solve." 

No deceit is inherent to his body language, words holding veracity as a glass cup holds water — clear and pure. "Your father had issues as well, as you must know. Especially after his son's mysterious exile from the city. Is your return to your home as grand as you envisioned it to be?" He probes at their shared history, if one could even call it such, and glances over to hold Wyll's gaze.  / @limpfisted

[timebythetail]

The Resurrection - Nathaniel Wanley Can death be faithfull or the grave be just Or shall my tombe restore my scattred dust? Shall ev’ry haire find out its proper pore And crumbled bones be joined as before Shall long unpractis’d pulses learne to beate Victorious rottennesse a loud retreate Or eyes Ecclipsed with a tedious night May they once hope to resalute the light? What if this flesh of mine be made the prey Of Scaly Pirates Caniballs at sea Shall living Sepulchres give up theire dead Or is not flesh made fish then perished? What if the working of a subtile flame By an unkind embrace dissolve this frame To ashes; and the whist’ling winds convey Each atome to a quite contrary way Shall the small Pilgrims that (perhaps) may passe From grasse to flesh and thence from flesh to grasse Travell until they meet and then embrace So strictly as to grow the former face? My God I know thy powre’full word did frame Out of pure nothing all that hath a name From the bright Angells bathing in full streames Of deathlesse joyes to motes that dance in beames. And shall I doubt but such a word can call Flesh out of dust that our of lesse made all? No no I am resolv’d, that when poore I Shall slumbring in our mothers bosome lye The circl’ing wormes shall loose theire fast embrace And kinder turfes that cover mee give place The bands of Death shall burst at the shrill sound Of Heavens summons and I shall be found Then will I rise and dresse mee Lord for thee Who did’st by Death undresse thee lord for mee.

[starfirette]

Rebirth | Azula x Reader

masterlist | requests are closed until I clear my inbox once and for all!!!!! | i spent DAYS on this. i'm so proud of it. I love writing Azula.

the request: Hello if It’s ok can I request an Azula x male reader where the reader is a earthbender that has lavabending that rescues and helps Azula when she is defeated during Zozin’s comet and when she asks why he says that he fell in love with her even through he is on the good guy side and that he is willing to abandon everything for her because she is very important to him and that she is to hot for prison.

The war seemed to be over, for most.

You were glad to be rid of it. Your hands had seen too much blood, had been drenched in too much. You were glad to see it over.

It had been a matter of hours since Aang had taken the Ability from the once named Fire Lord. And now, he was resting at the camp, with you and the rest of his friends.

The comet was still passing overhead. It was hard to rest when all the elements were being basked in the intense heat. You could feel it all the way to the bone. You could sense the pain the earth was in, as if the soil and rock called out to you in a plea for help. You wondered if Aang felt this way about the air, for that, too, was being weighed down by the mass heat.

If anyone was suffering the most, it must have been Katara.

She was in the middle of the lake right now, basking in the moisture to ease her fever that had grown shortly after her apprehension of a certain Fire Nation Princess.

Katara couldn't be eased by any amount of water she drank. She had resigned to stripping to her bathing suit and wading into the water in an attempt to keep close to her Element.

No one seemed really too happy by the victory. It must have been the heat. The comet has reached its peak by now, so everyone was eagerly waiting for it to pass on.

Zuko, though injured, seemed alright for the most part. He didn't mind the sweat, or the hot tea, or the beating light of the setting sun and slow traveling comet.

Your feet were bare and stuffed into the muddy sand of the lake's shore. You tried to feel for any part of the earth that hadn't been molested by the blaze.

You looked at the sky. The sun was setting in one direction, and yet the comet still burned on. You were given a glimpse into an alien world that had not one, but two suns. How devastating for your Element that would be...

To you, Earth should be neutral enough to be molded, whether it be mud turned to stone, or stone worn down enough to grains of sand, then to be wet and forgotten, born again as mud.

You curled your toes into the mud and winced at the heat. You waded into the water.

You neared Katara who was almost completely submerged, only her eyes and nose surfaced.

She stood, but was at least a head shorter than you.

"I think it'll be over soon," she said. Her voice held grit, like the grains of sand you were pushing your feet against. "It doesn't feel right."

You could understand what she had trouble conveying. You felt similar when traveling in the air on Appa's back--disconnected from the material plane, without any surface to cling to. You first suffered major sickness when flying, but Toph was able to teach you tricks to get through it.

"I'm surprised you're doing this well," you admitted as you made a cup of water with your hands. You splashed the Element on your face.

"I'll be fine once the night's coolness sets in. There's just no more moisture here...even the sweat off the brows of the campers are burnt. They might as well be producing pure salt."

That was one point.

"That's not what I entirely meant. You're surprisingly calm with her being here."

Katara's drowsy eyes snapped wide open, gazing at you like a hateful snowy beardog.

"She's lucky she's here at all. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have let her-,"

"-Live?"

Katara used the back of her hand to smack you hard on the shoulder. "She could have killed me if she wanted."

"She didn't," you pointed out as you dunked yourself in the water. It was warm all around, so there was no point in bracing yourself. You felt like a tea leaf.

"You didn't see the way she fought," Katara murmured as she gazed up to the sky.

Katara's breath became uneven as she recalled the event.

It startled you when Katara began to weep.

You took her small, slender self beneath your arm, hugging her the way your father once hugged you.

She stayed this way for some time before she stopped. It was the cries and whoops of joy that brought her out of her trance. The comet had made its round past the realm, and it was now a distant ember.

Katara dunked herself under the water, her hair a dark mass of threads rising around her. She rose and sputtered out water. Her hair was a mop on her face that she messily pushed out of her face.

She cast a hand out and made the water rise tall like a mountain, before releasing it. "I feel much better," she said. "Don't tell anyone."

"Don't tell anyone you feel better?"

"Don't tell anyone that you saw me crying," she scowled. "Or else."

You laughed and gave her ribs a nudge. "Sure. Whatever you say."

You two waded out of the water together, going back to the center of the camp that was in uproar with happiness. A bonfire was going, which seemed ironic considering everyone was just bemoaning over the heat a moment ago. Fish and meat were being cooked, to Sokka's delight, and Aang was scarfing down oil fried rice with greens.

The celebration was in full swing as some music played, being beaten into existence on drums and stringed instruments. You took a seat near your friends, who all sat side by side.

"They're all so happy," Katara said as she curled into Aang's side. You were dumbfounded at the sight, but said nothing as Aang just wrapped an arm around her-a new development, you supposed, and, like everyone else, you were too tired to really say anything. The idea of Aang and Katara felt natural. It wasn't out of the blue; this relationship had been long in the making.

Aang was tired. His eyes were weary and wreathed with dark shadows.

"Is it weird that we're not?" Toph asked as she put her feet flat on the ground.

"I don't feel happy," you agreed. "I feel relieved. But not happy."

"Satisfied," Sokka supplied the term as he laid on his slab of furs. "I'm just satisfied. I'm not, like, overjoyed. I know that I should be, but I'm not."

"That's fucked up," Suki muttered.

There was nothing happy about the events that had transpired. There was just the lingering feeling of guilt and emptiness. What would happen now? What to do next? This question filled you with anxiety.

"I'm going to go see her," Zuko said softly as he rose to his feet.

Katara caught the leg of his pants. "That's not a good idea."

"I believe Katara may be right," Aang said sympathetically. "Shall someone join you?"

Zuko looked inclined to decline the offer, but you spoke up before he could do it. "I'll go with you," you said firmly.

Your friends didn't want to see either of you go, but no one else dared to take your place. No one wanted to be near her, let alone watch Zuko talk to her. Zuko was undergoing intense healing therapy from Katara, who used her 'glowy water' (as Sokka says) on his wound every couple of hours. It seemed that this treatment was working. Zuko was fully capable of standing upright and dealing with the matters at hand. He was certainly the best fit for a prince. You would not make a good prince, for you enjoyed acting leisurely. But Zuko knew that he had to take care of his sister. Sure, if you had a sister, you'd do your best to check in-but if your sister had tried to murder you less than 24 hours ago.

You followed Zuko to the high point of the hills, far away from the camp. You and Toph had worked together to make a temporary prison. The rock formation looked like a cave, put together with any sort of earth you and Toph could utilize. There were members of the Water Tribe standing guard, all looking serious and solemn. They knew the prisoner they were guarding was not to be tempted or underestimated.

Katara and Sokka's father shook hands with Zuko first and then you.

"She's been quiet," Hakoda explained.

"Not crying anymore?" Zuko asked. It was laughable, but Azula had truly spent most of her imprisonment wailing in despair. She was not going to enjoy the rest of her punishment, especially considering she's been there for a matter of hours.

"Just quiet. Won't eat the food, either."

"I don't blame her," you muttered. Water Tribe food consisted of fish.

Hakoda gave you a pointed glance, with a cocked eyebrow. You smiled nervously.

"Go on through," Hakoda finally said. "I'll let Y/n do the honors."

The people standing attentive guard took a few steps back. You used one arm to take hold of the element, imagining it like solid vapor in the air. You closed your fingers around it and pulled, letting the prison door slide open smoothly.

The inside of the caves were wet and cool; dew dripped in the distance, patting the stone. Its rhythm paced you to the back of the cave.

A little breath filled the sounds of the cave, echoing off the wall's formation. There were no jagged edges, you realized, as you brushed your fingers across them. It was smooth like the edges of a coin (thanks to your talent, no doubt).

The breathing trickled closer as the cave narrowed—you could feel the rock coming to an end, rounding over like a blunt end of a match. The roots from there on ran deep into the earth, past the deep layers and crusts that sealed the planet up.

"Sister," Zuko breathed as he neared the end of the cave. He put a hand against the last wall and looked at you grimly. You sensed his message and opened the vault, grabbing again at that unseen tether connecting you to the rock and earth.

Azula was revealed to be in the center of the round room. Mounds of dirt were pushed together and layered with animal skins for her to sleep on, though she couldn't sleep comfortably. She was well contained, tied in bind of metal chains that Toph molded perfectly to her wrists and and ankles. There was no way Azula could escape such bondage.

The room was pooled with the moonlight that fell through the unseen cracks of the cave ceiling.

Azula looked pitiful.

Her eyes once had a spark. Perhaps it was a literal spark, but now it was gone. Her eyes now were puffy and red, and her nose and upper lip dried raw from snot. “Here to brag, Zuko?” She asked. Her voice—raw and hoarse.

“Do you know me so little?” Zuko asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I know more than you and your friends think.” Upon spatting the term ‘friends’ she jutted a chin to you.

Azula sat herself up, shaking her dirty, uncombed hair out of her face. Despite all she’d been through, she still managed to look beautiful.

"Where have you taken our father?" She asked as she managed to sit straight. You could tell she was trying hard to appear adequate and in control of her feelings--it was a sad display, because she was doing horribly. No one could take her for the ruthless, calculative princess she had once been when she still had snot dripping down her lip. She was a crying mess. And she was trying hard to contain it.

"I can't tell you that," Zuko said, his voice unfathomably form. His rigidity led you to believe that he was suffering from the sight of his sister this way. Despite all she'd done, that was his sister; you had no one. If you did have some one, you'd have a hard time being angry with them.

"Zuzu...this is all so pointless," she said, her laugh melded to a dry sob. "It didn't work. It failed. I failed."

Zuko couldn't figure out what to say.

You examined the texture of the rock--how amazing! It seemed smooth but if you focused on it, there are tiny, tiny holes, as though it were a sponge.

"Once again, you've earned the rewards that you didn't work for. The crop that I sowed, you have intentionally reaped. I have nothing, not even so much as a grain of rice. I did everything that I was told. I rose to the occasion."

It seemed...hole-y?

"And now I'm being punished for it."

Pourous? Permeable? Porous seemed the right term actually.

"And you, you awkward lynx," she said, glancing at you through her uneven bangs. "How is it that whenever you're around, my life seems to fall apart by the seams. You don't even speak. I've never heard a word from your chapped lips."

How interesting, that this was actually true. You never knew what to say, to anyone, let alone to Azula.

You didn't know what to say now, so you stood silently. Azula's eyes filled with tears as she demanded you to speak, to say anything to her.

"It's okay," Zuko said softly as he knelt down, crawling close to the stoney bars of confinement.

Azula spat at his hand.

It did land on him.

Zuko closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose as he tried to contain his frustration. He wiped his hand on his tunic and stood, struggling as he was still in a great deal of pain.

"I'll come back in the morning. I'll bring you some breakfast."

Zuko's words fell on deaf ears as Azula went limp, collapsing back to the ground, curling up into a sad looking ball. She didn't speak as you and your friend walked away.

You couldn't be sure...but once you were out of sight, the cries started to echo again.

t

The time came for the official transfer of the once royal princess Azula.

It's been seven years since that night in the cave, where you spoke your first words to the princess. In this years, Zuko had mended his nation and became Fire Lord. Aang was a full fledged Avatar-And you were their messenger. Acting as the first representative for Aang and Zuko, often times giving speeches and announcements on their behalf, you were gifted with many authorities. Many times you felt proud of such an honor-having grown up to be a good man with grace and loyalty. But at times like this, you wondered why you did the dirty work.

The prison was located within the depths of a mountain, plunging way down into the earth. You are the only earthbender in the compound. You're the only one that can feel just how deep this prison goes into the crust of the earth. The sensation is nauseating. This earth isn't like the kind you typically align yourself with. The prison has been so carved into the mountain that you can feel the rock boiling, melting, and churning over the bubbling lava that is just meters below your feet.

The entire place is swampy and devastatingly hot. Sweat pours down the back of your neck.

"We're very grateful that Fire Lord Zuko sent his closest confidant to assist the transfer," a guard said, in an awkward way to make small talk. You weren't typically inclined to such personal displays, especially in the midst of a very important moment.

All of your friends had warned you before seeing off, warning you to stay wary of the princess. Despite her 'good behavior', she was still capable double crossing everyone around her and making a quick escape.

Her occupied cell is at the very end of the hall.

It's a miserable walk. No moisture in the air dries out your nose, making it bleed along the way. Azula likely on a streak of good behavior because she couldn't find the strength, or the will, to do anything in such conditions as this heat.

"Try not to talk to her," the guard said again.

You just gave him a pointed look.

You knew all too well what Azula was capable of, having witnessed her behavior nearly a decade ago.

Even though Zuko had determined his sister 'fit for transfer' to the more peaceful Earth Kingdom penitentiary. You're not so sure how the royals back home decided they wanted Azula there. Maybe Zuko is good at negotiating...?

You grimace as you approach the bars of her cell. Azula was inside, and she didn't seem to be sweating as much as you were. She was alerted and she turned her attention to you.

She'd aged easily. You were half expecting her to be wrinkle ridden and going gray.

Azula closed her book shut. It was worn, as if she'd read it a million times over. "Oh, is it time already?" she asked. Her voice had a pep that you couldn't understand. She stood and stretched, standing on her toes. At least she'd gotten taller.

"It's nice to see you again, Y/n. You're looking rather...sharp."

"Oh. Thanks."

Azula folded her book under her arm, before holding out her wrists. "I presume I'll be cuffed for the journey over."

You leaned against the rocky walls and examined the fissures as her cell was unlocked. She stood perfectly still as the guards shackled her. She made a move to walk out, but was stopped. He held out a hand. "Book."

Azula looked him up and down, a small sneer of disgust curling her nose. She seemed to consider something, judging from the flicker of her amber eyes, it was a calculation of how quickly she could bypass you and the other guards for a quick escape.

But she sighed. She lifted her arm and let the book drop into the guard's hand. She seemed content with her choice as she let herself be escorted out of the cell. Up close, you could see that she was just as sweaty as you are. Her prison clothes must be loose for a reason.

She had her black hair pulled up in a tight knot. Sweat soaked the back of her neck. Despite this, she seemed to be in good spirits.

"It's been a while," she said when she came face to face with you. "Pray, where is my dear brother?"

"He sent me in his place," you said simply. "But he sends his regards."

"I seriously doubt that," Azula said with a wide smile. "How's the rest of your little gang?"

"They're fine."

"That's good to hear."

"I seriously doubt that," you retorted.

Azula laughed. "At lease you can talk, now!" She said this happily, even nudging your arm with her elbow. The guards tensed, one coming forward to put a stop to her immediate nonsense.

Azula groaned loudly. "Oh, please, I'm not going to kill him. Not until I get out of the compound, at least."

Silence.

"Hmm," Azula hummed in a flat tone. "I guess that wasn't funny. Interesting."

"Let's just move it," you sighed, circulating your hand to encourage some sort of movement.

Azula's shackles clanged together as she strolled along. She was remarkably calm as you two walked together, side by side. "What have you been up to?" she asked.

You side eyed her. "Do you actually care?" you asked.

Azula released a heavy sigh. "In all honesty, I do not. However, I've turned over a new leaf. But you can go ahead and tell me if you'd like."

Your stomached ached as trepidation tumbled throughout your body-and the mountain.

Everyone paused.

You paused. You didn't realize that the others felt it, too.

You thought it was your connection to the earth, and being so close to the soft molten rock, but everyone else was feeling the rumblings, too. This was not trepidation; this was real.

"I don't mean to alarm any of you, but I don't think the ground is meant to be moving," Azula said knowingly. She looked like a fairy with her pointed nose and her glittering eyes. "Especially when we're so deep underground already...just me? That's fine."

"No, she's right," you spoke up. You knelt down. You put a flat palm against the ground. It was a struggle to hear what the earth was saying. This rock was warm and sludgy, like a tray of raw brownies. You just couldn't quite understand...

The ground split open.

"Alright, everyone get moving!" You shouted.

The guards leapt over the crevasse that was forming before their eyes. It's slow forming split sent Azula's heart into her stomach.

"Everyone stay in front of me," you commanded.

"But the prisoner-!"

"Princess," Azula corrected hastily as she sped walked forwards.

"Being that I'm the only earth bender around, I think you should all stay in front of me," you argued as you tried to speed everyone along. "Get MOVING!"

This was completely unprecedented. No one could have guessed this would happen.

"FUCK," you shouted in frustration.

Azula whipped her head back to face you. "What is it?"

"What do you care?" You sneered.

"I care when my life is on the line! And the life of the...people," Azula said decidedly. You raised a brow. That's new. Maybe she had turned over a new leaf.

You didn't have time to argue with her. "There are other prisoners down here! We have to release them."

"We'll never make it in time!" One guard said fearfully.

"Give us your keys," Azula commanded. "Y/n and I can free them-you all go up and fetch the Avatar. We'll need immediate accommodations set for the prisoners we're about to bring up."

You crossed your arms over your chest. "'Y/n and I?'" You repeated. "You're not coming with me!"

Azula opened her mouth to retaliate, but she was shuddered across the ground as another spasm swelled in the earth. A crevasse formed before your eyes, effectively separating you and Azula from the rest of the guards. You caught the princess in your arms. She looked at your arms around her and then you at your face, in shock and awe. "You smell nice," she said awkwardly.

"Not the time," you said sternly as you pushed her away. "Toss the keys, I'll take care of Azula and the others. Just get out of here, and go get help!"

The guards didn't bother to argue-they cared more about their lives than securing a potential fugitive on the run. You'd probably mention to Zuko that he needs to up the ante when it comes to hiring prison guards. Maybe he should hire people who'd actually do their jobs.

You caught the key ring in your dominant hand.

Azula stretched her arms out. "Okay, release me," she said.

"No way," you said through your teeth.

"You can't save the others while worrying about me."

"No," you said firmly. The ground rocked; dust and crumbs of earthy crust pebbled to the fissured floor below.

"I'm not sure I believe that. I wouldn't be surprised if you're secretly an earth bender, causing all this mayhem in the first place!"

Azula looked offended by your accusation. The ground began to split further apart. "Fine! I'm trusting you, only because it's life or death!"

Azula nodded impatiently as you searched for the key that could release Azula, and effectively ruin many lives. But as the shackles fell to the ground, Azula did not run away. She turned around, running back the way you'd all came.

You two leapt over several cracks splitting in the ground. Azula had suggested that you "glue it all back together" as you sprinted towards the cells.

You tried, but you weren't strong enough to close the gaps on your own. You felt light headed after just trying to form a bridge across the oncoming crevasses.

The heat was sweltering before-but now, it was smothering you.

"WATCH OUT," Azula shouted at you. She pulled you back, from where your foot had just been dangerously close to a crumbling fissure. You would have fallen right through.

You stared at Azula hard. "Thank you."

She looked shocked. "You're welcome...I guess."

You tried to mend the soft spots of the rock, attempting to will some strength into it.

It wasn't working. Maybe if you were like Toph...or even Aang...you're strength is limited. You're nothing compared to those two. It should have been them down here.

By the time you reached the prison halls, everyone in their cells were shouting and screaming to be let out. They didn't want to die down here. You can't blame them. It's practically hell.

"Just stay calm," you tried to call out. No one was listening. Instead, you were being threatened to hand over the keys, otherwise unspeakable things would befall you.

"It's going to be alright," Azula huffed. "You're going to be fine."

"Thanks," you managed to say.

"I was talking to myself, but I guess you'll be fine, too," Azula said candidly. Great. "I mean...it's an earthquake. Just earth. You're an earth bender."

"I'm one earth bender! Besides, that's not what I'm completely worried about at the moment..."

"What could possibly be more worrisome right now?" Azula asked as she put her hands on her hips.

You grabbed her by the shoulders, hissing into her ear: "An earthquake above ground is bad. But one happening below ground? Even worse. The ground is only one layer. Below that is just..."

Azula's eyes widened. "Oh."

She was at a loss for words.

She looked around to the many cells. It was a shitty place to die. The Fire light of the torches just gave a luster of pain to the scene.

"We don't have time to get out," you gasped. "We're going to die down here."

"Hey. Hey! Don't say things like that," Azula snapped. "You reap what you sow."

"I don't think that's what the saying means. Like, that phrase just doesn't apply to our current situation."

Azula frowned upon being informed this.

The ground split again. You caught Azula by the arm and tugged her back, trying to escape the cracks that were prying the rock into islands. The prisoners shouted in fear as their cells quaked under the pressure.

This was the lowest point in the prison. You could see the lava seeping into life as the rock gave way to the higher power.

"Y/n," Azula said in a remarkably steady voice. She was holding your hand. "Lava is just...very, very hot rock."

"So?!"

"So you can bend it. Just manipulate it the same way you would normally."

You laughed. "Easier said than done."

"I've seen you bend before. You and I had several close calls in our own battles. I know how powerful you are! You have to do it. I know that you can."

Her words weren't exactly inspirational. "How do you know?"

"Because you'll die if you don't!" Azula shouted. The lava bubbles closer. "Y/N, JUST BEND IT!"

You pushed your hands out. They were trembling. You tried to push out the noise of the shouts and cries for help. Azula was by your side, on her toes, whispering into your ear that she did truly believe in you.

You tried to take hold of the lava. Your mind's eye could see it; it could feel the wispiness of the substance. It is rock. It's just...indecisive. It was not fixed and sure of where to go. Lava simple seeks out help and direction.

For a split second, you imagined that you were that direction. Go this way, you urged it. Go this way.

It rose up like a wave in the ocean, rearing over your head and spraying you all with heat. Azula shut her eyes tight as she waited for the heat to shower down on her.

It never did.

The cave steamed as you clenched your fists and willed the lava to keep calm. I'm the sense of all that you're missing, you told it. You can trust me.

The lava cooled. It formed a tall wall of a rippling wave, like a statue sculpted by the ocean.

"Wow," Azula said softly. "You did it."

She walked towards the wave, looking in awe. It was like a captured animal. It was like nature, a real movement of the elements that just happened to be frozen. She put a hand against the rock, wincing as it burned her skin. Still hot. But not so much that it was a burning sludge.

You sat down, putting your head in your hands.

Sweat dripped off your face, forming a small puddle. Azula sat beside you when she realized that you weren't moving.

"Are you alright?"

"They won't stop shouting," you muttered. You squeezed your temples to ease the massive pain that swept over you.

Azula looked past her shoulder. The prisoners weren't as impressed with your feat as she had been. They were still demanding their freedom.

"I can kill them for you," Azula offered.

You startled, doing a double take and looking the princess in the eye. "I'm joking." She cleared her throat and looked away.

"They're going to have to wait, anyways," you said, dropping your head in your hands. "I can still feel tremors on the other side. That wall's just our barrier. Nothing we can do now but wait for the tremors to pass and the lava to cool. I think I can navigate the two of us out after that."

Azula's nose wrinkles with a frown. "How long could that take?" She asked.

"Maybe an hour or so. I think these tremors happen often. This far underground, at least. Maybe small enough to just disrupt this prison. Which is poorly placed, now that I realize it."

Azula made a sound of understanding. "That's fine," Azula said calmly. "You seem tired."

"I am," you admitted. Your energy had been drained.

"So, how'd you do it?" she asked. You knew what she was referring to.

"Like you said, it's...it's rock. Soft, malleable rock."

"Yes that's true, but it seemed impossible."

You looked bewildered. "You're the one that suggested I try in the first place!" you accused her.

Azula shrugged. "It still seemed impossible," she said knowingly. She had suddenly become very agitating. "It doesn't matter now. You did it. You saved the day. You've mastered a new technique. Maybe it'll be named after you."

You considered this. After some thought, you explained, "'The Y/n' doesn't sound like a very good technique. Sounds more like an Earth Rumble move or something. Like, some sort of sleazy, cheap shot."

Azula shrugged. "It's whatever you want it to be. But still--what you did was amazing."

You felt wary about the feeling those words inflicted in your chest. Azula was surprisingly easy to talk to. She even noted, through a distasteful joke, how the prison guards were so quick to abandon the tunnels and leave the actual prisoners behind.

"Thank you for helping me," you said, doing your best to conceal whatever emotion was fluttering in your chest. "I'll tell them what you did today."

"Tell who?"

"Everyone."

Azula looked surprised. Her eyes were like a cat's eye opal.

"I didn't do it for everyone," she mumbled as she tucked her knees to her chest. "Just so we're clear."

You two waited for a long time. The prisoners grew weary of waiting and whooping obnoxiously, and they, too, fell silent, falling asleep under the ridiculously thick heat of the prison.

After some hours, you felt your nausea subside. You stepped to the wall, the only thing keeping you and the others safe from harm's way. It had long since cooled down, and there was no turmoil going on behind it.

You kneeled beside Azula. She'd fallen asleep, too. She must have been used to the heat. She was soaked with sweat, but she looked at peace. You prodded her awake. She jolted and caught your hand tightly, as if she'd forgotten who was beside her. When she saw your face, she released you, and struggled to apologize.

"It's fine," you said with a gentle smile. "I understand."

You did understand. You'd spent a long time traveling to foreign lands, meeting dangerous people. You often woke up startled, yourself, half unsure who had found you and sought to extract revenge on the Avatar.

You pulled Azula to her feet. "I think it's safe now."

Azula raised a thin brow. "You think? Or you know?"

You rolled your eyes. "I know," you mocked her. Azula followed close behind you as you split the rocky formation in half. The prisoners grew angry when they noticed their freedom was somewhat attainable.

The darkness was thicker than the heat that puffed into your face. Azula lit a ball of blue flame in the palms of her hands, breathing slowly at first to make them brighter.

"I haven't done this in a long time," she admitted. "Bend, I mean. It's prohibited in the prisons."

You weren't sure what to say to that. By now, you trusted Azula enough to make it out of the mountain. You really trusted her enough to make it beyond that. But you knew she would be carted off to the Earth Kingdom, being held prisoner there after Zuko made a deal with the monarchs.

You split through the stone in silence, Azula occasionally puffing steam through her nose in an attempt not to sneeze. This stone was rough and jagged, having captured the ripples of the lava as it moved throughout the tunnels. You couldn't imagine the catastrophe that could have been if you hadn't been down here. If any earth bender hadn't been down here. You felt confident that Toph would have been able to learn the tricks of the trade, even without Azula's 'encouragement.' As for Aang, he had more than one talent up his sleeve. After all, you were so slick with sweat, you could have been a water bender's dream.

The pressure in your head peeled back and withered once you and the princess reached the outside world.

Azula took a deep breath of fresh air, gasping at the feeling of relief. The spring air cooled her down. You knew how she felt, even after just twelve hours in the tunnels. If the sunshine and cool air felt nice to you...

Your heart ached for Azula.

A large group of people ran across the small slope when they saw the two figures emerge. All of your friends, and some other fire benders that served Zuko, came over. You were trapped in lots of hugs and sighs of relief.

Zuko hugged you tightly. "I'm so sorry," he said firmly. You could tell he felt guilty. He was choked with emotion and he tried not to show it.

"It wasn't your fault," you assured him. You pat his shoulder in a rather overtly masculine way, to which he responded; neither of you really felt like crying and opening up in front of all these other people. Even you could enjoy a good cry fest with a friend.

Toph marched over, punching you in the shoulder, but rather lightly. "How'd you do it?"

"How'd I do what?"

"Survive. Zuko's goonies told us what they saw. The ground cracking open, the lava spewing..."

"It wasn't that bad," Azula said.

Suddenly, everyone remembered that Azula was there. She stood off to the side, sticking out like a sore thumb in her sweaty prison clothes and her flushed face. She was incredibly pale, after spending so much time underground. The sight made you flush with anger. She, and countless others, spent years in those awful conditions. And the moment there was trouble, the prison guards abandoned their station.

You were mad; not exactly at Zuko, but you'd bitch at him for it. Ultimately, Zuko is responsible for the conditions which those prisoners lived under. Not to mention the unstable grounds which the cells were located...

"It's nice to see you all again," Azula said. "Katara, I see you're pregnant. Congratulations."

Katara's face wrenched with anger. "I'm not pregnant," she said through her teeth, making Azula incredibly embarrassed.

"Are you sure?" she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"What is she doing here?" Katara demanded to no one in particular. Everyone turned to look at you. You were, suddenly, the man of the hour.

"I don't think anyone's ever given me this much attention before," you said sheepishly. "Oh, come on. She helped me. She saved my life, and the lives of the other prisoners."

"So you're an earth bender now?" Katara asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She did look a little chunky, now that you looked at her...

"Of course not," Azula said. She put on a good face. But you could tell she was wracked with anxiety. "I am a good teacher, however."

"Can someone just cuff her, please," Sokka burst out, taking a couple steps away.

"You guys. She's..."

Your words trailed off as a guard immediately tossed a pair of shackles around Azula's thin wrists. She was so small. Frail. You could see that now in the sunshine. You saw the weary sadness in her amber eyes as she was led away. She was able to cast you one more look. She smiled.

You caught Zuko by the arm, pulling him to the side to talk.

"When was the last time you went down there?" you asked him.

Zuko was surprised by the aggressive nature of your voice. "I-What?"

"Down there," you said, pointing towards the entrance you made through the mountain's slope. "It's literally like a hell hole. It's sweaty and dark and sweaty."

Zuko blinked, but nodded.

"All of your guards abandoned their station, by the way," you said, now pointing to the herd of dumbass prison guards who stood in the field a few yards away. "They left those prisoners to die. Your sister was among them. Could you have imagined what would have happened if I hadn't been down there?"

Zuko nodded once more. He appreciated your honesty, and he didn't question your anger. "I'm sorry that this is what it took to capture my attention," he said sheepishly. "It'll be taken care of."

"Well...good. Very good..."

Zuko raised his brows. "Is there something else you wanted to mention?"

"No," you scowled.

Zuko didn't look convinced.

"Azula helped me in there," you finally said. "She really did. She didn't try anything."

Zuko now looked concerned. "Y/n...what happened down there? You can't...you cannot let your guard down with my sister. Not when she shows one sign of being good."

You made a deep frown. "But she really did help." Your words fell to deaf ears. Few of your friends listened to what you had to say. Aang did, but he was wary. He informed you that he would love nothing more than to see Azula face redemption, but he couldn't base his opinions on unpresentable evidence. He wanted to see this first hand.

Suki was the other who understood. She was empathetic and could fathom what the lack of a mother's love could do to a being.

Katara was adamant that she wanted nothing to do with Azula. She did not care for the princess, not since that Agni Kai between the princess and the prince. Katara would have no problems never seeing it speaking of Azula again. Her brother felt the same, more or less. He was nicer in the way he expressed his feelings. But he clearly felt uncomfortable at the thought of loosening the reigns in Azula's punishment.

As for Zuko and Toph...

Zuko wanted to believe his sister could be good, and Toph agreed. Toph suggested that Azula be given more chances to prove herself. At your behest, Zuko put this "chances" into action.

Azula had excelled in all of them. She did group chores at her new holding place. She did not use her bending (at least not where anyone could see her) and she seemed to behave very well with the other inmates.

You were finally able to visit her two months after the tremors in the cave had occurred. You and she had kept in touch through heavily monitored letters. Nothing between you two was private, but you did your best to communicate as normally as possible.

When you visited, Azula had been cleared of chores and tasks for the day, and she was thus able to visit you for lunch in the small tea room. It was the prison's room, used for visiting guests (typically family of inmates). The tea was bland--Azula chalked it up to the fact the garden was "nothing more than a few weeds, planted there only to keep the inmates busy."

Since her transference to the new prison, she'd regained her strength and pallor. Her diet was improved, and you could tell from the way her face had become fuller. No longer did her eyes look hollow. She was tanned now from her work in the sunshine, and she'd developed a few freckles over her nose.

You laughed, and it made Azula look strange. Her face strained and she flushed red. "Why are you laughing?" She asked warily.

"Because," you stammered, unable to fathom why she'd ask such a weird question. "Because it was funny...?"

Azula looked strained, still, as she gripped her little tea cup tightly. You thought she would break it.

"What's wrong?" You asked.

Azula then went pale. She hadn't seemed too prepared for such a question.

"What's wrong?" You repeated.

Azula looked irritated as she sat straighter, suddenly aware of her posture. "Why exactly did you come tk visit me, today?" She asked. Her voice had that cool tone you'd once been used to. Now, it caught you off guard.

"Aren't we friends?" You asked.

Azula frowned. "I don't have friends. Not anymore."

"You have me," you insisted.

Azula leaned forward, her elbow in the table and her chin resting on her palm. "How do you figure that?" She questioned with narrow eyes.

"You and I are just friends. I don't know how, exactly. I guess that day when you helped me. You showed that you changed..."

"So...if I hadn't changed..." Azula said in a hoarse voice.

She came to the sad realization that she'd lost most of her life, thus far. Sure, she'd live a longer life, probably grow to be a geriatric, even; but her teen years were gone, having been spent locked away in the sweltering prison under ground.

If she hadn't changed then she'd probably still be there.

"Well, that's not totally true," you said warily.

"How so?"

"Well, I bet we could have been friends before. If you hadn't been trying to kill Aang, that is."

"You didn't speak a word to me," Azula teased. "You can't lie."

"Well, you were trying to kill us. And of course I found you undeniably attractive. You think I just never noticed you?"

Azula shrugged. "I suppose for the most part," she said, trying to contain her feelings. She had been in the verge of blushing as brightly as the sun. "'Undeniably attractive?'" She repeated.

"Of course. You're too beautiful to spend your days in prison, tending to weed gardens," you teased back. It was a limit that you were pushing; clearly your words were flirtatious!

"Is that so?" Azula laughed. It was a real laugh, and it was natural. No awkwardness, no strain.

"Maybe it is," you said back, looking at her over the edge of your tea cup.

Azula was silent for a brief moment before she her face grew somber. "It won't ever work," she said. "A relationship between the two of us would just fail."

Stunned, you disregarded your tea and looked at her with incredulity in your eyes. "Azula..."

"That's what we've both been thinking about," Azula said calmly. "I've just put it out in the open."

You supposed she was right. The attraction had been slight, but it grew over the course of consistent correspondence.

"I've done enough damage to be locked up for the rest of my life," she said, not even trying to cover for herself. "I petitioned my brother for my freedom, on the condition I remain in house arrest for one month, then eleven on parole."

You outstretched a hand over the table. "That's a good thing," you assured her.

"I petitioned him a couple of months ago," Azula said grimly. She cast her amber eyes to your hand, desperation bleeding into her features. "Don't be a fool, Y/n," she said sassily. "I'm not getting out any time soon."

"And you think that's a problem," you concluded.

"We can hardly have a real life together," Azula scoffed. She had very suddenly reversed; she was throwing up walls, shutting you out in a way that she'd never done with you before. "I can't give you enough."

You scoffed, then. "What do you think I want from you?" You asked. "Why can't your company and shared affection be enough for me?"

"Because we're adults, now. You're not the boy you were whence we met. You're a grown man, who should start a life with a woman that's good for him. Not a felon, ex-princess."

You crossed your arms over your broad chest. "And you're one to tell me what I should and shouldn't do?" you demanded.

"Yes," she said confidently. "So if all you're here for is a conjugal visit, I'm going to have to turn you away."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm rejecting your suggestion," you said. You downed your tea and rose to your feet. "I'll be back next week."

"Next week?" Azula demanded. "I just told you no. We can't be together."

You considered this. "Hmm. I'm telling you no. I've rejected your rejection. I'll come back next week."

Azula rose to her feet. She was fuming now. Ah, yes, that was the Azula of your youth. She raised her voice just slightly, her tone sharp. "I'm trying to be mature, you know. You're ruining it for me."

"Because there's no point in being 'mature' when we can just be happy," you argued.

Azula scoffed. "I seldom get the chance to display my maturity, especially when my idiot brother won't return my messages."

"Now that is something I'm going to take care of," you said forewarningly. "Now that I think about it...I might not make it next week. I'm going to take a ship to see him."

"A ship? Y/n, be reasonable," Azula sighed.

You raised a hand. "Don't try to convince me not to," you said fiercely.

"Oh, that's not what I was going to say. All I meant is that your friend does have a flying bison."

You grinned. "I thought you were trying to be 'mature' about this."

Azula scoffed again, putting a hand over her chest. "Just because I was going to be doesn't mean that I wanted to be. There's nothing more that I want then to be freed of this place, put back into society, and to..."

"And to?"

"You already know," she snapped. "Don't make me say it out loud."

You doubled over laughing. "Mighty Princess can't confess her feelings? You pulverized me in more than one battle, you know. I probably have a scar or two to prove it. Even with that, you can't just tell me you have a crush on me?"

Azula's eyes widened. "A 'crush'?" she repeated. She laughed, the pitch to high to consider her comfortable. "It's not...it's...well, it's more than that. You actually took the time to-You know what? This is stupid. Just be on your way."

You shook your head, laughing to yourself. "It's not stupid, Zuzu."

Azula smiled nervously, her eyes faltering with something unrecognizable. "That's what I used to call Zuko."

You approached her, taking her hand, which made her eyes zoom all over the room. She couldn't look you in the eye, despite having once beaten the shit out of you. She was undeniably awkward, and that reminded you of Zuko.

"I think I should start calling Zuko something mean. It's not right of him to ignore your messages."

"I tried to kill him," Azula allowed. "I might do the same in his shoes."

You peered at her closely, trying to get a grasp on her thoughts. She must not like being examined, because she flicked your forehead. "I don't understand," she breathed, despite her annoyance. You became aware of how close you were standing to the princess. "There are better women."

"There is no other woman I want."

She couldn't figure out what to say. "Why bother with me?" She genuinely wanted to know.

"You're too hot to rot in jail," you shrugged.

Azula punched you hard in the shoulder.

"I was joking!" you exclaimed. "I don't know why," you admitted. "I just know that you're worth it." Azula folded her arms over her chest. She puffed her chest and shoulders out, trying to remain tough. She didn't want to fall to her emotions. "Worth dealing with my foolish brother? Don't get me wrong, I lo-care about him, but-"

"Yeah, he can be very annoying," you admitted. "But you're worth all the trouble in the world."

Azula finally seemed to give in. "Whatever you say..." She reached up and pressed a very quick kiss on the corner of your mouth. You tried to dive in for something more, but she firmly pushed you away. "I'd rather not start something I can't finish."

Now you were blushing.

"If that's the case, then I should run to your brother," you laughed. Azula lifted a brow. "He's fine looking, but not quite a good replacement for me."

You blanched at the thought of deepthroating Zuko with your tongue. "He's a good friend," you said convincingly enough for Azula to punch you again. But in spite of that, she pulled you down for a real kiss. Her sweet tongue, and its taste of tea, swept briefly over yours before she pulled away.

"You should go before this does turn into a conjugal visit," she said stiffly. She held her hands behind her back.

She was truly different. It couldn't be a coincidence that she could bend fire. She had hit her lowest point but grew back, almost taking a rebirth, like a phoenix from its ashes. Aang spoke of rebirth often, but you never gave it too much thought. Not until now, as you looked at this Azula, standing before you. She'd changed over the years, and for the better.

As you bid her goodbye, your heart wrenched in your chest. You could feel your feelings for Azula growing and growing, and it hurt like hell. You realized that she had you wrapped around her finger. You'd do anything for her. She just didn't know it.

Not yet.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 12 - ao3 -

The dinner lasted until late, late enough that Lan Qiren had to make his excuses and even then only just barely got back to his room in time to fall asleep at the appropriate hour; he didn’t even have enough time to do more than remove his shoes and outer layer before his eyes had closed.

Surprisingly, unlike most social dinners in Lan Qiren’s memory, it hadn’t been awful. Most of that had been thanks to Lao Nie, whose exuberance, as he’d suspected, could carry just about any social interaction to victory. After exhausting himself in thinking of ever more increasingly ridiculous toasts and forcing Wen Ruohan to drink them – they’d switched to wine at some point, although to Lan Qiren’s relief neither offered him any – Lao Nie had turned the subject to the type of music appropriate to be played at a wedding feast, and his opinions on music were, as always, so horrifically wrong that even Lan Qiren had been lured into arguing with him.

At some point, the conversation had shifted to the subject of marriage and weddings more generally, though to Lan Qiren’s relief both men clearly considered him too young to have thoughts about his own future in that regard the way his teachers might have. Instead, they’d spoken about the origins of various wedding traditions – there were some that Lan Qiren had thought were set in stone and handed down from ancient times which Wen Ruohan could recall having seen invented within his lifetime, which was a fascinating advantage of age that Lan Qiren had not previously considered.

It was equally interesting to see Wen Ruohan at his most charming. It was not a mask that the sect leader bothered putting on very often, as far as Lan Qiren knew, and it was a mask, one that was a little loose around the edges – even Lan Qiren could tell. Wen Ruohan would say the right words a beat too late, with his eyes a little too focused and his smile a little too sharp to be believed; his quips were a little too cutting and his suggestions just a little beyond the boundaries of common decency, his cruelty and indifference leaking out around the edges of even a casual chat with people he considered friends.

But at the same time, it was difficult to deny that he was brilliant. Regardless of whether he’d obtained his superior cultivation through dark and dirty means or not, he’d been the master of his sect and about a third of the cultivation world for at least a generation already, and no one managed that without being extremely clever and more than a little ruthless.

It made for interesting conversation, if one beset with a constant feeling of danger…

“I hope you enjoyed the bed.”

Lan Qiren nearly jumped out of his skin in fright, spinning around to stare at Wen Ruohan standing just within the doorway to Lan Qiren's room – he hadn’t heard him open the door, nor close it behind him. The other man was in his wedding finery, the brilliant fiery red of his sect turned to joyous purpose, and yet there was something sinister in his self-assured smile.

“The – bed?” Lan Qiren repeated blankly, and glanced at it. “It was…fine?”

“You complained, last time,” Wen Ruohan said, continuing to stroll into the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Too hard, I believe you said…I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Lan Qiren vaguely recalled having said something along those lines and blushed in shame. “It’s fine,” he said. “I slept deeply and well. Thank you for your concern.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Wen Ruohan said. “You and I are brothers, are we not? My every thought should be of you.”

That didn’t sound quite right.

Before he could say anything, though, Wen Ruohan clicked his tongue lightly and stood in front of him, looking him up and down. “Your Lan sect’s formal clothing is truly a masterpiece of the embroidered arts,” he said. “A brilliant sight – especially all in white.”

Lan Qiren lowered his head, embarrassed again. If pressed, he would argue that his clothing was a little more silver than pure white, so he wasn’t actually dressed in mourning colors, but it couldn’t be denied that he was much closer than most, making it a little inappropriate for a wedding. Unfortunately, he only owned the one set of formal clothes, and there hadn’t been time to commission another; there was nothing for it.

“I like it,” Wen Ruohan said unexpectedly, his hands settling on Lan Qiren’s shoulders, smoothing out the fabric. Lan Qiren looked up and was caught by that intense red gaze. “My sect colors are red and white, after all – just like the two of us. A matched set.”

His hands burned too hot on Lan Qiren’s shoulders.

“White is a traditional color for the Lan sect as well,” Lan Qiren said, and his voice only quavered a little bit. “Anyway, it’s…mostly grey.”

“White,” Wen Ruohan disagreed. “As pristine as a pearl resting in the palm of your hand.”

His thumbs pressed lightly just by Lan Qiren’s collarbone. There were acupoints there, he thought, although he was having trouble recalling which ones or what they did.

“Yes, a pearl is truly the most apt comparison,” Wen Ruohan mused. “Simple and natural, yet shining with its own luster – I’d thought rubies, to make you fit to my taste, but perhaps pearls will suit you better.”

“I have no need for jewels,” Lan Qiren said, a little alarmed. Had Wen Ruohan really drunk so much the night before that he was still intoxicated, confusing his new sworn brother and his new bride?

“And yet I may wish to give them to you,” Wen Ruohan said. “Surely you won’t deny me – after all, I need to repay you for the charming gift you gave to me.”

Lan Qiren had a sinking feeling.

“Uh,” he said. “You saw it? Already?”

He’d searched the room briefly earlier that morning for the personal gift he’d bought for Wen Ruohan, intending on packaging the bowls away in his return clothing – why hadn’t it occurred to him to simply give it away to one of his fellow disciples, or even to trade or sell it? That way he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself by giving such a simple gift amidst all the opulent luxury of the Nightless City.

It seemed, however, that it was too late for that.

“Oh yes,” Wen Ruohan said, looking amused. “A set of drinking bowls, painted with a flowing border reminiscent of vermilion birds – made by your own hand?”

“I only applied the glaze,” Lan Qiren said hastily. “There was another gift, too –”

“I have dozens of golden crowns of better make and greater utility,” Wen Ruohan said dismissively. “Such a heavy thing. If you told me that you’d picked it yourself, I wouldn’t believe you.”

“No, I did pick –”

“Without constraint? Or from a selection of predetermined choices, each one deemed ‘appropriate’?”

Lan Qiren fell silent.

“Do not tell lies,” Wen Ruohan said, rolling the familiar rule in his mouth as if tasting a wine of fine vintage. “Yes, the guan is a very appropriate gift, neither too distant nor too familiar, too rich or too restrained, perfectly reasonable yet conveying nothing, giving nothing away...I’m quite certain your brother picked it out. But you were the one who picked the bowls, weren’t you? Did you pay for them yourself?”

Lan Qiren felt certain that the conversation was leading to some sort of trap, but he didn’t know what, or how, or how to evade it. “I did,” he admitted. “With my sect allowance.”

“How many months’ worth did it cost you?”

Lan Qiren thought back, calculating. “About three?”

He’d thought to get something nice enough that he wouldn’t lose face in giving it, though naturally he’d underestimated the luxury of the Nightless City. Still, it wasn’t as though he needed the money for much, anyway. The sect supplied him with basic clothing and gear, equipment to tend to his sword and musical instruments, and even access to books; he did not buy himself too many luxuries beyond that. Other than the fees he paid for various sect purposes, it was really only the occasional trinket that caught his eye or rare books on foreign musical techniques that he purchased with his own money.

It wasn’t anything like a sacrifice, not really, but Wen Ruohan still looked pleased about it, smug and satisfied as a cat right after the hunt.

“Three months’ worth,” he murmured, and his hands which were somehow still on Lan Qiren’s shoulders slid inexorably inwards to rest on the sides of his throat. “Even assuming you were extraordinarily parsimonious, little Lan, you could only save a third at a time; that’s nine months of your life that you spent for me. Nearly a twentieth of all the months you’ve lived so far.”

What a strange way to calculate time.

It wasn’t even right, since Lan Qiren had turned seventeen in the interval and that made the interval closer to a twenty-fifth than a twentieth, but also – who thought like that, treating time like a percentage, as if it could be measured and spent like coin? Perhaps it was simply that Wen Ruohan was so old already…and perhaps that, in turn, was why he looked at him so strangely, so unnervingly –

Lan Qiren swallowed, decided he didn’t need his pride more than he needed to get away, and ducked out of Wen Ruohan’s loose grip.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready or something?” he asked, turning and pretending to fuss with his robes to avoid making eye contact. “It’s the morning of your wedding.”

“Indeed it is,” Wen Ruohan said from behind him. He was standing too close: Lan Qiren could feel his breath on the back of his head. “Tell me, little Lan – little brother. What do you think of my marriage?”

Lan Qiren hesitated.

“The truth, if you will,” Wen Ruohan added. “I would hate for the purity of our relationship to be tainted by misdirection, even if you wouldn’t go so far as to lie.”

His voice was mild and even, almost sweet, and Lan Qiren was abruptly convinced that it was far more threatening than any of Lao Nie’s rages or his brother’s ice-cold sarcasms.

“I think you made it up to distract people from swearing brotherhood with me,” he said, turning back to face his fears and sworn brother, and felt his face go red as he realized how self-involved that made him sound. But it was what he thought, and Wen Ruohan had asked him not to lie. “You made a mistake, underestimated people’s reactions, and Lao Nie yelled at you because it was affecting your reputation and mine, so you came up with a better story and made everyone else believe it.”

Wen Ruohan hummed. “What an interesting theory. You don’t think the engagement was merely kept private before being revealed at an appropriate time?”

“No.” Lan Qiren shrugged. “If I’m wrong, of course, I’m wrong. But you asked what I thought.”

“Is that why you got me a gift?” Lan Qiren, surprised, glanced at Wen Ruohan, who was still smiling. “To thank me for clearing up the mess I made of your reputation?”

“I got you a gift because you’re my sworn brother, and you’re getting married,” Lan Qiren said, bemused. “What does my reputation have to do with anything? You’re not the one making everyone gossip, and even if you were, you cleaning up something you did is only what you should do. I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

This time, Wen Ruohan gave a little huff of amusement, and he sounded almost surprised. “Charmingly blunt.”

“You told me not to lie or misdirect!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, feeling betrayed.

Now Wen Ruohan was chuckling in earnest. “Ah, little Lan,” he said. “Someone is going to get you into trouble one day, and it may very well be me…you’re right, you know.”

“What?”

“About the wedding,” he said lazily, and put a hand on top of Lan Qiren’s head. “Both in terms of motivation and timing. You’re entirely right, except for one part.”

“What part?”

His fingers tightened, the too-sharp nails digging into Lan Qiren’s scalp and pulling at his hair until his head was forced back to look up at Wen Ruohan.

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Wen Ruohan said. His eyes were boring into Lan Qiren’s own, the pressure of his will strong, as insistent as his voice. “You were not a mistake, little Lan. You’re mine.”

“Of course I am,” Lan Qiren said, suddenly irritated for no reason he could tell. “Your sworn brother. Doesn’t the whole world know it by now?”

“Mm. I suppose they do.”

“And on that note,” Lan Qiren said, “what are the terms, anyway? I never got to see them.”

“The – terms?”

“Of our brotherhood! My brother confiscated the paper you gave me before I could look it over, and naturally I don’t remember, so you have to give me another copy. I think I’m entitled to one, since I’m a part of it, and presumably you did the drafting. Was it one of the classical oaths? Which clauses were included? Provisions? Curses? Was there any consideration of – stop laughing!”

Wen Ruohan had released Lan Qiren’s hair in order to brace himself on the wall, he was laughing so hard. Laughing with big laughs that came up from his belly and stuck in his throat, and no matter what Lan Qiren said he didn’t say one single thing in response. Lan Qiren eventually gave up with a huff and stormed out.

Let the irritating bastard be late to his own wedding, for all he cared.