#whose entire purpose is 'we need to go above and beyond'

[lord-squiggletits]

Also idk if I can elaborate on this in beautiful enough detail, but I think that the Autobots going through unreasonable amounts of effort to save other people even at great personal cost to themselves is literally something good about them, and if you try to criticize that as a way the Autobots are “bad” then I really don’t get you.

[herefortheships]

Just rewatched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice again, and I have thoughts!

But this was my first time watching it while being a Betelgeuse x Lydia shipper, so there might be some unhinged shipper takes here. I'll leave my completely speculative, potentially emotionally-charged impressions under the "read more" cut, under the list.

A lot of what I'll mention here I already noticed after my first watch, but I hadn't written a post like this about my impressions after watching the movie, so I decided to put it all here.

Here it goes!

This movie NEEDED more Betelgeuse. I'm sorry, Michael, but you are kinda wrong. It's not like we need the movie to be all about Betelgeuse, but we needed at least five or ten more minutes with the ghost with the most.

The movie sprang to life whenever Delia was onscreen. The same can be said about Betelgeuse.

The chemistry between Michael Keaton and Winona Ryder was through the roof. All scenes between them were immaculate and precisely why we needed MORE Betelgeuse!

I didn't notice how slow the first half of the movie felt, until Betelgeuse shows up. The movie picks up the pace after the couples therapy scene.

Betelgeuse is crazy about Lydia, no doubt. Was he gonna try to kiss her when he said "come here" right before she yelled "home, home, home!"? I think he definitely was going to throw himself at her. Anyway, he had several chances to do that later and he didn't try anything, but he might have been more restrained not to scare her away again.

Betelgeuse always seems to be more careful around Lydia (about checking her out, touching her, etc). Is he shy about Lydia specifically? lol

We needed more interactions between these two, especially so Lydia could see Betelgeuse wasn't the scary demon she thought him to be. He's more of a self-serving, lovable a-hole with a perverted side, than an all out evil entity. (She still got to see he's not that bad through his actions in the movie, after he saves Astrid and goes above and beyond by also exposing Rory and sending Jeremy to hell lol, but we needed a little more conversation between the two. This would help Lydia process her trauma around Betelgeuse. (*I have a point about this particular thing below, under the cut). Also would have helped the audience see why Betelgeuse's motivation to marry Lydia had nothing to do with Delores and everything to do with how he feels about Lydia herself (he was already chasing Lydia before Delores came into the picture, and had been doing so for over 30 years, as he keeps her photo on his desk and hasn't moved it from there, as shown by the cobweb behind it. Betelgeuse is looking into that portrait literally every single day).

Delores could have been entirely removed from this movie and nothing would have changed. When she shows up and says "Betelgeuse is mine" she literally does nothing to Lydia, whose photo she had literally smashed minutes earlier. When faced with the real woman who she believes to be stealing her man, she doesn't attempt anything against her? That was weak writing.

Everything around Delores was weak writing, except for her backstory.

Lydia did not leave Winter River at the end of the movie. I think the bed she wakes up in after the nightmare is still in Winter River.

As a matter of fact, the nightmare/dream sequence starts when she's quitting her show. The music that denotes that this is a dream starts there. Lydia did not quit the show. She might later on (if there's a 3rd movie we'll know if she did quit), but by the end of this movie she did not quit. That was part of the dream.

Betelgeuse starts blowing up like a balloon before Lydia says his name three times. She's said it once and he started ballooning. So I confirm: he did this himself on purpose. This man is a drama king and this was his grand exit back into the afterlife. 😂

I had this strange vibe that Astrid was bullshitting when she said that by violating code 699 the marriage contract was null and void. The contract also burned when she mentioned it. If it was null and void by Betelgeuse's violation of the code, why is it that it only burned when Astrid mentioned it?

Betelgeuse was indeed in bed with Lydia at the end. Not only is she sleeping to one side of the bed, the pillow he was in was wrinkled like he'd been lying there, and we can also hear the echo of his laugh. This makes me believe that he's the one who put the dream in her mind. Maybe to get back at her for banishing him. (This is a headcanon though, but the fact stands: Betelgeuse was truly there).

Oh before I forget, Lydia did look sad/conflicted at the end after Betelgeuse blew up and vanished. We can't know exactly how she felt after her time with Betelgeuse in this movie because it ended before we had a moment with Lydia alone after everything was said and done. Her story doesn't wrap up, because after she says her goodbye to Delia, what we have with Lydia is the dream sequence. Then she wakes up next to Betelgeuse, and again, alone, but still we can hear Betelgeuse's laugh echoing in the room as Lydia looks half scared, half confused (her face is like "wtf??") as the final scene of the movie.

And now for the potentially unhinged fangirl takes and headcanons (mostly revolving around Betelgeuse and Lydia):

Lydia has always had unresolved feelings for/around Betelgeuse. These unresolved feelings, whatever they are, has not allowed Lydia's romantic relationships to progress. The movie presents these feelings as trauma, and I find that very interesting. Let's explore this one a bit:

Early in the movie when Lydia is talking to Astrid about death and Richard is mentioned, Lydia mentions that her relationship with Richard had ended long before he left and had his accident in the Amazon. Astrid also mentions later that his dad left after his relationship with her mom had ended (If I recall correctly, Astrid says it like "after they separated, my dad left").

Then, when Lydia is talking to Delia after she's seen the Betelgeuse ad that Astrid found in the attic, she starts talking to Delia about how she met Rory at a grief retreat dealing with the loss of Richard and some unresolved feelings. Notice how she said her relationship was over long before his death. Naturally she was grieving him, but what are these unresolved feelings about? Is there guilt involved due to... :

Later, when Lydia tells Rory about Betelgeuse, she goes about it this way: She reminds Rory about their couples therapist, and how he told her that until she faced this "thing" that she was holding back, her relationship with Rory was not going to evolve. This thing of course turns out to be Betelgeuse.

So this kinda confirms that Lydia has some unresolved feelings around Betelgeuse that are holding her romantic relationships back.

As I mentioned above, this is presented as trauma. Is it because of her experiences in the first movie? I don't think so for various reasons: She not only grew up surrounded by the love and care of the Maitlands, she also hasn't seen or heard Betelgeuse in years though she's felt his presence. She also appeared to be living happily at the end of the first movie. You can't present me a traumatized character in the sequel when you showed me this character to be completely fine at the end of the previous film. Lydia also mentions to Delia that her anxiety comes from seeing ghosts every day.

So her traumatic feelings about Betelgeuse stem from something inside her that she needs to face or she won't be able to move on. Keep in mind these are my interpretations and shouldn't be taken as fact! But I believe that Lydia's trauma stems from guilt about having feelings and attraction toward Betelgeuse (possibly since she was a teenager), someone who, in her own words, she is convinced is a "trickster demon".

She may have always been attracted to him, but she pushed it down ("held it back", using her own words). She probably worries that having these feelings makes her "wrong" in some form. That she is "dirty" or even "evil" herself. How can she feel an attraction to someone like Betelgeuse, who is not only scary-looking, but also did scary things to her family and once tried to force her to marry him? These are her conflicted thoughts.

Confronting these emotions is Lydia's true path to healing wholly, because she will be faced with her own darkness. And this is what she is vehemently avoiding by wanting Betelgeuse out of her life (whilst simultaneously wanting him in her life).

This is yet ANOTHER reason why we need a third film: Lydia needs to face her own feelings about Betelgeuse or else she will always be stuck in life. Her relationships will always fail because her heart belongs to someone else; to the one person (ghost) she refuses to give it to, not because of what she feels about him, but because of what having these feelings makes her feel about herself. Only facing this will Lydia be whole again.

That's interesting material for a third and final film, but again, just my headcanons and interpretations. These movies are mostly comedy, and so it's unlikely they will go into the deep stuff. But then again, this movie at times went surprisingly deep, despite being mostly bonkers comedy, so there is a chance they will explore deeper, darker themes in the final installment. Usually the final film in a series goes harder than the rest into the deeper and more nuanced themes.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 33 - Solaris by Stanislaw Lem

This was the third work of really classic sci I read in June, and the second that’s probably more famous as the raw material for an adaptation than as a book in its own right. Though in fairness the Tarkovsky movie is as far as I’m aware a better adaptation of this than Shadows of Chernobyl is of Roadside Picnic. Anyway, all to say that I think I’m starting to get used to the sort of abruptness and lack of narration regarding the protagonist’s emotions that seem to have been common in sci fi from the 60s-70s.

Solaris takes places on an eponymous alien world, almost entirely covered in a vast and strange ocean-like body with only half a Europe’s worth of rocky islands scattered across its surface. The story follows Kriss, a scientist, as he arrives for a posting on the skeleton crew living in a station floating above the ocean and studying it. As he arrives, he learns that the only member of the crew he personally knew had died the day before, and that the only two residents are acting paranoid and erratic; this all starts making sense when something that seems to all appearances to be his dead ex-girlfriend appears and starts talking to him, and he learns that the other two have doppelgangers of their own bothering them. Things spiral from there.

So, I’m not sure if this is a cosmic horror story, exactly, but it’s not not one either. The overriding theme is the limits of human rationality and understanding, the total impossibility of what we’d recognize as communication with something truly alien, the feeling of smallness and insignificance in the face of vast and strange and awe-inspiring. The first chapter of the book includes an intellectual history of the Solarists, going over decades of study and all the discarded theories and failed experiments that have made the posting such a dead end as the bright lights of science moved on to more promising problems. The ocean is Other, beyond human comprehension, and even at the end of the book none of the characters have come any closer to determining whether the phantoms it conjured out of their memories is an attempt to reach out and communicate, an experiment to see how they react, a reward or punishment, a purely reflexive response by something that isn’t even really properly conscious, or something else entirely.

I honestly don’t rightly know just what sort of science fiction a Polish guy in 1961 might have been writing in conversation with, but from my perspective there were definitely a few passages that seemed to be taking shots at what most space opera treats as aliens. ‘We have no need of other worlds. We need mirrors.’ and all that. But again, that could very easily be me projecting – easy enough to read it as commenting on a dozen other things.

It was interesting that Rheya was the only doppelganger we ever meet – the story’s quite claustrophobic, and the other two scientists go quite out of their way to make sure Kriss absolutely never sees whose haunting them. Interesting, too, that Kriss is the only one whose actually got anything to be guilty about with regard to his – or, at least, according to Snow the other two were the subject of intrusive thoughts or unbecoming fantasies, whereas Rheya did in fact kill herself a couple days after the two have them had a particularly cruel argument and ugly breakup.

It’s not what the book was about, but I’m honestly kind of sad we didn’t get more insight into Rheya’s psychology? A simulacrum that knows she’s a simulacrum, created by by some unknowable agency for some purely instrumental purpose, not even in her own right but entirely to prod someone else with, unable to spend too long out of sight of him without some control mechanism sending her into a panic attack. There’s some real meat to dig into there, right? Just think of all the juicy existential angst.

My library’s copy of this is the old Kilmartin-Cox translation, which I’ve since regrettably learned is considered pretty rough and low-quality relative to the newer editions. Still, even given that, I kind of adored a decent amount of the prose in this? Or the descriptions of the alien environments, to be specific – the lengthy descriptions of the constructs thrown up by the ocean and how the appearance of the station shifted so dramatically with the rising and setting of each of the system’s two suns were just legitimately beautiful, and make me extremely eager to watch one of the movie adaptations when I can conscript some friends for it.

[torchwood-99]

Does Eowyn continue to fight after the war?

Whether or nor Eowyn ever picks up her sword again after the war is a rather contentious question. Her decision to no longer be a Shieldmaiden after falling in love with Faramir inevitably puts readers in mind of the history of women giving up their careers when they marry, or the tropes of feminists who defy gender roles learning the error of their ways through the love of a good man.

After everything Eowyn has been through trying to prove her worth as a warrior, after having her wishes denied over and over, after having it spelled out to us why this denial caused Eowyn such despair, and after her great victory on the field, it's right that this is a bit of a sore spot.

This is fairly mitigated by the fact that Faramir, also a skilled soldier, never fails to recognise Eowyn's worth as a fighter and often speaks to her as one soldier to another, too wishes to live a life of peace away from battle, it's a mutual desire for them both. That being a healer; whether literal or metaphorical, is a role also taken on by powerful characters like Aragorn and Elrond. And the overall theme of choosing growth and healing over death is at the heart of the series, and Eowyn's arc is in accordance with that.

However, we know from Tolkien's extended writings that there is still work to be done in Ithilien, that military might will need to be put to good use for Ithilien to grow and heal. The question is, does Eowyn play a part in that?

Character wise, it makes sense for her to do so. She is skilled, she and Faramir plan to embark on growing a garden in Ithilien (healing it) together as equals, the text vindicates her desire to be able to go out and fight and "perform deeds" over and over. While her death wish was not vindicated, her right to live a life beyond the walls of her house, to be able to confront the dangers in her land instead of being left behind to wait, which is utterly at odds with her nature, very much is. And it's made clear that the denial of her true nature was one of the causes for her death wish.

Eowyn wanted glory and death. She got glory, forever renowned for her great deeds, she didn't get death.

However, this quote is often used to confirm that Eowyn never fought again.

“I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer,”

Eowyn's renunciation of the role of shieldmaiden does make it seem like she has no intention of picking up her sword again. However, just because she isn't a shieldmaiden doesn't necessarily mean she never fights or picks up a sword again. Not when she lives in a land where to heal means also needing to fight.

She gives up her role as shieldmaiden to take on a new one; not as Faramir's wife and adjunct, but as a healer. The quote above has the two roles stand in contrast. Shieldmaiden, warrior, whose purpose is to bring death, who strives for a glorious end in battle. Healer, whose purpose is to fix things and bring life. I think that this quote is less about Eowyn foreswearing the sword entirely, and more about her no longer centring her dreams and identity around bringing death and being a death seeker, and instead around someone bringing life.

But why do I think that Eowyn still retains a warrior like part to her personality, why I think she plans to channel those skills for healing purposes rather than getting rid of them entirely? It's this line here, often overlooked, but with a single word seems quite revelotary.

"nor take joy only in the songs of slaying"

It's the "only".

Eowyn didn't say she wouldn't take joy in the songs of slaying, but that she wouldn't take joy only in the songs of slaying. That indicates that she will still take joy in those songs, the songs she grew up on of brave warriors and bold deeds, but she will take joy in other songs too. That part of her still exists, but she no longer feels it's the sum of her entire existence. It's a part of her that works in accordance with her also having a desire to find love and peace and bring healing to others.

I very much think Eowyn still fights after the war, when called to. But now she is fighting for life, not glorious death.

[rocorambles]

Unnatural

Pairing: Vampire Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Blood...a lot of blood

Summary: You don’t realize just how right you are about there being something different about Oikawa.

There’s something unnatural about Oikawa.

Your fellow managers and assistants for Argentina’s national volleyball team just giggle and tease you when you tipsily voice your concern one day. But you adamantly continue voicing your impromptu dissertation.

Isn’t it weird that he’s never tired? He never even seems to break a sweat!

They wave you off, awestrukenly raving about how hard he works and practices. Of course his endurance is above and beyond the norm.

Strike one.

Fine, but isn’t it a bit strange that he always insists on eating alone?

They shrug. You’re not entirely wrong. It is a little unusual, but lots of people don’t like others watching them when they eat. Besides, he’s Argentina’s new star player and every star has their quirks.

Strike two.

Your fuzzy brain is running out of definite points and you’re well past the number of shots your tolerance allows. Maybe that’s why you blurt out the latest observation that has all your fellow female coworkers shrieking and fawning over Oikawa Tooru.

He literally sparkles in the sun. How is that even humanly possible?!

Don’t be so dramatic. We know you don’t like to admit you’re just as head over heels for him as we are, but even you have to admit he’s eye-catching. No judgement here. After all, none of us can take our eyes off him either when they practice outside in the sun.

They playfully nudge you, grinning and letting you know it’s all in good humor. And you know you’ve officially struck out, all your concerns easily waved away as they order another round of shots and urge you to drink up.

Unknown to you, your doubts aren’t nearly as subtle as you think, although you can’t be blamed for not being aware of Oikawa’s heightened senses. He can feel your eyes intensely examining him, different than the vapid heart-eyes your other companions give him. He can hear you whisper to them about all the little ticks he’s surprised you’ve even noticed.

If he’s honest, he’ll admit you’ve got him off-guard, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in centuries. Was he getting sloppy with mixing in with humanity and hiding his true nature? Was he getting weaker? He tests his glamour just to reassure himself, satisfied by the loud squeals he hears from the rest of the female staff on the sidelines when he gives them a wink and a peace sign. But he pouts at your much less enthused figure.

Why doesn’t his glamour work on you- Oh. He hides a smile as he focuses in on the rabid beating of your heart. Interesting. It does work on you, you’re just a little more resistant about your desires than most.

Mystery solved. You’re not the first hard-headed woman who’s tried to defy the intoxicating nature of his glamour, of his being. And he pays you no more mind. Someone as straight laced as you would never come to the ridiculous conclusion that he’s a vampire.

Except as fate would have it, it’s not you he needs to be worried about. It’s himself that he should be more cautious of.

He can see it all happen in slow motion, knows that his teammate isn’t jumping at the correct angle, knows that the ball is going to go flying errantly. And all he can do is watch in sickening fascination as the volleyball goes hurtling directly at your face. The force of the object crushing your nose echoes in his sensitive ears and he winces in sympathy only to freeze as the most alluring smell begins to overwhelm the gym.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

He’s not a rookie changeling or a newly turned vampire who has no control of his urges. He’s fucking royalty, a pureblood, ancient and well versed even by the high standards of his species. And you are hardly the first human whose blood he’s been around.

Yet it feels like he’s experiencing his first century all over again and it takes every bit of self control he has left not to let chocolate orbs bleed crimson, to let his fangs extend, to drink you dry right there and then. You smell absolutely divine and he humorlessly chuckles at the irony of the predicament he’s in now after his arrogance has led him to criticize so many of his peers over the centuries who’ve given into their base desires and instincts.

Maybe he does owe little Tobio an apology…

But that’s neither here nor now and he focuses on the crowd forming around your fallen figure.

“I’ll take her to the nurse.”

He fights the urge to roll his eyes when his panicked teammate who had caused your injury insists on being the one to take you, guilt evident in the slump of his shoulders. And instead he smiles in an award-worthy act as he adds a bit of glamour to his voice.

“It’s not your fault. Accidents happen in sports. I’ll take her and you just focus on getting your head back in practice. You can apologize as much as you want when she’s all healed up.”

Oikawa always gets his way and he smugly grins as he easily hauls you to the nurse’s office where all it takes is another few glamoured words to have the room emptied and at his disposal. And then it’s just you and him and he hungrily eyes the way blood trails from your nose, down the side of your face, until crimson begins to stain the once white bed sheets.

“Oikawa?”

Oh poor thing. Your voice is nasally, tone confused as you blearily try to understand what’s happening and where you are through the pain. All the better to glamour you with and he coaxes you into laying back down and relaxing, telling you that he’s just there to help you.

You barely register the swipe of something across your face and you assume Oikawa is wiping off the blood. And in a way you’re right. Except instead of a wipe, it’s his tongue languidly licking you clean.

You taste even better than you smell and he can’t hold himself back. He had only wanted a little taste, but there’s no turning back now. Your whimpers of confusion as cold fingers swiftly undress you are quickly shushed and then all you know is a blinding piercing pain followed by an ecstasy you never thought was possible.

All he had wanted was a meal, but you’re insistent on giving him a show as well and who is he to deny your gracious gift? He groans as the scent of your arousal intermingles with the heady tang of your blood, fangs sinking in slightly deeper than he had intended as he unconsciously ruts against your hapless body. With a gasp he lifts himself from your neck, practically growling in impatience and lust as he shoves his shorts and boxers down until his throbbing cock is freed.

He cruelly laughs at how you writhe and moan beneath him, pitifully begging for more, more, more. Pathetic little human. You don’t even know what you’re asking for and his cock twitches at how cute you’d look, terrified at the realization of what he is, what he had done to you, and how you had liked it, loved it even. He’s almost tempted to pull you out of your forced haze now, wondering if your horrified screams would be even more melodic than your wanton moans. But there’s no time for that now and he wants his first time to be uninterrupted, even as adorable as you are when you fight back.

With all your walls forced to come crashing down, you really are an insatiable creature and he darkly grins at how much of a slut you truly are, practically gushing and cumming with every bite. He sinks his fangs into the swells of your breasts, smirking at how your own hands come to roll and twist your nipples, a silly smile spreading across your face. He travels down, moaning as he sees how much slick you’ve accumulated between your legs, piercing your inner thigh and forcing your thrusting hips to stay still as he feasts on you, mixing the blood with your sticky nectar.

You’re so close to another high and he can practically taste the way your heart is skyrocketing, feel the way your body is tightening. He’ll be damned if he misses his opportunity to be intertwined with you as you break apart once again and he rapidly adjusts himself, once again roughly sinking his fangs into the crook of your neck as he slams balls deep inside of you in one thrust.

The dual sensation is more than enough to have you tumbling over the edge and your scream echoes as your vision turns black and white as your eyes roll into the back of your head. But unlike the previous times where Oikawa had shown mercy and given you at least some time to recover from your climaxes by slowing down his ministrations and licking your open wounds close, this time he only becomes rougher as your orgasm crashes around you.

His hips thrust in and out of you at an inhuman pace. He’s drinking so much from you that you can feel the beginning of lightheadedness from the blood loss. You’re literally dying, but all you can do is take it and moan, lost in the pleasure, lost in the haze he’s enveloped you in. And just when you think this is the end, that your life is over, you whimper, clutching the rumpled linens tight as he slams one last time inside of you and fills you full of sticky seed.

You’re a sight for sore eyes, looking absolutely fucked silly and blissed out despite the borderline grotesque rivulets of blood staining almost every inch of you. It’s like you were made to be a blood pet and despite having just had his way with you, he can feel lust stirring inside of him once again at the thought of you collared and bound to his throne, his bed, your only purpose to sustain him with the lifeforce running through your veins.

But all in due time and he calls the nurse back to attend to you once all hints of foul play are gone before walking back to practice, a thoughtful smile on his lips as he begins to plan, already thinking of what else he has in store for you and eager for another taste of you.

Didn’t you recently say you were living alone?

[dilfdoctordoom]

On Tom Taylor, the Current Nightwing Run & Ableism

I did mention I was gonna do a post about it, so here we are. There are some things I want to make clear before we begin: the issue exploded on Twitter on the very first day of disabled Pride month; disabled people have been discussing the ableism in Taylor’s Nightwing run since it began; nobody has blamed Taylor for what happened to Barbara in 2011. We are, however, blaming him for the way she is written in his series during 2021. 

I am also going to be discussing the ableism in the fandom in this post. The reactions I have seen, from here to Twitter to TikTok, are showing not only a great misunderstanding of the situation, but a purposeful misunderstanding. The very real reasons disabled people are angry right now have been twisted to make us seem ridiculous and overly sensitive and I cannot help but feel that is very intentional.

Another quick addition: disabled people are not a monolith. Barbara Gordon spent over 20 years as a paralyzed wheelchair user. Stating (and I would like to note, never truly showing) that she is a part time cane user now is still erasing her disability. These things are not interchangeable.

So, with that out of the way, let’s begin.

Tom Taylor’s run is ableist. That is a fact of this situation. He made the active choice to include a version of Barbara Gordon that is ableist caricature. Story wise, the role that Barbara plays could have easily been filled by anyone else. There is no real season, within the narrative and outside of it, for Taylor to include this version of Barbara Gordon, who has received a decade of criticism from disabled people. It’s very well known that this iteration is problematic, to put it kindly, and Taylor is aware of that. 

He made the active decision to include her, anyway, showing, at the very least, that he is passively, if not actively, ableist. Passive ableism is still ableism and disabled people are allowed to take issue with that.

That alone is reason enough for disabled people to be angry. But that’s not why things exploded on Twitter.

On July 1st, the very first day of disabled pride month, the new design for Barbara was dropped. After months of teasing Barbara’s return to a wheelchair using Oracle (see: Last Days of The DC Universe, Batgirl (2016), etc), they debuted... a new Batgirl costume that the artist has openly said draws inspiration from the Burnside suit.

There’s a lot of issues to unpack here, so let’s start small: the issue with consciously calling back to Burnside. The Burnside era of Batgirl stories was... beyond awful. The villain of the series’ first arc, was an AI based on Barbara’s brain patterns when she was disabled. It was evil because of all the rage and pain Barbara felt. The actual Barbara, on the other hand, was good -- because she was able bodied. Because her PTSD had been tossed aside. It was a horrifically ableist era that drove the idea that Barbara’s life was terrible when she was disabled; that it was some horrible, twisted secret.

Comics have kept that narrative going. Barbara is seen hiding books on chronic pain; she reacts aggressively to the mere idea that she could be in a wheelchair again, acting like it would be weakness. Whereas Barbara had once been Oracle not because of, but in spite of, her disability, who was fantastic representation for the disabled community, she now acts like it is the most shameful thing in her life.

To call back to Burnside is to call back to that ableism and make no critique of it. If anything, it’s to embrace the ideas of that era.

There is also the design itself to consider. Many people have pointed out the inclusion of a back brace, as if that saves it from ableism -- it does not. Any person who has ever worn a back brace can take one look at this design and know that they did not consult a disabled person. Hell, by how impractical that thing is, I doubt they even Googled a picture of a back brace.

It’s a superficial acknowledgement that Barbara is supposed to be disabled. Something that was apparently thrown in to appease the numerous complaints of Barbara being able bodied; something that no one working on it put any effort into.

When it comes to aids, this is not a new thing for Barbara in Infinite Frontier. She’s said to be using a cane occasionally, that we got a better look at in Batman: Urban Legends, and as any cane user can tell you... that is not a cane that could feasibly be used. It’s another pathetic attempt to acknowledge that Barbara is supposed to be disabled, without actually doing anything of importance.

[IMAGE ID:  A segmented cane with a tri-pointed handle with a wrist strap. There is a stripe across the sections to connection them, labelled “solar battery charger buttons”. The text reads: “telescoping antenna doubles as cane or weapon if needed”. END ID]

Dropping this design (which we have now established to be problematic) on the very first day of disabled pride month is a sickening move. The very first day, and DC has doubled down on their disability erasure, thrown in superficial things like a back brace to act like it’s fine.

Tom Taylor is definitely involved in this, whether you like it not. No, he is not in anyway responsible for the events of the New 52 and what they did to Barbara Gordon, but that does not absolve him of blame for what is currently being done to her in his run.

When the design dropped, it started trending due to disabled fans reactions. To be clear: we were directly calling out the ableism in this design. This was Tom Taylor’s response:

[IMAGE ID: A tweet from TomTaylorMade that says: “Hey, @Bruna_Redono_F I think our new Batgirl suit is getting some attention.” He then adds a winky face emoji and tags @jesswchen and @drinkpinkkink. Attached are a screenshot showing that Batgirl is trending in the United States and a picture of the design itself. END ID]

This is him, bragging about how the disabled community reacted. Perhaps before this tweet, you could’ve made an argument that he was not ableist, but after he flaunted the fact that disabled people were rightly furious over this, like it was something to be proud of? No. If you are defending him, you are a part of the problem.

Taylor has included ableist writing in his Nightwing run, beyond the inherent ableism that comes with the current iteration of Barbara Gordon (whose inclusion, yet again, is his decision).

[IMAGE ID: A panel from Nightwing #79. Barbara and Dick are standing in his apartment. Barbara is saying: “I have some pretty new technology holding my spine together. I’m happy to do most things -- eat pizza in the park, take down low-level thugs -- but leaping from rooftops seems... unwise.” END ID]

What Barbara says in the panel above has bothered a lot of disabled people. The implication that she couldn’t “eat pizza in the park’ and “take down low-level thugs” without a spinal implant that conveniently erases her disability is... fucked up, to put it mildly. Those are both things that Barbara has done in a wheelchair. The first one is something wheelchair users can do and the implication that it’s not is beyond offensive.

But, let’s leave Barbara behind for a moment. I have previously mentioned that disabled people have been discussing the ableism present in this run long before July -- and that ableism is not only centred on Barbara. Dick is also a player in all this.

Dick Grayson was shot in the head. I don’t believe I need to retread the story, but just in case: Dick was shot in the head by KGBeast, developed amnesia from the event, and went by Ric Grayson for a long enough period in comics. If you have been active within the DC fandom for the past year or so, you know all about this controversial storyline and its fallout.

The Ric Grayson arc concluded itself the issue before Taylor became the writer for the series and ever since his tenure has begun, Taylor has completely ignored the reality of Dick being a disabled man. We understand this is comics, that things do not function the way they do in our world, but still -- it is clear that this gunshot wound to the head has affected Dick massively. We had an entire arc dedicated to how he struggled to find himself in the aftermath.

Taylor is choosing to write Dick as an able-bodied man, despite his canonical injuries and how they would impact his life.

This man is choosing to give empty gestures towards Barbara being a disabled woman (as discussed above, the completely dysfunctional back brace, etc) whilst writing her as able-bodied as possible. He writes both Dick and Barbara as able bodied as humanly possible. That is ableist. He is ableist. This is the same man that said he made a dog disabled ‘in honour of Barbara’. I do not think I need to elaborate on why that is bad.

The least he could’ve done, was get a sensitivity reader. We know that Taylor is not beyond getting people from marginalized communities to consult on his work (see: Suicide Squad), so why, when writing two characters that should be disabled, one that the disabled community have been criticising for a decade, does he not reach out to a single disabled person? A mere Google search could’ve improved the situation massively. In both the new design and the current writing, it is beyond clear that this is not just an able-bodied person writing it -- it’s an ableist person.

He could have listened to the numerous disabled fans that spoke out. Instead, he chose not only to refuse to do that, but to describe justifiable anger as ‘raging’. He treated us like we were crazy for daring to speak out about blatant ableism being parading around of us in our pride month.

Tom Taylor has failed to do the bare minimum and in doing so, he is, at very, very least, guilty of complicity. Again: passive ableism is still ableism.

The argument at hand is not just about Barbara Gordon and the continuing ableism that shines out from her current writing. The argument is about the treatment of disabled characters in his run. It has also become about the way he treats physically disabled people.

We also can’t have this conversation without acknowledging the fandom’s role in it all. I waited a day to write this up, to allow all the reactions to flood in... and I am sickened.

We have everything across the board. Able-bodied people that have actually listened to disabled people, who have supported us (which is deeply appreciated). Able-bodied people who may have had good intentions, but a skewed sense of the situation and perpetuating some of the more insidious lies being spread around (IE. that this is only about the new costume).

There are, obviously, the ableist reactions, though, that we will be discussing here. People deeming the current issues as ‘crazy’, calling disabled people ‘overly sensitive’ and ‘delusional’. Many people have completely glossed over the examples given for why Taylor, specifically, is ableist, and instead have resorted to telling disabled people that we are wrong and should be mad at DC instead.

It’s important to note that Tom Taylor is an adult man. He doesn’t need a fandom to attack disabled people for daring to call him out. He is not the victim in this situation; he has, for quite a few disabled people, been the aggressor.

I have seen claims that Infinite Frontier is a ‘slow burn’, implying that disabled people need to patient... as if we have not waited a decade for less ableist writing. There is a complete refusal from able-bodied fans to actually listen to what disabled people are saying. They would much rather rush to the defence of the (honestly rather mediocre) current Nightwing run. 

Disabled fans know that comic book spaces are ableist. We know that both DC and Marvel and many of their writers are ableist. We are still allowed to be pissed as hell about it and acting like the current reaction being had right now is disabled people being ‘overdramatic’ is yet another example of how the able-bodied side of the fandom both refuses to listen to and undermine disabled people when we call out ableism.

We know it when we see it. We always do and we always will and we will always be able to recognize it far faster than an able-bodied person. If this many disabled fans are coming out and talking about an issue, calling it ableism, then it’s time for you shut up and listen.

Stop being a part of the problem and start supporting disabled fans for once.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 318: On Your Left

Previously on BnHA: The Hawksquad+Lurkers were all “well this sucks” and sat around a bit talking about how maybe they should actually come up with a new plan that is actually good, but then in the end they were like “nah.” Deku was all, “THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE ME THAT PULLS BENEATH THE SURFACE!! CONSUMING, CONFUSING!! THIS LACK OF SELF CONTROL I FEAR IS NEVERENDING. IT’S HAUNTING HOW I CANT SEEM TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. MY WALLS ARE CLOSING IN.” Just, literally that whole entire song. All Might was all “Deku you should take care of yourself, try eating a thing,” and Deku was all “BYE, ALL MIGHT,” and just LEFT. He left!!! What the fuck!!!

Today on BnHA: Endeavor is all, “maybe if Deku didn’t listen to All Might he’ll listen to me instead.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t listen to Endeavor]” because, well, yeah. The Vestiges are all, “surprisingly, even we are a little concerned -- maybe you should get some rest, kid.” Deku is all, “((Ò ‸ Ó)).” The Vestiges are all, “holy shit.” Deku is all, “[wanders the ruined city streets terrifying the populace on account of him looking like Shelob had a baby with one of the Nazgul].” Some shriveled-up puppeteer villain asshole is all, “HORIKOSHI SAID IT’S MY TURN TO ATTACK DEKU TODAY SO I AM GOING TO SUMMON MY FRIGHTENED HELPLESS ATTACK MOB!!” Kacchan is all “WHADDYA MEAN THEY FOUND THE NERD!!! -- oh wait, that’s me, I found him. I found the nerd, you guys.” And just in time, too. I was about to owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of dollars.

so I have been super good about spoilers this week as always, but let me tell you guys, for the past 36 hours my dash filters have basically been nonstop “manga spoilers” this and “bnha 318” that, and so I’m coming in with a fair amount of hype here. your move, Horikoshi

oh, good! they got Endeavor to call Deku to try to talk him out of it. what a great and wonderful plan

“listen up kid, you haven’t slept since March and you are basically a walking biohazard right now, I’m just telling it like it is. didn’t you get shot like three times?? and there was a whole thing about how you urgently needed medical attention?? and supposedly we gave it to you, but I mean you haven’t even changed your clothes and don’t seem to have any fresh bandages or anything, so did we?? did we, really?? and also we all got blown up yesterday, so yeah.” hmm he’s making some reasonable points here you guys, but you sure do go on and on, Endeavor

oh he says foreign aid is finally on its way! I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. I mean in fairness they can hardly be worse than the home-grown heroes at this point

hey Enji, could you maybe try appealing to Deku the sixteen-year-old human boy, as opposed to Deku The World’s Last Hope? he does have value beyond his quirk. I know that’s always been an incredibly difficult concept for you to grasp, but could you maybe TRY, jesus

and also we’re worried about you as a person?? you’re just a kid and you’re pushing yourself way too hard?? you were going to say that part next, right. why the hell didn’t Hawks make this call instead

“don’t worry about me... I’m completely fine” Deku you do understand that saying it over and over again doesn’t actually make it true

and again with the rush!! all the rush rush rush!! we’re running out of time, we can’t let AFO and Tomura keep getting stronger, I have to end this now, there’s no time to rest, etc. etc. etc. just the constant pressure of this whole big countdown on top of everything else

holy shit, you KNOW it’s bad when even the Vestiges are telling him to chill

these guys are basically the walking talking embodiments of self-sacrifice; if even they’re telling him he needs to take five, then he must seriously be like half a step away from death’s door

OH SHIT LMAO

DIDN’T EVEN LET HIM FINISH HIS SENTENCE BEFORE HE SENT HIM INTO THE FUCKING SHADOW REALM WITH THAT FUCKING LOOK. HOLY FUCK. DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DIE TWICE. SHIT

(ETA: so I’m pretty sure this was just Danger Sense activating and so he cut them off to go do more hero stuff, but I’m gonna go ahead and stick to my original interpretation anyway lol.)

anyway so how’s everybody doing. we all good? En, you good? Banjou? Shino? I’m imagining you guys all curled up in a little ball on the floor right now lol. can’t say I blame you though, no shame

lmaoooooooooooo

“SHEESH.” sheesh indeed, lmao. “what in the FUCK was that”

see, this is why y’all need Kacchan. you need someone who’s not going to back down from him no matter what. if it’s a matter of out-stubborning Midoriya fucking Izuku, then there’s only one other person on the planet capable of that, and we all know it. don’t pretend like you don’t. I am not going to shut up about this! we’ve had our hurt so now what about SOME COMFORT, DAMMIT

“I’m afraid that he’s becoming influenced by my conscience” nah are you kidding Nana this is all 100% made-in-Japan pure original Deku right here

see, Banjou gets it. “that kid, he’s totally going on his own.” exactly. this was so inevitable it was basically scientific law

“well I for one don’t see the problem with Deku being so obsessed with saving everyone else that he pushes himself until his body and soul literally fall apart” okay, whose speech bubbles are these?? we’re about to have words

lol of course

well you always did prefer the direct route didn’t you. but even you can’t possibly think this is okay lol

dark AU!Kacchan please tell us more about your badass doomed timeline in which everything went to shit and you apparently had the same character arc that Deku is having right now except it somehow made you sexier instead of turning you into a rabid t-rex. I have so many questions

oh so now you want to help??? well -- good, actually. sorry if that sounded offended just now lol

(ETA: so at first when I got to the end of this chapter I was wondering if Katsuki B. had somehow summoned his alternate-universe counterpart through trippy OFA space telepathy lol. but in the original Japanese there’s no reference to “we”, so this appears to be a mistranslation. this line should probably read more like “if there’s something/someone out there that would be able to complement/complete the current Midoriya Izuku [it would be]…” which, oh hello, is that Horikoshi once again reaffirming that Deku and Bakugou complete each other lol. “guess what guys, the Vestiges ship it too" heck yeah. they know what’s up!)

look how admiring his boyfriends are. HORIKOSHI GIVE US THE REST OF THIS BACKSTORY ALREADY GODDAMMIT

“meanwhile somewhere in the depths of the ruined city, Deku was having a dance-off with the villains”

I like how the villains all have this “AHH WHAT THE FUCK” kind of body language to them lol. I mean if it were me, and an eldritch horror suddenly clawed its way from the shadows with its writhing glowy tentacles and pants-shitting nuclear death stare, I would probably just die on the spot. no need to stick around. only pain awaits

lol for a minute I thought this was Can’t Ya See-kun and I was like “WHAT A FASCINATING CROSSING OF PATHS” but it’s just some random girl

he seems genuinely confused lol

Deku it’s because you look like something that crawled out of a sewer drain, sweetheart

lol they just took his word for it?

so trusting. even though they’re immediately hauling ass anyway just to be safe lmao

“my appearance is frightening to others” no shit Deku it’s because you look like a fucking alien exorcism. you look like a Lich that got caught up in an oil spill my dude

NO NOT THE CHOSEN ONE ANGST AGAIN

I RAN OUT OF ESSAY JUICE FOR THIS ALREADY HORIKOSHI!! I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS NOW WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!! BUT ANYWAYS, GOOD!! I MEAN, BAD, THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY. BUT YES

“ENJOY THIS MONTAGE OF DEKU BATTLING A RANDOM KAIJU AND WANDERING THE WOODS LIKE A DERANGED GREEN BABA YAGA” okay yes but sir, exactly how much longer is this going to go on. if it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure we get it, let me assure you that aside from a few stray chuunis who think that Deku embracing the Darkness is the coolest thing he’s ever done, all of us here in fandom fully comprehend that this is Not Good

-- OH SO IT’S LIKE THAT

really. with the flashbacks to his loved ones’ smiling faces and everything. not even gonna try to aim above the belt, huh

AND NO KACCHAN??! NO CLASSMATES?!?! IS HE PURPOSELY NOT THINKING OF THEM??? OR ARE THEY BEING SAVED FOR THE NEXT PAGE??? SO HELP ME, IF THE NEXT PART OF THIS SENTENCE IS “CAN PROTECT THEM”, OR EVEN WORSE, “CAN SEE THEIR SMILING FACES AGAIN”, I...

WHAT DID I JUST SAY

(ETA: my man did Sero and Kaminari fucking dirty lmao. I miss their smiling faces too omg.)

the sheer, unparalleled irony of him saying this while he stands there looking like the gargoyle demon from Fantasia got crossed with an umbrella that got struck by lightning. Deku :(

oi who the fuck is this clown

is he controlling this mob with his evil hair. “what if I made an exhausted, running-on-fumes Deku battle a brainwashed mob at Ground Zero.” Horikoshi do you just have like a checklist of horrible things you want to do to your protagonist

easy there Sasori

well joke’s on you buddy because he’s apparently “completely fine”, so

“here’s to hoping that you know more about AFO’s location than the others” jesus christ Deku you really have hung your mercy out to dry huh

now he’s forcing his mob of terrified prisoners to attack Deku ahhhh. sucks to be them. at least they’re not being controlled by bees

so Deku is saying that Sasori’s control can be broken with “physical trauma.” similar to Shinsou’s quirk I guess. but so does that mean he’s gonna have to hurt them? ( •﹏•)

NO NOT MORE SAD EYES

“DEATH BY EMPATHY!!!” HORIKOSHI NO

fuck. he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out

this is what happens when you nerf a character’s self-preservation stats in favor of spamming their bone-breaking stats instead. NOW ACCEPTING BRAIN CELL DONATIONS FOR A BOY IN NEED!! with your loving generosity we can hopefully help him live to the ripe old age of seventeen

OMGFGGG

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[grabs your hands] ლ(*꒪ヮ꒪*)ლ [swings you in a circle] へ(ﾟ◇ﾟへ)

THASSSSSSSS WHATSSSSSSS UPPPPPPPPPP

HORIKOSHI REALLY SAID FUCK THAT MASK (ノ°ο°)ノ YOU FINALLY LEARNED!! IT’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!

JUST FOR YOU KACCHAN, HORIKOSHI LEFT THIS ONE BAD GUY WHO’S STILL WEAK TO FIRE. GOD BLESS

IT’S YOUR COUNTERPART, KATSUKI B!!!! HOW WE DOIN OVER THERE IN THE TRIPPY COSMIC OFA SPACE REALM LOL. DO WE BELIEVE YET, FANDOM???

LIGHTS!!!!

INSTANT RESULTS!!! IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!

(ETA: imagine what this must look like to Deku though. he’s been caught up in this dark cloud of despair and exhaustion that’s been building up over... I’m gonna go ahead and say “weeks”, because yeah. and now he finds himself here, in the place where All Might’s legacy ended and the torch was passed to him. and the world is in ruins, and he’s surrounded by frightened people who are all trying to hurt him -- because who isn’t trying to hurt him, these days -- and he’s scrambling to figure this all out, but meanwhile the weariness is finally starting to catch up to him, and so he’s basically just standing there in a fog of complete and utter misery.

and then all of a sudden through that haze, he hears the one voice that’s more familiar than any other that he knows. like, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was just imagining it at first. Kacchan showing up to save him right when he’s at his most desperate and feeling the most alone. Kacchan, showing up to save him.

this is the person he always looked up to as a child (to be fair he was quite a strange child lmao). the person who was even closer to him than All Might. the person he always thought was amazing. and bam, here he is now. appearing in the sky out of nowhere to one-shot the bad guy with a single blast (which, btw, that was his armor-piercing attack too lmao dslkjlk take it easy there kiddo). like, that must have felt absolutely surreal to him, especially coming at a time when he’s already half-delirious and barely hanging on to reality. he must have really thought that he was losing it there for a second.

but he’s really there. it really is him. and for this brief moment -- before the rest of the situation catches up to him, and he remembers about all of the fucked-up AFO stuff, and remembers why he was so afraid and why he was pushing everyone away -- for just this one brief moment, he’s too exhausted and stunned to do anything except to just react. just stands there, looking up at him in awe.

and you know, it almost reminds me of...

just. you guys. the character development. the freaking character development. someone who brings reassurance. someone who shows up and makes you think, “oh, it’s all going to be okay now, because [person] is here.” the role reversals. the growth. the payoff!! because who is the one person who always had faith that Kacchan would one day grow up to become an amazing hero like that. WHO IS IT. YOU ALREADY KNOW.

omg. anyways, bless you Horikoshi, my feels which have been on backorder since fucking September have finally arrived lmao. yes, good, thank you. worth the wait. it is always, always worth the wait. fuck yeah.)

“LOWFRIES” SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THE WHOLE GANG IS HERE, AHHHHHHHH (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ )

BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. SENSATIONAL. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT JUMP IS ON BREAK NEXT WEEK. THIS RIGHT HERE WILL SUSTAIN ME

[sexyglances]

Dusik's Self-Isolation, the "Doorkeeper" Poem, and Hyejin's Presence

It's been said many times before about Dusik, but episode ten once again showed how he has dedicated his life to a series of active choices that results in purposeful denial of providing love to himself. He deliberately distances himself from others and tries to deny his love for anything and anyone as a way for repenting against his past 'sins' of loving people who all died too soon.

To Dusik, his love has been nothing but a condemnation to others and himself, and he feels like he must live a life in limbo purgatory as penance, neither giving nor receiving too much companionship, lest he condemn another person via his love. Is his carefree lifestyle that carefree? Or is it his way of willfully keeping himself from attaching to anything? Because life has taught him that if he has strong emotion for something, then that is a harbinger of destruction for what he loves.

All the people he cared for most in his life died too suddenly and too early in his life, before he could process how to say a proper goodbye. And he feels directly responsible for at least one of their deaths--we see him say so explicitly to both his therapist in general and in more detail to Hyejin about his grandfather. To Dusik, his grandfather died because he let himself love soccer more than being vigilant, even though he didn't know there was anything to be vigilant for at the time. Then after his last loss in his mysterious five years away from Gongjin, it seems like Dusik abandoned direct expressions of love for anybody. He learned that vigilance is the only expression of love that he should offer other people.

Staying vigilant of other people's needs while also staying vigilant of not getting too close is his way of protecting other people for their needs and from himself. This is partly why he tried to deny his feelings for Hyejin for so long, dancing between the friend zone and something more. (As an aside, this focus on his own vigilance may also play into his love for photography. He seems drawn to capturing moments to look back on, not wanting moments to pass by unnoticed.)

As part of his vigilance, Dusik created a life for himself back in Gongjin as an unemployed jack-of-all-trades, a fix-it man, an unofficial neighborhood chief that can show up at a moment's notice when help is needed. Dusik has made himself into a person that can be reliable in any situation. And he threw himself into that role by learning as many trades as possible so he could fix any problem, from HVAC repair to barista certification to fruit carving and anything in between. But even though he wants to be known as a reliable entity in town, he also makes sure to position himself as a periphery figure only. He only shows up from outside other people's routine lives. He purposefully does not live on any fixed schedule that is permanently tied to anyone else, and he surrounds himself with a thick air of detachedness. This is how he ensures he can't become an albatross to anyone's life again. He can't be accountable for destruction of life if he's simply a hired part-timer and a neighborhood helper; and nothing with any inherent responsibility that can't be explained away by utility rather than love.

Sure, he's a chief that other people turn to for help, but he rejects anything more official than being a helpful neighbor. He refuses to express his love for individual people because experience has taught him that his love can destroy lives, so he only shows his love for the people of Gongjin as part of a whole entity, detaching himself from anything that can be seen as preference for individual people. This is something Chunjae noted in their conversation the night Juri ran away. Dusik accepts other people's problems and their joys, but he doesn't actively share his own in full-fledged reciprocation. The exception seems to be halmeoni Gamri, at least to some extent, but even then he tends to frame any explanation of him going above and beyond for her as a way of paying back for how much she cared for him growing up. Dusik lives in his own manufactured limbo where he has made his existence entirely fixed as an untethered entity.

Dusik has turned his pain into a lifestyle where he knows he must keep his heart guarded from other people by becoming too attached, keep himself from sullying his hometown and the people he's dedicated himself to with the infection that is him asking for reciprocity. His infectious disease is spread through baring himself and his full-fledged feelings to other people, and thus he quarantines that part of himself from anyone. Denial of love is his love. So he flits from job to job, works for minimum wage, and tries to pretend that he does not attach himself to anything or anyone but himself. It's easier for everyone this way. That way he cannot drag anyone down into the surf that is his destruction.

He has decided that it's better for him to be a solitary observer, taking up space in a manmade shipwreck away from others, both literally and figuratively, as is shown by how he made the choice to keep his grandpa's boat out of the water, perching it on a hill so high and isolated that he could barely get it up there in the first place. Even if it is incredibly difficult to do, he is determined to meet his goal of self-exile. It's the only way he knows how to protect himself and everyone else, through self-imposed isolation.

But like the poem Dusik read to Hyejin, once she entered his life, she would not stop showing up for him. She didn't willingly ascribe to the rules he set forth for other people. He told her to cross lines freely, as if she had already been doing so. She may have verbally pontificated about not crossing lines, but her actions said otherwise, and she was crossing Dusik's boundaries before he even knew it. She didn't fit perfectly into Gongjin or Dusik's life, and her stretching the limits of what is 'acceptable' is what he needed to open himself up to a new perspective other than steadfast solitude. It was through her own actions, stepping into his circle of solitude and making her presence known, that he began to question if isolation was really what he wanted and preferred.

From the very beginning, Hyejin asked Dusik to stay with her, literally tugging on his shirt to keep him from leaving on the beach the first day they met. And she hasn't stopped holding onto him. First it was out of helplessness, then when she held onto him and asked him to stay before her first town hall meeting, it was her asking for his support, then when she ran into his arms when she was scared, it was her showing her deep trust for him, and now most recently, in her half-asleep state on the couch, it was her desire to emotionally connect with him in a way more profound than he does with others. Her presence is her way of asking him to open the door to his heart.

And like the poem said, and what Dusik realized as he was reading it, his staunch gatekeeping betrayed him and he fell in love because of his own stubbornness in refusing to leave his post. He found someone who reliably showed up to his post as dependably as he does. Or rather, she showed up and found him in Gongiin. He was always there to keep his metaphorical door closed, and she was always there to check if it was still closed. Dusik was so sure that gatekeeping would keep him safe, so sure that his constant monitoring and vigilance would keep him protected, that he failed to realize what would happen when he began to rely on his denial. His continued refusal became something reliable in itself, though not because of him, but because of her showing up. After all, what is there to refuse if there is not someone knocking at the door every day? His vigilance betrayed him because he forgot that actively guarding his heart was also keeping his heart active.

Dusik tried to deny Hyejin entrance inside his heart, but then her existence in Gongjin took up space all around him. She became like the sea itself, constant and deep and reflective. And just like Gongjin would feel incomplete without the presence of the sea's waves lapping on its shore, so too is Dusik starting to feel incomplete without Hyejin's assured presence. So much that when she's gone, as he said at his grandpa's memorial ceremony after she left, he misses her so-called noisiness and disruption of his habitual silence. He misses her. Without him realizing it, the silence he used to crave has started to feel like an empty void, and it's no longer silence he seeks. Instead, it's the steady sound of her waves crashing against his shoreline that has started to bring him comfort. Her tides coming and going, leaving bits of herself behind with him and changing his coastline with her presence is more dynamic and interesting than the unvarying landscape of the dry hilltop perch he made for himself.

Dusik's gatekeeping has evolved in that its purpose is no longer about resolute solitude and staying away from others, but about taking up patrol in order to be near her. Subconsciously Dusik found himself willing to abandon his sentry, not even noticing that he was walking away from his guard post and leaving himself wide open to her. This is so interesting coupled with the line Hyejin said a few episodes earlier, "He's always around when you least expect it." Both in that she too unexpectedly became a part of his life like she claimed he did with hers, and also how in some ways the reason he is always present is because he actively finds ways to show up around her and enact his gatekeeping. Just like the lines from the poem, Dusik became the doorkeeper whose "job is to wait for you the next day to deny you. / My job is to wait for you the next day and fall in love with you."

And then Hyejin confessed, and Dusik made the conscious choice to abandon his barricaded doorway to go be with her and kiss her. Because his barricade wasn't worth keeping up if she was baring herself to him so openly and and unguardedly. Isolation and vigilance lost their meaning in the face of the buoyancy he feels when he is with her. Hyejin tried to say that he could leave his door closed. She put her hand up to his mouth, and with that she meant she didn't expect anything in return, that he could leave his door closed, and she would still be there, her feelings unwavering. But her bravery made him brave as well. And he made the active choice to pull back his own door, lower her hand, and kiss her. Now, his doorkeeping is meaningless without her. And after all these years, his carefully cultivated isolation is worthless if it means isolation from embracing Hyejin's presence as well.

The poem said, "denying my love is my job," but Dusik finally realized he was ready to accept more than just denial in this life with Hyejin. He was finally ready to make the active choice to accept someone in his heart again. Hyejin's presence made Dusik acutely aware of the weight of his isolation and he knew it was again time for him to firmly reject something. But this time instead of rejecting another person, instead of rejecting the feelings of reciprocal love, he rejected his own self-isolation. His rejection was in favor of love rather than against it. Hyejin knocked, completely content with the closed door of Dusik's existence, but this time he flung his door open and made the move to kiss her and return her feelings back. His purpose is no longer to deny his love, it's to accept love and give love back to her.

-----

And just in case you wanted to read the poem in full, I've pasted it below:

"Doorkeeper" by Kim Haengsook

It's my job to say, "You shouldn't do this here."

It's my job to deny your purpose.

It's my job to deny you the next day.

It's my job to wait for you the next day to deny you.

My job is to wait for you the next day and fall in love with you.

Thus, denying my love is my job.

I will not cry because of my vocation, he wrote. I cried sometimes when I wrote a diary.

[aminiatureworld]

A Sea of Fragment VI

Word Count: 3.964

Warnings: Slight violence

Author’s Note: I’m back! This chapter was so enjoyable to write, I missed this series so much! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Also yes I did see the 2.1 trailer. Scaramouche’s JP laugh my evil beloved.

After your little interlude of conversation with Scaramouche you had succumbed once more to the blinding heat that was enveloping you. Having little sense of the world around you, waking up to bits and pieces of movement only to be stolen away by the darkness again, you found yourself completely disoriented by the sight that greeted you when you finally woke up.

You were in a tent, that much was sure, though beyond that you weren’t really aware of much else. The bed that you were lying on, though slightly damp, was clean, and the top cover, which remained underneath you, was folded over neatly. There was a large table next to you, filled with what could only be medical equipment, as well as a dresser, a chair, and a bench, presumably there for medical purposes. However the high quality material of everything, the tent, the sheets, the pillow, made the whole room seem much too fancy to be a simple hospital tent.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, too afraid to move in case the world started swimming again, when what could only be a medic walked in. The Fatui emblem was embroidered neatly above his breast pocket, but otherwise he seemed completely, almost unnervingly, normal. The only other thing of note was the Anemo vision strapped to his arm.

“Ah I see you’re awake. Good, I didn’t want to have to call the head medic in again, since she made it perfectly clear already that your case didn’t need her specific supervision. Still, when my lord Scaramouche came in shouting, she couldn’t very well say that, ignoring how banged up you were at the time.”

“Scaramouche was here?” You asked, head still slightly fuzzy.

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that, after all you weren’t the one walking to the medical tent by yourself considering the state you were in. Still the image felt like an odd one. You figured he would’ve found someone else to do it for him. Letting this information rattle around in your mind you mutely listened as the medic asked you to hold out your arm for pulse checking, barely listening to his halfhearted small talk.

“Your pulse seems to be evening out a bit,” he finally said. “Good, you were going berserk for a little bit there. We even had to call in a healer, didn’t want you to die. Thankfully the healing seemed to help, my lord was saying something about your state being magic induced, and we were worried that there would be no effect.”

“Thank you for your concern,” you replied, knowing full well that this level of treatment was likely the result of being dragged in by a Harbinger. Still, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat grateful.

“It’s nothing. Better have you alive then a dead body on our hands after all.”

“Fair enough.”

“Still, you’ll have to take care. Your iron levels were also somewhat wonky, so we’re going to give you a week’s worth of pills for that. Come back in a week and if everything seems alright you’ll be good to go. Okay?”

“Alright.”

The medic nodded before walking out. Feeling still exhausted you flopped down on the bed. A breeze seemed to be blowing outside and a part of it came in through the slits in the tent. Letting the wind fan over you, you closed your eyes. Soon enough your thoughts swam into incoherence and you were dragged down into the realm of sleep.

 “My lord.”

Scaramouche jerked his head up from the papers he’d been half heartedly studying. Seeing the medic in front of him he immediately stretched himself up a little taller. At least this wasn’t something completely worthless.

“I assume you’re here to tell me about the condition of the person I left with you.”

“Yes, they have just woken up. Their vitals are no longer in critical condition, and they appear to be alert.”

“Good. That will be all.”

“Yes my lord.”

Scaramouche waited until the medic had left before letting his thoughts roam. You were awake, you were finally awake. Though he wanted to deny it, the relief that flooded through him made it all too apparent how worried the Harbinger had been. When you’d first woken up in his tent he had felt worried, yes, perhaps even slightly frantic. Still, he had assumed that that would be the end of it. You collapsing again had made his blood run cold in a way that rarely, if ever happened. He was Scaramouche after all. The Balladeer, the Harbinger who had no room for mercy in his heart, no time to worry about the lives of other people. After all, does the winter blizzard care about whose house it destroys? Certainly not, it only has to fulfill its goal. Yet he had cared about what was happening with you, even more than that, he’d been worried, perhaps even terrified.

Acknowledging these things left a bitter taste in Scaramouche’s mouth, but he wasn’t idiotic enough to try and deny it. Somehow you had managed to become noteworthy to him, important enough to draw such a reaction out of him. Was this some despicable side effect of your ability? No, it was unlikely. There was no use in looking for excuses or denials. What the Harbinger had to do now was figure out what to do with his predicament. He ought to crush it, to treat you as he would any other low-level lackey, he ought not to have brought you over to his personal section of the medical tents, should have had someone else carry you to the general wing. Those sorts of regrets were too late now however. He had acted out of pure panic, hadn’t even thought of the strict hierarchy that ruled all the lives of those who lived under the Tsaritsa.

Not did your aberrant status help, you who weren’t from Snezhnaya, who had no sense of authority, who had no true place amidst the Harbingers. You were merely there, a shadow that Scaramouche had hoped to command who had instead appeared to have manipulated him in some way.

Yet he couldn’t get rid of you, not now. You were still needed in some capacity, needed to tell him of the layout of the village, the location of the artifact, you had said it was a mirror. Besides, Scaramouche still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Signora would want to inspect you, having brought you to Scaramouche’s attention in the first place. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; Signora had a habit of going where she pleased, deriving satisfaction from the ability to draw irritation out of her fellow Harbingers. The mere idea of her sauntering in to inspect you brought a sour sort of taste to Scaramouche’s mouth. Now more than ever he loathed his coworker’s antics.

Still something had to be done, though what was still up in the air. Pondering this Scaramouche stood up. At the very least he ought to look after you, though whether this was tied into the emotions that roiled in him or simple logic he wasn’t yet sure of. At the very least there would certainly be more talking if he didn’t look on you than if he did. If there was anything that the Fatui loved it was erratic behavior. After all those who could be swayed into doing illogical things were certainly much easier to manipulate. No, better for him to make an appearance, to say that he was concerned you were on the verge of death which would have ruined his plans. This excuse in mind he stood up, urging his inner thoughts to silence as he walked out of the tent and into the afternoon sun.

The image he was greeted with upon entering your, or rather his, tent was all too reminiscent of how you had first looked in that forest where he had first met you. Face pale, a slight sheen of sweat visible on your brow, slicking your hair against your neck. Though your eyes had almost immediately snapped open upon hearing the voice of the medic they were unfocused, and for a moment it seemed as if you were squinting to make the Harbinger out.

It was a pathetic image of a person, and a mix of disgust, pity, and worry swept over Scaramouche. Silently hoping that he himself would never look so weak he sat on the only chair in the room, dismissing the medic with a wave of his hand, keeping his focus on you the whole time.

“So,” he began when you two were finally alone, “you have been saved from the teeth of death. If I had known the spectacle you were going to cause I would have never asked you to do such a thing.”

“Most visions don’t go that way,” you replied, voice husky and cracked from lack of use. “It was, it was because of the mirror.”

“You mentioned that before. This mirror, I presume it’s what we’re looking for.”

“I won’t look for it anymore,” your voice seemed to tremble slightly. “Even if my vision it was terrible. It warped the space around it, even from the future. If you were to get into the same room as it, were to try and touch it, I, I don’t know.”

“We must get a hold of it. If it is the Tsaritsa’s wish we would sacrifice a whole reserve for it.”

“How can you say such a thing?” you replied, voice quiet. The dispassionate tone sent a lance through Scaramouche, and for a moment he found himself unable to reply, knowing full well the answers he ought to be giving you, the total loyalty demanded by the archon he served.

“Still,” he finally continued, “you have showed me that you’re certainly not strong enough for this. From now on I will no longer provide you information about this mission, nor will I ask you to do anything to bring it about. All I need is a report about what you saw, if you wish you can write it yourself. There are other things that you would be better suited for.”

“What things? I don’t think you understand. I’m the only one who has seen what could happen, what seems very likely to happen based on the fragments that were lined up in front of me. The best outcome I saw was that you were unable to find it. The worst,” you took a deep breath in, “the worst outcome is that the village goes up in flames.”

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Scaramouche, feeling irritation rise up inside of him. “I thought you would be grateful to hear that you wouldn’t be required to look into the future again, instead you insult me, insult the Fatui.”

“I am glad that you aren’t going to try and force me into the future. I don’t think you could truly convince me to anyways, but I’d rather not fight about it. Still, I want to be there, to make sure that this doesn’t happen. I have to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to know anything. I don’t owe you information or position, you’re only here at my pleasure.”

“Yes! I am only here because you forced me to be here, only here because you asked me to do something I didn’t wish to do. And now you take the advice I give you and trample all over it! Why, why are you acting so irrational?”

“You’re the one acting irrational!” Scaramouche shot back, feeling a wave of panic shoot through him. The idea that you had managed to somehow divine the odd emotions that he was currently experiencing seemed unlikely, but that you could sense something was out of place was alarming. “I just need the report,” he pressed, feeling his voice raise in irritation, wanting this to be over.

As you stared at him, silence being your reply, the thoughts that whirled inside the Harbinger’s head seemed to get louder. Why was this suddenly so complicated? All Scaramouche’s career he had easily ordered his way around and over people. Deals were only made with other Harbingers, who quickly stepped aside to let the Balladeer do his duty. Never had someone simply refused his orders. The idea that you would do so, would turn down something so easy and to your benefit, was absolutely infuriating.

“I would like to rest a little more,” your voice finally broke through the thick silence. “I’m tired.”

“I would have gone a long time ago had you just listened to me,” Scaramouche pointed out.

“Please,” you shot him a look, “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to fight either. I really don’t. It’s the last thing I want to do. I wanted to thank you in fact, for bringing me here rather than letting me lie on the ground or trying to slap me awake or something. But, but you just, you never listen. That’s what makes it so hard, what makes all of it so hard. You never listen so how, how are you ever supposed to hear me?”

The plaintive tone of your voice struck another blow, as Scaramouche found himself suddenly, suddenly what? He found himself leaning out of his chair, the urge to walk over to you so intense it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. He wanted to do something, though what he wasn’t entirely sure of. To apologize? To demand? To scold? To, to console? What a stupid thing to do. Yet all these things he suddenly wanted to do. Of course he couldn’t do nay of these things, couldn’t push you any farther, couldn’t pull himself back. All he could do was lean forward, as if that might in some way convey what he was feeling.

“Is there something you want?” You asked.

“No,” Scaramouche stood up. “There is nothing more I wish to say to you.” What a lie that was.

Making his way over to the tent flap Scaramouche stopped. Quickly, almost in rebellion with his mind, he turned and walked over to you. Taking your wrist he pressed his fingers to it.

“Your pulse is still irregular,” he noted.

Spinning around and walking out of the tent the Harbinger fought the urge to scream at himself, scream for such an irrational act. Yet part of him wasn’t thinking about that at all, was instead marveling at how warm, how comfortable your hand had been in his own.

 It seemed like an hour had passed by the time your pulse managed to right itself, though surely only a few minutes must’ve passed. You held your wrist in your other hand, staring down at it, as if willing the scene that had just passed to reappear before you. What was that, what in Teyvat was that? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, could barely acknowledge that it had indeed happened at all. Scaramouche, the Harbinger, the man who had only moments before been berating you, that Scaramouche had walked over to you and checked your pulse, held your hand in his, if only for a moment. It seemed laughable, seemed so surreal as to have been a dream, yet it had surely happened.

Of course maybe to him that had been a completely normal thing to do. After all, the medic had told you that your pulse had been irregular. Surely Scaramouche would have noticed that too. Perhaps his self-righteousness had caused him to want to make his own judgement on the state of your health. Still that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat the moment it had happened, hadn’t stopped you from feeling like you were, for very different reasons than before.

You cradled your wrist, still able to feel the slight pressure his fingers had exerted on it, as if he had somehow branded you. His fingers had been surprisingly soft, not at all rough as you had expected it. Perhaps that was only natural, you knew that he sported no sword hilt, and there were no sharpening stones in his tent, meaning in all likelihood he was a catalyst user. Still, it was unexpected. His fingers had been surprisingly gentle, his palm with which he held your hand was soft and warm. You wondered for a moment what it would be like if he were to hold your hand properly. A small part of you wondered if you might yet do so in the future.

Almost immediately you shook yourself violently, willing those thoughts out of your head. Even now the idea of doing something so domestic, so intimate, with Scaramouche seemed odd, almost heretical. He was a Harbinger, a bloodthirsty man, one who evidently had no problem with a village going up in flames. And yet, and yet…

You sighed, lying back down on the bed. You should sleep, you were exhausted. Everything was going fast, oh so fast. You couldn’t keep up, couldn’t keep up with your feelings, with Scaramouche’s logic. All you wanted to do was block it out, to sleep. As you closed your eyes one final coherent thought floated through your head. He had, despite it all, not asked you to do it again.

 You never realized you were dreaming until about halfway through your dreams. Even then you had no power to stop them, they pulled you along, like a riptide, waiting to drag you down into their depths.

You weren’t exactly sure how you got into the village, the all too familiar landscape. It was hot, and your thoughts seemed to melting along with your legs, as you tried to run towards the now blazing rooftops, yet found yourself hardly moving. Yet you kept moving forward, intent on something, though on what you weren’t sure of. Something very important to be sure. If only you could reach it.

Reaching some sort of back you shinnied your way between the burning. The flames licked at your clothes and at you, but you couldn’t feel them, they certainly weren’t any hotter than the rest of you. In fact the only side effect that seemed to be happening was how close the walls were becoming, so much so that you were barely getting through. Still you kept going, and eventually you found yourself out of the seemingly endless tunnel.

There were a few men in the distance, men who seemed to be barreling towards. Unease spiked through you, somehow you knew that whatever happened they shouldn’t catch you. Yet another part of you dismissed them as no important enough. No, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, there was something else. As you thought that they seemed to suddenly fade away, or perhaps it was that you had suddenly found yourself somewhere else.

Walking down this road that seemed so busy and so desolate you found yourself in field. Not questioning the black sky above you, the fact that there was a field in the middle of a tiny village, you approached a figure in the middle of the field. Somehow you already knew who it would be.

You had never really thought about the space that Scaramouche took up before. He was simply there, a man, a Harbinger, a person. Just there. Now however he seemed all too small, almost puny. His head was turned to the side, so much as to be unnatural. A slight dribble of blood pooled from his mouth, and his eyes stared with the glassy intensity of the dead, the kind of stare that would forever haunt. You seemed to float above him, high, high above. Yet you wanted to lower yourself, to shake him, to see if he was just pretending. Everything felt glassy and distant, like a play that you were part of but not actively participating in. Soon enough he’d pick himself off the ground and start yelling at you. Soon. Yet someone was wailing in the distance, and for once the voice seemed eerily familiar.

 You opened your eyes, at first seeing nothing before the cloth ceiling of the tent finally revealed itself to you. Lying there, not daring to sit up or roll over or do anything, you replayed your dream. Before it had seemed so distant, so disconnected from you. Now however it close, all too close. Your back was sticky with sweat, and the sudden heaving of your chest, cause panic to flood through your mind, revealed how truly shaken you were. You had seen Scaramouche dead before, had seen his fallen frame in your visions. It had been so different then however. Then he had just been a Harbinger, just been a demanding man. Now however he was, something. Something else.

All this time you had worried about your feelings for Scaramouche, worried that they were just some figment of imagination that stemmed from your visions of the future. Perhaps that was partly the truth, perhaps those visions had indeed provided the fuse for your emotions. Yet somehow you had lit them, or more aptly somehow Scaramouche had. The image of him lying there, dead on the ground, filled you with such distress that it seemed liable to drown you. Even if these feelings were somehow made up, the result of some imagined Scaramouche in the future, some need to line yourself up with some possible path, they were still real. Painfully so, if this was a sign of anything.

Finally sick of lying in one position you sat up. Though the tent was opaque enough you could see little bits of light through the slits of the tent, and the slightly warm air had the distinct feeling of it being at least midday. Standing up you made your way, somewhat hesitantly, over to the flap of the tent. You needed to see Scaramouche, if only to try and convince him again not to go through with such a ridiculous plan. You needed to make sure that your dream didn’t become a reality.

Walking through the tented hallway you quickly ran into the same medic as before, this time pushing a tray with food on it.

“Oh good you’re up,” he said, voice slightly bored. “Maybe you’ll be able to leave tomorrow then.”

“I need to talk to Scaramouche,” you said, words tumbling out and running into one another. “It’s something of the greatest urgency.”

“I’m sorry but my lord isn’t here.”

“Isn’t here? Then, he…”

“He went off on a mission, he said if you were ready to leave before he came back to move you back into your tent tomorrow and to wait until he returned for further instructions.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.” The medic replied, seemingly slightly impatient.

Turning around you fell right back onto the bed. Ruining the hospital corners you ripped the blanket over your head, willing it to block out all the light. You needed to get out, you needed to go find him. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Even if you wanted to you doubted the medics would cross Scaramouche’s orders to keep you here until tomorrow. Even more so you had no information on what exactly he had done, though you were almost positive that he had gone to the village. Even if he hadn’t though you had to go check, go make sure. What he was doing was madness, running into a situation without fully comprehending it, what in Teyvat was he thinking?

Anxiety welled up inside you, consuming any and all thoughts you might’ve had. In their place was fear, pure distilled fear. Fear for the Harbinger that you didn’t want to die, and fear for the future that might not come to pass after all.

[woolishlygrim]

So, with the new Madoka Magica thing coming, I watched Rebellion again, and was reminded of how interesting and thematically rich the weird, surreal transformation sequences from that movie are.

So I looked up some people’s analyses of the sequence, and those analyses were, you know, really bad. Luckily, I’m a relaxed person who can let things go and doesn’t feel the burning need to waste a lot of time analysing a one-and-a-half minute sequence from an eight year old movie.

...

...

1) Mami.

Mami is really straightforward. As the transformation sequence starts, she’s doing an ice dance, a kind of dance that strives to create the impression of free movement, grace, and creative expression but which is actually governed by incredibly rigid rules, not unlike how Mami attempts to foster an external presentation of effortless, free-spirited grace, while binding herself to a rigid code of behaviour.

As she moves into her final spin, she folds up one leg, forming the shape of a grief seed, which her magical girl form tears its way out of, breaking her back open as it goes. This is some incredibly literal symbolism: For Mami, who made her wish solely to escape death while the rest of her family died and later threw herself into being a magical girl, her magical girl persona literally tore its way out of her grief, breaking the person she was before.

Her back breaking also ties back to her death in the series, as Bebe crushed her in its jaws.

2) Kyoko.

Kyoko has an excitable, fast-paced dance to pretty straightforwardly represent her excitable, wild personality. As the sequence goes on, she sprouts a multitude of arms, waving about her, in what is almost certainly a reference to Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy. Apart from referencing Kyoko’s selfless wish to help her father, and her act of mercy-killing Sayaka, Guanyin was typically conflated with the Virgin Mary, with statues of Mary disguised as Guanyin and a cult of 'Maria Kannon’ having formed around her at one point. Giving that her father was apparently a priest excommunicated for heresy, it’s entirely plausible that heresy was the veneration of Maria Kannon.

Next we see a man’s hand reach for Kyoko’s face. This is almost certainly Kyoko’s father’s hand, reaching for her either in affection or in anger after killing the rest of their family. We see Kyoko split into multiple images, referencing her now lost power of duplicating herself, before the scene is torn open by a demonic, red-eyed, terrifying looking Kyoko. This is the one bit of symbolism in this sequence that has me completely stumped. A representation of how Kyoko sees herself, maybe? Or perhaps a representation of how her father saw her.

3) Sayaka.

Winning the prize for ‘least disturbing,’ we’ve got Sayaka, who kicks off her transformation by break-dancing, as coloured silhouettes mimic her movements at a slight time delay. The break-dancing itself is just a reference to her athleticism, but what’s interesting is that some of the silhouettes occasionally flicker to black with spots of oily colour, the pattern of a soul gem just before it becomes a Witch, referencing Sayaka’s fate in the original timeline of becoming the Witch Oktavia.

As the transformation ends, a silhouette of Sayaka as a schoolgirl sprints (with perfect form, again referencing her athleticism) at a silhouette of herself as a magical girl, the two colliding and splattering like water. There’s a general running theme of water in this one, referencing Oktavia again. As the two colours mix, a liquid version of Sayaka as a magical girl emerges, and for a split-second we see her cry into her hands, representing her regret at becoming a magical girl.

This one is almost as simple as Mami’s, all told.

4) Homura.

The most symbolically rich and also probably the most disturbing. As Homura starts, we see her holding her soul gem, which for a split-second flashes to an artistic representation of a scene later in the movie: The forest of lanterns that Homura and Kyoko end up passing through when they’re trying to leave town. 

Homura’s dance is a ballet dance, representing how ... let me check my notes here ... she’s a ballet dancer. Like Sayaka, she has a silhouette following her at a time delay, but unlike Sayaka, her silhouette isn’t actually perfectly mimicking her movements, instead deviating at points. This is probably playing triple duty on the symbolism side: Homura is at this point both magical girl and Witch, both the original Homura and the new universe’s Homura, and is in two minds about what she wants to do. 

As the transformation goes on, the white silhouette gets caught in a film reel, repeating her infinitely, while the purple silhouette is still and singular: The purple silhouette is the new universe’s Homura, while the white silhouette is the original timeline’s, repeating the same period of time over and over again. 

We get another short shot of a future part of the film, this time the rising lanterns that lead up above the city, which will eventually be transformed into the arch and castle where Homura becomes a Witch.

This transitions to a silhouetted, yellow-eyed version of Homura (the ‘lizard-girl’ she figuratively becomes) bursting into patterns as Homura escapes from it, reaching for something, before transitioning to a pair of glowing hands grasping around a soul gem. The colour grading makes the soul gem look purple, making it look like Homura’s, but it’s actually not: Homura’s soul gem is visible on one of the glowing hands. This is actually Madoka’s soul gem that Homura is grasping at.

After a split-second shot of some very sinister witch text, we cut back to Homura, who segues into some more ballet moves before her striking her pose. These actually aren’t just any ballet moves, though: She’s dancing the death of Odette at the end of Swan Lake. At the end of Swan Lake, Odette dies and ascends to heaven, freeing the other swan maidens from the grip of Rothbart. It’s a very close match to someone’s story, but that someone is Madoka, not Homura: Homura’s mimicry of Madoka/Odette casts her in the role of Odile, the Black Swan (whose costume Homura wears as part of her devil attire later on in the movie), who imitates Odette and in doing so steals her purpose from her. This is some really heavy foreshadowing for the end of the movie.

5) Madoka.

Madoka’s dance is styled after the pop dances of idols, figuratively representing her as Homura’s ‘idol,’ (and potentially tying in to ideas of the artificiality of Jpop idols: This both is and isn’t Madoka, after all, it’s a mask that the real Madoka is wearing). 

After the dance, the transformation cuts to the same film reel Homura was stuck in, but this time with an endless line of paper dolls of Madoka. This is pulling double duty for symbolism here: The dolls are both the many iterations of Madoka that Homura has seen in her time loops, and the infinite iterations of Madoka that exist in the moment of every magical girl becoming a Witch -- we actually see an almost identical scene elsewhere, in Ultimate Madoka’s transformation in Magia Record, with the key difference being those Madokas are real, whereas these ones are a chain of paper dolls, hinting at Homura’s view of those Madokas as being ‘not fully real.’ The Madoka she knew is gone, and Ultimate Madoka both is Madoka and is just a pale imitation.

We cut from there to grainy, close-up images of Madoka. The angle of these suggest that we’re seeing through someone’s eyes, and we are: These are Homura’s memories of the ‘real’ Madoka. As we watch, a glowing hand breaks through, shattering the images like a mirror. A lot of people have assumed this is Madoka’s hand, but it’s not: We’ve already seen this exact glowing hand, in Homura’s transformation, because it’s Homura’s hand, reaching for Madoka. As if to confirm this, behind the hand we see buzzing stripes of colours for just a moment: The same ever-shifting rainbow shades as Devil Homura’s eyes briefly turn.

Madoka is revealed, peering through her hands in a way that mimics the floating eyes of Kyubey outside the isolation field they’re all trapped in. Like Kyubey, Madoka is a godlike being who exists beyond the world that Homura has created here.

Whew. Okay, that’s all five. We get Bebe’s transformation later, and the symbolism there is that she likes cake and shit.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 4

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: When you and Din arrive at the village in Sorgan, you both learn that the universe is full of surprises.

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, angsty angst, pining (so...much...pining...)

Author Note: All the love and thanks to everyone who reads, likes, reblogs, and comments on this series! Seriously, the support is beyond words. I wanted to go ahead and spoil it now that Winta does not make an appearance. I love that little girl in the episode, but I just couldn’t get her to fit in this segment. Maybe she’ll appear later on in the future, I honestly don’t know how my brain works. 

Also, fun fact, this will be my 100th post 😱🥳

Links to Part 1 and Part 3 and Part 5

Photo Inspiration: (I love black and white photos if you can’t tell by now...)

Sorgan is a beautiful planet, covered in massive forests and several freshwater lakes filled with krill. There is a tiny, farming village that isolates itself in the midst of Sorgan’s swampy region which is where you hope to find Omera. Rumor has it she’d fallen in love with the community five years ago and bound her nurturing powers to the planet, shielding them against the harshness of famine and plague. Her powers also prohibited other immortals from teleporting directly into the village, even if they meant no harm, thus forcing you and Din to walk the five-mile-long road from the common house to the village boundary line.

Mud sticks to the bottom of your shoes and the humidity is absolutely murdering your hair, but you love the addictive burn of fresh air filling your lungs, the symphonic sounds of the wilderness encompassing you. Here on Sorgan, the positive attributes far outweigh the negative ones.

Din walks beside you, close enough your arm occasionally brushes against his  vambrace, and you find yourself glancing at him out of your peripheral every few steps, dazzled by how the sunlight reflects off his armor. He catches your eye more than once, inclining his head to stare back while puffing out his chest, preening like the kriffing asshole he is. Each time you swiftly turn away with a burning face, hating how his smugness changes to amusement at your inability to hold his gaze, even with the impeding visor.

You string together creative expletives in your mind, each one meant to strengthen your resolve to ignore him. Except, like clockwork, your eyes helplessly drift back over again mere minutes later, dooming you to a continuous cycle of torment and embarrassment.

At least up until you’re less than a mile from your destination and Din abruptly halts without warning. “How will I know?”

You nearly slip as you whirl around to face him, worried at first but then confused when the question registers. “Know what?”

“If I’ve met my match,” he answers, the hand branded with his soulmate marking restlessly clenching and unclenching at his side. “How will I know it’s my soulmate?”

It’s a question you’re extremely familiar with. Maker knows exactly how many times you’ve been asked it throughout your years as a Cupid, but it’s got to be nearing a couple hundred thousand at least. And yet your usual go-to answer—a speech fed to you by your bosses about the perfect plan of the universe—doesn’t feel right to give him. He deserves your own honest opinion.

The first time you ever matched two individuals, you’d naively expected literal sparks to appear when they shook hands. Or a beam of light to shine down on them from above, an unmistakable sign from the universe they were meant to be together. So you were crushed when absolutely nothing noteworthy happened, only that neither one was able to look away from each other, eyes as wide as moons and full of awe. The same kind of awe usually reserved for watching sunsets and hearing a baby’s first cry of life.

You’d realized then the exact moment soulmates experienced their connection was not something externally witnessed by the eyes of the world. It was an internal sensation felt only by the two halves finally becoming whole.

“They’re called your soulmate for a reason, Din,” you say, slowly drawing closer. You’re not truly cognizant of your actions, only your voice, and perhaps that’s why you reach out to take a hold of his gloved hand, rubbing your thumb over his leather-covered knuckles. Distantly, as if looking through a foggy window, you’re aware of the way his whole body freezes at your touch, but still you hold on, still the words keep flowing from your lips.

“The moment you shake their hand, there will be no doubt. It’ll be instant. Like you’re tasting air for the first time after being trapped underwater. Everything will be clearer, colors brighter. Your whole world will crumble apart at their feet because all that matters now is them. And the only thought you’ll be able to think is, ‘It’s you. All this time I’ve been waiting for you.’”

Din sucks in a ragged breath. It’s only barely audible because of your closeness, but it’s also just loud enough to snap you out of your daze. “Angel,” he says hesitantly. It’s your turn to freeze when he leans in, helmet pressing softly against your forehead. “Have you ever—“

You jerk backwards, cutting Din off and releasing your grip on his hand all in the same movement. Panic is swelling in your chest and you can’t stop it, clothes suddenly feeling too constricting and you force yourself to remember why you’re here on Sorgan, the importance of the mission at stake.

“We need to keep moving,” you say, looking anywhere but Din’s direction. “I don’t think the village is that much further.”

Din watches you silently, no doubt trying to make sense of your agitated state. You feel exposed, torn open at the seams with all your insecurities on full display for him to pick apart and criticize.

In the end though, he only heaves a sigh, respectfully granting you time to begin the slow process of stitching yourself back up.

“Lead the way,” Din says, gesturing towards the path with a nod of his head. “I go where you go.”

The rest of the journey would have been completed in silence, if not for how Din’s unfinished question seemed to float alongside you in the breeze, echoing in your ears.

Have you ever...

                                                 Have you ever...

                                                                                          Have you ever...

~~~

The villagers are scared of your arrival at first, panicked to be in the presence of Death. Parents clutch at their children and the elderly are ushered into huts, as if they’ll be better protected by being kept out of Din’s field of vision.

“I promise you, we don’t mean any harm,” you say, but your words do little to reassure any of them.

A woman emerges from the crowd, the only one whose expression doesn’t bear a hint of fear. Segments of her dark hair are intricately braided while the rest flows unhindered over her shoulders, long enough to nearly reach her waist. Her features are delicate, but there is strength in how she carries herself as she marches right up to you and Din, shoulders drawn back with determination.

“Omera,” you breathe, recognizing the woman for the goddess she truly is.

“Yes,” she says, sounding reluctant to confirm her identity. Her eyes flick between you and Din. “Who are you and why have you brought Death here? I have a formal agreement with the Guild that grants me permission to personally handle the passing of my people’s souls into the afterlife. Death should have no purpose here.”

This is news to you. 

Not the reference of the Guild—you’re very much aware of Greef Karga’s organization of reapers who assist Din in maintaining the natural order by collecting deceased souls on his behalf across the galaxy. Despite all the powers that come with being Death, Din is unable to be everywhere all at once. So the reapers bring the souls to Nevarro where Karga holds onto them until Din arrives to usher them into the afterlife. 

What you weren’t aware of is her claim that this village might be the one place in the whole galaxy where Death and his associates have no influence.

“I’m a Cupid. I help people find their soulmates.” You gesture to Din who stands so tense behind you, you’re not entirely certain he’s even breathing. “And currently, I’m helping him.”

The way Omera’s expression instantly brightens is almost comical. A smile grows across her face, warm and friendly as if she’s known you for years and not mere seconds. “Oh, forgive me my rudeness. That’s wonderful to hear. It’s been quite some time since we’ve had guests. Would you like something to drink?”

“Actually—” Din starts, speaking for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“Yes, I would love one,” you interrupt, digging your elbow into his side and eliciting a soft grunt. “I heard the spotchka here is exceptional.”

The villagers, who had relaxed once Omera deemed you and Din weren’t a threat, are eager to prove their reputation as spotchka brewmasters. Nothing brings people together like alcoholic beverages, and within the hour you are sitting on a log bench in the village center and chatting amicably with them.

It’s a happy, tight knit community. Omera’s nurturing powers have only further increased it’s natural conditioning as an ideal sanctuary to raise a family. Everyone knows one another and takes care of each other. You can see how easy it was for her to have fallen in love with the place.

“He’s different than I expected.” Omera interrupts your thoughts by nodding to someone behind you.

You follow her line of sight, and see Din standing distantly in a field of grass, surrounded by a squadron of younglings. He’s too far to be heard, but you can tell by the gesturing of his hands that he’s explaining to them the pieces of his armor. They’re hanging onto his every word, completely enthralled, if their wide-eyed expressions are any indication. You realize as you watch that they’ll never come to recognize Din as the true identity of Death due to Omera’s agreement with the Guild. In their eyes, he is just an interesting stranger wearing shiny metal who they can pester with an endless amount of questions.

“He’s got many layers,” you admit, turning back around before the bittersweet scene makes your heart melt into a disgusting puddle at your feet.

And it is only because you look away first that you notice how Omera’s gaze lingers just a beat too long.

“Does he ever take it off?” she asks. “The helmet, I mean.”

You hesitate, stalling by sipping at your spotchka. “Not when he’s Death.”

Omera looks at you like you’ve told her a riddle. “When is Death not Death?”

When he’s with me, the voice in the back of your head wants you to shout at her, but instead you ask, “You said earlier you handle the souls of the villagers when they pass away?” 

“They asked me if I could protect their planet for future generations,” Omera explains slowly, confusion still present in the lines of her face. “My powers are strongly connected to the growth of life, blessing both expectant mothers and nature’s saplings. After I chose to bind myself to Sorgan, the villagers offered to lend me their souls as sources of energy to further strengthen it. So now, rather than losing them to the afterlife, we continue to see those who have passed on in every blossoming flower and in each drop of rain, remaining part of our everyday lives despite their physical absence.”

“That’s beautiful,” you breathe, because it’s the truth. It’s also the confirmation you needed to hear to honestly tell her, “He wouldn’t be Death here. He’d have the opportunity to be anyone else he wanted.”

Omera lets the words sink in for a moment, then she returns to staring at Din, eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. You don’t blame her for being curious, especially since he’s barely said anything to her, subsequently forcing you to be the sociable one. 

You thought when you both arrived he’d try harder than this to make a good first impression. Omera’s his potential soulmate, he knows this and yet it seems as if he’s doing all he can to avoid her. 

Omera startles you out of your thoughts when she abruptly inches closer to you, as if preparing to share a secret in your ear.

“You said you were helping Death find his soulmate,” Omera’s voice is no louder than a murmur, seeming uncharacteristically bashful all of the sudden as she tugs at a strand of hair. “Does he...Has he been marked?”

It occurs to you then that this whole time she’s been fishing for information from you, gradually leading up to this particular question. This is a good thing, you tell yourself, despite the sickening pit forming in your stomach. It means she hasn’t been offended by his standoffishness. 

“Yes.” Your head dips in a jerky nod. Fortunately the goddess doesn’t notice your awkwardness as she peers down at her hands folded in her lap. You know what’s there without having to see it. “We came here because I knew you’d been marked too.” 

“I’d hoped so,” she confesses, showing you her palm. “I didn’t think it was possible, someone like me having a soulmate.” An immortal, your mind deciphers her underlying meaning. “But, then again, the universe always seems to be full of surprises, right?”

Soulmate markings all resemble each other as black lines forming the shape of a heart no bigger than a bottlecap in the center of one’s palm, regardless of what the person looks like themselves. They only appear on select individuals the universe picks for reasons known only by the divine Maker. Those without marks often make the ignorant mistake of comparing them to tattoos. A soulmate mark doesn’t fade with time like ink does, remaining eternally vibrant and warm to the touch, as if there’s a tiny flame buried beneath the skin.

You’ve seen thousands of marks on thousands of hands, yet your mouth dries up at the sight of hers despite it looking no different. An unexpected tremor rocks your body, worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s as if you’ve been stabbed by an invisible shard of ice, threatening to freeze you solid from the inside out.

When you speak, each word scrapes against the inside of your throat and tastes bitter on your tongue. “You should go talk to him.”

Omera’s face goes a bit pink. “You think so?”

You force yourself to smile, hoping it doesn’t resemble a grimace or, Maker forbid, a snarl. “I think you’ll never know if he’s your match unless you do.”

Not needing any more convincing, she spares you one last hopeful look before leaving to approach Din. She walks across the grassy field with unhindered grace, not once tripping over a rock or the bottom of her dress, and you can’t help feeling envious, knowing your clumsy feet wouldn’t be able to carry you three steps without an issue. You watch as she says something to the children, inducing several disappointed groans audible even from where you sit, before one by one they each depart, seeking entertainment elsewhere in the village.

Omera and Din fall into conversation, and you bite your lip, knowing you’re only making the ache hurt worse by watching but unable to tear your eyes away. Their conversation is too quiet for you to make out, but given the way Din’s body language is relaxed and without a hint of defensiveness, you’re convinced Omera’s definitely charming him.

They’ll make an attractive couple, you think before you can stop yourself. They’re similar, too, in that they both have protective streaks a mile wide when it comes to those they care about. As a divinely gifted caretaker, Omera will know just what to say to pull him out of one of his brooding episodes. She’ll soften his rough edges, lend him strength when he needs it most, and might even be able to convince him to settle down in the village where he can shed his persona as Death and actually experience life. Most importantly, though, you hope she’ll make him happy.

Because Din deserves someone who will make him happy every day of his existence.

You know it’s coming, but still your breath stutters when you see Din begin to remove his glove. He moves slowly, revealing tanned skin inch by inch as he pulls at the leather with his other hand. He has never been one to hesitate over things in the past, except when he showed you his mark that night at the train station. You really don’t want to think that Din could be nervous, but you also can’t determine any other reason explaining his behavior. Omera, for her part, is the perfect image of patience as she waits for him to initiate contact, if not for the way you spy her pulling anxiously at her brown locks again.

As Din reaches out to grab hold of Omera's hand, there is a second right before contact where his helmet shifts in your direction and you feel the intensity of his gaze cut through the distance, piercing your fragile heart.

In the next breath, an invisible explosive force sends you hurtling backwards through the air several feet. You bite your tongue when you collide with the ground and blood begins pooling in your mouth, causing you to gag at the coppery taste. Ignoring the pain emanating from your undoubtedly bruised rib cage, you force your body to roll over so you can spit out a scarlet blob onto the dirt. Gross, you think sluggishly.

Movement out of the corner of your eye has your head turning to look, but it takes several more seconds before your brain comprehends what you’re seeing.

The village looks as if a massive wind storm has swept through it in the last five seconds. Several villagers are slowly rising onto their feet, having apparently also been roughly tossed to the ground, looking just as bewildered by the state of things as you feel.

Your eyes next lock onto Din’s figure. He and Omera stand in the distance exactly where you last saw them, appearing completely unaffected by the unseen force. But rather than looking at each other with awe as all other soulmate pairs do, there is only unbridled shock on Omera’s face.

With newfound urgency, you stumble onto your feet, knowing something’s gone horribly wrong.

“Din!”

Your shout startles him enough he visibly jolts, increasing your worry tenfold.

Your feet skid to a stop closer to his body than you anticipated, nearly colliding face-first with his chest. It’s on the tip of your injured tongue to ask them what the hell just happened when Din beats you to the punch.

“What happened to you?” he demands, cradling your jaw. He’s using his gloved hand, you can’t help but notice. His other one—still uncovered from when it had touched Omera’s—is pressed firmly against the segment of armor protecting his upper thigh. His thumb starts to wipe at the blood staining the corner of your mouth, but you refuse to be tended to when there’s a bigger issue at stake.

“What happened?” you repeat incredulously, pulling away and resisting the urge to smack the side of his helmet. “I should be asking you that, idiot. Did you two match?”

Omera says nothing in response to your question, but there is something about the way she stares at you directly, like you’ve revealed a secret of the universe right in front of her, that brings back the same self-conscious feeling of being exposed you’d felt earlier.

“Look for yourself, angel,” Din answers with a tone full of scorn, gesturing widely to your surroundings with both arms. “Does any of this look like what you told me would happen?”

Taken aback by his hostile tone, you glance around the field, only to be stunned by what you’d initially failed to notice. In an almost perfect circle encompassing the three of you, the once beautifully green and luscious grass is now black and shriveled, entirely devoid of life. It crunches beneath your shoes as you nervously shift in place, eerily resembling the sound of bone breaking, and you’re beginning to understand the shock you’d glimpsed on Omera’s face.

“No,” you say, feeling slightly hysterical but doing your best to keep it out of your voice. “No, it definitely doesn’t.”

Omera had said that the universe is always full of surprises.

What a kriffing understatement that turned out to be.

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Limerence [M] ︳34

Pairing: Zuko x Fem. OC (Ying Yue Jiang)

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with future smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 16100+

Notes: It’s finally up! Sorry it took me so long to edit, I don’t know why, but it kept lagging. I’m probably gonna log on tmw and re-edit because things just kept freezing on here. But take care everyone, and I hope you like it~!

Masterlist ︳33 ︳ 35 [M]

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person.

The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama.

“Lacuna”

(Latin/n.) A blank space, a missing part.

~ Countess Mai ~

           Fucking Ying Yue, that dumb bitc-

           Kissing my teeth disagreeably loud, I could feel the jagged rocks under the thin sole of my shoes, the ground stupidly uneven and uncharted. My breathing came in quick pants, bruises lingering on my arms, thighs burning as we marched up the cliff at a steady pace. The looming trees above provided ample shade and cover, kicking up dust as Azula trailed in front.

           My lips parted, another exhausted breath escaping me as I narrowed my eyes – Azula.

           Her long ponytail swayed side to side like a whip, face void of any expressive emotion, trekking forward with purpose. Her shoulders were squared, not breaking a sweat from the steepness of the hill or the humid air. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said she was completely fine – but I knew better.

           “Azula,”  I muttered, voice monotoned, barely audible. But the speed at which Azula’s posture tensed proved as evidence that she heard me loud and clear. Still sharp as ever.

           Effortlessly, she looked over her shoulder, raising a perfectly groomed brow at me. “What?” Azula clipped, jaw clenched as she bore over me impatiently. I ignored the sharpness in her tone, a gentle breeze causing the bangs that framed her face to twirl—the way she held her head high, nose in the air.

           Her pace didn’t flatter once, high-tailing at an alarmingly hasty pace. Don’t blame her, the faster we get away from the Kingdom, the better. The scenery around us was different from the last hide-out she brought me to. The landscape seemed thicker, so dense that one could easily scream for help, and not a single soul would hear—a perfect hide-out.

           “Are we close?” I bore, rolling my eyes as my foot nudged a rock. “If I wanted to go on a nature walk, I would’ve gone to work with my sister.”

           The stone tumbled, skipping by Azula’s feet.

           She scoffed under her breath, eyes judging as she twisted her body forward, continuing on her march. “Why, tired? Try not to get your ass kicked by a peasant next time.” Azula expired, and I could hear the way her lips curved upwards at the insult.

           My eyes glowered once more, “Nice scar you have on your hand.”

           Azula stopped.

           The way her hands quaked, balling into fists before letting go-

           My pace eased, cautiously treading behind her before coming to a complete stop, surveying the way she towered above. Despite her back facing me, I could feel it. An aura of malice – down to the twitch in her fingertips.

           I swallowed, seeing the bright pink scar that ran across Azula’s palm. The way the dipping sun managed to seep through the thick bush, seemingly emphasizing how deep the cut ran. It wasn’t a wound for the weak, the skin roughly patched together by her flames. Gross.

           Azula abruptly shook her hand, balling it into a fist as if she could feel my lingering eyes studying the cut in detail.

           “Up ahead,” She spoke, catching my attention, “The cave.”

           I looked beyond Azula, realizing the way the ground evened for a moment, moss-covered rocks looming ahead. The entrance was almost entirely out of sight, only noticeable now that she pointed out the obvious. Trees grew on top of the structure, the dark abyss begging us to enter—the perfect image of a secreted lair.

           My feet itched to move, but I stopped myself, noting that Azula didn’t move a muscle despite us being a few steps away. Fucking- I swore under my breath, flicking my fingers in annoyance.

           “What’s the holdup?” I grumbled, trying my hardest not to roll my eyes once again, but it was her voice. The deadly drop in pitch, the way she hissed.

           “I’ll kill her,” Azula whispered, and I could feel my skin begin to heat up.

           Every word Azula spat was laced with venom, filled with a deep-rooted hatred, a passion and emotion-evoking tone that was all too unfamiliar. Azula, the most put-together being, the only one to keep her composure together, even in the heat of battle. But now-

           The way Azula’s fists trembled, letting her emotions rise to the surface.

           She’s not the same.

           “I’ll make her regret thinking that I’m anything less than perfect.” Azula hissed under her breath, and I grimaced. She didn’t need to say her name for me to know who she was talking about. Her nails dug into the skin of her palm, a bead of scarlet running down her porcelain skin, her wound reopening.

           Soundlessly I watched as the lone droplet of blood dripped onto the dirt below, and just like that – with a quick shake of her hand, Azula walked forward. Her shoulders were relaxed, flicking a strand of hair behind her ears as she casually strolled.

           As if nothing had happened.

           Not a single sound could be heard besides the rustling of the tree branches, Azula’s feet kicking up a trail of dust as she stomped over loose rocks. The only real thing of interest in this forsaken forest was her retreating figure.

           The mouth of the cave eagerly welcomed Azula, the shadows beginning to swallow her body. Just as she was about to take another step, she halted, head tilting as if trying to hear something. She looked over her shoulder, an exhausted look on her face.

            “Stop gawking like a fool, Mai, or else I’ll leave you with the Avatar and his annoying friends.” Azula pestered, her tone oddly tranquil, different from the act moments ago.

           I glared, kissing my teeth as I commanded my feet to move.

           “Whatever,” I muttered petulantly, begrudgingly going as I stripped my gaze away. I could hear Azula snort, rustling onward as I swiftly caught up. The burn in my legs seemed to grow tenfold, the slight pause in our march giving time for my body to take in the damage Ying Yue unleashed earlier. What a nuisance.

           I crossed my arms, eyes looking straight ahead as the space around us darkened the further we descended into the mouth of the cave.

           The air felt abnormally dewy, but it was the uncanny silence as we entered that had my guard rising. The sound of Azula’s and I breathing seemed to have intensified, every sniffle or breaking of a twig ricocheting off the walls at an alarming volume. Watchfully my eyes scanned our surroundings, piles of rubbish sprinkled.

           Food, water canisters-

           “Where the fuck is she?” A man’s voice resonated in the ample space, and my pace flattered. My eyes tapered, taking note of the glowing specs of light up ahead. People, but that voice-

           I knew that voice, and I could feel my gut drop.        

           Memories of Kayto swamped my mind, remembering the final moments of that faithful day. The sound of his body slain from the inside, his last breath, how lifeless his eyes looked-

           “Looking for me, Yakone?” Azula purred devilishly, as she strolled frontward. The illuminations were now in full view, torches laid along with the outermost corners, lighting the space. But that wasn’t what caught my attention.

           It was the tall foreboding man at the center, whose chest was rising and falling, eyes glowing. His fists balled up, nostrils flared the moment he caught sight of Azula, before briefly shifting his gaze on me. His lips pressed tight; jaw clenched as he took a sharp inhale.

           “Where the fuck were you, and why is your fucking finger-puppet here?” Yakone spat, stepping forward, dangerous slow.

           Azula’s body stiffened slightly, but the way she brushed back her long bangs behind her ear, letting a hand rest on her hip as if she was completely unbothered by the beast in front of her. Yakone’s eyes were stone cold, a blue that easily reminded one of the dark depths of the sea, the unknown – danger.

           “Mai is staying with us now.”

           “Isn’t that a fucking treat.” Yakone sarcastically replied, running a hand through his hair.

           Azula’s eyes narrowed, Yakone licking his lips impatiently. “You know what else is a fucking treat, the fact that I just got word that someone tried to kill not only your dumbass brother but Ying Yue.” He bellowed. The veins in his neck bulged as he spoke, and as he took a step headfirst, Azula took a step back.

           Why would Yakone be upset that Azula wanted to kill Ying Yue? Isn’t that plan?

           Carefully I followed her lead, letting my body ease its way to the other side of the stony encasement, and as I shifted, I could see the look on Azula’s face. Her lips pressed, eyes conspicuous as Yakone inched his way closer and closer to her figure. Azula, she’s cowering away-

           “What are you trying to suggest, Yakone,” Azula warned, and he merely hooted, losing his patience by the second. “It was you and your lil’ friend over there, wasn’t it? You tried to kill Ying Yue.” Yakone interrogated, his hands twitching, cracking his fingers.

           She rolled her eyes, “What makes you think I have anything to do with this?”

           My eyes widen, hearing those words leave her lips - Azula’s lying.

           The way Azula effortlessly tried to bypass Yakone’s questioning, acting aloof and unbothered. But I saw the way Yakone rolled his shoulders back, chest buffing. My arms reached into my sleeves, fingers grazing the knives that laid hidden-

           And just like that, Yakone lunged.

           His hand reached forward with speed, grabbing Azula’s by her neck, shoving her against the rocks behind. His fingers spread across her windpipe, nails digging into her skin.

           Azula looked like a hurt puppy.

           The way Yakone effortlessly overpowered her, the grip on his hand tightening, purple and blue bruises rising to the surface of her skin quickly. The sound of my feet shifting over the dirt that decorated the floor caught Yakone’s attention, as he raised his free hand, wiggling his fingers towards me.

           “Fucking try, and I swear I’ll make your death more painful than Kayto’s.”

           I stilled, holding my breath as I watched as Azula’s hands fell over his.

           “What are you doing-” she hissed, eyes crazed as he practically lifted her body off the ground with no struggle. Her feet barely touched the ground, Yakone putting a warning-amount of pressure on her neck, her face turning a light shade of pink.

           “Don’t you ever fucking forget, Azula, who needs who here.” Yakone snarled.

           He leaned closer to her face; their foreheads pressed together as he tousled above. “I agreed to your plan because of two things. No United Nations, and your brother’s demise. One of those things failed, meaning Zuko’s death is the one reason why I’m even here.”

           Azula growled, “I told you I wanted to ruin him, damage him, not kill.”

           “Oh, now we’re getting into technicalities here, and I’m not one for word games. I want Zuko dead, Ying Yue was not apart of this discussion.”

           “What do you expect, Yakone? That she’s going to run and give hugs and kisses to her long-lost Uncle? You’re a criminal.”

           “And what about you, smart-ass?” Yakone shouted, shoving her body further against the rocks. She winced as the sharp edges dug into her back, “You think you’re just going to hurt Zuko and take the throne? You were nothing more but a tool for your father’s failed plan, even your mother, tossed you aside. You’re disposable.”

           The looks on both of their faces, insults and slurs tossed, each one of them raising their voices to beat each other—a shouting match, whose lungs were loudest, who could hurt the other more. I swallowed hard, taking a step back as my arms limply fell to my side.

           The whole time I thought Azula and Yakone shared the same goals, a singular plan in mind. But the way Azula shrieked and Yakone roared had my body feeling numb, their fighting fading to background noise.

           I thought the real threat was Azula and Yakone working together, but I was wrong.

           This was far worse.

           There’s no longer a game plan, a goal, or a motive.

           One wants blood, and the other wants power – both willing to cross each other and lie to get what they want.

 ~ Ying Yue Jiang ~

           “She’s pregnant!”

           “What a blessing, will this be her third child?”

           “Fourth, her eldest is serving in the navy.”

           “Ahh, yes-yes, slipped from my mind. How beautiful, if only I could convince my husband…”

           “Makes two of us. How about you, Imperial Consort Ying Yue? Have you thought about having children of your own?” The ladies giggled, sipping away on their sweet teas in the garden.  

           The cherry blossom branches swayed under the gentle breeze, the pink flowers cascading with the current, fluttering like butterflies. The cool shade painted our skin, providing as an escape from the blaring sun, although the kids didn’t seem to mind the heat in the slightest. Quite the contrary – they were thriving.

           Their laughter was clear as day, ringing throughout the palace gardens, but I couldn’t help but tune in with Kiyi’s the most. The ladies’ banter lost to the birds humming and moving water – absorbed in the beautiful smile on Kiyi’s face as she chatted away with her friends.

           A red and golden embroidered picnic blanket laid over the grass, Kiyi was passing along the turtle duck food for her friends to feed. Her cheeks were dusted in pink, telling them fascinating facts about the creatures from the Southern Water Tribe.

           “After school tomorrow, I’ll read the book to you. They have this animal called a ‘Polar Bear Dog’ – and it’s so cute and fluffy!” Kiyi gushed, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t snort hearing her excitement. The way her eyes twinkled with passion, a small part of my heart hurt – because the look reminded me so much of Zuko’s whenever he got excited.

           Zuko…I miss you-

           “Imperial Consort?” A voice droned; the sound close to my being, I found myself jumping. My head snapped to the women beside me, them staring at me with looks of concern. Shit – what were we talking about again?

           “My apologies, I was watching the children-” I started, and the lady to my side started to snicker. She rose a napkin to her face, delicately tapping the tissue to rid herself of any crumbs that littered her appearance. All the women looked put-together, their hair and makeup done to impress, their clothes extravagant, meant to display their status.

           “I guess that answers our question.”

           “What question?” I inquired, and the ladies began to laugh once again.

           “Whether or not Fire Lord Zuko and you are planning on having children anytime soon.” She replied, shooting me a sheepish smile. My mouth dropped, a shy blush coating my cheeks as a meek oh escaped me. Of course, they were talking about children and family. Almost all the high-ranking nobles were married, most with kids – or pregnant.

           I stuck out like a sore thumb in these ‘royal tea parties,’ unable to relate to the women or men due to my lack of domestic life. I’m a mere child dressed in adult clothes – playing dress-up. My hands fell over my lap after combing my hair behind my ear, carelessly pressing thumbs as a means to keep my composure. I could feel my skin starting to heat up once again.

           Another fever- Katara is going to kill me.

           “Well, if it is not out of line to ask – when do you and Fire Lord Zuko plan on officially tying the knot?” A curious voice peeked, and at the question alone, I found myself reaching for my teacup, stealing a sip of the much-needed chamomile tea.

           Marriage – with Zuko? I fought back the petty laugh. Marriage with Zuko seems more like a distant dream than a reality.

           “Hopefully, once Fire Lord Zuko completes a few of his personal projects. Love is patient after all, and I’ll wait an eternity for him.” I spoke, forcing the words to leave my lips as I swallowed the lukewarm liquid.

           It was comical, how quick they were to eat up my words, gushing about how romantic I was, that I was willing to wait for Zuko – words straight out of a romance novel. If only they knew that that was only scratching the surface of what I would do for Zuko, the things I would sacrifice.

           I could feel my shoulders slump over in defeat, biting my lips anxiously.

           The women didn’t notice the waver in my voice, the blue smile on my face, or the tears that I desperately held back. They were more concerned about the newest designer, skincare product, and fragrance – topics I would’ve undoubtedly been interested in if I didn’t have a looming fog in my mind.

           Politics, it’s all politics.

           The kid’s squeals peeked in volume, catching my attention, the children throwing their napkins in the air, towards Kiyi. What in the world-

           “It’s okay! I’ll be right back!” Kiyi insisted before standing up.

           Her black hair bobbed side to side, skipping towards me at full speed. Droplets of something dripping after every bounce, tainting the green coloured grass under her steps, seeping into the soil.

           “Button-” I cooed, letting my tea rest on my plate before outstretching my arms. My hands caressed her face, and the happiness in her expression had me sporting a smile – a genuine smile. Kiyi was a breath of fresh air. Youthfulness and innocence, a heart of pure gold.

           “What happened, button? You’re a mess.” I snickered under my breath, watching the sticky liquid trickle from the hem of her dress, her lap completed covered. She scratched her head, shooting me a spirited grin. She looks just like Zuko when she smiles like that-

           “An accident, I didn’t see the jug of juice, and I kind of hit it.” Kiyi giggled, and I couldn’t help but snort, running my hand through her loose locks. “You’re so silly, button. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” I assured, light-heartedly tapping her nose.

           Kiyi nodded her head before shifting her gaze to the women I was seated with. My eyes followed hers, flustered at how the women looked over us with broad smiles – hearts for eyes.

           “I bet on two kids.”

           “Really? I think one.”

           “Wouldn’t be surprised if they already have a name picked out.” The ladies bantered between themselves as if I wasn’t currently sitting with them.

           I could feel a tiny finger poke my cheek, looking back at Kiyi, a teasing smile on her face. And seeing her sport that knowing look, a look that reminded me of a harmonious mixture of Zuko’s and Toph’s ‘I’m up to no good’ had me freezing.

           Oh no-

           “Izumi – Zuzu told me that that’s the name they want,” Kiyi spoke up, catching on to the topic at hand far too quickly for my liking. The women all leaned over in disbelief, jaws hitting the table, struggling to process the very thing Kiyi blurted.

           My eyes widen, the silly banter of family life between Zuko and I exposed. When and why did Zuko tell Kiyi this information-

           “Button-”

           “And Zuzu said they have a baby room set up in their vacation house! I can’t wait until I become an aunt. He said it’s a very serious job and-” My hand fell over Kiyi’s lips, cutting her off midsentence as I shot the women an embarrassed smile.

           The redness of my face was no longer due to my impending fever – but out of the utter realization that Zuko seemingly unleashes all his damn soft and fluffy feelings to her. Kiyi really is Zuko’s weakness, isn’t she?

           “Let’s get that dress cleaned button,” I said through awkward giggles, hand still firmly placed over her face, Kiyi letting out squeals of delight through my fingers.

           “Yue and Zuzu, sitting on a-”

           “Throne because he’s Fire Lord and I’m his-”

           “Wifey.” Kiyi managed to yelp.

           The speed at which my body moved, not bothering to say my goodbyes to these royals, as I nudged Kiyi’s body forward with my own. There was no way in the spirit world I was going to look behind me, already imaging the sunny looks on those women’s faces hearing the fuss coming from Kiyi’s lips.

           “I swear, button, I’m going to revoke cookie dates from you!” I mumbled under my breath, feeling the way Kiyi’s body shook from joy. My hand slipped from her mouth, her face pink as she held her stomach, her laughter loud and proud. And despite the embarrassment and exasperation, I found myself laughing along with her.

           There was something about hearing a child’s guiltless laugh that was contagious, especially coming from Kiyi. The smile on my face was enormous, reaching my eyes. When was the last time I smiled this much? The last time I laughed freely, enjoying my time?

           “You’re so much trouble, button~.” I blew, hands falling over her shoulders, embracing her. My fingers squeezed her chubby cheeks from behind basking in the sun’s heat before we walked up the palace steps. The guards before us opened the grand doors, observing the way I coddled Kiyi to my body. Like a momma bear.

           There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that they didn’t already know the trouble Kiyi could cause in less than a minute – the reason why they all sported small grins watching us enter.

           A handful, just like her brother.

           We stepped inside the Kingdom, walking side by side, glued to the hip, humming happily. Our footsteps pattered along the flooring, heading towards her room, but I saw the cheeky glances Kiyi tried to steal from the corner of her eyes, studying my figure. She thinks she’s so sly.

           I snickered at her childish behaviour, poking her cheek, “What are you staring at so much, button? Do I have some crumbs on my face?”

           “No~.” Kiyi giggled, tilting her head to the side.

           “Then tell me, button.” I pestered, enjoying her coyness. Her blush deepened, a flush I didn’t notice until now, before poking her one more time, “Tell me, what are you staring at so intently?”

           “You’re smiling again…you’re pretty when you smile.” Kiyi breathed.

           Our paces stilled; my breathing hitched as Kiyi wore the saddest smile on her face. An expression no child should ever have to wear. My shoulders dropped in surprise, not fully processing the words she spoke.

           “Ever since Zuzu got this cold, you’ve been really sad…you must miss him a lot, I can tell.” Kiyi uttered. Her tone dripped with distress, only then noticing where her golden eyes were settled over.

           Men and women dressed in red with badges strapped to their arms. The cross-shaped icon of their insignia standing out amongst their outfit. They were moving around us hastily, clipboards pressed against their chests, giving us quick bows before running through the large doors before us.

           The Infirmary.

           How did I not notice before?

           “I want to visit Zuzu, but Mom told me that I couldn’t. She said that he’s sleeping, but-but he’ll wake up soon…” Kiyi continued, although the more she spoke, the quiver in her voice grew. I breathed in deeply, hearing the pain in Kiyi’s words. Gosh, of course, she misses Zuko.

           They’re two peas in a pod – an inseparable duo. I watched as Kiyi sprung side to side, a whirlwind of emotions flying by. But what pained me the most about this was the fact that Kiyi didn’t know a single thing, the truth.

           A nasty cold – that’s all it was.

           “I’m going to pick some flowers for Zuzu for your bedroom! He loves it when I pick him flowers. Can I do that, Yue?” Kiyi questioned, and I smiled at the positive idea, the ache laced in her tone already lost, a chirpiness finding light. Seeing how quick she bounced back to her upbeat self, pushing past the sad thoughts, the spirit of a Firebender.

           My knees bent, going down to her height, our pupils leveled.

           “Zuko would love that, button.” I whispered docilely, brushing her black locks behind her ear, “Any gift from you would make him smile.”

           My smile grew, seeing how a faint pink painted her cheeks, like tiny pink stars that decorated the starry night. “Yue…can I-can I ask you for a favour?” Kiyi questioned shyly, looking down at her toes, her hands stuffed into her dress pockets. I let my finger dip underneath her chin, compelling her gaze to met mine.

           “Anything button.”

           “I-I made a get-better card for Zuzu in school today. Can you-can you give it to him?” Kiyi requested, pulling from her pocket. My eyes dipped, noticing the little red card appear from her dress, astonished it wasn’t ruined from the juice spilling over her lap. A large sun was painted in front with a smiley face, ‘Get better Zuzu!!!!’ scribbled across.

           The smile from my face flattered, lips parting as I took in what Kiyi asked me to do – the effort she put into this card. She wants me to give this to Zuko? My eyes snapped back to her, taking in the look of pure and utter determination on her face.

           There was nothing more Kiyi wanted at this moment than for her big brother to have this card.

           I opened my mouth to say something – but I couldn’t, lips trembling as I struggled to think coherently. The feather-like footsteps from the maids and nurses around us seemed to intensify, sounding like thunder. Blood rushing to my head as the thought of seeing Zuko’s resting figure tormented my mind.

           Kiyi will be heartbroken if I say no, but Zuko-

           “Button, I-I-” I stammered agonizingly, unable to find the right answer, trying to catch my breath. But the look on Kiyi’s face. Gosh, the similarities in expressions with Zuko, it was baffling.

           I can’t hurt her like this, but to see Zuko after so long-

           A delicate hand fell over my shoulder, like a plume, and Kiyi’s eyes widened in surprise before shooting the stranger behind me a joyful smile. I flinched at the unexpected tender touch over my kneeling figure. The familial grasp accustomed.

           “Avatar Aang!”

           “Hi Kiyi, what are you two doing over here? Planning on visiting your brother with Yue?” Aang spoke light-heartedly from behind, his pitch higher in tone than usual. I could feel the way his hand shifted over my shoulder, his fingers wrapping around my body, squeezing.

           He’s telling me to relax-

           “No~. I can’t visit, grown-ups only. But I made a card for Zuzu, and I want Yue to give it to him!”

           “A card, so thoughtful, Kiyi! It’s been a while since Yue saw your brother. What a perfect reason to see him now.” Aang casually spoke, his playful and cheerful aura shining through. And while any other day I would’ve gushed about how well Aang was with children, my mind focused on the words he uttered. I knew the double meaning.

           “Aang-” I warned with a batted breath.

           A cold sweat started to form on my eyebrow, the fever and impending panic attack beginning to work its way back to the surface no matter how hard I tried to shove the looming emotions away. I didn’t need to look over my shoulder, as I could feel Aang’s usual doe-like eyes boring holes into the back of my head, goosebumps rising on my skin.

           “I was going to see Zuko right now. I can go with Yue.” Aang continued, and I could hear the smile on his face. But despite the casual tone, there was an unspoken sternness. He wasn’t leaving this up for debate.

           Kiyi, utterly oblivious to Aang’s underlying message, squealed in delight. She shot me a great smile, a smile that had my stomach in knots as her tiny hands gripped my own, tugging on my sleeves. The excitement that ran through her body, practically jumping and standing on her toes.

           “Thank you, Yue! You’re the best; I’m so lucky to have a big sister like you. No wonder Zuko says he wants to marry you!” Kiyi gushed, and I could feel my skin begin to prickle. Zuko wants to marry me- “I can wash up by myself, so don’t worry about me, Yue! Here is the card-” Kiyi rushed, shoving the fragile thing into my grip.

           But what caught me off guard the most was the way Kiyi leaned towards me, pressing her puckered lips against my cheek. The feeling of her pouting lips, planting a gigantic wet kiss, had me blushing with happiness. It was adorable, sweet, a gesture that I didn’t deserve.

           “You’re the best; I love you!” Kiyi blurted all in one breath.

           No, I’m not, I’m far from ‘best,’ and even farther from ‘good.’

           “I love you too, button.” I hummed, pressing a bittersweet kiss on her cheek before she pulled away. She glowed at the words of endearment, waving at Aang before skipping down the hallway. I watched as she clasped on her juice-covered dress, giggles flowing from her innocent lips as she danced away, her figure becoming nothing more but a fleeting dot.

           It was Aang’s moderate tap that pulled me away from my trance, looking over my shoulder to see him standing in those mustard coloured robes of his.

           “Let me help you up, Yue.” Aang hummed as he reached, our fingers brushing against each other. He tugged me forward easily, letting me find my footing, as I dusted off my dress. As I patted down, I couldn’t help but let my digits slide over the hand-made card Kiyi gave me.

           The large sun she had painted with a cheery smile, staring back at me almost mockingly.

           Why did it hurt so much to see this card?

           “You’re flushed, Yue. Is your fever back?” Aang worried, stepping closer as he carefully inspected my figure. The further he inched his way towards me, I found myself blinking rapidly, taking in Aang’s appearance.

           The deep circles under his eyes, cheeks a bit more hollow than usual, highlighting his cheekbones in an ill manner. Even his brown eyes that were usually light in colour seemed darker, murky.

           “Aang, you look unwell-”

           “Guess that makes two of us.” Aang laughed under his breath, letting the back of his hand fall over my forehead. His soft skin brushed against mine, sweeping aside whatever baby hairs decided to escape from my current updo. The coolness from his body had me sighing in relief. How an ice bath seems far too tempting at the moment.

           Aang glowered, pulling his hand back, and I couldn’t help but gripe under my breath – my five second-cooling pad gone. “Let’s go see Katara about this fever. You’re burning up; this isn’t good...” Aang started, and I shook my head.

           “Don’t worry, Aang, she’s with Zuko and I-and I have things I have to do,” I spoke, voice unsteady as I tried to sound put-together. Instinctively, I sharpened up shoulders, chin up, trying to appear presentable—the same go-to movements I often did with the other royals and councilmembers.

           Yet the moment I breathed in deeply, back straight, I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of feeling stupid. Standing here with Aang, forcing myself to seem normal, happy, okay, had my whole act in shambles. Because while I was able to put on the perfect façade with everyone, Aang was family.

           The way his shoulders dropped, eyes rounded, and arms ready to embrace – he already knew that I was in so much emotional and physical pain. Every day was a struggle to get out of bed, to eat, to work. I bit my lip, letting my fingers dance with the card Kiyi left behind. I can’t do this.

           I rose it, extending it towards him, “H-here, please give this to Zuko.”

           Aang’s eyes widen, lightly pushing the card back towards my chest. “Kiyi asked you to do this, Yue.” Aang reasoned, shaking his head, and I swallowed dryly.

           He doesn’t get it.

           “I-I can’t, Aang-” I inhaled, and Aang blew, “How long are you going to go not seeing Zuko, Yue. He needs you-”

           “I’m busy-” I struggled, and Aang scoffed, his palms falling over my arms.

           He ran his hands up and down, trying his best to comfort me despite the busybodies swimming by us. And for a split moment, I found myself slowly starting to ease in the act, before Aang spoke once more.

           It was like the room around us disappeared, the people, the noise, everything gone. My vision tunnelled on the way Aang moved his lips, ears listening to his usually airy voice utter the heaviest, heart-wrenching truth.

           “It’s been a week, Yue. A whole week, and you’ve never visited him once.”

           I swore, realizing I caused a dent in the corner of the delicate card from my shuddering hands, hearing Aang’s blunt revelation. A-a whole week?

           A whole week I went without seeing Zuko, and the sense of overwhelming dread weighed down my shoulders, stressed to process the information. I swallowed back a sob, cradling the card to my chest as the space around me felt like it was enclosing, the air too thick to breathe, burning my throat-

           “Yue, watch out-” Aang exclaimed.

           A maid bumped her shoulder against mine abruptly, causing me to wobble in my spot.

           The room spun, Aang’s arm reaching forward, grasping my elbow securely as a means to steady my dazzled state. The maid’s eyes widening in shock as she took note at the way my feet tumbled over each other for a moment, Aang desperately trying to help me find my state of balance.

           “My apologies, Imperial Consort Ying Yue, I was not watching where I was going- Imperial Consort Ying Yue? Are-are you alright?” The lady asked, her brows pinching together as she thoughtfully inched forward. It was then I realized how frazzled I undoubtedly looked.

           My whole body squeezed inwardly, clenching onto the card Kiyi gave me to my chest for dear life. I gulped, nodding my head nervously, “I-I’m fine, please, don’t apologize. I was lost in my thoughts; it’s my fault. I have to go now.” I exclaimed, forcing a smile on my face to the maid as she worriedly nodded and carefully bid her farewell.

           Aang’s grasp on my elbow stiffened, shifting my gaze back to him as she left, “Yue, you need to see Zuko eventually. You promised Kiyi.”

           “I will, just not now.” I wheezed, and the frown on Aang’s face grew, “You’ve been saying that all week.”

           “Because I’m busy, I made a vow-”

           “Work can wait, Yue. You shouldn’t even be working; you’re exhausted. Have you seen yourself?” Aang puffed, shaking his head in frustration as his fingers unknowingly dug deeper into my arm. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, you have a fever, you look sick. I’m worried-” Aang tried to reason, and I grimaced at his words.

           I knew how terrible I looked.

           Every night I tossed and turned in bed. No number of blankets, no number of pillows, not even sleeping in Zuko’s old T-shirts, seemed to do the trick. And those rare moments, where I did manage to close my eyes, were only filled with nightmares. Vivid images of the pained expression on Zuko’s face, him struggling to breathe, the way he looked at me.

           He hates me-

           A shaky exhale left me, “A-Aang, I can’t see Zuko-”

           “Stop punishing yourself, Yue.” Aang snapped, his voice sharp.

           The people around us all stilled for a moment, undoubtedly hearing Aang raise his voice, a tone I have only listened to a handful of times. They stared at us, looks of confusion and alarm stamped on their faces before they cautiously treaded around us, dashing through the infirmary doors, or down the hallway.

           Aang’s face was pink, the grip on my arm constricting as he blew stridently. It was like the emotional turmoil inside the both of us snapped, lashing out towards each other with no real reason. The weight of the whole week, the stress of running around, was eating us all alive.

           I ripped my arm from his grip with a cry, taking a step back as my bottom lip quivered. “You don’t understand, Aang.” I gulped, head shaking as I took another weak step backwards. The way my body trembled, thankful I didn’t trip over my feet.

           It was like all the pain and confusion was evident in my face, Aang’s expression softened, realizing how his temper flared for that split moment. Rubbing his face in defeat, he sighed heavily.

           “Then talk to me, Yue.” Aang pleaded as his voice strained with need, “Zuko needs you so much right now, you’re the only person he’s ever opened to like this. He loves you more than anything else in the world-”

           My breathing hitched, body stilling at Aang’s words. Memories of Mai and I’s interaction a week ago entering my mind-

‘Zuko would never love a monster like yourself. Not after everything you’ve done.’

‘All this drama happened because of you.’

‘If anyone gets hurt, it’s all your fault.’

           My lips parted, a wheezy gasp leaving me as I struggled to talk – as if someone kicked me in the gut. “I need to go-” I said, eyes unable to focus onto Aang, everything around me turning into one giant blur.

           “Yue-”

           “I need to go; I have work I need to do,” I spoke harshly, face impassive as I dodged his reach. Aang’s soft pleas, desperately trying to grab hold of me, the sleeves of my dress slipping through his fingers like water as I twisted on my heel.

           Scurrying through the people in the hallway, hand clasping over the card Kiyi had drawn, my teeth dug into my lips, the taste of iron filling my senses. I need to go; I need to go-

           But…

           I don’t want to go.

             I let out a tired sulk, staring down at the black ink that stained the document before me. My signature looked like a two-year-old drew it, lines shaky and blotchy. What’s wrong with me? It’s like I forgot how to write, the ink practically pooling at the bottom of the page.

           It seemed like instead of spilling the ink all over the desk, like I’ve been doing this past week, I decided to pool it at the bottom of each document I’ve signed. Each paper that I touched with the tip of my golden pen, sporting its own artistic touch of ‘blotches.’ Every hour, the specks and chaos were getting worse.

           Maybe I could play it off as some modern artistic signature style?

           I snorted at my foolishness; shoulders slouched as I hesitantly rose the heavy pen in my hand back towards the paper. My eyes wearily scanned the document, trying to think of any possible way to save the work.

           At this point, anything would do.

           One paper, I just needed one article this evening to have a pretty signature. That’s it. Cautiously, I inched the pen towards my scribbles, biting my lip as I held my breath. And just like that, I swore.

           The sound of wet paper ripping as the golden tip stabbed through, the paper giving way to the sheer volume of ink and pressure. A loud whine escaped me, pen slipping from my grasp as I let my body fall against the desk, head thumping against the wood. Why can’t anything go right for once?

           Papers flew into the air, cascading downwards like fluttering butterflies, falling onto the floor. The unrelenting throbbing of my head grew tenfold. Either from banging it against this wooden desk or the utter frustration that coursed through my veins – my bet is both.

           My hands spread wide, flush with the study, nails digging and scratching at the surface.

           “Get it together, Yue. You’re not going to cry over a damn signature.” I blubbered, lip rolling between my teeth, forcing my eyes shut to prevent that stupid tear from rolling down my cheek. The taste of old blood still lingering on my lip from biting it roughly earlier on in the day with Aang.

           I whipped my head back, sitting upright, forcing my eyes open.

           “Don’t you dare cry.” I hissed to myself, as my chest tightened.

           The room was deathly quiet, only the dim lights from the candles spread about lighting the area. Eerie shadows from the décor scattered throughout the room had a restlessness settling in my stomach, the air stuffy. Every creak of the wooden floors, the flicker of light felt like a spirit hiding in the shadows, ready to lunge and attack.

           The room didn’t feel like home.

           I didn’t get the butterflies when I sat in this chair, skin warm and giggling non-stop.

           Nothing felt like home anymore.

           Because Zuko was home, dummy.

           “D-don’t cry,” I repeated like a mantra, blinking rapidly to stop the tears that so desperately wanted to fall. “It’s a signature, j-just a signature. Who cares?” I reasoned loudly, undoubtedly the guards on the other side questioning my sanity. But the more I spoke, the further my voice cracked, my emotions and logic fighting fiercely against one another.

           Helplessly my gaze wandered about the room, trying to distract myself, anything to push the too real of emotions away. I could hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears, every single thing my eyes settled upon evoking another, stronger emotion.

           The simple door at the other end of the room had me recalling those times I would sneak in here to surprise Zuko during work. The way his face would light up, more often than not, sighing in relief and beckoning me to his side. ‘Just who I needed, my baby’ Zuko would often coo, his hands brushing back my hair, tangling themselves.

           Or what about this desk?

           The number of times I sat on this thing, Zuko and I teasing each other, bantering about nonsense. ‘You’re so needy, love. Always needing hugs and kisses,’ Zuko would complain, only to pull me close. Fitting perfectly between his legs as he planted chaste kisses over my head, whispering sweet nothings.

           I sniffled, nose runny as my eyes fluttered shut.

           ‘Mmm, my one and only, baby’ I could vividly recall Zuko droning into my ear just last week, arms wrapping around my waist, fingers dancing over my skin. His warmth, his touches, his kisses.

           Zuko loved me in those moments, he really did, and I ruined it all.

           “Why now? Of all the times, why do I have to remember this now?” I whimpered under my breath, pain radiating up my nails as I burrowed into the wood beneath me. For days upon days, I drowned myself in work—anything to keep my mind off Zuko, avoiding the Gaang like the plague.

           This wasn’t about the stupid signature, gosh, it was so much more.

           My thoughts ran wild, switching between the happy moments Zuko and I shared, to the look of absolute horror once he realized what I was. But the cherry on top, the gut-twisting moment that had a small cry leaving my lips was Mai’s words that faithful day.

           The way Mai’s eyes looked down from above, an expression filled with sadness and pain etched into her very soul. Her tough shell crumbled for that tiny instant; her winded whisper engraved into my mind.

           ‘Remember, Yue. If you really love Zuko – want the best for him. You know what to do.’

           “B-but I don’t want to go.” I weakly snivelled, confessing that very thing I was trying to ignore. The festering and unavoidable topic at hand, the decision that kept me up at night, the reason why I couldn’t look at Ursa or Noren in the eye. I want to stay here, by Zuko’s side. I can’t hurt him like that, leave him after everything he’s been through-

           But this isn’t about you; a dark voice echoed into my mind; this is for Zuko, his safety.

           But he’s home-

           He doesn’t love you, you’re a monster, forever and always.

           My eyes snapped open once more, vision blurry as tears build up, freely falling down my face. “I’m losing home.” I sniffled, heart aching as I tried my hardest to swallow down my sobs. I didn’t want the guards who stood on the other side of that door to hear me, to feel burdened by my distress.

           Now is not the time to make others worry.

           I just need to continue ruling the Kingdom until Zuko gets better and then-

           Weakly, I wiped the tears from my eyes, taking deep lungsful as a means to control my emotions. My cheeks hurt from the crying, nose a bright red, no doubt, as I wiped the final tear from my eyes. I don’t even want to know how I look like at the moment.

           My vision cleared, a shaky breath leaving me, as I sat straight. Another hour of work and then you can try to sleep this all off. I wiggled my way into Zuko’s chair, trying to find a comfy spot to zone out my thoughts and fix my terrible signatures, only to freeze.

           There, at the very edge of my desk, stood that perfect red card.

           The bright yellow sun smiling at me, Kiyi’s adorable cursive scribbled on the front.

           “Get better, Zuzu,” I whispered, a small smile emerging on my face as the words flew from my lips.

           Memories of Kiyi’s, bouncing from joy in her spot as she said she loved me, that I was the best big sister. Hands shaking, I found them stretching before me without thinking. Leaning forward and pressing myself against the desk, my fingertips grazed the edge of the card, drawing it closer.

           I couldn’t help but caress the soft paper, feeling where the paint stuck, the paper slightly wrinkled. With much care, I brought it close to my face, eagerly musing over every paint stroke, every sparkle, the love etched into this simple card.

           It was funny how the little things in life take up the most space in your heart.

           How a simple card caused the warm fuzzy feelings, the feelings I haven’t felt in almost a week, to appear. The dashing butterflies in my stomach, cheeks glowing in glee, the emotions and reactions that would often appear whenever I was with Zuko. A fleeting moment of complete and utter bliss, happiness.

           I want to see Zu-

           A knock on the door stripped me from my thoughts, jumping in my seat.

           The way my eyes bugged out, staring at the door with my jaw dropped, not at all anticipating such a powerful knock, let alone at this moment. My head snapped side to side, hastily taking note of the mess spread around.

           “Umm, o-one minute, please!” I shouted, mortified beyond belief.

           My hand grabbed the papers that were within reach, almost throwing myself over the table as I greedily swiped all the blotched documents towards me. Shit-shit-shit, where am I going to put all this? And that’s when I spotted the small white bin that stood at my feet, and without thinking twice, I tossed all the papers inside.

           I’ll take care of this mess after.

           “C-come in!” I awkwardly muttered, sniffling as I stared forward.

           A moment of silence fell over me before the front door flew open with a bang. My head tilted to the side, watching with interest as a short man dashed inside. His black clothing made him look like a shadow, making his way towards me as if he’s been inside here countless of times, knowing the room like the back of his hand.

           The door swayed close behind him, the man's hands raised as he adjusted the thick red scarf wrapped around his shoulders and neck. “Fire Lord Zuko.” The man huffed, pulling the veil down his face, exposing his sharp nose, “I have news about Ax-”

           His dark cat-like eyes lined up with mine, his thin pink lips forming an ‘O’ shape as he froze in his spot. We stared at each other, looks of confusion and amusement flashing between us, neither one of us knowing who we were in relation.

           I found my gaze falling over the man’s features, taking note of the faint wrinkles that appeared on his face, his skin tanned. As if he realized that I was studying him intently, curious as to who he was, a faint flush coated his cheeks.

           “Y-you’re not Fire Lord Zuko.” The man buzzed, his tone low and taut.

           I let out a breathless giggle, entertained by the expression on his face.

           He looked utterly taken off guard, stunned, like a confused child. And seeing such an expression on a man who was currently dressed in a skin tight-suit, weapons undoubtedly concealed underneath was such a contrast. I found myself easing in my seat, something in me telling me he wasn’t a threat, despite his harsh facial structures and odd clothing.

           I saw the way he eagerly studied my sitting figure, and like something clicked he quickly bowed, “You must be- Imperial Consort Ying Yue, my sincere apologies-”

           “Please, it’s okay.” I quickly retorted, standing up from the chair as I waved away the formalities. My eyes scanned his face once again, trying desperately to place a name. He seems unfamiliar, I’ve never met this man before, have I?

           “Is there something you need? Fire Lord Zuko is not available at the moment, but I can do whatever I can.” I started, and the man merely shook his head, hand scratching his head. “Unfortunately, I need to speak with Fire Lord Zuko, directly. Do you know where I could find him?”

           My lips parted, a sad smile forming on my face, as I eased my way around the chair, walking around the desk. He doesn’t know- Even the man in front seemed to notice the way my body altered, a sudden heaviness in my step. I let my hand slide down my lap, fixing any wrinkles that may have appeared.

           “Fire Lord Zuko is ill at the moment; I’m temporarily stepping into his role. But if there’s anything I can do-”

           “He’s ill?” The man exclaimed, and I puckered, nodding my head.

           “This whole week…” I spoke, and the man clicked his tongue, running his hands through his hair. He did not want to hear that. He began to grumble under his breath, mumbling incoherent, but I could sense the frustration from him.

           I couldn’t help it, watching over him, feet moving on their own, inching closer towards him: the sharp eyes, sun-kissed skin. Just who is he?

           “My apologies, but who are you, may I ask?”

           He looked taken aback by the question, before chuckling bashfully under his breath. “I promise I do have better manners than this, Imperial Consort.” He droned, shaking his head in shame before giving me a broad smile.

           “I go by Mihir; I’m an informant, I work directly under Fire Lord Zuko’s authority.” He started, and the moment his name left his lips, my eyes widen.

           The beach house.

           I stepped forward, a pout on my face as I pointed a finger, “It’s you. The man who kept calling Zuko when we were on vacation- you kept stealing Zuko from me!”

           He looked taken aback, raising his hands in front of him as he shook, hearing the high pitch in my voice as I squealed. “S-sorry, Imperial Consort. I didn’t mean to bother you during your vacation-” he stumbled, and I huffed under my breath.

           “It’s fine, knowing Zuko, he made you work. That man doesn’t understand how to relax.” Gosh, if Zuko knew I stuffed the bin to the brim with paperwork, he would’ve killed me.‘Hiding paperwork doesn’t make the work go away, love’ I could already imagine Zuko grumbling, hearing his voice vividly in my mind. I smiled to myself despite the annoyance.

           Zuko would pinch his nose, and then complain about how the papers are all wrinkled-

           “You know Fire Lord Zuko well.” Mihir chuckled under his breath, a blush creeping onto my cheeks as I realized I zoned out for a moment. I timidly brushed whatever hairs fell from my ponytail, biting my lip as I looked down at the floor.

           “I admire his work ethic, even though it drives me nuts sometimes. There isn’t a day where he isn’t doing something, improving himself or helping others. I-I always adored that.” I rambled, mentally slapping myself. Why is it that, whenever Zuko is brought to topic, I find myself blurting another thing I adore about him?

           Mihir mused at my words, crossing his arms, “Fire Lord Zuko…he talks about you…a lot.”  My gaze snapped upwards to meet Mihir’s, a gentle smile on his face.

           He didn’t seem like a man who smiled often, but it suited him. Even though every expression of Mihir’s had this stoutness to it, I couldn’t help but notice the softness in this man’s soul. I think I know why Zuko trusts him.

           “I guess I’ll come back tomorrow. Hopefully, Fire Lord Zuko feels better and can arrange a moment with me. I’ll leave so you can go see him now, give him my regards.” Mihir spoke, and my head tilted, raising a brow.

           “What makes you think I’m seeing him now?” I blurted, confusion written on my face. Mihir chuckled, raising his scarf over his face, “Because you’re holding that ‘get better Zuzu’ card.”

           His cat-like eyes were the only visible part of his body, stepping back as he placed his hand over his chest, “And based on the way you’re holding it, tight and close to your heart, shows me it’s important. That you care and worry about Fire Lord Zuko, maybe even more than you realize.”

           He bowed from his waist down before opening the study door, just a crack – slipping through like the wind. It softly shut behind him, leaving me alone in the middle of the room. My mouth dropped, looking down at my hands to realize Mihir was right.

           This whole time…I-I was holding the card.

           The sun smiled back at me, and I couldn’t help but smile again, no longer experiencing that mocking feeling like I was earlier in the day. “A promise is a promise…” I whispered, and I twirled on my feet, walking towards the candles that littered the room.

           My lips puckered, blowing out each one, dashing. The way I spoke to Aang, the promise I made to Kiyi- I don’t want my time here to end like this, on such a sour note.

           I want to see Zuko – one last time.

             Thumbs twirling, a large pout settled as I waltzed down the red hall, the infirmary just around the corner.

           My dress rustled as I walked, the clicking sound of my heels, bouncing off the walls of the almost wholly deserted Kingdom. One or two servants would come down ever so often, smiling sweetly before continuing on their way. They all bore tired expressions, ready to go home for the night, until tomorrow.

           I pressed the card Kiyi made close to my chest, hands shaking slightly.

           The moon was high in the night sky, admiring the reflection it drew on the water in the pond. Despite the distance, I could spot the faint ripples, turtle ducks calmly floating below the waterfall, enjoying the chill air the Fire Nation had to offer.

           Another puff left me, lost in my thoughts as I continued on my walk, eyes settling upon the flower petals that fell from the trees. To think that just hours ago, I was under a tree, the hot air and beaming sun radiating upon my skin. Now an odd sense of peace filled the air, the children's laughter, the women’s gossip just remnants of time.

           One more walk in the gardens with Zuko.

           I would’ve loved that.

           The warmth of Zuko’s hands in mine, his fingers rubbing the skin between my thumb and pointer, humming our soft tune. Or maybe us playing in the water with Kiyi once again, Iroh and Ursa laughing in the background, shaking their heads in amusement.

           “Yue?” A voice breathed, so light, quieter than a whisper, that for a moment, I thought I imagined it. My brows pinched together, raising my hand to my head as my pace flattered. Did I- am I so tired I’m hearing things right now?

           I shook my head, scoffing to myself.

           My eyes burned, throat rough as I swallowed hard. The events of the day had my hands cramped and body aching. “Get it together, Yue,” I grumbled under my breath, forcing my feet to move. I let my hand drop from my forehead, resting it along the palace walls – pivoting to turn the corner before I stopped abruptly in my tracks.

           “Yue.” The voice spoke again, this time louder, more forceful.

           This isn’t my imagination; the voice is coming from behind me. I twirled in my spot, a small gasp escaping me as I soaked up what I saw. The stunning mix of yellow and blue, a large wooden stick in hand-

           “Aang.” I breathed, reviewing his figure up and down.

           He stood there, posture hunched, and unlike this morning, where he seemed tired but overall refreshed, now he looked utterly drained. The way his eyes sulked and the grip he held over his staff, loose. Dangling from the tips of fingers as he stared back at me, his pupils wide. Is he just coming back from work? At this hour of the night?

           “Aang, you’re just going to bed now?” I announced, unable to hide the worry in my tone.  Aang awkwardly scratched his head, laughing under his breath while nodding slowly, “Mhm, I had some paperwork I had to review for Republic City.”

           “This late?” I questioned; my hands firmly pressed over my chest.

           Aang opened his mouth before shutting it, the corner of his lips tugging upwards as he coolly leaned on his staff. “What about you, Yue?” Aang started, wiggling his eyebrows, nudging his head to the side as if to emphasize the fact that the moon was high in the sky.

           “It seems like someone else is just going to bed.”

           I bite my lip, shaking my head, “I’m not going to bed just yet…”

           Aang glowered at my words, pushing off the staff that he was just resting on, back straightening. “Where are you going, Yue?” Aang voiced, “It’s late; you should be resting-”

           “I'm going to see Zuko.”

           The air between us stilled, hearing him take in a sharp inhale, stilling in his spot.      

           His mouth agape, gawking as he let the words, I uttered, seep in. Expressions of astonishment and disbelief flashed by his face, unsure which emotion to settle upon. I couldn’t fault him for feeling as shocked as he was. For a whole week, I refused to see Zuko, no matter how often they begged and asked. But I can’t say no anymore; I want to see him so bad, be greedy and selfish and see him-

           Reservedly, I shifted my hands from my chest, presenting the get-better card Kiyi gave me earlier in the day to him. It was like the card jerked Aang from the conflicting emotions that tumbled inside him, seeing his sandaled feet moving forward.

           “Yue, if you’re not ready to see him, you don’t have to.” Aang concerned, brows pinching together as he anxiously stepped forward. “I can give the card, right now-”

           “Aang, I’m sorry for pushing you and the Gaang away.” I snivelled.

           The trembling in my hands grew, teeth digging deep into my swollen lips as I drove the card further into my chest. My nails pulled at the silky fabric of my dress, fighting back the tears of remorse.

           The way I treated Aang earlier was sad, but it wasn’t just today. It was ever since Zuko fell ill. It was like I couldn’t look at anyone in the eye, not even Sokka or Katara, without feeling guilty. Overwhelming shame and burden, despite them not holding what happened to Zuko against me.

           But I was also lying to them, not telling them the truth of what happened that terrible day, the extent of my bending.

           “I was so mean to you, and I’m sorry.”

           “Yue-” Aang sniffled, and I felt his arms wrap around my body, pulling me into a tight embrace.

           I let my head snuggle in between his neck and shoulder, chest rising and falling between my heavy breaths as Aang fussed into my ear. His lips pressed against my head, a smile dancing as he held me close. A whole week I went without a single hug from anyone, without any form of affection. I was forcing myself into complete isolation beside any business meetings.

           To have someone hold me close made me realize how lonely I felt. How much I wanted a hug – to be held.

           “I’m sorry too. I should’ve have lost my temper like that. I just-” Aang started, pulling away slightly, our gazes meeting as we stood close. I saw how round his eyes were, cheeks a pleased flush as he spoke. “I can’t stand seeing you hurting yourself, Yue. Take all the blame and hurt when you deserve to be happy.”

           “I just want Zuko to be safe.” I sighed, raising my hand against my nose for the hundredth time today. Aang hummed knowingly, “Come on, I’ll walk you to the infirmary, and then I’ll let you be.”

           “A-actually, Aang…” I stuttered, cheeks turning rosy, “Can you come with me? I-I don’t want to do this alone.”

           The way Aang beamed as if I told him that Appa could, in fact, fit inside the Kingdom and sleep in the same room as Katara, him, and Momo. He let his hand rest over the small of my back, glowing ear to ear.

           “I would love to go with you, Yue.”

           I stepped back from his caring touches, taking a deep breath as I looked down at the card that sat in my hand. The red of the paper practically radiating under the dim candlelight of the Kingdom. The last thing I’ll ever do for Kiyi-

           “We should hurry,” Aang spoke sympathetically, “You look exhausted, but I know seeing Zuko is important for you, Yue.” I could feel the way he put light pressure on the tips of fingers, nudging me gently. Within seconds I found ourselves walking, Aang letting his staff twirl in his grip as he watched over me out of the corner of his brown eyes.

           With every step we took, the beating of my heart grew.

           Blood rushing, skin warm as goosebumps rose.

           Despite the chill air of the night, I was sweating, the sound of paper rattling between my grasp embarrassingly loud as we marched. The mental gymnastics that ran through my head, torn between running to Zuko’s side or hiding in the comforts of my blankets. I want to see Zuko so bad, but what if Mai is right? That he doesn’t love me anymore, and the last thing he wants is a visit from me.

           My lip rolled between my teeth, letting my gaze wander to our right as we turned the corner. For a split moment, I saw how the turtle ducks huddled together in the pond. The babies adorable squished together heads resting over each other, as their parents loomed over them. A family…

           “Don’t think for a second Zuko doesn’t want you there with him,” Aang spoke.

           I titled my head, snapping my gaze towards him.

           Aang continued walking ahead, the grand wooden doors before us a few steps away. People with crosses embordered on their sleeves, walking in and out of those doors. The air around them was calm, but I could tell a few of them looked surprised to see us this late in the night.

           “You really think…Zuko wants me there, Aang?” I whispered.

           I could hear Aang snort, giving me a side look filled with personality. “Yue, I didn’t want to say this…” He started, and by then, my head was spinning, realizing that right before us was the entrance.

           Aang’s hand rested over the door, look heavy as he slowly faced me, “Katara told me that sometimes Zuko whispers your name in his sleep.”

           My bottom lip quivered, hearing those words, Aang’s hand dragging along the wood. But he wasn’t finished, laughing lightly as he seemingly remembers the conversation between him and Katara. “Every time he says your name, he smiles. Katara said it was creepy seeing him that happy.”

           I couldn’t help but giggle, rubbing my eyes with the ends of my sleeves imaging it.

           From first-hand experience, I already knew that Zuko was prone to smiling during his sleep. Also, prone to holding me to close to his chest so that the slightest movement from me caused his arm to lock, holding me in place. And don’t forget about sniffing my hair, whispering ‘vanilla’ under his breath far too many times to count.

           Tugging on my sleeves, now stained with wet droplets, Aang glowed from above, “Now, Yue, you make do with that information as you will. But I think we both know what it means.”

           “Aang…” I breathed between my stuffy nose; voice soft.

           “Yes, Yue?”

           “I-I’m ready.”

           “Let’s go then, Princess.” Aang teased with a cheeky smile, pushing the door.

           The door creaked, the high pitch noise sounding louder than usual, given how quiet the palace hallways were at the time. Right away, the nurses who were busily working inside turned their heads towards our direction, shooting us enormous smiles. They waved excitedly, energy-filled in their actions.

           “A beautiful night, Imperial Consort,” they happily sang, before going back to work.

           I pressed a smile to my face, whispering my soft greetings as I pressed the card closer to my chest. I couldn’t help but notice how clammy my palms were, if it weren’t for Aang’s guidance, I would’ve undoubtedly froze in place at the door.

           My eyes scanned the area, the chandlers lighting up the large room, the grand windows opened, and curtains pushed back to allow the calming breeze from outside to enter. Fresh flowers and bright paintings decorated the space as a means to keep the atmosphere up and going. And the further I walked, taking in every detail, down to the colours of the candles, I couldn’t help but wonder.

           Was this how Zuko felt that time when I was in here?

           Just as nervous, anxious, to see me after the waterfall incident? I could recall how flustered Zuko appeared. A look of exhaustion washing over him as he stood before me. The way he rushed to my side, cupping my face before placing a kiss of pure desperation over my lips- my cheeks flushed.

           Why would I think of something like that right now?

           Aang’s hand fell over my back once more, rubbing gently as I jumped in my spot.

           “He’s over there, behind that curtain, where the guards are,” Aang spoke, nudging me where he pointed with his chin. As if they heard, the guards carefully lifted their helmets, bowing slightly with warm smiles before moving off to the side. Their helmets fell back over their faces, quietly discussing amongst themselves, giving us space and privacy.

           My knees were wobbling; every step I took felt like rocks were tied to the soles of my feet, the ground sand as I struggled to move. The reality of the whole situation hitting me all at once. You’re fine, Yue.

           This is fine, you’re fine-

           The curtain that isolated Zuko from the rest was now right before me. A dark velvety red fabric, dragons imprinted all over. The point at which the curtains met swayed lightly with the incoming breeze, and I could feel my breath catching when I spotted the end of a metal bed through the momentary crack.

           He’s right here, right behind this curtain-

           My hand reached naturally, fingertips feeling the soft fabric slip in between each digit. It was like everything was moving in slow motion, the overwhelming need, want, to see Zuko.  I missed him so much.

           I need him; I want to see him-

           Hastily, I drew the draping back, the curtain swaying dramatically with my movement. I clenched the card tightly to my chest, eyes rapidly scanning the space, and just like that, my arm limply dropped to my side. My shoulders slumped, body shuddering, hand falling over my mouth as an uncontrollable sob erupted from me.

           “Yue?” Aang worried from behind me, his hands squeezing over me with care.

           It was at that moment I realized I wasn’t moving, too busy studying over the handsome sleeping figure before me – Zuko.

           His long black hair was neatly brushed and scattered over the scarlet pillow he rested upon, hands over his heart as his chest rose and fell with every breath. The way the moonlight shined through the large windows behind him, painting his skin with a heavenly aura – almost spirit-like.

           Those pink lips of his that I adored were parted, loveable sighs leaving him as his head slightly leaned to the side. It was like last week never happened, his expression so peaceful, sleeping without a worry in the world. The red blanket that laid over his body stopped short of his chest, his milky skin bare.

           Zuko- he looked healthy.

           Part of me imagined Zuko’s appearance to have withered slightly. His face to have sunken, cheekbones prominent, and his physique smaller. How wrong was I. Zuko looked like he gained weight – shoulders broader than usual, the divots on his arms from where his muscles lined abnormally defined. He was even freshly shaven, skin clear and dewy.

           Small breathless giggles left me, unable to contain the relief of seeing Zuko looking nothing short of perfect.  “Yue-” Aang voiced once again, and this time I turned on my heel to look at him.

           “He’s okay.” I cried, and Aang’s expression softened the moment he realized why I was crying.

           I wasn’t shedding tears because I was upset but relieved.

           Zuko looked so healthy, completely untouched, as I wiped my nose messily on my sleeve. “K-Katara took such good care of him; I owe her so much. I-I couldn’t have healed him as well as her if it weren’t for you and the Gaang being there for him-”

           Aang’s hand brushed my face, cleaning my cheeks to the best of his ability as I let my tears flow. “I told you, Yue. We’re family. We love Zuko too. If you think Katara was going to let her best friend fall ill because some bad guys wanted to hurt you, you doubt our bonds.”

           I smiled, choking as I sniffled, turning my head back to Zuko. He looked so happy, “T-thank you. For everything. For coming with me.”

           “I’ll always be here, Yue. Now give him that card. He may be knocked out cold, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to see it when he wakes up.” Aang happily blubbered, standing at the far corner as I carefully made my way around the bed.

           I couldn’t pull my gaze away from Zuko, watching him as he slept, it felt like my heart was going to burst. Was it creepy to stare at Zuko this excitedly while he slept? Probably, but I couldn’t stop myself. I missed him so much.

           Carefully I rose the card, lips moving silently as I cumbersomely. “Katara told me that he could most likely hear us, Yue…I bet he would love to hear your voice.”

           My voice…?

           “Z-Zuko.” I shakily started, carefully placing the beautiful handcrafted card on the wooden table that stood right beside him. A few vials and bowls of water with towels laid there – tools for Katara whenever she was healing or checking up on Zuko quickly at her aid. If it weren’t for Katara’s Waterbending skills, who knows what would’ve happened to Zuko.

           “Zuko.” I breathed once again, smiling softly as I inched my way closer to Zuko’s bedside.

           I watched as Zuko’s eyes moved under his shut eyelids at the sound of my voice so close to his body, a deep sigh, leaving him for a moment as he continued sleeping. My hand outstretched over his, hovering, fighting the temptation to feel his skin against mine.

           “K-Kiyi made a card for you; she misses you….” I whispered, and I saw the way Zuko’s expression changed the more I talked. His brows pinched together slightly as his head tossing towards me side, another long exhale leaving him. It was like in his sleep he was searching for my voice, his fingers tightening its hold on the blankets that laid over him.

           I weakly smiled, and without thinking, my hand rested of his.

           “I miss you,” I whispered, tears falling down my face as I anxiously held my breath.

           The greed took over, my fingers dance over his soft skin, basking in the warmth. It was like a current ran through me the moment our hands touched, the sense of familiarity and happiness bursting at the seams.

           “I miss you so much. I miss your hugs and cuddles and smiles, and-” I had to stop talking, struggling as my words rushed. My digits laced with his, my skin tingling, butterflies in my stomach from being so close to Zuko after so long.

           “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me, I’m sorry for not telling you the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t do more.” I cried as I let my other hand wander, trailing up his chest to his neck. I winced, feeling the rough patch of skin nestled at the base of his neck. There was a small scar now, a darkened patch of skin from where I sliced.

           Forever a reminder, and I swear I could feel the scar that rested along my jaw tingle.

           “I promised myself that I would never hurt you…” I whimpered, leaning over his bed, unable to stop the temptation to get closer. My hands cupped his face, thumbs caressing his pouting lips. “I promised Iroh, your mom, Kiyi, everyone that I would take care of you. I made that vow to myself the moment I met you.”

           My eyes fluttered shut, face rosy, all self-restraint gone.

           Leaning over his body, hair falling over our faces as my lips gently brushed over his. The feeling of his soft, plump lips pressed against my swollen ones, tears tumbling over his skin.

           “I hope you find someone who can keep that vow better than me, Zuko. Who will love you more than I ever could. Who will bring out that stunning twinkle in your eyes. I want you to be happy Zuko…”

           “Yue.” I heard Aang cry, and I carefully pulled back, noticing the way my salty tears dripped down Zuko’s cheek, tainting the stark burn on his face.

           “One last kiss.” I dejectedly cried, taking a step back, my fingertips grazing his skin before leaving. The moment my touch left him, I could feel my heart ache, hands cupping my mouth as I tried my toughest to shush my tears.

           “What do you mean by one last kiss, Yue?” Aang worriedly questioned, stepping closer to my trembling figure.

           It’s time I come clean.

           “I-I never you, what Mai said to me.” I sobbed, and I could feel Aang’s arms wrap around me, holding me close to his chest as his hands ran up and down my back. He cradled my face into his neck, shaking his head at my words, “What did she tell you, Yue?”

           “S-she said that the reason Zuko got hurt is because of me.” I started, spluttering harder as my sight became filled with nothing more but tears. “I-if I leave, t-then Zuko will be safe. No harm will be done.”

           “Yue, you can’t believe her, she could be lying for all we know-”

           “But what if she isn’t, Aang?” I huffed, pulling away to stare at him.

           Tears swelled in Aang’s eyes, wiping his face with the back of his hand heatedly as he looked down at me. “Maybe she is lying, Aang. But I prefer to take the risk, then have Zuko get hurt again because of me.”

           “I-if you leave, Yue.” Aang broke, his voice cracking as the grip on my body tightened. “Zuko would look under every damn rock for you. Go to the ends of the world looking for you. You think he’s going to let you go, Yue? Walk out of his life after how much you’ve changed him?” Aang argued expression hurt as he took in a shaky breath.

           “Zuko loves you so much. I shouldn’t even tell you this, but Zuko is already thinking of a hundred and one ways to propose! He told me that he wants kids, he wants a family, asking me what good diapers- damnit Yue!” Aang huffed, pulling me back into a tight embrace as we cried silently together.

           “This whole week, you’ve pushed us away, carried the burden of that knowledge. You wanted to see Zuko today, not because you stopped blaming yourself, but because you wanted to say goodbye.”

           “I don’t want to go, Aang, but I don’t want Zuko to hurt anymore.”

           “You’re going to hurt him by leaving.”

           “But, I’ll be hurting him more if I stay.”

           I pulled away slightly, looking to my side to watch as Zuko laid in bed. The tranquil expression on his face at the moment, I couldn’t have wished for a better lasting appearance to see. Every memory we shared, forever locked in my heart for years to come, because no one can steal those recollections away from me.

           “I thought Zuko was the one, Yue,” Aang whispered into my ear, and I rubbed my nose, smiling to myself. “Zuko is the one for me, always will be. But I’m not the one for him. I don’t think I ever was…”

           “So, is this it? Are you just going to leave us? Me, Katara, Sokka, Hakoda-”

           I winced, shutting my eyes as I shook my head, “I’ll leave as soon as Zuko wakes up. I made a promise that I’ll take care of the kingdom for him, and I want to keep at least one promise.”

           “Where will you go, Yue? I-we-but-” Aang raged internally, stepping back before running his hands over his hand. His fingers pressed against the skin of the blue arrow along his head, expression panicked. I could tell from the look in his eyes that his mind was swirling, unable to focus.

           Carefully, I stepped towards Zuko, grabbing the blanket that laid over him, and lifting it. I tucked the warm fabric, snuggling under his chin, a bittersweet smile painting my face as I took in Zuko’s features one last time. “I love you, Zuko, I can’t even begin to express my feelings. There aren’t enough letters in the alphabet to string together a word strong enough to tell you how much I love you.”

           I pulled away, letting my hands clasp together, nails causing crescents into my palms as I swallowed back the next wave of weeping. “And I want you to know, Zuko, that no matter how much you hate me, are angry at me, I’ll still love you. That will never change.”

           Turning on my heel, I faced Aang, whose face was swollen, nose a bright red as he weakly grabbed the staff he let rest on the wall.

           “I-I think it’s time I go to bed now…” I quietly spoke, and Aang nodded, using the tip of his stick to pull back the curtains to lead to the outside world. But he didn’t move right away, his eyes locked with mine.

           “Aang?” I asked, and he sighed, forcing a smile on his face.

           “I can’t stop you from leaving, Yue. This is your choice, your journey. But I hope you know that while everyone may be nervous once they learn about your bending, you’re still you. You’re still Sokka and Katara’s sister, Toph’s drinking partner, Suki’s shopping pal, and my best friend.”

           “Thank you, Aang.”

           “I’ll take you to your room, and I hope tomorrow, by some miracle, you realize that Zuko will love you, regardless of how you view yourself. And that you have every right to stay here with Zuko, and have the family you always dreamed of.”

           I could feel my heart swell, Aang outstretching his hand towards me, a poignant smile on his face. Right away, I grabbed his cold hand, our fingers intertwining, letting ourselves relish in the bittersweet moment. His hand squeezed tightly, before beginning to move, and I looked over my shoulder quickly.

           “Goodbye, Zuko.” I hummed, taking in the finest of details as if I didn’t already know each and every mark on his skin—the shape of his nose and lips, even his ears. But my eyes narrowed, only noticing too late the fresh tear running down Zuko’s cheek.

           A tear that was undoubtedly not present a moment ago.

           My feet stuttered, and as I eagerly tilted my head to get a better look, to make sure it was not my eyes playing tricks, but it was too late. The thick curtain shut, red flooding my vision. This is really it; I said my goodbye.

           Without any of other words spoken between Aang and me, we walked side by side, our hands swinging as Aang silently guided me to my room. The nurses and guards all said their share of goodnights, not daring to ask as to why our cheeks were as red as could be, our voices coarse and eyes puffy.

           Tiredly, we inched our way down the hallway, rubbing my face as I took in every nuisance of the kingdom. How many more days do I have left, walking down this hallway before I go? Soon the I won’t ever hear the clicking of my heels when I stroll in the mornings or the happy greetings of the servants.

           We turned the corner, my eyes lighting up as I spotted two guards at the front of my bedroom—two people who I knew far too well at this point. I turned to face Aang, our eyes meeting. An unspoken connection hitting us both as Aang drew me in for one last hug.

           “Goodnight, Yue. And how I hope, more than anything, I see you in the morning.” He wished before pulling away. We shared one last look before he begrudgingly turned on his heel. His yellow robes flowed behind him as he let his staff dance in his grip, eagerly walking towards the waiting arms of his dearest lover. Bringing my arms up to my chest, I hugged myself.

           Thank you.

           “Imperial Consort Ying Yue?” two voices spoke, causing me to twirl.

           With their helmets now off, I couldn’t hide the short moment of happiness seeing them this late at night. It really is them- “Ah, hello, friends~!” I sung, waving with a small yawn as I inched my way towards them.

           They smiled back, but I couldn’t help but notice how forced their smiles seemed, their bodies tensed as they shared anxious looks. I pouted, tilting my head to the side as I looked around. Aang was already long gone, no one in sight. What could be upsetting them?

           “Is everything alright?” I asked curiously, and I had to raise a brow at the way they nudged each other in the stomach.

           “You tell her.”

           “No, you do.”

           “I didn’t let her enter.”

           “She’s a Princess; I can’t exactly say ‘no.’ And you were there with me, why didn’t you say anything?” They bickered with each other. My head snapped back and forth, watching how they grumbled under their breath, like two school children bickering. It was literally like watching Katara and Sokka fight, just older and from the Fire Nation.

           I let out a small giggle, shaking my head, children.

           “Can someone, please, tell me? I promise I won’t get mad.” I urged, crossing my arms over my chest. At the sound of my voice, they stilled, nervously shifting in their spots. I gave them a look, and that seemed to do the trick. Both of blurting out what they didn’t want to say, “Princess Kiyi is inside your bedroom. She says she wants to sleep in your bed.”

           My eyes widen at the news, staring at the large bedroom doors.

           K-Kiyi?

           I opened my mouth, only to close it once more.

           This was strange.

           Kiyi was undoubtedly a cuddlier, loved to spend time with everyone and anyone. The star of the show, able to capture the hearts of many with her positive and addictive attitude. Sometimes Zuko would go to her room and read books before she went to bed, often coming back to the bedroom and telling me how these children’s books were ‘cringy.’

           But to have her, in our bed, saying that she wants to stay the night had me in a whirlwind. It was so unlike her. She loved snuggling, but she was one independent cookie – one who went to the beat of her own drum. Processing their words, both of them gawking over me, trying to figure out if I was upset at the news.

           “Did she give a reason why she wished to stay?” I asked, and they nodded eagerly, “Something about a card?”

           “Oh-”

           “We can go and ask her to leave, Imperial Consort, we shouldn’t have let her stay in the first place-”

           “No,” I spoke up, raising my hand and gently placing it over theirs.

           Their breathing hitched, unsure if I was about to get upset, but I quickly flashed a smile. Shaking my head because suddenly, it made sense, remembering the sad smile on Kiyi’s face from this morning when she spoke about Zuko.

           She was just as upset and worried as everyone else about the whole situation. Just because she was a child, and didn’t know all the details regarding the situation, didn’t mean she didn’t pick up on the depressive tone from us all. Just like how I needed a hug, I bet Kiyi needed one too.

           “Do me a favour, please, and let Lady Ursa know that Kiyi is with me tonight. To send a maid in the morning to wake us, so she goes to school on time.”

           They both nodded, letting out a breath, “We’ll go right now, Imperial Consort.”

           “Thank you. Have a nice night.”

           “You too.” They smiled before bowing.

           I turned on my heel, facing the bedroom doors, my hands falling over it. With one fluid movement, I eased my way inside, only for the corners of my lips to curve upwards.

           What a sight.

           There Kiyi sat, in the middle of Zuko and I’s bed, pillows around her as she held the teddy bear Zuko gave me tight to her chest. The blankets were perfectly nestled under her chin, her beady eyes glowing under the warmth of the candles. “Button?” I cooed, and I could hear Kiyi enthusiastically squirm under the sheets.

           “I was waiting; it’s past bedtime.” She smugly retorted, and while I didn’t see the look on her face, I already knew she had a huge grin.

           “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that this room here I’m pretty sure doesn’t belong to you.” I teased, stepping inside as I let the door shut behind me. With ease, I pulled at the elastic that held my hair into a high pony, mewling with delight as it fell. All the tension in my scalp, releasing as my hair draped over my shoulders.

           Kiyi watched in awe as she sat up, her mouth hanging, “Your hair is so long and pretty.”

           “Compliments won’t work on me, button.” I pestered, grabbing one of Zuko’s old T-shirts that was draped at the end of the bed.

           With the shirt in hand, I eased my way to the bathroom, letting the door open just a crack, so I could hear the way Kiyi buzzed on the other side. My hand rubbed the back of my neck, another yawn escaping me before my eyes settled over the mirror, taking in my appearance for the first time in a while.

           I looked exhausted.

           The dress I wore seemed oddly loose about my hips, fingers a bit boney, and cheeks sullen. Dark circles under my eyes and back aching from hunching over the desk all day, staying up all night only to wake up bright and early. I let my hands run through my hair, trying my best to shake out the tangles, too tired to brush.

           With a tired sigh, my fingers danced to the front of my dress, beginning to undress.

           “Yue, where did you get this teddy? He’s so cute.” I heard Kiyi gush and laughed softly. “Who do you think, button?” I responded, letting the red fabric fall onto the floor.

           My hands grasped Zuko’s old shirt, easily squirming my body into it. It was massive in size, stopping near my thighs as it bagged over my body comfortably. His warm spice-like scene still etched into the fabric, like cinnamon.

           “Was it Zuzu?” Kiyi shouted, and I happily smiled with closed eyes, “You bet it.”

           In a matter of minutes, I cleaned myself up, patting my face dry with a towel and wiped the last drop of my cream onto my leg. My hand reached for the door, ready to step out, but I stilled for a split moment, catching a glimpse of myself once more in the mirror. A sad smile reaching my eyes knowing that I saw Zuko today, even if it were for the last time.

           As long as you’re safe, Zuko, that’s all that matters

           “Which side do you want, button?” I questioned, forcing my pitch to be higher than usual, a weak attempt to appear cheery. With my hands on my hips, I stopped at the foot of the bed, gazing over at Kiyi with tender eyes.

           Kiyi brought a finger to her lip as if thinking deeply of the question. Her cute brows scrunching up before her lighting up unexpectedly, “Where do you sleep?”          

           “On the right,” I answered, and Kiyi grinned.

           “Then I want to sleep right-” Kiyi droned before rolling underneath the blankets and stopping abruptly, “here.” I giggled at Kiyi’s silliness, taking note where this little ball of trouble decided to sleep.

           “As you wish, button.” I hummed under my breath before walking towards the left side of the bed.

           My fingers dragged along the warm covers, eyes setting over the pillow and nightstand that rested. The unfinished book Zuko had left sitting over the table, the candles still fresh and unused for the past week until today. And while Kima and Lia even dusted his side, creating the illusion as if space has been used, I swallowed back the sadness.

           I didn’t dare touch this side once, opting to curl myself into a tight ball, sticking too far right.

           But now standing here, pulling the heavy covers back had me entering a joyful trance. If I thought wearing Zuko’s shirts gave me flashbacks of pure bliss, letting my body dip into the bed, head resting along his pillow had me turning pink. It felt like home, the closest I’ve been to him for days, and if it weren’t for Kiyi’s giggle, I would’ve laid here with a goofy smile plastered on my face for hours.

           I twisted my body, pulling the blankets over us as Kiyi wiggled her way closer to my body. Her legs wrapped themselves with mine, letting my arm drape over her frame as she rested her head on my shoulder. My lips danced along with her temple, placing a sweet kiss, “So button, tell me, something. Why did you come to my bed tonight?”

           I heard Kiyi shyly huff, before mumbling softly, “Because I miss Zuko…”

           A low sigh escaped me, placing another chaste kiss over her. “He misses you too, button. I know when he gets up, he’s going to give you tons of hugs and kisses, especially after that card.” I cooed against her forehead, hand caressing her face.

           Kiyi sniffled, nodding slightly as she tugged the blankets closer to her body. I could tell based on the way her body didn’t squirm as much anymore, that sleep was starting to get the best of her. I wonder how far it is past her bedtime? Hopefully, she gets the rest she needs.

           “Yue…” Kiyi quietly spoke, her voice so low that I had to force myself to hear her properly. “Do you ever get lonely without Zuzu around?”

           My mouth opened at her question, pulling her body closer to me as I thought. I’ve never felt lonelier in my life until now.

           “Of course, Button, but guess who decided to surprise me in my bed, it’s like a cuddle party.” I chirped under my breath, trying to keep my tone down. Kiyi giggled feebly at my answer before a tiny yawn left her lips.

           I rose a brow at the adorable yawn that left her, reminding me of the cute sighs Zuko was letting go as he slept. “Is someone tired?” I whispered, and I could hear her pout.

           “No…I-I can stay up a bit longer...” Kiyi argued tiredly, but as I pulled back, I snickered under my breath.

           Kiyi’s eyes were droopy, struggling to stay open as she snuggled the teddy bear close to her chest. I let my hand brush her black locks behind her ears, carefully moving her head from my shoulder onto my pillow. Without much protests, just a tiny whine, Kiyi curled into a ball, head sinking into the cushion.

           “I love you, Yue.” She whispered sleepily, and I beamed, tucking the blankets under her chin. “I love you too, button. Thank you for always bringing a smile to my face.” I hummed, before slowly inching my way back, sitting upright for a brief moment to blow out the candles that lit the space.

           The room darkened, only the moonlight seeping through the curtain, casting shadows. But this time, the shadows – didn’t feel as scary.

           I pulled the covers over my body, settling onto my side as I let my arm drape over Kiyi’s resting figure. My heart twisted into knows, joy filling my soul, as the light from the moon cast just enough illumination for me to see the tranquil expression on Kiyi.

           My hand rose, gently caressing her chubby cheeks, her lips parting as her breathing evened out. She’s precious. Soft snores escaping her as she snuggled deeper into my hold, blankets enveloping her body.

           “Goodnight, button,” I whispered into her messy hair, my own eyes falling shut.

           I don’t want to leave. Not Kiyi, or the Gaang, Iroh or Ursa…

           But most importantly, I don’t want to leave Zuko.

           My breathing began to even out; mind spacing as my body felt heavy. Sleep beginning to consume my body, enjoying the way my muscles relaxed. How long has it been since I’ve been able to ease into such a calm state?

           Lost in the peace, the gentle sounds of the door opening, footsteps pattering was dismissed as nothing more but a dream. The current state of nirvana, mind floating, disregarding the way the blankets shifted over my body. Probably Kiyi getting comfy.

           Intuitively, I squirmed in my spot, bringing the covers closer to myself, head sinking into the pillow. A comforting warmth was spooning me from behind the further I fell into a deep sleep, as if two large arms were holding me from behind.

           I smiled softly because there wasn’t a doubt in my mind who I was dreaming of. The way their hands cupped my own – fingers rubbing my palms as their legs tangled with both mine and Kiyi’s.  

           “Zuko.” I weakly called, because the dream felt so real. As if he was right behind, his face pressed into my hair, his hot breath tickling my ear. Even his overwhelming firewood scent filled my scenes, eyes rolling to the back of my head despite my eyes shut because it was the smell of home.

           “Shh, baby. Just sleep, I got you.” I could hear him drone into my ear, my heart pounding because I could feel the way his chest rumbled from behind. It was crazy, how vivid this dream. But my body too tired, to relaxed, to move and make sure that I was in fact, dreaming, let the doubts in my mind go.

           Enjoy the dream, Yue. Your first happy dream in days.

           “Zuko…” I sighed in harmony, snuggling my body deeper into his embrace. Right away, the grip he had on my body tightened, cooing into my ear, “Yes, love?”

           “I’m…sorry. I don’t…I don’t want to go.”

           “Then don’t.” he quickly replied into my ear, a raspiness in his voice. I let out a small sniffle as I instinctively pulled his hand to my chest. “But…I…I want…you safe.”

           “I’m safe, right here, with you in my arms.”

           “I… I love you.”

           “I love you, too, Yue,” Zuko whispered once more before my mind drifted completely.

           And for the first time, in days, I slept.

           With the biggest smile on my face.

Copyright © 2019 Mystic-Kitten-Writer, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

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[itsclydebitches]

Okay so, you're overall sensible about your arguments & I'm worried you'll 100% convince me and ruin the only time I appreciated Cinder but let's go lol. I don't hate what they did with her in the last ep ? I carried that feeling of "she finally learned smth" into the final and didn't let go of it... Idk but Cinder so quickly learning to care about her allies when she's a raging egocentric would have felt... off. My take off instead is that she's finally learned to compromise to reach her ends.

LOL oh no I’ll try not to ruin anything! 😄

So when I first watched the finale I had two main reactions to Cinder’s choices. The first was disappointment that her long term growth ended up being a lie. Because yeah, even if it would have happened really fast for someone as arrogant and egotistical as her, Cinder as a character is rather flat. Real teamwork and friendship would have added dimension to someone who, currently, exists solely to be evil for power and she wants power because she was previously powerless. That’s both bland and overdone. A villain with a comparable relationship to the hero and their team though? The villain also capitalizing on The Power of Friendship? That’s way more interesting. To say nothing of the depth it might have brought to Emerald’s (so far incredibly rushed) redemption. What does it mean for her to spend years offering Cinder friendship and compassion and Cinder only returns it to someone else the moment Emerald defects? What a blow. So that felt like a missed opportunity. 

But, the flipside to all this is that Cinder remaining a backstabbing asshole does frame her as competent again. She tricked Watts, she tricked Neo, and she pulled one over on Salem. I still believe what I originally said in my recap, that Cinder’s manipulation feels like it’s built far more on the others’ gullibility than her own skill, even if, as you say, we did see her toning things down to achieve that. Her manipulative actions weren’t nonexistent... but they weren’t a lot to justify the amount of trust her allies put in her either. I mean, Neo just stole the Lamp back after Cinder refused to complete her side of the bargain and Cinder just dangled Watts over a building. That’s a lot. Yet outside of her apology, Cinder doesn’t really do anything to convince the others she’s truly their ally this time. It’s not like we watched an arc wherein she sacrifices a great deal to prove her reliability, only to then turn around and reveal it was all just a long-con. Really, this entire scenario is based primarily on Neo making bad decisions. She gives Cinder the Lamp again after the betrayal she just went through? Why? Well, because the plot needed her to. But regardless, we do end up in the same place. Even if Cinder’s manipulation wasn’t super well executed, it was still a manipulation and she still came out on top. That’s the important bit. After getting taken out by Ruby’s silver eyes, spending a volume recovering, immediately falling to Raven, crawling back to Salem, and failing to take the Maiden powers from Penny twice over... Cinder really needed a win of some kind. And she got it! The kingdom of Atlas has fallen, the bad guys have two Relics, she thinks she killed two others, and if RT has played their cards right, Cinder has some plan of her own in the works while she plays servant to Salem. 

I still believe both of the above points, but it wasn’t until a couple days after the finale aired that I saw others pointing out a rather glaring issue that I myself missed. Basically, the entire idea of Cinder learning that working with others helps her win (whether she means it or is just faking) is ridiculous because Cinder knew this from the start. She hunted down Emerald and Mercury, worked with Roman, pulled Adam into their plans, is obviously a part of Salem’s circle and has relied heavily on the others for all of her plans. That includes everything from Mercury and Emerald securing Amber so she could steal some of her power, to working with Neo to steal the Lamp. So it’s beyond weird to give her a revelatory moment when she knew this lesson already. Ideally, we might have gotten a more nuanced version of that revelation where Cinder acknowledges that trying to do things alone, like she only has recently, has turned out badly. When Cinder worked with her evil team in Volumes 1-3, she succeeded. When she worked with Neo and Watts in Volume 8, she succeeded. When she went off alone against Pyrrha, she briefly succeeded... but then was blindsided by Ruby. Then she starts a pattern of trying to do it all alone, attacking Raven (and losing) or attacking Penny (and losing), with Emerald only there because she begged to come. And, shockingly enough, Emerald’s presence is what saves her... and Cinder is pissed about it. This might have been a moment where, instead of Cinder realizing that allies are good  — because she already knew that when she was introduced  — she realizes that she has unintentionally let her ego push those allies away and has been the worse for it. I’d normally say that RT might have been aiming for that and just executed it badly... but if that were the case, Cinder wouldn’t have kicked Neo off the edge, or killed Watts. She obviously hasn’t realized that allies are how she wins, otherwise she’d keep those allies around until she has what she actually wants: the Maiden powers. You don’t kill Neo until after you’ve snatched all the power from Penny; you don’t kill Watts until after he’s helped you get the other two powers. That would be the smart, manipulative move. So she successfully manipulated them in the short term, yes, but now it feels like Cinder has set herself up for failure again. What’s going to happen the next time she’s in a fight without those allies? She’ll lose, most likely. Just like she was succeeding when Neo was there to take out Yang, but then failed once Neo was in the void. If Cinder had kept her around, Neo might have been able to keep Jaune busy while Penny was dying. Who knows, but the point is she’s clearly better off with them at her side. Now that they’re gone, Hazel is dead, and Emerald has turned, Cinder has no backup except for Salem herself. No one to assister her and no one to manipulate/betray. I fear that Cinder will be back to her old, lame self. 

All of which could theoretically work. Cinder never realizing that allies are actually useful in the long run could be a fatal flaw of hers, but if that was meant to be a piece of her characterization we should understand why she’s so threatened by keeping them around. Above all, Cinder wants the Maiden powers and no one else is after them, so she’s not in competition with those allies for her ultimate goal. Salem (for whatever reason) considers her a favorite so again, Cinder isn’t trying to maintain some station that others are fighting her for. And as established, allies have only helped her over the course of this series. So why the egotism? Why doesn’t she want people to help her, or at the very least manipulate them until she’s achieved her true goal  — all the Maiden powers  — and then drop them into voids? I feel like the nugget of an answer might exist in her backstory. Something something Cinder is incapable of trusting anyone after Rhodes, no matter how much that trust would benefit her... but we don’t see evidence of that in the flashback itself (post-Rhodes Cinder exists for two seconds to stare at the moon) and she didn’t seem to possess this mistrust in the earlier volumes. This rejection of allies is now a pretty firm part of her characterization, but we don’t understand why and that lack of understanding rankles when a) it didn’t exist before and b) it’s clearly hurting Cinder’s chances to get what she wants in the long run. It’s like watching a character whose deepest desire is to bake a cake, we’ve established that having a recipe increases the chances of achieving that goal by a LOT, the character acknowledges this... but then it turns out that’s a lie because she’s tossed the recipe in the trash. And we don’t know why she did that. Why are you doing the things that are less likely to result in your cake?? 

Cake nonsense aside (lol) I have a lot of mixed feelings. Yeah, I too am happy that Cinder seems more competent than she’s been lately, but I also feel like that’s a really low bar right now. As you say, she was basically throwing “temper tantrums” before and now... she manipulates because she’s surrounded by the gullible and rejects long-turn help for unestablished reasons? It’s better than what we’ve gotten from her before, but I’m not sure I’d say it’s good  — and it may look worse the longer the series goes on. Like looking back at her Volume 1-3 characterization, RWBY doesn’t possess the consistency for these possibilities to amount to much. In truth, I don’t think Cinder has some cool, brilliant plan she’s pulling over on Salem. I don’t think Salem has some cool, brilliant purpose for Cinder. I don’t think that Neo’s (potential) return will lead to any growth for her or Cinder. Simply because RT doesn’t appear to be planning their story for the long term and, as Neo’s Lamp stunts show, characters do things for the plot, not because it suits their characterization. Cinder’s moment in the finale indeed works for me in some respects, but I think that’s only the case because I’ve expected so little from her character for so long. And Cinder’s moment in the final indeed has some potential attached to it, but based on past experience, I don’t think RT will capitalize on that. 

[skai6]

Jaskilion - Part 2 of this prompt 

Warning: 18+ (It’s all smut. What else do you expect?)

----

He wasn’t tense, or anxious, or frightened. He needn’t be, not when another version of himself was hovering over him with the promise of a good time – and good would be an understatement knowing what he himself was capable of. Dandelion was delighted to be under, and it was about damn time. He had taken many over the course of his life. It was his turn to be taken for a change, and who else a better candidate than himself?

God, the things he could do.

“Oh, that face,” Jaskier purred on top of him, suddenly so sure of himself, so smug, “Shameless Dandelion. That’s the face I pull when I’m practically begging for it.”

Dandelion’s stomach fluttered at the belittling. This was a game long lost, when the other knew exactly how to play him. Every turn-on, every kink, every sensitive spot.

He could moan at the mere thought of how ruined he could be made for everyone else after this.

But Dandelion knew better than to lay there and have his mind blown. Jaskier was just as vulnerable, as exposed. A trail of a warm tongue along the outer shell of his ear and he would be sent squirming. Dandelion knew his weakness, he knew it all, and he was unwilling to let the chance where he could get the other at his mercy pass so idly.

He laced his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders to remain flush against him, and with a pull, brought their bodies to shuffle to the side. Dandelion rose on top of him, palms spread over his chest, hips on hips, heat flooding to and fro.

“Have I always been so talkative in bed?” Dandelion purred, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his doublet, “Or are you just so thrilled to be finally getting my attention?”

“How can I not be?” said Jaskier with breathtaking eagerness, “With those cornflower eyes and those sunshine curls, anyone would be over the moon just having you glance over their side of the room. Whilst you are here, straddling me so prettily.”

“Are you calling me pretty?”

“Darling I’m calling you heavenly, godly, the world’s most beautiful – Oh!”

With the grind of his hips, Dandelion’s bulge came grazing against something hard and throbbing, feeling it pulsate under layers of clothing, unbound by the thickness of the fabric. And he loved it. He loved being the reason behind the luscious moan that slipped Jaskier’s tongue as a result, behind the slight curving of his back off the mattress as he felt it, behind the awareness dawning on him that his was the state of someone weak and wanting.

It never befell Dandelion, not until this moment, that he reveled in the thought of exposing Jaskier in his entirety.

It took him a second to appreciate the sight before Jaskier’s hands came dipping into his hair, fingers twirling around his curls, soft, gentle, tousled, and he pulled. And Dandelion had never obeyed so fast in his entire life – for gods forbid, he was the opposite of obedient – but now he was following the motion eagerly, greedily, desperate to catch the lips that came melting against his own.

He tasted of sweet wine and forbidden lust, a mixture that sent Dandelion’s head into a daze. He thought he knew himself inside out, and oh was he terribly wrong.

Long fingers came brushing the length of Dandelion’s clothed cock, fingertips dipping under the hem of his chemise, grazing the skin underneath and rising along his sensitive side. The shudder cascaded down his spine like a waterfall.

“Gods, your fingers.”

“Gods, your everything.”

Dandelion had to suppress an urgent moan when a thumb came tickling the edge of his nipple, his cock throbbing in the aftermath. He was seized by the sudden need to wipe the resulting grin off the other’s face, and began working, no – tearing Jaskier’s breeches open.

“Easy, love.” The fingers previously clutched in his hair softly loosened to come brushing the side of his jaw, the stubble on his chin, then landing on the lip that had been hanging open the whole time, expectant. “You wouldn’t want to rile me up beyond compare. We both know how that ends.”

“Oh, I know,” he said steadfastly, “It ends with you begging for a release you will never be getting. Just because you’re taking me doesn’t mean I don’t get to tease you beyond compare.”

Dandelion’s lips curved into a side smirk and he slowly, tentatively, closed them around Jaskier’s thumb. He felt him shudder underneath and when he glanced up, he captured bright blue hues gazing back at him with profound desire. Dandelion knew desire did not suit every commoner, but Jaskier wore it like a king wears his crown, with pride and a hint of control.

And gods it suited him.

His tongue twirled around the soft pad of his thumb, grazing the side of it before taking it in entirely. Their eyes remained locked on each other, until Jaskier’s gaze gave in and followed the bobbing motion of his head. Each time Dandelion reached the bottom of his thumb to suck on the sensitive flesh connecting to his forefinger, he would enjoy the sight of his eyelashes falling hooded with gripping want.

Eventually, Jaskier grew impatient and peeled his digit out of Dandelion’s flush lips, bringing it to his own and dragging his tongue over it, licking it clean.

And accidentally, unintentionally, Dandelion moaned. Aloud.

“Oh love, oh dear, oh sweetheart,” Jaskier’s tone came fluttering out of him with a hint of amusement. He cupped Dandelion’s face and pecked the corner of his lips. “Am I making you wait too long, leaving you wanting? Want me to kiss you harder, rougher? Want me to make every inch of your gorgeous body tremble with the sweetness of the thrill? The things I could do to you, oh, a brothel whore would blush at the mere mention of it all.”

Dandelion’s cock pulsed at the thought. “Gods.”

“Trust me, dear.” Jaskier placed a soft peck on his bottom lip, whispering. “The gods have nothing on what I’m about to do to you.”

Dandelion might have as well been swept off his feet, literally. His balance was lost, his back hit the mattress, and Jaskier regained the upper hand once more. His mouth parted open to utter a snarky remark or two, to ease the tension until he could reclaim his dominance, but Jaskier was having none of it. He captured his lips then and there, worked him open with his tongue, and made a moaning mess out of him when the breeches came undone and his hand came grazing the edges of his entrance.

“What is it, darling? Have something to say?”

Dandelion’s teeth sank into his bottom lip in an attempt to hold back a whimper when a cold finger slipped inside him. It was oiled and ready, and Dandelion was utterly confused as to how and when he had found the vial let alone spread its content over his hand. When he looked up, it was already being placed on the night stand and Dandelion knew he was done for.

“You look gorgeous, honey,” said Jaskier, his breath heavy against his ear, “Now, see, I know what you desperately want right now. And we both know what you must do to get it.”

Then Jaskier trailed the tip of his tongue over the edge of his ear.

“Go on,” he purred, “Beg for it.”

Dandelion moaned, voice high-pitched and sultry and the echo of it must have sparked something in Jaskier, whose delicate fingers began working him open in slow, sensual thrusts. Tender kisses were laid on his earlobe, the crook of his neck, and teeth dipped lower to graze the sensitive skin of his collarbone.

And Dandelion was losing his mind.

“Gorgeous,” purred Jaskier, “So beautiful. So perfect. So slutty. All for me.”

“Gods –“ he cried, “Please. Please, I beg you. Fuck me, Jaskier. Fuck me now.”

“Oh, darling,” he grinned, content, prideful, “Gladly.”

The slender fingers left him void and aching. The warmth of his tongue came to remind him of a closeness he had never experienced before. Gentle and passionate, just how he liked it. His breeches came undone and his legs spread open willingly, welcomingly. The sight of Jaskier parting him open with lust sparkling in his eyes was enough to make him come, and it was painful to hold himself back. Just a little bit longer, he reminded himself. Just a little bit longer and –

“Gods fucking above you’re so good for me,” Jaskier whined, voice cracking at the word good. His cheeks burned red and his mouth gaped. His hands came supporting himself on each side of Dandelion’s waist and with a slow, desperate thrust, sent both of them moaning in unison.

The room’s details melted in the background and soon all what Dandelion could hear and feel and see was Jaskier. The trickling of the sweat down his neck, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the peeking of his tongue while he fucked him slowly, tiredly, at first, then his teeth sank into his bottom lip and his hips grew restless, the slow rhythm soon to be thrown out of the window.

Dandelion clasped his hands against the headboard and braced himself for what was to come. The bed creaked louder underneath and Jaskier above him, with his doublet wide open and his chemise unlaced, exposing a trail of curly hair that glistened under the dim lighting of the room. There was something captivating about his heaving chest, his disheveled state, and his clothed body, something about being fucked by a man who worked you inside out in the exact manner you loved being worked. It was like a dream come true. Something straight out of his deepest, darkest, most desperate fantasies.

Dandelion, moaning and trembling, wanted to believe it was all a coincidence. Because this was just him, and clearly they fucked similarly, nothing to make more out of. But then those thin, long, perfect fingers came curling around his throat, those lusty eyes came gazing down at him from above, that smirk curving at the side of his mouth, condescending and cheeky.

And Dandelion understood he was doing it, all of it, on purpose.

“Oh, the look on your face, my love.” Jaskier’s breath hitched while he dived into him, “Makes the most skilled of whores pale in comparison, and trust me, I have fucked oh so many. But never, ever have I felt this absolute thrill, this – gods, this carnal urge to use everything I know makes you writhe and squirm and moan against you. Gods forgive me, I want to fuck you until you can’t walk for days and I know you love it when it aches after.”

A high-pitched cry of pleasure echoed in the room and Dandelion could not believe it came out of him. He wanted to retort, to speak his mind, to tell him that he wanted it, yes, gods, he did, he wanted it so badly. But when he opened his mouth all that came out were sultry, hoarse moans that were worthy of the whore he had become.

His cock swelled, the pit of his stomach burned, and a delicious haze had begun slipping into his head under Jaskier’s firm yet careful grip. Those fingers. Those fingers. They pressed all the right corners of his neck and Dandelion was gone for the split of a second, higher, further, somewhere that was beyond.

His orgasm might have as well sent him straight to heaven’s door.

When he came back to himself, the hand around his neck had loosened and Jaskier’s weight was heavy on top of him, all breathy and sweaty and completely and utterly fulfilled. He felt his cock still buried deep inside, stuffing him sensually, the slick of it a sign that he had spilled, too. Dandelion wrapped lazy arms around his body and sighed in pure content.

Few seconds passed by, then Jaskier dared lift up his head. He looked so prettily overdone. A sight Dandelion was never going to forget. Then he grinned like a fool, cheeks flushing in the aftermath, and Dandelion’s stomach fluttered with something that wasn’t there. Something tender, and real.

“You look like you’ve been sent to heaven and back,” said Jaskier.

“Would you –“ his voice broke, so he cleared his throat, and tried again, “Would you believe me if I said I was? I think I have seen the gods for a split second, shaken their hands, thanked them for whatever magic that brought you in my life, then floated my way back here to wake up complete.”

Jaskier laughed heartily at his words and, supporting his weight on his elbows, traced kind fingertips over the curls plastered to his forehead. He dragged a strand behind his ear and as he leaned in to press the softest of kisses on his lips, Dandelion’s heart gave out a wild throb.

“Thrilled to hear my cock could send you places,” he said, grinning. “And what’s that look on your face, darling? Have you been struck by love?”

“You wish,” Dandelion scoffed nervously.

“I do,” admitted Jaskier, then he let his gaze fall back on his mouth. “Have been for a while, actually.”

Dandelion fell suddenly still.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

This wasn’t happening –

When Jaskier leaned in to taste his lips again, Dandelion realized it was already too late.

-----

@kueble @electricrituals @jaskierswolf @geraskier-trash @selectivegeekwithstandards

[ganymedesclock]

since you like worldbuilding- what do you think are be some good ways to indicate that a fictional world very definitely is not our world? most sci fi books do stuff like calling a horse a Tallpoodle but that seems... situational...

I’m DELIGHTED you asked, anon! I have a lot of thoughts on this subject. 

I think that many of the most immersive worlds I’ve experienced are worlds that break from what I consider the default human experience. What you expect is familiar with your audience. Good examples of this are the movie The Dark Crystal, and the game Hollow Knight.

As you say, just calling familiar creatures different names is fairly weak. So, instead, ask yourself, what if this creature wasn’t here? What if this world evolved without horses- or, rather, that they made something ‘like a horse’ but approached from a different direction?

To use Heartfelt as an example, in Heartfelt, I had the idea that my protagonist is going to need to travel fairly large distances. Even if she’s only exploring a relatively small pocket of the world she lives in, it’s a planet many, MANY times the size of Earth. For that purpose, I gave her a steed, which became the character of Spud.

The number one thing I wanted to avoid in my Heartfelt worldbuilding was unbroken familiarity- that is, making any creature simply be a horse or a dog or a cat in aliens’ clothing. But I don’t want Spud to be so unfamiliar as to seem like a weird gimmick creature or incomprehensible to my audience- so the result is creating a patchwork of familiarity. picking multiple familiar pieces, and then playing them in unusual directions.

For Spud:

First, Spud is a wild animal. He is smart enough to decide to work with Chalice after she helps him, but this is a fundamentally different relationship than one does with a domesticated animal, and it injects an element of potential conflict or even danger. He can and will disagree with her. To convey this wildness, I looked to ‘relatives’ of horses- that is to say, other ungulates, but creatures who had never been tamed. His ultimate inspirations ended up being elk, moose, and the okapi for some flavor.

I am delighted to inform you that nature is really, really weird. Way weirder than you think it is- so just crack open your inner little kid who liked to read animal fact books and find something buck wild. 

Second, and this is a guiding principle for Heartfelt overall- I didn’t want to make Spud look too much like a mammal. Pop culture, especially movies aimed at kids, have a huge preferential favoritism for dogs, cats, horses, wolves, big cats... We’re a sucker for pretty charismatic predators. You’ll seldom find an animal more valorized and adored as the dog, and you’ll find an awful lot of ostensibly other animals (see: Sven from the movie Frozen) who act conspicuously like a dog in an animal skin.

That’s not unforgivable, by the way! I certainly see the appeal of dogs. But as you say, if you want to convey an alien world, I think it’s a good idea to confuse those algorithms in your audience. If you make something act like a dog, it’s a way to make it very winsome, potentially- but it also makes it feel familiar, and that’s not the enemy, but it’s to be used carefully. 

So Spud played to a couple of rules I had already set for myself: no fur, and to evoke sea life when possible. I also set some new rules: I wanted to make him expressive, but in a way that an audience might have to learn his expressions. This meant fighting some of my own impulses- you’ll notice older versions of Spud have cute ears! I took those away and replaced them with gills, which he still emotes with by flaring or constricting, but this creates some more confusion about his head. I also added the frill of tendrils running down his neck.

That’s not to say there’s no inspiration to be had in familiar animals! I love cats, and I really wanted to introduce a creature with a very winningly catlike niche. That gave rise to the Beks, who are probably the most unabashedly mascotworthy of my creatures. If this was a disney film you bet they’d be marketed as all get-out. 

Look at this fuzzy little guy! (and, yes, they are fuzzy. ‘no fur’ doesn’t mean ‘no feathers’, though they are uncommon)

So how do I cover that I shamelessly included Just An Alien Cat? Easy. Abstract the animal in question down to its essentials- in the case of cats, they’re small colony-social predators who basically domesticated themselves to us because most of our small pests were tasty treats to them. Then, build the animal out of something totally weird- like, say, a flightless parrot.

And, for an added twist, I based the beks off a very specific kind of cat- specifically, videos of cats who had lost their front legs and recovered. Cats with their weight only on their hind legs exhibit fascinating variations in gait and body language where they’ll use their whole upper body to emote and it’s both really weird and really charming. 

With this, I could be totally blunt and call these guys “cats” and they still wouldn’t seem ‘just like a cat, just like earth, just like normal things you expect’. And the fact that they are weird little parrots while also being stalking predators opens up so many fun behaviors to mix and match.

Some final notes I’ll make that are less about creature design and the world itself:

Resist the urge to give characters human standards of normality unless they are literally a human experiencing an alien world. Basically, the world as they know it is what’s normal to them, and you can use that skillfully to illuminate that this is a different world. A good way to do this is think about casual expressions. Would people say “can of worms” before the invention of the can? What expressions might they use instead? What would be something very inconvenient to loose on the world that you’d struggle to gather back up again?

Challenge yourself to work against your own assumptions. Even if the technology exists to make something one way- like technically the inhabitants of Furrow could make bricks and mortar- that doesn’t mean they have to! In going to my “seas and insects” theme, I ended up basing their structures off things like potter’s wasps, so normal houses around here tend to be urn-shaped.

Related to the above, though it has to be done a little carefully to pull it off really well, examine how alien things are that we take for granted. Hair and teeth are both foreign things to Heartfelt’s world- when Chalice meets someone who has both, she’s terrified of them. Likewise, as someone who’s spent her entire life underground, Chalice has a small form of agoraphobia- open spaces without the comforting boundaries of walls and ceilings unsettle her when she has spent her entire life in spaces that have finite bounds, no matter how large they are. This only gets worse considering that she comes from a sphere-shaped planet whose inhabitable surface is on the inside of it, with the sun in the center- so, imagine the horror of standing on a planet like Earth, putting your feet on the ground and looking up, simply indefinitely, to see the lights of distant stars and the endless void of space beyond your planet!

I hope this helped! Happy Worldbuilding!

[a-duck-with-a-book]

REVIEW // Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle, #1) by Jay Kristoff

★☆☆☆☆

So I’m very late to the party, but I just finished reading Nevernight by Jay Kristoff I had such high hopes for this series based off of what people recommending it had told me and what I read about it before picking up. Dark fantasy? Check. Strong leading lady? I’m here for it. Gays? It’s literally my only personality trait. Sign me up. Unfortunately, this book fell flat in all those categories. It reminded me a lot of Sarah J. Maas’s Throne of Glass, which made me take one point off of to begin with simply for making me think of Maas’s writing. Overall, I just found the book to be too predictable, with bad writing, exposition, and pacing, and too many parts that just made me ~uncomfortable~.

In case you are not familiar with this novel, Nevernight tells the story of Mia Corvere, a girl who lost her family when she was a child after her father was convicted of treason. When the book begins, she is 16 years old and embarking on a journey to join the Red Church, a school for assassins, so that she may one day be able to avenge her father’s death. Along the way she meets a bunch of forgettable characters whose names I can’t be bothered to remember and is taught by the most fearsome killers in the Republic. Here she gains many valuable skills, like how to survive being poisoned, how to fight, and how to get big boobs.

+ Side note: by chapter 3 three I started picturing Mia as the crow guy from RWBY and I could not shake that for the rest of the book

I had many issues with this novel that I will try to summarize in some sort of coherent fashion, but to be honest this book sucked the will to live out of me so I don’t know how much energy I can put into this review.

// image: official cover art by Jason Chan //

FOOTNOTES

The footnotes were probably the most jarring element of the book for me, and, unfortunately, there’s a lot of them. Their function seems to be twofold:

they are the form of most of the world-building, explaining several customs, the history of the institutions and peoples Mia meets, and the mythology followed by the people of the Republic.

they allow for the narrator of our story to interrupt with comical one-liners or cryptic foreshadowing

In my humble opinion, both of these are unnecessary and stupid. The interruptions come off as crass and immature and make the other more textbook, boring exposition come off as a joke, especially when it is dealing with sensitive or serious topics. There is one that explains this brothel called the Seven Flavors, which the footnote explains refer to “Boy, Girl, Man, Woman, Pig, Horse, and, if sufficient notice and coin was given, Corpse.” Now, on its own, this passing mention of pedophilia, bestiality, and necrophilia could very well contribute to the world building and tone of the novel, but when placed side by side with the childish, joking tone of the “cue the violiiiiiiiins” or, regarding the acoustics of a room, “…they were, as it happens, exceptional. Falalalalalalaaaaaaaa”, come off as way too light-hearted for the topic at hand. Maybe I’m being way too sensitive, but I’m pretty tired of authors using serious topics as off-hand remarks as a lazy way to make their world daker and grittier. Plus, these footnotes were just so incredibly cringy that I would recoil from second-hand embarrassment every time. They resemble the things I wrote when I was 14 and trying (and miserably failing) to be funny. Also… there are way too many of them. While at first I appreciated the attempt to deepen the lore of the story (I’m a sucker for world-building), after a while it became evident that the author was just forcing information down our throats without taking the time to actually weave the lore and background into the story itself. It came off as a very lazy way to force exposition.

OVERLY FLOWERY LANGUAGE

This story is BRIMMING with similes and metaphors, like every other sentence is some overly complicated way to describe something that could have been presented in three words. When you include so many metaphors/similes/etc., they begin to lose power. They should allow the reader to extrapolate more meaning and emotion from a sentence, but if the book is bursting at the seams with them, they become increasingly ordinary, to the point of losing all of their luster. One prime example appears on page 30:

“It was a bucktoothed little shithole, and no mistake. Not the most miserable building in all creation. [here there is a footnote about some other inn/brothel] But if the inn were a man and you stumbled into him in a bar, you’d be forgiven for assuming he had—after agreeing enthusiastically to his wife’s request to bring another woman into their marriage bed—discovered his bride making up a pallet for him in the guest room.”

So first of all what the fuck is that supposed to mean? That whole paragraph is a fever dream. Let’s begin with “bucktoothed little shithole”. Bucktoothed? Really? What does that mean. Please, someone explain to be right now what a bucktoothed building is. Is it uneven? Is it awkward? Is it half-finished? Is one side longer than the other? Did they do a bad paint job that only covers on side? Are the windows askew? Is the door too big for its frame? We already know from the paragraph above that it is “disheveled” as well, so why the need for another weird phrasing of its appearance? We then move on to that whole JOURNEY of a sentence, where the inn is compared to a man being cuckolded. That is the most insane tale-can you imagine running into someone in a bar and that story being the VERY FIRST thing that runs through your mind??? I know I’m focusing way too much on this stupid paragraph, but basically what I am trying to get at is that even though we spend half a page talking about how bucktoothed and disheveled and cuckolded this building is, we get no actual physical description of it. Imagine if Kristoff had just written that it was a run-down, ill-kept building that looked as worse for wear as its owner did. Done, one sentence. Great. Let’s move on. Instead, we spend so long reading these absolutely batshit descriptions that ultimately tell us next to nothing. Flowery language is placed over actual context. You may think that a description this long and complex means that this inn is a significant or recurring setting in the novel. Nope. It’s not. Mia leaves and that’s that. The reason that I’m focusing so much on this objectively irrelevant paragraph is because it is so representative of the biggest issue I have with the writing in this book. There are so many unnecessary comparisons that function only to make the author feel clever rather than add anything to the story at all. It’s very à la 2010s Tumblr.

THE (IN MY OPINION, BAD) WRITING

For the first half of the book, we are constantly being TOLD things rather than being SHOWN things. With the exception of one of the teachers cutting off Mia’s arm, we rarely see the ruthlessness that the assassins are so feared for, but we hear about it in nearly every other sentence Where are the consequences? I think this book would have been way more enjoyable if there were actually consequences to the characters’ actions. The inclusion of the weaver and the weird vampire guy completely remove any tension regarding the fate of the central cast. When Mia had her arm chopped off, I was shocked, and pleasantly surprised. How was she going to overcome this unexpected obstacle in her training? Then a couple pages later, its reattached with absolutely no lasting consequences. All of the initial tension and shock value of the loss of Mia’s arm is entirely removed because of the two incest-y siblings. Their entire purpose for existing is just to undo all damage to the main characters. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Mia is willing to take on a ton of consequences and completely throw away her chance at becoming initiated in order to avenge her family just to save Tric from receiving like one punishment??? Like why?? As an aside, the only moment I truly enjoyed was when Ash fucking stabbed Tric to death. I assume that when the reader’s favorite moment is one of the central characters’ death, it does not bode well for their reception of the book.

THE THEMES

TW: rape-y subjects

The author seemed a little too keen to include rape and sexual assault in his story. Mia withdrew her consent in the sex scene in the very first chapter, and even if you read it as consensual (which I do not), it is described as incredibly unpleasant on her end. Tric is the result of a rape, which is brought up several times throughout the story. Further, Mia is constantly facing harassment from men. I understand that this is frames the idea that the world she lives in is misogynistic and ruthless, but there are other ways to push that idea through other than constantly putting in her in those situations. As in, this didn’t need to be the ONLY way we explored this subject. Beyond the uncomfortable propensity for sexual assault, I also very much disliked the sexualization of the 16-year-old main character. Oh. My. Gosh. Mia is CONSTANTLY sexualized. Every single damn character makes comments about her body, how hot she is, how much sex she potentially has. It is so weird and uncomfortable. I feel the need to reiterate that she is SIXTEEN. There is, however, a focus placed on the power Mia can gain from seducing her targets. Girl power? Not to me, really. The issue I have with this is the idea that a woman has to be overtly sexual in order to be considered powerful. This is something that we can see in many female assassins and supposedly powerful female characters in fiction (like Black Widow) especially those written by men. Now, there is nothing wrong with using one’s sexuality as a weapon, and I’m certainly not saying that a strong female character cannot be sexual, but the idea that a sixteen-year-old girl is shown having her body painfully modified tp be more desirable, and in a graphic sex scene with another character, in order to for the reader to read her as liberated and powerful does not sit well with me. I don’t really feel like this aspect of her training should be relevant to the overall story. I wish the time that Kristoff had dedicated to hammering into our heads that Mia is a femme fatale to developing her Darkin powers instead. The way she is written now feels more like she is a faux strong female character written for a male audience.

Secondly, Mia is fully written as “the plain-girl-who-is-actually-pretty”. This whole trope bothers me IMMENSELY. YA is full of girls who are described as plain, forgettable, or ugly while their physical descriptions are just the dictionary definition of conventionally attractive. It seems like a way to market off of girls’ self-consciousness while still being able to market the main character as a hot heroine in official art. And there is, of course, the issue of Mia’s boob job Readwithcindy (just “withcindy” now!) did a whole video about this so I won’t get into it much just to repeat what she already said, but I agree that the idea of a 30-something year old man including this completely unnecessary detail regarding the sexualization of teenage girl, who we have ALREADY seen in a rape and being sexualized by other men in the story, made me really, really, uncomfortable. I highly recommend you go watch her video, as she touches on this in way more detail. [Cindy's video

RATINGS

Worldbuilding: ★★☆☆☆

A lot of thought obviously went into the world-the mythology, society, and politics are well-thought out. But the way they are introduced is annoying and bland. It seems like the author put a lot of effort into constructing this world but realized a lot of it would be left out of the book, so he crammed it into footnotes instead.

Tone and writing style: ★☆☆☆☆ for first half, ★★★☆☆ for second half

The tone of the first half is all over the place, like it doesn’t know if it should be dark and gritty or comical and immature. Footnotes and character dialogue ranges from lighthearted and crass to seeped with themes of torture and sexual assault. It is jarring, to say the least, and often feels like the author doesn’t take these ideas of rape or violence seriously. There are so many instances where the scene is tense or gritty, and Kristoff is actually writing it pretty well, I’m enthralled and on the edge of my seat, and then Mia or some other character (or the footnotes) throw in some stupid comment or make the same “Mia is such an asshole lol” joke for the billionth time and completely ruin the mood of that scene. The second half of the book moved much faster and was helped with way better writing, but it really did not do enough to make up for the horrendous structure of the first half of the book.

Pacing and structure: ★☆☆☆☆

The first half of the book really drags on. Once we arrive at the school, there are constant jumps in timeline, marked with periods when a thousand things happen all at once and the plot moves forward at a dizzying rate, and others when the characters just seem to be going about their daily lessons.

Concept: ★★★☆☆

I found the overall idea of the books to be very interesting, even though it is certainly not the most original or unique concept for a YA fantasy book. The issue is that the potential is squandered with a poor execution.

Characters: ★☆☆☆☆

I truly did not care about any of the characters. The token mean girl, the bumbling nice-guy-who-is-definitely-the-love-interest. too many of the characters just sat nicely within their tropes, doing nothing much to pique my interests. I think my favorite overall was Mister Kindly.