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corpsentry · 4 years ago

Note

allahrakhii (dot) tumblr (dot) com/post/148596180152/honestly-the-depths-of-ignorance-of-white-people

this is a really good post for those who want to learn more about the harmful portrayal of brown women in the legend of zelda series. theres a bunch of helpful links that direct to articles throughout the post as well. if you scroll through a bit youll find the section that covers why the gerudo outfit is racist.

i would appreciate if you post this and not simply brush it aside! this message isnt intended to be hostile or offensive, but rather it is an opportunity for learning and discussion. thank you.

i find the insinuation that i might brush this aside rather ominous anon! first of all, thank you for sharing this post. as someone vaguely from southeast asia i uncovered another facet of the fuckcluster of internalized racism in my system while reading it and will be thinking about it for a while to come. the post is well-written and thoughtfully phrased, plus op provides links to several other resources that i’ll be checking out in my free time too so i’d recommend anyone passing by here give it a read. i also want to apologize for responding to the earlier ask (now deleted) where op was like ‘how is the gerudo outfit racist’ and i was like ‘fuck all if i know’. i was talking out of my ass and failed to consider alternate perspectives. i retract that statement and replace it with this much longer and much more eloquent one.

now everything from here on is frankly quite unrelated to this ask so to the person who sent it please feel free to stop reading right here right now from high school musical as i want to talk about the previous anon message i received and some general stuff regarding fandom and none of that has anything to do with you (you are lovely and the rest of the world is a shithole).

i don’t know if the original anon who sent the ‘i like your art but the gerudo outfit racist :(’ is gonna see this but let’s take a moment to unpack it. i’m not quite sure what anon was going for with this ask. what did they want from me? did they want me to apologize for drawing and posting it? did they want me to delete the post? did they expect me to say oh thank you so much!!! sorry about the racism xd or did they want me to call up shigeru miyamoto and be like ‘hey dude your shit’s racist’ and then take down the entire nintendo corporation in one fell swoop like i was somehow implicated in either the development process or the game by pure merit of drawing fanart of it(????). this was the shit running through my head when i woke up at 6 am this morning because jetlag and opened tumblr and there was this Person sitting there trying to :( me. what’s up with the :(. why are you :(. what do you want from me.

this is where the second anon above comes in. relative to this ask, if the first anon had so much as dropped one (1) link to one (1) post explaining how the outfit might be racist (and taken out the :(, which is lame) then instead of being like ‘which reaction image should i use for this’ i would’ve been like ‘oh here’s something i didn’t know about the world and here’s how i can learn more’. ‘your art great but this racist u___u’ reads like someone trying to guilt-trip someone for shits and giggles. a B grade on a paper is useless unless your prof tells you where you went wrong and before anyone Calls Me Out i’m going to acknowledge that there is a broader issue with marginalized groups having to bear the burden of ‘explaining themselves’ to privileged people who aren’t willing to go and seek information on their own, but let’s just look at this ask for a moment.

what the fuck is this??? what am i even supposed to do with a statement that not only tells me nothing but also seems to have no clear purpose? i am sitting here drawing video game fanart in a college dorm in pennsylvania and i know like 3 things about western media because i don’t like live-action film. if you want to have a conversation please give me something to work with instead of trying to sound sad in my askbox. i can’t turn your :( into a :) because i have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about because i am not god (yet) (although i am trying to).

but let’s talk bigger. racist stereotypes are a huge fucking problem in everything the ideological west gets its hands on. i promise you i know this because i grew up in singapore where the racism was directed towards everyone including ourselves because sir dickbag raffles stuck a flag in the ground and then ruined everything. i can see how nintendo has replicated those racist stereotypes, especially given that east asian countries generally have a long history of racism towards black and brown people. singapore fucks with it too because we’re majority chinese-singaporean and majority lighter-skinned (relatively speaking). op makes a lot of excellent points. perpetuating stereotypes in popular media serves to reinforce racist ideas and further entrench discriminatory beliefs. it’s a chicken egg chicken egg thing. people are socialized into racist beliefs. they create media with racist depictions. young people consume said media and are socialized into racist beliefs. and so on. egg chicken egg chicken.

so, question: where does fanwork figure into all of this? is that 5k ganlink (is this the ship name lol idk if it’s wrong feel free to take me out with a bazooka) e-rated smutfic the egg or the chicken? who is it socializing? who’s writing it? what kind of audience is it reaching? and, more broadly speaking, what is fandom here for, and what does fandom want to achieve?

here we’re going to take a huge detour into another very popular disco horse (at least on twitter i have fuckall clue what’s going on on tumblr at all times) of the present times: the wmulti level wmarketing (wlw) discussion. it is statistically true that there are far less f/f fics on ao3 than m/m fics and f/m fics. this clearly reflects something about fandom’s habits, but the floor is divided. in fact, the floor is on fucking fire all the time. several arguments have been made over the years, of which 1) media creates less-nuanced female characters which makes them harder to connect to (mass media’s fault) and 2) everyone is a gay fetishizer (the individual’s fault) are, arguably, the most popular.

as a head ass philosophy student i’m going to pick the option no one likes and say that i think it’s a combination of all of these factors. and i’m going to step out further and say that people are so inseparable from our communities and societies that it’s impossible to tell where external influence ends and personal preference begins. what this means, more simply, is i think that both individual arguments are insufficient. media is fucking complicated and so are people so imagine when you put all of this shit together on one webpage and then you light a match. tell me, bethany, can you truly say that you like twinkies because You Like Twinkies or was it that advertisement you saw at the bus stop every day for eight years that finally got to you? are you trying to rebel against society’s fear of fatness? are you depressed? do you just like sweet things, and anyway, can anyone “just like” something?

now let’s transplant this issue of societal/self influence (a fandom friendly version of the nature/nurture argument, if you will) onto fandom. so okay, there aren’t a lot of f/f fics. what do?

some popular options i’ve seen are: 1) make angry posts/tweets about how everyone sleeps on f/f relationships in fandom and we’re all secretly lesbophobic 2) call everyone a gay fetishizer 3) write f/f fic

and so here is the other (other? i don’t remember how many problems i’ve listed lol i’m trying here guys) problem: fandom doesn’t have a single cohesive goal. like people don’t come to fandom and then sign a 5 page contract at the end of which is the company vision. everyone comes here to do their own shit. some people use fandom as a means of escape. some people are trying to spread a message (like the evangelists) or educate the youth. some people fuck around and find out.

concept: if the goal of fandom was social activism, then the argument could be made that We Should Write More f/f fics. that make sense to you? because there’s something we’re all striving towards, we can agree that we have an obligation to our community to do something. but the goal of fandom isn’t social activism, is it? maybe it is for you. but it isn’t for everyone here including the 14 year old kid in chinese orchestra and the 56 year old who just wants to read some good werewolf smut. and because we’re all different people who do different things and fandom is not and cannot be your entire life, we can’t make these prescriptive statements. we can’t tell people what to do. ‘people should write more f/f fics because there are very few right now’ that is a valid statement and observation. now will you write those fics? because you’re the only person whose fandom life you can control. because the point of fandom is we’re away from the rules and regulations of Society. because when people are told they can do what they want they will do what they want and if you tell them to do something else, it’s hard to fault them for not taking kindly to it. i’ve written 5k character studies. it’s work. not everyone wants to do that work. that’s why i do it.

detour end and now we return to the chicken egg problem. in my opinion, the shit we create in fandom isn’t the chicken or the egg. it’s the onsen egg that’s been placed on top of your ramen. it’s a product of several complex societal processes, but now it’s here you and maybe the dude sitting across from you are the only ones, by and large, that it’s going to affect. this onsen egg isn’t for the children of the world (broadcast via disney+). this onsen egg isn’t for the politicians who’ll decide on the policy of your country for the next hundred years. they’re not even going to see it because it’s a fucking onsen egg now and no one has taste anymore these days except for yourself, which is why this onsen egg is just for you. put in clearer terms, i agree with op that people in fandom often replicate societal bias in their work (people are copy machines, bethany), but i don’t think most fanfiction has the power to influence society the way that popular media can (see: marvel movies, i dunno, fucking, like, austin powers?), and to critique it with the same mindset we use to critique tony stark is to say that we earnestly think every 15k smutfic is going to be read by millions of people of all ages from across the world. which is not the case. ao3 has a thing you have to click if you’re not logged in you know where you have to agree that you’re 18 or older o read adult stuff. if you lie about that that’s your own goddamn problem. they asked.

and now, part 2, we come around to several interesting points made in the post. op mentioned that ganon is often portrayed as hypersexual (which is fascinating to me i don’t read e rated fic I See What Zelda Fandom Is Doing) or just fucks a lot in general. since i don’t go here i will take op’s word and roll with it, but i have my own word to add: so ganon fucks- what do we do? do we tell people to stop writing fics where ganon fucks? do we force them? do we tell people to write more gen rated character studies (please join me i sit here alone and i (pensive homo stare))?

we could. but we can’t make them. and we also can’t tell them where their ideas are coming from. i don’t, like, read a lot of smutfic but i sure know that shit exists because half my friends are horny as shit and can we all agree that fandom as a whole is just super fucking horny. like yes if ganon as a whole is portrayed more often in sexual situations than the other characters in the franchise, it’s a good and fair observation that Something’s Up Here. but can we really point to individual authors? the premises mentioned in the post by op are premises i’ve seen for haikyuu fanfiction. multiple times. tens of hundreds of times. what if someone’s just really fucking horny? what if they’re replicating racist ideas taught to them by mass media? can we tell? can THEY tell?

the answer is no because humans are black boxes that can’t be opened up even if we drop into the pacific ocean and instead screech helplessly at walls all our lives. the answer is these are complex issues and i don’t think prescriptive ‘Never Write Sexy Ganon’ statements or pointing fingers at random 30 year old smutfic authors will improve the situation. the answer, or at least my answer, is that we should consume media with a critical eye and be aware of potential biases perpetuated by the authors/creators, but striving towards ideological purity is impossible on principle (i promise you everyone on this planet is problematic in some way or another because this purity thing from christianity is fucking lame and also completely fake) and so we should all give that up. my personal answer is i’ve learned a lot about stereotypes about middle eastern and south asian people and i’ll take all this info with me moving forward, but i honestly and earnestly do not think me drawing link and zelda in dumbass princess jasmine outfits is going to directly correlate with an increase in racism as observed in the island city-state of singapore. i am aware now. that’s a good thing. but just like how the h*rry potter fandom has completely detached itself from its horrible creator and now fucks around in its own space doing its own thing, i think it’s fully possible to engage with flawed media because, surprise surprise, all the media in the world is flawed.

#asks #anon #Anonymous #my stuff

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bexterbex · 5 years ago

Text

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 2

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Originally posted on my Ao3 Crystallclover. If you missed Chapter 1, Click Here

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Chapter 2: An Arrival to be Remembered

UFO has been sited entering the Earth’s atmosphere

Unknown armed and masked being exit ship heading towards the White House, is the President in danger?

Aliens spotted in D.C.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm, and got out of bed. You have been in the habit lately to start your day without checking your phone first. Mostly to avoid early morning emails from your boss before you have even had coffee.

You head to the bathroom relieve yourself, wash your face, and brush your hair. Exiting the bathroom you head to the kitchen and make yourself some breakfast and coffee. You enjoy the sunrise through the large windows in your apartment. Finishing eating you immediately wash your few dishes and get ready for work. You pick out your work ‘uniform’ of a black blouse and black trousers. You head to the bathroom to brush your teeth, put on a little makeup and get changed.

Heading back to the kitchen you prepare a to-go cup of coffee and pull out your lunch for work. Finally, you check your phone.

First, you see an email from your boss reminding you for the 10th time about the morning meeting that you have every Thursday. It isn’t like you to forget something you do every single week for the past year. Never once have you been late, in fact, he was always the one to forget. You wonder if these emails were meant more for him and less for you. But he was always the micromanager.

Next, you check your texts. Your usual morning photo from one of your siblings about one of your nieces/nephews. Another one from Hayden asking if you were still on for tomorrow night’s weekly bar trip. You answered ‘Yes 😀 .’ Another from Carter asking what you think of the news headlines this morning. Odd, although this isn’t the first time you two had discussed something like this it was odd to receive a text like this from them first thing in the morning.

You open Twitter to see #alieninvasiondc trending. You scroll through the news tag. Every major news site around the world is talking about the shuttlecraft that landed on the White House lawn last night, and the armed and armored soldiers that departed from the craft. All of the soldiers wore white armor, except one in silver. There was one who was in all black and a red-haired human-looking man among the group. Not much is known other than they haven’t been seen leaving the White House.

You text Carter back ‘Just looked now, either this is a hoax or the world as we know it is coming to an end. I’ll see you at work.’

You packed your work bag, grabbed your car keys and set off to work. You park in the ramp attached to your building and walk to the elevator. You wave at the security attendant to the opposing skywalk like you do every morning. You arrive at your floor and buzz-in. You say hi to Nancy in reception and head to your desk.

Strangely all of the televisions in the office were muted and tuned into CBC News, normally the one in the break room and the ones in reception were on, the others only really got used during Hockey Games or events like the Olympics. Your boss was in the walkway with his attention turned to his phone.

You set down your things at your desk and boot up your work computer while setting up your laptop on its stand. You did your usual check through work emails until the 9:00 AM weekly meeting. Your boss hasn’t moved from his position in the walkway.

8:55 AM hits and you grab what you need and head to the conference room. The tv was on in here as well. The others in the Marketing department filled in after you. Your boss, Scott, had yet to move from his place in the walkway. 9:00 AM hits and you continue small talk with your co-workers, most of the conversation is directed at the events in D.C.

9:05 AM your co-worker Ally sends a Slack message to your boss. He looks up from his phone to the clock on the wall and runs into his office. After a few minutes, he rushes out and into the conference room.

“Sorry, I am late everyone the Wife is just paranoid over this Alien Invasion thing. I can’t get her to stop texting me,” he chuckles.

Ironically this isn’t the first time he has been ‘late’ to a meeting after being on the phone with his wife an hour after work already started.

Suddenly you all get an Emergency Alert System notification on all of your phones.

‘International Emergency: Please tune in to your local news broadcasting station to receive an Emergency Report.’

Scott asks, “where is the damn remote?”

Ally hands it to him, he unmutes the tv.

The headline reads: ‘President of the United States has an Important International Government Update’

Live from Washington D.C.

On the screen, it shows the President of the United States, with the silver soldier, one in all black and the red-haired man from the video of the invasion last night.

“I have an important announcement. Earth has been contacted by people from space who call themselves the First Order. The First Order has informed me that they would like to peacefully work with Earth. As long as we fully cooperate as an entire planet no harm will come to any of us. Currently, our galaxy is at war, and the First Order seeks our help, in return of offering Earth protection from a group of people called the New Republic.

They have explained to me and the U.N. as a whole that the New Republic is not to be trusted along with their mercenary army called the Resistance. It is through my decision and the decision of the U.N. that we will cooperate and join forces with the First Order to be under their protection.

All citizens of Earth in the next 7 days must register with the First Order. You will be given a citizen number, some citizens may be reassigned to work directly with the First Order. All military personal will be reassigned to be under the First Order. You should not worry as most citizens will be unaffected, life will go on as normal. As long as citizens follow these orders and any orders to come, we shall be safe,” said the President. The President moved out of the way for the man in all black and with a black mask to move to the podium.

“I am the Supreme Leader of the First Order. I promise no harm will come to those who cooperate with us. We seek to peacefully transition your planet, as you know it Earth, to a primary First Order Planet. We value honesty and loyalty, along with hard work. We strive to rebuild the Empire and to maintain order in the galaxy. That is all,” The man's voice was distorted through the mask he was wear, it sounded mechanical or digital but it had a deep sound.

The broadcast cut back to the news anchor. “Currently all citizens of earth are to report to their a local city government building or town hall within the next 7 days for First Order registration and possible reassignment. All citizens must remain calm and do as the government has directed. Any questions or concerns will be answered by local government officials and First Order personnel. All foreign citizens to Canada will follow the same protocol as citizens. All citizens are asked to bring various forms of identification, such as a Passport, driver's license, birth certificate, social insurance number card, any immunization forms, military I.D. and more. You can find a full list of required documents at the CBC website or at canada.ca. As a reminder, all citizens are urged to stay calm and to follow all orders regarding and following First Order registration. Citizens are also advised to stay tuned to local news sources for any updates.”

The conference room sat stunned at the announcement.

“Well were f*****,” said Scott. “We are all surely f*****. Who are these people to think they can just take over like that? Do they think we are just going to sit by and let them brainwash us? Let them take everything from us?”

“I don’t think we have a choice, you heard the U.S. President, the U.N. is in agreement. This is for our own safety. If you are going to go against them and get yourself killed keep us out of it,” said Daniel one of your marketing co-workers.

“I’ll talk to Henry, and see if we can all take the week off, who knows this may be the last time we even get to see our families,” and with that statement, Scott left the conference room.

You sat there not really moving, processing what you just witnessed on the tv and the confrontation between Scott and Daniel. So did the rest of your co-workers. You could tell they were all in shock, the world as you knew it was about to change, the future had shifted.

All of your phones went off again. This time it was an email from Jonathan the CEO.

‘All employees will take today, tomorrow and next week off, in order to give proper attention to the government mandate. Please be safe and I hope to see you all come -Henry G. Wells’

Everyone in the conference room got up and went to their desks. The office was silent, except for the sounds of items being put away and people gathering their things. You were almost done getting ready to go when Carter appeared next to you.

They didn’t speak, for fear of being the first one to break the ominous silence. Carter just looked at you expectantly. You finished packing up and walked with them out of the office. The elevator was packed but silent. Everyone got off and walked to their cars. Carter followed you to yours.

Keeping their voice down, almost to a whisper, they asked, “I know I texted you this morning about all this but what do you think now? Do you want to go back to your place or mine?”

You thought about it for a moment before responding, “let’s go back to mine. We can discuss it from there.”

Carter accepted your response and went to their car to leave. You followed suit. Today was not what you expected.

Tags: @sheadre

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #sw #sw sequels #a soul to mend his own

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the-irish-mayhem · 5 years ago

Text

Toph and Aang need Fire Lady Katara to advise on a bloodbending case in Republic City. Or: The Yakone vs. Katara bloodbending battle that we were owed.

This was originally going to go up for @zutaramonth Day 11: Secret, but it also works a bit for today’s prompt, which is Sacrifice.

Read on AO3.

The Scarlet Tree

128 AG Year of the Rat Republic City

“It’s a beautiful theory, Aang, but we’re not going to be able to convince people of any of it,” Toph says, voice soft, cognizant of the two children sleeping down the hall. “Yakone’s been weaseling out of charges for years. We can’t do this again unless it’s airtight.”

Their kitchen is dimly lit by a lamp in the center of the table, and a Republic City Police file is spread out across the surface. Aang is seated on one end, fingers idly toying with a witness statement taken a few months prior, while his wife paces like a caged animal at the opposite end.

“We already have ten willing witnesses,” Aang replies, matching her quiet tone, “and I’m willing to bet we can find more. A lot more.”

“Look, I hear you, I do, but I can also hear what his defense attorney is going to say--bloodbending is extremely rare, and Yakone has airtight alibis during full moons,” Toph says.

“Just because it’s never been done before doesn’t mean it isn’t possible,” Aang says. “You of all people should know that.”

Toph’s expression twists, and she stops pacing. For all her tense mannerisms, she looks surprisingly calm, if in a sour mood. The soft slope of her nose and the defiance in her jaw are highlighted by the dim firelight, and he wishes he could tell her that she’s beautiful, but he suspects that wouldn’t get him very far this evening. (Not that that particular compliment gets him very far often, but what kind of husband would he be if he never said it at all?)

“It seems unfair that something so awful might have no limits,” she finally says.

Aang sighs. He certainly doesn’t disagree. “It takes a prodigal waterbender to be able to do it in the first place. It’s not like we’ve met an abundance of benders with the ability.”

“Speaking of prodigal waterbenders, maybe we ask Katara about it,” she asks. She rests her fists on the table, knuckles pressed to the papers. “She probably has a better idea on how to handle this than we do.”

“Do I hear… a trip to visit the Fire Nation?” Aang asks with a growing look of delight on his face.

Toph smiles at the suggestion. “It’s been a while since we paid Sugar Queen and Sparky a visit. I’m sure Tenzin and Lin would love to see their cousins.”

Aang replies, “I can arrange for an airship. Next week sound okay to you?”

“Why not take Appa for old times’ sake?”

“If you’d like to be stuck on an air bison with an eight and a nine year old all the way to the Fire Nation…”

Toph pales. “Yeah, an airship is probably a better option; although, you might be able to convince Tenzin to meditate all the way there.”

A beat of silence passes, and though she can’t see him, Aang is grinning like an idiot at her.

“What?” she asks.

“The domineering Toph Beifong, so easily convinced to take time off? Who are you and what have you done with my wife?”

She smirks right back. “We’re doing this so we can finally arrest Yakone, not take leisurely strolls on beaches.”

“Oh, I think I can convince you to take at least one stroll.”

“Keep me out of the sand, and I might consider it, Twinkletoes.”

Aang groans. “Is there going to be a certain anniversary we hit when I can finally get rid of that nickname?”

“You always ask, and my answer is always the same.”

He shakes his head, fondness tightening his chest. “Here, I’ll clean this up,” he says, scraping the files into a pile. She’d brought them home for his benefit, after all. “You’ve had a long day. Head up to bed, and I’ll see you there.”

Toph chuckles. “ I’m the master here.” She doesn’t give any other protest, kisses his cheek, and plods down the hallway to their bedroom.

Aang finishes up in the kitchen, and quickly checks on Tenzin and Lin, both sleeping soundly, and heads to bed himself.

***

It’s just past midday, and the sun is high in the sky on a cloudless, hot day in the Fire Nation. The capital city is abuzz with life--benders and non-benders alike seek out merchants and street vendors, construction crews break in shaded areas and guzzle water brought in by ostrich horse-drawn carts, tea shop owners hawk their custom blends across busy streets, school children are released for the day, and the city itself seems alive, pulsing and breathing like any one of its citizens.

In the Caldera, Fire Lady Katara looks out over the city from a balcony of the palace. Even after nearly 25 years of living here, she still doesn’t care for how the mouth of the ancient volcano holds them separate from the outlying city districts. Despite the expansion of the city and various programs she and Zuko had created targeting class stratification, it still feels far too guarded. Considering that the Caldera is mostly just residences of those able to afford the outrageous prices (a group that, historically, has not been Katara’s biggest fan), it doesn’t really hold the same place in Katara’s heart that the city at large does.

“What are you thinking about?”

Katara looks over her shoulder to find her husband approaching. He looks every inch an intimidating Fire Lord, what with the spiked epaulettes on the elaborate robes and the traditional headpiece tucked into his topknot, but the dorky grin he’s got on is purely Zuko and purely for her.

It makes her grin back, and she looks back out over the city as he comes to stand next to her.

“I’m trying to judge how much the Council would hate me if I suggested demolishing the volcano.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Well, significantly more than when you wanted to build the first publicly funded school, but probably less than when you suggested decriminalizing prostitution.”

“What I’m hearing are a bunch of fights that I did win, so…”

“How about this: we wait until the day before we abdicate, then do it, and let Izumi deal with the fallout.”

Katara laughs. “She’s a peacekeeper at heart, so there might be some merit there.” She leans into his side and he puts an arm around her in response. “Are the kids done with their lessons?” she asks.

“Yes, they just finished. They’re excited to see Tenzin and Lin. Or,” he amends, “Kya is excited to see them. I can’t really tell if Kyokani remembers them, or if he’s just feeding off of Kya’s excitement. And Iroh is exactly how I was at sixteen.”

Katara rolls her eyes. “Evil and angsty?”

“I did not think anyone could out-angst me, but our son has done it.”

Katara scoffs. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Zuko smiles wistfully. “I wish Suki and Sokka could be here too. It feels like it’s been so long since we’ve properly gotten everyone together.”

“Spirits, it must have been at least a Council or two ago.” She sighs deeply. “Remember when we were hiding out on Ember Island when we were kids? It was only a few days before Sozin’s Comet, but we were…” She sighs again. “I don’t ever want to go to war again, but sometimes I really, really miss those days. Us, all together.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “It was so much simpler in a lot of ways, too. Teach Aang bending. Beat the Fire Lord. Win the war.”

Katara hums in agreement. “Before we had to worry about things like securing funding for social welfare programs and economic development variables and social statistics surveys.”

“Hey, I didn’t have much of a choice, but you voluntarily signed up for all of that when you married me.”

She grins. “I suppose so. It was a good deal, if you ask me,” she says before leaning over to kiss his cheek. He turns his head so he catches her lips with his. 21 years of marriage and four children later, their kisses don’t always render her weak in the knees like they used to. Rather, it’s bracing, reassuring, a small reminder in a day of distractions that they are not alone.

She pulls back with a sigh and stares out across the Caldera once more.

Their conversation trails into light political discussion, as many of their conversations are wont to do during their working hours. The funding for the hospital on Hing Wa Island that would complete a ten year project to bring publicly-funded medical care to every island had finally ground its way through the political process. The completion of the Hing Wa Hospital would kick off the next phase of Katara’s plan to expand the existing hospital system in the Earth Kingdom, and hopefully her careful planning in coordination with the Northern and Southern Water Tribes would mean that there would be at least one healer in most of the major regions. (“Oh!” she exclaims, “It will coincide perfectly with the end of her semester, so Izumi might be able to join me.”)

There is also, of course, the United Republic of Nations, which is an ever-growing and changing responsibility for them. Zuko and Katara are the only ones currently not living there of the original Team Avatar, so their involvement hasn’t been as hands-on in the last few years. It’s not strange for Aang and Toph to want them to advise on something, but it is slightly out-of-the-ordinary for them to not share what that something is in a letter.

They don’t have to wonder about it for very long.

“Your Majesties,” one of their messengers says, and they turn to face him. “Apologies for disturbing you.”

“It’s no worry, Xi,” Zuko says. “What is it?”

“Avatar Aang and Chief Beifong have arrived from Republic City.”

***

On a balcony overlooking one of the courtyards where their children play together (and the young Iroh sits grumpily off to the side), the old friends catch up over steaming cups of tea.

(Tenzin’s airbending is progressing quickly, and Lin still can’t metal bend.)

(Izumi likes studying in Ba Sing Se, Iroh strives for new levels of teen angst every day, Kya healed her first papercut last week, and Kyokani hasn’t bent anything just yet.)

Katara had asked eagerly after her brother and his wife and kids.

(Sokka is tackling the challenges of being on Republic City’s Council like he does everything in life--cleverly and without reservation. Suki’s expansion of the Kyoshi Warriors past their ancestral borders has been hitting a few snags. Luna and Ukira have recently begun their training to become Kyoshi Warriors, like their mother before them.)

But alas, the subject at hand raises its nasty head much sooner than they would’ve liked.

“Yakone,” Zuko growls when Toph and Aang share their reason for visiting. “That perpetual thorn in our sides is still alive?”

“Unfortunately,” Toph replies.

“So what’s he done this time?” Katara asks. “Please tell me it’s something you guys can actually convict him on.”

Aang winces. “That’s… where things get complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Zuko asks.

Aang scratches the back of his neck. “Well…”

Toph swings into it with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, “We think Yakone is a bloodbender.”

They can hear the shouts of their children below in the courtyard, the sounds of joy discordant with the tone their conversation has veered into.

“Well, shit,” Katara says.

Zuko looks over at her with widened eyes. “Usually you’re the diplomatic one.”

“Well, I can’t really think of a diplomatic way to react to that revelation.”

Toph says, “How’s this for shit: based on what witnesses have said, it looks like he can bloodbend without a full moon.”

Zuko and Katara share a loaded look.

Aang blinks. “You… don’t seem surprised.” He glances between the two. “We came to ask you if you thought it could be possible. We have witnesses, but--”

“It’s possible,” Katara interrupts, calm and sure.

A heavy beat passes before Aang asks, “Have you-- Katara, have you done it?”

She lets out a long breath before she explains, “Until now, Hama was the only other bloodbender we’d ever met, and she told us that a full moon was necessary for the technique. And…” Katara sighs softly. “And for Hama, the full moon was necessary, but my bending is stronger than hers was. The full moon certainly makes it easier, but it’s not required.”

“Katara--”

“Don’t start with me, Aang.” Under the table, Zuko takes her hand. “When I first did it, I swore I would never do it again. It felt… wrong and barbaric, and that was never something I had ever associated with my bending.

“But I realized years ago that by cutting myself off from the possibilities--”

“What possibilities?” Aang asks, heated. “We outlawed it for a reason. You fought for it as much as anyone else!”

Katara lets out an exasperated breath. “Have you forgotten already, my pupil?” she says with a wry edge. “Waterbending isn’t all about fighting.”

“Healing,” Toph surmises. “You used it for healing.”

“Yes,” Katara answers. “One of the biggest drawbacks of healing with water is that deeper, more serious injuries are often harder and take longer to fix. But if we can heal someone using their blood, then healing those injuries will be faster and much less taxing. And perhaps someday it won’t be just injuries we can fix. Illness, maiming, wounds that could’ve been crippling or fatal…”

Aang sighs. “You can save more people,” he concludes.

“Yes,” she replies.

He does have the good sense to look sheepish. “Sorry for assuming the worst. Sifu Katara,” he adds with a little mock bow, just to make her smile.

It works, but it’s tempered. “Look, I get your reluctance,” Katara says. “Really, I do. When we made it illegal, it was meant to be a bottle stopper on a technique that can easily be abused, but if what you’re saying about Yakone is true, then the bottle is leaking.”

“So how do we stop it?” Aang asks.

“Well, a good start would be putting Yakone in prison once and for all,” Katara says.

Zuko says, “He’s managed to weasel his way out of all the charges that have been brought against him. Trying to convince people that he can bloodbend without a full moon won’t be easy. What evidence do you have so far?”

“Witnesses,” Toph answers. “Lots of them.”

Katara says, “You’ll have a tough time getting enough credible witnesses who tell a consistent story to convince people that something thought to be impossible is possible.”

Aang says, “We’ve already got a dozen ready and willing to share what they saw.”

“That won’t be enough,” Zuko says.

“We’re working on that,” Toph says, “and we have leads for at least ten--”

“What if I testified?” Katara asks suddenly.

“No,” Zuko says. “Katara, you can’t be serious.”

“I am serious,” she says. “I’m a bloodbender who can do the technique you’re trying to convince people is possible. That would mean the burden of proof is moved away from proving it’s possible to proving that Yakone can do and has done it.”

Toph nods along with her words, and says in response, “That’s actually a really good idea. If we can get the Council to focus on the testimony rather than the bending…”

“And get the Fire Lady,” Aang says, “one of the most powerful politicians in the world, to admit on record that she also can do and has done something that illegal?”

Zuko looks over at Katara as if to say See?

She sighs. “I can’t just turn my back on Republic City because we’ve been keeping my bloodbending a secret. It sounds like we have a chance, a real chance, to finally put Yakone away, and if I don’t do everything I can to ensure that that happens, then how can I look myself in the mirror and say I’m trying to make the world a better place?”

“Think about the political implications,” Zuko says, and gets a strange look on his face. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying that to you right now but seriously. Agni knows how many enemies we have, and this would be the exact sort of thing to give them more wind in their sails. Plus, with all the fearmongering that went on about bloodbending after the war, testifying that you can do it whenever you want? People are going to fear you,” he shakes his head, expression sad.

“Give the people some credit,” Toph says. “Katara is probably the most popular public figure in the world behind Aang. People freaking love her. What kind of evil bloodbending witch builds hospitals for poor people?”

A silence draws over the table. An impasse.

In true Avatar fashion, Aang breaks the silence by saying, “I propose a compromise.” He smiles ruefully. “I think with the case we’re building, the evidence and the witnesses Toph has found, I think it will be enough.” He turns to Toph, “You trust the people enough to not turn on Katara, but not enough to rely on the witnesses to help convict Yakone? Look,” he continues, looking between all of them, “I think this time we will have enough to convict him. My worry is that when the time comes and he is convicted, he will not take that lying down.”

Katara nods slowly. “If he is as talented a bender as you say, and based on what we know about him, I doubt he goes quietly.”

“Exactly,” Aang says. “We need someone who could go up against him.” He looks meaningfully at Katara. “Instead of testifying, you provide backup in case we lose control. If that happens, I will take his bending away.”

Zuko says, “I still don’t like the idea of Katara exposing herself like that. But,” he tacks on at his wife’s look, “it’s not the worst plan.”

“It leaves a lot up to chance,” Katara says, but it is not a disagreement.

Aang replies, “So does any plan. This is the one with the least risk and highest reward.”

Katara contemplates silently for a few moments, a finger stroking her chin. “I think this could work, and taking his bending seems like the safest way to handle him. Toph,” she says, “what do you think?”

Toph groans and slouches back in her seat, tipping her head back and saying her next words to the sky, “I think we’re going to have to find the best prosecutor in Republic City, because this is going to be a fight.”

***

“We have dozens of witnesses, Yakone. We know what you are.”

Yakone growls as metal cuffs are bent onto his wrists, “I’ve beaten every trumped up charge you yahoos have brought against me, and I’ll beat this one too.”

“Get him out of here,” Toph says, and he allows himself to be escorted out of the restaurant by two officers, and the doors slam shut behind him. This leaves her and Aang standing next to each other, the silence that has descended just shy of eerie.

Aang’s face is grim. “Now comes the hard part.”

***

Several weeks later, the case of Republic City versus Yakone of the Southern Water Tribe is heard by the sitting United Republic Council.

Katara dresses down for the occasion, leaving behind her Fire Lady regalia and headpiece in favor of a short-sleeved, fur-trimmed amauti belted across her waist, sealskin boots, and a long, indigo blue skirt slit up the sides to just above her knee to allow full range of movement. She looks no different than any other Water Tribe woman and blends in with the onlookers who have come to witness the open door spectacle that is Yakone’s (hopefully last) trial.

In trying to remain anonymous, Aang and Toph agreed to not interact with her; Sokka doesn’t even know she’s here. It hurts to keep a secret from him, but with his duty to remain impartial, it’s better to keep him in the dark.

(Initially, Zuko had wanted to send security with her, but she rolled her eyes. “Zuko, I am the security.” She had eventually relented in the face of her husband’s genuine concern and agreed to take two Kyoshi-trained bodyguards with her, both of whom are also anonymously dressed and seated far enough from her to maintain their cover.)

(It is much harder for her husband to remain anonymous in this city, so he agrees to watch the children and wait for them at Aang and Toph’s home on Air Temple Island.)

(She can’t wait to tell Sokka that the Fire Lord is babysitting.)

Katara prays the two flasks of water she has attached to her belt prove unnecessary. Hopefully, any bending will be unnecessary. She hasn’t used bloodbending as a weapon in many years, and she isn’t keen to break her streak.

As she settles into a seat in the middle of the rows of tables and chairs in the main room of City Hall, Katara lets her eyes make a sweep of the room. The architecture is decidedly modern, but takes many cues from all four nations. The sweeping, high ceilings remind her of many grand rooms in the Fire Palace. The solid marble pillars and stone pilasters are uniquely Earth Kingdom. The open room looking up to the many different floors of the building invoke the Air Temples. The graceful arches, including the embellished one behind the Council’s dais, are very clearly inspired by the Northern Water Tribe.

(Katara wishes she could see something distinctively inspired by the South Pole, but their architectural heritage had been all but lost. Despite years having passed since the end of the war, its scars linger in the most unexpected ways.)

The Council files into the hall, and the constant murmur of the gathered crowd dies out and the councilmembers take their seats. Sokka, keeping with his duties as chairman, begins the proceedings. He lists the date and location for the benefit of the stenographer, going through the various things that need to be recorded for posterity. Katara can feel the tension ratcheting up in the room as Sokka details the rules of the courtroom and warns that disruptive individuals will be escorted out.

“With that settled, please bring out the accused.”

Yakone has aged since Katara had last seen him. Unsurprising, since that must’ve been ten or so years past that she was face to face with him. He looks entirely too confident for a man on trial. It rankles something in her that he thinks he can just spit in the face of the laws they put in place to secure peace, that people can let the wounds of war fester and sow the very same discord that caused their wounds in the first place.

Once Yakone is seated, Sokka asks counsel to present their opening arguments.

The prosecutor representing Republic City stands and begins, “Yakone has ruled Republic City’s criminal empire for years, yet he has always managed to stay out of the law’s reach… Until now. You will hear testimony from dozens of his victims, and they will tell you Yakone has maintained his grip on the underworld by using an ability that has been illegal for decades. Bloodbending.” She continues to lay out the case for the Council, and Katara must admit, she spins a compelling narrative. As she summarizes the case Toph and Aang have built against him, Katara glances around the room. Most of the faces she sees are nodding, and a few murmured words of agreement reach her ears. At the very least it would seem the public is on their side, but that doesn’t mean conviction is a given.

Sokka had told her that the representatives from the Earth Kingdom and the Northern Water Tribe have been the holdouts on convicting Yakone, citing the heavily circumstantial evidence. (“It’s not like they’re exactly wrong,” Sokka had said, “but come on . When even circumstantial evidence piles up like that, something is fishy.”) A conviction was anything but guaranteed. And if they manage to secure a guilty verdict, then there’s the matter of if Yakone will go quietly.

After the prosecutor wraps up her speech, she is seated, and Yakone’s defense attorney stands and delivers his own argument.

“The prosecution’s entire case is built upon the make believe notion that my client is able to bloodbend at will, at any time on any day. I remind the council that bloodbending is an incredibly rare skill and it can only be performed during a full moon,” he says, and Katara shifts in her seat. Perhaps it had been a mistake for her to conceal her abilities. At least then the public would be able to hear the witness testimony with the full truth already known.

He continues, “Yet, the witnesses will claim that my client used bloodbending at every other time except during a full moon. It would be a mockery of justice to convict a man of a crime that is impossible to commit.” For several more minutes, the attorney continues in this vein, impugning the witnesses’ character and motives and maintaining that Yakone is a victim of partisan politics and a smear campaign. It’s difficult for Katara to listen to without wanting to break something.

When Yakone’s attorney concludes, Sokka asks for witnesses, and the trial itself truly begins.

***

It’s a grueling trial. In total, it ends up lasting something like twenty-two hours with dozens of witnesses testifying to what they saw. Person after person, from a variety of backgrounds and nations. Shopkeepers and artisans, stay-at-home mothers and military veterans, jailhouse informants and former gang members, and all say the same thing: Yakone is a bloodbender, and he doesn’t need the full moon to do it.

Katara has to hand it to Aang and Toph--they did not take any shortcuts on their investigation. The testimony had been thorough, brutal, and consistent. Somewhere around the seventh witness, the defense attorney’s arguments became progressively more repetitive and less believable. In short, it had been utterly damning.

“Councilman Sokka will now deliver the verdict.”

Her brother stands, looking out across the gathered crowd. “In my years, I have encountered people born with rare and unique bending abilities. I once bested a man with my trusty boomerang who was able to firebend with his mind.” That makes Katara crack a grin. Of course he’d find a way to bring up his boomerang. At least he skipped over the name he’d given to said firebender.

Sooka continues, “Why, even metalbending was considered impossible for all of history until our esteemed chief of police Toph Beifong single-handedly developed the skill. The overwhelming amount of testimony and evidence has convinced this council that Yakone is one of these unique benders, and he exploited his ability to commit these heinous crimes. We find Yakone guilty of all charges and sentence him to life in prison.”

A gavel bang officially adjourns the court, and they have done it. Yakone is going away for good.

This is what they were hoping for, and also the situation they were dreading. Katara tenses in her seat, shifting forward with her eyes locked on Yakone.

Initially, he is still. His attorney wads a sheet of paper and throws it across the room with a huff. Two metalbenders come to take him away.

Then Yakone stands. She cannot see his hands, but Katara can feel the exact moment he starts to bend.

She was only fourteen last time someone bent her blood, nearly thirty years ago now but the sensation slides over her like a familiar, unwelcome caress. Her muscles seize, her veins throb, and for a handful of fearful seconds, Katara is afraid that she isn’t strong enough to beat him.

He’s bloodbending an entire room full of people, the Council, the crowd, Toph, and even Aang.

Aang appears to be fighting against the control, his hand shaking with exertion as he reaches out towards Yakone.

As a groaning Toph is forced to undo his shackles, Aang grits out, “Yakone, you won’t get away with this.”

Yakone forcefully drops his arms, and Katara can feel it in the rush of her blood--he’s going to knock everyone out. As everyone in the room drops, Katara breathes and controls her fear. She stops the rush of her blood away from her head. She feels the hush and whisper of the water moving in her flasks, and when she pushes herself, she can feel the same movement in everyone around her, the push and pull of blood through their veins like the push and pull of the sea.

As much as Hama was dangerous, she was also right. Water is everywhere. Katara is surrounded by it, and when she is surrounded by her element, she cannot lose.

Yakone laughs and turns toward Aang, still frozen, and lifts him into the air. “Republic City is mine, Avatar. I’ll be back one day to claim it.”

The mobster makes a move to throw Aang into the stairs at the foot of the Council’s table, but finds himself quite suddenly stopped.

“Over my dead body,” Katara calls out, and steps out into the aisle between the tables, hands before her in bloodbending form. She can feel his blood flowing through his body, the shape of the circulatory system like a scarlet tree running through him, and it is hers to control.

Aang drops like a sack of flour, and Katara winces as he hits the floor.

“That could be arranged, Fire Lady,” Yakone growls, and Katara gasps and he wrenches himself from her control and the full force of his bloodbending hits her like a runaway wagon.

He is powerful. Far more powerful than Hama. The fear of being weaker than him slams into her again as he lifts her off the floor. The breath is forced from her lungs as her head is jerked backwards. She grits her teeth together, trying to wrest control of her body back, but he’s fighting her.

“You’re strong,” Yakone says, a touch of strain in his deep voice, “but not strong enough.”

She feels as though she is about to explode, but he is not stronger than her. “Funny,” she wheezes, “I was about to say the same to you! ” On her last word, she finally breaks her arms free of his control and hurls Yakone into a pillar. His back collides with the surface, and his head snaps backwards and cracks against the marble.

Katara drops, grunting when she hits the floor, but she finds her feet again fast. She’s gasping with exertion, but she cannot let her guard down now. She will not lose.

Unfortunately, the hit against the pillar wasn’t as severe as it sounded, as Yakone is already standing again.

“You little brat,” he says, and before she can stop him, he picks her up and returns the favor, sending her flying backwards, all the way to the doors of City Hall. They shatter under the force of her body, and shards of wood slice through her skin and clothing. She maintains the presence of mind to bend the water out of her flasks and create a wall of ice that she slides up against before she can go tumbling down the stairs.

She staggers to her feet, her head pounding from the impact and her joints reminding her that she is not as young as she once was.

Yakone follows her out, pace measured and slow--perhaps her throw had done more damage than he let on. Katara takes quick stock of herself--the cuts from her unpleasant trip through the door are superficial, and her head’s throbbing is quieting. Nothing is broken, though her ankle might be slightly twisted. Nothing that will make her unable to fight.

She prays that Aang won’t be down for long, and bends like her life depends on it.

She’s never been in a bloodbending fight like this. It’s always been the case where she was clearly stronger, like with Hama, or her opponent was not a waterbender, like when she and Zuko went after the Southern Raiders. But this is her seizing control of Yakone and trying to force him to his knees, and then him wresting back control and trying to dislocate her shoulders. Her joints and tendons creak, her heart heaves in confusion in her chest, and a pained groan forces its way out of her throat.

This is Katara managing to break free just before the joints pop out of place and throwing Yakone down the stairs to give herself a moment of respite. Sweat beads on her forehead as she bends the water she’d brought with her over Yakone, freezing him in place.

Her bonds don’t last long as he melts the water and sends it back in her direction. He bends it into a dozen daggers, razor sharp and coming at her fast. Taking control of her blood, Yakone holds her directly in their path.

With a pained shout, Katara manages to take control of her body back in time to dodge out of the way, tucking and rolling. She comes up onto one knee and reaches out to take hold of Yakone’s blood once more.

This back and forth is exhausting, the unnatural movements forced onto her body make her feel bruised and raw, and doing this technique under the sun is no small task.

She tries to do what Yakone did earlier, tries to force his blood away from his head and make him pass out like he’d done to the whole courtroom, but he manages to hold her off. She can see the strain on his face and is gratified that she’s not the only one struggling.

She grits her teeth, pushing at his blood harder.

With a tortured shout, Yakone takes his own blood back. Katara stumbles, and he presses his advantage. She finds herself pushed down onto the ground, first her knees, then her hands, Yakone pressing down against her back. If she cedes her ability to move, if he manages to get her face down on the ground, she won’t be able to bend. She will lose.

Kicking one of her knees up so she rests on just the one, Katara looses her arms from Yakone’s control. In a move that was adapted from firebending, she punches out with her arms quickly, one aimed for the blood in his chest and the other towards his knees.

The first lands hard, she can feel the blood shimmering under the impact as the breath is driven from his lungs and he loses his grip on Katara. The second is a lighter hit--less blood in the joints, but it is effective in breaking his root and knocking him off balance. Katara pushes forward, taking on the traditional bloodbending form as she forces him down to his knees.

“Katara!”

Thank the Spirits . Aang shoots out of City Hall faster than an eel hound, riding a ball of compressed air.

Her hands shake as she attempts to keep her hold fast.

“Aang, now!” she shouts.

The years haven’t dulled their ability to work together, and Aang understands exactly what she wants from him. The ball of air dissolves beneath him as he adopts an earthbending stance. With a jab upwards, he bends a tight funnel of rock up and around Yakone, immobilizing him.

Katara stumbles backwards as she finally releases Yakone’s blood and a wave of exhaustion goes over her. She braces her hands on her knees as she watches Aang approach Yakone.

“I’m taking away your bending for good,” Aang says. Between one heartbeat and the next, Aang enters the Avatar State. His eyes and tattoos take on a familiar glow. His hands go to Yakone’s head and chest, and a few seconds later, it is over. Yakone slumps down as much as the rock prison allows.

“Katara!” Aang calls out again, rushing to her side. “Are you all right?”

She grunts as she puts a little bit of weight on the bad ankle. Definitely a sprain, but not severe. She bends the water across City Hall’s steps back into the flask, but saves a little over her hands and sets about healing the bleeding cuts across her body. Zuko would probably have an aneurysm if she came back bleeding. As it is, he’ll probably have at least a minor meltdown looking at the tattered and bloody state of her clothing. “I’m okay.” She looks past him at Yakone, whose eyes are closed as if asleep. “He’s down?”

Aang nods. “He’ll never bend again.”

Katara nods and bends the water on her hands back into her flasks. “Good, because I’d just like to go on record as saying I never want to do that again.”

Aang steps forward and hugs her tightly. He really can give some of the best hugs--he’s always solid and warm, his robes are soft and smell faintly of incense, and his height and long limbs mean she always feels surrounded by his affection and sincerity. There’s a part of her that misses when he was younger, when he was the kid that she was responsible for, the kid she needed to protect and take care of. But this? This is it’s own kind of better.

“I’m sorry you had to do it at all,” Aang says softly.

“Necessary sacrifices. It’s what needed to be done,” Katara says. She lingers in his embrace for a few more seconds before she pulls away.

“And you’re sure you’re okay?”

“I will be. I think I just need some rest.” She chuckles breathlessly. “I feel like I just ran a marathon.”

“Here, I’ll call Appa for you so you can get back to Air Temple Island--”

“No,” she interrupts gently. “I want to see this through.”

And as much as collapsing on a bed right now sounds appealing, it is not too much of a task to see Yakone off to prison and ensure that everyone who was a victim of his bending in the courtroom is unharmed.

Toph lets off some creative expletives when Katara revives her, and Aang hugs her desperately before she can go off on a rampage. Toph softens, and the pair kiss before they pull away from each other. Toph punches Katara in the arm in both greeting and gratitude.

Sokka comes back to in a similar fashion, and is livid in turn about Katara having to fight Yakone by herself and also about missing an “epic bloodbending battle.” She can sense that he’s a little hurt she never told him about her full bloodbending abilities, but he keeps it to himself for now. She owes him a full explanation later, when it’s just the two of them. She’s always hated keeping secrets from him.

(There’s also a part of her that knows he’s going to censure her for pushing to illegalize something and then continuing to do it behind everyone’s backs. And perhaps he’ll be right to be mad, but that’s just going to have to be a bridge she’ll cross when she gets to it. If there’s one thing she hates more than keeping secrets from Sokka, it’s him being disappointed in her.)

Aang eventually does call for Appa once the chaos of the day has settled and Toph puts her second-in-command in control of the rest of the cleanup, and the bison takes them all to Air Temple Island. Despite the ride only taking ten minutes, Katara nearly falls asleep on Sokka’s shoulder.

When they arrive, Suki is already there with a worried Zuko standing next to her.

“We heard what happened,” Suki says in explanation, and Zuko rushes over to Appa and helps Sokka get Katara out of the saddle. She feels a little pathetic that she can barely stand on her own and has to have her brother and husband practically lift her down, but mostly she’s grateful.

Zuko’s hug is tighter than Aang’s was, and she can feel the minuscule shakes going through him. A ball of tension lingering in her chest finally eases as she clutches him back. “It’s been so long since we’ve had to fight anyone,” he whispers. “I forgot how scary it is to send you off on your own.”

“I know,” she replies, stroking a hand through his hair. It’s completely unbound, a rarity he only indulges in when in the most intimate of settings, and it allows fingers to run through it without interruption. “But I’m alright. My whole body feels like a giant bruise and I want to go to bed in the middle of the afternoon, but I’m alright.”

His arms tighten around her again, and he kisses her hair.

All too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, reality comes rushing back in the form of their children.

“Mom!”

She’d expected Kyokani or Kya, their exuberance at seeing their mother still untempered, but to her surprise and delight, it’s Iroh who calls out to her. He runs up to her and hugs her with a similar degree of desperation as his father had, and Katara has to hold back tears.

It’s not that Iroh isn’t a loving, wonderful son (in spite of the brooding angst that had bloomed not long after he’d turned sixteen), but he’s going through a phase where hugging his mom is not exactly on the top of the list of things he wants to do. But Spirits, if he isn’t hugging her now like he had when he was six years old and was frightened by the Dragon Catacombs when he’d stumbled upon them while alone.

She supposes it makes sense--they hadn’t told their youngest children much beyond the fact that Mom needed to help Uncle Aang and Aunt Toph take down a bad guy. However, Iroh knows exactly who Yakone is and exactly how much danger his mother was just in. (Katara imagines she’ll be getting an earful from Izumi about her safety next time she sees her. Her firstborn is a lot like her father in that way.)

She’s hears a high pitched, “Mama!” and looks over Iroh’s shoulder to find little Kyokani with Kya hot on his heels racing to greet her. Katara can’t bring herself to let go of her oldest son just yet, and with a grin brings him down to his knees with her so that she can have all her kids in her arms at once. Iroh, surprisingly, doesn’t complain. “Did you and Uncle Aang and Aunt Toph get the bad guy?” Kyo asks.

“Yeah,” Katara chuckles. “We got him.”

“Was there a big fight?” asks Kya, and their little group hug begins to disperse as it’s clear Kya and Kyokani want the story of how they got the bad guy.

Katara laughs. “Yes, there was a big fight.”

“Whoa,” Kya says with wide eyes. “And you beat him?”

“Well,” Katara says with a small shrug, “Uncle Aang helped a little bit.”

Aang gives Appa a parting pat and turns with his hands on his hips. “Hey, I did more than a little bit!”

“He came in at the end,” Katara stage whispers. When she moves to stand again, she loses her balance a bit. “Oof.” She’s steadied by Iroh’s hand on her back.

“Mom, are you alright?” Iroh asks.

“Just tired,” she tells him, and pats his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Mom you gotta tell us about the big fight!” Kya asks, tugging at her mother’s skirt.

“Hey, I can tell you about it!” Aang says, and then he crouches down. “Also, I want a hug too!”

“Me three!” says Sokka, and the youngest of the Fire Nation clan scatters to hug their favorite uncles.

Katara elbows Iroh, who is still standing next to her with a look of worry on his face. “Go say hi to your uncles and aunts. Aunt Toph also probably wants a hug, even if she’s not going to ask for one.”

Iroh nods and does as he’s told. (And yes, Aunt Toph absolutely did want a hug. Katara can almost hear Iroh’s bones crack under her grip from where she stands.)

Then Zuko comes to her side and takes her hand. He says, “They’re going to distract them for a while so that you can go get some rest.”

Suki, who’d been waiting to join the fray of hugs, says, “There’s a guest room set up for you just off the main hall. Zuko knows where it is.” She looks back at the Temple and then back at Katara, “You might want to go before Luna and Ukira get wind that you’re here. I trust Tenzin and Lin to be a little more restrained, but--”

“Wait,” Katara says, “they’re all here? I shouldn’t be sleeping while everyone is here.” She wishes even more fervently that Izumi was home. Then her family would truly be complete.

“Hey,” Zuko says softly, squeezing her hand, “everyone will still be here when you wake up.”

It takes a bit more cajoling to get Katara to the guest room, but once she lies down, Zuko sitting next to the bed and promising to stay until she falls asleep, it’s almost no time at all before she drifts off.

After all, she’d always slept best surrounded by the people she loves.

#zutara month #zutara #zutara fic #atla #my fic #tbh this was an excuse to write OP katara and by god i fucking took it #with a fast denouement because that's what i'm all about babeyy

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setsailtomorrow · 5 years ago

Note

i've heard whispers you're reading a lot of star trek fics atm... if you have any spirk recs, one wouldn't be against that! just sayin' ...

marie, i have only been waiting for someone to ask!

i also want to start off with saying the fics i’m recommending are all based in the stxi/alternate original series, meaning the reboot films where chris pine (best chris!) plays james t kirk and zachary quinto plays spock. some of the fic might be read as either universe, but all in all the recent films have always been the way i roll.

ABSOLUTE EPIC:

Observations, by anon-j-anon

this epic, 400k, fic is hosted on livejournal but with easy click through links for every chapter. basically it takes the first reboot film and then spins it into the original series universe. some of the chapters and parts are based on episodes, some are the author’s original takes and shapes. the spock voice here is outstanding, the kirk characterisation is a masterful one of pine-meets-shatner. i’ve read this fic twice but i think the last time was in 2013. it’s a big undertaking, and some parts are really fucking difficult to read. but all in all it’s a masterpiece. everyone, no matter fandom, should read it at least once.

EPICS:

The Lotus Eaters, by aldora89

THE WORLD BUILDING! what starts off as a regular retrieve-mission turns in to captain kirk and spock stuck on an unknown planet. what looks to be normal and unthreatening takes a different turn as the night creeps in… this will have you wanting more and more and more. with the mystery of the planet and its inhabitants, the growing relationship between the stranded crew members, and also the unexpected help. 93,5k.

Don’t Stop Believing by kianspo

I WAITED SIX YEARS FOR THIS FIC TO BE FINISHED, and fuck if it didn’t pay off. as will become clear from this list i have a thing for very competent genius jim and spock’s fascination with him - this has that in spades. also a very good spock voice, needed as it is his character that we follow. from being a cadet at starfleet, to becoming kirk’s first officer and the enterprise’s five year mission. 200k and a little extra, plus checkout the series tag!

Atlas by distractedKat

when i read this the first time around it was hosted on ff.net, lucky for us the author has put it on ao3! takes place after the narada incident, spock is encouraged by starfleet admirals to get to know kirk and report back, does he deserve the captaincy? and well, that’s only the beginning. 135,5k divided into parts, lots of action.

Leave No Soul Behind by whochick

an au of the first reboot film and a really good one at that. we follow some of the EPAS - emergency personnel ambulance service. and once again, the world building here is exceptional. the narada keeps showing up and getting away, and all the characters we know turn up and play their part, but in unexpected ways. what’s always true is, spock is frustrated and fascinated, and so is kirk. 259k.

FUN EPIC:

Spoctoria - strive seek find yield, by waldorp, screamlet

you’ll like this one marie! in parts based on the film the young victoria (where emily blunt plays the young regent). spock is the heir to the federation throne and as such he needs to married, and to someone fitting at that. james t kirk is the prince of america, because his brother abdicated, and he is not… fitting. another one where the writer manages to marry the reboot films with great world building, as well as turn side-characters into exceptional loveable, and humours, roles. 68k, extras in the series tag.

Bang a Gong, waketosleep

i haven’t reread this recently, but i know that i’ve read it more than once. i remember it as both hilarious and hot. quite the combo. (pon farr ;) ~23k

SEMI-EPIC (BUT STILL EPIC)

Magpie, by waldorph

growing-up-together au of the reboot films. jim’s life is sad and writers in the stxi fandom love to hurt him even more. in this one, at least he has spock. ~58k

Entering Orbit, by museaway

takes place after the narada incident. jim goes back to iowa to get away from the media, a… misunderstanding has spock following. sharing a house in the middle of nowhere, after the destruction of vulcan, leads to the two getting to know each other. 31k

Something Smart to Do, by kianspo

5+1 - kirk and spock keeps ending up married on missions. five times they didn’t mean to and one time… 21k

Helloooo, Nurse! by lalazee

Jim is a nurse with expert knowledge of vulcan biology, 9k

Slightly newer, post st:beyond

Bluebird, by waldorph

BAD. ASS. WINONA. KIRK. another fave trope of mine, sadly not used by many more than waldorph and their friends. winona as a starfeelt engineer, she left her son on earth because other than george her true love was space and her work… jim understands. mostly. that’s not this fic. just partly. but really good. 7k

And Then I Let It Go, by kianspo

the crew gets some time off after the events of star trek: beyond. kirk goes to do something he always meant to. spock tracks him. 10,6k

asymptote, orphaned

i only have vague memories of this one, but i remember liking it, so i will get back to it. (i’m pretty sure it was written by an author with “anna” in their name and they wrote both larry and e/R as well) summery @ ao3: Spock only deserves so much, and Jim is everything. 4,8k

I COULD GO ON EVEN MORE. all-in-all: everything kianspo has written for the fandom is worth checking out. so are things by waldorph, waketosleep, spicyshimmy. lots of others. if you filter ao3 by kudos you’ll find lots of works by littleb*rdtold - i liked these when written but find that they don’t hold up ten years later. anyone is free to check for themselves of course.

for anyone having read all of these, feel free to come back for more! or if you’d like to rec me something, i’m all ears!

#ashes-and-dust #fic rec ks #that is such an old gif #i had to post it #i think i saved it off lj #in... 2010 #wow

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yunaffie · 5 years ago

Text

Second Life

Exchange fic for @trucywright as part of @fyeahghosttrick‘s Ghost Swap fanworks exchange.

Prompt: “free spot for any and all Alma content”

Happy Ghost Swap, dear recipient! Hope it’s to your liking!

Crossposted to AO3 here.

A shrill ring cuts through the cacophony of a babbling toddler and the thumps of her plastic bowl. Snapping her book shut, Alma follows the sound, anticipating her husband on the other end of the phone. A fierce growl emanates from her stomach, spurred on by the aroma of curry.

"Hey, baby, it's me."

"Cabanela? Let me guess, Jowd's going to be late, right?"

"Well, that's not quite it. You see, things got pretty crazy today and now I'm callin' from the hospital-"

The word 'hospital' rings in Alma's ears, provoking a sharp intake of breath. Curling her fingers around the receiver, she utters a single whisper. "No."

"Whoah, it's okay, baby, it's nothin' serious. Just a leg wound, that's all. I think you should come down here though, not sure he's in any condition to drive."

Alma feels the thrums of her heart beneath her palm. "You had me scared for a moment. I'll be right over." Bundling Kamila onto the car, she takes off, keeping the speed limit in mind as she weaves through traffic. Jowd is putting his life on the line every day as an officer of the law but even knowing that, a little thing like him getting hurt is enough to steal away her breath. Swallowing, she blinks away the sudden onset of tears and focuses solely on reaching her destination.

"Hey." Cabanela is right there. Alma seeks comfort in his warm chest, holding Kamila to one side. "Gods, what a day this has been." When he steps back, she notices how his usual vibrant energy has faded, leaving him with slumped shoulders and a haggard expression. "And it was all because of me. I'm sorry, baby. I screwed up, and Jowd got hurt."

"Don't be ridiculous." Alma's tone is stern. "Was he shot? Even if he was, that was in no way your fault. He knew what he was getting into when he joined the force."

Cabanela's head sways from side to side. "I'll explain it to you on the way."

Alma absorbs every detail with keen interest: an interrogation gone wrong, the suspect fleeing with gun in hand, Jowd in pursuit, a hostage situation, the meteorite impact out of the blue.

"A meteorite fragment? Are you serious?"

"Sure am. Jowd got to see a meteorite fallin' close up. Must have been an amazin' view. Sure wish I could have seen it."

"So he wasn't shot then."

"Oh, no. Thank the gods for that. I don't think I could live with myself if it was my own gun that hurt him."

"And what of the little girl? What happened to the man?"

"The little girl's fine. Jowd says the criminal peeled himself off a lamppost and threw the girl to safety while his own legs turned to jelly under a fallin' rock. Look, I don't understand it anymore than you do, baby."

"Wow." Alma bounces Kamila around in her arms. "You weren't kidding about things getting crazy."

"Nooope, I sure wasn't." Cabanela opens the door and gestures for her to enter.

Jowd is sitting on the bed, his leg swathed in bandages, with his folded coat beside him. Alma lets out a quiet gasp and Jowd's eyes meet hers. For a long second, husband and wife are caught in each other's stares, neither uttering a word. Alma breaks the spell, his name slipping from her lips as she thrusts Kamila into Cabanela's arms. Flying to Jowd's chest, she sinks into his comforting embrace.

"Alma... oh, gods... you're alive. You're okay."

Alma pulls back with a quizzical frown, finding herself the subject of an intense stare. His eyes are coated with a glistening sheen. "Jowd, are you alright?"

Fluttering his eyelids, Jowd takes in a breath and releases it. "I'm just so happy to see you, that's all."

Doubt radiates from her eyes. Those words had been heavy and loaded with meaning, spoken by a man deep in the throes of his emotions. "I can't believe you got hit by a meteorite." His facial hair is rough and tickly against her palm. "Just what are the chances of that?"

"I wonder. Probably less than being hit by lightning. Not that I ever got the chance to discover what that feels like." Jowd's chuckle rings hollow in her ears. The flash of mirth in his expression goes out like a light. His next words are directed at Cabanela. "Hand me my daughter, would you?"

"Heeere you go, baby."

"Daddy," Kamila burbles, stretching her tiny arms. Jowd holds her aloft under intense scrutiny before taking her into his embrace, bringing his lips to her head.

"Kamila. You're going to be alright now. I won't leave you ever again."

His words are like a faint breeze flowing past Alma's ears. It might be she wasn't meant to catch them at all.

Once he's in the foyer of his home, Jowd transforms into a statue, resting on his crutches. Alma peers at his face, mystified by the dazed look in his eyes.

"So I'll just hang this up, shall I?" Cabanela is already placing Jowd's coat on a hook.

"Hm?" Jowd's head twists toward his voice. "Oh. Yes, that's right. Cabanela, check my coat pockets, would you?"

"Sure. Huh?" Cabanela holds aloft a bundle of black fur. "What's thiiis?"

"Meet the newest member of our family. His name is Sissel."

A rush of protests flow forth from Alma's lips at the unexpected news. How could Jowd not tell them to buy the necessities for a cat on the way home, she asks. Jowd's response is not to worry about it but Alma isn't convinced. At the very least, she has to put out a bowl of water and a plate of leftover chicken, as well as some newspaper in a cardboard box. How can Jowd expect a kitten to go without food, water, or somewhere to do his business for an entire night?

They sit down to dinner, hearing Kamila's excited cries from the next room as she gets to know their newest family member.

Jowd lifts the spoon to his mouth, blowing on the curry before taking his first mouthful. "Ahh. This curry. It's just as I remember."

Eyes meet across the table, flashes of concern striking in midair. It was only a week ago that curry was last eaten in this house. Jowd brings one spoonful after another to his mouth with gusto.

"Calm down." A small laugh bubbles through Alma's lips. "You'll choke if you keep eating that fast."

Jowd takes a sip of water. "It's just so good." Capturing Alma and Cabanela in his intense stare, he continues. "I'm so glad. Being at home with my family, seeing you all happy, it's such a wonderful thing. I'm so thankful to have you all in my life."

"Jowd." Alma's hand covers his. "Are you okay?"

"I nearly killed a man with my own hands and then got struck by a meteorite. On the plus side, I adopted a kitten so I guess it wasn't that bad a day." Jowd lifts his shoulders, his lips curving in a smile that fails to reach his eyes. "It could have been a lot worse."

Alma draws back her hand, lines furrowing her brow.

When the time comes for Cabanela to return to his home, Alma follows him outside.

"Somethin' sure is straaange about Jowd, huh?" Cabanela rests a hand on his hip. "I don't know what's going on, but he does seem a bit off."

"I don't understand." Alma pinches her lower lip between her teeth. "That way he looked at me in the hospital and what he said. Did you see how he kind of froze up when we got home? Then the stuff with the curry. I think something happened in that park and it changed him."

"His near death experience might have sooomething to do with it. Whatever it is, I'm sure he'll tell us eventually. If not, we're just gonna have to coax it out of him, baby. No way we'll just let him suffer in silence."

"You're right. We're here for him." Rubbing her arms, Alma adds, "Tonight could have been so different."

"Well, fortunately, it wasn't." Cabanela grips his forehead. "Gods, I still can't believe I messed up like that."

"You made a mistake. It happens." Alma's words are like a gentle tide striving to wash away his guilt. "Don't beat yourself up over it too much, okay? Just learn from your mistakes and move on. That's all you can do."

"Right. I'll do my best to make up for it. Goodnight, Alma." Cabanela plants a kiss on her cheek before whisking away in a flurry of white fabric.

Retreating inside, Alma discovers Kamila nodding off as she nestles in her father's arms. Sissel perches behind Jowd, looking over his shoulder as if taking an interest in this spectacle himself.

"I'll take her to bed." Alma extracts their sleepy toddler. After sending Kamila into slumber, she comes to Jowd's side. "So. Anything you would like to do tonight?"

Jowd tilts his head while several seconds tick by. "Music. Put on one of your favourite artists."

"Alright, music it is."

As the music flows, Alma nestles against Jowd's warm bulk. His broad and gentle arm encircles her, filling her with overflowing love and comfort. Closing her eyes, she commits herself to the flowing melody. A splash of moisture against her skin draws her attention to Jowd. Two glistening trails are streaking down his cheeks.

"It's okay, sweetie." Alma presses her hand to his damp skin. Jowd's searching gaze ensnares her, pulling her into its twin wells of sadness. "I'm here, you know."

"You're really here. Alma." Jowd's words land heavily, laden by the weight of his emotions.

"Mmm." Eyes lingering on her husband's visage, Alma traces the sharp contours of his well defined cheeks with her fingertips. In the corner of her eye, she catches the twitch of a tail and extends her hand. Sissel's dark fur is soft to the touch. Scratching the base of his ears, she offers him an invitation.

With a meow, Sissel stretches his legs, light rippling over his taut form before he hops gracefully into Alma's lap. As she strokes him, the vibration emanating from his body grows even louder.

"What a sweet little kitten. So, what made you decide to name him Sissel?"

"Hm. I suppose it just popped into my head."

"You know Sissel is usually a girl's name, right?"

"I don't think he really cares."

"Fair enough." The kitten has taken to lying across her lap. Alma's stroking continues, a purely mechanical motion kept up even as she drifts into her thoughts. So many things are off. Someday Jowd will surely tell her and she'll wait until then.

Silence falls over them with the music's end, a cue for them to turn in. Before the light goes off, Jowd takes Alma in his arms, "Goodnight, Alma." His warm breath caresses her face as he brushes his lips over hers. "I love you."

"I love you too," Alma says, with another kiss. "Goodnight."

During the days that pass by, Alma watches. She notices all the little things. Stares pinning her a beat too long. Eyes hazing as he drifts away on the tide of thoughts. Recollections beyond his grasp, as though no longer fresh but tainted by time that shouldn't exist. Her name passes his lips more often as do his declarations of love. His slightly cynical side seems to have amplified over time. The retorts he let loose are often darkly humorous in nature. Alma and Cabanela have many tales to share of Jowd's bizarre words and actions.

Alma is frequently roused from slumber by Jowd's fitful mutters or the bed rocking in tune with his tosses and turns. Her name is spoken many times, infused with pain. She pulls him out of the nightmares and he clutches her like she's his salvation in the midst of a storm, soothed by her reassuring words.

A painting has taken the place of the antique gun that was on display. Jowd's explanation is short and simple. He fancied a change. Nothing is said about what prompted him to make the change in the first place.

The sight of Kamila dangling Sissel and twirling one day provokes a gasp of horror from Alma, who immediately retrieves the kitten, issuing gentle admonishments. Sissel seems fine in spite of it all, not having made a peep as one would expect of a kitten at the mercy of a small child. It occurs to Alma that he has never scratched anyone. The house remains clear of his fur. His litter box is perpetually clean. Even his food and water bowls are never touched.

There are times Alma will catch sight of Jowd and Sissel lost in each other's stares. Once, as they remained oblivious to her presence, she saw for herself how her husband's face changed or how Sissel would twitch various body parts. If she didn't know any better, she would swear they were having a conversation.

The mystery only deepens with the awareness that Sissel isn't growing over the months he has been with them.

A year has elapsed since the park incident. Jowd has a grave look on his face as he announces that he has something important to tell Alma and Cabanela. Once Kamila is asleep, the three gather round the table. Sissel watches from the sill.

"So." Jowd puts his hands together. "Where should I begin?"

"The day in the park, right?" Cabanela's expression is grim. "Ever since that day, sooomething's been off about you, baby. Alma and I have been worried about you all this time."

"I know." Jowd's breath billows forth in a heavy gust. "I never had any intention of hiding this from you forever. Sissel wouldn't have allowed it either."

"Huh?" Alma shoots a glance at the kitten. "Wait, so you really have been talking to the cat?"

"It might be easier if I just get this out of the way first. Sissel, perform a trick, would you?"

Sissel collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. The soft hum of the overhead fan picks up, its guttural whine filling the room as it rotates faster, stirring the air and turning it into a strong breeze that wafts over them, ruffling their hair and clothes.

"Ye gods."

"H-how..." Alma brings trembling fingers to her mouth.

"That's Sissel's power. A ghost trick, a power of the dead."

It suddenly makes sense. The random noises heard around the house. Objects moved or transformed without explanation. It was the work of this supposedly dead kitten.

"But, but..." Alma struggles to call the words forth. "When? How did he die?"

"The meteorite. The fragment that pierced my leg is inside Sissel's body."

"But this makes no sense! How can he move around and stuff? Why isn't he, like, rottin'?"

"That's the meteorite's power. His body is immortal. Nothing can damage him. I could put him in the microwave for five minutes and he would come out of it completely fine."

Alma kneads her forehead. In the span of five minutes, she's learned the cat is dead and her husband has joked about microwaving him. She is tempted by the siren call of another glass of wine but quickly dismisses it. This is too important a conversation to be lost to the blurring effects of alcohol on the memory.

"That meteorite grants powers of the dead, even to those who merely die within its radiation. And now that you know all about it, it's time to tell you the story of an alternate version of events that went down in the park."

The man Jowd faced in the park was killed by the meteorite, a fact that drains all the colour from Cabanela's face. Sharp, spiky pain pierces Alma's chest, brought forth by the knowledge that Jowd blamed himself. How must it have felt, being consumed by that guilt?

It gets worse. Four years into the future, on Alma's birthday, Kamila made a surprise contraption and it was instrumental in her mother's death. Or rather, her murder, carried out by that man with the powers of the dead. Jowd is still speaking, his words growing increasingly tinny and distant. Alma cradles her head in her hands, her ears filling with a dull roar.

She was murdered by a man she had never met, his actions spurred by the desire to make Jowd feel pain. Heat and cold twist together in a fierce maelstrom, churning inside of her trembling body.

"Why?" Her voice quivers like a leaf caught in the wind. A veil of moisture sweeps over her eyes, transforming everything into a blur. "Why me? I didn't do anything. Why did I have to die? Jowd didn't mean to... he didn't put that man in the meteorite's path on purpose!"

"How could he?" Cabanela's words lash out, sharp as a whip. The table judders from the impact of his fist. "Taking Alma's life like that, making it look like that poor little girl's fault!"

"Alma, are you alright?" The weight of Jowd's hand settles upon her shoulder. "Should we stop here?"

"No." Alma dashes the back of her hand across her eyes. "Keep going. I'm okay." It's a lie, constructed for the sake of keeping this conversation going. No way will she put this off after waiting so long.

Jowd's next revelation hits like a punch to the gut. Claiming credit for Alma's murder, Jowd turned his back on their daughter, leaving her to someone else's care. By this point, Alma is completely numb. Jowd's agony radiates from every crevice of his face, simmering away in the hollow pools of his eyes. She sees all those moments she found Jowd standing over Kamila's crib in a whole new light.

Five years later, Jowd was to be executed. A saviour came to his cell; a ghost with the man's face in search of his lost memory. Said ghost would go on to become their beloved family pet. Alma watches Cabanela's face change as he hears detail after detail, ending in a look of relief over the revelation he was working to save Jowd all along.

"But of course I was, baby. I would never, ever doubt you. Still, five years and me not even visitin' you once? What's up with that?"

"I'm so glad. You had people who believed in you, fighting for your sake." Tears spill forth, coursing down Alma's cheeks. "Thank goodness."

"Yes. No matter how much I insisted, they refused to listen, and I'm so very grateful. Thank you, Cabanela."

"No need to thank me, baby. You're one of my best friends in the whooole world and I would never give up on you."

"So, what happened next? What happened to Kamila?"

Jowd launches into the next part of the tale, detailing how his and Lynne's pursuit of the manipulator went horribly wrong. Alma covers her mouth, horror constricting her chest in its tightening band. Kamila sinking into oblivion within the freezing confines of a destroyed submarine. Jowd gunned down, also lost to the depths of the sea. Even with the odds against them all, they found the ray of hope in the darkness and it was down that path of light that they found salvation in the form of a whole new ten years.

"And so, here we are." Jowd's shoulders sag. "Any questions?"

"Gods." Cabanela rubs his forehead. "I don't even know where to begin."

Alma drags her gaze to the clock, observing the time. On cue, her mouth opens in a yawn. Despite the tiredness weighing her down, she doubts she'll sleep tonight. Bringing her eyes back to Jowd, a fresh pang pierces her chest. For a whole year, he held in all this pain, all these secrets. Embracing him from behind, she buries her face in the crook of his neck. "Oh, Jowd."

Cabanela comes to her side, joining her in embracing Jowd. "I'm glaaad you finally told us, baby. You did the right thing."

Countless minutes tick by while they hold on, lingering in each other's presence. When they break away, Alma turns to the kitten and pulls him to her chest. "Thank you, Sissel. You saved us all. Thank you so much." Her gratitude is acknowledged with a mew.

The lateness of the night draws them all to bed. Jowd and Alma lie beneath the sheets under the cover of darkness, silence hanging over them like a heavy weight.

"You shouldn't have left her."

"I know."

"You should have been there for her. She needed you."

"I'll never abandon her ever again, I promise you."

"I believe you." Alma's chest rises sharply and falls, her breath rushing out in a great sigh. "To think I was just murdered, out of the blue, leaving you two well before my time, it's so awful. How could he do that? I know, you told me everything, and I do feel sorry for him, but I can't just ignore what he did."

"I understand."

"Gods. I wondered what you were hiding for so long, but I never imagined it would be anything like this. I don't know how you managed to keep quiet for a whole year."

"Having a therapy cat helped."

"Right, you had Sissel to talk to." Alma scoots closer, draping her arm over his chest. "Well, now we all know, so that's a load off our minds, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's a relief really, having it all out in the open at last." Jowd kisses the top of Alma's head. "I'm so lucky to have all this back. When you died, I just fell to pieces. I missed you so much. Sometimes I still can't quite believe it. I'll wake up in the morning and see you lying next to me and I just feel so incredibly relieved."

"Oh, Jowd." Alma seeks out his face, stroking her fingers along his stubbled cheek. A deep ache wells in her chest. It's okay, she assures herself, she won't die. Nobody is going to suffer from her loss. Their happy family life will continue beyond four years from now.

Dipping in and out of sleep, Alma emerges from a gruelling nightmare involving her being six feet under. Seeking out the clock display, she learns that it's five in the morning.

"Forget it." Throwing on a bathrobe, Alma slouches downstairs.

Cabanela sits at the table. Little white wisps rise from the mug in front of him. "Hey, baby. Sleep well?"

"What do you think?" Alma peers at him through lowered lids, speaking in a voice as thick as syrup.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Cabanela stretches his arms over his head. "Didn't sleeeep so hot either. I just couldn't stop thinkin' about it. Anyhoot, I just boiled the kettle, so help yourself."

"Thanks." Alma pours herself coffee and joins Cabanela. The warmth of the mug seeps into her hands. Gazing deep into the murky brown depths within, she speaks. "It's all so crazy, isn't it? To think all this stuff happened in another timeline. A different ten years. And I was dead for five of them."

A breath, heavy as lead, slips past Cabanela's lips, while he shakes his head. "I can't imagine how it must have felt. Your dying and Jowd's imprisonment. You two are the most important people in my life and I can't bear the thought of you both not being there anymore."

Alma takes small sips of the coffee. The searing liquid is as bitter as her thoughts. How could a man murder her on her birthday and leave her child motherless, with a lifetime of guilt in her place? Bile gushes up from her churning stomach, filling her throat. No use dwelling, she tells herself, best to put it out of her mind. "At least I got my life back." Meeting Cabanela's gaze, she offers him a weak smile. "I should be thankful for that. I've got a second chance."

"That's riiight, baby." Cabanela responds with a smile of his own. "So let's stay positive, shall we? Maybe we should think of something nice to do today, take our mind off things. Just get out there and enjoy life."

With another long sip, Alma dwells in silent contemplation. "Yes. I should think of it as an opportunity to do all the things I wanted to do. Better be realistic though, I don't think we could afford a luxury cruise to Hawaii."

"Probably not, but we can find other things to do. Maybe we can teach Jowd to dance."

"I said realistic."

Their exchanged laugh is accompanied by the heavy falls of Jowd's feet. "Hm? Did someone mention my name just now?"

"Hey, baby. So nice of you to join us. Ahh, the early hours of the morning, nooothin' like it."

"Definitely something easier to appreciate once you've had a cup of coffee," Jowd mutters, making his way into the kitchen. Brandishing his own mug, he joins them at the table. "Well, what a night that was, eh?"

"Thank you for finally telling us," says Alma. "We were so worried."

"I know." Jowd's smile does little to banish the sadness hanging over him. "Sorry for troubling you so much. It does feel better to finally have it out in the open."

"From now on, just tell us whatever you're feelin', baby. We're always here for you, you know that."

"Yes. I appreciate you both being so patient and understanding."

"Now, why don't we have a good looong chat about all the things we're going to do with our new lives?"

Their conversation continues through the long hours ahead, interrupted only by trips for more coffee. The presence of a fourth person approaches, signalled by the patter of tiny feet. Kamila rubs her eyes as she stumbles forwards, followed by a little black kitten.

"Good morning, sweetheart," says Jowd. "How are you this morning?"

"I want juice. And I'm hungry."

Alma's swallows do little to banish the lump filling her throat. Emotion flows over her in a crashing wave, spurring her to lunge for her daughter and clasp that tiny body to her bosom in a fierce yet gentle embrace.

"Kamila. Oh, Kamila!" Alma's weeping voice gushes forth, flowing with relief. "Oh, my sweet little girl."

Kamila's tiny arms loop around Alma's neck. Hearing loud sniffles, her eyes fill with concern. "Are you crying, Mommy?"

"Huh?" Alma brings her fingers to her cheeks, finding drops of moisture clinging to her skin.

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm just happy to see you." Alma rubs a thumb over one of Kamila's round, soft cheeks. "I love you so very much, Kamila, you know that, don't you?"

"Mmhmm." Kamila's head bobs, a smile spreading over her beaming face. "And I love you too."

Alma wipes her eyes, momentarily lost in the radiance of her daughter's innocent smile. Keeping her voice steady, she poses a question. "Juice and something to eat, then?"

"Yeah."

"Here, why don't you come and sit in Daddy's lap?" Jowd pats his leg and Kamila scampers over. Alma's gaze lingers over them, renewed emotion blossoming in her chest, while she goes to fulfil Kamila's request. As she gets the juice and food, a smile comes to her face, conjured by the thought of how they will live as happily as they can in the future granted to them by a miracle.

Telling the truth has only partially erased Jowd's troubles. At least Alma and Cabanela now share his burden, ready to lend an ear even as they deal with the issues the truth has brought to them.

Two years have gone by since the reveal. Alma stands outside the prison building, trepidation churning within her. Jowd has been here to see that man several times. The two of them share a deep understanding, having been through so much. Alma knows the man isn't bad anymore and she wouldn't dream of judging Jowd for staying in touch

Sometimes she wonders, does she dare see him? Why hesitate, there's nothing to be afraid of, but no, it's too soon, She isn't ready.

A woman flies out of the building with her head bowed. Alma stumbles back, knocked off balance by the resulting collision. The woman's purse falls to the ground, scattering its contents over the sidewalk.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry." Alma kneels, assisting the woman in gathering everything up. "I didn't see you."

"No, it's alright, I'm the one who should be sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." The woman punctuates her sentence with an awkward laugh.

Alma's gaze is drawn to a bundle of scattered cards as she collects them into a neat pile. "Sissel?"

"Hm? Oh, my business cards." The woman takes them from Alma's outstretched hand.

It's no coincidence. This is her, the love of that man's life, the catalyst who drove him to cause Jowd the same pain.

"Thank you." During Alma's momentary daze, Sissel has got everything together and now she stands. "I really am so sorry about that. What a klutz I am."

"Please don't worry about it." Alma rises. "So, er, what is it you do?"

"I play the piano and sometimes I even sing. I get gigs here and there. Haven't managed to make it big just yet, but who knows, maybe one day."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Thanks." Sissel's gaze lingers on her briefly, diverted by a twist of her head toward the prison. "Are you visiting someone?"

"Oh. Oh no, I was just... er... I suppose I was just standing here lost in my thoughts."

"Oh?" Sissel tilts her head, a corner of her lip curving upward. "I see. So, was there something interesting about my name? You sounded pretty surprised."

"I've..." Alma pauses. "I've heard the name before." Meeting this woman came like a bolt out of the blue and now she has no idea what to do next. Go on her merry way or satisfy her curiosity? Settling on the latter, she speaks again. "Um, I hope you don't think this is a strange request, but would you like to talk some more? There's a cafe just down the street we could go to."

"I suppose it's better than standing around in the street waiting for more people to come bumping into us." Sissel laughs. "Sure, why not, it's not like I have anything else to do right now."

Finding an empty table at the café, they promptly order two cups of coffee. Sissel rests her chin in one hand. "Right, you know my name and job, so I suppose it's time I learned yours."

"I'm Alma. It's nice to meet you."

Sissel shakes the offered hand. "Nice to meet you too."

"As for what I do, I work in a library. The one at the courthouse."

"Ooh, I see. A courthouse, then? Are you interested in law?"

"I've read quite a few books and studied it a bit. Law, criminal psychology, that sort of thing. Actually, my husband is a detective"

"Huh." Sissel lowers her gaze.

"Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no, it's just..." Sitting back, Sissel folds her arms. "I'm sure you must be wondering who I was visiting and why they were in prison."

Alma keeps her expression neutral. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's alright." Sissel's eyes wander over the centre of the table where a meny sits. When they snap back to focus on Alma's, a sudden intensity burns within. "He's not a bad man."

Not now, no. Alma finds herself mentally replaying the excruciating details gleaned from Jowd as she has done so many times before.

"He's really good at computers. They had him on a huge project, but then the police thought he might be a spy. He was brought in for interrogation. Then this fool detective-" Sissel's words are broken off by the arrival of their coffee. She takes a sip before continuing. "He pushed him so hard, even though he was innocent, made him lose hope, and then even worse, that fool left his gun in the room. Can you believe it?"

"It was careless." Alma rests the rim of her mug against her lips, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. "And then your loved one escaped. Another detective chased him down to a park where he took a child hostage."

"Oh, you've read about the case."

"Not quite." Alma's mouth twists. "That man who left his gun? My friend. The second man? My husband." Pinned to the spot by Sissel's stare, she tunes in to the hustle and bustle surrounding them. After a minute or so, the awkward feeling prompts her to speak again. "If you want to tell me exactly what you think of them or me and leave, I understand."

"Huh. What a coincidence."

Not quite, but 'I'm considering meeting your fiancé, who murdered me in another timeline' isn't going to go down terribly well, so Alma keeps her mouth shut on that particular subject. "They both went too far, and they really do feel a lot of remorse."

"I know, they were only doing their jobs. Yomiel's not holding it against them. Anyway, they spoke in his favour during the trial and I think that got him a lesser sentence, so I should be grateful, really." Her eyes flare with a deep sadness as she smiles. "Just a shame things turned out the way they did."

Alma's throat bobs.

Sissel brings the mug to her lips, taking another sip before setting it down with a dull thud. "All I can do is accept it. Yomiel wouldn't want me to be blaming anyone. At least he's alive, and he'll be out eventually."

"You must love him very much."

"Oh, yes, I do." Sissel's face transforms, lighting up with a radiant glow. "Yomiel is everything to me. He's so sweet, so thoughtful and caring. That day, he was so out of it, desperate, panicking. They made him think his life was over."

"I know."

"I just don't want anyone having the wrong idea about him. I visit him every day. It's hard, but I'm doing my best. Things could have turned out so much worse."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault." Leaning forward, Sissel rests her chin in her hands. "So, anything to tell me about yourself? I know you're married to a detective. Anything else?"

"Hm, well, we have a young daughter, and a cat." Realizing her error too late, Alma sends a prayer to the heavens, pleading for Sissel to not inquire about the cat's name.

"Oh, you have a little girl? How lovely. What's she like?"

Alma stops herself from expressing her relief just in time. "Kamila is so precious. She's quiet as a mouse and she just loves making things, all these toys and contraptions. I never know what she's going to make next."

"She really sounds like a delight. How about your husband, what's he like?"

"Well, he's a wonderful man, though his sense of humour is a little twisted and his personality can rub people the wrong way. Jowd and Cabanela make such a pair together. Ah, Cabanela's the other guy. He's like a part of our family too."

"The ruthless interrogator?"

"He was trying too hard." Alma shakes her head. "He had just gotten admitted to the Special Investigation Unit and thought he would try to impress them."

"By interrogating an innocent man?" Sissel's lip curls as she lets out a derisive snort. "Ah, sorry, I-"

"Oh, no, no, be as honest as you like. Still, I wouldn't call him ruthless. I don't know what image you have of him, but if you saw the real Cabanela, that image would be quickly shattered. He's really unique, in a sense. He's easygoing, laid back, always dancing."

"Dancing?" One of Sissel's slender eyebrows shoots upwards.

"You have to see it to believe it. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm trying to defend them. I just want you to know they aren't necessarily the ruthless men you might think they are."

Sissel flashes a reassuring smile at her. "Really, it's okay. I get it." Draining the last of her coffee, she sets down the mug and stares into it, a cloud passing over her eyes. "I'm glad. It doesn't seem like you're judging my fiancé."

"No, I'm really not."

"Some of our friends didn't want anything to do with him anymore, or me when I defended him. They didn't even try to understand why he took that child hostage. There must have been so many people judging him and thinking he was a terrible person when it was in the news."

"I'm so sorry to hear it."

"Oh, well. I guess I learned who my real friends were at least."

"You have people you can still talk to, don't you? I'm sure it must be hard."

"I have some friends left. Anyway, it's enough that Yomiel is alive. I hate having to say goodbye but I know he'll be out one day. He was so badly injured back then." Sissel shudders. "I could have lost him. I don't know what I would do without him."

Alma averts her gaze, pushing back the lump in her throat. "Well, that's good that you have some support then." Checking the time on her watch, she adds. "Is that the time already?"

"I guess you should be going then? I'd better get off too, get some shopping done on my way home."

Outside the cafe, Sissel takes a card from her purse and holds it out to Alma. "Here you go. If you want to talk or meet up again, here's my number."

"Really? I almost thought you might not be interested."

"Well, I don't see any reason not to." Sissel tilts her head. "I almost feel like us meeting might not have been a total coincidence."

"Hmm. You know what, I don't think it was either."

"It was very nice to meet you. Well, then, hope to see you another time." Sissel walks away with a wave. Alma watches her blend into the distant crowd with a smile, slipping the card into her own purse.

At a later date, Alma gets in touch with Sissel. Their next meeting is at a restaurant where Sissel is performing. Alma is impressed by how well she can play the piano and sing. Their meetings continue well beyond that and they talk about all sorts of things, the subject of their loved ones in particular.

Five years past the meteorite's fall, Alma's birthday rolls around. Jowd announces that he's made plans for dinner, and even bought crafts to keep Kamila occupied. "If we can try and get off work early, that would be good too. Sissel's going to be around, so Kamila won't be lonely either. I want this day to be different."

"I understand." Alma doesn't feel ready to see the contraption in action either. They go to work as usual and come home with Cabanela, discovering Kamila deeply absorbed in craftwork under Sissel's watchful gaze. The evening is spent dining at Alma's favourite restaurant and they all have a wonderful time. When it's all over, Jowd and Alma fall asleep in their bed, snug in each other's embraces.

The years fly by. Alma enjoys her life with considerable vigor as does Cabanela. They remain conscious of how precious their time is, never forgetting for a single moment. Alma continues meeting Sissel and even makes a new friend in the Justice Minister's wife, who she introduces to Sissel. It doesn't take long before Emma is inspired to write a romance novel involving a jailbird. Seeing how well they get along, Alma is glad to have brought another person into Sissel's life. It's hard for Sissel, being separated from her loved one by prison walls, and Alma will do whatever she can to ease Sissel's pain, even if it's just a little bit.

Alma's birthday comes round, ten years after that fateful day. Coming home from work, Alma is the first to go inside. Greeted with a dark room, she reaches for the light switch only to freeze. Kamila has finally brought the contraption into existence, hasn't she? Alma wouldn't dream of spoiling her daughter's birthday surprise. Time to see it in action.

"Here we go." Steeling herself, Alma flips the switch and light floods the room. The contraption plays out before her eyes. Cupid's arrow takes flight, its fiery tip striking the party poppers. Loud pops fill the air as streamers fly. She covers her mouth. Jowd's stories couldn't have prepared her for this. It's incredible what Kamila was capable of even five years ago.

Kamila bursts out of the cupboard and runs over to Alma with the kitten in hot pursuit. "Did I surprise you, Mom?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, wow. You really made that yourself?"

"Of course!" Kamila beams, throwing her arms around Alma's waist. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Embracing her daughter, Alma strokes her hair. "Thank you, Kamila. That was a lovely surprise." Behind her, the door opens. Jowd's puzzled expression quickly fades, a knowing smile taking its place.

Some time later, Alma gets a call from Sissel. Joining her husband on the sofa, she clears her throat. "Sissel's fiancé, er, Yomiel is out of prison."

"Yes, he was released a couple of days ago."

"I see." Alma's head tilts.

"Is there something on your mind?"

"I used to go to the prison and think about seeing him myself. Then I met Sissel and she told me all about him instead. If I keep seeing her, I might bump into him at some point."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose that's a possibility. Is it a problem?"

"The thing is, if I meet him for the first time, I want it to be with you, Jowd. I think I'm ready."

"Alright, I'll arrange something."

The next day, Jowd and Alma head to a bar that evening. They quickly spot Yomiel sitting alone in the far corner. It was decided that bringing his fiancée was too risky.

"Hello, Yomiel."

Yomiel stands up, responding with a curt nod. "Hello, Detective. It's good to see you."

"Yes, it's good to see you too. How's life treating you out of prison?"

"It's not easy, but I've got help." Yomiel turns his head slightly. "And you are..."

"Ah, yes, I do believe you already know my wife, don't you?"

"Uh..."

Ever since they came up to him, Alma has been lost in a trance, her thoughts tumbling around in a frantic whirlwind. Thick mud clogs her throat. Swallowing, she wipes her palms over her skirt before thrusting out a hand. "I'm Alma. It's nice to meet you."

Her words cut like a blade through the tension holding Yomiel in place. Shaking her hand, he responds, "Nice to meet you too. I'm Yomiel."

"So, I finally got to meet the man himself," Alma says, as they sit down. Her repeated swallows do little to moisten her mouth. It's really him, that man who took her life and hurt her family, but he isn't that man anymore. That twisted creature who sought to hurt and even kill others is long gone. "I've heard a lot about you from Jowd, and Sissel. I mean, your fiancée. Not the cat."

"I see."

"Well, I suppose I should get drinks for us. Is that okay with you, Alma?"

Seeing a hint of concern in Jowd's eyes, Alma responds with a smile. "Of course it is. A glass of white wine for me, please. Would you mind giving us a few minutes to speak alone?"

"Sure." Jowd's hand lingers on her shoulder before he walks away.

"You know everything, don't you." A statement, not a question.

"I do. Jowd told me about all of it. I know what you went through."

"Right." Yomiel clears his throat. "I really am so sorry for what I did to you and to everybody else. What I did was completely inexcusable."

Alma studies her interlaced fingers as they lay in her lap. "I know you're not that person anymore. What you went through was hell, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I was consumed by loneliness, by the desire for revenge. It transformed me. I could no longer see people for who they were. You and your little girl? Just tools for causing Jowd pain." Yomiel releases his breath in a soft whoosh. "I don't expect you to forgive me. If you want to tell me you hate me, well, I know I deserve it."

The laughter and animated chatter coming from the other tables provide such a sharp contrast to their serious conversation. While Alma's gaze roams over the other customers, she speaks. "I might have despised you for a while. The truth made me sick. I was hurt and angry, I tried to understand why you would have done it, and then I met your fiancée."

"You've been a good friend to Sissel. I was surprised to hear she had become friends with you."

Alma turns her full attention back to Yomiel. "I didn't seek her out on purpose. We bumped into each other outside the prison and I learned her name. I wanted to get to know her, maybe even hear more about you. I wasn't using her or anything. She's a fantastic woman and I can see why you love her so much."

"Yes, I really do."

"You're lucky to have each other. I hope you'll have a happy future together."

"Thank you."

"Anyway." Alma rests her chin in one hand. "I wanted to meet you in person. I think... I wanted to dispel that image of a murderous monster. To see you for the person you are now."

Yomiel's cheek twitches, his gaze remaining level with hers.

"I know you're not that monster anymore and you will never hurt my family again. I don't bear a grudge against you and I don't hate you either."

"I see." Yomiel bows his head, the words oozing from his lips like thick syrup. "You really are a very kind woman."

Amidst the conversation's lull, the rowdy noises filling the pub become painstakingly clear. "Well then, might as well get Jowd back over here." Alma seeks out Jowd, signalling to him with a wave.

Jowd joins them, setting down the drinks. "Well then, how did it go?"

"We had a pleasant conversation. I told him I have no hard feelings."

"That's good to hear. You were a bit nervous, weren't you, Yomiel?"

"Yes." Yomiel's head moves in an almost imperceptible nod. "I'm not sure I deserve so much kindness." Shifting his gaze to Alma, he continues. "I'm so grateful that you were there for Sissel also. My imprisonment was hard on her but now it's all over and we can look forward to our future together."

"Well then." Jowd raises his glass. "Here's to us all not being dead or in prison."

With a roll of her eyes, Alma lifts her glass as does Yomiel, their glasses meeting in midair with a soft clink. They engage in conversation, the words falling from their lips ever so casually. Any resulting moments of discomfort are entirely on Jowd. Before they realise it, the glasses are empty and it's time to go. Bidding farewell, they set off back to their respective homes.

"Well, how did that feel?" Jowd asks on the way home.

"It was alright." Alma is relaxed, her body filling the contours of the car seat. "I was so nervous about meeting him but in the end, it all went fine. I can finally let go of all those feelings. It's like a huge weight off my mind."

"Is that so? I'm glad. The ten years are all behind us at last."

"Yeah."

Pulling the car into the driveway of their home, Jowd cuts the engine. Alma leaves the car and goes round to meet Jowd. Snaking her arms around his waist, she sinks against his chest, clasped in his strong embrace.

"I really do love you so much." Alma turns her head up.

Jowd kisses her on the lips. "And I love you too."

As they approach their front door, it swings open, revealing their smiling daughter. Sissel weaves around her legs, mewing. "Welcome back, Mom, Dad." With those words, Kamila steps aside, allowing them to enter together.

#ghost trick #ghost swap

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ofgoodmenarchive · 5 years ago

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Blighted Empire: Ch 6.5

Untamed

Staring into space, Evallan held the foolish Tevinter, feigning ignorance as to his distraught emotional state.

Do you not find it ludicrous?

To feel so much- to want so much?

What do we even know of each other- truly?

The few words he'd dared speak reduced the man to tears- Evallan was hardly going to voice more. Instead he embraced Dorian and stroked his hair, offering what subtle assurance he could, dumbstruck as he was. Gradually exhaustion won out against distress and the man slept, buried against him as if he were part of their bedding.

Equally drained- if not more so- but Evallan could not rest. Part of him wished he were still cold- the alien, jittery numbness would at least distract from the trickle of thought.

He thought of Titus- that damned rune of Compassion, the promise it carried. Of Villyen- eyes alight from the orange hues of the Deep Roads, scrutinising him almost indignantly. His mother burning across a pyre- far from anywhere they called home.

Dorian Pavus comforting him upon his return- all those years ago.

Waiting for Evallan after his Harrowing to stand guard the entire night.

Crafting that imitative blade- obviously meaning to flatter him.

Protecting him during their expedition.

Relinquishing his amulet- displaying no anger.

Displaying only- what he always seemed to strive for- kindness, patience.

What is wrong with you, Dorian Pavus?!

It vexed Evallan more than anything in his life ever had. He'd always assumed the man was bored- why wouldn't he be, locked in a tower for a decade? Yet he was so upset- both over the possibility of Evallan's fate and the dismissal of his sincerity.

Again he recalled Titus, bright-eyed while handing over the rune of Compassion.

You Tevinter mages...

...you are all so sentimental!

So quick to make oaths and swear allegiances-

none of you know what you say!

Though he had to admit- he was glad Fila had been raised in such company. It comforted him to know she never had need to close her heart to others.

But what does my life matter if it ends the Blight?!

Five minutes on my feet.

Five minute on my feet against the Archdemon.

Give me only that.

It would all be over then.

Dorian...you could go home.

He slipped in and out of awareness, clinging to the man and repeating- as if it were a mantra.

Five minutes on my feet

against that wretched thing.

I need only that.

Morning finally graced them and Evallan knew if the man awoke still in this position, he'd face the same issue as the previous night.

I cannot be alone with you.

Evallan had told him as much- though not in words Dorian comprehended. Even in his ignorance, the Tevinter managed an infuriating response.

What had he said?

'I think I approve of that'?

The fool.

Cheeks flaring, he slid carefully from underneath the man- Dorian stirred briefly, perhaps reached for an absent warmth. Not waiting to observe such things, he slipped out into the cool light.

Evallan hoped it was still too early for the others but noticed Marcus lingering outside the inn, taking enormous bites from a bread-chunk. Ignoring him, he sat by the campfire and busied himself with it.

“Lavellan,” Marcus garbled out. “The fuck happened yesterday?”

Eyes focused on his task, hands moved automatically, vocals doing the same;

“I believe we felled an Emissary in the Korcari Wilds.”

“Don't be fucking cute, Lavellan.” Marcus countered sternly and Evallan heard boots disrupt the grass. Soon a shadow leaned over him and the twigs he worked with.

“You were cold. Since when has that ever happened?”

The hint of accusation wasn't lost on Evallan- he swept it away while snapping wood into kindling.

“My aura did not hold. You have seen this before.”

“Not like that,” Marcus spat. “You get warmer- a fever. You've never been fucking cold. Never.”

Something in the Templar's voice agitated him- enough to glare over his shoulder, seeking confirmation. Indeed the man's scarred features and always-displeased scowl revealed something close to personable.

“It is none of your concern.” Though subdued, each syllable was laced with venom.

Seeming to realise he'd given something away with his expression, the lines of it hardened before Evallan's eyes until it was nothing but sharp.

“Considering we could all fucking die if you lose control for even a second? I'd say that's my blighting concern.”

Blind rage propelled through his chest like bile and all Evallan could respond with was-

“Eat shit and die, Marcus.”

The barrel-chest looming over him seethed but Marcus only touched his forehead, chuckling wryly.

“Listen...you fucking idiot-brat,” He began very slowly, voice feigning sweetness as though his words weren't so bitter. “There's something wrong with you. The Circle can fucking help. If that thing is turning on you- there's no blighting reason we can't take it out!”

A crackle of incredulous laughter escaped Evallan- a sound so foreign to the commander that he stilled in a moment of shock.

“Have you gone mad!?” Evallan asked amidst sour amusement. “And then what good would I be to you- stripped of most of my ability!?”

“Maybe you won't be able to freeze over a fucking mountain!” Marcus recovered quickly, biting back. “But your experience on the field? The techniques you've fucking perfected? We lose you to this thing- we lose all that too!”

Upright in a flash, Evallan jabbed the man in the chest, snarling;

“You would not lose anything, Templar.”

Marcus deflated, glowering as he shook his head.

“You're a shitting moron, Lavellan. We'll be picking your pieces off the void-damned ground before we get to the blighting Archdemon.”

The Templar saved him from responding by stomping to the inn. Evallan watched his retreat and inhaled steadily.

I barely allow his concern.

What made you think I would suffer yours?!

He was still looking towards the inn and shaking off the surreal discomfort when Marcus reappeared, Augustus in tow. Evallan blinked after them, observing as they horsed in single-minded fashion.

“Where are you going?” Not that it especially troubled him- but he disliked being left with the others and no command.

“Quick reconnaissance on Lothering- promised we'd check in.” The Templar grumbled, yanking the reigns of his horse, Augustus' mount rearing behind.

“Then I will wake the others-”

“I don't need a fucking freak snowstorm or a lot of bickering bullshit right now,” He growled, trotting away. “It's a fucking formality! Just sit tight and don't fucking kill each other.”

“You should not leave us without a command!” Evallan shouted after him, fists clenched.

“I said sit fucking tight and don't fucking kill each other!” Marcus howled, vanishing along the curve of the path.

READ MORE ON AO3

#dragon age #dai #dragon age inquisition #inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dorian pavus #m!lavellan #pavellan #apocalypse au #dragon age apocalypse au #fanfiction #blighted empire #my writing #my aus

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foolforshera · 5 years ago

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Chapter Twenty-Seven! And twenty-eight will go up today as well more than likely. Maybe even twenty-nine if I have the time.

What are our intrepid protrags up to now? Let's check in, shall we?

*****

The room was silent as everyone took in the idea that Dralar showed every sign of having run off. Finn was the first to speak up.

“Why leave all of this behind? They’ve been farming this for years and years now,” Finn said.

“Because they’re probably worried about someone coming for them,” Oak said.

“Why though? Mom and Mother had already been out here to see him,” Finn said.

“I’m guessing it’s one thing to know you’ve still got some cover and another to know everyone knows,” Artho said.

“But we just wanted to ask them questions! And how did they even know!?” Finn said as they threw their hands up in the air.

Read the rest at AO3!

#finn #finn and the moms of power #my fic #spop

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magpiemorality · 5 years ago

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Freudian Sides, A Very Long Meta Theory Post

This is a rewrite of a rambling post with my imagining of fitting the Sides into the Freudian Personality Theory of the id, ego and superego. I have never studied psychology but enjoyed researching this a bit! It’s edited and added-to to be more readable and understandable, and mainly to collect all of my own thoughts in one place for me to come back to later. If you’re interested then read on, warning that it’s a long one, full of rambling opinions from this one thinker here, but hopefully some of it is interesting. If you agree with me let me know, if you disagree with me also let me know, but I should point out that this is just one theory I’ve applied to the series and characters and there are probably loads out there that fit!

Let’s get to it~

Warnings: mention of infection, very long post, badly researched psychology!

AO3

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The Freudian Personality Theory

Summarised from this article

The theory that Freud presented is that the psyche/personality can be separated into three distinct parts; the ID, the EGO and the SUPEREGO. These are not physical parts but aspects of the psyche that influence the personality of a person.

The id is the most basic instincts, deep in the subconscious, things like eating, seeking pleasure (in the sense of good feelings for the person), and survival instinct; things that won’t change as you age because they are so intrinsic (apart from the development of the reproduction instinct in those it presents itself in). The superego is the conscience and the ‘ideal self’, your most socially affected part that dictates morality and outward self you want to project into the world. It’s the bit that makes you choose to do stuff for others and follow laws and social rules, and gives you the desire to be better and improve, as well as being a source of guilt or pride if you succeed or fail at those things. The ego balances the two, trying to find the best outcome by appeasing the id while following the code of the superego. It uses rational thinking and grounds decisions in reality while still working to seek a positive overall outcome for the person. It doesn’t have the sense of right or wrong that the superego has, and failing to control the id can result in feelings such as guilt or anxiety, which it may try to unconsciously defend the psyche against as a coping mechanism. It is concerned primarily with helping the personality feel good in a socially acceptable way.

Sides as aspects of the Personality Theory

So I found that this theory fit rather well with the sides, better than the dark sides/light sides, left brain/right brain, each side has an opposite, disorders vs productive aspects, conscious vs unconscious aspects, all theories which are interesting but never quite rang true for me. The way the theory presents the aspects as independent workers that influence the personality of the person lines up very well against the personified Sides, affecting Character Thomas as he utilises them.

In that regard I see the sides we see during the series more as entities brought to life and assigned personifications semi-consciously by Character Thomas rather than the aspects of the psyche brought to life, or the sides of his personality brought to life, because I believe that a) he has changed them prior to and during the series by interacting with them consciously and semi or subconsciously assigning them personifications, and b) they all perform multiple roles and duties beyond what their named ‘role’ in the series is, so just sticking to that doesn’t fit, or would require a whole host of other characters that we don’t know about to exist, which I personally don’t see working well within the series (Orange notwithstanding; that’s a discussion for another time!).

In order to reconcile those things my thoughts were to place each side within the Freudian theory and then explain why they might not entirely fit using points a and b as supporting evidence.

Firstly, Virgil and Remus would be the id, the instincts and base functions, easily able to disrupt and overwhelm the main psyche if left unchecked. Too much attention paid to these can result in feelings of guilt or anxiety, influenced by the Superego, and overall I think the id is a mess of conflict of instincts as well as survival wars with curiosity and impulse. So, Remus is pure impulse and represents several base instincts such as sexual and morbid.

The ego is of course Logan and Janus, with their logic and rational thinking and defense of Character Thomas over everything else, which adhering to social values and concepts. They are very much the self control sides and do exactly that, working together not only to keep Virgil and Remus satisfied and not overwhelming, but to do the same for the superego sides. They don’t bother themselves with wrong or right, but prioritise Character Thomas’ well-being, sometimes over the superego as well, keeping that in check just as easily as they keep the id in check. Logan is a notable foil for Remus and often Virgil, and Janus has proven his own desire to act in this way. Perhaps while the superego was essentially in charge this is why the id sides became disordered; because Janus was only able to do half of his role and overcompensated by forcing the id down entirely rather than offering compromise along with Logan and keeping the superego in check at the same time. The feelings of guilt that catalysed that must have been fairly great, which matches up well with Character Thomas’ religious upbringing and how that would have interacted with puberty and his growing sense of self.

That leaves Roman and Patton as the superego, which just fits!! Patton is the conscience and morality side but in many ways so is Roman. He also firmly believes in the code of right and wrong, perhaps recently shown to be influenced by Patton or perhaps he simply feels it more strongly than Patton. We certainly know him to be a product of that way of thinking, with the half of creativity concept. And as Character Thomas’ career aspirations it is interesting to look at him because had there been another career of choice he would perhaps have been entirely different, or if you prefer to look at it the other way; Character Thomas may have chosen to pursue a career in performance because his superego and ideal self is incredibly theatrical and performance orientated. They also both strive to be the best people they can be, more so than any other sides holding themselves to lofty standards and their own account in the model of ‘best’ that society has taught them! The religious influence can’t be downplayed here. And they do influence Thomas's negativity over first Virgil- with Roman’s constant animosity towards the side before the acceptance- and then Remus- from Roman and Patton as well, while Logan the ego is more concerned with neutralising the threat Remus poses instead of fearing him. It could be said that Patton even influences Virgil's reaction to Remus, turning the id on itself by guilting survival instinct into attacking the other instincts as dangerous. Finally, if left unchecked themselves by the ego they also get out of hand and become neurotic and overwhelm the psyche too. Patton caused the distinction between light and dark and is responsible for many feelings of guilt and poor conscience for Character Thomas, while Roman often feels insecure and unsuccessful because his ideal self is too out of reach for reality. They need the ego to stay in touch with reality and to function best for Character Thomas, in cohesion with the other sides.

Keep reading for the final part of my 'analysis';

How Character Thomas muddled things up

To me, this feels right for how the sides were all formed, with the added caveat that I think the choices Character Thomas made of assigning them personality traits has skewed the picture somewhat. For example as mentioned above; I don't think Remus was initially ‘Creativity’ at all, but that the impulsive thoughts he brought to the table were labelled that way because of the superego's guilt and influence not being held in check by the ego during formative years for the psyche.

Now the main problem in the Sanders Sides canon is that the sides, well, exist. The fact that Character Thomas sees them consciously and has subconsciously personified them has influenced and changed facets of each one in a very interesting way, character-wise. The superego’s control over everything has inspired Character Thomas to demonise certain aspects that would otherwise have been perfectly natural and safe, albeit in controlled doses. Instead we have the entire id forced subconscious and then breaking out to bring Virgil to the conscious fore; But let’s look at this more on a character by character basis (because I apparently need to write it this way!).

Remus, who would have just been base instincts but also due to suppression has become disordered as intrusive thoughts, but thanks to Character Thomas’ conscious personification of Roman, was subconsciously remodeled as ‘dark creativity’, even though the two function in completely different ways in the show, and in this theory. Roman’s creativity, aka the imagination, is a conscious choice that Character Thomas chooses to use, and he actively chooses not to think ‘dark’ thoughts in his imagination. Remus is more impulsive and base and subconscious, uncontrolled and not so much creativity as original thought coming from those instincts and, mainly (I’ll keep on at this thread forever I swear) impulse. Interestingly in the Vines, if they exist within the same universe, then Remus’ impulses have in fact been regularly satisfied through (as mentioned many times before) jumping out of a car, setting things on fire, all the butt selfies, etc. His Intrusive Thoughts title could therefore stem from mainly the repression of his aspect of the psyche; by forcing the baser instincts down on the principle of them being ‘wrong in the eyes of society’ the superego and Character Thomas unwittingly created a sort of malformation where impulse becomes more negative and unwelcome because there is no outlet, like an infected wound, trying to lash out and instead of being cowed by the moral conscience only forming harder around that idea (that society would view them as bad) in order to do the lashing out. Think of it as a mental association of base instincts and those thoughts and impulses with ‘don’t think this’ and ‘bad for you and for society’. The pink elephant thought experiment is incredibly relevant here. The more repressed instincts are, the more they wildly act out and become disordered.

Virgil as the more survival instinct side of the id had a similar experience; through some means, probably overinfluence of the superego he became disordered as well, his survival instinct shifting from physical danger to more often social danger, and his expression as Anxiety was a malformed way of working his role for Character Thomas and responding to the control and repression the superego exerted over him. The intrusive thoughts and anxiety disorders that Character Thomas experiences I would theorise came from the id trying to balance an overzealous superego- and the impact of the superego imposing societal concerns on an aspect of the psyche that should never deal with the outside world- with the ego overwhelmed by the superego as well. It’s intriguing that when he was accepted/became a ‘light side’ his name was not changed from Anxiety to something more reflective of his job, however I suppose there’s a case to be made that once an aspect has become disordered, leading to mental health issues, it’s probably incredibly hard for it to turn back and ameliorating the symptoms is often the best solution. Accepting Anxiety in this case was the best thing they could have done, and accepting Intrusive Thoughts will hopefully come along soon as well.

Logan is fairly simply personified and distinguished and luckily mostly saved from the complications of personification, but not of the peronification of the others. They all have to function to keep themselves in check now as conscious beings, removing some of the responsibility from the ego as Character Thomas and the sides have started to think rationally for themselves. This has resulted somewhat in Logan becoming less relevant and useful and not being listened to as much, which we have seen in the show recently. He's still needed of course but his function has lessened with the development of the sides as personalities, and is perhaps going to be the next side to have to come back into balance as the rest of the psyche learn they need his guidance as well as their own (and I think it would be interesting to see Janus have to fill his shoes and struggle to do all the work, requiring him to come back full force).

Janus has suffered from the personification in much the same way Remus has; through demonisations. But I think mainly this resulted in Janus being unable to do his own role as a balancer of both sides because he was overwhelmed by the guilt of giving in to instinct and therefore put even more effort into forcing down the id, mainly Remus, and abandoned his ‘put yourself first’ role for Character Thomas, which Logan struggled to fill in a way Character Thomas can relate to. Seeing them work together and playing to their strengths would be wonderful, and the latest video demonstrated some of that ability to tag in, although Logan was a little sidelined by the situation.

The superego is where things get really messy, and it’s emblematic of the power and preference Character Thomas has given the superego in the past that they’ve developed so much and have so much to them. But just as their opinions and concepts haven’t really developed past his childhood developmental stage, their personifications haven’t either. Instead they’re quite a mishmash of traits Character Thomas most valued in his authority figures and his ideal self at that same age, not quite fully developed or cohesive characters.

Roman is first up. Ah, Roman. We know that he represents, to Character Thomas, his creativity, passion, romance and femininity. That’s a lot of things for one side to cover, even in the Sanders Sides universe way of explaining things where most sides have just one ‘job’. Add them together though and you can easily end up with the superego, or at least a part of it. Roman is, in my eyes, inarguably the aspect of ideal self. He is the most reflective of the outward personality of Character Thomas, and fulfills the role of his career driver and general motivation in life. He, perhaps in conjunction with Patton although in some respects more than Patton, drives the feelings of success and failure and the pride or guilt at attaining or not attaining the standards the superego as a whole set for Character Thomas to reach. He’s the role model, the person Character Thomas most wants to be (albeit exaggerated), and most idealises and idolises from the media he consumed as a child. Again; undeveloped past that age. He also deals quite literally in the control of the id’s impulses; he is a Disney prince ready to fight the Bad GuyTM. Patton may be the driver of that decision but Roman will carry it out no problem. In fact, the entire Accepting Anxiety arc was fascinating for showing how the ego and psyche as a whole needed to correct the superego’s behaviour primarily in order to lessen the negative effects of the id, rather than the way they’d gone about things before of just fighting against the id directly and suffering the backlash. It’s why the most recent episodes with Patton and Janus were also so interesting; a well-functioning ego can exert enough control to tame the superego and thereby control the id as well (but that second part I think we have yet to see, with the purging of the ‘dark sides’ narrative from Roman to come, no doubt).

And Patton, poor Patton. Morality AND childishness AND the dad side AND The Heart? Morality and being the dad side fit the superego aspect perfectly as moral authority figure types and duties, and I’ll admit right now that this theory renders most of my characterisation of him as a chaotic good fairly redundant in favour of the authority figure lawful good/neutral (but fanon is fanon and canon is canon and we only draw from the latter for the former’s pleasure right?). The Heart also makes sense. I’ve seen it characterised as the emotional side, feeling all emotions, which was a train I was fully on until recently! I think his title of The Heart makes more sense in line with the superego’s outward looking conscience; he is the primary aspect responsible for gifting the psyche with that magical pride, or chastising it with the ever-feared guilt. He feels good, or bad, there’s not a lot of nuance there, and indeed in the series he rarely displays emotions other than those two, and those emotions affect the other sides often more than him himself. Nostalgia might be one other emotion you could cite, but that’s not unique to him and is more a facet of Character Thomas’ being a person. I suppose it could be rationalised as something the superego wants to think about or aspire to because it inspires the psyche to be better, or because it was a time when the psyche was better, pushing the ideal self onwards while simultaneously backwards to retrieve and recreate those wonderful moments. There weren’t really many bad memories in the nostalgia episode that I can remember, certainly. And the fact that the superego controls the nostalgia is interesting as well. But the childishness... well it’s far more of an id thing to be childish. In fact it really suits the fact that the id develops at birth and then does not change with age! It’s a thing that I’ve noticed changes a lot in characterisations of Patton everywhere, even somewhat within the series itself as it doesn’t quite mesh with the rest of his character apart from being a nice sort of gimmick or front. It doesn’t quite feel genuine, although the naivete of his being unable to understand many jokes or adult concepts fits absolutely spot on with my own theory that Character Thomas’ superego stopped developing after forming when he was young. Childhood is also when the religious influence would have started and impressed a huge amount of morality on Character Thomas right when the superego was formed and along with Roman’s very black & white/disneyesque thinking and personification this supports my theory, only further supported by the fact that the main development in the series recently has been when the childishness or childish concepts have been left behind more for responsibility and culpability and shades of grey thinking. It all feels a lot like a late bloom into adulthood. Patton has started to accept his role in the psyche and learn how to control it; primarily by not trying to control everything else and leaving that to the professionals of the ego. His part in the latest video was the least childish his characterisation has been, and I doubt it’s a coincidence that it felt more genuine than he has done previously. Character Thomas’ aspects are finally growing up!

So in conclusion; by making each side more conscious of their role CT has both helped and hindered them, taking them from their original roles in the psyche and warping them a bit, but now allowing them to return to a stable, balanced and organised structure, which is also their original and healthiest one, conforming to the Freudian Personality Theory.

That was a really long way of explaining why I think this theory really lines up against the Sanders Sides characters as a great framework for their existence and functions. This will absolutely be informing my own interpretations of them in canon-setting fic going forwards, and I’m intrigued to see what anyone else thinks!

If you made it this far; well done, go have a cookie or two on me, you’ve earned it!!!

#ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides headcanons #ts sanders sides theories #sanders sides #sanders sides theories #sanders sides meta #freud #meta #long post

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officialthiamlibrary · 6 years ago

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For all you Thiam enthusiasts, three moderator positions are open at the @officialthiamlibrary! We always strive to keep this blog fresh and engaging, so we are seeking 3 new personalities to join our Mod Team:

2 Blog Moderators

1 Behind the Screens Profiler

For both positions, we will train you on all existing Mod Resources and help with your transitioning role as a Mod. See below for roles and qualifications of ideal moderators and interviewer. Message us for any questions or clarifications!!

Application found at “www.tinyurl.com/otlmodapp”

Moderator Roles

As a Mod, you will be asked to do the following:

Check notifications and answer any asks at least once a week.

Create at least 2 posts of original content a week (i.e. recs, reclist, etc).

Make fanfiction rec lists and research/find lost fics on AO3

Maintain a reblog queue using the site’s existing Tag Structure.

Create/Edit header graphics using Adobe Photoshop, Adobe Spark, Canva, or like program (You are not required to have or use Photoshop if you prefer a similar program)

Help run and plan fandom events.

Have access to Kik for the mod group chat.

Always maintain a kind, personable decorum in all blog interactions

An ideal mod will also be comfortable doing in the following:

Editing basic HTML/CSS and Maintaining the look and content of Tumblr desktop templates

Brainstorming and Implementing creative ideas on events and post segments to engage the fandom

Creating Behind the Screen Profiles about upcoming and prominent Thiam creators.

Willing to learn any above skills.

Behind the Screens Profiler Roles

Behind the Screens, one our most popular requests, is a bi-monthly series where we profile Thiam creators in the fandom. Each profile gets to know the creator’s life and creative process over the course of several mini conversations, taking about 3-4 weeks to complete from the initial conversation to piecing the profile together.

We are seeking 1 person to help craft profiles exclusively. Of course, you are welcomed to assume the other duties of a Mod, but will mostly focus on improving the Behind the Screens segment. If you consider yourself a people person, this will be perfect for you!

As an profiler, you will be asked to do the following:

Reach out to potential Thiam creators about their interest in being featured in an interview

Navigate Google Drive and create/edit shared Google Docs

Research the creator’s visual and written works on Tumblr/AO3 to craft personalized conversation starters

Continue the conversation with follow up questions and comments

Piece the initial conversation together in a cohesive, interactive interview

Maintain a kind, personable decorum in all blog interactions

An ideal profiler would also be comfortable:

Create/Edit header graphics using Adobe Photoshop, Gimp, Picmonkey, or like program. (You are not required to have or use Photoshop if you prefer a similar program)

Brainstorm and Implement new ways to take the Behind the Screens series to the next level!

For each position, if you have some experience in the responsibilities but hesitant on others, please still apply! Applications will remain open until May 31, 2019, but we are looking to bring on 3 people ASAP.

Application found at “www.tinyurl.com/otlmodapp”

Signal boost and reblog to share!

#thiam #teen wolf #theo raeken #liam dunbar #officialthiamlibrary #mod applications open #signal boost

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phanfictioncatalogue · 7 years ago

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Criminal!Phan (2) Masterlist

Links last checked: June 26th, 2025

part one, part three

Aboveground (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: It's been three months since the diner - and Phil - left.

Binding Silence - shithowell

Summary: Phil is in a psychiatric ward, and does not speak. Dan, a seventeen year old criminal is placed in the ward, and the boys instantly connect, until Dan’s violent ways get the better of him, tearing the two apart.

Criminal (ao3) - SmolPhanishBean

Summary: a songfic of the song "criminal" by britney spears dan and phil are villains falling for eachother, while the world is falling apart.

Free Birds Shouldn't Be Kept In Cages (ao3) - sjakalen

Summary: Prison AU where Dan doesn't know the rules of the game, and Phil is there to teach him.

How to Befriend a Criminal - placingglaciers

Summary: They’re policemen. And they’re terrified.

I don’t blame you much (for wanting to be free) (ao3) - The_Blonde

Summary: Phil first saw Dan, in a tiny museum in Manchester, wearing a nametag that said Dylan, cleaning one tiny patch of floor over and over, fringe falling in his eyes, staring at The Sea at Saintes-Maries like it was the best thing he had ever seen, like he was looking at something behind it, something hidden. Phil had said “hey, that’s my favourite too. Everyone always walks straight past it” and Dan had jumped like a startled cat and then instantly scurried off. Phil had thought no wait stay. And Dan hadn’t, obviously.

Isn’t He Pretty, Isn’t He Insane? - daeguk

Summary: in a world where a person’s soulmate has an identical birthmark, police intern phil lester is completely alone; that is, until he starts receiving cruel gifts from a psychotic serial killer. seeking out the comfort of a boy on the phone, dan howell, while desperately trying to figure out the killer’s messages, time is running out by each fractured second.

Masked Intruder - botanistlester

Summary: Dan is a robber who steals valuable objects nearly every night. When he goes into a flat decorated with plants and stuffed animals, he can’t seem to keep himself away. Dan’s not used to pretty boys stealing things of his own; especially when they steal his heart.

Mockingbird - kawaii-kanai

Summary: Phil is a con-artist and a thief by trade; finding the game of infiltrating people’s houses through trust and deception far more alluring than by sneaking around like a common criminal. When his next job leads him to find a treasure much more valuable than any jewel, he finds the boundaries of work and personal business to blur.

One Last Crime - etoilesdephan

Summary: Twisted hearts and twisted minds, but one constant remains - their love.

Robbers (ao3) - TypicalCharlie

Summary: A small phan AU based off the song Robbers by The 1975.

save me from the ghosts and shadows before they eat my soul (ao3) - barboletta

Summary: the one where Dan is a first-class thief, Phil isn't opposed to violence and they try to survive.

Steal And Leave (ao3) - CocoKookie

Summary: Dan is a thief who has no home. His surviving method is seducing people and then robbing, even killing them. He doesn't have any friends and he definitely doesn't do relationships. But meeting Phil, a lonely, handsome man at a bar might change his mind...

steal my heart (steal my whole life too) - auroraphilealis

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

The Run And Go - transparent-gloom-clouds

Summary: Dan failed to mention a -not so small- detail about his past before moving in with Phil.

Wrapped Around Your Finger - nagirci

Summary: Dan Howell is a newly trained assassin. Charming, charismatic yet near emotionless, he holds a lot of promise for the organization he works for, R.U.N. As his first mission, he’s given the task of killing Phil Lester, a twenty six year old man living in inner city London. But of course, this is not as easy as it may seem, and chaos ensues as Dan struggles to choose between right and wrong.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #au #criminal #criminal masterlist #blood tw #murder tw

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luna-orlha · 7 years ago

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Title: The Rain Stops Fandom: Naruto Genre: Hurt/comfort, Romance Ship: Kakashi/Yamato Characters: Hatake Kakashi, Yamato Tenzou Word count: 2,663 Triggers(s):-- Rating: T Additional Tags: Mentions of experimentation, younger angsty Kakashi, fem!Tenzou Summary: Stuck with moody shinobi that didn’t seem to like her, Tenzou comes to term with her living situation now. Notes: The timeline of this fic ignores canon’s.

Ao3

----

Tenzou stared out of the window. The rain pattered against the glass, the dark clouds rumbled overhead. It was an out-of-season rain for Konoha. Outside, Tenzou knew that the farmers would be fretting for their crops, the anbus would be doubling their patrols to make sure no enemy-nin would use this rain as an opportunity to sneak in.

Rain always made her stomach curdled in spite of the good memories. She snorted at her thoughts and sipped her tea. Remembering the day she got brought out from the cage was hardly a good memory.

The earth was wet and gooey between her toes, she remembered. The rain was wet and cold like how autumn rains were. A red haired kunoichi had picked her up and carried her on her hip all the way back to Konoha. She had no name back then, just a series of numbers. The red haired kunoichi named her Tenzou not knowing that that name would be lost to her for many years to come.

Tenzou closes her eyes, feeling the heat of her mug seeping into her cold fingers. The never-ending pain in the cage, watching her fellow cage mates scream and pass out, and never wake.

Danzo called her special, Sandaime called her special, but really, Tenzou didn’t think she was special. Just lucky. Lucky Tenzou. Where lucky meant she survived all the hundreds of babies, where lucky meant she hadn’t died from experimentation. Lucky Tenzou.

Her fingers trembled and he fists her hands, forcing the curl of chakra down from where it had attempted to leap out of her skin. Being emotional always did that.

She couldn’t even just watch the rain without remembering.

Some days, she would think that she would have been better if she had followed her cage mates. Why had she survived when they had failed? She had questions that she knew no one could answer or would bother to. She was alive, why would anything else matter?

Her chakra shivered and another chakra signature brushed against hers, questioning.

“Tenzou?” Kakashi called out from behind her. His steps were intentionally loud as he walked towards her, stopping just outside the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” she replied dully and emptied the still full cup into the sink.

He hesitated and ducked through noren. Without looking, Tenzou could imagine the look of stricken fear and awkwardness as he tried to figure what to say to her. Kakashi had always been terrible at feelings and so was she. What a pair they made, Kurenai often said, both handler and charge equally inept at communicating.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She soaped the cup, scrubbing it hard, trying to find words that didn’t sound bitter and angry.

She had despised Kakashi once upon a time. A very long time ago, when Danzo had kidnapped her during the Kyuubi Attack. Kakashi was protected unlike her who had to learn to walk in the shadows. And when he mourned, he had parents, friends, family that she never had. He was everything she was not, had everything she didn’t have yet still he acted like no one could understand him. It made her bitter.

“I’m sure.”

Kakashi looked relieved at her words. Though he was certain it was because it meant he didn’t need to force her to talk, she hoped it was because she was okay. He scratched the back of his neck, his chakra twisting towards her as though seeking comfort.

“If you’re sure...” he said.

It was different then, she was different then. He was different then. Tenzou turned, catching the sight of Kakashi leaning against the fridge, his silver hair almost fey from the dim living room lights through the noren.

Smile. She remembered the red haired kunoichi tell her, using her calloused fingers to pull her lips up. This is a smile. And when you’re happy, when your chest feels full and light, you smile.

Her heart surged at the sight of him, his shoulders hunched, hands tucked in his pockets.

Tenzou tugged her lips up, eyes crinkling in merriment. “I am.”

----

People were always so hypocritical. Telling her that life is good and living is good. No one told Kakashi that, so she watched him just like he watched her.

Tenzou could see the moment that Kakashi faltered and accepted that death wasn’t so bad. His hands stilled and she moved.

Leaping forward, pushing him out of the way. She threw up a wall of wood just in time to block the fireball. It wasn’t perfect, but her wood was the only thing that leapt up fast enough. She could feel the heat sear through the wood as she ran through hand seals to sink into the ground.

“Owl!”

She coughed, splattering blood into the missing-nin’s face. The shinobi had somehow punched through the wood and into her.

Had her wood been too thin?

Her body shuddered. There was a metallic taste in her mouth. Internal bleeding, she mentally filed.

There was a loud keening and the arm that was sticking through her chest was ripped away, feeling a hollow, fluttery feeling.

She sunk to her knees, hands clutching the hole. No, definitely not just internal bleeding. Her fingers lit up a feeble green as she struggled to mend it. Her throat clenched for air, her vision blurry. Tenzou struggled to stay awake, knowing that with injuries like this, falling asleep might mean she would never wake.

“Owl!” A desperate cry on her right, hands covering hers. “Cat! Cat!”

Another hand covered hers, a warmth seeping into her but her limbs felt so cold now. She blinked her eyes, staring at the silver hair and white mask leaning over her.

“Stay with us,” Hound commanded. His voice was ragged and raw, and Tenzou squeezed the hand in hers, attempting to follow her captain’s order. Her mouth opened and closed in wet gasps. Hound was saying something to her but she couldn’t hear his voice over the pounding in her ears.

There was a crack of thunder, fat drops of water sliding down their masks. His silver hair is flattened against his head.

Haven’t they been in this scenario before? That day when she tried to kill Kakashi had been raining too. Except it was Kakashi with a sword through his gut lying on the ground.

She wheezed, the irony not lost on her. Her body shivered and she gasped. Her numb fingers trying to tighten around his hand. That’s right, the missing-nin managed to get her lungs. There’s no saving this. Kakashi should have known that.

He lost everyone he let in, Kurenai told her. As his friends, we can only strive to stay alive. If he loses another…

What about me? Tenzou wanted to scream then. Incapable of voicing the doubt and fear in her but armed because she was with a perfect mask of normality, no one bothered digging beneath.

“...ashi…”

She was losing time now. They had removed her mask without her noticing it and Kakashi’s hand on her cheek, slapping her every time she closed her eyes.

Am I your friend or your charge? She wanted to ask.

So it seemed that the question Tenzou never voiced was doomed never to be answered. She struggled for another breath, hand gripping tightly on the hand in hers and blinked.

----

Her blink appeared to have transported her elsewhere or her blink had lasted longer than she thought it did. The white walls that surrounded her and the lack of bandages around her chest indicated the latter.

There wasn’t anyone sitting by her chair. There wasn’t anyone that would anyway. Tenzou was aware of her status among the anbu and Kakashi’s friends - the little tagalong or Yamato. She hated the nickname and title, just like she hated Kinoe. They were names and titles she didn’t pick.

Sitting up, she took shallow breaths then deeper ones to test her injuries. There was no pain and she was hardly surprised. Cat was a good medic but she wasn’t capable of regrowing an entire lung by herself. Therefore Team Ro must have had managed to bring her back to Konoha and the medics must have healed her up perfectly.

Tenzou stood up, itemizing the room. There was no gear she needed to pick up and running a quick check on the medical chart at the foot of her bed, also had no indication that she needed to pick up medication.

She swung out of the window, leaping onto the roof. Her chakra responding sluggishly to her demands. The village was peaceful as it always was. Bathed in the late afternoon sun, it was hard to imagine all the fighting that was outside the village walls.

As she made it to her building, her grip on the side of the building sagged and she fumbled, crashing hard on her balcony ledge. The curtains are jerked aside. A hard dark grey eye stared at her.

“Tenzou,” Kakashi said tersely, sliding the window open. His hair looked more dishevelled than usual and his eye bags were darker. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital.”

“Pot meets kettle,” she mumbled. Tenzou pulled herself upright and stumbled past Kakashi, feeling like she could sleep for days.

Even in Root, she hadn’t received an injury like this. She brushed the thought away, not wanting to remember those days. The blank white masks and equally blank faces. Three years after she escaped Root, she still no idea how to feel emotions. Barely human, she heard Aoba say to someone when he thought she couldn’t hear. Seeing the look in Kakashi’s eye reminded her of how dissociated she was from her emotions.

Kakashi yanked her back. “You almost died.”

She lurched back, falling into his chest. His hands gripped her arms. “You almost died,” he repeated.

That’s life, Tenzou wanted to say. Somehow she felt that those words wouldn’t have flown well and held her tongue instead.

“You’re not allowed to die,” Kakashi said. Like she could stop death itself and it was hypocritical of him to begin with. After all, he had landed in the hospital so many times that it was impossible to count with her fingers and toes.

“I’m a shinobi,” Tenzou pointed out.

“What you did was suicidal,” he told her.

She tugged herself out of his hands and pushed him away, her lips thinning in displeasure. “Suicidal?” she scoffed. “I’m not the one who landed in hospital the last four missions.”

Kakashi seemed to glare at her, but it was very hard to tell in the dark room. The afternoon sun was now dipping down on the other side of the apartment, drawing long shadows across the floor.

“I’m not the one who tried to take an attack for someone else.”

“No, you’re not.” She smiled coldly at him. “You’re the one who did that multiple times.”

Tenzou could hear his leather glove creak in the silence. “I am capable of defending myself!” he yelled. He ran a weary hand through his hair, hand pressing against his forehead. “I’m capable...”

He sank into the couch. His hand palmed across his face. “Don’t do that Tenzou…” he whispered.

“I’m a shinobi, Kakashi.” It seemed strange that it was her comforting him, wasn’t she the one who nearly died?

“I know-” He reached out and clasped his hand around her wrist, fingers pressed against her veins. “I just… I can’t go through that again...”

----

Genma took the seat beside her, motioning to the bartender for a beer. “So I heard Kakashi and you had a fallout.”

Tenzou shook her head. Fallout wouldn’t be the right word. Fallout would indicate an argument or loss of tempers according to Kurenai. None of which had occurred between Kakashi and her.

“That’s not the word I’d use.” She thought of how Kakashi seemed to be avoiding her now.

“So…” Genma’s arm slithered across her shoulders, giving her that devilish smile that Anko frequently swore she would never fall for again. “Why don’t we add you and me, subtract the clothes, divide the legs…” He leant in and she shivered. “...and multiply…”

“Tenzou.”

They jerked upright, turning their heads to the voice. Kakashi was standing behind there, his killer intent growing. Outside the rain drummed against the metal rooftop.

He stalked towards, uncaring that he had left the door open. “It’s time to go home, Tenzou.”

Genma smirked, pulling her closer to him. “Sorry, Tenzou’s mine for tonight.”

Kakashi reached over, jerking her away.

“Why are you even angry?” Genma asked. He stood, stepping towards them. “You don’t even like her.”

With the way Kakashi was avoiding her and the fact that they shared an apartment and she hadn’t even seen him in weeks made Tenzou unsurprised at Genma’s words. That still didn’t dampen the ache in her chest.

“That’s not the point Genma, and you know that.” Kakashi pushed her back behind him as thought she couldn’t defend herself. Why did he even bother if he didn’t like her? Tenzou took a step further back, uncomfortable with the stares from the rest of the bar. She had only come because Kurenai bullied her into doing so.

“Then what’s the point? You aren’t even asking what she wants.” Genma motioned to her, his eyes catching hers with an apologetic look.

Kakashi raised his head, staring evenly back at him. “What I do know that she’s not going to be just another notch on your bedpost.”

Tenzou couldn’t understand why Kakashi was so upset. Sex wasn’t special. She didn’t care for it, and… and… it wasn’t even like Kakashi wanted her.

She spun around and through the open door, sliding the door shut with a clatter. Her heart throbbing painfully. The rain was beating down heavily on her, her hair plastered to the sides of her head.

“...zou! Tenzou!” Kakashi yelled, his hand gripping on her elbow.

She turned, her shoulders tensing. There was a rise of feelings in her. Anger, she clinically catalogue. This must be anger.

“Don’t touch me!” She tried to pull her elbow away, but Kakashi shunshin them into their apartment. The water pooled at their feet and Tenzou found she didn’t care. “I don’t understand you. What do you want from me?”

Kakashi hesitated. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

The thunder roared followed closely by a streak of lightning, blinding them momentarily.

She could feel the tiny crescents digging into the palm of her hand. “What am I?” she asked, dipping her head. “Am I your friend or your charge?“ What answer would he give? Tenzou wasn’t sure she actually wanted the answer. She had grown attached to the way Kakashi had used to look at her even though she had tried not to.

“No.”

“No to what?”

Kakashi took a deep breath. “No, you’re none of the above.”

She turned away, her breath was coming in stuttering gasps. She knew. Why had she asked? She could have let herself enjoy it a little longer. Her eyes were hot, a hot liquid gliding down her cheek and she reached up to touch it.

Kakashi smacked himself on the head and stretched out to her. “Tenzou, Tenzou.” He cupped her cheeks, tilting her face up. “You’re none of the above because you’re the girl I like.”

She stares at him flabbergasted. The beads of her tears still clinging on her eyelash. He bends, thumb caressing her cheek, one hand pulling his mask down. She had never seen him without his mask on. There wasn’t a scar like Anko theorised or a deformity. Just smooth skin. His eye softened, pressing their foreheads together.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nods, and he slants his lips over hers. Her eyes fluttered close, his hands shifting up to thread through her hair. Her hands gripping the edge of her vest, pulling him closer. She can feel his heat against her, his hips pressed against hers.

Outside the rain slows and finally peters off.

#fanfiction #Hatake Kakashi #Yamato Tenzo #kakayama

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ffxvficrec · 4 years ago

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World of Ruin Big Bang Round Up - Week 1

A couple of call outs -

- We have listed relationships and Archive Warnings only

- With that in mind, please tread mindfully! Remember to look at the tags before reading.

You can also check out the AO3 collection here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Worbb/works

The Warmth I Yearned in This World Without Sun by FluoxetineHcl

No Archive Warnings Apply

Cor Leonis/Original Female Character(s)

Even in the darkest of night Even in the world without light Only with you I know that life's not a curse Because of your alluring eyes which shimmered even under the sky without stars

Even in the darkest of night Even in the world without light Only with you I know that the life's not monochrome Because of your lustrous blue which sparkled under the sky without moon

The Tin Man by amitiel

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Major Character Death

Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum

Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia

The World of Ruin has consumed everything, leaving the chocobros to wait until Noctis' return. Gladio and Ignis aren't talking after Ignis stuck up for Ravus, but everything changes when they reunite and Prompto exhibits changes that concern them. In a desperate attempt to save him, they venture to Niflheim to determine what happened to him at Zegnautus Keep.

It's then that Prompto is given a choice: Sacrifice himself instead of Noctis. Will he take the Six Astrals up on that offer? Or will he let fate take over and be left without him forever? And what about his friends? What about Ravus, begging him to stay?

It leaves Prompto wondering, if he only had a heart... Then again, it's clear that he is Noctis' heart.

Held Together By Duct Tape and Faith by ArchangelUnmei

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Cindy Aurum/Aranea Highwind

Cindy has never considered herself a hero. But ten years in darkness can make heroes of the most unlikely people, even a mechanic armed with electrical tape and a dubious grasp of wiring (and a really big wrench). Even a formerly-Imperial mercenary with a half-busted airship in need of repairs.

Cindy doesn't have any experience repairing airships, but an engine is an engine, and she intends to learn fast.

Rebirth by AnnaTheLoon

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia

Ignis has been searching on his own, desperate to find a way to save his King and brother from his grim fate. But after 6 years, Ignis believes he has a solution: Phoenix, the Rebirther. An Astral lost in history for her unholy power. The ability to restore the dead to living.

With no better option, Ignis seeks out the Phoenix, despite the danger and absurdity. His impetuous and despair do not go unpunished.

Forsaken Territory by autumnstwilight (sewohayami)

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Weskham Armaugh & Ignis Scientia

Deep in the abandoned wastes of former Niflheim territory, Weskham Armaugh waits for fellow Hunters to join him on a mission to retrieve the Empire's food cloning technology. He's surprised to be greeted by a familiar face, that of another advisor to the Lucian royal family. When their mission inevitably runs into trouble, the two men must fight for their lives, and face their regrets past and present.

It Will Come Back by EzraTheBlue

No Archive Warnings Apply

Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia

After Ignis' showdown with Ardyn in front of the Crystal, after Ignis nearly gives his life for Noctis and the world, Prompto is lost at Zegnautus Keep. When the night comes, however, and as Ignis and Gladio strive to keep the world going while waiting for Noctis' return, a rogue MT appears in front of Ignis and saves his life. Ignis realizes that this MT may not be what it seems - there may be the ghost of a friend in the machine.

As he contends with his guilt, exhaustion, and memories of Prompto and Noctis, Ignis strives to bring Prompto back out of his literal shell. However, Prompto may have been changed in ways Ignis can’t reverse, much like the world around him becomes more corrupted by the day. Can he restore his dear friend’s humanity and save their star?

Field Medicine by Nixxi

No Archive Warnings Apply

Gladiolus Amicitia & Ignis Scientia

Gladiolus Amicitia & Iris Amicitia

Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum

Ignis stops abruptly, reaching out for the wall with one hand. When he finds it, he leans on it, his shoulders curling up toward his ears as he hunches over in pain.

“Iggy?” Gladio comes around to to get a better look at Ignis’s face. It’s white as a sheet, and he’s grimacing, his teeth gleaming in the glow of Gladio’s flashlight. “What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly, Ignis shows him the palm that’s been holding his side. It’s slick and red with blood.

When Ignis is grievously injured on a hunt and there are no curatives available, Gladio has to rely on first aid to save his life

Voice In The Dark by ertrunkener_Wassergeist

Major Character Death

Gladiolus Amicitia/Original Female Character(s)

Iris Amicitia & Original Female Character(s)

It has been nearly ten years since the Chosen King vanished. Gladio gets ready to go to Hammerhead for the anniversary. Meanwhile the Huntress Chris stays in Lestallum where tensions keep rising when more and more daemons keep appearing outside humanity's last bastion.

#world of ruin big bang #worbb round up #ffxv fic

0 notes

plantbased-elise · 8 years ago

Text

Bat On My Heart

This is my fic for the phandom reverse bang ( @phandomreversebang). look at the amazing @dancuddly who was the artist who gave me the art that inspired me. and @carditawrites my lovely beta writes amazing things of her own. I loved working on this idea of a Baseball!phan AU, and i think it turned out quite like i wanted it to.

WC: 6337

Art link (will be added in later) Wattpad AO3

--------

The smell of the grass; the sound of metal hitting the rubber covered cork ball; the cheer of people in the stands: that is what made him feel alive. He breathed in the adrenaline of the field and the smell of sweat in the changing rooms.

Dan Howell loved baseball more than he loved his dog - Colin was possibly the sweetest creature alive so you get the idea. When he was 6, he’d seen a game on TV with his dad, and, intrigued by the game, he’d demanded to be signed up at the nearest baseball club. In Year 7 he signed up for the school’s baseball club. When he started out he was seen as the underdog, the twink, but he lost that reputation fairly quickly when his teammates saw him play.

Soon he was the star player of the school with a reputation that spread throughout the UK. ‘Best batter in high school Baseball’ didn’t go without Howell. But now, in his last year, reputation hardly mattered. It was about living up to that reputation.

Scouts came from all the top Baseball clubs in the UK came to the big games to seek out potential talent. They worked together with some of the best universities in the UK, and if they chose you, you’d get a full funding programme for university.

Dan didn’t just want to impress the scouts, he needed it. And he’d be damned before he gave up. He would do anything.

So the time he normally spent on the internet or watching anime was now spent on training. For once, he cared about what he ate. He didn’t go overboard, but if getting a great Personal Statement meant that he had to eat fewer crisps, he was fine with it.

“Dan, Dan! The coach knows the team you’re going to be playing against! He asked me to come find you.” Dan was broken out of his thoughts by his friend’s arrival.

He was in line for lunch, and Jack was weaving through the line, throwing ‘excuse me’s’ and ‘passing through’ left, right and centre. The closer he got, the more excited he looked. Dan was half curious, half afraid.

He was interrupted by the lunch lady coughing pointedly. She nodded her head at the food in front of her. “Oh, sorry, umm I’ll have the chicken sandwich, please.”

“Dan! Are you even listening to me? I said the coach needs to speak to you. You can take your lunch with you. Hurry up!”

When Dan entered the coach’s office the coach was looking at his computer screen, but he vaguely waved to the seat in front of his desk. He sat down and ate his sandwich, slightly disgusted at the pale, almost white, tomatoes that were in the sandwich.

“Howell. I know you are counting on this game for your Personal statement, but the opposing team has just won their semi-final. Chorlton High School in Manchester. They have one of the top Pitchers of the country, Phil Lester. We’ve never played against them, but they’re good... very good. They have been national champion five times, and have had an entire team’s worth of people who will go on to play at professional level. There is one thing, however: the scouts want to see the players outside of the field. So in two weeks’ time, there’s going to be a 4-day boot camp for the teams in the final. The scouts organised it and will observe you during training and other activities. I’ve already talked to your form tutor and the head teacher and they gave permission. I just need your parents’ permission. Could you have them sign this and return it to me tomorrow?”

He handed Dan a letter, probably explaining the same he’d just been told. Dan was thinking about what he’d just heard. Phil Lester was going to be on the same field as him. He was going to be playing against Phil Lester. Even more so, he was going on a boot camp with Phil Lester. He didn’t know why he felt so excited for this.

He’d seen pictures of the guy, in online articles about recent national high school matches. Besides being a fantastic Baseball player, he was also attractive. Dan wasn’t going to deny that.

But he was the enemy. And Dan couldn’t get distracted by beautiful boys. He was training to become a professional baseball player, and they don’t get distracted by beautiful people, as far as he knew.

***

You know how parents have the ability to completely embarrass you in front of others? Dan’s mother went straight past that and to ‘I crave death and destruction’. They were waiting for the bus that would take them to the boot camp, and she was fussing over him, checking if he had everything, and making sure ‘her baby was going to be okay’ as she said. If that meant that she tugged at his collar, and kept going over a list of things he had to take with him on this trip, Dan would rather just leave.

“Owls, please make your way to the bus and put your luggage in the storage compartment before going in.”

“Bye, mum.” Dan joined PJ and Jack at the bus door. He heard his mum scream ‘I love you honey’ and felt the extreme urge to facepalm. PJ snickered and Dan elbowed him in the kidney, hard. They entered the bus and sat down.

***

“Dan, Dan! Wake up, Tim drew a moustache on your face while you were asleep. Anyway, we’re here.”

Groggily Dan sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He took out his phone to check for fake moustaches, seeing it was just a few dots.

“Guys, gather around! We, the coaches, have made a randomly set up cabin division. You will be paired with a member of the Manchester team. Remember, the scouts are looking for someone who can work with what they’ve got. They want someone who takes sportsmanship before winning. So, don’t think of your roommate for the week as your enemy, but as someone who is striving for the exact same thing as you, and wants it just as bad. I’m not saying marry them, but maybe try to be friends with them. Yes, when we face them during the final, you can see them as opponents, but now, you have to show your abilities as a baseball player. The sheet with your cabin numbers is here.”

The team streamed out of the bus, and Dan glimpsed at the sheet coach was holding. He only saw his cabin number, his roommate was covered by coach’s thumb. 1910, mustn’t be hard to find.

It was hard to find, to put it simply. There was absolutely no system in the cabin numbers. Even more so, the cabins were spread over 4 fields. Eventually, Dan saw 1910, tucked away between the outskirts of the forest.

From the open window, music blasted loudly. Just as Dan stepped onto the porch, a single note blasted through the window. Immediately after, the sound of something dropping to the ground rolled out the window. He couldn’t help but giggle at the little yelp.

When he knocked on the door, the music stopped abruptly and seconds later the door opened, revealing a boy clad in a maroon shirt and matching shorts.

“Oh, you must be my cabin mate. I mean why would you be here otherwise. I’m Ph-”

“Phil Lester, star baseball player of Manchester, possibly the best pitcher in high school baseball. I know who you are. Hard to miss you. You’re kind of famous. I’m-”

“Dan Howell. You’re famous too, you spork. Although I rarely see someone who’s taller than me.”

Somehow, it got them to dissolve in uncontrollable laughter as if they’d known each other all their lives, and this wasn’t awkward at all.

“God, that sounded even cheesier in my head.” Dan looked at him confusedly. “I sometimes narrate what’s happening around me, but this better not be the cliché ‘opposite team stars meet, become best friends, they live happily ever after’ because then I’ll start singing ‘the Start of Something New’ like Troy Bolton.”

Dan burst out laughing once more and managed to say, “First, I’ll join in but cringe the whole time. Second, let’s go inside, the mosquitoes are eating me alive right now.”

When they got inside, the brunet saw that on the lower bunk, a bag lay half unpacked. A Pokémon shirt was half hanging off the bed, a pair of running bottoms and running shoes on the pillow and, neatly folded on a chair at the foot of the bed, was a Baseball uniform. The greens and blues were vibrant and seemed to light up under the sunlight streaming in through the window. Dan knew that the Manchester team was known for its brightly coloured uniforms and impeccable aesthetic, but couldn’t help but be surprised at the beauty of the uniform. He always thought his team’s uniforms were aesthetically pleasing, with the soft pastel pink and black, but they are easily beat by the vibrant colours of the Manchester team.

“I see your eyes are being attacked by the uniform of Chorlton High School. Sometimes I think we blind people with our bright uniforms, and that’s how we win.” Phil chuckled and Dan hurried to shake his head. “No, no, definitely not. You are amazing players. I watched some shitty quality videos of one of your games last season, and from what I could see, the only thing they got distracted by was the hot players-” he stopped midsentence and blushed brightly. He coughed and turned his attention to his bag.

“Thank you. I have some very good looking teammates if I can say that.”

The two guys went about their own business for a few minutes until there was a knock at the door. Phil went to get it because Dan had his hands full of clothing he was trying to put away in some orderly way.

“Hey, Phil! Want to go check out the area? It’s still like half an hour till the introduction and dinner, and I want to check out the field.” A northern voice came from the doorway.

“Sure, can Dan come? Then we can check out the area with him.” Phil hasn’t even turned around when Dan answered the unasked question. He stood up from the chair he’d sunk down in moments previous. “Sure, I’ll come, just let me put on some shoes.”

Five minutes later he was walking along with the 3 guys, Phil included. Surprisingly, PJ was there as well and greeted Dan.

“Well, Ello. I’m Chris Kendall, Catcher supreme. Also PJ cabin-mate. And also possibly planning your murder in the forest later this week.”

For just one terrifying moment Dan thought he was serious, whilst he made eye contact with PJ. Then he caught sight of Chris’ shit eating grin and burst out laughing. Phil was giggling, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

Dan sobered up at the sight. ‘Shit’.

***

“Hello, gentlemen. Welcome to Baseball camp. This week we, as ‘scouts’, want to observe you as you train and interact with each other. We set this up-”

Phil tuned out the voice of the man standing at the centre of the dining hall. He preferred to stare at the boy sitting opposite him, currently whispering to PJ, also ignoring the man still talking.

Of course, he’d seen pictures of Dan Howell, as he was one of the more famous high school players. Yet somehow the pictures just didn’t do him justice. Was he going to be having these cheesy thoughts all throughout the week? Probably.

“… halfway through the week, we will play a game, not competitive, just to see you play in a competition.”

This was going to be an interesting week.

***

The next morning, Phil was woken up by an insistent knocking on the door. Groggily, he opened it, to reveal one of his teammates, Dean.

“What do you want? It’s too early to prank Jack.”

“The warm-up starts in half an hour. Get up and ready. Meet me back in the dining hall. Wear your track clothes.”

He turned around and left. “Good morning to you too, Mister Dobbs.” Phil muttered as he shut the door and trudged back to his bed, climbing up the ladder of the bunk to wake up Dan, only to find the brunet facing towards the gap for the ladder. Their faces were close, and Dan’s breath fanned over Phil’s nose.

“Dan, Dan wake up. We have to start training.” He softly shook the boy awake. Dan grumbled and opened his eyes, blinking the sleep out of eyes.

“Go get ready, we have a track training in half an hour. And you still need to eat breakfast.” Phil went down the ladder and assembled his track clothes before disappearing into the bathroom

Dan grumbled again and pushed aside his covers, rubbing his eyes whilst going down the ladder. He walked to his bag and picked up his clothes. He discarded his sleeping shirt and put on his black track shirt and black track shorts.

About ten minutes later they were all standing on a large grass field. At the front, Dan’s coach was talking about a slow warmup, followed by sprint training and some evaluation by the ‘scouts’.

“This is going to be fun,” Dan muttered.

PJ snickered beside him. “Why do you hate running so much when you’re one of the best sprinters in the team? You scored home runs that seemed impossible and yet you complain every time we have to run. I just don’t get it.”

Dan was about to go on his rant about running again when Chris interrupted them. “I think PJ explained this to me last night. You hate exercising and eating healthily, except when it’s Baseball? I do not want to see the insides of your brain.”

“I think you just want a whole lot of naked topless guys.” PJ looked horrified a second after the words had left his lips. It had just slipped. Their entire team was okay with Dan’s sexuality and usually teased him about it with good manners. But, once they made a joke whilst they were at a game, and the opposite team had reacted repulsively and were disgusted. They demanded that the match would be cancelled, as they ‘wouldn’t play against a homosexual team’. The Umpire had to step in and even asked Dan if he wanted it in an official report.

Dan slowly stepped towards PJ, just in case things got ugly.

“Well, let me in then. As long as Haru Chan is in there too: he deserves some good shirtless action.” Phil’s voice shook Dan out of his alert and ready to move mindset.

“Do I have to go all crazy on you guys or not? Because I’m prepared to kick some ass for this crazy hobbit.” PJ stepped closer to Phil and Chris, at least trying to look intimidating.

“I don’t think so unless you want to protect him from my irresistible body.” Chris sniggered and did a half-assed body role.

Phil immediately hit him in the chest and hissed ‘Chris’ but he was smiling. “Don’t worry. Chris is the most flaming homosexual in this team, and I don’t care what sexuality you are, I care about who you are as a person.”

Dan breathed out in relief. PJ let his shoulders relax.

“Everyone, start with three laps around the field!”

Dan grunted and started jogging. His curly-haired friend huffed out a laugh and followed him. The two others followed suit.

Five minutes in, Dan felt the sweat on his forehead. His hair was beginning to curl and he felt the need to lie down and take a short nap.

“Okay, split up in groups and start sprinting the short sides of the field. We’ll do something else later.”

Dan, Phil, PJ and Chris stood together. “So, Howell. You claim that you’re a good sprinter? Let’s see. Fastest to the other side wins.”

“Deal.”

“3… 2… 1… Go!”

They took off towards the other side of the field, Dan quickly taking the lead on Chris. His feet kept going faster, lightly tapping the grass. When he came to a halt at the other end of the field he managed to slip on the grass that was still wet with dew. He came to a slippery halt just in front of the trees lining the field.

“I win! Suck on that Kendall.” Dan cheered victoriously. Chris was standing a few metres from him and PJ and Phil were sprinting towards them, PJ barely keeping a straight face until he stopped in front of Dan.

“How do you always manage to trip over something or bump into something? It’s like you forget the rest of the world exists.”

Dan opened his mouth to reply sassily but before he could, the coach called them together.

Before they started walking, Phil grabbed Dan by the wrist lightly. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”

***

Throughout the week they did group activities and sometimes personal assignments one on one with the ‘scouts’. They only stopped training for food, and if the scouts wanted to talk to them. When they got closer to the mid-week competition, people began to sneakily sabotage the opposite team. Dan and Phil made a pact to not let any of their teammates into their cabin without the permission of both of them and they were both awake and in the cabin as well. This was to prevent any pranks from happening.

Then there was a second thing happening. Dan figured out pretty quickly that living in a small space with someone who was not only hot, but also really funny and kind, wasn’t a very good idea. The more he talked to Phil, the more butterflies he felt fluttering in his stomach. When Phil laughed, alarm bells went off in his head. When they touched, Dan thought he could feel sparks travel through his skin. It was so cliché, but he just couldn’t help it.

Phil on the other hand, had been told off by his coach mutable times for being distracted during the training. He was told to get his head in the game or get out. (Dan had laughed loudly, much to the coach’s confusion, and started singing ‘get your head in the game’). The problem was that, more often than not, the thing that was distracting him was in the field with Dan. Dan was laughing, messing around or even just doing what he was told beside him, and Phil would go off into a fantasy about kissing those dimples oh so softly, just barely brushing his lips against the slightly tanned skin. Once, he’d let the fantasy get the best of him, and had leaned in towards Dan’s cheek until he suddenly realised he couldn’t just do that.

Chris and PJ had noticed their behaviour by now. They continuously teased the two boys about, but only when the other wasn’t there. Dan would be staring at his dinner, and PJ would pipe up with ‘thinking about Phil, aren’t you?’ and Dan would blush bright red and splutter indignantly.

This was not working for either of them. Phil tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his stomach when those brown doe eyes shone. Dan tried to not get lost in those ocean blue eyes whenever he could. They had to concentrate. This was still a competition.

***

“Howell! Don’t disappoint me today. Concentrate. Lester is one of the top pitchers, and one of a kind. This is your chance to observe him and learn his tactics. This goes for all of you! It’s been decided we play field first. PJ, pitch. Tim, left fielder. Finn, first baseman. Jack, third baseman. Jason, catcher. Dereck, centre fielder. Dave, right fielder. Dan, shortstop and Sam, second baseman. Rest benches. Okay, let’s go Owls!”

Quickly they took their positions. The other team was ready to start hitting, the Umpire blew on his whistle, and Dan was off into his mindset. Nothing mattered more than winning the game. The first hit was played. The ball flew through the sky, the whistling like music to Dan’s ears.

The ball started to descend near centre fielder, who made a dash for the ball. A hush fell over the field. There was no laughing, no talking, just utter concentration on the game.

As the game continued scores kept close. Dan was kept away from the hitting plate. His coach often did that when it was a tough game, keeping his stronger players out until later, in case they needed to make a comeback.

However, the Chorlton coach had the same idea. Until 15 minutes before the game ended both of them were benched. The scores were tied. Dan’s team was hitting.

“Howell, your go!” Dan jumped up and walked towards the hitting plate. Across the field, he heard Phil’s coach shout ‘Lester you’re up!’

Dan felt a thrill of excitement go down his spine. He was up against the player that was almost entirely out of his league.

He lifted his bat and got ready. Phil pulled back his hand and looked Dan in the eye. “Don’t get distracted, Dan! Don’t get distracted Dan!” it ran through his head. The voice sounded strangely like PJ, and somehow Dan thought PJ was signalling it telepathically.

The ball surged forward. It was a fast one and if he didn’t hit it, it would be a strike. Dan tried to keep his eye on the ball. He pulled back his bat even further and pushed it forward.

The wood hit the ball. The whistling went away, but Dan wasn’t paying attention. He threw the bat backwards. His feet were moving towards first base. The ball was still going. Second base was approaching. Dan took the risk to look at the ball, seeing that it was still high in the air and going towards the long end. He continued running. He passed third base. Home base was getting closer.

Phil stood there, in the middle of the field. He was watching Dan run around the field, like a black streak with pink highlights. When he’d seen Dan in his uniform this morning he’d actually let his mouth fall open. The uniform was very fitted, and the black complimented his entire body.

“Homerun!” The Owls started cheering loudly. Dan sank on the ground and just smiled at Phil, who was still staring at him. His eyes were soft, his hair going extra curly from the sweat.

The rest of the game seemed to go by in a blur, at least for Phil. That smile was stuck on his mind, and it made his heart stutter slightly.

At the end, he walked to Dan and stopped in front of him.

“Congratulations on winning the championship.” He was grinning like a fool, he was 100% sure he was.

“Um… Phil, this was a test game. We haven’t even played the real game.” Dan looked amused and slightly confused.

“Yeah, but at the rate, you’re going we won’t stand a chance. You’ve already won in my book.”

“Phil that’s very sweet of you, but you are downplaying your team undeservedly. We barely won. There were some lucky moments. We stand just as much of a chance as you. Why do you think we both made it to the final? Because we managed to beat everyone else.”

They were approaching their cabin, but Phil stopped the brunet by softly grasping his hand. “Hey, um... Dan... I... I just... I just really want us to stay in touch, you know after this week, and after the finale.” Not exactly want he was going to say, but close enough.

Dan smiled his full-on dimpled smile. “You spork, of course we’re going to be friends after this. I can honestly say that you’ve become one of my best friends in the last few days.” He smiled again and pulled the older one into a hug.

“Oi, Howell! No distracting our team with your body!”

“Fuck off Kendall!”

****

As the week continued, Dan tried to tell Phil how he felt on multiple occasion. Every time he would back out a the last moment, finding it too great a risk to ruin this new found friendship over something so silly as a tiny crush.

Only it wasn’t a tiny crush. It was more like falling in love, hard and fast. It seemed like the world had opened up a gigantic hole of Phil’s little habits and antics. However, as soon as Dan opened his mouth to just fucking say something, all odds seemed to go against him.

Once his coach walked up to them when he’d just gotten the first words out. His coach had then proceeded to pull him away, and go through a new idea he’d had, for an hour. By the time the man was done talking, Phil was training with his team.

Dan was determined to change that. He made a promise to himself, and PJ, that he would tell the ebony haired man before midnight on the night of the finale. He also promised PJ that if that didn’t happen, he’d allow him and Chris to interfere.

Dan wasn’t quite sure if that was the brightest idea he’d ever had, but it was too late now.

It was also too late to tell Phil in person because the bus was leaving in two minutes and Dan hadn’t seen Phil since breakfast. He reluctantly put his bag in the storage compartment and turned towards the doors. PJ patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. They were the last to get on the bus, and the bus driver was impatiently waiting for them to just get on, so they could start the two hour drive back to school.

Just as the doors closed Dan saw a figure run onto the road where the scouts had just said their temporary goodbyes. He was sprinting towards the bus. The bus driver was about to turn on the motor when Dan screamed: “Wait! Stop! I forgot something. I’ll just be a second.”

He heard everyone on the bus sigh, but his coach nodded. “Hurry Howell.”

Then he was sprinting down the road, approaching the figure still running towards him.

“Phil I need to say something. And just, just wait until I’m finished. I don’t have long. I like you, as more than a friend I guess. No I don’t guess, I know. And I don’t know if I just ruined a great friendship, but it was worth it. I know you might not feel the same way, and that’s okay. I just hope that we can at least maintain some form of friendship.”

And with that he sprinted back to the bus, and plopped down next to PJ, who was staring at him with open mouth. “You did not just tell him and then run off?! I can’t believe you!”

Dan, however, wasn’t interested in the happenings in the bus. Instead he stared out the window, at the figure that was swiftly getting smaller.

Phil stared at the retreating bus, still trying to comprehend the words that had just reached his ears. Somehow, Dan Howell was interested in him. He took out his phone, fumbling to get it as fast as possible.

It was only when he was frantically trying to get the damned thing to turn on that he remembered that his phone charger was at home, and throughout the week he’d borrowed people’s chargers to keep it alive. Only today, with everyone packing, he’d forgotten to charge it.

“Phil, we’re about to leave. You coming?” Chris came around the corner. Phil shook his head to shake himself out of his daze and turned towards his friend. “Yeah...” it came out to rough for his liking. He cleared his throat, “yes, let’s go.”

***

Dan felt miserable over the weekend. He’d expected at least one text from Phil, but when he received nothing for the majority of those two days, he gathered all the guts he had and text it him. It had been disappointing when the text had remained unanswered.

Despite this Dan showed up to school on Monday in a good mood. He felt good about the game in two weeks. His schoolyear so far had gone great. He wasn’t about to let feelings get in the way of that.

By the time lunch came around he’d mostly forgotten about the text incident. Almost. When he sat down with his friends he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket several times. He pulled it out of pocket, not looking at the caller ID.

“Hey, this is Dan.”

“Dan, it’s Phil from Chris’ phone. My brother took my charger when he visited last week and I haven’t been able to charge my phone since I got home. I was going to text you when you got on the bus but then my phone died and I couldn’t and….”

“Phil it’s okay.”

“No it’s not and I’m going to make it up to you. You’ll see. You’ll be charmed Mr. Howell.”

The line went dead and Dan pulled the phone away from his ear. He let a dimpled smile slide onto his face. Louise immediately started to interrogate him.

“Who is it, and what made you smile so much? PJ, I demand a story fact check.”

When the two were done explaining, Louise was giggling loudly and around them some of Dan’s other friends were very amused.

“So Dan, you confessed your undying love for the man, then ran onto a bus. You spent the weekend being miserable, and when you sent a text and didn’t get a reply, you didn’t think to look if it had actually been received. And it turns out your little lover boy just lost his phone charger and loves you. And he promised to charm you off your feet. This could only happen to you Daniel Howell.”

“Preach.”

***

Chorlton high school’s baseball team was spending the entire afternoon before the game at Dan’s school. Dan still had his lessons to follow, but frankly, he wasn’t really aware of what actually happened during these lessons. All he could think was that Phil was so close, so fucking close.

During the two weeks leading up to the game, the two had texted almost nonstop. Among the long conversations about almost anything, they flirted, and every time Phil responded to his flirting with more flirting Dan felt his heart do a little jump. So knowing that the blue eyed boy was in the same building as him, made him feel giddy.

His friends teased him endlessly. Louise seemed to hum Disney songs whenever Dan was around. Often it was the same one and after three days of that same song being stuck in his head, Dan had caved and googled the song.

Why Louise was singing ‘Did I mention’ was still a mystery to Dan. he asked her on several occasions, and eventually she made him watch Descendants and Descendants 2 because Louise doesn’t do half work. But Dan was just as clueless, if not crushing a little bit on Jay’s muscles.

They were supposed to arrive during the period before lunch. Honestly, by the time the lunch bell rang, Dan was shaking with giddy excitement. His mind was a near constant chant of ‘Phil! Phil!’ and his smile hadn’t left his lips for the last hour. As he entered the cafeteria, he eagerly looked around for the bright green and blue uniforms. He found them shattered around the cafeteria, sitting with his teammates who sat with their own groups of friends. At last he saw PJ and Chris sitting at their usual table. Still no sign of Phil.

“Hey Howell, sad to see you’re still on your feet.” Chris patted him on the shoulder, his signature smirk firmly planted on his face.

“He’s not going to react. He hasn’t had his daily dose of Phil yet, and he’s a bit addicted.” Dan desperately wanted to hit his friends, who were all snickering at PJ’s comment.

“Oh, didn’t Phil tell you. He is with the coach, working on some last minute tactics. Will probably take the rest of the day. He said to tell you hello, and that he’ll see you at the game.” Chris smiled sympathetically and pat Dan on the back again.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Dan took his spot at the table. He wouldn’t let the dejection get him down on the day of the big game.

***

“Listen up Owls! As much as this game is about winning, it is more important that you show the scouts that you are someone they want on their team. They don’t care who wins or loses tonight, they care about you and your talents. We are going to play like the test game, only better. This time we start as batting team. Howell, I want you on the bench for now.” Their coach was standing at the door of their changing room giving his usual pre-game talk. The team was calm, as they always were just before the adrenaline kicked in. Dan felt them all take a collective breath before the coach opened the door.

The stands were full, people were cheering and the music was blasting loudly. The crowd seemed to unleash energy from within Dan, and he was ready to win a game.

“Players please take your positions.” Across from their bench, Phil was sat, also on the bench. They briefly met eyes, and exchanged smiles. Dan felt his insides flutter.

They were on the fifth inning when the coach called Dan to the plate. He walked to the plate, bat in hand. Across from him Phil stood at the pitching plate. He took a deep breath and laid the bat on his shoulder. He went back to the basics of baseball that he was taught in the very beginning. It always helped him calm down.

Elbows up, let your armpits air. Body sideways, non-dominant side forwards. Deep breath, eyes on the pitcher.

Phil pulled his hand back, and threw. The ball whistled towards him and Dan forgot the crowds. The only things left on the field were him and the ball. The sound became muted, as if he had cushions over his ears.

If he wouldn’t hit the ball, it would be a strike. The ball was a fast one. He swung his bat forward. Wood connected with the ball. He forced the ball away from himself. As soon as he felt the connection break he dropped the bat and started running.

He passed first base, and continued running. He was approaching second base when he saw, from his peripheral vision, a field player throwing the ball towards the person standing at second base. He pushed himself to go faster. His left foot hit the base.

Pan shot up his knee. His leg gave out underneath him. A collective gasp ran through the crowd. Dan blinked at his knee, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The ball lay a few centimetres away. Then the Umpire was beside him. “Are you okay boy?” Dan nodded, and pushed his upper body off the ground.

When he tried to stand he felt pain shoot through his knee yet again. He almost fell over, but the umpire caught him before he could, and helped him towards the benches. The coach was already waiting with a first aid kit.

“You got a long ball to the knee boy. Got busted pretty bad, I think. I can’t let you play. Let’s get this knee cooled.”

So Dan sat out the game watching the scoreboard go up, somehow staying even for most of the game. All throughout that, he felt eyes on him, and when he looked up once, he found himself staring at Phil, who seemed to look at him in earnest concern.

During the last inning Phil was once again at the pitching plate. He threw the ball at Dave, who swung. Strike. Phil threw the ball again. Dave didn’t swing. Ball. He threw again, Dave hit the ball. It flew through the air, and landed in Chris’ glove.

“End Game.” Dan looked at the scoreboard. Chorlton high was ahead just a few points. They won. Cheering went through the crowd. Dan clapped along. Someone walked onto the field to announce the official winners of the high school baseball competition in the UK.

As Dan watched, he saw Phil take the microphone, and call for attention.

“Excuse me, can I have your attention please. I need to tell someone something very important. Two weeks ago we went on a training camp, and I met one of the UK’s top amateur players. Dan Howell. At the end of that training camp, he told me he was in love with me. But, in Dan Howell fashion, he didn’t give me the chance to response. So here’s my response Dan Howell. I am as much in love with you as you are with me, and maybe more. O would you, please, go on a date with me. Don’t stand up! I’ll come over to you.”

Dan was blushing and grinning as the ebony haired boy approached. As soon as they were close enough, he stood on unsteady feet, and threw himself into Phil’s arms.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

***

In the end, it didn’t matter that Dan hadn’t been able to play for more than just a minute. He got a letter from the scouts, saying they loved his performance throughout the week during training, and they wanted him. Phil ended up getting the same letter and they were accepted together. It felt amazing to go into his dorm and see his boyfriend there.

“How is that for cheesy, Phil?”

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