#why are the author's note and some tags and even additional information in the summary?

[peranna]

as Arcane season 2 ended there's an influx of people sharing their work on AO3, coping, as one does, which is beautiful, i love yall, keep up the good work

[siravalondulac]

sapphire steel | chapter seven - conversations

j. snow x fem!oc

summary: jon frets about his interactions with cerelle, yet is interrupted by his sister

tags: canon divergence - rhaegar won the trident, explicit language, mentioned death

word count: 2293

author's note: no smut today :( very sorry :((

tag list: @sammybirdseed

masterlist | additional works masterlist

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The maester said he had a fever. Not dangerous, if uncommon in Targaryens. He merely had to stay in bed for a while, eat proper food, and take some medicine.

Jon was fine with this. Absolutely fine. Welcomed it, in fact. He had not planned to show himself around the castle anyways.

The only downside to his predicament was that he had time to think.

About Cerelle, and himself. Of their shared moments these past few weeks, hidden touches and disguised glances. She knew him now, better than his siblings even. He had spilled every secret, every fear, every thought that had ever passed his mind. And yet, despite it all, he still didn’t know why she had come here.

Oh, what she had told him had been secrets, in that he was certain. Each carrying as much weight and gravitas as he had demanded. But somehow, there was still more. Somehow, Cerelle's life had turned into a labyrinth of regret and fear and doubt, and no one, perhaps not even herself, could ever find the path to freedom.

He should not concern himself with all that. Starting these conversations had been a terrible, dumb, idiotic mistake, and he would ensure to never repeat it. Not with her, and not with anyone that came after.

Once he had recovered, he would fuck her properly again - violently, from behind, and without any attachments. He would take her to the Street of Silk to borrow her out to any lord, knight, and peasant passing by, until she either fell unconscious or ran away out of pure shame. Such a visit was long overdue, anyways.

That would finally break her perfect, precious, righteous facade, he was certain of it. She would come sobbing to him, and he could throw her out of his life for good. Never to waste another thought on her. Never remember her.

Never think of the feeling of her hands on his skin. Never again experience the smell of her hair; pines, flowers, moss. Never be able to dive into the sense of belonging-

He slammed his head against his bed's headboard. Again and again, desperate to force these thoughts out of his mind.

Suddenly, the door was ripped open.

“Heard you got sick,” Rhaenys said, not quite gloating, yet not concerned about him either.

He scrunched up his nose and dove back between his blankets. His sister walked over towards him, threw something at him, and let herself fall onto the mattress.

“I don't think it very fair that you left me alone at our grand family dinner.”

His hand darted out from beneath the pillows and blankets to grab the satchel, and as he opened it discovered it filled to the brim with various cakes and pastries.

“I am certain father was devastated,” he said and threw a small apple tart into his mouth.

“I would have suggested you ask him, but he left for the Wall this morning.”

“The Wall, huh? What’s his plan there?”

“Something about darkness and cold and the dead and everyone will die.”

“The usual, then.”

Jon continued to eat the contents of the satchel while listening to Rhaenys complain about the courtiers. Who had spread which rumour, whose father had raged against the crown in a drunken stupor, which marriage betrothals had been rebuffed because of what reason. Useless information, but he knew his sister needed it.

And he always got something out of it as well. Mainly food.

“They talked about your little whore as well.”

He choked on a lemon cake. After a lot of coughing and retching, he was finally able to put on a sour face.

“It has gotten a bit tiring after all these weeks,” Rhaenys continued. “The prince must like her otherwise she'd be long gone. Tywin Lannister is vying for the throne, why else did he kill the Mad King? She enjoys being mistreated. What happens behind these doors? Someone should save her. The king will execute him sooner than later.” She groaned. “Some of them also speculate on how exactly you fuck her, and they do not even have the shame to wait until I am out of earshot.”

Jon should not be bothered by this. These petty lords and ladies always talked, had done so long before the Seven Kingdoms existed, and would do so long after they were destroyed.

(Which might happen even sooner than any of them realised.)

And yet… He did not want them to be aware of Cerelle. She was his and his alone. His to fuck, his to look at, his to touch, his to-

The sweets he had just eaten threatened to make their way up his throat, and he desperately tried to think of something else. Anything else.

“I met her two days ago.” Rhaenys played with her hair - long and black and straight like her mother's, worn open most of the time. “She is pretty, and polite. Curtsied as if she were a proper lady when I greeted her, answered anything I asked for with a smile, and refused to speak ill of you. I can see why you like her.”

“I don't like her.”

“Sure. That is why you still fuck her after almost half a year.”

Why did he still keep her around? She had brought him nothing but grief and doubt and self-hatred. Her blue eyes burned through his very skin even when he so desperately tried to force them close, and every time he looked at them he fell deeper into the abyss.

“She's convenient. I don’t have to pay for her and she comes when I call.”

“If you say so. Though the whores in the city must be weeping at the loss.”

“Don't worry.” His hand tightened in the blankets wrapped around his body. “I intend to return to them very soon.”

“I do wonder, though, why she continues to return to you.” Rhaenys did not want to lay the topic to rest - which was typical of her. A conversation with his sister only ended once she decided it was over. “Certainly, she is a bastard, but she is beautiful, well-spoken, and one legitimisation away from becoming one of the most sought-after women in the kingdom. What does she hope to gain out of being your whore?”

“Maybe she likes my cock. It would be pretty difficult to find someone that would fuck her like I do.”

“And how did she get convinced to come to you in the first place?”

“Her grandfather hates her. Maybe she wanted to punish him in some way.”

Jon despised himself. He should not know such a thing about Cerelle- about his whore. She was there to please him, to take away his worries, not add her own to the endless pit of despair he did not even try to claw his way out of anymore. Who cared if Tywin Lannister disliked his granddaughter? That man had killed Jon’s grandfather, the king.

(Not that anyone truly mourned that madman, least of all him or his father. Still - his point stood.)

He couldn’t continue talking about her, couldn't wonder what she was doing right now, if she missed him as he missed her.

“How is your knight?” he quickly asked. “Are you two taking advantage of father’s absence?”

He knew this had been a dirty move, and he felt terrible at seeing Rhaenys’ almost panicked expression, but he had not been able to think of anything else that could distract her.

Jon Wylde was a second son of a second son of a Stormlord, whose entire family had been deeply loyal to Robert Baratheon, both before, during, and after the failed uprising, and had only bent the knee once the entirety of House Baratheon had been wiped from the history books. 

The knight had garnered his sister’s attention during a visit to the capital, which resulted in the mutual infatuation that haunted them both. Neither acted on their feelings, neither attempted to go beyond the polite smiles and stolen glances they shared when no one else was looking, but it was clear to see how desperately they wanted to be with each other.

Which was nonsense. Rhaenys was a Targaryen princess and would never be permitted to marry an insignificant and traitorous knight, no matter how much she would beg their father to. If she was wed, it would be to someone of high status like Willas Tyrell or whichever Darry was Lord Paramount of the Riverlands at the moment. Something to reward an ally, never to control an enemy.

Such was the curse Rhaegar had laid upon all his children, it seemed - the desire for a partner they could never have. Rhaenys with her knight, Aegon with his lordly companions, and Jon with his whores.

“How would I be taking advantage of father’s absence?” Rhaenys said with a stone-still look. “Nothing has happened, and nothing will happen.”

Jon would never be able to show this kind of restraint.

“So it's complete coincidence I saw him in the gardens two days past?”

She never got to formulate a response, because in that moment an explosion shook the building to its core.

All thoughts about whores and knights and courtly twats were forgotten as Rhaenys jumped up and ran towards the door, and even Jon stood up from the bed - more in confusion that with a true conviction to do something - but interrupting them both was the Kingsguard that threw open the door.

“Stay inside, both of you,” Ser Jaime shouted. “Lock the door until we know what happened.”

He heard screams and a quiet rumbling, then the old oak snapped shut. Rhaenys hesitated, before she turned the key in the lock.

“What is going on?” His voice trembled.

“I think…” Rhaenys still stood by the door. “I do not know. Nothing good.”

Jon's heart pounded in his chest, the food in his stomach heavy and constantly threatening to rise up his throat.

He needed ale, or wine even, anything to get him through this. He could not be left with his thoughts, with the uncertainty of the situation. To hell with his sickness. Perhaps the alcohol would heal him quicker, what did the maester know of his body!

And so they waited. Rhaenys stood by the door like a statue, he by the cabinet, emptying one, then two, then three bottles.

Perhaps his sister would want to talk to bridge the time, would want him to ease her fears, even ruminate on what happened. Yet she stayed quiet all throughout, and nothing had scared Jon more in his life.

When the knock sounded on the door, he startled so heavily the half-emptied bottle of Arbour Gold slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground.

Rhaenys hurriedly unlocked and opened it, yet he only stared at the shards by his feet.

“My princess, my prince, I come bearing grave news.” Ser Arthur Dayne's deep, baritone voice always made him hard. “Someone used wildfire to burn down the Tower of the Hand.”

“What?” Rhaenys exclaimed. “Why would- Who would do such a thing?”

“Perhaps an assassination attempt by the rebels. Yet rest assured, no member of the royal family was anywhere near the explosion. Your brother, mother, and uncle are safe.”

Wildfire.

Rumour had it that his grandfather had planted thousands of caches of it underneath the city, and that he had wanted to light them just before his death to drag the invading armies with him to the Seven Hells. It had not happened, of course, yet whether Tywin Lannister had spoken true about them or merely meant to save his own skin after killing the Mad King he did not know.

“We are making preparations to send Prince Aegon to Dragonstone for safekeeping until the perpetrator has been found,” the knight continued. “It would be best if you joined him.”

“What if that is the assassin's plan? To chase us out of the city only to murder us on the journey? Or on Dragonstone, even. The castle is far less protected than the Red Keep.” Rhaenys asked.

“Princess, that is highly unlikely.”

Jon had to agree with the Lord Commander. Rhaella and Daenerys had been living on that miserable speck in the ocean for years now, and the most he heard from his aunt was how boring it was. No one ever considered Dragonstone.

“Still.” Rhaenys lifted her chin. “The optics of the royal family fleeing such a minor disaster cannot turn out well. Someone needs to hold position in the city, and that will be me. Jon stays as well.”

“Great idea.”

It was the first time in hours Jon had said a word, yet considering Ser Arthur's dour look it could not have been the correct words. Not that the knight had ever liked him.

“Send Aegon and Viserys to my grandmother for a fortnight. Mask it as a visit that has long been planned yet only now announced, and make sure to emphasize a definitive return date. Me and Jon Connington will lead the country during this time.”

Suddenly, Ser Arthur looked… almost ashamed. “I apologise, princess, for forgetting to mention it prior, but the Hand of the King has died in the fire.”

Rhaenys was quiet.

Jon did not pay attention to anything else the knight said, too focused was he on his sister's silence.

“Do you seriously care about that?” Jon asked once they were alone again. “As if any of us give a shit about father's friend.”

“No, you do not understand. I was supposed to be with him today, not with you. He wanted me to follow him somewhere, said we needed to discuss something.” Rhaenys hands tightened in her red dress. “I was supposed to die in that fire.”

previous | next

author's note: that's enough politics for now. next chapter will be some good ol' smut again

[klm-zoflorr]

@decafeined-moth was having some issues working out how to post on AO3, so I thought "hey, why not make a step-by-step post dedicated to this, this way it can help other people too?" So here's the

Guide On How To Post On AO3 For Noobs

First, keep in mind that 1) AO3 is a website with a lot of functionnalities and it's normal that it seems a bit intimidating. Thankfully, you can just plain ignore some of them, and only use them when you've learned what they mean! 2) If you need any more information about what some options mean, you can click on the small blue question mark! They provide information that is imo pretty helpful. Or you can ask me, I'd gladly answer any questions you have! And 3) All of the information that we're gonna fill out now is modifiable later. So if you make a mistake or you realise something doesn't fit, don't stress!

So, for starters, you're gonna need to have your first chapter already written out before creating the work. Well, you can technically write it on the website itself, but the page might reload and you'd then lose everything. So rather use google docs, or the notes on your phone, or emails, or anything of that nature.

You also need an AO3 account to post, i'll try to link another post regarding this particular matter.

First step: Go on the top of the website, and click on "post" -> "new work"

Second step: The tags

"Not rated" and "Choose not to use archive warnings" are basically the default for rating and archive warning, essentially the "i don't know". You should try to tweak them as soon as you understand what they stand for, but it isn't necessary.

"fandoms" is a very important one. You're gonna enter the name of your fandom. It could be Lord Of The Rings, Star Wars, Hermitcraft, RPF (Real People Fiction), and a whole ton of other fandoms. Chances are if it's a book or movie or even youtube series, there already are works for it. If you don't know how your fandom is called, use the search function on AO3 and it'll probably come back with SOMETHING.

Categories: Is there a main romantic relationship between two characters in your work? If yes, then select the kind: Female/Female relationship, Female/Male, Male/Male. Or select "Gen" if it isn't the case, it means General.

Relationships: relationships in your work. They're either 1)Romantic relationships, separated by a slash (Blorbo/Shitto) 2)Platonic relationships, separated by a "and" (Borbo & Shitto). I am unsure of where Queerplatonic relationships stand in regards to this. Do not type in ship names (ex: reylo, destiel,...)

Characters: names of characters that appear in your work. This category auto fills as well. It's usually not considered very polite to put in characters that are only briefly mentionned in a throwaway line in your work, however it's perfectly fine if you intend to mention them more later. It's alright to tag them if they briefly appear, or if they're thought about for a big portion of it. Basically, if you could cut them out and nothing changes, maybe don't tag them.

Additional tags: You can basically enter whatever information you want to inform your reader of that didn't fit in the previous categories there. Ex: Fluff, angst, hurt no comfort, Protective Shitto, carrots, Time-travel, Established blorbo/shitto & any additional comment you want to add, like "i wrote that at 3am". People sometimes add in whether the work has been beta'ed or not with "no beta we die like men" or fandom-specific "we die like [name]" (ex: We die like Kenny, We die like Scar, We die like Ice Pick Joe), but it is by no means necessary

You're gonna have to add a work title and a summary of your fic. Summaries can be a lot of stuff including an extract from your fic, an actual summary, a series of open-ended questions made for the reader to want to find out what it's about,... Be creative with it!

Finally, you can check or uncheck the "notes" boxes to add author notes!

Now we're getting into the complicated/superfluous part. Thankfully you can just ignore most of it! You may learn what it means later, or not, but it does offer some great additional options!

We need to focus on this part tho:

Ignore the "set a different publication date".

If your work is gonna have multiple chapters, you should check the "this work is gonna have multiple chapters". Then you should enter the number of chapters. You don't have to name the first chapter if you don't want to, if you leave it blank it will simply show as "Chapter 1"

You need to choose a work language

You may now finally enter your first chapter/the text of your one-shot!

The website works with html, which means that to make some text italicised or bold you gonna need to enter a special set of characters before and after. You can find some explanations online very easily. Or, it also work in rich text, it switches to it if you click the "rich text" button.

We're finally done! You can then click on "preview" if you want to check the formatting, or "post" it directly!

[middleearthpixie]

Meet The Fundinsons...

Author's Note: A huge bear hug and thank you to @i-did-not-mean-to for taking time out to beta this. I totally owe you! <3

Summary: Pre-Quest for Erebor:

Dwalin accepts a dinner invitation from Balin. It’s only unfortunate he didn’t discuss it with Zana first, who is still adamant about keeping their relationship under wraps.

Pairing: Dwalin/Zana (Female OC)

Characters: Dwalin, Dezana (Zana) Ashmane (Female OC), Balin

Rating: T

Warnings: brotherly violence, much fluff otherwise

Word Count: 3,789

Additional Information: If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

Tagging: @i-did-not-mean-to :)

Certain situations demanded a drink, and this was definitely one of them. Dwalin came around behind the bar and reached for a tankard, then turned to fill it from the barrel behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He peered over the tankard’s rim, then lowered it slowly as he glared at the nebbish, fusty man on the opposite side of the bar. “Havin’ a drink, laddie. What’s it look like to ye?”

“Put that down unless you’ve paid for it and I didn’t see you leave a coin.”

“Put it down unless I’ve—” Dwalin rolled his eyes. “I don’t think Zana will mind.”

“Perhaps not, but Miss Ashmane is not here, is she?”

“No. She’s over in Hampton Downs, most likely arguing with a contractor over his price.” Dwalin almost grinned at the look of surprise on the little man’s round moon-face. “What? Ye didn’t think I knew that, did ye?”

“I had no idea you monitored her whereabouts so closely.”

“Of course I do. Part of my job is to look out for her. Keep her from fallin’ prey to men such as ye.” He gestured to the front windows, which had only just been reglazed the day before. “I heard ye tellin’ the glazier ye had no problem with his tacking on a little more for his trouble.”

“Miss Ashmane hired me to get this tavern repaired and up and running again and as soon as possible. So, if—oh, why am I even wasting my time explaining myself to the hired muscle?”

Hired muscle. It took all of Dwalin’s will to not throw a punch at Moonface. But, Zana had been adamant about keeping their relationship separate from work. It would make things awkward for everyone, since he was still on her payroll. As a result, no one else at the Dancing Frog knew about them.

“Because the hired muscle is also looking out for his employer, and I don’t like it when someone tries to take advantage of her.”

Moonface stared down at him. “This is how business is done. Not that I expect a dwarf to understand the way Men do things.”

Dwalin’s gut kinked. He leaned closer, elbow resting on the bar’s scratched surface, narrowed his eyes and growled, “What was that, laddie?”

“Ah, are ye about to hit him, brother?”

Dwalin peered around Moonface and some of his temper cooled at the sight of his older brother, Balin. “Well, look what the wind blew in!” He glared at Moonface. “You can go now. I think the tavern’s safe with jus’ me.”

“I’ll be in Miss Ashmane’s office. You stay here until she returns.” Moonface slapped his palm against the bar’s surface, then took himself off to Zana’s office at the back of the building.

“Good riddance,” Dwalin growled, lifting up his tankard once more, this time in greeting. “What brings ye here?”

“Are ye not even offering me a nip?” Balin asked, stepping up to the bar. “And what was that about?”

“The owner hired him to help her get this place up and running again. Took some serious damage in those storms a few weeks ago.” Dwalin grabbed another tankard to fill, and set it before his brother. “Now, yer turn. What brings ye here?”

“I just haven’t seen ye in a while and Vandimora has been wanting ye to come for dinner. Perhaps this evening?”

Dwalin finished the contents of his tankard. Guilt flashed through him, for he usually went to his brother’s house for supper once a week or so, but since he and Zana began their… well… was it still a relationship if no one else knew it existed? Either way, ever since he and Zana started up, he’d gotten rather caught up in her. In his defense, it had been a long time since he’d be involved with a woman and he did not mind making up for lost time. Especially with Zana.

He hesitated. Zana had been adamant about not telling anyone about them, but he was tired of sneaking around as if they were doing something wrong. “Would either of you mind if I brought someone?”

Balin’s dark eyes went wide. “Brought someone? Such as a lady someone?”

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I am surprised.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Balin offered up a grin that stretched practically from ear to ear. “Oh, of course ye can, laddie. I canna wait to meet this poor woman mad enough to put up with ye.”

“Dwalin!” Moonface came storming out of Zana’s office, his boots echoing against the floorboards. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Dwalin clenched a fist as Balin shot him a look, complete with raised, bushy white eyebrows. “I don’t answer to ye,” Dwalin growled, coming around the bar to stand almost nose-to-nose with him. Although he was of Man, he was the same height as Dwalin, only with half his bulk. “And let’s get tha’ clear now, laddie. The only one what bosses me around is a tiny woman with dark hair and dark eyes and tha’s only because she pays me. Do ye understand tha’?”

Moonface went white, his eyes widening. “Y-yes… Sorry if—if I over-overstepped.”

“Good. Glad we understand now.” Without looking away from Moonface, he added, “Wha’ time, brother?”

“Half-seven, if that works.”

“Tha’s fine.” He turned his attention back to Moonface. “We’ll be done here by then, won’t we?”

“We sh-should be.”

“Good.” He bit back a grin as Moonface stepped away and all but scurried back to Zana’s office.

Balin chuckled. “I think he may have wet himself.”

“I’d like to bend him into a pretzel.” Dwalin turned back to his brother. “We’ll be there. But, ye might want to warn Vandi, Zana is of Man.” At Balin’s stare, he shook his head. “Do not look at me like tha’. I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope so. But…”

“But nothing. Go on, before the wee troll comes back to order me about some more.”

Balin chuckled. “I’d like to see what happens if he does.”

“Zana would no’ be happy.”

Balin’s smile faded. “Wait, you mean to tell me, you and your employer are—” he frowned and shook his head. “That is a terrible idea, laddie.”

“Wait until ye meet her. Then ye’ll understand.”

****

By the time she returned from the lumberyard at Hampton Downs, all Zana wanted was to go soak in a hot bath, have a cup of hot tea, and go to bed. She was weary down to the marrow of her bones from what seemed like endless fighting with Men to get the work done the Dancing Frog so desperately needed before it could reopen. The longer the doors remained closed, the tighter her finances became. She’d already warned her already-meager staff that they would be out of work just a bit longer than she’d originally hoped and of all of them, only Dwalin seemed unaffected by it.

Dwalin.

She smiled as she pushed open the Dancing Frog’s back door and his familiar burr reached her ears. His voice was low and rumbling, seemingly always holding a note of menace in it. But she knew from experience menace was not the only quality he radiated. She would never breathe word of his softer, more vulnerable side to anyone. He’d never forgive her if she did. Besides, truth be told, she rather liked knowing that secret—liked seeing him grab an unruly patron by the scruff of his or her neck and yank them from their seat to escort handily to the door.

The door was closing as she came into the taproom, and she managed a smile as Dwalin looked over at her. “Ye look done in.”

“I feel done in.” She set the small stack of parchment she held onto the bar. “I had no idea I’d have so much trouble finding people to work with on this.” She rubbed her forehead with one hand. “Perhaps I should send you in my stead. I doubt anyone would give you grief.”

“Ye’d be amazed.” He came around to stand behind her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “Ye know what ye need?”

“To find someone to help me with this place?”

“Well, aye, but that not quite what I had in mind.” He kneaded her shoulders gently, working his way toward her neck. “Ye need a night away from here entirely.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I have to watch what I spend and—”

“It won’t cost a cent, either.”

Her eyelids grew heavy from the gentle, steady pressure on her shoulders. She let her head fall slightly forward as the muscles loosened. “That feels heavenly.”

“My brother came by earlier.”

“Your brother?” She lifted her head and twisted to peer at him over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“And now ye do. And he’s invited us to dine with him this evening.”

“Us?” She pulled free and turned completely toward him. “I thought we agreed to keep this quiet for now?”

“It’s my brother.”

“And you already told him we’d come?”

“I saw no harm.” He leaned back against the bar, his blue eyes flashing with irritation. “I am weary of sneakin’ about as if we are doing something wrong.”

“It still would have been nice if you’d asked me first.” The weariness returned. Zana buried her face in her hands, muttering, “Can we not fight about this now? I’m exhausted.”

“And that’s why ye need a night away from here entirely. And Balin’s wife is a fine cook. Good food. Good wine. Good conversation. A perfect night out.”

She bit back a groan. Yes, it did sound perfect, but the last thing she wished to do that night was meet his family. Her day had been taxing enough without throwing in something as momentous as meeting his kin. “But—”

“But nothing. Ye need a night away from here, from your worries, from everything. Trust me.”

“I never trust anyone who says trust me.”

“Ye can trust me, though.”

“Very well.”

He gave her a gentle push. “I told him we’d be there for half-seven. Ye go on and I’ll lock up here.”

Half-seven. That gave her less than an hour to ready herself. So much for the bath she so desperately wanted. Still, she nodded. “Very well.”

“Oh, don’t look so cross,” he cajoled. “Ye’ll thank me. I promise ye.”

“I just wished to come home and soak in my tub. That’s all. Do you know what it’s like, dealing with the Men in this town?”

“Actually, I do. And that’s why ye need a night out as well. Now go.”

She sighed, grumbling under her breath as she left the tavern and went above, where she closed the door and sank against it with a low sigh. She really didn’t want to go and meet his brother. Once that happened, things always became so much more complicated. That meant things were becoming serious, and she wasn’t at all certain she wanted serious. Serious scared her. Serious meant opening herself up and exposing herself to being hurt. Again.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase, so she hurried to her bedroom to change before Dwalin came into the flat. He came inside, closed the door behind him, and the floorboards outside her bedroom door creaked, then silence fell before he said, “If ye really dinna want to go, we—”

“No,” she forced herself to smile, to lighten her voice if only a bit, “it’s fine. I’m… I’m simply tired, is all. It’s been a long day.”

“Aye, I know. It’s been a long few weeks for ye. I just wanted to…”

She waited for him to finish his thought, but then he said, “Ah, never mind.”

“No,” she opened the door, “what?”

He leaned against the jamb, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m no’ much help, except for scaring ol’ Moonface, and I just wanted to take yer mind off yer troubles for an hour or two.”

“Old M-moonface?”

He nodded. “His head looks like a full moon. He’s a skeevy bastard and I don’t trust him.”

“I don’t, either. But, no one else was willing to work with me and he knows all of the contractors from here to Esgaroth.” She raked her fingers thorough her hair. “And I appreciate it, Dwalin. I do. I’m just… I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” He grinned. “I should’ve asked ye first. Next time, I’ll be sure to.”

She smiled, then leaned in to brush his lips with hers. “Fair enough. Now, let me change and we can go.”

The temperature had dropped as the sun set, and Zana shivered as she and Dwalin stood on the wide front porch of a modest blue house. Warm lights blazed forth from almost every window and the air held a hint of something spicy and delicious. She stamped her feet to keep from fidgeting as much as to keep warm as the first few snowflakes swirled past her.

“Snow? Already? It isn’t even winter yet.”

“That never stopped the snow before.” He rapped on the door, and she tried to ignore how hard her heart seemed to be hammering against her ribs. It almost left her lightheaded.

The door opened and Zana found herself looking down at a dwarf with a pile of rusty red hair and a rust-colored beard to match. She went to greet him when Dwalin said, “Evening, Vandi. I hope my brother warned ye we were coming.”

Zana knew dwarf women sported beards as well, but it never failed to catch her by surprise when she saw one. Vandi smiled up at her. “Ye must be Zana, lass. Balin told me Dwalin wished to bring a friend. It’s lovely to meet you.”

She stepped aside and waved one arm. “Do come in out of the cold, then, and have a hot cup of tea to take the chill out.”

As they stepped inside, Dwalin shrugged out of his fur. “Zana Ashmane, my sister-in-law, Vandimora. Vandi, Zana Ashmane, my—” he hesitated—“Zana.”

Zana glanced up at him. His cheeks were flushed a dull red as he met her gaze and shrugged. Shaking her head, she turned back to Vandi and smiled. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“And to meet you, as well. Now, come in and make yourself comfortable.” Vandi held out one hand. “I’ll take your coat, then, Miss Zana.”

“Is that my brother?” A dwarf with wild white hair and a long white beard emerged from the next room, a smile stretching wide across his wrinkled face.

“By my beard, ye know it is.” Dwalin crossed over to him.

Balin smiled up at him and clasped him by the shoulder. Dwalin caught Balin by his shoulder and then…

They slammed their foreheads into one another.

Zana jumped at the dull thud, while both men and Vandi burst out laughing. “You scared Miss Zana, Balin!”

“No, I’m not scared,” Zana let out a nervous laugh as she looked from Balin to his wife and back, “I was just caught… off guard…”

Dwalin stepped back, unfazed by the head butt. His forehead wasn’t even red. He reached to link his fingers with hers and said, “Balin, Zana Ashmane. Zana, my brother, Balin.”

“It is lovely to meet ye,” Balin said with a warm smile. “Dwalin surprised me when he asked if he could bring a friend, and I must confess, I didn’t expect ye to be quite so lovely.”

“Oh, thank you,” she replied, her shock over their greeting fading. “Do you always greet each other that way?”

Dwalin nodded. “Always.”

“Doesn’t it… uh… hurt?”

“Me? No. I’ve a head like a rock,” Dwalin pointed at Balin, “and his is even harder.”

Vandi shook her head. “I always wait for one of them to drop, but so far, neither one ever has.”

Zana resisted the urge to rub her own forehead. How could it not hurt to bash your head into another head? She knew Dwalin was tough, but still…

He smiled at her over his sister-in-law’s head, and then winked. “I could teach ye how to do it, love.”

She froze. That was the first time an endearment such as this left his lips, and hearing it now made her smile, for it seemed to just fall into his sentence, as if it was perfectly natural. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I think you might knock me out.”

He came around Vandi and reached down to lace his fingers with hers. “I’d be gentle with ye.”

“Oh, well, that’s something.”

Vandi’s dark eyes danced as she looked from Dwalin to Zana and back. “So, what can I bring ye both to drink? Wine or ale? Or something a bit stronger, perhaps?”

Zana smiled at Dwalin, remembering her last experience with something stronger. “I think wine is probably best, thank you.”

“She’s a lightweight with anything stronger.”

“Oh, what a thing to say!” Vandi chuckled as she hurried from the room.

“I wish I could argue it,” Zana called, shaking her head, “but I’m afraid that’s the truth.”

“Well, compared to this one, anyone would be a lightweight,” Balin said, elbowing Dwalin in the ribs.

“Just because yer jealous…”

“Balin,” Vandi called from the next room, “give me a hand, please?”

“Excuse me.”

When they were alone, she looked up at Dwalin. “Your brother seems very nice, as does his wife.”

“I told ye getting out would do ye some good.” He stepped up to her, easing an arm about her. “I dinna want to keep sneaking about, Zana. I dinna want to keep ye a secret anymore.”

“Things could get complicated, once the tavern reopens. If it ever does, that is.”

“Ask me if I care.” He loomed over her, shaking his head. “I can handle a wee bit of complications if it means no more sneakin’ in and out of yer flat, or pretending we only barely know each other at work.”

She sighed, leaning in to rest her head against his chest. “I don’t even know if there is ever going to be work again. Contractors don’t wish to work for me, your Ol’ Moonface is letting the ones who are willing to work for me pad their bills. And all the while, no progress is being made.”

“I’ll have a word with Moonface,” he told her, catching her face in his hands to tilt it to his. “Let me take care of him for ye. Come tomorrow, he’ll be beggin’ yer forgiveness or else.”

“Dwalin…”

“Let me do this, Zana.” He bent toward her, his lips just brushing hers. “One less thing for ye to worry about.”

She slid her arms about his waist as he kissed her again, more deeply this time. As he drew back, she whispered, “Are you going to hit him?”

“Depends.” Another kiss. “Do ye want me to?”

“I might.”

“I’ll see what I can do, love.”

And with that, his lips came upon hers again. She tightened her arms about him, reveled in the feel of his rough palms against her cheeks. Somehow, she just knew he itched for a reason to brawl with Moonface, as he called him, and at the moment, that was fine with her. He could pound the man into dust if he liked, as long as he kissed her the way he did right then.

“And here we—Oh, I beg your pardon!” Vandi blurted as she barreled into the room.

Dwalin pulled away with a, “Ye could at least have given me a bit of warning, lass,” and Zana couldn’t hold back her chuckle as she tucked her head against his chest once more.

“I didn’t know ye’d be kissing the stuffing out of her in the middle of my great room,” Vandi shot back. “But, it’s about time ye settled down, Dwalin. Ye certainly aren’t gettin’ any younger.”

“Tell me about it,” Dwalin growled, pressing a kiss into the top of Zana’s head. “I just have to find a way to convince her.”

She didn’t quite know how to respond to that, as until now, he’d never made any mention of their relationship becoming more serious to him. Then, the words came to her as she smiled up at him. “I didn’t know you wanted to convince me.”

“Now ye do. I already said I’m tired of sneaking about. Can we just tell people already? Or do I have to stand out in the middle of the street and shout that I love ye?”

“Wait…” She pulled out of his arms and stared up at him. “You—you love me?”

Dwalin nodded. “Why do ye sound so shocked? Do ye think I’d offer to hit Moonface for just anyone?”

“Well…” she hedged. “Yes, actually. I am fairly certain you would.”

He shook his head. “No, lassie. Only ye.” He caught her face between his hands, his thumbs grazing over her cheeks as his lips brushed hers and he said, “I love ye, Zana. And I don’t want to sneak about any longer.”

Her head spun from the teasing tenderness in his kiss, and she couldn’t help but smile up at him. “Are you certain?”

He gave her a long look. “Zana…”

“Very well. No more sneaking.” She drew in a deep breath and then added, “And I do love you, you know.”

“I know.” His eyes danced with a devil she’d come to know all too well. “Ye talk in yer sleep.”

“I do not.”

“Oh, but ye certainly do. And now, before this becomes a real fight, let’s simply let it drop for now.”

She smiled as Vandi pressed a wineglass into her hand. She smiled at Dwalin. “Just out of curiosity, when did I say it in my sleep?”

“I might have made that up.”

“Dwalin!”

“What? Ye do talk in yer sleep and I’m sure at one point, ye’d eventually say how much ye love me, how lucky ye are to be with me—things like that.”

“Well, now I’m not even sure I like you.”

“Ye like me well enough and when we get home, ye’ll like me even more.”

Balin poked his head in. “If anyone is interested, supper is ready.”

Dwalin turned to grin at his brother. “Perfect timing. She won’t kill me with an audience.”

“I wouldn’t count on that, dwarf,” Zana growled.

“At least let me eat first. Vandi is an amazing cook.”

She sighed. She supposed letting him eat first wasn’t too much to ask. But, she couldn’t be held responsible for what happened once supper ended.

[melzula]

The Gift

pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader

notes: this was requested by an anon!

summary: Zuko and Princess celebrate the opening of her new water bending school

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

You rise before the sun to prepare for the busy day ahead of you. You’d only been crowned Chief two months ago but already you found yourself busy with countless tasks and duties assigned to you by your people. However, you gracefully took each challenge head on, and despite being home for such a short time you’d already accomplished so much.

With the help of your friends you’d managed to dethrone Koa and begin a new era of peace and rebuilding in the South; there was much to do and no time to waste when it came to helping your people, and with assistance from Pakku and members from your sister Tribe you were able to begin the period of growth in no time. Aid had been sent out to the smaller tribes who were being looked after and rebuilt by the men who wished to rectify their wrongs after turning against their Princess in support of the former advisor. Leading them was Hakoda, Sokka and Katara’s father as well as your new advisor. Already the outer tribes were beginning to grow, and with that growth came the discovery of the next generation of water benders.

Before his departure back to the Earth Kingdom Sokka had helped you construct the plans for your new water bending school, and with two months having come and gone the structure was almost complete. Another day or so and you’d be ready to begin your teaching— both younger children of your tribe and a few migrants from the South would be your students, and with Master Pakku’s help you had no doubt your school would be a success.

Many sleepless nights and countless hours of work came with being the Chief of a tribe that was attempting to rebuild itself, yet you still made sure to send letters to Zuko whenever you could. You swore to him before his leave back to the Fire Kingdom that you’d reply to his letters and inform him of any more trouble you faced, and so you found yourself writing back and forth with your boyfriend at least three times a week thanks to your shared messenger hawk. You would have preferred to meet in the secret tunnel, but both of you were much too busy now to escape to your hideaway, so you settled for communication through scrolls.

The sun is just beginning to rise as you adorn the Chieftain necklace and allow the Water Tribe emblem to fall proudly against your chest. Your father would have been proud, and you wish he could see all the things you’ve accomplished for your people.

You slip on your parka and give a wistful glance at the portrait of Zuko that sits on your dresser (a portrait that is accompanied by the doll he’d given to you long ago) before making your way towards your office to get started on the plans for the day. The early mornings were always reserved for scripts and scrolls, it made things more organized and helped the plans ease along nicely, and it also allowed you some quiet time to yourself before you were pulled every which way throughout your day.

You’re not sure how long you sat with your nose buried in paperwork, but by the time your mother steps into your office the morning sun is high in the sky and your people have begun their tasks for the day. She smiles fondly and approaches with a cup of tea in her hands, the cup being a part of the china set Iroh had sent Zuko with months before.

“Well you’re up awfully early,” she notes while carefully setting your tea before you.

“I have a lot to catch up on before the opening of the new school. Pakku brought me a list of possible students and I’m going through each and every one to make sure their needs will be met if they choose to participate in lessons.”

“About that...”

“What?” You prod, immediately looking away from your paperwork and towards your mom. She has a giddy smile on her face and a glint in her eye that she fails to hide from you.

“Would you like to go for a walk? I think we should go for a walk,” she replies, quickly changing the subject and hoisting you out of your seat before you can even comprehend what’s happening.

“Mom!” You try to interject, but she simply brushes off your comments and concerns.

“It really is so nice out today,” she hums gleefully. Guards gift you friendly smiles or respectful bows as you pass, and outside the palace you are greeted with excited commotion.

“What the flameo is going??” You say exasperated. Your gaze settles upon your school in the distance and a confused frown etches itself across your features at the sight of a crowd around the building. You weren’t exactly expecting any students just yet, and the school wasn’t meant to open for another day or two. You also weren’t sure why exactly there was a blanketed structure in the courtyard of the school; you hadn’t authorized any additional features, so what was it?

“Took you long enough,” Pakku greets you both with a smile. Little children stand around him and look upon you with pure glee and excitement. You recognize a few of them from your list, but you hadn’t even reached out to their families yet to ask for permission for their participation in your water bending lessons.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?” You plead desperately. Pakku and your mother grin.

“Why, we’re celebrating the opening of your new school, of course,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“The opening? But nothing’s ready!”

“Actually, everything is ready,” your mother corrects with a smile. “You’ve been so busy running around trying to get everything in order, so Pakku and I took it upon ourselves to finish up the school for you. All you have to do is say the word and your water bending school will officially be open!”

“Well, we did have some help from the Fire Lord...”

“Zuko?” You retort with furrowed brows. “How did Zuko help?”

“You’ll see,” your mother replies giddily. “Are you ready to open your school?”

It takes you a moment to process the whirlwind of information that’s been given to you in a matter of minutes, but you can’t deny the relief you feel at knowing that the work has been taken care of for you. The first promise you’d made as Chief was to restore water bending in your tribe, and to know you were mere moments away from completing the task was a weight lifted off of your shoulders. All the little children look upon you eagerly, and it’s with a confident smile that you look to your people that have gathered around the school and proudly hold your head up high.

“As Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, it is my great honor and pride to announce the official opening of our school for water benders,” you announce. Your mother beams with pride at the sight of your first big accomplishment as Chief as she gives an agreeing nod to Pakku.

“And to celebrate this great achievement, we have a gift for Chief y/n,” he adds. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“A gift?” You repeat, watching as he pulls a scroll from his coat and begins to read off of the paper.

“I, Fire Lord Zuko, would like to show my excitement and support for the rebuilding of the Southern Water Tribe by offering this gift for Chief y/n. I know it’s impossible to capture her real life beauty, grace, and compassion, but I believe this gift does a pretty good job of displaying her greatness for all to see.”

The blanket is removed from the structure, and all including you gasp in awe at the sight before you; a statue in your likeness stands in the center of the courtyard. Your face holds a warm and benevolent smile, your head held high with a fire lily neatly tucked into your hair, and your hands are held out before you right on top of left as a circle of water swirls in between them. You look regal, elegant, like a perfect Princess and water bender.

“I... I can’t believe it,” you murmur in awe. Your mother smiles.

“Zuko sent me a letter a few weeks back to tell me he planned on commissioning a statue for you— a gift for your accomplishments. I told him it was a wonderful idea and agreed to have it sent here the moment it was finished to celebrate the opening of your school.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say with a teary eyed smile.

“You know, that Zuko is quite the catch. Does he know you’re of marrying age?” Your mother asks with a sly smile.

“Mom!” You exclaim embarrassed. She laughs.

“What? It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“It’s a little too early for that,” you reply with a sheepish laugh. “Besides, I’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

“You’re right about that,” Pakku says, pulling you aside. “Are you ready to meet your new students, Chief y/n?”

“Actually,” you reply with a coy smile, casting a glance towards your statue, “it’s Sifu y/n when class is in session.”

“Sifu y/n it is,” he agrees with a smile before guiding you into the school to begin training your new students.

| tags: @rainteslerrrr @simpinforsukka @sirkekselord @protect-remus @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @coldlilheart @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @zukh03s @taeeemin @user12345321 @just--artemis--with--ghost @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @lozzybowe @izzieserra @melacholy @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @djskfkdkkf @xapham @yeetletzgetitjae @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @neighborhoodpansexualdisaster @noodlesfluffy @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch |

[s1rcus]

The Road to Love and Truth (Blackhill)

Rating: Teen and up

Words: 2323

Chapter: 1/2

Fandoms: Marvel

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill

Additional tags: Coming Out, Undercover Mission, Gay Bar

Summary: When some mission information turns out to be wrong Natasha is called in to lend a hand for Maria. Natasha happily does whats been asked, as long as she gets something in return.

Authors note: Blackhill Bingo square B1 "Coming Out".  Also big thank you for the guys at the bingo server! You've been a big help. 

Story below the cut or in AO3 here

Natasha had been called in for a mission, and she had been told to get to Fury, quickly. Once she got into Fury's office, the first thing she noticed was Hill on the monitor mounted on the wall. She looked... annoyed? Natasha wasn't really sure how to explain the look on her face, but it was gone as soon as she spoke up.

"Sir. Commander," she said with a nod of her head toward both of them.

"Romanoff, thank you for getting here quickly," Fury said as she closed the door behind herself. He continued after she was seated, "There's been a slight complication with the Taylor Richards mission and we need someone to take Hill's position. It turns out that some of our original intel was wrong, and Hill is no longer fit for this mission. There wasn't really any information to go on from the beginning, but I have no idea how something like this could've happened."

"Wasn't the plan just to make friends and flirt and get into the apartment? I don't really see why Hill wouldn't be able to continue."

"Exactly. That is the reason why we sent Hill, but with this new information she won't be able to finish the work anymore."

Natasha turned to look at the screen, the confusion apparently clear on her face because, after a deep breath, Hill spoke up.

"He's a guy," Maria started, but Natasha cut her off.

"Really?!" Natasha got an affirmative nod from Fury. Huh, that actually explained a few things about him. She still couldn't see a problem though. "And?"

"Well we originally thought otherwise, you know this." Natasha motioned her to continue, still unsure where the problem was. "I can't flirt with men and you don't want me to try."

Oh. Oh.

"So, you're telling me that you sent in Hill rather than, I don't know, agent Williams for example, because you thought that he was into women but still uncertain on his gender. While you didn't really know anything about him. Really?"

Natasha had seen the file they had on him. It was basically empty. She had to give it to Richards though. It's impressive that SHIELD couldn't find information about him. It basically had an estimate of birth year, name and vague guesses about his lifestyle. She's surprised they were even able to track him down.

She eyed them both after neither answered back at her. Fury seemed like he wasn't gonna say anything about it but Hill let out an angry huff and spoke once again.

"Yes. We made a mistake. Is that what you want to hear? We went in with bad information and half of the important stuff ended up being wrong. He's still very much into women though. So can you step in for me or not, because there's a time limit, and I really don't want to do this."

Natasha grinned at Hill on the screen.

"Oh, I'll gladly do this, but you owe me one Hill."

"I'm gonna regret it, aren't I?"

Natasha smiled at the screen, tilting her head to the side a little and raised an eyebrow.

"Fine! Anything to get me away from this."

---------

That's how she ended up here, sitting at a table at a coffee shop sipping on a cup of coffee and pretending to read a book. She'd visited Hill at a hotel room where she had set base first and gotten an earpiece. Hill had also gone through the core points of the mission with her, like she didn't know any of it.

Natasha did know though, she had read the files on her flight over. The plan was to go to a coffee shop that the target seemed to go to on a daily basis and get the target to let her in his apartment so she could install some surveillance equipment. SHIELD believed that the guy worked for one of HYDRA's scientists, mostly getting them things they needed. SHIELD wanted to be sure of this before bringing him in for questioning. This should be easy for Natasha.

Natasha has enough of waiting around and decides that talking to Hill would be much more interesting.

"So, Hill. How come I didn't know this big part of your life until now?"

"I really don't think my personal matters are any of your business, agent."

Natasha decides to ignore that. Getting under Hill's skin was her favourite thing about working with her.

"Is it hard to work when I'm around? I've gotten that excuse from men multiple times. Oh, or do you have a girlfriend so that you can keep your focus better?"

"Could we please stay on the mission, Romanoff?"

"The target isn't here yet, so humour me Hill. Are you the secret ex Sharon won't talk about? I'm sure they're from SHIELD, and the way she speaks about the relationship they have to be a higher or a lower level agent. And I do happen to have first-hand knowledge that Agent Carter definitely swings both ways."

"Romanoff, please. I don't need to know details of your or Agent 13's personal life."

Natasha can hear from Hill's voice that she's trying very hard to keep it even. Just a little push and she'll get the commander to snap.

"So not you then. Who do you think it would be then? It's not Agent Williams, right? I'd never let her forget that."

"Natasha!"

Score. Natasha smiles happily. She could drop it now, but where's the fun in that?

"What? Let me have some fun while I wait for this idiot. It's not like I have anything else to do besides sip on this coffee."

"Alright. We can talk about my personal life. Just stop telling me about other agents' personal information."

"Okay." Natasha hums for a little bit thinking what she wants to say. "How old were you when you knew?"

"That I was gay? I think I was around 11 when it really struck me."

"So no boyfriends, ever?"

"Nope. And I'm not about to tell you anything related to my exes. That's not on the table here."

"Fair. But have you dated someone from work? It's really hard to try and have relationships with civilians."

Natasha hears Hill groan, which makes her want to chuckle. Luckily she doesn't.

"I said no ex talk. This definitely goes into ex talk."

"Okay. Hmm… Oh, hey, I know what you're gonna do for me once we're done with this mission. You're gonna come with me to a gay bar. We might get Sharon to join us as well."

"Why would you want to go to a gay bar?"

Hill says it surprisingly slowly. It was like she's worried that Natasha is plotting something. Like she'd ever. (Yes, yes she would, but she isn't currently.)

"Well, Commander, men hit on me enough as it is, and I would very much rather get that attention from women. Don't get me wrong, I think both of the sexes have their faults, but enough is enough."

"Wait, you're--"

Now Natasha actually lets out a laugh. Has Hill not been paying attention this whole conversation?

"Yes. Like Agent Carter, I too swing both ways. Wasn't that clear from the earlier comment?"

"Which one?"

"That I have first-hand experience about Carter."

"Romanoff, please."

Hill basically whines. This is way too easy.

"What? You asked."

"I don't need to know these things."

"It's not like it's a secret. Carter and I used to flirt a lot around the base. There was even that one time we were- Oh, he's here. Good talk Commander. Time to put up my A game."

"Good luck."

"Thanks, but I don't need it."

--------

The mission goes smoothly. The surveillance equipment installed in his apartment, and Natasha gets out without needing to sleep with him or just simply knocking him out (though that could have raised some suspicion on his part). Thank Hill for calling her, when it started to look like she wouldn't be able to talk her way out of it anymore.

--------

A couple of days later, and Natasha finds herself in a bar with Hill and Carter. The latter was currently flirting at the bar with the bartender, and Natasha was at a table with Hill. She has to admit it was pretty nice. Maria seems to be enjoying herself as well and especially seems to like the faces of the other customers who recognise the Black Widow. A gay bar wasn't probably the place one thought they'd run into her. It wasn't Natasha's first time here, (she actually came at least once a month with Carter) but she tended to try and blend in a little more.

"Is she going to come back with the drinks, or should we go get them ourselves?" Maria asks as she watches Carter at the bar. She's smiling and flirting with the bartender like her life depends on it.

"We probably should. I didn't check the bar when we came. Sharon has a thing for that bartender, and I don't think we'll see her at this table again."

"I mean, good for her. She's pretty, and it's clear they're both enjoying it."

Natasha smirks at her even though Hill can't see it. She’s still faced towards the bar.

"So curly haired blonde bartenders are your type as well?"

That got her attention. Not fully, but Hill moved more towards her.

"No. Just analysing."

"For someone who didn't want any personal information about her agents, you're being extremely nosy right now."

Hill turned the rest of the way and was fully facing her again.

"That was different. I don't need to know who is sleeping with whom on the helicarrier, especially from someone other than the people themselves. Carter seems clearly fine sharing this with her superior, or she'd be trying to hide it."

"You're forgetting one minor detail Commander." Maria raises an eyebrow at that. "We're all just friends tonight, so stop thinking about work. Try to let loose a little. We're here because of an op gone well."

A look of confusion passes Hill's face and Natasha loves the little crinkle between her eyes it makes.

"Carter wasn't even part of the op. She doesn't know what happened. She doesn't have the clearance for it."

"She just wanted to come when I asked. Probably just happy she was able to come see Amanda again. Also probably wanted to see you in a bar, if I'm honest."

"Of course." Hill turns again towards the bar where Sharon has probably forgotten she actually came with people, "Should we go get those drinks?"

"Yes please."

--------

When Natasha wakes up the next morning, she can hear a shower running. Last night was a little blurry, but she has memories of drinking with Hill, maybe even turning on her flirting a little and a very vague memory of falling into bed with her in the end. Which doesn’t make her feel as weird as it should. Sleeping with Sharon (the few times they did) had been weird, but it had been a mutual agreement and never happened in SHIELD. This, with Hill, was definitely way out of line. She was basically her boss, so why does she feel fine with it?

She stretches and slowly opens her eyes. Yup, definitely Hill's room. Should she leave? That's probably something a normal person would do. But she really wants to talk to Maria about it. This ? It could become this . Natasha won't lie, she really wouldn't mind it happening again. She should stay, and they should talk. She sits up on the bed, wrapping the sheets around herself, and waits. She checks the time probably every 2 minutes.

Eventually (roughly 17 minutes later) Maria comes out of the bathroom, hair a little damp, wearing a set of basic SHIELD sweatpants and t-shirt. A look of surprise passes over her face before she schools it down. Natasha smiles at her.

"Nice shower?"

Maria closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I really hoped you would've left by now. Can we just forget that last night ever happened? It was a mistake. I'm sorry. Also I don't know what time it is, but I'm sure I should be at the gym right now."

A mistake? Does Maria really think that? Natasha definitely needs to get her to stay so they can talk.

"It's barely 7am. You don't need to be anywhere; it's your day off."

Basic protocol. After a mission, especially an undercover mission, they have the next couple days away from the field. To file any required paperwork, go to meetings and such.

So if Natasha didn't need to be anywhere, neither did Maria.

"Yeah, well I spend the mornings there, so that's where I'll go."

Maria starts to make her way towards the door, and Natasha bolts up to be between her and her goal. She almost forgets she's not wearing anything and tightens her grip around the sheets before they fall from around her.

"You really think your stomach would handle that right now? I know you gotta have a pretty bad hangover, because even I'm feeling it."

"Well then I gotta be somewhere else. Filing papers or something."

Maria really doesn't want to talk with her. Does she regret it that much?

"Maria, you have nowhere to be. Can't we just talk about it?"

"I'm sorry, I just can't. Not right now," Maria says as she pushes past Natasha and out of her room.

Well that sucked. What should she do now? She sits back down on the bed and massages her temples a little. Maybe she could find aspirin in Hill's bathroom for the hangover and take the opportunity to use Hill's shower since she's already there. Then she'll go look for Barton. Maybe he’ll be up for sparring, and she could maybe vent to him about Maria as well. That'll be as good use for her time as any.

[commander-diomika]

(Click to Read From the Beginning) Part 6 - Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Word Count: 4700 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Opposites Attract, Trans Male Character, Forced Outing, Pining, Additional Warnings In Author's Note

Summary: New intel from Curie brings new rules about the quarantine process. This puts Zolf and Wilde in an awkward position. A/N - The forced outing depicted in this chapter isn’t through any malicious intent, but rather circumstances outside character control. There are no transphobic sentiments portrayed in this series, internalised or direct, but some of Wilde’s caution around disclosing indicates that this is a world where transphobia exists. These things could make for an uncomfortable experience for some readers.

The few times that Zolf went out on missions alone, usually on fruitless attempts to scout the Shoin Institute, it had been Barnes that welcomed him back and locked him in. Zolf didn’t mind isolation stretches, but he didn’t love that Wilde kept himself absent for the entire duration. He understood why, but there was something unsettling about coming home, and yet having to wait for what he felt like was the proper homecoming of being reunited with Wilde. But he coped with it just fine.

When the invitation from Curie came for a meeting, and specified that only one person was welcome, Zolf fought hard for it to be him.

“You’ve never even met Curie.” Wilde pointed out, voice level despite the heat in Zolf’s tone. “It makes far more sense for me to go, and someone needs to stay here.”

“At least take Barnes with you,” Zolf countered, knowing he was being ridiculous but unable to help it. He’d known that this time was coming but that didn’t make it come any easier. “He don’t have to come with you to meet her, but he can keep you safe.”

Wilde’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Zolf crossed his arms, stymied. It wasn’t that he was overprotective. But he couldn’t squash the memory of Wilde’s face, slippery with blood beneath frantic fingers, or the haunted look in Wilde’s eyes when he emerged from isolation.

“I won’t even be gone long, Zolf. Curie is going to meet me in Hiroshima.”

Zolf opened his mouth to argue further, and was stopped by Wilde closing his eyes, looking genuinely tired for a moment. Normally Wilde relished a bit of verbal sparring and the two of them fought as easily as they breathed. But something about the way he sighed gave Zolf pause.

When Wilde next spoke, his voice was soft, a rare pleading in his tone. “I know, Zolf. I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it, but I have been looking at these same four walls for months. I am sick of not being a productive member of this team.”

“WHAT!” Zolf exploded. “You are the most productive member! Me n’ Barnes n’ Carter would be nothin’ without-”

“You know what I mean!” Wilde said, frustrated. Zolf hardly ever saw him like this. Anger was an emotion that Wilde kept locked away, just like his fear. “I’m sick of people treating me like I’m some sort of china doll, just because I can’t cast anymore!”

Zolf spluttered. “You’re not- we don’- nobody said-”

Wilde raised his hand. “I appreciate your concern, Zolf, I really do. But I’m going on this mission. And I am asking you-” Wilde drew a deep breath in through his nose “-to trust me.”

Well. That had been played like a trump card. Zolf felt something in him release, the angry churn of his stomach dissipating. If there was any truth left in the world at this point, it was that Zolf trusted Wilde.

He nodded.

---

As was protocol, on the evening he returned, Zolf, Barnes and Carter made themselves scarce until Wilde was safely in the anti-magic chamber, not detouring to any other rooms of the inn. They had arrangements for how to handle if a returning party member didn’t head straight for what they’d all started calling “the box,” but thankfully it was yet to come up. Zolf headed in after, with the keys to the cell, fresh clothes, and a bowl of prawn gyoza in hand.

“How’s Hiroshima?” Zolf asked, locking up and passing through the food.

Wilde didn’t respond, just levelled Zolf with a flat glare.

Zolf shrugged. “You can talk to me, an’ if at the end of the week you’re compromised, I’ll just assume that anythin’ you said was false intel, yeah? Until then,” Zolf pulled up the chair that sat outside and cell and settled it. “There’s no harm in it going this way,” he swept his hand from Wilde’s direction toward himself. “I just won’t tell you anything you don’t already know.” He, quite simply, was not going to take no for an answer. He wasn’t leaving Wilde alone with his thoughts for a week.

Wilde managed to look disapproving for a moment more, then a little smirk slipped through the veneer. “I find it difficult to believe you know anything I don’t, Smith.”

“Oh, sod off.”

“I can’t help it if I just happen to be the brains of the operation.” Wilde gave a small, defeated chuckle, and sat on the cot. He started undoing the anti-magic cuffs and massaging his ankles. Sometimes when there was no one using the box, Wilde would come sleep down here just for a chance to take them off for a little while.

“Hiroshima is well enough, but Curie says Cairo is a mess. The sandstorms have been giving it absolute hell. Anyone who doesn’t still need to be there isn’t, though it’s still seeing a lot of refugee traffic.” He picked up the food Zolf had passed through.

“From Europe?”

Wilde nodded between popping gyoza into his mouth. “These are very good, you know.”

Zolf waved a hand. “Hiromi’s been giving me lessons. She’s much nicer about it than her husband.”

Wilde updated Zolf on Curie’s operation. When he mentioned that she had been gifted the old Tahan estate, Zolf’s gut squeezed. It had been… almost over a year since he’d seen Hamid, and months since they’d last heard from him and the others. It was almost impossible to think that they were still alive, but without bodies or news, there was no way forward. Both men were left lingering in ambivalence, hope laid thick and heavy over a grief that couldn’t surface.

Wilde finished his food and frowned. He spoke more hesitantly than before. “There is one more thing I should tell you. We need to update some of the protocols.”

“Yeh? Howso?”

“The blue vein rumours? About the infected? Confirmed. More importantly, Curie says in every instance of a double agent, the blue veins have appeared on the body first, not the face or hands.” Wilde was overexplaining in a way that was unlike him. “In addition to the quarantine, being on the lookout for behavioural changes, Curie also recommended we do,” Wilde hesitated, again in a most un-Wilde-like fashion, “…visual inspections of those in quarantine. Thorough ones.” He fluttered nervous hands up and down his torso to illustrate.

As Zolf slowly turned over the implications, Wilde turned to rummage through his bag and withdraw papers. He gestured for Zolf to come take them through the slot.

“Reports, signed and sealed, detailing it all.”

Zolf took them, still absorbing what Wilde had said. He didn’t look through the bars. If he had, he would have seen something cautious and watchful in Wilde’s eyes.

The silence stretched on too long between them.

“Anyway, if you don’t mind, I am going to get some sleep. The boat from here to the mainland isn’t exactly a luxury cruiser, and I am exhausted.” Wilde flumped down onto the cot to punctuate the point.

“I… yeh. I’ll go have a look through these reports.” As Zolf walked away from the box, he paused in the door. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. I’m glad you’re safe, he didn’t add.

“Of course you are,” Wilde replied without missing a beat. “This place must be dreadfully dull without me to liven it up for you.”

Zolf rolled his eyes and headed upstairs.

Having read through Curie’s reports, the next day Zolf went back to Wilde’s cell with his heart in his mouth.

Naked inspections. It’s just one thing after another in this brave new fucking world, isn’t it, he thought, agitated.

The whole situation was ridiculous. What was he so worried about? After everything they’d been through there was a certain trust, an ease between them now. What was a bit of nudity in the face of all that?

He was only feeling nervy about it because he was sure that Wilde was going to be a dick about it, in his usual style. Getting under Zolf’s skin hadn’t stopped being a hobby of Wilde’s, and this whole situation set the stage for his insufferable needling.

Wilde stood quickly as Zolf entered. He’d changed out of the clothes he’d travelled to Hiroshima in, and was now wearing long dark pants and his favourite yukata, the one with green and pink floral pattern.

“I read through all the reports,” Zolf began.

“We might as well get this over with,” Wilde said at the same time, and then laughed a little manically.

Zolf took his seat, waited for Wilde to quiet, then continued. “Curie also recommended we start askin’ people to tell us stories of things that only the other would know. Code words aren’t enough because it’s more about how you do the retellin’ than it is about the information.” Wilde’s face relaxed at the notion of delaying what came next.

“I’ll get you to tell me about… tell me how you remember our first meetin’, then.” Zolf said. Since all the other people who were there are either dead or presumed dead, he didn’t want to add.

Wilde launched into an explanation of flaming notepads, blood noses, slipping into his storyteller shoes with relief. It was nice to listen to him perform, even if thinking about Hamid and Sasha was depressing.

“And,” Wilde wound up, “I just happened to linger by the door and overhear you mention something about my bum, of all things. Now, if you’ll do me the favour of telling what that was, and we can all move forward assured of each other’s memory, though probably not their integrity.”

Oh, curses. He hadn’t thought Wilde had still been around for those comments. He crossed his arms and frowned loudly.

“Come now Zolf, you’ve already said it, you can’t take it back now.” Exactly as Zolf had suspected, Wilde seemed to be delighting in causing Zolf discomfort once again, whilst he slipped back into his old, familiar smarm. Wilde wrapped his hands around the bars of the cell and bounced slightly on his toes.

“I said,” Zolf pinched the bridge of his nose. “I said it was very nice.” And he stood by it, but Wilde didn’t need to know that.

Wilde laughed, free and throaty, running his hand through his hair in a way that Zolf knew, if he had access to his magic, would be accompanied by a bawdy shimmer of sparkles. For a moment, things felt bright.

The energy snapped back. Wilde wasn’t performing for a party, he wasn’t needling Zolf for a laugh, he was locked up in a cell waiting to find out if he had an infection that would turn him into something unrecognizable and dangerous… Wilde dropped his hands from the adamantine, and the two of them fell silent.

“I can go get Barnes, if you’d prefer,” Zolf said with a useless gesture. Wilde was already shaking his head.

“What’s a bit of nudity between… friends.” Wilde asked, with a quizzical tilt of his head. His eyes were asking does friends really cover it anymore? Zolf didn’t have an answer.

Zolf didn’t know how to get this whole awkward scenario started, so he just waited, his mouth dry. There was something so grim in Wilde’s face, and Zolf didn’t understand. His obvious discomfort with the notion of watching Wilde undress should’ve delighted the man. It should have been ammunition.

As Wilde started on the ties of his yukata, for the briefest of moments, Zolf’s discomfort was replaced by a blistering anger at the absurdity of it all. All those moments he had wanted to be closer to Wilde, to touch his bare skin or to hold him… but he hadn’t asked for this. Between the two of them hung a nascent possibility. A possibility that Zolf was only just starting to acknowledge, and that deserved a chance to blossom.

That instead it should be forced to happen like this, through cell bars, was perversely unfair. To him. To Wilde. To the pair of them and all the ways that this could have been different.

Wilde paused, as if seeing the flash of anger in Zolf’s eyes. He spoke quietly, almost to himself. “Thinking about… hmph. The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” With that non sequitur, he disrobed, turning his body to drape the cloth over the cot.

As he turned back, Zolf was struck by a sudden realisation; he’d never seen Wilde with his shirt off. Never swum together, never seen him coming back from bathing with a towel around his waist. Even in the heat, Wilde always wore his shirt buttoned, his yukata firmly tied. Zolf swore he could see Wilde’s chest in his mind’s eye. It just made sense. Wilde had certainly seen Zolf’s chest; they’d been living in each other’s pockets for almost a year now and Zolf didn’t think much of it.

But no, because if he’d seen Wilde without the shirt, he would know that Wilde had a smattering of dark chest hair. And more scars on his torso than seemed right. The wounds from Douglas had torn two messy gashes near the ribs, and those scars were present as expected. But there were two more - slightly crescent shaped, uniform and well-healed - swooping across his chest just beneath flat nipples.

Surgical scars.

The air was knocked out of Zolf’s lungs. His body had grasped answers before his mind did. His thoughts felt sluggish, crawling, gasping to catch up, and when they did it was with the lurching realisation of just how unfair it was that they had been brought here, to this cell, to this grotesque scenario, against their will.

Wilde undid the drawstring of his pants and stepped out of them. Dark hair ran in a soft line from his navel down, fanning out to the triangle that dipped between his legs. His face was carefully blank, as he lifted his hands, palms up, in a sardonic “ta-dah” gesture.

Zolf was frozen inside his mind, as Wilde turned slowly on the spot.

He did have a fantastic arse, the perfect balance of muscular and plush, and once again Zolf was furious that any hint of eros in this had been utterly perverted.

Wilde turned back to face Zolf and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Zolf nodded again, his mouth dry. Wilde dressed, not rushed but efficient.

They sat in silence for a time.

“You never told me,” was all Zolf could think of to say.

“Fantastically witty and incisive commentary from one Zolf Smith, yet again,” Wilde said, voice like acrid smoke. Nothing made Wilde bite like losing the upper hand.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I jus’, I’ll go-” Zolf tried to walk and turn at the same time and knocked into the stool, clanging it down to the floor. He righted it with hands that shook and headed for the stairs.

“Zolf!” Wilde called after him. “You don’t have to leave.”

Well. That was as close to begging as Wilde ever got.

Zolf returned to his stool, and re-joined the silence. Wilde sat on the cot, watching the close wall of the cell with a face that Zolf recognised; it was one of Wilde’s favourite expressions, deliberately mild, open, waiting. It gave away nothing and invited everything. For Wilde, it was safety.

Other people, people who didn’t know Wilde as well, might take that as an invitation to speak. Zolf wasn’t other people. He thought about all the times he’d stumbled through something awkward, with good intentions but clumsy words. He had no idea how to proceed, other than it was probably wise to wait, and let Wilde find words first.

“Don’t feel bad about me not telling you.” Wilde said eventually. “It usually doesn’t come up, unless I’m sleeping with someone. Even then you’d be impressed at what can be achieved with creative use of props, dim lighting and a bit of magic.” He trailed his hand wistfully through the air, an impotent somatic component.

Zolf continued to wait, to leave the man space. Zolf wasn’t the one who’d been stripped, forced into a deeply personal disclosure without plan or intent.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed, you see. It's more… it feels like handing over a weapon, and I try to avoid that if I can. And well, I’m usually not in someone’s acquaintance long enough to feel bad about keeping it a secret.” There was an apology tucked between the words, and Zolf nodded even though Wilde wasn’t watching

He paused to run his thumb over the facial scarring, once, twice. “Bosie knew.”

Wilde let the silence stretch on long enough that Zolf felt like he had to speak or he would never stop thinking about skidding through Wilde’s blood on a cold stone floor. “You… you used to use your magic for it, righ’?”

Wilde barked out a harsh laugh. “Oh yes, for practically all of it! It was the reason I got so good at glamours! Back in Cairo I… I suspected that an anti-magic chamber or cuffs might halt the hexing, but I couldn’t, you see? I’d been doing it for so long. Everyone knew me as a man.” He shrugged, saying obviously with his shoulders. “I couldn’t go back.”

Zolf examined Wilde’s face. He was still carefully keeping his gaze on the cell wall. He still had that mild expression on his face, as though they discussed what to have for lunch, not one of the lowest points of his life. But he didn’t seem upset, so Zolf pressed on. “What happened?”

“Oh I…” he huffed a small laugh. “I got lucky. Turns out Grizzop already knew. I don’t think I reacted quite right when he punched me in the crotch.” Now something like genuine fondness crept into Wilde’s voice. “He suspected what might happen if I had to stop casting; he helped smooth things over. I was in no position to be fending for myself at that juncture, I had let the curse go on too long.” Wilde looked at his hands. “I will always be grateful to him.”

Wilde sounded like a man who knew, without a doubt, that the object of his gratitude was dead.

“Once it became clear the cuffs were going to become a permanent accessory, he set things up with the Cult of Aphrodite for me to have surgery and for them to supply the right potions. They have all the gear and know-how, of course. Not everyone in my position is a caster.”

Something else clicked in place for Zolf as he pondered the technicalities of non-magical surgery.

“Wait a minute. You were still recovering from that when we joined back up, weren’t you?”

Wilde’s brow crinkled as he considered timelines. “That’s right. Scarring needs to heal with almost no magical intervention, otherwise it’s back to square one. So it was… quite painful, to be quite honest. And compared to magical healing, the process drags on and on.”

Wilde smoothed a hand over his robe-clad chest. “I like it better this way now. No more binding my chest just in case, though I try to be careful about who sees the scars.” His voice was light, that faux-levelness starting to fade and he just, talked. Wilde was relieved, Zolf realised with a start. He wanted to tell Zolf about these things.

“It’s nice to just … be myself. Even at the end of day when I’m tired and can’t cast anymore.” And he finally looked at Zolf and smiled. Not a smirk or grin, just a completely open smile that welcomed Zolf into his joy instead of belittling or declaring victory with it. Even with the scar, sitting in a dim cell, he looked radiant.

As Zolf went to smile back, he felt his face wobble. This - Wilde smiling, confiding, being easy and honest with him - it was a better outcome than he could have hoped for. He felt the sudden bloom of Wilde’s smile in his chest, the warmth of the man’s trust.

But this was merely day one of seven, and it was still terrifyingly possible that the man who sat across from him was not Wilde at all. So Zolf’s smile twisted as it appeared on his face, and he didn’t reply, allowing them to lapse back into silence.

Day 2

“Wouldn’ it be- well not easier but less, I dunno- to just wait and do one inspection on the last day?” Zolf asked. He’d brought down breakfast and the paper, and they’d sat quietly as they ate; Wilde had finished eating and was starting on the motions of undressing.

“Zolf. My dear.” Wilde cocked his head in that patronising way that he did when he thought Zolf had said something legitimately dumb. “If I am reading your intentions correctly, your plan for the week is to eschew all your other jobs to waste away at my door-” Zolf opened his mouth to argue and Wilde simply raised his voice and pressed on “-not that I am complaining, but if you truly are going to while away the days with me, and then on the final day, you find out I have been infected the whole time and have to kill me, how, pray tell, is that going to make you feel?”

Zolf snapped his mouth shut.

“Wouldn’t you rather know as soon as it comes up?” Wilde pointed out, frustratingly reasonable.

Zolf simply wanted to throw the cell doors open because there didn’t seem any possibility that the man behind the bars was anything other than 100% pure, vexatious Oscar Wilde, but he stilled his twitching hand. Wilde’s question was to remain unanswered as Zolf simply gestured go on then and Wilde, with a grim, self-satisfied nod, started to strip.

Day 3

“No, don’tcha see, if Jennifer had gone to Antony in the garden, her mother would have known from the get-go-”

“But I simply don’t see how Alianne knowing would have improved things for Jennifer-”

“She was supportive, she could’ve helped smooth things over when Antony’s sister started her meddlin’, and they could have wrapped the whole thing up before supper!”

“Yes, but where is the fun in that, Zolf?”

Day 4

As Wilde dispassionately disrobed for a fourth time, Zolf realised there was now a familiarity to Wilde’s naked body, and that was jarring.

He wasn’t lanky, not really, but Zolf couldn’t help but think of most humans that way. The truth was he was solid enough in build, surprisingly muscular for a man who mostly rode a desk. His legs and arse especially were firm with it. He does a lot of walking about the village, I s’pose.

Zolf watched Wilde turn on the spot and he longed to trace the shape of Wilde’s shoulders, cup his ass, rub my damn nose in that soft lookin’ chest hair and…

Zolf ground his teeth against the wrongness of it all.

He thought of slipping his hands between Wilde’s legs, and though the shape of the fantasy had changed, the intensity had not.

It had been a long time since Zolf had felt a physical or sexual attraction like this, and the fact that it was at the most inconvenient time, and the most unlikely person, was enough to make him think he’d made a mistake breaking ties with Poseidon. Maybe if he hadn’t eschewed divine favour, he would have been protected from whatever trickster god had decided to throw this at him.

He kept his hands in his pockets so that Wilde wouldn’t see him clench his fists.

Maybe I should offer to strip too. At least that would put us on an equally horrible footing, Zolf mused.

Wilde dressed and turned back to look at Zolf with careful, watchful eyes. Wilde was in the business of reading even the most inscrutable enemies like a book, and at this point he had a thorough translation guide for Zolf. He knew it bothered the dwarf. The fact that Wilde hadn’t made a bunch of lewd comments was probably his idea of a kindness, but the absence of Wilde’s typical peacocking it somehow made it worse.

When he looked at him like that, it made Zolf feel like he was the one in the cell.

Zolf cleared his throat. “Got a new crossword book if you like?”

Day 5

“Pawn to E4.”

A chess board sat on a small table just outside the cell. Zolf moved the white pawn for Wilde then took his own move.

“Knight to G3.” Wilde said in a bored tone. He’d voted for bridge, but Zolf had talked him out of it. Too difficult to wrangle cards between the cell’s bars and mesh, he’d pointed out. Which was true, but what was also true was that Wilde was surprisingly bad at chess (it was much easier to cheat in cards).

Whilst Zolf did feel sympathy for Wilde, things weren’t so bad that Zolf wasn’t going to relish the opportunity to beat him at something for a change.

Day 6

Each day Wilde got closer to being comfortable with the inspections. Closer but not there. Half a lifetime of needing to be guarded about who saw your body created some strong foundational habits. That foundation wasn’t going to be eroded in seven days, regardless of how much you trusted the person who saw you.

But still, it could have been worse. Zolf shuddered to think what would have happened if this situation had been thrust on them a year ago. Their friendship, tenuous as it was, might not have been able to survive.

Dressing again, Wilde stretched the kinks out of neck. “I cannot wait to get out of here and have a proper bath and a nice long walk.”

“Nearly there.” Zolf said absently. He’d stopped needing to worry every second moment that Wilde was infected. Even though they’d been dealing with it all with distractions, with laughter, with pretending like it wasn’t happening, Zolf felt the sudden urge to be honest.

“I’m sorry that… that it happened like this. That you didn’t get a choice in tellin’ me about...” Your past? Your journey? Your truth? “…Everythin’.”

Wilde made a face of surprise, but instead of deflecting the offer of an honest conversation, he accepted. “Me too. I intended to, but as I said. I’m rarely… close enough with someone that I feel they deserve it. I wish-” Wilde paused, considering his next words, and what other weapons he might be handing over, deeply. “I wish that the circumstances had been different.”

Zolf could just ask what he meant. He could. It was practically an invitation for him to press, to force Wilde to clarify exactly under what circumstance he’d envisioned sharing secrets about his body with Zolf… but he didn’t.

Inside Zolf, uneasy guilt gnawed at him. The circumstances they had were only these ones. Wilde was vulnerable, caged, and thoroughly without a choice; but Zolf knew there were moments he’d chosen to ignore those elements. He knew, deep in his guilty core, he had been inspecting far more than he had the right. It didn’t feel honourable to press Wilde any further after that.

“Yeah.” Zolf stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Wilde. Last day ‘n all.”

Day 7

“It would have been too much to hope that the bloody sun would come out for this, wouldn’t it,” Wilde grumbled.

Freshly released, he was pondering umbrella selection in the entry hall.

“I’m guessing you don’t want me to come with,” Zolf ventured. Wilde had come out of his quarantine cheerful enough, but there was something understandably off about him; something distant and a little contemplative. Zolf had been half-expecting, or even hoping for, one of Wilde’s warm shoulder-touches. But he had kept his hands firmly to himself.

Wilde looked up, mouth twisted wryly. “I think I’ll be fine.” He hesitated, as he always did before saying something sincere. “I do appreciate what you’ve done for me this week, Zolf, but I could use a little space.”

Zolf nodded. He’d expected as much.

Inside him, the guilt twisted a little, the word violator rising in his mind. No. Neither of them had chosen anything about this situation. If anything, their connection felt even stronger for having been through the wringer, yet again. Whatever liberties Zolf accused himself of taking, it wasn’t enough to dent that.

We’re alright. Zolf thought.

We’ll be alright. I think we both could use a little time, is all.

Wilde selected the green umbrella, gave Zolf a tentative smile, and headed out into the rain.

[littlebookreader]

Ego ne hic quidem

This has two parts: Information and the fic itself. For slightly easier accessibility, I will put both in this post itself.

Some information first:

Summary: Fleet looks for a missing cat. (For the Tueday prompt ‘Favourite Main Character’ of the Victoriocity Appreciation Week 2021. Takes place a week after ‘SMS Brandenburg’. )

Fandoms: Victoriocity(Podcast)

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Gen, F/M

Word count: 912 words

Characters: Inspector Archibald Fleet , John Balmoral, Edward Sandringham, Clara Entwhistle, Mrs. Pomligan (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Missing kitty, tumblr info makes its way into this(for some reason), Sanmoral being actually useful in this, the wheel and paper becoming friend will also pop up later, shipping if you use a fine tooth comb, can’t really think of much else, author regrets everything, no beta we goose chase like Fleetwhistle, here you go

@victoriocity-appreciation for the Favourite Main Character.

Part 2 of Love, Actually.

This was the information. For the rest of the fic, it’s all under the cut.

Fic: 

Running a new detective agency with your partner can be quite the task, as Fleet was slowly beginning to learn. Over the course of the last week, he’d been dragged all across London to find the owner of brooch, more or less reduced his inhibitions about the Flying Circus, been switched off and kidnapped subsequently, and succeeded in taking down a nationwide spy ring. There was another little(major) worry he’d had, but he didn’t quite wish to think about it, right then.

Right then, he was a machination, a true marvel of science, set off to go find a missing cat.

He had made it something of a habit to reach the offices early, in case something truly threatening should cross his desk. Clara, surprisingly, had turned out to be something of a night light, and stayed the evenings, even wandering the area till as late as three in the morning.

Right then, this had actually worked out in her favour, so Fleet was left all alone hunting for a miniscule cat in a city that he could only describe as being larger than life.

“Come on, Archie, you can find a cat. Surely.”

“And I have no doubt, that you can.”

He jumped back, surprised, only to find that it was the team who’d dragged him into the mess that was the previous week, in the first place.

“Aren’t you supposed to be off doing secret missions for the Queen and suchlike?”

Balmoral, was it, rolled his eyes, while Sandringham(Vidocq’s twin child, if he remembered correctly) smiled cryptically. “That’s for us to know, and you to never find out.”

“Hopefully,” he muttered. “Then if it isn’t for a mission, what EXACTLY are you doing here?”

“Oh, we just thought we’d say goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

“Yes, goodbye.”

“So, why do you have to find a cat?”

He shrugged. “For a client. It’s almost relaxing in a way, not having to deal with some nationwide conspiracy for once.”

The partners laughed, following which Balmoral added: “That’s there. I almost envy your simplicity, detective.”

“And your stupidity,” Sandringham snarked.

“I will have you know; I have almost found the cat.”

“Have you now?”

Fleet may have learned how to keep secrets over the years, but everyone he ever spoke to, generally agreed that he was a terrible liar.

“No, not really. I do not even know where to start!”

“Well, I used to own a tabby at university once-“ Sandringham nodded in agreement, as if remembering something fondly. “and she went missing for a bit, when I was in my final year. As if on a wild impulse, one day, I left out an old jumper that she loved sleeping in and some water in a bowl, where I’d seen her last. Three days later, I found her, sleeping in it, as if nothing had ever happened!”

Fleet gaped; he had to admit, this had never really struck him as a possible solution. Now that Balmoral had described it, practically pointed it out, really, he knew exactly where to start.  

“That-that actually makes sense, thank you!”

“Happy to help, detective.”

With that, the two left, while Fleet rushed off towards what had been the former location of the Tower, and made the preparations accordingly. As he began laying out the owner’s clothing, he heard footsteps approaching.

“Hello, I’m sorry I’m late, Augusta had this whole incredible assignment about a wheel and a paper becoming friends- What are you doing?”

“Oh, we had a client today who lost her cat. This is how I plan to find her.”

“Looks fascinating, let’s hope it works!” She paused, then added, “I thought I’d find you here actually.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Well, it’s where the Tower used to be. I would understand if….” She trailed off, letting her concerns hang in the air.

“Ah, don’t worry too much about it.” He continued to work, while he talked, though there was something about Clara’s very presence that seemed to speed the entire process along. He couldn’t quite explain what, but it wasn’t…….unpleasant, exactly.

He finished the set-up, looked up at her and asked, “Should we leave?”

“Absolutely.”

Neither quite had the heart to hire a cab, so they walked back to the coffeehouse, where they would resume their work.

“There’s actually a reason why I went looking for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, confused. Clara hadn’t seemed all that worried when she first arrived….or had he simply failed to notice? “What was it?”

“Er, I think it’s best if you just saw for yourself.”

She flipped through her notebook, a new acquisition, and pulled out a small piece of paper, neatly folded in the pages. “I found this slipped under our door when I reached the offices. What do you think it means?”

He blinked at the words, scrawled across in a neat cursive. Ego ne hic quidem. “I-I’m afraid my Latin is rather poor, Clara.”

She looked back at him, unimpressed. “I know what the phrase means, Fleet. I’m not even here. It’s what I said to you when we visited the crime scene and you didn’t want me to keep interrupting. How would they know?”

He pursed his lips, realization slowly dawning on him. “Someone is watching us. If we don’t find out who, and fast, it could mean trouble.”

They looked at each other, then quickly raced back downstairs to ask Mrs. Pomligan what she knew about the note, and who might have delivered it.

[evilvarric666-archive]

This is gonna be long, so sorry in advance, but as someone who enjoys long fics here are my two cents:

I get why some ppl may not want 75 tags in fics, but this is gonna hurt long fic writers. On a long fic there are probably gonna be more relationships that are central to the plot that aren't the main ship. And side pairings that may be a squick to some ppl. Not to mention trigger warnings and tone tags.

For example: a long fic with the pairing Y x Z. Z had an abusive relationship, and that's gonna be explored. So the author tags abusive relationship, bc that's a trigger, but an explanation next tag saying "not current ship" or smth.

Then Y has very important friendships with some of the cast. These are central to the plot so they're tagged too.

Turns out, character W is controversial in the fandom, but they're central to the fic too. The author is gonna tag after the character tag W positive/negative; so ppl who don't wanna see positive/negative things about W can skip this.

And guess what? Ship A x B appears in this fic too. Maybe it's not that central, but this ship is also disliked by some people, so the author will tag it, so ppl can filter through.

Another problem is with media that has different mediums, like, the media Y, Z, etc are from has movies, and books, and games and a tv show. All these things actually have different stories, different enough at least that ppl may only want to see fics written for the movies! But the author wants to take plot from the movies and the books. So instead of just tagging the all media tag for that media, they also tag media (movies) and media (books)

These tags end up accumulating. And especially in long fics. The author could make the first chapter a list of tws and stuff that they keep updating, but that destroys the purpose of ao3 tags: you can't filter content like that, you can only filter tags.

I honestly think they should just find a way to delete the fics with the trolling tags, or make a readmore thing so it doesn't hurt the browsing. At the very least make the tag limit longer.

sorry in advance that this is going to be rambly and weird. I have a lot of thoughts.

I get where you're coming from but I also still disagree. Like it's definitely going to change the way longfic writers tag, but I really don't think it's going to hurt them. I think it's going to encourage more effective tagging and that that's going to be better for everybody in the long run. If anything, I think that overtagging is what's hurting longfic writers, it makes their works look unappealing, and actually important information gets buried in a wall of text.

i will admit though that I do understand better now why less room for trigger tagging is going to be an issue. My preferred tagging style is "General/umbrella warnings in the tags, with whatever elaboration/specifics the author deems necessary in an author's note/author's notes at the beginning of each chapter" (example: "animal death" in the tags, so that the filters catch it + people who can't handle the subject At All know to keep scrolling, and then the author's note specifying that its in the context of game hunting & not a pet death, so that people who were uncertain and needed more info could click in and get the specifics.) and I thought that preference was pretty universal? But apparently a lot of people use the tags as an exhaustive list of warnings, which I didn't know because when I see a work with more than, well with more than 75 tags, I just start scrolling until it's gone.

(this is a tangent and I get that my experiences are not universal. but I genuinely dislike full warning lists in the tags because, for me at least, it makes it harder for me to figure out if the story is something I can/want to read. The things I Really Do Not Want To Read about are rare, and rarely tagged the same way twice, so the exclusion filter isn't really helpful for me. I have to actually read the full list of warnings and if the things I'm looking for are sandwiched inbetween a bunch of trope/character tags in a big wall o text I am going to miss it. This has happened to me multiple times.)

I think that that's an ineffective tagging style, basically. Lots of tags is kind of the opposite of useful tags, imo. Short, to the point and consistently worded warnings are better and I think having less space will encourage people to do that. I understand why people do this other style, though, and also why it would frustrate them that they can no longer do that. I think it really sucks that ao3 let everyone wild west their website for so long that it managed to spawn like three distinct groups of people who all use the website in completely incompatible ways, and now it's at the point where any new rule implemented is going to screw a lot of people over no matter what. But I digress.

Anyways, as long as someone isn't putting Revolutionary Girl Utena levels of warnings in their tags (and if your fic needs that much... maybe you should just put yur top 10 biggest warnings on there and slap a Dead Dove Do Not Eat on the end there, yknow?), I think that 75 tags will fully accommodate them. I get that tags start adding up, but also I think a lot of people are underestimating how many tags 75 tags is.

Like to just add up how many tags are used in your example: three / pairing tags, lets go crazy and say three more & pairing tags, tag every character tag in those pairings that's twelve, #abusive relationship + #not main pairing tags, three fandom tags bc multiple source mediums, a #[controversial character] positive tag... that's 24 tags. Like all the necessary character & pairing tags are handled in less than a third of the space given (and personally I consider this slightly over tagged. I think the only character tags you should put on a fic are the very mainest/pov characters, but yknow) and honestly if you can't then figure out a way to communicate the rest of the necessary information about your fic in 51 tags and a 1250 character summary then I really don't know how to help you. I personally would have to really push myself to figure out how to put more than 75 tags on one fic, regardless of the length of the fic. And I can't help but notice that a lot of the fics I could find with over 75 tags while searching last night had a lot of... unnecessary duplicate tags, often for information that could've been easily otherwise intuited (tagging #mandolorian #mandolore #mandolorian character and #mandolorian culture on a Jango Fett pre-series fic, for example)

I do have some criticisms about the current change though. I think it would've been better to have individual tag number limits for each individual field (x number of fandom tags, x number of character tags, etc.) instead of a 75 tags over all limit (or make a "warning tags" field that's separate from "additional tags" but that's a separate essay and would... probably mean overhauling the whole site. so not very practical.) A readmore option would be good too, and I'm not sure why they didn't go for that? I also think that this change will be most effective if done in combination with other changes. Like posting very loosely or not at all enforced official tagging/style guides for the site. I really think that even a tepid attempt at standardization will increase the site's usability like, A Lot.

I'm not sure how cohesive that was. TL;DR I appreciate hearing your thoughts, mine are that I still think this is a step in the right direction. And that cutting back on overtagging will lead to more concise, effective tagging which will make browsing and filtering easier in the long run.

[stargildedskies]

A Song Among the Stars Ch 3

Pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings/tags:

Slow Burn

Slow Romance

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (never by Thrawn)

Sexual Tension

Mix of Legends and Canon

Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo is protective of his muse

Ballroom Dancing

Imperial Officers (Star Wars)

Angst and Romance

Canon-Typical Violence

Masquerade

Imperial style

Phantom of the Opera AU if you squint

Thrawn finds his muse

Summary: Lyra's life was turned upside down the day the Empire took her. Once a renowned singer and performer on the Outer Rim, she is now little more than a songbird trapped in a gilded cage. Forced to perform and used as Imperial propaganda for years, she grew to despise her life until one fateful night and a chance encounter with a certain Grand Admiral.

Author's note: Hi everyone! Please let me know if you enjoy chapter 3 of A Song Among the Stars. I'll have a masterlist soon with all of the chapter links, but here's the link for the first 2 chapters on Tumblr and AO3 here. Tumblr likes to hide my writing, so please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it!

A big thank you to @pala-din-djarin for formatting advice!! 💙💙

AO3 link here for chapter 3 if you'd prefer!

Song Suggestions At the beginning: Thrawn - AtinPiano The dance: Masquerade Ballet Suite: 1. Waltz - Aram Khachaturian

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Seventh Fleet. I trust you will have no further issues with me asking you to leave.”

The edge in the Grand Admiral’s voice glittered with dark promise, and a tense silence fell. Even in my current state, I could tell that he was definitely not asking; his statement was little more than a scarcely veiled command. Bost stood incredibly still as the oppressive atmosphere continued. I could tell he was carefully considering his options, but there couldn’t have been many, as Thrawn’s commanding body language clearly showed he had no intention of backing down.

Suddenly, the sound of frantic footsteps broke the silence. All my muscles involuntarily tensed as my instincts screamed danger. Three more shadowy figures came running around the corner of the maze behind Bost. Fearing the absolute worst, I physically and mentally prepared to defend myself again. I dropped my weight evenly between my legs and shifted into what I assumed was a passable fighting stance. Apparently, the change in my posture did not escape my new friend even though I was still completely behind him.

“There will be no need for that,” Thrawn’s voice had returned to its original soft, dulcet tone, “excellent timing, Commander Vanto.”

How did he recognize him? It’s kriffing pitch-black out here!

I quickly decided it was a question for another time and relaxed ever-so-slightly as Thrawn acknowledged the newcomers. If he knew them, considering the present situation, it was currently good enough for me. Thrawn gestured back towards me and spoke again in an infuriatingly calm tone for the situation, “Please escort her back towards the ballroom. I will join you momentarily; the Commodore and I have something to discuss.”

I had no idea what Thrawn needed to discuss with Bost, but anything was better than me being chased down.

The three shadowy figures stepped into a patch of starlight. Any relief I felt earlier was amplified tenfold because Dreycolt and Arkmad were instantly recognizable. They stood slightly behind the third man, who I assumed was Vanto. All three of them looked ready for a fight, and their facial expressions flickered between worry and relief. Vanto gave Thrawn a curt nod before pushing past Bost and offering me his hand.

I don’t know him, but I don’t have much of a choice here, and there’s not really any time to think…. I have to trust my instincts.

Tentatively, I reached out and placed my hand in his; he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Vanto’s hands were noticeably calloused, which gave me another sensation to focus on. However, even with those feelings grounding me to reality, my frazzled emotions swooped in like carrion birds as the adrenaline started to wear off. Intrusive thoughts started to slip through every mental wall I had in place as he led me away from the maze and back through the garden.

Stars, what do they even think about this situation… How is this going to be handled? Is the Empire going to somehow blame me for causing a scene? Am I going to be the one punished??

Before I realized it, we had walked about half of the way back to the ballroom. Vanto led me to a nearby bench; I gratefully sat down and stared back in the direction of the ballroom. The flickering lights, laughter, and faint music indicated that the party was still in full swing and would be for some time. There was zero chance of me leaving early because the second part of my job tonight hadn’t even started.

Vanto took a seat on the bench directly across from mine, and I didn’t even have time to open my mouth before words came tumbling out of his, “Are you alright?”

I immediately recognized the accent, and it momentarily drew me out of my melancholy state. “Commander Vanto, you’re from the Outer Rim too,” I noted with as much of a smile as I could manage.

He returned the smile, but his deep brown eyes and creased eyebrows still showed unease, “Yes, I’m from Lysatra, but please call me Eli.”

It was obvious that Eli wanted to discuss the incident, but it was so very rare to meet another person from a world near mine on Coruscant that I actually felt slightly relieved. It was like having a small piece of home nearby.

Another pleasant change was that the starlight shone bright enough for me to fully see in this area of the garden. Eli’s tanned face seemed kind, even though half of it was hidden by a black mask, and his dark hair and eyes were a welcome contrast to Bost’s icy complexion. Maybe it’s a sign that everything will be ok.

I could tell that Eli was trying to find the right words to continue, but he only managed to gesture around like he was trying to pull them out of the air. That alone told me all I needed to know; he had a rather good idea of what Bost tried to do.

Deep breaths, I reminded myself as I nodded with all of the confidence I could muster. You must be strong. “It’s happened before. I didn’t have anyone to rescue me, but I survived then, and I will survive now.” I was reminding myself just as much as I was informing Eli.

His face paled. “This isn’t the first time?” He trailed off before nervously running his fingers through his dark hair. I heard him muttering something under his breath that sounded like a long string of swearing in another language.

Any chance of further conversation was stopped by the sound of footsteps and the arrival of Dreycolt. He was out of breath from running through the garden, but he still managed to get the words out, “I cannot apologize enough for what happened. We tried to get help, but….”

The apology is nice but pointless.

I raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m assuming you don’t know Bost like I do. That conniving bastard would have found a way to dispose of you both so he could get me alone. However, you getting help likely saved me; the Grand Admiral arrived at a very timely moment.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a pointed look from Eli cut him off. I raised an eyebrow at the two men.

Eli rushed to speak first. “I was the contact if there was trouble, but we weren’t expecting anything like this.

Something doesn’t quite add up here…..

At that point, I noticed both Dreycolt and Eli had the same insignia on the shoulder of their uniform: an extremely stylized black tribal design with three heads. It was emblazoned on a grey circle, and the whole thing was ringed in red. They had to be from the same fleet, and if Thrawn knew them immediately….

Suddenly, everything clicked into place as I locked eyes with Eli. “You’re all from the Seventh Fleet, and Grand Admiral Thrawn is your commanding officer.”

“Quite perceptive.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden reappearance of Thrawn’s smooth voice behind me. Unlike with Dreycolt, there had been no footsteps or any other warning of his arrival.

Kriffing hell, why is this man so silent? He may have helped me, but that doesn’t give him the right to scare me out of my mind a few minutes later.

Concern flashed across Eli’s face as he wordlessly reached out to make sure I wasn’t too rattled by the shock. I took a deep breath and nodded slightly in reassurance. My thoughts raced through my previous mantras. You are fine. You are safe now. Eli shot an annoyed look at the man behind me as I composed myself and turned to face Thrawn so I could properly thank him.

It was still dark but I immediately realized that he was tall. Very tall. Even though I was looking up, my small stature combined with my seated position meant my gaze fell on his broad shoulders. I instantly noticed the crisp, white hue of his close-fitting dress uniform and the shining rank bar he wore confirmed his earlier claim. He was absolutely a Grand Admiral.

He smoothly stepped backward and acknowledged me, “My apologies, it was not my intent to frighten you.”

Any words coming out of my mouth died at the tip of my tongue as I finally saw Grand Admiral Thrawn fully illuminated in a patch of shifting starlight. All thoughts of this rank or thanking him abruptly left my mind as one thing became abundantly clear: he was not human.

Where the neck of his pristine uniform ended, his skin was blue. Not merely tinted with blue, but it was truly the beautiful color of a deep pool of water that had frosted over in winter. My gaze continued its path upwards and traveled to his face, which was partially obscured by an ornate mask resting atop high, regal cheekbones and an aquiline nose. From beneath the mask, his ruby eyes seemed to burn into mine like red-hot coals.

Trying desperately not to make a fool out of myself, I did my best to snap out of the shock. Grand Admiral Thrawn was the only non-human Imperial of any significant rank I had ever met, and I severely doubted any others existed. Every Imperial gathering I attended before this one had been filled with countless human guests, but I had only ever seen non-humans used as servers or entertainers. Talle, Kaia, and Ahni had never served a non-human Imperial, but almost all of the other handmaidens were non-humans taken from their worlds.

Why is he working for the Empire in this high of a position?

I fervently hoped the dim lighting hid any sign of my surprise. After all, no matter the reason why, this man was still a Grand Admiral. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t request some kind of a favor in return for saving me earlier. I knew enough legends about the types of favors high-ranking Imperials often pulled or traded, and I was already way more indebted to Thrawn than I was comfortable with. His appearance may have surprised me, but I refused to let my lack of knowledge show. I fully realized that lack of knowledge was a weapon the Empire had firmly pressed against my throat, and it was marking me as prey like blood in the water.

I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and mentally berated myself. This was all my fault. I had gotten too complacent and comfortable with the Imperials. I had no idea Bost was even here, but I let down my guard and accidentally gave him an opportunity. Dreycolt, Arkmad, Eli, and now Thrawn…… There was absolutely no guarantee that I could trust any of them.

Think, Ly, you have to think. These people prey on the weak, so you have to seem strong, at least for now. At the very least, use caution. Just get through this night.

It was like flipping a switch mentally; all of my walls flew back up, and my emotions dulled until everything was just numb. The sparkling, faultless personality I used in Imperial society clicked back into place. I inclined my head respectfully and addressed Thrawn, “Grand Admiral, I cannot thank you enough for your help tonight; your quick response to the situation likely saved me.”

“There is no need,” his voice was still impossibly soft as he regarded me. I lifted my head and met his eyes for the second time; the heat of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. “From the state of his hand, I would say you were defending yourself admirably.”

My face flushed, “Still, I do not know what would have come of the encounter. If it came to a case of my word versus his, especially since I injured an Imperial officer, I doubt anyone would take my side.”

As a “guest” of the Empire, I had everything to lose based on my reputation. If I angered the wrong person or fell from social favor, I would no longer be useful as propaganda……. The weight behind my previous words went unspoken but was understood by all.

An indecipherable expression crossed Thrawn’s face. Krayt spit, he’s hard to read. Most people had tells that let me read their expressions like an open book, but the Grand Admiral seemed to be very different.

“However, I do have one question. What happened to Commodore Bost?” I couldn’t help the tiny falter in my voice when saying his name, but it was small enough to be excusable.

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed and seemed to burn brighter, “I sent him to be treated for his injury. However, I made it perfectly clear that you were a guest and asset of the Empire, so his behavior towards you would not be tolerated.”

I mentally scoffed. So that’s what upset him. Not the injustice committed against me, but the mistreatment of Imperial property. I wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the protection he had provided, but my blood absolutely boiled at his words. However, I gritted my teeth and smiled at him, “Again, I do not know how I could possibly ever thank you enough for this.”

I wasn’t worried about the medics treating Bost; they knew enough about Imperial society to keep their mouths shut on what and who they treated. Most likely, they assumed he was one of the many starting an after-party early. The rumors of the extreme tastes of some officers and politicians often spread like wildfire among the servants and handmaidens. Talle had been unofficially requested at an after-party once before, and she told me stories that made my stomach turn.

Thrawn inclined his head towards me in acknowledgment of my thanks, and I continued speaking, “However, I do need to return to the ballroom. The orchestra will be the main entertainment for the rest of the night, but I was requested to be available as an escort. I’m sure my dance card is already quite full, and I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

After all, what good is propaganda if it isn’t thoroughly used, I thought dryly. It honestly did not matter to me if I kept anyone waiting; in my opinion, they could wait for all eternity. Unfortunately, it would matter a lot to my handler if they complained.

“Don’t worry, Captain Dreycolt and Lieutenant Arkmad will still be accompanying you. Both of them are already on your card,” Eli reassured me as I turned around to face him again. “I also took the liberty of placing myself on your card so that I will be close by too.” He pulled out a small datapad and continued, “We are all spaced evenly throughout the remaining time so that you will have someone checking on you often.”

Now that was reassuring. As much as I wanted to be wary of Eli, he seemed to be very kind and it was making it hard to keep my guard fully up.

I thanked him with another smile and reached up to check my hair. Thankfully, all of Kaia’s hard work seemed to have paid off. Not a single pin or gem felt out of place, and I chalked it up to a minor miracle. After a brief inspection, my dress was still pristine, and my shoes were fine too.

I stood up from the bench and turned to address Thrawn once more, but he had stepped off to the side and seemed to be in deep conversation with one of the medics. His current expression was much easier to infer because the poor medic looked terrified. I quickly decided that I didn’t want to know, and it was better that I didn’t ask.

When I glanced back towards the ballroom, Eli offered me his arm, and I accepted the gesture. He signaled to Dreycolt, and the three of us began the short walk back through the garden. Thankfully, it was uninterrupted and uneventful.

Arkmad was waiting for us at the same side door he and Dreycolt had helped me exit from earlier. He was fixated on the small datapad he was holding and muttering under his breath. The datapad looked very similar to Eli’s, but this one was exceedingly familiar.

I peered down at the list displayed on it, “So, who’s on the card tonight?”

“Oh, just the usual mix of the usual senators and high officers. You actually seem to be in higher demand tonight; the performance earlier must have really impressed some important people,” he responded with a sympathetic look. “It looks like your card is completely full for every dance tonight.”

Oh, joy. Sometimes I was lucky enough to escape the last few dances, but, of course, tonight couldn’t be that convenient. I sighed inaudibly and shifted my feet. At least these shoes are comfortable.

Arkmad tapped me lightly on the shoulder and gestured to the far side of the ballroom, “Your first partner will be waiting for you near that column. The next song is about to begin, so I suggest you get started.”

The first thing I did when I stepped inside was signal the nearest server. I took a glass of sparkling wine, quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was staring at me and downed it. I felt the effects of the strong alcohol almost immediately; one glass was nowhere enough to make me drunk, but I hoped it would further dull any remaining nerves. I returned the glass to the tray and ventured off in search of my partner.

The first few songs passed by quickly. The slight buzz from the alcohol lightened my mood and made it easier to tune out any faults of my partners. Some were heavy-handed with flattery or praise, intent on trying to steal me away for the night. Others had already indulged in too much alcohol to the point where their breath smelled of the wine and their steps faltered. At least they all seemed to be decent dancers, and I was skilled enough in social etiquette to politely refuse or divert the conversation.

I truly had no problems dancing; most of the time I rather enjoyed it. My education at the conservatory had included many lessons on the classical styles and different regional dances in addition to my more intensive singing lessons. We were all supposed to be well-rounded performers, so the education contained much more than just singing, even though it was my main focus. When I was taken to Coruscant, it was vaguely easy to learn any dances I didn’t already know. Most of my partners here were higher class, so they had some kind of dance instruction at least once; they weren’t always graceful, but almost all of them were bearable partners that only sometimes stepped on my feet.

As the orchestra played on, the long list on my dance card grew shorter. Some faces were new, but many were the same senators and officers that often requested me. Before I knew it, I had danced with both Arkmad and Dreycolt, and less than half of my list remained.

I told both men the same thing when they checked on me: the rest of the night was going well. They each seemed satisfied with that answer and moved to the balcony overlooking the dance floor. As Eli’s lively dance was finishing, he pushed his stray hair back into place with a gloved hand, “Miss Lyra, it was a pleasure.” He gave me a small bow as an excuse to lean in close and whisper, “Are you doing alright?”

I responded with a curtsy and an almost imperceptible nod. “The pleasure was all mine, Commander.”

He seemed satisfied with my answer as he walked off to join the other men on the balcony. I had turned to grab another glass of wine before my next partner found me when an all-too-familiar voice turned my blood to ice.

“I do believe that I have the pleasure of claiming the next dance. It seems the man on your card….. won’t be able to make it.”

I whipped my head around and stared directly into the cold, glacial eyes of Commodore Bost. Somewhat vindictively, I noted that his injured hand was bandaged and slung across his chest. He had also donned a plain, white half-mask that covered the scarred side of his face since our last encounter.

My heart raced in my chest; I scanned the upper balcony for Eli, but he was nowhere to be seen. I caught Dreycolt’s eye and he raced off with a panicked expression at the sight of Bost standing in front of me. Even though my heart was racing and panic rose in my throat, I knew that as long as I stood inside the ballroom he couldn’t harm me; even Imperials dew the line somewhere.

Bost reached out to seize my hand and I snatched it away from his grasp. “I refuse to dance with you. You aren’t the name on my card and I have no reason to accept your request.”

He clicked his tongue at me mockingly, “So defiant…” He leaned in to whisper in my ear, “However, I am a very patient man. I can be here all night if that’s what it takes.”

Another shiver ran through me at Bost’s chilling words. I closed my eyes and winced at the foul feeling of his breath on my neck. Suddenly, a looming presence appeared behind me and Bost quickly stepped backward. Assuming Eli came to my rescue, I turned around and gave a low curtsy in greeting, but I instantly realized my assumption was profoundly incorrect; the figure standing in front of me was dressed in white.

Still in my low curtsy, I raised my head and stared directly into the smoldering gaze of Grand Admiral Thrawn. His red eyes remained fixed on mine as he bowed and offered me his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Thrawn’s request rang in my ears. Did he actually want to dance with me, or was he just guarding an Imperial asset? Either way, I was incredibly grateful for his second timely arrival of the night. There was no other choice for me but to take his hand.

Before I could, Bost made a small noise of protest behind me. Thrawn rose from his bow and silenced him with a single look. The Grand Admiral’s voice had the same dark, commanding edge as it had in the garden, “Commodore Bost, your presence here is not required. I will be claiming the rest of Miss Lyra’s dance card tonight.”

My thoughts raced again at his statement. Sometimes a particularly wealthy or powerful person would request multiple dances a night, but someone claiming the rest of my dance card was absolutely unheard of. However, I highly doubted anyone would be willing to argue about it with Grand Admiral Thrawn if he was serious.

Bost must have realized the futility of his position; he glowered at me, turned away with a flourish, and exited the ballroom. I sighed audibly, “Thank you for stepping in again. However, I don’t wish to be a burden on you for the rest of the night.”

The corner of Thrawn’s mouth twitched into a smile, “Not at all. I believe it will provide an enlightening distraction.” He offered me his hand again, “May I?”

Kriffing hell, he was serious then. I gently placed my right hand in his left, and he wrapped his long, elegant fingers around mine. The orchestra played the beginning notes of the next song, a waltz, and he seemed to recognize the dance immediately. Thrawn murmured appreciatively, “ah, an excellent choice,” as he pulled me in until our chests were almost touching.

My cheeks colored slightly and I prayed he couldn’t tell. The familiarity with which he moved me was almost seductive when combined with his velvety soft voice and the lingering effects of the wine.

The dance began and we glided across the ballroom floor to the music. This was one of the more difficult dances of the night, so many stepped off to the side and watched the braver couples attempt it. I knew it by heart, but Thrawn led us with an intensity that told me he did too.

Some of my previous partners could dance very well, but none moved with the same warrior’s grace that he exemplified in every step. The feeling of his broad chest against mine and his strong arms firmly around me made my mind spin. He was so unlike anyone I’d ever danced with; he seemed to move with the same strength and confidence with which he commanded.

No, no, no... you are not doing this. It’s just the wine and your overcharged emotions running all over.

I distracted myself from the dance and his burning touch by studying the intricate pattern on his mask. It was white, but under each eye a thin strip of red in a slightly darker shade outlined the openings and made his gaze even more intimidating. An intricate pattern of entwining, golden snakes bearing their fangs delicately wove their way around the mask’s rim.

In the back of my mind, I came to a sudden realization: Thrawn was testing me. As the song progressed, he began using more and more complex movements. It was as if he was trying to see if I could keep up with his brutal pace.

Kriffing blue bastard. I’m not some little thing for you to toy with.

Well, two could play that game. I locked eyes with Thrawn, gave him the most stubborn look I thought I could get away with, and switched my step pattern up. If his gaze was smoldering before, now it was blazing. He flashed me a grin that was absolutely feral and twirled me out on his arm. As he brought me back in, he pressed me against his chest and dipped me low. He murmured in my ear and his breath smelled faintly of the sweet wine, “Very enlightening, thank you.”

The rest of the night passed in a similar fashion. Thrawn led and I matched his pace step for step, challenging him the entire time. By the time the final note on the last song rang out, we were both breathing noticeably harder. A single strand of his neat, dark hair had fallen into his face and I knew some pins had fallen out of mine. This was the first time a dance partner had made me break a sweat since I was at the conservatory.

He released me from his arms, and the loss of contact was more disappointing than I cared to admit. The Grand Admiral bowed one last time as Eli, Dreycolt, and Arkmad appeared behind him. His voice seemed to have the slight accent from the garden as he addressed me, “You dance quite artistically; thank you for indulging me.”

Thrawn turned away and shared a quick word with Eli, who had an expression of shock on his face. Their conversation lasted for a few minutes before he addressed me again. However, this time his accent was gone. “I’m afraid I must take my leave now, but Commander Vanto will see you safely home.” He reached up to push the stray lock of hair back into place and walked off the dance floor and out of the building. Dreycolt and Arkmad shared a look before following closely behind him.

Eli still seemed to be in a state of surprise. He shook his head like he was clearing out his confusion and offered me his arm, “Miss, if you’re ready, we can head outside. I have a speeder waiting for us.” I smiled at him as we walked out of the ballroom and into the crisp Coruscanti night.

Tags: @mittheresabosen @pretty-with-andorian-shingles @handbaskethell

[rpd-rookie]

He Shouldn’t Have Done That (PART 2) - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Summary: Ever wondered what happened after your terrible fight with Leon in part 1. Well here is your answer.

Author’s Note: After receiving some messages telling me to write a sequel for "He Shouldn't Have Done That", there it is. But I must warn you, the angst is strong with this one. So get ready to cry! Oh, and I must warn you, that this chapter revolves around the theme of religion in addition to the theme of alcoholism and it also contain strong sexual terms. So if you're not okay with that, please don't read.

Tags: Angst / Alcohol Abuse; Alcoholism / Anxiety / Depression / Language / Explicit Sexual Content / Religion / Death and mourning.

  When Leon was a kid, his mother would take him to church every Sunday, dressed in his Sunday best, which was a fancy white shirt and a pair of trousers he was only allowed to wear on Sunday. Needless to say, he hated Sundays.   But his mother was such a good Christian, always wearing a silver cross around her neck, always having a Bible under her pillow. She’s the one who had told him to believe. She had told him to believe in God, in Jesus and Mary, in the Holy Trinity, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. She had told him to believe there was someone up there watching over him, judging him, someone capable of punishing him if he would ever misbehave, sin. Someone powerful, so powerful he could decide his destiny, his fate, his life, his death, and even his beyond. Someone who would accompany him to an heavenly residence after death, that sweet oh so beautiful paradise.         Yes, that’s what his mother had told him. And he had listened and followed her teachings to the letter, maybe even longer that he could remember. He had done it because nothing could bring his mother more happiness than him behaving like the sweet choirboy from the suburbs, and that’s all he wanted back then, make his mother happy.             But with all the horrors he had seen, Leon Scott Kennedy could not believe in any god anymore. He had buried all his belief, all his teachings - much to his sweet mother’s regrets - in the ashes of Raccoon City a long time ago. And with time, he even wondered if he had ever really believed in the first place.

“That city changed me, in more ways that I can think of. It turned me into the man I am today and sometimes I wonder who I would have become if I had just stayed home on that day instead of driving right into the hellish nightmare that was expecting me there.     Possibly, some city cop whose worst worry would have been to know if there was enough paper in the printer. Maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad, who knows? After all, that dude would have never become the mess I am today, that’s for sure. That dude would have never found comfort in alcohol. He would have never cast God away in favour of something able to help him reach some ephemeral paradise, something that just needed a glass to be worshipped, something that preferred cheers to amen. No, that dude would have had a nice quiet life in the suburbs with a lovely wife, two beautiful kids and a dog. And like my mother, he would have taken his charming perfect family to Church on Sunday. Would it have been better for me? For us? Maybe, cause surely, he wouldn’t have done the same mistakes I did”

7 weeks ago - D.S.O Headquarters – Washington DC

You couldn’t help but focus on the fancy pen relentlessly tapping against the glass table. Sitting at the end of the table, perfectly still, his old face appearing somewhat more rigid than usual, the President looked very impatient. And his annoyance was for once more than justified. Leon was terribly late, and by ‘terribly’ you meant ‘almost fifty minutes late’ to be more precise.   But the real problem was that he usually was never late. On the contrary, Leon was always the first person to arrive at morning meetings, most of the time carrying cups of coffee for each D.S.O agents including a special one for you: a large black coffee with extra foam on top and a small heart drawn next to your name on the cup, perfect to make you smile like an idiot - Your heart ached as you thought about it and realised there would be no more hearts drawn on your coffee cup now.

You discreetly glimpsed at your watch again, worried and imagining the worse. What if something happened to Leon? What if he drank too much again and fainted at home? Or worse, what if he had a car accident? After all, last time you heard him on your voicemail he sounded devastated and drunker than ever.     “I am sure Agent Kennedy must be stuck in traffic, Mr President.” Ingrid Hunnigan dared say in his defence. “Then why isn’t he answering his bloody phone?” The President slammed the pen against the table and let out an angry growl. Hunnigan mumbled, trying to find something to say but the President cut her off before she could even pronounce a word. “Let’s start without him.”           “Of course, Mr President.” She stood up and handed out a case file to each agent sitting at the table. When she got to you, she whispered, “Where is Leon?” You briefly looked at her and shook your head. She certainly didn’t know Leon and you had broken up. After all, it had only been a couple of days. “I don’t know.” You mouthed, trying to keep the nascent tears in your eyes.             She probably noticed how sad and worried sick you were since she pressed her hand on your shoulder before taking her place back next to the President to explain the content of the documents on the table. “An informer from the BSAA has recently sent us information concerning a possible …”

All of a sudden, the door of the meeting room opened widely, interrupting Hunnigan in her explanations. Leon had finally arrived. Seeing him instantly took a weight off your mind and you sighed, definitely relieved. But the relief was short.     “Sorry, I’m late.” His voice sounded off and rather somnolent. Hand still on the doorknob he looked at all of the persons around the table with half-lidded eyes. “Oh, seems like everyone is here. Must be a pretty damn important meeting then.” Oh no. Not now. Not here. Leon.         “Agent Kennedy. Thank you for finally honouring us with your presence.” The president declared with a cutting tone that cast a new chill in the meeting room.             “You’re welcome” Leon replied, definitely too drowsy to get the sarcasm.   You almost gasped, refusing to believe it was actually happening, and watched Leon stagger towards his usual seat next to Hunnigan. She silently gave him a file and discreetly poured him a glass of water to help him sober up a little since she had noticed – just like everyone else in this room – that your ex-boyfriend was mighty drunk. Then, she resumed her monologue, ignoring Leon’s grimace as he drank his water contrary to the President, who was glaring at him, and you, who were staring at his face, completely eating up by guilt and sorrow. Were you the one responsible for this? You thought that leaving him would probably help him realise his alcoholism not fall deeper in it.

Despite the huge level of alcohol running in his blood, Leon was astonishingly listening to the reunion with the biggest care. Actually, he was paying so much attention that when Ingrid Hunnigan pronounced his name and the words “Los Illuminados” in the same sentence he almost hit the roof. “This again? Seriously?” He cut her off, surprising everyone. “You want me to deal with that Spanish bullshit again? Is that what you’re going to say, Hunnigan? Like I haven’t done enough, already.” Ingrid suddenly didn’t know what to do with herself, shocked by Leon’s sudden anger towards her. He had never talked to her like that. That was not in his nature.         “Leon, please just let her finish before...” You whispered to calm him down, hoping he would cooperate. “Excuse me. You’re talking to me? You? Really.” He sneered, clearly angry. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore. After all, you haven’t been answering my calls since you dumped me.” You wanted to reply. But you knew that it would only aggravate the situation and make Leon angrier than he already was and the last thing you wanted was to make a scene or cause him more trouble.

“Is this a joke, Agent Kennedy?” The President growled and glared, definitely irritated by Leon’s behaviour. “No. The joke was your election, sir!” Oh God! Tell me he didn’t say that.             There was a sudden heavy silence. Everyone exchanged some aghast quick looks as the President was staring at Leon, his face reddened by anger, ready to burst. “Get out of here, Agent Kennedy. You are furloughed.” But Leon didn’t move and, with an air of defiance, simply replied “Whom are you going to send on your suicide mission if you kick me out? I’m the only one who can do the job here and you fucking know it.”     “Out! Out! Get out of here! I’ve had enough of you!” The President shouted, menacingly pointing his finger at Leon who remained still without batting an eyelid. “Leave this building now, Kennedy!” You decided to get up and grabbed Leon’s arm to lead him out. “Come on, Leon. You’re drunk. Let’s get you out to sober up a bit.” You said with an incredible calm but he refused to follow you “Of course I’m drunk. What else can I be? You left me. My job fucked me up. And I’m working with selfish assholes who clearly don’t care about that and want me to continue this fucking job till the day I die. So yeah, what else can I be if not drunk?”

“Gosh, if only I had known back then what the consequences of my actions would be, I would have never said those things or behaved like this. But regrets don’t matter. They don’t matter because it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn’t have done that, I know that there’s no turning back. I know that you will never come back. And I don’t blame you. I can’t blame you because the only person to blame here is me. And I don’t expect your forgiveness either. I know I don’t deserve it and how could you forgive me when even I can’t forgive myself? No, I expect nothing for you.”

3 weeks ago – In a bar somewhere in New York

He didn’t know her name and he was quite sure he hadn’t even asked before locking himself with her in the toilet. And truth to be told, he couldn’t care less. He didn’t need to know her name to take his pants down and he didn’t even need to hear a single word coming from a pretty mouth either. Actually, all he wanted that mouth of hers to do was to keep sucking him off right now. Yes, that’s all he wanted. Hand in her black hair, his head against the dirty wall, he was feeling dizzy with pleasure … and alcohol, especially alcohol. A routine he had grown even fonder of since he had been furloughed. “Yeah, right, suck that cock, you dirty slut.” How many glasses had he had since he entered that bar? Six? Eight? Meh, better not thinking about it right now. “That’s it.”

His cell phone suddenly vibrated on the floor, the blue light of the screen catching his weak attention. He managed to read “Hunnigan” and sighed. “What the hell does she want?” He mumbled, annoyed. “What did you say?” The girl asked but he chose not to answer and instead shove his cock back in her mouth. But the phone kept on buzzing on the grimy tiles and Leon couldn’t take his mind or his eyes off it, his professionalism getting the better of his drunken self. “Fuck” He cursed as he bent to grab the device, pushing the girl away from him, making her lose her balance and fall on her rear.     “Better be important, Hunnigan.” He immediately said, annoyance tinting his drunken voice.         “Leon.” Her voice was strangled and trembling. It didn’t take a genius to get she had been crying. And Leon knew that if Hunnigan was crying then something terrible had certainly happened. “Give me a second, Hunnigan.”

He quickly pulled his jeans back up and pushed the door of the toilet, leaving his brief conquest high and dry on the floor. “Where are you going?” She squealed but he didn’t listen. He got out of the bar to find a quiet place, phone still against his ear, listening to his partner sniff on the other side of the line. “Alright. What’s going on? Do you need anything?” He was worried. Maybe something had happened to her. “No” She said, her voice shuddering even more than before. “Where are you? Are you alone?” She asked.   “Yeah. I’m outside a bar, in New York. Why?” He dared ask, impatient yet apprehensive to know what was actually going on. “Sit” He frowned and froze. That didn’t sound good. Nothing is ever good when someone tells you to sit down. “Hunnigan.” “ Y/N is dead.”

It was as if someone heavy and massive had instantly dropped on him, as if something had punched his stomach and crushed his chest in a single move, preventing him from breathing, preventing his heart from beating, preventing all his members from moving.               That was not possible. This couldn’t be happening. This was a dream, a nightmare or a perhaps hallucination cast by alcohol. But as soon as Leon heard Hunnigan saying his name again, he knew this was too real for this to be the mere fruit of  his imagination or his subconscious.         “How?” It was the only word that he managed to say, feeling too numb to make a complete sentence right now. “Leon that wasn’t your fault.” “How?” He insisted. He wanted to know. He needed to know. He needed to know why you would never come back to him, why he would never see you again, kiss you again. But foremost, he needed to know who was the son of a bitch responsible for it.   “ In a mission in Spain.”

His phone immediately fell to the humid ground, breaking in a thousand pieces just like Leon’s whole body. His knees bent under the sudden weight of pain, anger and guilt and soon he collapsed to the sidewalk, completely appalled, tears flooding his blue eyes.  

He had done this. It was his fault. All his fault.          

Disoriented and panting, he started looking all around him for something, anything that could help him get out of this hell. But there was nothing and he was alone. He would forever be alone now.          

He had killed you. You were dead because of him.    

Leon screamed, face reddened by rage, angry tears flowing down his face. His fists hit the ground repeatedly, hard, so hard, his knuckles started bleeding. But he didn’t care. He didn’t even see it. He couldn’t feel that pain either. The only pain he could feel right now was the one from his heart being torn out from his chest, a pain that would ultimately leave an emptiness he would never be able to fill ever again. But he wanted to feel pain. He wanted to feel that precise pain, finding it a fitting punishment for everything he had done that had lead to this moment, that had led to your death.

Was it God punishing him? Was his mother right all along? Was He making him pay for what the pain he had brought you, for all the mistakes he had done, for choosing to worship a fucking bottle of whisky instead of Him? Was it his plan all along?

“IS THAT WHAT YOU FUCKING WANTED?” Leon shouted on his knees, looking at the menacing stormy sky.

He bent over the sidewalk, head in his arms, sobbing and sniffing loudly, moaning your name, begging you to come back. “Please don’t leave me here.” But just like God, when Leon was a little boy praying with his mother at the Sunday mass, you didn’t answer. “I’m sorry.”             He had never wanted this to happen to you. He had never wanted your life to end like this. All he had ever wanted for you was your happiness even if it meant a long and beautiful life without him. Because if a bottle of whisky smashed against the wall had made him realise one thing is that you deserved to find the person that could love you better than him, a person to worship you just as his mother worshipped God and he worshipped his liquor. Because you were the only thing worth worshipping in this goddamn world, the only thing he would gladly believe in. Because, if religion was meant to bring comfort, if God was truly there to watch over him, judge him and punish him as his mother had told him then you were his God all along.       After all, who if not you brought him the comfort when he needed it? Who if not you watched over him when he was in a very bad way? Who if not you judged him when he needed to be judged and no one dared to do it? Who if not you can make him fall on his knees like a pilgrim and wish for a paradise just to have the hope he would one day see you again?          

He stayed on that sidewalk for at least an hour on that night, still and quiet, completely empty, feeling the rain pour on him, until two policemen sent by Hunnigan went to look for him. “Are you okay, sir?” No, no he was not. And he wasn’t even sure he would be okay ever again. But he eventually got better.

“ I haven’t had a single drink in three weeks. Hunnigan says that I should feel proud but I don’t. Because look what I needed to quit.”

Leon looked at the flowered marble tomb at his feet, staring at your name with an intense sadness and melancholy he would never be able to get rid of. He had taken him a while to come here, refusing to step a foot in this cemetery even for you funeral because that would be admitting your death and he couldn’t do that. But that he was here, he couldn’t help but acknowledge how cathartic talking to you was.

“ I’m leaving for Spain tomorrow. President’s order. I guess that despite being a complete asshole he is not very resentful. I have no idea what’s expecting me there but I promise you, I’ll find whoever is responsible your death and I’ll make them pay. They will learn they shouldn’t have done that.”

[mamichigo]

Title: picture frame

Pairing: Dazai/Atsushi

Rating: G

Word count: 1,7k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic, Established Relationship, Writer Dazai, Photographer Atsushi

Summary: "Your tired smiles, your warm eyes. I collect all the important parts of you, protected by picture frames."

Notes: This is my gift for @katsuriya! (Katsu ily). Written for @dazatsu-exchange.

*

"Can't you guys just do whatever you want? It's not like I would know anything about organizing events like this. Yeah, I know I signed up for it but— Kunikida-kun, this is torture! You're bullying your author! I'm gonna die of a heart attack… Yes, yes, I'll do it, geez."

Dazai had been on the phone with his editor for the better part of the last two hours. Atsushi watched him pace around the low table of the living room. If it were possible, he would've digged holes with the force of his footsteps alone. After that last sentence, Dazai cycled through a series of empty "uh huh", "yes", "alright", until he finally put the phone down with a sigh.

"Atsushi-kun…" Dazai whined. He slumped, then crouched, then finally lied down with his face to the floor. "This is unbearable."

"Is Kunikida-san being strict as usual?"

"As usual? It's much worse than that!" Dazai slapped the floor weakly. "Just because it's almost New Year, it shouldn't affect my schedule. But I have the deal with the manga department now, and I'm technically the co-author, plus they can't get anything through without my approval. I've been pulled into their holiday season events, it's awful."

Atsushi, feeling sympathy for the clearly overworked author, padded his way and joined Dazai on the floor. He sat down on his knees and patted Dazai's head gently.

"Thank you for your hard work."

Dazai gurgled some sound that Atsushi couldn't decipher the meaning of, and made no further attempt to communicate. Atsushi continued to play with Dazai's hair until he had wallowed long enough to feel ready to roll over and look up at Atsushi. There were clear dark circles under his eyes.

"This is what happens when you actually do your work," Dazai whispered mutinously.

Atsushi laughed and threatened to let his editor know he said that. Dazai, betrayed, pinched Atsushi's thigh. Because Atsushi was a good person and he loved his partner very much, he ignored the sting and leaned down to kiss Dazai's cheek.

"Would you let me do a photoshoot with you?" Atsushi asked.

Dazai lolled his head to nuzzle against Atsushi's knee. He looked up at Atsushi questioningly. "Right now?"

"Only if you want to," Atsushi reassured. "Nothing fancy, you don't even need to change clothes. I think it'd be a nice distraction."

Dazai hummed; Atsushi felt the vibrations up his leg. He squirmed a little.

"If it is your desire, then it is also mine, there's no request I would refuse except for those that cause you harm," Dazai said in a low voice. It sounded like a quote, maybe from something he was working with. Though, it could just as easily be something he came up with on the spot. It was hard to tell, with Dazai.

"You're really too much," Atsushi admonished.

Dazai laughed, tired but carefree. "If you insist, then, in normal terms that's a yes."

"Let me get my camera."

Atsushi got up to do that and changed the lens to one of his best ones. Besides that, Atsushi didn't bother with any other equipment, though the lights and reflectors that seemed to be in Dazai's place more than his own were readily available. These pictures were just for himself, so he would work with whatever lighting there was.

(There was a special allure to Dazai that couldn't be captured quite right in artificial light.)

Dazai was still in the same spot when Atsushi came back, drawing invisible patterns with his index finger and whispering to himself.

Atsushi waited until he stopped to ask, "New idea?"

"A flash of inspiration that might save me from my writer's block in the future."

"That's some powerful inspiration."

Dazai raised his hand to Atsushi, who helped him up by the arm. Dazai rose in a smooth arc, directly into Atsushi's embrace. Atsushi poked him the ribs and pushed him away.

"I can't take your picture with you clinging to me like that."

"Ah, love is such a fickle and cruel thing," Dazai said. Despite his words, he stole a kiss as soon as Atsushi's attention flickered to his camera. "What do you have in mind this time?"

"Something for the New Years sounds fitting."

Atsushi explained what he had imagined, and Dazai, knowing the layout of his own house much better than Atsushi, suggested the locations that would be most fitting for the setting. It was a good thing that Dazai already wore a kimono as his default outfit, with the addition of his most comfortable haori and a fortune charm that he held in his calloused right hand, it made for enough of a nice image to go with the theme. Atsushi held back from saying anything when Dazai held the charm to his lips in an almost kiss, his eyelashes lowered delicately.

Not for the first time, Atsushi was impressed by the sheer size of Dazai's house. Every time they did one of these photoshoots, Atsushi felt the house became warmer; all the corners that were too empty, too sparse were filled with movement. The ghosts lingered less like this.

For the final picture, Atsushi directed Dazai back to the low table. Thankfully, the sliding door facing the garden let in enough light to capture Dazai in the gray hues of winter with his face half illuminated by it. It made for a pretty picture, even if Dazai ruined the atmosphere by biting into a mandarin like he would an apple. Atsushi's eyebrow twitched.

"Atsushi-kun, this isn't even an actual kotatsu," Dazai complained as he flopped down while Atsushi checked the last series of pictures. "This entire photoshoot is a sham."

Atsushi paused to raise his eyebrows at Dazai. He looked pointedly at the low table. "So now you admit it's not a kotatsu?"

"Well, it has the table and the warm blanket over it. It's close enough, right?" Dazai patted the tabletop. "This does the job nicely. Why would I buy a new one just for the heater?"

"You could just buy a heater by itself."

"Irrelevant."

"You're just a cheapskate."

Dazai snorted inelegantly. In this position, lying as he was, his hair fell over his eyes, half obscuring them. Both his arms were held above his head, and the sleeves of his kimono slid down to reveal rolls of bandages; the dip went low enough that Atsushi wondered if he would see a grimplss of naked skin, if he tilted his head just right. As if catching on to his thoughts, Dazai watched him like a hawk, his eyes half-lidded. There was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Atsushi made a gesture for Dazai not to move, and raised his camera to capture that expression. As he stared at the resulting picture, Atsushi thought that, out of all the other pictures, this was the one he specially wouldn't show to anyone.

"Atsushi-kun, you're getting some sort of impure thought, aren't you?" Dazai teased.

Atsushi coughed lightly. "I'm not."

"You always get this guilty look when you do it, just so you know," he helpfully informed.

Atsushi quickly turned his head. "It's just your impression."

Dazai wormed his way to Atsushi, shuffling about on his elbows. Atsushi finally relaxed from the awkward pose he had forced his legs into to get the frame he'd wished for. As soon as Atsushi let go of the camera, Dazai reached for his hand.

"Hm." Dazai poked each of Atsushi's fingers with his own. "Did that make you feel better?"

Arsushi blinked in confusion. "I'm the one who should be asking you that."

"You really shouldn't!"

"I thought you were doing this to help you forget all the publishing stress?"

Dazai gave him an indulgent smile. He let go of Atsushi's hand to reach for his camera, hanging from Atsushi's neck. Atsushi, even though still confused, lowered his head so Dazai could remove the camera. He set it aside a safe distance away from them, and pulled Atsushi down so they were in pile on the floor. Dazai wrapped an arm around Atsushi's waist.

"You get so focused on others you don't even notice your own stress, do you? It's not the worst coping mechanism, but it does make you quite oblivious your own feelings." Dazai let his words sink in before adding, "It's okay if you're not doing your best."

Atsushi inhaled carefully. Dazai's orange-like scent clung to his lungs. He relaxed onto Dazai's body.

"I dislike winter," Atsushi confessed. "It makes me think of being cold and hungry. I… I feel a lot better when I don't have to think about it."

Dazai tightened his grip. "Alright. Then I'm glad to be a distraction." He paused. "Ohhh, maybe I should start writing poems. My specialty is prose first and foremost, but I'm sure I could pull it off. I'd give you a bunch of lovesick poems, and then you'd be too preoccupied being completely, utterly in love with me."

"I'm already completely, utterly in love with you, Dazai-san."

"Then completely, utterly, ultra in love with me."

"I'm pretty sure you just want an excuse to procrastinate your new manuscript."

Arsushi couldn't see it, but he just knew Dazai was grinning. "Just a little bit. Ah, but I'm serious. You always look at peace when you take pictures of me—does wonder for my ego, by the way—, so I'm glad to be your model when you need it."

"That's because…" Atsushi took a moment to compose his words in a way that would make sense. "Usually you take pictures to feel nostalgic about the past, knowing that moment will never come back. When I take your picture, it's more like proof."

"Proof of what?"

"That I still love you, just like I loved you then. Just like I'll love you tomorrow. I think the stability of it gives me comfort when everything else is hectic."

Silence.

"Dazai-san?"

Atsushi pushed himself to his elbows. Dazai was quietly glaring at him, his face pink. Atsushi was stunned. He tried to reach for his camera, but Dazai gripped both his wrists.

"I can't handle you sometimes," Dazai managed to croak out. "I'm going to make a character who is pretty much you, and pair him with a self-insert, then have a tragic, dramatic love story for them. Don't test me."

Atsushi giggled. "Don't threaten me just because you're shy!"

"Atsushi-kun, I don't have a single shy bone in my body, take that back!"

Atsushi just watched with fondness as Dazai went on a tirade on all the ridiculous antics he would put his characters through. Atsushi chose not to let him know his heartbeat was frantic in his chest.

I love you, it wanted to say. I love you and you're wonderful.

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Lunar New Year Gift for vedrividia!

Pairing: Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji; past Wei Wuxian/Other (implied) Rating: Mature Warnings: brief depiction of sexual harassment, brief instance of misgendering, implied/referenced past suicide attempt, implied/referenced past sexual assault (off-screen), implied/referenced past forced pregnancy (off screen), implied/referenced underage sex & pregnancy (off-screen), alcoholism, coming out, implied/referenced homophobia Other Tags: trans male character, disabled character, gay male character, open ending, unreliable narrator, angst, tender, chance meeting, confession, reunion, character with incomplete spinal cord injury, iSCI, it probably sounds darker than it is

Summary: On the last eve before spring Wei Ying finds himself at the end of a road. What awaits him on the other side depends on the steps he takes to cross it. Someone walks beside him.

Disclaimer: I am neither Chinese, trans nor disabled. All of the portrayal in this fic is based on research. It's not my intent to offend and I'm open to critique as long as it's respectful and constructive. Wei Ying's journey is his own and does not represent all of the disabled or trans community. The fic is set in a world that closely resembles ours, but where corona never happened and maybe China's laws are just a little less restrictive (but still very phobic), so bear that in mind. I do not own any of the characters.

Notes - Beginning: The idea of trans male Wei Ying had been stuck in my head for a while now, and I've been wanting to try my hand at a trans story, because I've never done that before. This assignment was an opening to do that in a darker, more serious setting. I have also wanted to explore Wei Ying's suicidal issues while translating his story into a modern setting for some time (it was supposed to be a coffee shop AU, only the coffee shop never appeared hah). It was simultaneously hard and fun to write, and I'm grateful for it. @vedrividia​, I hope you like it!

In the past I didn't feel like I could do a good job at representing anyone of an identity I couldn't quite empathize with. Since then I've surrounded myself with trans inclusive media, and followed transgender blogs and channels, and I hope that this fic does right by all of them.

I am aware of some of the potentially problematic topics, but I also didn't want to ignore all the challenges and abuse and trauma that trans folk are forced to endure on a daily basis. (Did you know that trans people have some of the highest suicide rates, and likely to have alcohol issues? Making everyone happy and nothing hurt felt all kinds of wrong knowing that.) I believe that representing both - an ideal world alongside the real and flawed one - is important.

Positive stories are also important - this is one. Or at least I hope I was able to make it one.

On a more cheerful note, there are pictures that served as an inspiration for this story, namely this photoset (especially the pic in the leather jacket, the one on the couch and the close up) done in faceapp by a genius, this brain-frying picture, and of course this picture from the Harper's Bazaar Photoshoot that none of us are over. I completely blame Xiao Zhan's androgyny.

Last but not least, I owe a massive thanks to Laura for the amazing beta they did on a rather short notice and brought this fic to another level. Thank you for your hard work!!! :)

End notes: Wei Ying has an incomplete spinal cord injury in the lumbar area (at L1 or L2). I didn't realize that I played myself when I gave him an incomplete injury, because the lack of references and information is in terms of quantity a total opposite to everything available on complete SCI. Which in turn made the telling of such a story feel even more important. If any of you know of a good resource for the daily life of people with iSCI, I'm all ears.

Even researching the walking aides was a challenge, since most information is on wheelchair dependent people, which Wei Ying is not. He has a wheelchair but he refuses to use it, for several reasons, one of them being image, another being worry of atrophy. He likes a good walk, and there's progress thanks to physical therapy, most of which is covered by insurance. I was debating an exoskeleton/brace for him, but from what I gathered they aren't really useful for SCI (I welcome any additional info about this), and those that would be cost a ton and aren't covered by insurance - which is a big factor for Wei Ying. The toss ended up being between forearm crutches and a walking frame, but in the end I decided on crutches, because it seemed like Wei Ying would prefer them? For now? With crutches he can pretend, and I also didn't know to what extent a walking frame would be insurance covered (in China), and whether he'd be at a point where he would accept one. (I imagine the simple ones would be covered by insurance, the question is whether they make a huge difference to crutches, and whether a rollator - with wheels and a seat is something that would count as 'necessary' in this case.)

However, once again, I am not adequately educated on all that goes into the decision making here. No one ever mentions things like these in success stories. In the end I left it as a room for future development. I'm pretty sure Wen Qing is trying to convince him to get one.

I was debating whether to tag dysphoria. While it is not explicitly stated in the fic, Wei Ying does experience it, although this has gotten better since he realized being trans, came out and started testosterone. His decision to not transition fully is one that many trans people make at a point in their lives, for any number of reasons. This does not mean he'll never change his mind, or won't explore other forms of expression. It's a choice that the current Wei Ying is making, completely independent of future Wei Ying.

It's possible in China to get a gender confirmation surgery, but the requirements sound like a nightmare. The first thing you have to do is get diagnosed with 'gender disorder', be five years in (unsuccessful) therapy for it, at least 20 and unmarried. If he decides to transition fully to a male presenting body he can only marry someone who is biologically female in the future, under Chinese law. (Imagine having to divorce your significant other in order to be who you are. Imagine having to make this decision. It makes me want to write fic about it.)

It also costs a ton, as none of it is covered by insurance. You can only start hormone therapy in order to get surgery, which leads a lot of trans people to acquire hormones illegally and without medical counseling. I purposefully did not decide where Wei Ying gets his T from. I didn't want him to not have it, but I left the how undecided. For the most part I headcanon it as one of the things that make my world a little different, since hormone therapy is a thing that exists outside of transitioning as well. E.g. many female athletes use testosterone to boost their performance, and many other women take it for various medical reasons. I feel like WWX could find ways to acquire some. Now, whether this would be legal or not is left open.

By the way? Never, EVER deadname. Just don't. The moment someone comes out to you as trans, tells you their pronouns and name, that's what you use. You forget everything that came prior to that, wipe it out of your memory, it's ashes on the sands of time unless stated otherwise BY THEM, got it?

Now, Wei Ying's case. I was hesitant about how to approach this, but from the start I knew two things. I wanted the same kind of intimacy of WWX & LWJ calling each other by their birth names as in canon, but I also didn't want to go the way most authors go in this case i.e. splitting the names to pre- and post- transition. It is my understanding that most Chinese names are unisex (if anyone has more info on this, I'd love to have it), or can be used for all genders, and I didn't want to force a gender issue where there wasn't one. However, I also wanted something parallel that could be used in a similar way. What I came up with is what you see in text. While Wei Ying did change his name, the only reason why it's still somewhat okay to use 'Wuxian' is because he explicitly says he likes it. In fact, in my head somewhere in the imagined future of this verse, he and JFM have a conversation about it where JFM tells him if he wants it, it can still be his name - he didn't give it to an image, but a person. IDK how well any of this works, or translates to actual trans or Chinese (or trans and Chinese) people, so if you have words for me, let me know.

On a side note, in 2015 China lifted the one-child policy in favor of a two-child policy. A-Yuan was born in 2017.

Wei Ying attempted suicide between the 4th and 8th week of his pregnancy. During the early weeks the probability of a fetus surviving a major fall (even a fall from stairs) is significantly higher than later in the pregnancy, and the scaffolding he jumped from wasn't actually that high. I'm also considering that there might have been something to cushion the fall that he hadn't noticed (a stray rope, or a net) or been aware of (like padding on the stage), but that's a detail I decided to leave to your imagination. On the other hand, sustaining a SCI during early pregnancy is likely to have fatal consequences, as I found out a week before the deadline. In the end, they both got very lucky. Wei Ying spent the next 3 months in a coma. When he woke up it was too late to terminate. Jiang Fengmian had been adamant that the decision not be made without Wei Ying's consent, which was nice of him, but also ended up making the decision for Wei Ying regardless.

Last but not least, if you've read this and feel like you have something to add, I love any kind of comments, whether you wanna review the fic, have some useful information for me, would like to discuss a point or just like to say hi! :)

*****

Transverse

If asked, Wei Ying wouldn't have remembered how he had gotten to the bar. He didn't remember taking a different route on the short walk back home, he hadn't even been aware there was a bar in the first place. He only remembered suddenly standing in front of it, aching to his bones, limbs leaden with a familiar exhaustion, morose and longing for nothing more than a little break. His back was on fire, his leg was throbbing, the skin underneath his binder wouldn’t stop itching and to top it off his stomach had been cramping in a way it wasn't supposed to anymore. His body had decided to give him a wonderful gift for the holiday. Wei Ying wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy, and that spoke volumes to anyone who knew who occupied that position.

Needless to say, he was desperate for a drink.

The bar was almost empty so early in the afternoon, and shortly before the holiday, all the regulars had likely gone home to see their families. It was the time of reunions, the golden week of spring knocking on the door. The whole town looked empty, seemingly asleep and abuzz at the same time, a strange kind of liminal space born in the atmosphere of the coming celebrations, quiet with contained impatience. He had been painfully aware of it the entire week, the turning of another year leaving him nothing to do but watch people go where Wei Ying couldn't return anymore.

The Lunar New Year always made him hurt worse than usual, in more ways than purely physical. Wei Ying had felt that strange air peak today, even in the confines of his tiny office at the back of the Pacific Coffee branch he had been working at for a little over two months. It was a tiny thing on the busiest street of their small town, smelling of comfort in the wee hours of the morning and of salvation late in the evening. The staff had needed support with handling the supply chain, so that they could focus on serving the staggering amount of customers that came in all day.

It had seemed perfect when Wei Ying had first limped inside on his forearm crutches, with a letter of recommendation, feeling smaller than an ant but significantly less tough. The reintegration program had been a lifeline thrown to a drowning man when he had first heard about it. It had been the opportunity to restart his life. Earn an income. Be independent. In time maybe even repay his friends for the kindness they had shown when he had nowhere to go. Now? Now he wasn't sure that he'd still have a job after the holiday was over.

"This really can't go on," his boss had said, midway through the most gruesome shift the shop had ever witnessed. "Half the supplies came in wrong, for the third time this week!"

Sometimes, Wei Ying wondered why he still bothered. He could probably survive on aid and love for himself, and the Wens made enough to take care of the rest. It just… It could have been nice. To be the one to take care of the people he cared about, for a change.

He really needed that drink.

The whiskey looked enticing from where he was half-sitting, half-leaning on a stool, crutches stashed between his legs. He could almost taste it, the phantom of the sharp flavor burning his tongue.

"Hi, darling." An unfamiliar voice startled him out of his thoughts, causing him to tense. He had been aware of the middle-aged man at the counter, but he hadn't been paying him much attention until now. "Can I buy you a drink? How about Sex on the Beach?"

It was difficult to control himself at that tasteless, juvenile joke. Wei Ying could almost taste the bile rising in his throat and the beginnings of what would no doubt become a pounding headache throbbing in his temples. Great. Just what he had needed.

The whiskey bottle called out to him again, beckoning him to the bitter burn.

A drink. That was what he needed - a drink.

Do you really? Need it? The voice of his therapist came to his mind, sudden and uninvited.

"Hey bartender!" The man called out in the most unwelcome case of accidental telepathy in the history of mankind, sneaking one arm around Wei Ying’s waist, a sweaty hand settling on his hip. "One Sex on the Beach for the miss, on my tab!"

There was the rising bile again, tension squeezing his muscles, and the flash of a haughty smirk at the furthest back of his mind. This wasn't what he wanted. None of it. Neither the touch nor the drink, no matter what his mind wanted to convince him of.

It's easier to need than the things that take hard work, the ones you have to earn. It had taken him a long time to admit that.

"I don't drink." Wei Ying said, angling his head as much as the muscles of his neck permitted to look at the guy invading his personal space squarely. "Remove your hand now."

The guy bristled.

"Hey, chill out, sweetheart." He was quick to regain his composure with an awkward laugh and not enough common sense. Wei Ying supposed he must have been used to rejection. Too bad. "You're so tense… Maybe a virgin cocktail then."

His crutch shot up before the full sentence was out.

The man stumbled back with a startled yelp as the rubber point connected with his chest in a sharp jab.

"Hey! What's your problem?!"

"I said I don't drink." Wei Ying was completely unapologetic, still holding his crutch like a sword, but the guy was already walking away, muttering ‘fucking bitch’ under his breath.

"You alright there, girl?"

His gut clenched at the words.

He looked up to meet the only slightly worried, but otherwise unbothered gaze of the bartender and told himself it wasn't her fault. She probably wasn't even aware. He knew he didn't… There was no way for him to pass. There was nothing he could do about that, had already decided not to, not at this time, not in this country. Wei Ying didn't expect people to know on sight. He didn't. It didn't change the fact though that every single misnomer felt like someone was peeling his skin off.

"I'm not a girl," he said to her almost too quietly, but he knew she heard when he met her gaze. A strained silence passed between them in which Wei Ying watched her frown in confusion, then sputter with the loss of words, before awkwardly shuffling off. He smiled wryly. How funny. It really wasn't anything complicated, and yet… So few were able to comprehend.

Wordlessly, Wei Ying slid off the stool and made his way out of the bar as quick as his crutches let him be.

Once outside, the crisp air mercilessly purifying, he realized how close to the edge he had gotten once again. He had to stop doing this. He couldn't afford another fall, another spiral back down the drain. Not when he had just clawed his way out. Not when he had people depending on him now. Tiny people with curious gray eyes, so much like his own. Waiting for him at home.

Something icy touched his face and instinctively he looked up only to find it snowing.

That explained the ache.

The cold always made him feel sore, although he knew at least some of it was phantom pain. He hadn’t retained a whole lot of feeling in his left leg, beyond a tingle that had become almost constant and the occasional twitch. His right leg was fine, it just tended to ache a lot, to a point where Wei Ying sometimes found himself wishing it wasn't better off than the other one. But then he wouldn't get away with 'forgetting' his wheelchair at home, so he quickly dismissed that thought. Besides, there were plenty of people who had it worse. He, at least, could still walk. He could still stand. Kinda. He had no room to complain.

After all, he had done this to himself.

'It's better this way.' He remembered thinking, standing on the top of the catwalk stairs backstage of the high school auditorium. 'A-jie, Jiang Cheng,… Lan Zhan. I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I love you. I'll get out of your hair now.'

In the end it had been easy to tip backwards and let himself fall.

Waking up had been the hard part. Not only had he failed, but every reason that had pushed him to end it all had only been made worse. Worse still, after. He had lived though, so that was that. There was no utility in regret. He couldn't go back. The only way was forward now, step by painful step. Standing around and staring at the snow falling was nice, but it wouldn't make the walk shorter. Home wasn't far away. He'd take it slow. He'd be there before he knew it.

He barely took three steps before he felt someone's broad shoulder bump against his, his equilibrium yanked roughly from under his feet.

He remembered falling.

Not the act of it, nor every thought and feeling that preceded it, but he remembered the soft pressure at his skull as he tipped backwards, the endless instant of the free fall, a moment frozen in time. Not the impact, but the inevitability of it, coming, coming, almost there. The loss of control. The frightening, exhilarating realization of his absolute surrender. Not the oblivion that followed but the fragments of muddled awareness afterwards. Disorientation, rock bottom and the overwhelming sense of failure.

It had felt nothing like now.

He felt the loss of ground beneath his feet, the scrape of concrete against his palms, as he all but starfished onto the pavement. A sharp pain. The frustrated annoyance of another thing gone wrong in the long list that made up the day.

Only the failure felt the same, funny that.

"I'm sorry!" Said a deep voice. "I wasn't looking."

"Yeah, no shit." He chuckled, because really, who could have guessed.

"Here, let me help." There were hands on his arm, just as he propped himself up, but he yanked it away.

"I'm fine!" He wasn't helpless. He wasn't, dammit! He had his arms, his abdominals, and most of his legs. Getting up from the ground wasn't such a herculean task for him as for those who depended on a wheelchair. He didn't have to call an ambulance just because he starfished. He didn't need any help at all here, especially not the help of some ditzy stranger with their head in the clouds…

"Wei Ying?"

Wei Ying froze.

Few people on this Earth called him that, and none of them had a voice like that. He looked up to see glowing amber on a face carved out of a dream.

"Lan Zhan?"

Of all the people to be in town today of all days, the least likely would have to be Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, his former senior, Lan Zhan, his best friend. Lan Zhan, whom he had told his secrets, Lan Zhan, who he… who he…

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan… Can I kiss you? I understand you don't like me that way, and it's fine, I'm fine, really, but… uhm… It's supposed to be special. The first kiss. I… I want it to be yours. Just one kiss." A child he barely remembered had wanted and wanted, never satisfied. "Ah, it's okay if you don't want to. I get it. It's fine. I'm just being selfish."

But that had been a long time ago. A person he didn't know, a past life that had never truly been. Not for him in any case.

Lan Zhan was looking at him like a ghost had appeared in front of him.

Although, ghosts didn't need crutches. Honestly, Wei Ying did wish he could float quite frequently.

Face twisted in sardonic amusement at that childish wish, he pulled himself up with some maneuvering and a lot of effort. This seemed to wake Lan Zhan from his daze as he quickly followed. Wei Ying didn't miss the sweeping gaze as his once friend took him in, wondering what he saw. A stranger, perhaps? A new person? Him? Wei Ying knew he hadn't changed much on the outside, aside the obvious and maybe in his weight distribution, but Lan Zhan had always had the ability to look past the surface. Was he still able to do that? Or was he just taking in his appearance, assessing his matted, worn out body that seemed to show every year that had passed multiplied by ten? Wei Ying was aware that time had not been the kindest to him, but he was hanging on. He was past the worst now. He was doing better. He was!

He wondered if Lan Zhan still could see that too.

"Wei Ying." His name again, spoken with enough wonder to give Wei Ying the courage to meet his gaze. There was an unspoken question in it.

"Yeah," Wei Ying answered and felt the cusp of a smile pull at the corners of his lips. "Long time no see, Lan Zhan. Fancy meeting you here."

"I really like you, Lan Zhan," the person he didn't know had said, red faced with embarrassment and a shaking voice. "I mean like… like like."

Back then he had believed that moment to be the most nerve-wracking experience he was ever going to survive. Today he missed his naivety.

Lan Zhan gave him a look like he just realized it was really Wei Ying standing in front of him. Like he still could barely believe it. It unraveled a completely different ache in Wei Ying. They had been close once, and though they had always shared their secrets, Wei Ying had seen him so open and unguarded but once.

"I...like...boys," had been the answer. The refusal so, so gentle, unable to accept, thus giving something of equal value in return instead. A truth for a truth, a secret for a secret. "Wei Ying, I'm gay."

Lan Zhan, always figuring things out so quickly, always willing to accept reality no matter how hard it was. Wei Ying hadn't known back then. If he had known… Who knew what would have been then. It didn't matter anymore. It was a life long gone. What remained of it were a few good memories, some of them he wasn't sure were real.

Now, chance had made them cross paths once again, at a liminal space transversing through time.

"Are you hurt?" Lan Zhan's voice brought him back from his thoughts, and Wei Ying looked where he was reaching for his scraped hands and knees.

Lan Zhan, always the same Lan Zhan… "Not selfish."

So wonderful and kind and warm.

"Eh, I'm fine. Nothing Wen Qing can't fix." He brushed his former friend off, noticing how Lan Zhan's eyebrow seemed to go up infinitesimally at the mention of his old classmate and promptly changed the subject. "What brings you to Yiling, Lan Zhan? Shouldn't you be with your family for Chun Jie?"

"I…" Lan Zhan looked away. "Didn't get an earlier flight."

That sounded suspicious, especially since the Lan Zhan Wei Ying knew liked to plan ahead. But Wei Ying wasn't the same he had been, maybe Lan Zhan wasn't either. People were allowed to change. It also didn't answer what he was doing in Yiling in the first place, but Wei Ying wasn't forcing him to tell. Wei Ying had never wanted to force Lan Zhan into anything, he wasn't going to start now.

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan looked at him again, this time meeting his eyes squarely. He paused. "How have you been?"

Wei Ying felt the loom of a shadow over him, and his gaze dropped to the ground for a second.

"As you can see." He put a reassuring smile on his face as he summoned enough will to hold Lan Zhan's gaze. "Still alive and kicking."

Which was probably much more than the last time Lan Zhan had heard of him.

"I was looking for you. I wanted to see you. After." The what remained unspoken. Lan Zhan's kind heart hadn't changed. Wei Ying sought comfort in it, warmed by the thought of his best friend trying to get in touch even after everything went to hell. "I was told you… left."

Wei Ying made a soft sound of affirmation through the small smile that had spread on his face. "I moved out on my eighteenth birthday. Aunt Yu… I was supposed to stay till graduation, but... ah. I fucked up. Colossally."

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan remained the only person Wei Ying knew who managed to frown without a single crease on his face. "You were recovering."

"It was fine, Lan Zhan." Wei Ying chuckled even as he held back a sigh. Lan Zhan didn't know half of it. "I moved in with the Wens."

There was a pause.

"With Wen Qing?" Lan Zhan asked and Wei Ying realized that small detail wouldn't have been immediately clear to him, all things considered.

"With Wen Qing and her family." He nodded. After a moment of thought he added. "Not Wen Chao. I know nothing about that douchebag."

"Mn," Lan Zhan agreed and it sounded so wholehearted that it startled a laugh out of Wei Ying.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying said, feeling truly light for the first time in a long time. The smile he gave Lan Zhan felt warm and genuine. He hoped Lan Zhan saw it too, and didn't think Wei Ying was trying to shake him off, when he spoke next. "It's so good to see you. You're the best thing that happened to me today. I would love to catch up, but they're waiting for me at home and I'm already late."

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded. There was a pause. Then, just as Wei Ying was about to ask for his number, "I could. Walk you. If you like."

"I thought you had a flight to catch." Wei Ying wanted to smack his mouth for how hopeful he sounded.

"Mn," Lan Zhan said. "In the evening."

"Lan Zhan!" He startled, amused and surprised at the same time. "And here I thought your bedtime was nine! Don't tell me you crossed to the dark side."

"It is Chuxi." Lan Zhan's voice was soft with a playful note, and Wei Ying felt his heart turn all over again even as he laughed.

"Aiya, Lan Zhan…" A smile spread on his face. "Alright then. I'd love to have your company. If you're sure."

"I am," Lan Zhan answered. "I would… very much like to… catch up with you."

"Well then." Wei Ying's smile broadened and started again in the direction he was heading earlier. "Right this way, sir. But I'm warning you. I'm basically a snail now."

For a beat there was silence, in which Wei Ying figured that Lan Zhan was probably looking for a proper response. He still didn't know how to handle self-deprecating humor, then. Wei Ying chuckled quietly to himself. The more things change…

"That is alright," Lan Zhan finally said. "I have time."

"Oh, do you? That's great!" Wei Ying grinned from ear to ear, marveling at how easy it suddenly was. "Aah, Lan Zhan I really missed this!"

"Mn," Lan Zhan agreed but didn't say anything else.

For a few moments silence reigned again, of a comfortable kind. One that allowed Wei Ying to bask in the startling, almost miraculous presence of his best friend. Or it would have been, had Wei Ying not been keenly aware of Lan Zhan's intense stare.

"Do I really look that bad?" He teased, hoping to give Lan Zhan the opening he probably needed to ask whatever questions he had. "I've actually gained weight over Dongzhi you know."

Lan Zhan blinked, as if startled to be called out. Wasn't he aware that he had been staring? Or had he not expected Wei Ying to say something?

"You look…" he started, then swept his gaze over Wei Ying.

"Tired?" Wei Ying offered, keeping the humor in his words. The last thing he wanted Lan Zhan to think was that he needed to sugar coat his words around him now. "Stressed? Battle worn?"

"Different," Lan Zhan finished.

"Ah." Wei Ying breathed out, something in his chest tightening. "Good different, or bad different?"

Lan Zhan looked at him for a long moment.

"Different you," he finally answered. A pause. "More you."

Wei Ying's breath stuttered, a small questioning sound dragging itself up his throat.

"Wei Ying…" Lan Zhan hesitated for a brief moment, unsure. "May I know your pronouns?"

Always so straight to the point.

"Pro… Pronouns?!" Wei Ying chuckled but even he could hear the nerves buzzing through that sound. "How did you figure that?"

Lan Zhan just kept looking at him. Wei Ying swallowed.

"I…"

He had to know. Since he actually asked, he had to already know. Or at least suspect. Be aware. In general, or about Wei Ying? Had he realized in their years apart, or was there something about Wei Ying now that made him guess? No one has ever been able to tell upon glance. No one.

Something fluttered deep in his chest, like the jingles of a tambourine reverberating. It gave him courage.

Wei Ying took a deep, steadying breath. "He, him, Lan Zhan. It's he, him."

He managed to swallow the thousand words that dragged themselves up his throat instead of that one, simple truth. To his credit, Lan Zhan let him, waiting patiently and with complete silence for Wei Ying to say his part.

"I'm trans," Wei Ying added, finding it easier to say after the initial confession. "As in full time, on actual testosterone, trans male."

Their eyes met. A heartbeat of silence.

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded. "Makes sense."

Wei Ying had not expected that.

In his defense, no one had ever replied like that to him coming out.

"What?" He choked out, bewildered. Lan Zhan was giving him a gentle look, a diametrical opposite of Wei Ying's wide eyes. "Why does that make sense, Lan Zhan?"

"It didn't before." Lan Zhan's gaze dropped. "Now it does."

"What? Why?" Wei Ying repeated, not comprehending a single word his friend had said. At the back of his mind he knew he should be happy and relieved that as dear a friend as Lan Zhan accepted him, and he would be later, but now he was just confused. "Lan Zhan, what are you saying?"

"You confounded me. Before. I didn't understand. It didn't. Add up." He didn't even expect an answer beyond a shrug and an 'It just does', and yet Lan Zhan gave him one, trying to explain like he wanted Wei Ying to understand something important. Important enough to bring it up at their first chance meeting in years. It still didn't clear anything up. The way he was dragging his words out seemed odd too, for how upfront Lan Zhan usually was.

"What didn't add up?" Wei Ying asked again. What about him had confused Lan Zhan?

"I didn't know you were a boy. So it didn't make sense," Lan Zhan answered without looking up and Wei Ying felt dread tighten his stomach into a knot. "But now it does."

"What?" He frowned, the rush of blood pounding in his ears. "Lan Zhan, what are you talking about?"

Lan Zhan finally looked up at him and Wei Ying suddenly felt light headed. The grip on his crutches must have gone knuckle white from how firmly he was gripping the handles. It couldn't be…

"I was confused why I liked you," Lan Zhan whispered, dropping his gaze again. "Why I enjoyed kissing you."

Wei Ying's brain was white static.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, "No!"

His whole body wanted to recoil with shock.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan pleaded but was cut short.

"I confessed to you! I told you I liked you!" He saw the bob of Lan Zhan's throat, how his eyes fell shut as he swallowed. Wei Ying despaired for words that could express the entire scale of emotions he felt, from betrayal to hope, but mostly just... shock. "You said you… You've never… And now, after everything… Do you even… Lan Zhan!!!"

"Wei Ying," he said his name like it was all he was capable of saying, with a hitch of sudden hesitance on the last syllable, a minuscule frown around his eyes, like he realized something important. "Do you still call yourself Wei Ying?"

The quiet question conjured up another memory, of an occasion much kinder.

"It's my birth name," he heard his youthful voice, still too high although most had described it as low. Lan Zhan had raised an eyebrow at him, even more puzzled than before. Wei Ying had laughed as he went to explain. "Same character as in 'infant'. Wuxian is the name uncle Jiang gave me so that I have a better name than, you know, 'baby'. It's a cool name! I mean, 'no envy' come on! Like I have no match in the world! Totally rad, you know, uncle Jiang's naming sense is A+."

"But you prefer Wei Ying." Lan Zhan had looked at him then, searchingly and Wei Ying had looked away with a snort, to hide his swallow.

"It's a terrible name. Who the hell names their baby 'baby'?"

Lan Zhan hadn't replied anything to that, and Wei Ying still remembered his next words, and how they had burned on his tongue, how he couldn't hold them back.

"It's what the people who loved me had called me."

In the present, Wei Ying found himself laughing in spite of the utter shock. Only Lan Zhan. Only Lan Zhan would give him a heart attack first then go make sure he wasn't deadnaming him on top of everything.

"Lan Zhan!!!" He cried out. "That's so not the point right now! But, yes, I do. I changed it back, actually. Officially, I mean."

"You dislike it." It sounded more like a question than a statement, so Wei Ying answered.

"Don't get me wrong, I still think Wuxian is way cooler, and my siblings still call me that, but…" His gaze fell away from Lan Zhan to something more distant, beyond his focus as he struggled over his words, drawing them out only with great difficulty from where they were rooted deep inside of him. "It's the name given to the image of a person that never really existed. Like… the painting of a person you met in a dream. And I sorta… I like to imagine that, regardless of who I am… They would still love me."

They. The people who gave him that horrible, unimaginative name.

"Mn," Lan Zhan agreed like there had never been any doubt about it. Wei Ying snorted.

"Wei Ying," there it was again, his name, spoken so kindly, if not hesitantly as Lan Zhan too seemed to be struggling for words. "I would like to apologize. I hurt you. I have been looking for you to tell you this."

All at once, Wei Ying felt his shock settle into something more profound, like the wave that had swallowed him revealing the depth of the ocean. There was nothing Lan Zhan had to apologize for. Not for the lack of awareness, and certainly not for his feelings. Even their conflicts had always stemmed from a place of deep care.

"No." Wei Ying shook his head. "Not more than I hurt myself, Lan Zhan. Even when you scolded me, you never hurt me."

Had Lan Zhan broken his heart? Yeah, he had. So what? Did that mean he could be held accountable for it? Wei Ying's feelings were his own shit to deal with, not Lan Zhan's. Returning them wasn't Lan Zhan's duty. Even if he returned them, would it be fair to fault him for running away from them? For feeling insecure and anxious about his own attraction? For not knowing these things weren't as clear cut as all the adults around them had wanted to make them believe? It wasn't like Wei Ying had known either back then. He had, perhaps, understood himself even less than Lan Zhan. Most importantly, it was all in the past now. It couldn't be changed. What they made of it now was what mattered.

"None of my bullshit is your fault," he added. "You didn't go and tell me to fuck up my life. That was all on me."

"You wrote," Lan Zhan started, then paused, hesitating, then started again. "In your letter, you wrote…"

Wei Ying picked up on the question immediately.

"Not you," he said, the same words he had penned all those years ago in what was one of only two letters. "Never you. I had my reasons, but none of them were about you. In fact, I thought of you as the last good thing in my life at that point. The one true friend I still had left."

Lan Zhan's gaze fell on his crutches, but he didn't ask. Wei Ying was grateful.

"Come on, I need to get a move on," he said, starting to walk again, smiling at the surprised expression Lan Zhan had given him, when he realized he was still welcome to accompany him. Maybe it was something about that look that made Wei Ying add, after another second of thought, "There are people waiting for my return."

"Mn," Lan Zhan hummed, falling back in step next to him. "That's good. You should have people waiting for you at home."

Wei Ying couldn't help but smile.

"Say, Lan Zhan,…" he said after a few seconds of silence, when all what Lan Zhan has confessed slowly sunk in. "When you say you've been looking for me… You mean all this time?"

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded. Wei Ying watched him gather his thoughts, the snow fluttering all around them. "I wanted to see you. Ask how you were doing. See if… If you needed support. Apologize. For not being a good friend to you before."

"Lan Zhan…" Wei Ying listened to him, and when Lan Zhan finally looked up at him his gaze was so sincere that his heart ached with it.

"I wanted to tell you the truth." Lan Zhan didn't let himself be interrupted. "That I liked you back. Without any expectations. That I didn't understand, but that it didn't matter. That I could like you without understanding why. That I wasn't asking for anything, just wanted you to know. That I wanted to help, in any way you'd let me."

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan…" Wei Ying sighed, vision suddenly blurred. He drew a deep breath. "But I wasn't there."

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded. "I asked your sister where I could find you…"

"But she didn't know," Wei Ying finished for him. No one knew, except one person. "And Jiang Cheng wouldn't give you my address if you held him at gunpoint."

"Your brother knows you're here." It had the structure of a question but it was spoken as a statement, the same kind of incredulous as the look Lan Zhan was giving him. All things considered, it was kinda fair, Wei Wuxian thought as he barked a laugh.

"Yeah," he said, shoulders shaking a little as he snickered. "He's the designated secret keeper."

Lan Zhan just stared, wordlessly.

Wei Ying's smile gained an edge at the unspoken question. He had to clear his throat before he answered. "We're… not quite alright yet, but… Ah, how do I say this? He's the better judge of the situation? With, uhm, aunt Yu, I mean. It's… complicated."

Honestly, when wasn't it?

"I… see." Lan Zhan really didn't sound like he did, but didn't press, continuing his story instead. "Your sister was able to tell me which city you were in. So I… applied for a job."

Wait. Pause. Rewind.

"You work here?!" Wei Ying felt his jaw go slack.

"As an attorney. At 'Xiao and Song'," Lan Zhan confirmed, then looked back at Wei Ying. "Civil law. With focus on LGBTQ+ rights. I passed the bar last year."

"You…" There was so much to unpack in that statement that Wei Ying couldn't quite get the words together fast enough. At the back of his mind he was aware he should probably congratulate Lan Zhan on his degree but he was too stunned by the other, more important implications. "You've moved here? For work? All because… Because… You were looking for me?"

"Mn."

"Lan Zhan!" His amazing friend who, for some reason, in spite of having a great new life had been desperate to find him. "But you… But I…"

"Wei Ying," he spoke so, so softly, but with clear intent to stop any protest Wei Ying might have wanted to utter. It worked. Wei Ying's mouth fell shut, taking his friend in with a bright, wide gaze. "I missed you. I have no expectations. I just… missed you."

Warmth spread in Wei Ying's chest over the tender words, like a dying flame rekindled.

"Lan Zhan..." He didn't quite know what to say, oddly touched. "It's how you knew, isn't it? I'm not the only trans person you've met."

"There was a client," Lan Zhan admitted. "They made me think of you. I have wanted to ask you since. I wanted to know if… If I made a mistake."

He didn't specify what mistake he feared being guilty of. He didn't really have to.

For a while Wei Ying just looked at him.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan…" He sighed, a small but genuine smile stealing itself onto his lips. "You… you're something else, you know that?"

Lan Zhan didn't reply, but there was something vulnerable in his expression.

"I missed you too."

Lan Zhan's eyes snapped back to Wei Ying's face, full of naked hope and a surprise so honest and pure that Wei Ying's heartstrings almost snapped. He could accept it. He could accept a friend longing for his company, even as his heart hammered against his chest like it was trying to escape its utter desolation.

"I couldn't have expected you to know something I didn't realize until much later." He hadn't realized there was tension around his friend's eyes until it relaxed.

Wei Ying took him in, his entire appearance and noted that although perfectly poised and immaculately dressed, beneath it all there was an exhaustion, a tension he didn't recognize. He thought about their meeting – the collision of two bodies launched out of their orbit – and everything else Lan Zhan had told him and a question dragged itself on his tongue that refused to be swallowed back in.

"Say, Lan Zhan… Since we are being so honest..." He asked before he could have thought better of it. "Why aren't you in Suzhou yet, for real? You always went home at least two weeks ahead of the festival. Did something happen?"

If there was something happening with Lan Zhan's family… Well, Wei Ying had missed enough opportunities to be a good friend in all the years they had been apart, or even before that. If Lan Zhan wanted to be his friend, Wei Ying was returning that tenfold. A secret for a secret, a truth for a truth.

If Lan Zhan wanted, that was.

For a second Wei Ying wasn't sure, but then the broad shoulders slumped, heaving like a weight was being lifted off them.

"I didn't always intend to go," Lan Zhan admitted. "Brother convinced me at the last moment. I wish he hadn't."

Their eyes met and Wei Ying felt a sudden heat spread through his cheeks at the intensity of Lan Zhan's gaze. He didn't take the bait, waiting patiently instead.

"I came out to my uncle. After the bar." Lan Zhan's gaze fell to the ground again, and Wei Ying already knew what he was about to say, aching dread settling painfully in his chest. "He did not… react well. He tried to set me up immediately afterwards."

"Aw man..." Wei Ying tried to sound both gentle and sympathetic without being too pitying. In his experience that never helped. "Yeah, I get that you didn't want to go home after that."

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded, but said no more.

"Was she at least pretty?" Wei Ying tried to joke, unable to bear that forlorn expression on Lan Zhan's face and incapable of thinking of anything better to cheer his friend up. It would have been easy in the past, but now, with years containing entire lifetimes between them he didn't know anymore how to make Lan Zhan laugh.

But then Lan Zhan's lips twitched a little, so maybe not all was lost.

"Luo Qingyang," he answered, like Wei Ying was supposed to know the vaguely familiar name. Lan Zhan responded to his confused frown with his own and went on to explain. "You were in the drama club together. She was… Juliet. To your Romeo."

Very few guys had been in the drama club at that time, so Wei Ying had usually gotten the main male protagonist. He had loved it. It had been one of the reasons why he had joined the drama club in the first place. His co-star in all of that...

"Mianmian!" He exclaimed, eyes bright with delight. "It's been ages since I've last…"...Seen her. Seen anyone, he didn't say, schooled his expression and laughed instead. "I can't believe they tried to set you up with Mianmian! How is she?"

"Mn," Lan Zhan made a small sound out agreement that amused Wei Ying, before he answered. "She is well. Studying. Also law. She will take the bar next year."

"All of you are so smart…" Wei Ying chuckled, fond with more memories. "You know I made out with her once?" He promptly laughed at Lan Zhan's expression. "Relax, it wasn't as good as with you."

Their eyes met again and Wei Ying saw something like hope spark in Lan Zhan's eyes, which…

Wei Ying stopped. He let his gaze wander around, collecting his thoughts. He startled as he realized he was almost home, the agonizing minutes he usually needed reduced to nothing in the presence of his friend. The ache that had gnawed at his limbs earlier had all but disappeared, replaced by a longing ache in his heart.

"Lan Zhan," he found himself speaking without the input of his mind. "You said you liked me, so you should know… I don't intend to have surgery." He saw Lan Zhan open his mouth, probably to assure him once more of his pure intentions, which Wei Ying didn't need to hear. "I know, I know, you have no expectations, and I'm not saying we have to, but… My feelings for you never changed. I still like you, but I'm also… I'm a man Lan Zhan, but I'm not adjusting my body. Not to that degree."

"Is it a financial issue?" Lan Zhan asked after a pause and Wei Ying cut him off before he could continue with something ridiculous like an offer to pay.

"It's… not not about money, but…" He thought for a moment about how to say what he wanted to say. "Regardless of that, I refuse to go through all the legal hoops that this government would demand of me, like I'm supposed to beg them just to be who I am. And... Besides that…" He took a deep breath. "I think I'd like to have another child."

"Another…" There was a strangled sound, which he ignored, forcing himself to voice what he'd been struggling to put into words for a while now.

"I want to give it one more try. Voluntarily," Wei Ying found it difficult to say, despite the thought of a baby in his arms filling him with a warmth he wouldn't have expected mere years ago. "With someone I actually like this time."

"This time." There was something very wrong with the tone of Lan Zhan's voice, and as Wei Ying looked up at him, realization hit him with the force of a freight train.

"Oh! Oh no!" Lan Zhan's eyes were akin to saucers, and Wei Ying vaguely thought he had never seen his friend express shock so openly. "Fuck, I'm so dumb! Of course you don't know! How would you know?!"

Of course that very same moment, before Lan Zhan had any chance of collecting himself, a cheerful shout echoed through the street in an all too familiar, youthful voice. "BABA!!!"

Wei Ying winced. In the way life usually was – his life in particular – before Wei Ying could come up with a single word of explanation, there was the flurry of movement, and a warmth enveloping his leg – the better one.

"Baba, baba, you're home!"

Wei Ying's eyes fell down to the source of the excited noise to have two mischievous gray eyes reflected back at him. An unbidden smile spread on his face.

"A-Yuan!" He shifted around a little until he could safely run his fingers through the child's hair, even as he was keenly aware of the man next to him. "Have you been waiting for me?"

There was a twinkle and a nod, his very own baby's face beaming up at him with unabashed adoration. A tiny hand wrapped itself around his wrist and just like that the last of the day's stress fell away. He looked back at Lan Zhan. It was difficult to describe the expression his friend was giving him, frozen with disbelief, shock and something too close to horror, as his mind seemed to be rearranging and reevaluating every piece of information known to him. Finding no point in delaying the inevitable, Wei Ying braced himself and went for it.

"Lan Zhan, this is a-Yuan. He's mine. Gave birth to him and all." He made a point to smile, although Lan Zhan's expression remained unchanged. Deciding to give him the space he needed to get himself together, Wei Ying turned his attention back to his child. "A-Yuan, this is Lan Zhan. He's an old friend of mine from school. Want to introduce yourself?"

"Hello!" A-Yuan said before Wei Ying even finished the sentence. "I'm a-Yuan and I'm already four years old! I like butterflies and bunnies! Baba gave me Radish and a coloring book for my birthday. I was four last month! I love my baba bestest! But I love xiao-shushu und Qing-guma and granny and uncle Shi lotsa too!"

It was an altogether perfect introduction, and Wei Ying felt pride and love thrumming through his heart with a strength he hadn't believed to be possible. He watched the mental math behind Lan Zhan's eyes, a complicated expression spreading on his friend's face. He decided to give him another moment to complete the mental calculations and focused on something else that a-Yuan had reminded him of.

"Speaking of, where's your xiao-shushu?" Wei Ying looked around, then with growing suspicion back at the child still wrapped around his leg. "Did you ditch him again?"

Mischief spread on a-Yuan's face as he hid in Wei Ying's thigh.

"A-Yuan." Wei Ying narrowed his eyes at him, gently scolding. "We've talked about this. No walking around on your own. What if something happened?"

"But I'm with you," came the simple answer. "I have to help you walk. You said! To help you walk I have to take your hand. I saw you and gege wasn't holding your hand, so I came to help."

"Ah, so filial, a-Yuan…" Wei Ying looked up to the skies, silently begging the heavens for strength while fighting a ferocious blush. This child of his was as much a blessing as he was a huge trouble. The best kind of trouble, if Wei Ying was honest.

"A-Yuan!"

He was still busy trying to change his smile into something more stern, when as if on cue the uncle in question appeared around the corner, calling for his nephew, looking just as frantic as Wei Ying expected him to be. He waited for Wen Ning's eyes to find them, before he looked back down at a-Yuan.

"See how worried Wen Ning is? You can't do this, a-Yuan." The child's expression fell. "Go tell him you're alright and apologize for running away."

A-Yuan didn't waste a single second, rocketing towards his uncle with an excited call.

With his child safe in the most dependable arms that there were, Wei Ying turned to Lan Zhan again. His friend's eyes were closed, face pulled into a tight expression, lips pressed into a thin line, all of which told him what conclusion Lan Zhan had reached.

"It was part of the reason," Wei Ying said, because he knew Lan Zhan would never ask and he wanted his friend to know. "But it wasn't all of it."

Lan Zhan's eyes opened, his look agonized but not pitying, Wei Ying realized.

"There were many things going on," he said. "It was all so fucked up… I knew I couldn't keep him, and somehow I figured… Might as well go together. In the end we both survived, funny that."

"The father. The father is…" Lan Zhan trailed off, couldn't bring himself to say the name, but he didn't have to. Just as Wei Ying didn't have to answer other than with a rueful smile. After all, there was only one option. Lan Zhan drew a deep breath. "Was it… Did he…"

Here too, Wei Ying knew what he was asking, felt it like the edge of a knife against his skin.

"I don't want to talk about it." He swallowed, a prickling at the corners of his eyelids. "Not yet, at least. I'll tell you the story another time."

Lan Zhan nodded. Worried his jaw. Wei Ying waited.

"Was that why you… left?" His voice was so quiet that if Wei Ying wasn't paying attention, he probably wouldn't have noticed he had said anything at all.

"To put it in the words of aunt Yu, whores aren't welcome under her roof. She threatened to leave uncle Jiang, if he kept supporting me. It's fine," he added quickly when he saw Lan Zhan's face darkening. "Uncle Jiang gave me the trust fund he had for me, which wasn't little, I have a job and I get some aid from the government too. There's also granny's pension and everyone else is working. You don't have to worry, Lan Zhan, we get by."

Lan Zhan looked like he wanted to say something cutting, but luckily they were interrupted by Wen Ning joining them, a-Yuan in his arms. He was probably getting too big for that, but he knew first hand that Wen Ning could lift a full-sized adult without breaking a sweat so he wasn't very worried for either of them.

"Wei-ge, welcome home," Wen Ning greeted him. His eyes wandered to Lan Zhan for a brief moment, then to Wei Ying's hands which were still scraped. "Is everything alright?"

"More than!" Wei Ying ignored the look, grinning and watched a-Yuan beam at him. "Everything's perfect, look who I met in town! You remember Lan Zhan, right? He was in the same class with Wen Qing. Turns out he works here!"

Wei Ying managed to say all of that in one breath before he even realized he was doing it, yet consciously leaving out the bar and without bothering to detail exactly how the 'bumping' went down. Wen Ning took it all in, then gave Lan Zhan a polite smile, his dark eyes meeting Lan Zhan's squarely.

"I know of Lan-xianbei," he said slowly, cautiously polite, before his expression settled into a smile and he inclined his head in greeting. "We've never met officially."

There was a brief round of long overdue introductions, which Wei Ying was happy to ignore in favor of watching a-Yuan grow increasingly fascinated with Lan Zhan. It etched the lines around Wei Ying's smile deeper into his features, in a way he hasn't felt for a long time.

"A-Yuan." he couldn't help but pinch one of the chubby cheeks, after a little shifting of weight. "You keep looking at Lan Zhan like that, he'll think you like him."

"Pretty gege," was all a-Yuan had to say to that, a smile splitting his face, while Lan Zhan's ears turned red. Wei Ying laughed, alight with surprise that the one tell-tale sign of his shyness still remained. Lan Zhan was looking at a-Yuan with increasing curiosity, that pained line from earlier disappearing from his features, slowly replaced by wonder instead.

Wei Ying only looked away when he felt a tiny finger poke at his cheek, angling his head towards a-Yuan to listen to whatever secret his son wanted to share.

"Will pretty gege stay for dinner?" A-Yuan whispered through his hands, causing a complicated set of feelings to run through Wei Ying's chest.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but Lan-shushu can't stay." Wei Ying mock pouted at his son. "He has a flight to catch later."

"Why?" A-Yuan asked, as he did all the time.

"He has to visit his family," Wei Ying answered.

"Oh…" A-Yuan's face fell. There was no doubt in Wei Ying's mind had the answer been anything else, he would have kept asking, but if there was one word a-Yuan understood better than anyone, it was 'family'. It didn't mean he liked it. "But… But I heard! I heard that we will have a party tonight! I cleaned my room, and I did a picture for teacher, and helped granny bake! I was the bestest and uncle said I could stay up extra long tonight 'cause then baba would live forever!"

"I didn't say forever," Wen Ning corrected him timidly, but neither of them paid attention to him, the poor soul. A-Yuan only heard what he wanted to hear, and Wei Ying was too busy making sure his heart didn't burst. He still sometimes couldn't quite believe how much he loved this child.

"Me too." It came unexpectedly from beside him, and when Wei Ying turned to look he found Lan Zhan looking almost as surprised as he felt. "I mean, I also usually stay up longer on Chuxi."

A-Yuan's smile eclipsed the sun. Lan Zhan returned it with an expression so impossibly soft that Wei Ying's heart almost did burst then.

"Pretty gege can stay, and his family can come too, and I will draw everyone a picture!" A-Yuan all but vibrated with bare excitement that Wei Ying felt bad that he had to chide him.

"A-Yuan, do we tell people what they can and can't do, or do we ask?" He had picked the gentlest way possible, but his son still hid his face in his uncle's neck, utterly dejected.

To be fair, Lan Zhan looked rather stricken himself. It was adorable to watch and Wei Ying… Wei Ying knew that no matter whatever feelings he might be harboring, he only came as a set with his son. There was no possible way of heaping that responsibility on another person from the get go, on top of everything else, and yet. And yet. Lan Zhan was regarding a-Yuan with such fondness that it did strange things to Wei Ying's heart, and just like that courage bloomed in Wei Ying's chest.

"How about a compromise? Lan Zhan," he asked carefully. "You still have a few hours left until you have to be at the airport, don't you? Would you… Would you like to come inside?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Please, pretty gege, pretty please." A-Yuan loved the idea, immediately reaching his arms out in silent demand to be held. Wei Ying could only watch as Wen Ning oh so carefully leaned forward and tightened his hold so that a-Yuan could safely launch himself into Lan Zhan's open, waiting arms. He bet Lan Zhan hadn't even noticed how he held them out in a response that had seemed completely automatic.

"A-Yuan," Wei Ying reprimanded him gently, doing everything he could to ignore the adorable pout that pressed into Lan Zhan's shoulder. It was difficult to do with his heart singing like that.

"I would hate to intrude," Lan Zhan replied hesitantly, his eyes not leaving a-Yuan for a second and Wei Ying felt his heart constrict.

"I don't think anyone would mind," Wen Ning said, smiling gently.

"It won't be an issue, Lan Zhan, really." Their eyes met. "We still have a lot to… catch up on."

There was a spark that darkened Lan Zhan's eyes briefly, something heavy settling in the air between the two of them. Chance had brought Lan Zhan back into his life, and Wei Ying wanted to hold on. In any way he was allowed to. As long as he was allowed to.

"And you could meet… You could meet my family." Warmth spread deep in Wei Ying's chest as the word 'family' echoed in his mind, before he added in a whisper. "If you like."

"Wei Ying…" Finally, after what felt like an entire eternity, Lan Zhan spoke, the softest of smiles spreading on his face, gentle as the first rays of the sun on a misty morning. "I would very much love to meet your family."

"Great!" Wei Ying felt the smile split his face from one ear to another and amidst the cheers of his child that echoed the ones in his heart and started towards the door that Wen Ning held open for him. "Come on in then! Let's give everyone the shock of their life that I brought home such a handsome man!"

"Wei Ying…" It was spoken as a reprimand but it sounded like a chuckle.

"Hi, handsome! You're Lan Zhan, right? I've heard all about you!" Somewhere in his memory a cheerful voice greeted the most beautiful youth that there ever was. "I'm Wei Wuxian. I'll let you call me Wei Ying."

The door fell shut to the sound of Wei Ying's laugh.

[black-emporium-exchange]

How to sign up for Black Emporium!

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Signups end: July 18, 2020 @ 8:00PM EDT || Countdown

CHANGES THIS YEAR -Maximum number of offers and requests increased to 30 through the Ao3 signup, plus 10 "bucket" offers/requests in optional details (40 total) -If you decide to offer "any", you may offer "any nonbinary" as well as the other relationship categories (F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi) -Sign up summary will now show requests/offers on a per-pairing basis - once a pairing is requested, it will be added to the sign-up summary the next time it updates (on an hourly basis) A STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE TO SIGN-UPS

1. Sign in to Ao3

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2. Go to the Black Emporium signup field (link)

3. Scroll to the “Requests” field

There are several different components of this field:

Relationship:

Enter one, two, or three approved relationships that you would like to see in a fanwork created for you. This field will autosuggest approved pairings. If your pairing does not show up, it may be that you have fallen victim to a known bug of Ao3's that we cannot fix, wherein pairings in a tagset do not autofill. If this happens, simply type it in as it appears in the tagset.

Additional Tags: You can request fanfic, fanart, or both. Selecting "any" is treated the same as selecting both.

Letter: If you have written a letter on an external website (such as Tumblr/Wordpress/Dreamwidth/Google Docs), you may link it here.

Description: Here is where you can provide additional detail about what you would like to see in a fanwork, both in general and for specific pairings. Good things to include (in this box, a letter, or both) are general likes and dislikes, preferred content rating, and Do Not Wants. Please remember to put your DNW's (do not wants) in the Ao3 sign up form - we can only take action if you put your DNW in your Ao3 sign-up form because it is the only thing we can absolutely guarantee that your creator will be able to access.

Remember that anyone who creates fanwork for you must respect your Do Not Wants. If you do not enter anything into this box, and you do not have a link to a letter, we will assume that means you are okay with anything for the specified pairing(s). If you have any preferences or things you do not want, we would encourage you to add them. It makes the process smoother for all involved.

Here are some things commonly put in the description box:

Likes/Wants:

- Frequently it can be considered helpful to your author or artist if they have some idea of what you like to see, and what you don't. For example:

I love F!Adaar/Sera because I think the idea of them merrily pranking they way around Skyhold is so much fun. Please don't write me something sad about them.

Do Not Wants:

- stuff that makes you uncomfortable, or just plain stuff that is Not Your Thing. While the Black Emporium does not believe in kink shaming or otherwise insulting people for their own personal taste, we do want people to let their artists or authors know what their limits are. You don't have to give any reasons for this;"no x/y/z" gives your creator plenty of info to discern where your limits are.

We can only take action if someone writes you something against your DNWs if it is in your sign-up.

Prompts -

Prompts can be just about anything, but they're meant to be ideas that you'd like to see that can help give your artist or author something to work off of. Sometimes this can be a prompt or a question you'd like explored (for example: What if Solas found himself falling for M! Trevelyan? How would he feel about potentially falling for a human?) or an idea you'd love to see (Josie and M!Cadash snuggled up in front of a fire, please!) or just a few words of inspiration (Leliana/Josephine - secrets, lies, ravens).

Details about your character(s):

It is fairly common for people to give basic descriptions of their characters if it is a character where their appearance or personality may vary (ex: Wardens/Hawkes/Inquisitors), particularly if fanart is requested. These descriptions can be very basic indeed (ex: purple hawke), or extremely detailed (ex: This is Celeste Trevelyan, she loves her squad more than life itself, pink hair, dusky-rose skin, built like she could bench press you six ways from sunday).

Bucket Requests:

You may also use the description field to note additional pairings that you would be willing to receive. You may find this option helpful if you are willing to consider different Warden or Inquisitor backgrounds for your specified pairing that have been nominated. You are limited to an additional ten pairings specified in this manner. Please fill out the form entirely before resulting as filling in pairings manually in the description; those that you fill in in the relationship field (the first 30) will take priority.

Things you should not put in the description field:

“I would like anything but nasty [kink]. I think people write that are gross and nasty.”

Please do not insult people who like something you dislike. It’s Not For You, and That’s Okay. “No [kink]” expresses this much better than a long explanation of why you don’t like [kink].

“I’m only choosing this to get to three nominations. Please don’t write it.”

While we know someone who signs up for a,b and z may want a and/or b more than z, but please don’t scream to your author or artist that what you may well match on is something you don’t want as much as other pairings. Writing something like this also reduces your chance at treats as well.

“Even though I said I wanted M!Solavellan, I’m fine with F!Solavellan too if you like that better.”

Please don’t tell people that you’d be alright with non-nominated pairings, as fics with only non-nominated pairings cannot be added to the collection.

Minimums and Maximums in Requests:

You are required to fill out a minimum of three request fields (Required: Relationship, Additional Tags; Optional: Letter, Description). Remember that you may put in one OR two relationships per request field, so the maximum number of pairings that you can list in this manner is thirty. Remember also that you must fill out at least 3 request fields, so if you fill 2 out with 3 requests in each "request box", Ao3 will still want you to add one more -- it's a good rule of thumb to fill at least three out with one request, then double up as you wish.

4. Continue to the “Offers” field

There are several different components of this field:

Relationship:

Enter one, two, or three approved relationships that you would like to see in a fanwork created for you. This field will autosuggest approved pairings. If your pairing does not show up, it may be that you have fallen victim to a known bug of Ao3's that we cannot fix, wherein pairings in a tagset do not autofill. If this happens, simply type it in as it appears in the tagset. If it continues to give an error, please drop us a comment with the pairing so we can figure out what's going on. You also have the option to select any relationship.

This means that you are willing to write or draw fanwork for, literally, any of the approved pairings.

The only limitation we will accept will be be a limitation of what sort of relationship you want to create for: eg, any f/f, any m/m, any f/m, any multi, or any nonbinary. Anything else WILL BE REJECTED. You may NOT use this option to say, for example, “Any Cullen pairing”. This option is for any and all of the approved pairings. Do not use this option unless you are sure that any is what you want.

Additional Tags:

You can offer to create fanfic, fanart, or both. Selecting "any" is treated the same as selecting both.

Comments for mods:

Here is where you can provide additional detail about what you will and won’t create. As with your requests, you can provide general likes and dislikes as well as things that you absolutely will not do. If there is someone signed up you absolutely cannot stand, please write "don't match me to x" here; we won't ask details, we just won't match and this will be a fully confidential field. If you hate nugs, put it here, and we'll make sure you get at least one nug-free prompt and, ideally, a nug-free sign-up. We want you to have an assignment you'll be happy about, so if you've got something that would be triggering for you to create for, let us know. We can only take action based on our own knowledge, so the more information we have the better we can try to match you with what you really want. If you do not enter anything into this box, we will assume that means you are okay with anything for the specified pairing(s) selected. If you have any preferences or do not wants, we would encourage you to add them. It makes the process smoother for all involved. None of the mods will blab over whatever you write; we just want you to have the best time possible with your assignment.

Minimums and Maximums in Offers:

You are required to fill out a minimum of three offer fields (Required: Fandom, Relationship, Additional Tags; Optional: Comments to mods). Remember that you may put in one or two relationships per request field, so the maximum number of pairings that you can list in this manner is twenty. Remember also that you must fill out at least 3 offer fields, so if you fill 2 offer fields out with 2 offers in each "box", Ao3 will still want you to add one more offer field even though you have one over the minimum required amount of offers -- it's a good rule of thumb to fill at least three offer fields, each with one offer, then go back and double up or not, as you wish.

Bucket Offers:

You may also use the comments to mod field to note additional pairings that you would be willing to write if you have already filled thirty slots. You may find this option helpful if you are willing to consider different Warden or Inquisitor backgrounds for your specified pairing. You are limited to an additional ten pairings specified in this manner. Once again, those filled in the actual relationship: tags will take priority over those written in, so choose which pairing goes where carefully!

A Note on Matching

Black Emporium runs on OR matching, which means that you will match on one relationship out of the ones that you offer and request. You are guaranteed to match on ONE relationship; you may match on more, you may not. For your assignment, you can write what you matched on OR you can write any other couple on their sign-up form. You will only have to write or draw for ONE request, not all of them. The minimums will be one piece of artwork or one 1,000 word fic.

[senlinyu]

Thank you so much for sharing all that you have about the writing process! How important is promotion of your work across different platforms? Is it important at all?

Sorry. I’ve been sitting on this ask for a while... but we were just having a discussion on the Dramione Fanfiction Server about promotion and I realised I should get to writing all this out.

This is sort of a follow up on my post about doing weekly updates and writing my fics in full prior to publishing them. Find it here.

Caveat, these are my personal observations only. I’ve been involved in the fandom for a little over 2 years, and at least tried most of the fandom platforms to some extent and followed a lot of discussions among writers and readers.

This is basically a rundown of things that I wish someone had told me about promotion when I started. It’s also an info dump, I’m sorry. You don’t need to do all these things, or any of these things. But if you’re trying to figure stuff out, this is what I’ve noticed. A lot of this is based on my experiences and the experiences I’ve heard from other writers.

Publishing

• The first step you’ll take in promotion is publishing your fic: The most active platforms for fic are archiveofourown.org (Ao3) and fanfiction.net (FFN). There’s also wattpad, but my experience there is limited, so I won’t comment on it. Older fandoms are still hanging out on FFN, but a lot of people are finally migrating to Ao3.

I cross-post most of my fic, with the exception of very sexually explicit content. FFN hasn’t enforced their content restrictions in years, but they have cracked down in the past and deleted fic without warning, and if you’re reported and they decide you violate their terms it’s extremely difficult to dispute based on everything I’ve heard from fandom olds.

Title: It’s ideal to find a title that doesn’t already have seventy fics attached to it for your fandom/ship. But there are a finite number of titles, this may not always work. However, if there’s a super popular fic already with that title, it may be advisable to choose something else because people will get confused about which fic it is and the other fic will tend to show up first in a google search.

If you choose a long title (more than five words), or a title with multiple words in a foreign language, people will have a harder time remembering it. One of my favorite fics has a long Latin quote for its title that isn’t a super common phrase. I cannot ever remember except that it starts with an ”a.” I have to refind it every time I want to rec it by googling one of the author’s other fics and then sorting through her listed works. Avoid this if possible.

Summary: Don’t say things like “story’s better. I suck at summaries.” If you can’t figure out what to put in the summary, put in an excerpt that you feel captures the tone and spirit of the story.

Smut sells. On ao3, a not overly-explicit excerpt of a scene will often garner more hits than anything else. Although I wouldn't promote a fic in that manner if there’s actually minimal smut in the story.

Rating: On FFN it’s unfortunately better to be safe than sorry. People will sometimes complain if T rated fics even allude to the existence of sex. But M ratings will create the expection of some level of smut. If you’re writing a M rated fic without sexual content, it can be a good idea to have an author’s note at the very beginning explaining what the rating is and isn’t for. (Many people never ever read author’s notes, but at least then it’s not on you anymore.)

Tagging: On Ao3, good tagging can make or break a fic. The balance is between under-tagging and over-tagging. Dramione is relatively chill about tags because a lot of readers are from FFN where there are no tags. However, newer readers, especially those coming over from other fandoms, can be very particular about tagging and complain in the comments if your tagging it insufficient or misleading.

Fandom etiquette dictates: use the archive warnings and always tag triggers. Even if it’s a plot twist. People who really care about not having plot elements spoiled can hide additional tags from their browsing. The main archive warnings are: graphic violence, character death, rape, underage. If you include any of those things without an archive warning or tags, people will not be inclined to trust you.

I know that’s not how published books are, but it’s a question of which hills you want to die on. I strongly discourage dying on this hill when you’re first starting out.

Additional tags. There’s a very tricky balance between over-tagging and under-tagging. People don’t like tag walls, but they do want some information. Tag the story’s main tropes: enemies to lovers, mutual pining, miscommunication, coworkers, Veela, etc. Tag the triggers. (A word of advice, if you’re writing a fic with rape/non-con that occurs but isn’t committed between the main pairing, specify that in your tags, e.g. ‘attempted sexual assault, not by Draco’ ) Tag kinks, especially if they’re not garden variety. Very, very few readers are going to be pleased to have a kink sprung on them, one person’s kink can be another person’s squick. People who want your fic may not find it if you haven’t tagged it, and people who don’t want that kink will not be pleased about tripping on it.

Don’t over-tag. If “explicit sexual content” is tagged, most people will assume the general explicit sex spectrum. Unless there’s a particularly heavy focus there’s no need to list every single basic aspect of sex in your tags: “vaginal sex, vaginal penetration, fingering, humping, groping, oral sex, breast worship, etc etc”. Nor should you tag every single character or subpairing who happens to appear unless they’re a significant element of the plot.

Promotion on other platforms:

Dramione and HP is an older fandom. The Hermione-centric parts of fandom are primarily here on Tumblr and on Facebook in the form of private groups, some that are ship specific and others that are slightly more general. Reddit is fairly inactive for dramione, and the HP subreddit is not particularly fond of dramione.

Dramione is beginning to establish itself on discord, but it's still a gradual process.

Some writers join the FB groups with their IRL accounts, but its a growing trend to create fandom pseuds for FB groups, which is what I do. Some Facebook groups require that new members privately provide the admins with a form of ID for age/identity verification. Whether or not you're comfortable/willing to out your pseud in that way is a matter of personal discretion.

Most groups do not require this... but it’s something to be aware of.

Tumblr: Posting about story updates on Tumblr is one the the best things to do for promotion beyond the basics of posting your fic. Since it’s a public platform unlike FB, it’s one of the most visible ways to boost your story and let people know about updates.

Cover art/aesthetics for your fic are a great way to catch attention. If you’re like me and very bad at making aesthetics and covers the @dark-arts-society-fbhp is a group specializing in covers and manips. If you’re not a member on FB, the admins say that writers can submit requests via the tumblr asks and they will be shared to the group. Send them:

Title:

Penname:

Characters/ships:

Tone:

Fancasts:

Other info:

Tumblr

Post a fic update on tumblr with cover art, links, and an excerpt of the chapter. Personally the fics that catch my attention have excerpts that are at least a couple paragraphs long.

You want to include enough content to pique reader curiosity and demonstrate your writing style. It makes you less an unknown to readers looking for something new. Every update is an opportunity to catch the attention of new readers and each new excerpt can do that.

A couple don’ts:

Don’t just keep reblogging the same post, adding a link to the latest chapter. Reblogs don’t show up in the tumblr tags. Make a new post for each chapter update and use the fandom tags every time. The first five tags you use are what can show up in tags, everything after the first five should just be for your tumblr’s personal organization.

Do not include triggering content in your excerpt. It’s rude and a way to get unfollowed or blocked.

Don’t use too many links on your update posts. If there are too many links, tumblr won’t have the post to show up in the tags. I’m not sure what the cut-off is because tumblr is an illogical beast. 2-3 links seems to be fine. Link to FFN and AO3 and nothing else.

Don’t use your tumblr solely as a personal house organ. If no one is interacting with your posts, tumblr is less likely to decide you’re a real blog and let your posts show up in the tags. Connect to other fandom blogs by reblogging and liking their content. I generally don't follow tumblrs that blog solely about their own content, because I'd just subscribe to the story or the writer. Reblog art, reblog aesthetics, reblog fandom memes, reblog drabbles, reblog updates from fics you’re following, etc.

However, even if you do all that, tumblr’s algorithm is a mysterious and illogical creature. Sometimes posts need to have a certain number of likes and reblogs to show up in the “Dramione” tag, although the algorithm is inconsistent there are many exceptions, but as a general rule this seems to be the case.

In my most recent Dramione update post, the post in question never showed up in the recent ”Dramione” tags, despite fairly high engagement. I have no idea why. That’s all the more reason to create a new post for every update, because tumblr will just randomly screw you over at times. 😑

If you write dramione, one of the best forms of exposure is by getting your fic updates reblogged by @dramioneasks, they have a very large following on Tumblr, and regularly go through recent posts under the dramione tag and reblog the story updates that show up there. A lot of writers have noticed a dramatic difference in engagement if their updates get reblogged by DramioneAsks.

Another way to promote your writing more generally is by accepting prompts and/or posting ficlets solely on Tumblr. Those will usually get more reblogs and likes than a story update will. In my observation, ficlets tend to do best when they’re between .5k to 2k words (longer than that and people will complain about huge walls of text in their feed.) DramioneAsks will also reblog those.

Facebook

The other main platform for the Dramione fandom is FB. It’s the place that a lot of the fests and comps are hosted and where a lot of writers will begin forming some fandom relationships. People will post recs for stories they like, and ask for recs with certain tropes, etc. You can also post story updates there.

However, it’s also a lot of individual ponds because the groups are all closed, and there’s only partial overlap between them in terms of membership. Different groups have different cultures and fic preferences and you only tend to start figuring them out after being there for a while.

They also all have different rules and policies about things, such as requiring members to provide identifying information to mods, file-sharing, fic update promotion etc. So you have to make sure you check the rules and keep track of which group requires what.

But it’s very active and the place where you’ll encounter more discussions of fics, start getting to know people more, and have more one on one interactions. It’s best to start in just one or two and then slowly branch out from there if you choose. I’d recommend starting in groups specific to your ship, or if you write rare-pairs, to join rare-pair oriented groups.

I’m currently a member of more than 25 groups, but I’m active in less than five of them.

Conclusion

Again, this is not intended to be a to-do list. You don’t need to do all of this, or any of it. It’s more a rundown of different elements and factors that can make a difference in my experience and observations.

The thing with fic promotion is that fics sometimes have a tipping point. My fic Manacled crept along with limited engagement for a long time (like more than 30 chapters) and then hit a point where I got a bunch of people who started it leaving comments saying “I’ve seen the updates for this so many times, I finally decide to click,” or “I started this but didn’t think it was for me, but then I saw some of the excerpts for later chapters and they made me curious so I jumped back in again.”

There are some readers who will check out everything regardless of stats, but particularly in Dramione where you have a lot of fics and authors, people are less likely to click every fic they see. You can build recognition through engagement with fandom and visibility.

My very first work-in-progress multichap got a lot more attention after I posted a one-shot that allowed readers to check out my writing in a “lower commitment” context. It wasn’t even a very popular one-shot, but it gave people a chance to read a completed work of mine without requiring the investment that a 90k word WIP did. Once they decided they liked my writing style and characterizations they decided to check out my other works.

Anyway. This ended up incredibly long. 🤦🏻‍♀️

If you read this and have a different opinion or feel like I’ve left anything out, feel free to chime in. Or if you disagree. I am happy to reblog additional and differing perspectives as long as the tone stays civil. 😊

[shinygoku]

Thunderbirds (2004)

A review by me, CutCat! This is 8-ish pages long!

Spoiler for the end of the film warning: Alan is in International Rescue. What a twist!

Totally Turbulent

Soooo, Tbirds ‘04 is one of those Infamous Adaptations, at least among those who enjoyed Thunderbirds (’65) and of more recent times, Thunderbirds are Go (’15). It’s one of those Bad Live Action Adaptations to a near sacred property, making it dubious contemporaries with Dragon Ball [Evolution], Avatar [The Last Airbender] and suchlike.

But wait, is it really That Bad?? Why is it as divisive as it is? What caused the film to be the way it is, and quite unpopular at that?

First I’m gonna make a long story very short by saying that a Live Action Thunderbirds movie was on and off production for many years, and that the script we ended up with is apparently better than another one that was pitched... but there are reports of cooler scripts further back that never made it, for various reasons. It’s almost a story of it’s own right but I’m only going by 2nd hand information at best, so I’d rather just link them at the end for Additional Reading if y’all felt so inclined.

With that out of the way, we have the Takes from the Andersons to look at. Sylvia had a very favourable reception to it:

"I felt that I'd been on a wonderful Thunderbirds adventure. You, the fans, will I'm sure, appreciate the sensitive adaptation and I'm personally thrilled that the production team have paid us the great compliment of bringing to life our original concept for the big screen. If we had made it ourselves (and we have had over 30 years to do it!) we could not have improved on this new version. It is a great tribute to the original creative team who inspired the movie all those years ago. It was a personal thrill for me to see my characters come to life on the big screen."

Whereas Gerry had a considerably blunter response at the opposite end of the scale:

"the biggest load of crap I have ever seen in my entire life."

As for me, a mere fan of predominantly the TAG series with limited but fond memories of the 90’s TOS reruns, I’d been inclined to ignore it and write it off as a DBE or TLA lost cause. But the combined effect of me deciding to check out unpopular media for myself, namely Dragon Ball GT and the live action Super Mario Bros. movie, and thoroughly enjoying both; and the other effect of TAG finishing but my fixation reawakening with the need to consume More, I dived deeper into the fan base than I had dared to before, in which I found more reasons to watch it and make up my own mind fairly.

Find out what I thought, and a review of the movie itself, below the Cut! ✂

Stormy Story

Ok, enough teasing, I see good things in the movie but not enough for it to be a secret masterpiece, not by a long shot.

1/3 Stars from Me. That’s Poor. (Compare with 2/3 being Good, and 3/3 being Excellent)

My main beef is unfortunately kinda the crux of the whole story, so while there were aspects I really liked, it had permanently set the bar low, and other issues were not helping matters. I’ll go into the problems after I sum up the plot.

[sitcom harp music]

14 Year Old Alan Tracy is stuck in a stuffy school with only his nerd friend to confide in. Something’s eating him up, and it’s jealousy over how his family are International Rescue, the secret rescue workers whole pilot the Thunderbirds, impossibly cool craft with capabilities vastly exceeding standard technology. Even when he’s allowed out of school and back to the Island, his envy and barely repressed resentment over not being a member himself causes him to go off and sulk and to try taking Thunderbird 1, the hypersonic jet plane, for a joyride.

His father and the leader of International Rescue, Jeff Tracy chews Alan out for almost compromising the need for the organisation to remain secret, lest their advanced technology falling into the wrong hands. Alas, said wrong hands are already working against IR: The Hood, a diabolical, cold blooded criminal with psychic powers and a grudge against Jeff. After successfully tracking the location of Tracy Island, he launches a missile towards Thunderbird 5, the Space Station where IR monitor potential disasters to prevent as much damage as possible, manned by John Tracy.

With TB5 crippled and John injured, Jeff and his other three older sons all scramble to the disaster zone via Thunderbird 3, the Rocket Ship. But with Tracy Island largely unmanned, The Hood moves in and aims to use the Thunderbirds to rob bank vaults while simultaneously smearing International Rescue’s good name. As the only Tracy brother left on Earth, it’s up to Alan and his 2 friends, Fermat and Tin-Tin, to foil the Hood and save his family, proving himself worthy in the process. He is also assisted by IR’s London Agent, Lady Penelope, and her driver/butler/lockpicker, Parker.

...

Ok, so that’s a summary you may read on the back of a DVD box, maybe it’s a bit long but whatever. Do you see what’s wrong with the story? The massive rift in the formula that should be within a template set by the hugely popular TV Series?

Critical Crux

For me, the main issue with the movie is that the Tracy family are thrown under a bus, or perhaps it’s more like being locked in a closet, in order for Alan to rise up and be The Hero. A show that was about each of them having different roles and personalities to the others, and the movie sees the best way to adapt the premise is to reduce 3 of them to cardboard cutouts who aren’t allowed to do or say anything meaningful, with the exception to this getting the dubious honour of getting a missile and exploding space station to the face.

I can’t clearly express how much this pisses me off! It’s downright insulting and baffling as well. They had pre established characters right there for the taking but go NO! Let’s make OCs to fill this newly created void instead and make the main Message of the film Friendship Teamwork.

Why does every child-skewed media hafta have the Friendship message? It’s a good one, sure, but nothing said in this film about it was fresh or original. Y’know what I see far, far less? Not just in Kid Flavoured Media, but all sorts? The importance of Brotherly Bonds between actual brothers!! I don’t subscribe to the massively misunderstood message version of ‘Blood is thicker than water’, but a story with the siblings actually pushed and stressed and coming out stronger at the end would have ruled!!

[For what it’s worth, the actual saying is “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”, i.e. the bonds you choose to forge are more important than happening to be born to certain people. This correct message is still compatible with literal siblings though!]

The other, somewhat lesser Large Issue with the movie is simply that we don’t see much in the way of Rescues with the titular Thunderbirds. We only get the tail end of the Oil Rig in Act 1, and then the ‘Birds are used predominantly to get to London and save 1 Monorail Car with TB4.

Watsonian Woes & Doylist Dilemma

When looking at Media, there’s 2 main angles to consider; Doylist and Watsonian. Doylist is the “real life / meta” angle, the structure of the story or interests of the author being in the plot, that kinda thing. Watsonian is the reason given within the story.

All stories have Watsonian and Doylist reasonings, the trick is to blend them in and not use a weedy Watsonian reason for something stupid happening.

Why bring this up? Because it’s still part of the Huge Problem I have with the film; the Doylist reason for all of IR being incapacitated so easily is so Alan can shine without fighting for focus in a large group. I don’t like it, but let’s go along with it for now.

Believe it or not, but I can accept that a Movie format isn’t going to be the same as an ongoing series. There’s way less time and you gotta hit certain beats. Ideally you also condense the essence of the show into the film while being more than just a long episode. They didn’t hit this note in my opinion...

But other than ‘It has to happen for he story to work’, there’s no damn reason for all the Non-Alan Tracys to be cooped up in the crippled TB5! They put all their eggs into one basket when a considerably more sensible choice woulda been to have a small crew, and the others remain on base. Because even without factoring in a worst case scenario where another missile hits them while in space, killing them all, which totally could have happened for all they know, there’s also the part about them being International Rescue! They gotta be ready to respond to other disasters should those develop. TB1, 2 and 4 were still available for use!

If I was Jeff making the boneheaded decision, I would have taken a second to think about it and have 1 of the Bros come up in 3 with me. Seeing to John shouldn’t be something 4 people are needed for, it would just get more crowded and the oxygen would be used way faster! Considering they all come close to asphyxiating, 2 less people would mean things weren’t so damn close to the wire! (Granted, the movie also has them falling into Earth’s atmosphere and burning up as a hazard, but the whole crew being there doesn’t affect that.)

Jeff! You’re the patriarch and supposedly most experienced dude in the whole movie! Why didja run into that trap with both eyes open? Stressful situation, sure, but in the Rescue Business you need to be able to listen to the cold, clinical angle. You’re risking more of your sons’ lives making such a rash judgement!!

Character Conundrums

This is the part of the review where I begin to really emphasise the differences between TOS and this movie. I’ll hold off TAG for now in the interest of fairness.

The movie is a mixed bag when it comes to the individuals within it. Some have been refreshing updates to stuffy 60′s tropes, but several draw the short straw, feeling even stiffer than their marionette precursors.

Alan - Hoo, boy. The plot follows Alan.... for the third time if you’re factoring in the Supermarionation movies, which was quite the baffling choice as Puppet!Alan is quite the obnoxious jerk. But whatever, new movie, new canon, new Alan. While the Alan of the 60′s was a bizarrely whiny brat of a character considering he was supposed to at least be in his early 20′s this Alan at least makes more sense to be annoying. But yes, he starts off as a sullen jerk with unclearly defined jealousy towards his own brothers and seemingly a lack of grasping the stakes behind International Rescue, viewing being one of the crew as a Cool Job rather than a gruelling, life-risking ordeal. Over the course of the movie (mostly Act 3) he becomes less of a berk and a better team player, even going as far as to save the Hood personally.

Jeff - One of the stronger characters in the movie, even with this poor choice I’ve gone on about already, haha. You get the real impression the job means the world to him, but still secondary to his sons. An update and improvement to the sometimes stodgy and holier-than-thou character from the 60′s, plus his proactive role makes him way less of a backseat driver.

Lady Penelope - Best character and a splendid update to the 60′s Socialite. This Penny is always a delight to see, although her ability to change clothes offscreen sometimes pushes plausibility, haha. She and Jeff also have very natural and endearing chemistry, so for this iteration at least, I’m up for shipping them, something I can’t say for TOS.

Parker - Remarkably true to the beloved puppet version and another highlight. His interplay with Penelope is some of the best dialogue in the whole movie, and was written by Richard Curtis in an uncredited role, or so I’ve read.

The Hood - A shockingly sadistic and cold blooded so-and-so. His Psychic powers have been given a huge boost, and the depths of his spite generates all the tense scenes the movie has to offer. His performance may be the best in the whole film, simultaneously over the top while also completely deadly.

Tin-Tin - Y’know, Tin-Tin is a funny character, in how she’s very different in all versions. I enjoy her in TOS, but her potential as an engineering assistant, mathematician and member of IR are quickly discarded to make her a secretary, which is further demoted to bringing coffee. Ahh, The Sixties! One of her other defining features was the sometimes bickering sexual tension with Alan. Movie!Tin-Tin is still the implied love interest [and the same age] with him, but she’s also an Action Girl extraordinaire, with abilities bordering on metahuman. She can trek through the jungle without slowing down, she can dive underwater for prolonged sequences, and has a variation of her Evil Uncle’s Psychic capabilities, but used for good. Notably, the Kayo of TAG takes significantly more from this Tin-Tin to the original, sadly sans Telekinesis.

Fermat - The only OC I’m gonna dignify with a section here lol. He’s basically mini-Brains, complete with the way he t-ta-tal- -distinctive speech patterns. But yeah, as the hypersmart and nerdy pal, I feel that his role is pretty superfluous, though his performance in the movie got me to soften up, he’s a good kid. Just one who, like, is part of the deal breaking issue I have with the whole film. In a way I think he’d have made a better lead than Alan lmao

Brains - Not much to say here, he’s also a dude in distress for a majority of his screentime. Seems to be older than his TOS self and a bit less subservient to Jeff, but also a father ....or Fermat is his clone. They never make that clear. He’s hit on by the Hood’s Female Scientist and it’s played for comedy, more on that later.

John - In TOS, his role was infamously minimal, as Gerry Anderson took such a strong disliking to the John puppet and the TB5 model that he exiled both into space with a few token shots per episode. So in comparison, this movie is far kinder to John! He has a nice, genuine chat with Jeff, without any mission to initiate said videocall. The movie is also quite mean to John in how he gets bombed by the Hood, his space station in tatters, his arm hurt and then near suffocation with Jeff and most of his brothers. Ahh, the conundrum of being John.

Scott, Virgil and Gordon - No, they don’t even get their own paragraphs in my review. Their lack of presence and importance in the movie is my giant gripe (have you noticed yet?) and it got to the extent that I feel they could have been combined into one character to save casting money. They get maybe 5 lines each, if that. I literally can’t tell Scott and Virgil apart (I know they have name tags on their uniforms, but in most scenes I couldn’t even read that) other than knowing 1 of them is taller. Which that one is, is a mystery.

The only one with a slightly distinctive appearance and air is Gordon, which is another can of worms because he seems to be the designated Doubtful Jerk Brother and that drives me mad!! In TOS he wasn’t as main a character as Scott, Virgil or Alan, but he was still a defined person with his own abilities. And his personality was as a slightly mouthy but the most lighthearted character! Why didn’t they carry that over?!

And yeah, Scott and Virgil are pretty much the Main Two of the brothers in TOS, so their roles being reduced to 1 token act during the oil rig rescue each [Gordon didn’t even get that!] is all the more mind boggling.

Hood’s Minions - Can’t be assed to write their names out, I refer to them as Heavy Dude and Science Woman. Heavy Dude is the Heavy, and his character consists of Dumb and somewhat Sadistic Muscle. Science Woman is first objectified (we see her ass first. Yes, really.) but then it’s ‘revealed’ that as she has Austin Powers level teeth, she’s uuuuuglyyyyy and her otherwise genuine attraction towards Brains is played for laughs with this angle. And that’s still female on male sexual harassment, which doesn’t fly with me. Eeeesh. Bad writing! She does Science Things for Hood.

The Rest - Kyrano and his wife are in this. Wife is Original but basically Grandma’s role, though she doesn’t even get a single word to say. Rip. Also the Hood has a few more generic mooks from somewhere, but seemingly only for part of the movie. Kyrano didn’t do much in the show except get bullied by the Hood and little has changed.

Tone Trouble

I feel like the movie has a bit of an issue with balancing a consistent Tone. Again, let’s look back at TOS. It was a Family Show, designed to not just appeal to little kids, but to also keep their parent and other adult amused. Maybe some of it was also the result of the times, but striking to me is that they allowed the characters to get pretty hurt, complete with red paint being applied to look like realistic blood. Some of the criminals, including the Hood himself, would be very vicious, how he treats Brains in Desperate Intruder comes to mind. There was even firefights resulting in death, like the memorable climax of Operation Crash-Dive, where Gordon has to shoot a saboteur in the back, into the open sea below the compromised plane. He then proceeds to hold the cut wires together with his bare hands. Don’t try this at home, kids!

So while I can understand some of that being removed from the Movie (and TAG), there’s still the irritating going down to a perceived kid’s level for the majority of the film, which is probably also a large reason for the massive structural change. But then, there’s shockingly dark implications here and there, and the haunting sight of the crew trapped on TB5 floating lifelessly in the dark, asphyxiating. But then, again, we have goofy choreographed fight scenes with juvenile stock cartoon sounds. And then, we have Hood force choking Alan?! It has been mostly consistent until Act 3, then the tone goes up and down more than the flying machines.

Revamped Rockets

I’m mostly talking about the main craft here, though I know the Pod vehicles got modified too, I’m not sufficiently a TOS Pod Buff to go over them.

TB1 - Looks real nice! Maintains and even enhances the sleekness, and the idea of a glass cockpit is much better than having 1 tiny window and a dinky TV screen to see by. Oddly dark inside the cockpit considering how much glass there is, though. Probably my fav of the Movie Fleet.

TB2 - Oof. Looks bad, man. Like, really ugly. What have they done to the glorious design that was the Original Big Green? The unofficial mascot from her importance and unorthodox style? They turned her into a stubby, too glossy, chunky bar of green soap. The thick ass legs are a good idea but it sure ain’t enough. Also, she carries 3 smaller pods insteada 1 big one.

TB3 - Like TB1, pretty much the same design but streamlined a little. Docks with 5 sidewise instead of like pen going into its lid.

TB4 - I’m mixed. I like the idea of giving her a glass canopy and extendable arms, but the movie’s version is so boxy she looks more like a small yellow Greenhouse with the rear half of the old Four, haha. The arms also look a little stiff, can they bend? Now, if there was a sleek, glass hulled, variable armed, demolition charges-loaded Four, that would be my favourite possible version ;3 Four is my fav craft in TOS and TAG, for what it’s worth.

TB5 - I say it’s quite a visual improvement over TOS and the odds and ends jumbled look that had, though I do appreciate a bit of Chunkiness. This one really needs to have better defence too, TOS 5 may’ve been able to tank that missile lmao

FAB1 - I know that she would have been a Rolls Royce in the film, but BMW said no, so that’s not a point against the movie. And failing the classic image, it’s cute that it’s a Ford Thunderbird, though I’d have preferred one with those 50′s/60′s stylish fins personally lol. Her ability to fly is new here unless you count the Dream Sequence in Are Go (’66) and the water mode was also seen in that before this, and she gets the job done, though we don’t get to see as many gadgets and gizmos in the course of the film.

Unlikely Uniforms

I really don’t understand these. Why are they off white with minimal accent colours? What was wrong with the blueness of their suits and the broad stripe of a secondary colour? I sure ain’t saying the 60’s costumes were practical or even that fashionable, but they were very distinctive and striking!

Not only that, but for some strange unexplained reason, their uniforms all correspond not to their own speciality, but to which craft they’re currently piloting. Even if they’re all in the same Bird...! So like, four out of five are wearing identical looking red accented suits while locked in TB5. I already find the elder brothers to be the Similar Squad, and their microscopic name tags don’t help!

Why don’t they wear their own coloured uniforms all the time? Then ya don’t need the name tag at all! And the silly implication from the way there’s apparently a whole set of Craft Specific uniforms is that there’s piles of clothes that ain’t getting used in all of them, like the tiny TB4 probably having 6 whole sets on board at the end of the film.

Between that, no blue and the outfits looking like Generic Sports Wear, the only nice thing to say is the THUNDERBIRDS down the sleeve is a cool touch. Which should really say International Rescue or IR...

Mingled Misc.

Yeah, The conflation of Thunderbirds and International Rescue is a tad irritating but it’s actually something I can overlook. It’s not a dealbreaker and it makes sense the Dumbass Public would misunderstand and call them the wrong thing.

Jeff refuses Alan early access into IR and cites “No shortcuts”. Then at the end he echoes this when he is making Alan an official member, saying he did it with no shortcuts. The whole faffing scenario was a giant shortcut!!! Fuck training and being a suitable age, am I right?!

Amazingly I didn’t cover this already, but when Alan shortcuts his way onto the team he’s made pilot of ... TB4. That’s why he’s in yellow accents in the pic. Gordon is seemingly the main pilot of TB3 instead, but the movie doesn’t deign to make that clear. While I appreciate that the 14 year old with no Astronaut training isn’t put in charge of 3 instantly, I resent the careless removal of characterisation. Obviously movie Gordon never served with WASP or won the gold medal in swimming or had a massive hydrofoil crash to nearly kill him but ggggghgggaaahhhhhhhhh

Also what’s with the implication that Four is the Babby’s First Machine? She’s a highly specialised craft that would require different training to flying or Space shit! How dare you?! The most charitable link is that Alan stood around in 4 as Tin-Tin did most of the work herself, but I guess it coulda as some level of experience.

Ford Sponsorship - Gets a bit much! It’s one thing for all the cars to be Ford, but them seemingly owning the News is like an unpleasant look into a world where corporations run everything.... hahahaahaaaaaa........

Marvellous Music

Something the movie really excells at is the tunes! The remix of the Thunderbirds March is good in it’s own right and very welcome, and the new music is all solid. Special mention to Busted’s outro song for slapping so hard even people who hate the movie leave warm youtube comments about the song. I have a habit of listening to it set to TAG footage myself, haha

Sincere Summation

Look, I’ve come off negative in this, but I honestly have a lot of respect for a lot of the parts of this picture. Hood, Penelope, Parker and Jeff are fantastic, the physical models and sets have a lot of care and loving detail poured in, the music is all bangers and other little nods and homages to the show shine brightly. The director got a lot of good work in and I hold him no ill will.

I think the problem is in the Writing and probably Studio Mandates, I’m not 100% sure, but things often get snaggy when the studio you’re working under gets bought out by a bigger company partway through. Again, I’ll refer to the info I’ve seen instead of trying to relay it in my own words.

And they made a real bad call snubbing Gerry as a Creative Consultant. Some of his venom towards the film may be from that, as well as his alleged preference to Team America: World Police as a theatrical homage. And I’ve seen that before and wouldn’t really say that’s true to the spirit of Thunderbirds, but yeah...

I’d be interested in any future Thunderbirds Movies, if that’s ever on the cards again. I’d probably be even more up for continuation of the TAG series, or newer new Captain Scarlet with International Rescue involved. Either way, I want new footage of the Birds taking off again, be it puppet, people, CGI, or something new~

Extra Reading

https://securityhazard.net/2017/05/19/thunderbirds-2004/ Full movie review, warm reception. Contains photos of set pieces and costumes.

http://groovyfokker.blogspot.com/2013/02/thunderbirds-arent-go-unfilmed-versions.html Insight into some of the past issues developing a Movie, but gets some basic information wrong (Since when is Gordon the youngest and TB3 orange??)

Thanks if ya’ve been reading the whole thing! <3