#anyway the moral of that story is you should listen to your muses. or they will MAKE you listen. orz

[bittercoldbrew]

I've spent the past couple weeks or so trying to force myself to focus on a couple original works I'm genuinely very excited for, things that I think might be worth sending to a publisher someday, determined not to let myself get too distracted by anything else....

....Which is, of course, to say that I got home from work today, sat down, and spent 5+ hours writing self-indulgent Tron/OC fanfiction instead, without stopping, until a minute ago when I realized I was hungry and looked at my phone and saw it was already bedtime 😐

[lockedtowers]

repost and rate your muse's traits out of 10 in each category !

COMPASSION: 2/10

so william… does not care. not a lot, anyways. when he first saw michael his brain had the tiniest flint of a spark of ‘i did that’ he didnt do shit but raw it and he definitely showed michael affection and love at first, fuck man he was teaching michael engineering, plushtrap was the first animatronic that they worked on together, in my main verse he did not care about his wife at the time at all especially when she caught him with henry but thats a different story but he did, in his fucked up way, love michael, but he also definitely favored evan by a lot when evan happened. of course i have verses where he did love his wife to a degree, but he doesnt really love anyone more than he loves himself. lizzie was very very close to getting there, but even her his love is more or less an extension of himself rather than as their own individual selves. lizzie has his cruelty and villainous streak, and his refusal to listen to no. michael has some of his aggression and recklessness. evan he favored in a way as the version of himself he lost due to his own parents, which is also why he kind of babied evan a lot. he made voice boxes for evans plushies so evan had someone to talk to, because him and michael didnt get along, and he never wanted michael and him to hate each other. in all though williams most compassionate moment, the one moment he was truly a decent guy, and the moment that ultimately destroyed any semblance of normalcy he could have attained, was evan getting springlocked. william tried to get him out, and his own suit springlocked on him causing the initial scars, and all in all sort of retriggered certain thoughts and issues he thought he grew out of. he any semblance of affection he had died when those locks went into his skin, and left him in a much worse state of mind and being.

BITTERNESS: 9/10

this man has stacks upon stacks upon stacks of journals about henry, how much he loves henry, how much he worships henry, how much he thinks henry should worship him. he still treats michael like shit when michaels an adult for what happened to evan when michael was a child himself when it happened. lizzie dying was entirely williams own damn fault and he still blamed michael for it because, in his mind, if michael didnt kill evan, charlotte wouldnt have had to die, henry wouldnt have had to be framed, and now lizzie wouldnt have had to die. this man takes bitter ex to a whole new level too considering even turned into his creation, he was still mad obsessing over henry.

HAPPINESS: 5/10

depends on when in the timeline. he did actually enjoy being married (the second time in main verses, dependable on mrs afton rpers otherwise) even though he.. wasnt exactly a faithful husband at all given his obsession with henry. honestly if he just learned what poly was and it wasnt the 70s/80s so he couldnt openly be poly and with a man, he’d have been much happier. he loves killing people tho.

POLITENESS: 3/10

…. he’ll fake it

MORALITY: 2/10

he murdered kids and thinks cheating on his wife with henry was perfectly fine because ‘he could love both of them’ when that doesnt make it fine, u big dickbag. also he wants complete control over his kids, he literally built the fu/ntime animatronics with the intentions of trapping his families souls in them so they could live forever with or without remnant. (yes this is a personal headcanon no i dont give a fuck about canon, canon had a lot of stupid moments, shush) he, hes not moral, hes one of those people who would just go off on like ‘oh morality isnt real its a social construct designed by the government to make you behave a certain way, the only true way to be moral is to believe in yourself as a god’ and all that stuff, dont trust the tall man

PRIDE: 9/10

he’s actually insufferable with how much he loved himself im ngl. he takes great pride in his subpar performances canonly. he thinks hes the greatest liar, engineer, and shopowner of all time. all the things he hated his parents for he ironically manages to do even worse than they did. he might struggle to love others but he definitely fucking loves himself, which is kind of funny when u think abt it, bc he also hates himself.

HONESTY: 2/10

he cannot even be honest with himself he’s not honest with anyone. he looked his wife in the eyes and claimed he would never betray her as he was cheating on her with henry. he kidnapped his own son after evan died with the intentions of completely breaking his brain in the same setup he built to ‘cure’ evan (which would likely have traumatized and made him worse) and fully intended on charlie being in that set up with him until she made the fatal error of fighting back, michael got the worst of the treatment for sure though.

BRAVERY: 0/10

one of the main things i think about this man is, he pretends what hes doing is brave and amazing, like im a great serial killer im great at everything im massively prolific in the public eye and people love and adore me, people flock towards me and think im charming and amazing, and they do. but he isn’t brave. he isnt anywhere close to that, he’s a fucking coward. he intimidates people, he hurts people, but when faced with the punishment for his crimes he was terrified. he isn’t brave. he doesnt know what brave is.

RECKLESSNESS: 2/10

his most reckless situation was what happened with charlie (and main verse wise, his first wife). it wasnt planned like that, he only intended to kidnap her. She thought back and he got angry enough to not only kill her, but abandon her body on that street in the storm. He hasn’t been exactly reckless since then and everythings been very carefully thought out, but he isnt in the right mindframe anymore, he hasnt been since evan died, he does make mistakes, and unfortunately it usually ends up being henry who pays for them since henry is who he framed.

AMBITION: 8/10

He’s definitely very ambitious, like he worked his ass off to get to where he is even though hes not really great at performing like he thinks he is. His main issue is his current goal is just Henry, not even anything specific really, he wants to be henry. The springlock incident made his obsession with henry a million times worse, and i can speak on that personally as someone whos had a head injury and who has OCD, it can intensify obsessions very very badly. So ambitious, yes, thoughtful on what they are, not anymore. though he did drain the lifeforce out of the kids he killed so.

LOYALTY: 1/10

that one isnt even for his fucking family its for henry and he betrayed that man too and framed him for his own daughters murder. his loyalty is to himself and maybe, MAYBE, on RARE occasions, and specifically as an extension of himself, his family.

SENSE OF FAMILY: 3/10

his childhood was fucked up. but while he was being a mostly present father, he showed promise. did he only love his kids as extensions of himself? still yes. did he at least love them? yeah. its a.. shitty situation all in all.

ATTRACTIVENESS: 6/10

evidently a lot more people wanna ride the serial killer than i gave him credit for.

AGILITY: 7/10

he’s surprisingly agile for his… everything. man in the movie version that man was rly pushing sixty and still bodied mike to hell and back what the hell dude.

SEX DRIVE: 7/10

he’s a f/urry. he had/has a whole ass wife, a ton of kids, and still canoodles with henry wtf do you think

Tagged by: stolen :)

Tagging: @orangeshinigami @auburniivenus @mechanicaldance @faultyconscience @riiese and if u see it, you

[hamliet]

Dabi’s Smokescreen:

More musings than meta, but:

Dabi’s talking about himself as much as he’s talking about Shouto here. He was in agony, and nobody noticed. Nobody cared. Nobody comes to save him. Deku might come to save Shouto now, but still no one has come for Dabi as yet (again, I’m not saying that Dabi isn’t like, his own worst enemy in many ways, so don’t read too much into this).

Rright now Shouto’s in too much shock. Deku attempts to give Dabi some encouragement, but it doesn’t mean anything to Dabi. Why would it? He doesn't need an outsider's opinion; he needs Shouto's. He doesn’t know Deku from a hole in the wall.

Your pain can only be healed by addressing the past, which is what Dabi literally says this chapter.  OFA being the source of Shigaraki's pain (since a lot can be traced to Nana’s abandonment of her family and to the initial rift between the brothers who created AFO and OFA) means Deku, the current OFA holder, should save him. Likewise, Dabi's pain isn't gonna be healed by hero society’s symbol in Deku, but by his family.

Dabi literally asking Deku for pity is... ouch. And, notably, Deku’s attempt at pulling an “you’re your own person” also doesn’t resonate with Dabi because it doesn’t address the past, since the wounds are still festering. Thus, Dabi clearly doesn’t consider it empathy.

In fact, the past is continuing right now around them, which is why part of this chapter’s framing of Deku bothers me. Deku’s line about current Endeavor being inspiring... Endeavor still chose here being a hero over saving his family. Over saving both of his sons. He was inspired by Midoriya praising him, not his sons screaming about the hurt he caused them. That’s blatantly in the chapter.

Current Endeavor still has a lot of work to do. This isn’t likely to go over well with Shouto, who has said that he wants to focus on Endeavor proving himself as a dad rather than as a hero (I hope. Again, the framing is kinda quesitonable, so we’ll see). And Endeavor completely failed at that here, even if he brought down Gigantomachia.

What do you gain if you take down a giant, but lose your sons? (I’m also not surprised that this was Enji’s response, I thought it would be.)

Anyways all that to say, Endeavor needs to work on himself, and Shouto will hopefully empathize with Dabi more as the story goes on (empathy=/=excusing).

I really want an inverse of this “hug” by the end of the manga, but with Shouto being the one initiating the hug and this time recognizing how no one recognized Touya's agony. Preferably without flames though I am not opposed to a Mutsurie-esque hug. Because basically, the reverse situation is what Touya needs.

He’s just going about empathy all wrong right now, trying to force Shouto to feel what he feels instead of maybe listening to Shouto and learning what/who Shouto actually thinks/feels/is. Own worst enemy, again, because Shouto even now tries to express concern and it doesn’t quite land. Dabi also doesn’t quite realize that he’s the one burning Shouto now, not Endeavor. He’s the one using his power to hurt his brother, so he’s more like Endeavor than he’d like to think he is.

Dabi’s arc going forward is probably going to confront him with that reality, which is why I think Endeavor himself sacrificing himself to save Dabi and to show Shouto he’s truly prioritizing family over any sort of reputation is likely at some point (sacrifice=/=dying; this is BNHA). Shouto forgiving both Dabi and Endeavor (which is narratively likely; I’m not making a personal commentary on morality or what I’d like to see, don’t come for me pls) will probably resonate with Dabi and show him there is healing.

[lovenona]

and i repeat: anthropo-ceramics geto suguru is the type of toxic where he'd take your virginity, make a sculpture about the experience, then smash it on the ground as a metaphor

this ask is my entire life. this ask is my lifeblood. everyone please saddle up for the ride of a lifetime, otherwise known as 1500ish words of toxic geto featuring sukuna being a good fucking friend – please continue at ur own risk this absolutely contains geto being a pretentious toxic fucker and mentions of virginity/first time but yes i guarantee it does have a happy ending (link to the full college! cinematic universe here) 

let’s begin with the basics – why wouldn’t you fuck geto suguru? he has the type of beauty that lingers on the back of your eyelids even after you’ve long since departed from him; it’s the kind of fragrant, lasting beauty that you think sculptors muse over when they coax life from their marble. he’s smooth, like still water, and calming, like the sound of birds rustling and leaves swaying at dawn. he is helen: a beauty that nations would go to war over. 

and sure, he is pretentious, the kind of toxic pretentiousness that festers inside of all pretty boys who call themselves “leftists” but can’t be bothered to call their mothers or to care about their partners. but it’s the way he speaks, the way he looks at you with such fervor and attention in his eyes that you’re utterly willing to let him break your heart. 

and maybe it’s not often that someone looks at you the way geto does: it’s not often that someone looks at you like they want you, body and soul. and it feels nice to be cared about, to be flirted with, even if the figure doing the flirting condescends you in a way that is different, harsher, colder, than the way ryomen sukuna does. 

so geto suguru takes you on dates. after the avant-garde poetry reading, in which you feigned excitement as he recited a poem on global imperialism that you didn’t quite vibe with, he brings you to local bookstores with overpriced yuppie memoirs, farmers’ markets with organic fruit, human rights protests and philosophy meetings where greasy boys bitterly discuss the communist manifesto. he takes you to dinner, too, to vegan restaurants that you can’t help but rave about on yelp later and to bars where they serve your cocktails in mason jars. 

geto suguru, for all his faults, is incredibly lighthearted with you; he makes you feel beautiful and desirable and warm, even when he’s explaining anthropology to you with such intense vigor that you lose track of his meaning. after everything, you’d be lying if you said you regretted your time with him.

after awhile you let geto fuck you – and yes, he was your first time, which you were naturally quite nervous about. but you appreciated him because he waited for you; he never pressured you into behaviors you didn’t want; he never asked you for services you weren’t ready to provide. and so when you slept with him, after an invigorating open-mic night at the fair-trade coffee shop near campus, you felt ready for the intimacy. geto made you feel attractive, comfortable, safe. he praised you the whole night, gave you caresses that lit you up like fireworks, provided such a level of god-tier aftercare you still reminisce about it, even now. 

but that’s the thing about anthropology-ceramics major geto suguru: he’s quietly toxic. he’s a poison that sneaks up on you, infecting your bloodstream when you least expect it. 

you weren’t sure if geto wanted to pursue a relationship, either. you’d fucked, sure, and you went on dates, but he was always the type to avoid long-term commitments. rumors float around campus of the many partners he’s ghosted, of the relationships he exploited for his own “artistic musings.” they aren’t loud rumors, to be sure, but they hang around his aura like a strange, ghostly scent. 

geto is a pretentious little fuck. you’ve known it and agreed to enter his circle anyway. maybe you hoped, perhaps naively, that the rumors would simply not apply to you.

which was a stupid idea. three weeks after the experience, since which you have only spent one-on-one time with geto only a few times, mostly to talk about school, the art department hosts an art show. it’s a regular occurrence, where the art students show off their best works, grad students display their in-progress theses, and outsiders can browse the displays, drink wine, offer to give outstanding students jobs and internships. it’s truly a big fucking deal for the art department; many of the school’s the most successful artists received their first acclaim here. 

you’ve always enjoyed attending, even if the level of talent and expertise sometimes intimidates you, even if you know you’ll never be on this level. you know sukuna’s got a few paintings lined up to be on display – paintings you’ve modeled for, drawings you’ve watched him labor over for hours on end. you reckon that for all your begrudging time together, you might as well show your face in support. 

but what you didn’t count on was geto’s contribution.

at this art show, there are, every now and then, some interactive performances, speeches, explanations on certain works. so it happens that from the back of the auditorium you watch geto take the stage, wheeling a small, white sculpture behind him. from your perspective it could have been a flower – perhaps a lily, but you can’t be certain. 

(geto always did like sculpting precious, dainty flowers.)

he doesn’t call you by name, but he doesn’t have to. he talks at great length in that smooth voice of his about the construct of virginity, the purity culture plaguing the globe, the emotional sensitivity of having your first time. geto seguru tells an avid audience what you felt about fucking for the first time. he recreates the entire night for two hundred listeners: he recalls the foreplay, the insecurity, the orgasms. he doesn’t call you by name. he doesn’t have to. 

he may have asked for your consent the first time. but he certainly did not ask your permission to do this. 

you’re not sure if you should laugh or cry when geto dramatically smashes his own sculpture, citing the “destruction of virginity” and  the need “to demolish a social desire to classify one’s morality based upon their sexual activity” and “the symbolic popping of the cherry” among other phrases that are utter bullshit. you’re watching the fragments dance across the stage and you feel exploited. you feel used in a way that feels utterly worse than anything else geto could have done.

did he ever like you? or were you simply a muse for this moment? 

you’re about to ditch the art show and go wallow in self pity at your apartment when a familiar presence slides in beside you.

“that’s kinda fucked,” sukuna says, hands in his jacket pockets. he’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye. his tone tells you he’s joking. maybe he just doesn’t know. “no one gives a shit about virginity constructs anymore, idiot.” 

“yeah,” you respond, but the energy is gone. you feel strange, like you’re hovering outside of yourself. your head hurts: you’re angry. you decide you’d like to cry when you get home. “what a piece of shit.” it comes out strangled and lost. 

sukuna notices the dejection in your voice, the sag in your shoulders, the way you’re just barely able to hold yourself together. he may be arrogant, not ryomen sukuna is not mean.

a familiar arm around your shoulders, keeping your sanity together. “shit’s lame. let’s get the fuck out of here.” it’s a phrase that captures everything that remains unsaid between you: i’m going to beat the shit out of geto the next time i see him. that’s absolutely unbelievable.

you never explicitly told sukuna about your weird relationship with geto: you didn’t have to. it was always evident to the both of you. it was written in the way you’d look a little bit longer in geto’s direction, in the way you let yourself be strung along and become someone else. you’ve hung around sukuna long enough that you know his body language and that he knows yours. you’ve hung around sukuna enough that there are a lifetime of stories that never need to be told. 

you nod. “yeah.” thank you. i know. 

you’re both uncharacteristically silent when you exit the auditorium, when you collect sukuna’s belongings that are still lounging by his artwork as you prepare to leave. ryomen sukuna is famous for never shutting the fuck up. but as you button your coat, he’s silent, and it’s strange. comfortable.

“thank you,” you say with uncharacteristic softness as he throws a sketchbook back into his backpack and zips it shut. 

“why?”

“for asking my permission,” you say, gesturing to the gallery wall behind him, to the painting of you – “eros” – that you had posed for awhile back. even now, you find that it captures an essence you did not know you possessed. “he didn’t. ask, i mean.” 

ryomen sukuna has always craved your attention. and maybe he’s glad he’s got it back – but it feels sour. he doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking upset for you. he doesn’t understand why he wants so badly for you to be happy again. what he does understand is that he plans for retribution. 

“that’s fucked,” he settles on. “what bastard doesn’t ask for consent?”

you smile – and he does too, one that’s less feral and almost kind. and so you fall back into routine, already, some kind of weight lifting from your shoulders. ryomen sukuna may be a menace, but you can rely on him, trust him: that much you know. 

“you know,” sukuna says offhandedly as you exit the building and enter the parking lot. “i know where geto’s car is, i’m just saying. and i’d be lying if i said i didn’t have an extra precision knife in my backpack right now.”  

[shianhygge-imagines]

Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] [V/Reader] {Devil May Cry} The Mortal Half

AN: I apologize for the wait! The road of life took a bit of a wild turn, and my writing (along with a few other things) suffered for it.

On another note... anyone as excited for DMC5: Special Edition as I am :D 

This chapter is a long one that I wanted to write and post as soon as possible (I was tempted to wait until all chapters of Visions of V were out). I will probably come back to re-explore V’s character at a later time because damn it, Visions of V really kicked my ass with the character development.

WARNING: As I have mentioned in a separate post, there is a section of smut in here. This is actually the first full smut scene I’ve ever written, so please excuse the awkwardness... and the kinks... and if it sucks.

So, yeah. It’s now a Vergil/Reader as well as a V/Reader story. Cheers!

If you like the content I create, please consider donating to my Ko-fi! Please help me feed my tea addiction!

|Masterlist Link|    |First Chapter|    |Prev. Ch.| --- |Next Ch.|

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4th May 01:40pm

When you woke the next morning, Shadow was still curled into your side, its eyes closed and seemingly content despite the afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows. Though you’d slept peacefully through the rest of the night, it was rather strange having another presence in the same bed as you. After all, you hadn’t shared your bed with another individual since Vergil had started leaving on his alarmingly frequent trips away from your home in Red Grave City. And although it had been years since you visited that place, the mere thought of those nights brought a frown to your previously content face. Closing your eyes and exhaling slowly, you mentally gave the box of memories a rough shove away.

It’s best not to dwell on unpleasant thing, Y/N. You muse to yourself with the slightest tensing of your body.

Sensing your change in mood, Shadow shifted to rest a lightly dozing head on your stomach, cracking a single ruby eye open to check on you as a purr rumbles throughout its body in an effort to calm you.

Running a hand through the shadow panther’s silky ‘fur’, you hummed absentmindedly in response. “Just unpleasant memories, Shadow.” When the remnant of your husband’s memories merely huffs in a feline scoff, you turn to cuddle into the Nightmare demon. “I am 100% sure that V didn’t tell me the truth last night… but if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years, prying is generally not the correct course to take to learn the whole truth. Still though,” you sigh wistfully, “My life has been so chaotic and cryptic that there are times where I wish that I was born a normal girl.”

Although you wished to say more, your lips clam up the moment that you hear a knock at the door. “Y/N? It’s nearly 2pm. Are you awake, yet?”

You share a look with Shadow, “Well, speak of the devil, I guess.” You don’t bother moving as you call out to the moral man, “You can come in, V. I’m awake, but I sure as hell ain’t getting out of bed yet.” Even though you say this, you lift your head to peer over Shadow’s dark body as V enters the room with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you have any intention of leaving your bed, Y/N? It’s well into the afternoon.” V inquires with a furrowed brow as he closes the door and continues forward to the side of the bed with a limp.

“Oh…. Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” You remark cheerfully, settling back down into the sheets as you pet Shadow. “I don’t think I will any time soon, no.”

Unsure as to how to proceed with your blatant denial to rise from bed, V gestures towards the edge of your king sized bed. “May I have a seat?”

“Knock yourself out, V. This bed is too big anyways, so… ‘free real estate’ I guess.” You found yourself repeating the meme that a group of orphans in Fortuna City had taken the time to teach you… though you were unsure if you had used the meme in the proper context.

Your eyes shifted to meet V’s green once you felt the edge of the bed dip to your left. In the daylight, with the sun’s rays pouring into the room, V seemed… sickly. It was worrying how skinny and pale he was despite the hint of power you could feel in him. If it weren’t for his contract with Vergil’s remnants, you would not have any confidence in V’s ability to defend himself should you all take on Urizen. And once Vergil had been defeated again (though you found yourself in pain just thinking about killing your beloved), would the powers disappear and leave the young man before you weak and on the verge of collapse?

“There’s no need to worry, Y/N.” V’s gaze is almost gentle as he reassures you, “I promise that I’ll not suddenly collapse.” Not realizing that you had been staring, you blinked your eyes and mumbled an apology. “No, don’t apologize. It is only natural to doubt my abilities when I look like this.” The young man gestures towards his weakened body with a carefully bitter expression that would stick with you for days to come. “My powers are limited, which is why it is absolutely imperative that we stop Urizen before he grows too powerful.” When you don’t respond, trying to find a way to comment without offending him, V took it as a sign of sadness. “I couldn’t help but overhear you before I entered. That you wished that you were born to a normal life.”

Your face scrunches up as you force yourself to sit, “If I’m being perfectly honest, V… I don’t really know you well enough to pour my heart and soul out.”

V’s smile remains slightly bitter even as he pulls out the anthology of William Blake poems and hands it over to you. “Fair enough, Ms. Y/N. By all means, save your words. I only ask that you listen to what I have learned about you and your past.” When you reluctantly take a hold of the tome, V gestures towards it, “The note written on the back cover of that volume seems to imply that the person who gifted it to you was rather fond of you.”

The book’s cover was immaculate, but upon closer inspection, you noticed that the pages have yellowed from its age. Brows scrunched and curious, you immediately flipped to the back cover and withheld a gasp at the painfully familiar handwriting scrawled along the back cover.

To my beautiful silver rose,

Perhaps it is just the slightest bit vain that I gift this book to you. After all, an exact copy of this anthology sits on my book shelf in the study. But I noticed that you’ve taken a deeper interest in these old poems as of late, so I sought out a copy for yourself. Please do not think I turn a blind eye to your sadness when I am away, Y/N. I do my best to comfort you while I have you in my arms, but I must see my goals through. When I am gone, please read these poems and think of me. Just as I will think of you.

Rest assured that no matter how far I travel, Y/N, that I will always find my way back to you.

Your loving husband,

Vergil Sparda

“You were in that place, weren’t you?” You asked V as your fingers traced the note written into the cover. “There is no way you’d have this particular volume if you hadn’t been.”

V nodded, his eyes carefully watching as you caressed the book. “When I found Vergil’s remnants, they had been drawn to that book which had been left in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

“I left it there when Vergil embarked on his quest through Hell.” You admitted, melancholic. “The book had been a constant reminder of an empty promise, so I tried to bury my past. Obviously it didn’t work, but I left the book in Vergil’s childhood room regardless.”

“Why the book?” V wondered, “Aside from the note in the back, the tome seems ordinary.”

Handing the book back to the younger man, you merely smiled a tame smile, “It was a symbol of hope that I didn’t want, as well as a constant reminder that the man I love abandoned me in favor of demonic power.” Slipping out of bed, you grabbed a robe and ventured into the bathroom, only a final statement leaving your lips before the door shut behind you, “And nothing’s worse than to be reminded that I wasn’t enough.”

22nd May 11:32am

You’re not sure if you should be worried or relieved by how easy it was to trail V through the city wreckage as you sprinted and jumped from one roof to another. The mysterious young man traversed the streets below with his Nightmare demons protecting him as low leveled demons appeared along the path. Over the course of the past few days, you and V had taken shelter within your home in Red Grave City. Although there were times where you interacted, V regularly ventured out into the city on patrols and supply runs, seemingly under the impression that you were still injured from the encounter with Urizen at the heart of the Qliphoth Tree. More often than not, V would leave in the afternoons and return in the morning.

Although you were touched by his care for your well-being, you still couldn’t but feel distrustful and suspicious of V. The names of his demon contracts… Hence your current trailing… and as it turns out, his actual hair color is white.

With how many demons there were roaming the streets, you were surprised that V had lasted this long. Though, from your spot seated on the roof above the corner where V fought to protect a small group of surviving humans, you could tell that the younger man was becoming weaker the more he used his abilities. You would jump down and aid him if he needed it, but only if he needed it.

Your initial assessment of V was that he didn’t care for humans in the slightest after watching him walk fast the human corpses without a care. The way the younger looking man had gazed upon the carnage with indifference… you remembered shivering and thinking that there was no way he was completely human. Though, after that night, you were pleased to learn that V had quickly taken up the role as protector while the humans evacuated.

Your attention drifted back into the present when V slumped over below you, exhausted as he sat upon a pile of demon corpses. The humans that he had protected were cowering against the wall opposite of V, and you frowned when none rose to offer aid to the sickly man, who had begun to pale more than he normally did.

You heard V heave a tired sigh as he asked Griffon a question, “How many days has it been?”

The demon summon flapped its wings and hovered above his master, “Three.”

V slumped over, curling in upon himself, his dark hair hanging to cover his face. “I’m not sure that I can even last a month.” Your frown deepened at that comment. That’s news to me… shit. Now I feel bad for not helping him. You rose from your seated position and removed your eyes from V to sweep the area with a vigilant gaze.

“You’re just going willy-nilly, spending all your strength like that.” Griffon squawked mockingly, “Nicely done, buddy. If you continue like this, you’re gonna croak before the kid even returns.”

So, V’s dying? You wondered, Who is he? What’s his deal? How is he involved in this mess to begin with? Your gaze also darkens when the humans call V and Griffon monsters. We have to protect humanity, yes. But this is one of those times where I understand Vergil’s distaste for humanity. Then again… nothing is perfect.

Your eyes sweep briefly back down to make sure that V was in the clear while searching for food just as you felt several demonic presences appear behind you. Stepping away from the ledge, you nodded and unsheathed the Totsuka just as several Hell Bats and a Lusachia attempt to ambush you.

Your steps are quiet as you slide under several fireballs and sprint across the rooftop to a less narrow roof. “Okay, folks. I’m going to have to ask you to be as quiet as possible during this entire transaction we got going here.” You chirp with a smirk, voice carefully lowered to just below your normal speaking voice. “I don’t want my friend knowing that I’m spying on him. Heh.” As expected, none of the demons respond, opting to rush you with fireballs and incantations.

Your feet are moving before your brain catches up with the attacks, running in wide arcs and tight turns to avoid the incoming fireballs and incantation circle. “Sorry, what was that?” Your grin is feral as you push off from the rooftop in a wide swipe at the Lusachia, striking it with a shallow cut before kicking off of it in a backflip, free hand pulling out your Silver Rose to shoot it in the face a few times. “I couldn’t hear what you were saying!” As you stick the landing, you shoot it once more before raising the same hand to your ears, “You’re gonna have to speak louder!”

Of course the Lusachia can only groan as it falls, dying from the wounds you’ve inflicted upon it. Around you, the Hell Bats screech and rush, swooping down in lines of fire as you duck and dodge. “No, no! I wasn’t talking to you guys! You’re a bit too loud, so imma have to ask you to shut up!” Just as two Hell Bats swoop down to attack you from both sides, you holster the Silver Rose and Totsuka, getting into a wide stance. When the bats are close enough, you unsheathe the Totsuka in a single movement, cutting down the demons before they could even touch you.

The remaining Hell Bat screeches and flies back towards the grocery store’s roof, but you only grin and follow, Totsuka sheathed once more. “No, no! I’m gonna getcha!”

You are probably a step away from killing the bat yourself, when you notice a giant meteor suddenly appear in the sky above you. “Ah! Nope!” You are just in time to kick off the grocery store roof and flip to safety when Nightmare crashes into the grocery store, completely decimating the building. Wincing at the loss of the area’s last remaining food source, you crouch down upon the ledge of another roof and scan over the wreckage below. “…that was overkill.”

It seems… from how loudly Griffon was protesting, that it agreed with your assessment. “You’re killin’ me here, V! Didja really have to take it that far? You could’ve just-oh, I don’t even know where to begin!”

You watch as a boy and his mother walk out of the wrecked grocery store before jumping down from the rooftop, casually strolling over to where V and Griffon continued to converse. You were about to speak when V crouched down and suddenly took a bite out of a demon’s carcass.

The only thing you could do at seeing the younger man eat the demon meat was dry heave loudly.

Both V and Griffon freeze before turning their heads to look at you. “Aw shit!” Griffon curses, “It’s the Lady Sparda!”

You hold back the gag threatening to escape as you approach the two, eyes trained on the blood staining V’s mouth. There’s unfiltered horror on V’s face even as you crouch down and wipe away the blood with a handkerchief. “Raw demon meant cannot be good for you.” The horror softens when you sigh and offer V a hand, “Come on. I still have canned food in the pantry back home. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You don’t see the grief and regret upon V’s face as you turn to lead him out of the wreckage, hand in hand.

~~~~~

V’s Point of View

V’s green eyes never leave your back the entire way back to the house that Vergil had bought you all those years ago. He is exhausted from overusing his abilities, his mind muddled and unfocused. V can tell that the silence bothers you. He’s known that the silence bothers you ever since you’d both fled from this very city when you were children. Still, the past few hours have rendered him too tired to speak. So the silence continues.

Even as you fix him a meal.

Even as you sit down with him to eat.

Even as you guide him to the bathroom.

Even as you place a set of his pajamas on the counter.

Even as you leave the bathroom with a comment that you’d be in the study.

Even in his mute state, V doesn’t fail to see the melancholy in your eyes.

As he undresses, leaving his demon blood soiled clothes in the sink, V laments his current situation.

The house that he’d bought for you is still very much the same as it was over twenty years ago. Aside from the changes in products and appliances on the inside, it is as he left it. There are signs that Y/N doesn’t live in the building as often as she should… canned and dried food products in the pantry… a fridge empty except for bottled water and frozen meals… untouched kitchen appliances… a vacuum that seemed to be over ten years old… dust gathering in the unused rooms where they had planned to put a baby crib… his old clothes packed into boxes and shoved into the very same dusty rooms…

When the overly large bathtub is filled with hot water, V forces himself into the separate shower to quickly rinse off the dried blood and grime coating his skin. In the back of his mind, he recalls a memory where you told him that it was gross to sit in filth when taking a bath. The memory brings a constricting feeling to his chest and he doesn’t care that he drips water everywhere as he leaves the shower in favor of the bathtub.

The soap used in the shower is the same scent you’ve always used. The brand has changed, but it seems that you haven’t. His chest constricts some more when he realizes that you haven’t changed much since the last he saw you aside from your overuse of snark and slang. Sinking into the hot water and wrapped in your scent, V laments that the melancholy in your eyes was nothing new. When he was Vergil… a young Vergil from over twenty years ago… the last year spent with you before Temen Ni Gru… there were times where he noticed your eyes fill with melancholy. V winces, visibly in pain as he forces himself to remember. Vergil had known you were sad and lonely… but he had chosen to ignore your pain.

And even now, when he was no longer that man, V continues to hurt you.

The mortal half slips under the water before he knew it, his mind running wild with reflection.

Strange.

I feel rather peculiar.

I’m scared because I am weak.

I’ve resorted to depending on others because I am afraid.

That is what the weak do.

I’m…

…ever since I got this body, all I’ve been doing are things that I don’t want to do.

All of my thoughts are things I don’t want to think about.

(Y/N. Mother. Dante.)

While I’ve always intended on reflecting on why I lost (to Dante… to Mundus),

The reality is, I’ve moved on a long time ago.

I always thought I could fill this emptiness with power.

Anything that I lacked could be compensated with raw power.

How ironic.

It was only after I was stripped of all my strength that I realized…

That it was always within reach.

Always.

Deep inside, the answer was always there.

~~~~~

Y/N’s Point of View

“V?” You knock on the door to the master bathroom after around ten minutes, intent on taking the man’s clothes in order to wash them. “V, I need your clothes so I can put them in the wash.” When there is no answer, you knock again, “V? If you don’t answer me, I’m just gonna come in.” Your brows furrow at the lack of answer. “… Well, I warned you. I’m coming in.”

There’s a distinct lack of sound inside the bathroom when you enter although the dirty clothes are in the sink, “Um… V?” Your gaze sweeps across the large bathroom to rest upon the filled bathtub, and you frown when you notice the bubbles rising from the middle of the large tub. Creeping closer, you can see V under the water, his gaze empty and melancholic. No more bubbles rise from his lips, and you suddenly realize that V might be too tired to notice that he was drowning.

You don’t notice the wet floor, and you don’t care that the man is completely nude. Something in you beckons you forward, and you practically sprint to climb into the bathtub, taking a firm hold of his torso and lifting V’s upper half out of the water.

V’s green eyes blink blearily as he stares into yours. “V?” You whisper, letting go of his torso once he’d sat up on his own. Your hands come up to brush his dark hair out of his eyes. “Are you okay?”

The man lets out a shaky breath and ducks his head, nodding. “I appreciate the sentiment, Y/N. But I wasn’t in any danger. You didn’t have to climb in to save me.”

“You weren’t breathing, V.” You deadpanned, bringing up a hand to flick his forehead. “Nobody’s dying in my house.”

The two of you are quiet for a few moments until V turns to look away from you. “As much as I am grateful for you kindness, I don’t want to imagine what your husband would do to me if he finds out that you bathed with another man.”

You flush a deep red when you notice the position you were in… straddling a completely nude V in the bathtub while you sit in a soaked white nightgown that was becoming see through. “I… uh…”

You’re at a loss for words and continue to be at a loss for words when V turns back to stare you down with darkened eyes. He scoots you closer, pressing you against his body as he teases lowly, “Unless… I entice you…?”

You swallow hard when you notice that something hard is pressed up against you.

~~~~~~

Third Person Omniscient Point of View

“I… don’t…” The water is starting to cool in the bathtub, sending chills up your body even as you flush from head to toe. The only source of warmth is from V, who holds you close, his green eyes gazing at you with a myriad of emotions… Lust… Affection… Loneliness… Guilt… Mischief… Love… It has been over twenty years since someone has made love to you, and for all your faith and devotion, you want to feel that intense pleasure… that warm intimacy once more. You know that a demonic Vergil has run rampant across your home city, that what remains of your husband’s humanity has bonded with the man before you… You know that something within you call for V and beckons you to continue… to give in.

The moment that you pulled V out of the water, soaked from head to toe with concern in you eyes, V knew that he could continue this charade with you. He’d been cruel to you for most of your life, and he couldn’t bear to be cruel for another minute. He wants you to know him completely once more. As Vergil as well as V. What he wanted and need this entire time had been something you’d been willing to give him from the beginning, and Vergil had been a fool to cast you aside. Yet, with you pressed so close to him, your scent invading his senses, all V can think about is his love for you. A love that had never died, just stubbornly ignored. He’d neglected you for over twenty years because of his mistake. And now, if you are willing, he would make love to you until that melancholy has been chased away.

You gasp when V presses his lips to the crook of your neck, whimpering as he simply brushes his lips over your skin in light caresses. The mortal half smirks against your skin and whispers to you in a low rumble. “I’ve slacked in my duties, Y/N.” His hands trail up your bare thighs resting on either side of his hips, bunching up the material as his hands rise sensually to rest upon your waist.

“W-what are you…saying?” It would be remiss of you to not notice the same phrase that Vergil used on the day he asked you to marry him. When did your breathing become heavy?

V’s lips trail upwards along the column of your throat achingly slow as he kisses teasingly along the way. His thumb traces gentle patterns on the skin of your waist even as he lifts you from his hips to place you close to the edge of the bathtub. He’s on all fours, knelt before you with his arms propped up on either side of your head as he continues the kiss until he’s at your ear. “I’ll show you how much you mean to me, my beautiful wife.” V growls as he gently nips your ear.

Shocked, you pull away to stare at the man. “V…” you plead, voice weak from arousal and heartbreak, “Please don’t play with my heart like this.”

The dark expression softens as V leans forward to press a loving kiss to your lips before pulling back. “I’ve made so many mistakes in the past, Y/N. The greatest was leaving you in pursuit of power.” His green eyes are filled with guilt as he sighs miserably, “You were right. Power isn’t everything. And I was wrong to call you a burden all those years ago.” At the reminder, you flinch backwards, and suddenly it is no longer just guilt on V’s face, but self-loathing. “Because of me, we lost so much time. Over twenty years of sorrow and regrets, and I didn’t want this to be another regret.”

“So, you’re…”

“I am Vergil… but not quite.” V confirms, “I… made another mistake, and this is the result.”

V’s lip move to continue, but you quickly shut him up by pressing your lips firmly against his. Your arms are raised to drape over his shoulders, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss with a hungry moan. You part your lips before V can tease you, and heavy desire pools below when his tongue teases the roof of your mouth.

V’s hands find their way to the hem of your soaked nightgown, grasping the edges firmly and lifting when you separate briefly to assist him in undressing you. You hear your nightgown flop into the water as V tosses the article of clothing to the side, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You press yourself into V, hands rising to hold his face as your lips capture his once more. “Explanations can wait until tomorrow.” Your voice is thick with desire as you pull away just the slightest to leave the bathtub.

After casually slipping your soaked panties off, you turn back to V to beckon him after you. You can hear him leave the tub as you walk out of the master bathroom and into the bedroom.

(Smut Alert!!!)

You don’t make it to the bed before V catches up to you, his hand snatching yours and halting your progress forward. The air conditioning is on, and the cool breeze on your wet skin elicits a shiver through your body just as your nipples harden. Soon, your shivering is not from the cold air, but from the heat of having V’s naked body pressed into your back. His right arm moves to circle around your waist, pressing his palm flat against your pelvis while his left arm releases you in favor of cupping your left breast. You can feel him hard against the small of your back as V presses urgent kisses along your shoulder.

“Tell me, Y/N.” His voice is a husky growl between sensual kisses as his fingers tweak your nipple with a quick flick. “Did you ache for me while I was gone?” V’s right palm lowers to rest just over your mound drawing molten patterns just upwards of your clit. “Did you stay up touching yourself to thoughts of what I might do to you when I returned?”

You know your husband, and even if V wasn’t completely Vergil, the teasing was enough of a tell to know that he could play the long game. If you don’t answer. If you don’t let out the sinful sounds he’s looking for… V would refuse to continue. And after twenty plus years without, you didn’t want to wait another moment.

“Y-yes!” You moaned, body aching for more as your pussy gets wetter. “Every night that I’m alone.” The tortured whimper from your lips pleases V immensely as his hand dips lower to cup your sex, long fingers swiping just lightly before pulling away to show you just how wet you are.

“And when you thought of me during those nights, were you as soaked then as you are now?” His voice had been sinful as Vergil, but the deep airy whispers that V makes has you licking your lips in anticipation as his fingers play with your juices. V rests his chin upon your shoulder and brings his fingers up to his lips, “No, right?” You can’t reply, too entranced as he licks your juices off his fingers. “Hmmm.” He moans as you whimper, bringing his hand back down to rest exactly on your clit. “I want to taste more of you.” V growls, a finger toying with your clit while his remaining fingers dip into your slit, spreading your juices all over your lips.

Head tilted, you can only moan when V dips a long finger into your pussy before immediately pulling out. “V… please s-stop teasing me!” You beg, quivering as your hands raise to tug his arms close.

He hums and thrusts his hips into your back slightly, not enough for him to receive any pleasure from it, but enough so that you know how much harder he’s become. “Hmmm” V purrs into your ear, turning his hand so that it locks with yours, fingers intwined for just the moment, “Well, if that is what my love desires…” In a single fluid movement, he’d spun you around and gently guided you to rest upon your bed. “Then who am I to deny?”

Although sickly, you can’t help but salivate over how the black markings decorate his torso and arms. They trail in intricate patterns all over his torso and down to his pelvis, ending at… oh. Fuck. He’s longer than I expected. The part of him that stands at attention, partially curved up, draws your attention better than his beautiful green eyes and dark hair. You’re sure that V can hear how fast your heart is racing as he smirks, completely at ease as he saunters forward and crawls over you. There are whispers at the back of your mind telling you to touch him, but you only ignore them as V presses slow, open mouthed kisses along every inch of skin on his way up to your mouth.

He stops just shy of kissing your core, where an unbearable amount of heat has gathered.

He presses gentle, mournful kisses to the spot that Vergil and Urizen stabbed, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a silent plea for forgiveness.

He licks up the valley between your breasts, eyes closes as if he’s savoring the taste of your skin.

He issues a silent challenge by meeting your gaze as he pulls one of your nipples into his mouth while a hand plays with the other. You meet his gaze and stubbornly refuse to look away even as you feel his tongue flick and lap, even as the heat of his mouth becomes almost too much to bear.

When he finally makes his way to your mouth, V’s smiling, something that has always been rare even when he was Vergil. The slow kiss that follows is sweet and loving, but is interrupted as you gasp. V smirks smugly as his fingers circle your slit a few times before he presses a finger into you… then two. His green eyes watch you in adoration as he pumps his fingers in and out of your soaked pussy, taking in your moans as if it were the sweetest melody he’d ever heard.

You can’t help the moans that fall from your lips or that your legs spread to give V more space. You want more.

“V!” You whimper, even as he presses a third in. “P-please!”

He pretends he doesn’t hear you, continuing to finger fuck your pussy as his thumb plays with your swollen clit. It has been over twenty years since he’d had you beneath him. And with all the shit he’s pulled in the past, he wants you to cum at least once before he takes you.

After years without, you don’t last as long as you’d hoped. The rush of pleasure builds up faster than you expect. Your legs stiffen and your toes curl as the heat builds up to a climax, sending you over the edge of wild abandon and heavy breaths.

You come back from the haze to find V grinning triumphantly, licking your juices from his fingers once more. When scowl dangerously, V only continues to grin. It doesn’t take much more than a push to reverse your positions, but still V’s grin persists.

“Not satisfied, my love?”

“You know damn well that I’m not satisfied.” You mutter with a pout, throwing your legs over his hips so that you can press your soaked lips against his throbbing cock. Biting your lip, you stay still for a few moments as you look down at V, his dark hair sprawled upon the bed and lustful gaze staring up.

“And how would you have me repent, Y/N?” The words are out of his mouth before V realizes it.

You hum, tracing your fingers along the black lines adorning his chest before moving your hips to slid your pussy along his cock. “I want you to fuck me, V.” His body tenses when you continue to tease him, “I want you to fill me up. To make me cum so many times that I forget my name. To make me scream so loud from pleasure that fucking Urizen can hear it from his stupid demon tree.”

A growl is your only answer before V’s gaze darkens once more and you find yourself pressed into the bed, watching as V positions himself between your legs, lining himself up so that the head of his weeping cock is pressed to your opening.

“If Urizen hears the sounds of your pleasure, he might be compelled to take you as well.” He’s teasing you again.

“Urgh, V, jus-ah!” You’re interrupted when his hips snap forward, sheathing his cock to the hilt.

“I’ve never been one to share.” V gasps, holding onto your hips as he pulls away and snaps back.

All you can do is moan and move to meet his hips, lewd noises filling your quiet home as V sets a quick pace. After years of denying yourself the pleasures of the flesh, you can feel your cunt stretch around V. Already sensitive from your previous orgasm, it takes everything for you not to cum again just from being filled. Your soft moans and gasps of his name fuel V’s desire, and soon, as you cry for more, he sets a brutal pace, pounding into your pussy as your writhe beneath him.

His green eyes are wild as he pounds deep into your womb, something like determination in his eyes, “Y/N.” Your name is like a prayer upon his lips, “You asked me to fill you up.”

If it was possible, another jolt of pleasure shot through your body and straight to your core, and you found yourself tightening around him at what V was implying. “Yes.” You moan, throwing your hands up to wrap around his shoulders, “Yes, V! Fuck! I need you to cum in me!”

Unable to stop himself anymore, V let go of whatever control he had and thrust into you with wild abandon. He didn’t even know if he could impregnate you in his current state, and he knew that it was reckless to try, but fuck if he wasn’t going to try anyways. It was all you’d ever wanted with Vergil. A family. And if he could give you this, too…

God, you wanted to be filled. The thought of finally having a child leaves you wailing and on the edge of release. You could feel him throb as he abandoned rhythm, muttering ‘I love you’ as his body quaked with each thrust before abruptly stopping. The moment you feel his warmth spilling deep into you is when you finally allow yourself to fall over the edge with a wordless moan, pussy pulsing as you milk V of his release.

Coming down from the high, you find yourself entangled in V’s arms, the both of you breathing heavy as you both lay on the bed. Like all times before Vergil left, the two of you lay in silence, content with each other’s presence.

(Smut end… *fans self* as a side note, they absolutely cleaned up after an additional two rounds :P)

23rd May 09:32am

You woke up to the sounds of a struggle, bolting from the bed with light steps and snatching the Silver Rose from your nightstand. You heard something clank and clatter from within the bathroom just as you pressed yourself to the wall, gun raised as you peered into the room. What you saw in had you in a fit of laughter.

“Ahahahahaha! Oh my gosh! V!” Your finger leaves the trigger as you bend over with a laugh, , “I have a washer and dryer for a reason!”

V grumbled and flushed lightly as he wrestled his clean, but soaked pants from Griffon and Shadow. “…” The set of pajamas that you’d coaxed V into the previous night were thoroughly soaked through because he’d decided to hand wash and hand dry his only set of clothes.

“Guess we’ve been camping out too much, huh, buddy?” Griffon chirped after letting go of the black pants.

Shadow lets out a growl in warning, also letting go of the pants in favor of approaching you, rubbing its face against your side with a purred greeting. Though you raise a brow in question, you raise a hand to scratch behind the panther’s ears. “I have many questions, I’m not going to beat around the bush.”

V sighs and sets his clothes on the sink counter before walking towards to pull you into a loving embrace, “Let me change into some dry clothes, and we’ll talk over breakfast.”

His wet clothes feel cold against your nightgown, but you don’t mind, humming as you snuggle into V’s embrace.

15th June 06:00am

“Hurry up, Shakespeare! The Lady Sparda and I aren’t gonna wait for your slow ass all the time!” Griffon called back towards V from his perch on your right arm.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Griff. He’s trying his best.” You chide, turning to stare at V just as he closes the remaining few meters to stand at your side. The past month had been an ordeal, but here you were, about to meet up with your son to end this mess. Turning to V, you playfully nudge him, “Let’s go, V.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I will definitely be writing more about Reader’s time with V as chapters of Visions of V release.

As always, thank you so much for reading!

PS.  Hi, yes, Tumblr. Please don’t eat up my chapter again.（╹◡╹）THanks

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #235: Havoc on the Homefront!

September, 1983

Welcome to the Wizard’s Mansion of Mechanized Mayhem!

This cover has got it going on!

Where “it” is “multiple things.”

Still, I love covers that are just like ‘here’s a couple things happening today’ and this is a great version of that concept with the things being viewing screens that the Wizard is looking at.

He’s watching the Avengers in various peril channel.

This is a good cover!

So last time: uh, a couple things. Wasp called Vision and Scarlet Witch in as reservists when Annihilus tried to blow up the universe with an invisible dome. The two basically contributed nothing but Vision was thrown into a robotic coma.

Wanda and Vision in a tube moved into the mansion while he recovers and Wanda recapped her entire backstory including new retcon that Magneto is totally her dad.

Then she had a Dr. Strange crossover. Since it also involved Monica, two Avengers makes it notable enough to synopsize in brief. And its titled Assault on Avengers Mansion! so its like its baiting me.

Dr. Strange astral projects to bother Wanda when she’s trying to get some grief reading in. He wants to find the Darkhold and she’s the last known possessor or vice versa because thats when she was possessed by Cththon and had to be saved with a care bear stare from the Avengers. But Dr. Strange really wants the Darkhold to stop Dracula from getting it. Yes, Dracula.

Since the Darkhold is being stored in a vault at Avengers Mansion after Beast brought it back from Wundagore, Dracula’s cult attacks and manages to break into the Mansion. Dr. Strange, Wanda, and Captain Marvel all fight off Dracula’s cult and then Dr. Strange trolls Dracula by teleporting the Darkhold somewhere else.

Also, Avengers Mansion got trashed in a break-in in Fantastic Four #257. Dammit. Whats with all the intertextuality in this era?

So that story there is: mostly a lot of Galactus eating the Skrull homeworld and fallout from aforementioned Annihilus story. Only the last two pages are relevant.

Mr. Fantastic shows up to Avengers Mansion to check on Vision, Wanda goes to make him tea, and then he’s teleported to a space trial leaving a giant melted hole in the mansion.

Honestly, I don’t know why FF got asterisked instead of the Dr. Strange issue. They both messed up the mansion but the Dracula cult was more of a break-in than someone leaving a giant hole in the wall. Although that’s more mysterious.

Anyway, with two different ‘read this also’s between issues that messed up the mansion, no wonder the opening splash has to be devoted to a repair crew patching things up.

Wasp is putting her size-shifting to good use to literally micro-manage. Zipping around at tiny size telling everyone how to do their job.

Captain America who is also supervising and impressing people with how buff he is gets annoyed and goes to tell her to stop but stops himself.

Captain America: No... No. She’s in charge here, and I have to let her handle things as best she can. Her methods do seem to bring results... They’re just not my methods, that’s all. Yeah...

And then he sulks off, ignoring Wasp when she asks what he’s muttering to himself.

Hm. The new leader honeymoon period is off, it seems. Cap was Wasp’s biggest supporter as chairperson and now he’s grumbling and second-guessing.

Dang.

I hope this isn’t snapback to Wasp not being leader because she’s flighty and silly. I hope we’re not just going to do that.

Cap wanders over to where Vision-inna-tube and Wanda are. Wanda is still glued to Vision’s side. And either Wanda can read minds or Cap says something between panels because we have Cap wondering in a thought bubble whether if Vision has shown any signs of improvement and then Wanda answering that he hasn’t shown improvement or worsened.

Cap(tain) America: “Well, don’t let yourself get too worried, Wanda. That husband of yours has been through worse scrapes than this. He’ll pull through!”

Scarlet Witch: “When you say it, Cap, I can really believe it!”

Inspirational Cap! Charisma rolls: Very.

Still, Wanda is sad because Vision is lying in a tube helpless and she can’t even touch him.

Cap wanders off again, without even saying goodbye (rude) while musing how much it sucks.

Cap: Blast it! Those kids were just starting to make a life for themselves, and this had to happen! Why was it that of all the Avengers who went up against the threat of Annihilus -- it had to be a couple of reservists who suffered most?

And then starts musing how weird it is that Scarlet Witch and Vision as reservists since they were active Avengers for so long!

Remember, Wanda joined the Avengers not very long after Cap did! Only a couple months in-universe! She was one of his Kooky Quartet!

Cap: At times I wondered if the Avengers would survive -- but somehow, through all the tumult and changes, the team not only survived -- it grew stronger! I pray it always will... with the menaces we so often face, we can’t afford to weaken. We’ve gone through so many changes lately. We’ve picked up two fine new Avengers in Captain Marvel and the She-Hulk, but we’ve lost Hank Pym... and now we’ve lost Iron Man, too. Even Thor has taken himself off the active roster to pursue a personal mission. I hope he won’t be gone too long.

Cap is clearly in some sort of dour Mood.

A dour and monologue-y mood.

And what’s Thor up to leaving the team roster OFF PANEL?

(Sigh)

Well, since the asterisk is telling me to see Thor #334... oh geez, Don Blake is under suspicion of killing Jane Foster. Thor, and Lady Sif take Keith Kincaid (the non-Thor love interest of Jane) on a trip to get the Runestaff (long story) and restore Jane Foster (long story).

Annoyingly, the Thor issue does show him telling the Avengers he’s going to be gone for a while and to take him off the active roster. And borrowing a Quinjet.

I think that it would have been nice to see at least a panel of that. Or something. I don’t want the book bloated with ‘see alsos’ but I’m confused why it put the most emphasis on the FF one when it was literally two pages where Reed manages to ruin the wall while getting kidnapped.

Whatever.

Anyyyyway.

Even though he thinks the new Avengers are good, Cap worries about having both Thor and Iron Man off the team.

Especially Iron Man.

He was their science/technical guy. And on the current team, the only one with any sort of science expertise is new trainee Starfox.

Who is busy making out and not being on time for his daily training session.

At least he remembers that he has a prior obligation.

And he’s only two minutes late. Or to put it another way, he’s a whole two minutes late. And Cap(tain America) is a notable stickler for punctuality.

Cap: “Punctuality may be an anachronism in this day and age -- and, for all I know, it may be unheard of on the planet Titan -- but in my day, it was something that was expected of people!”

Wow, Cap really pulled a ‘in my day.’

Frankly, I’m surprised he doesn’t pull that more often.

Starfox does seem contrite and apologizes for putting pleasure before business which sends Cap into an introspection about why he’s really being so harsh on Starfox.

Protip: It’s Tony. It’s almost always Tony.

Cap: Pleasure versus duty, that’s what it always comes down to. It was Tony Stark’s ‘pleasure’ which led him to giving up his Iron Man identity... leaving the Avengers. Some ‘pleasure’! He’s crawled so far into the bottle, he may never get back out. And there’s nothing I can do to pull him out... Nothing any of us can do, unless he lets us. That’s what’s really bothering me... isn’t it?

And he accepts the apology with a “just don’t let it happen again.”

You sound so old sometimes, Cap.

Meanwhile, She-Hulk is off on a jog through New York, listening to some Beach Boys’ California Girls.

An overeager driver scoots forward and cuts her off at the crosswalk and (I assume) in frustration, she punches the hood of the car.

And given it’s She-Hulk, she kinda punches a hole IN the hood. And probably engine.

The guy being either an idiot or incredibly unperceptive runs after She-Hulk to grab her arm and yell at her.

She does not care for that at all.

Like, why would you? She’s seven feet tall and green and just punched a hole in the hood of your car.

Luckily for the guy’s skeletal integrity, Spider-Man pops out of nowhere to be Friendly Neighborhood and mediate this conflict.

They both air their grievances.

She-Hulk: “This creep grabbed me!”

Creep: “Hey! She... she crunched the front of my car!”

She-Hulk: “That was you who cut me off in the crosswalk? You’re lucky I didn’t rip out your axle!”

Spider-Man: “Now, now! Let’s keep this friendly! Sounds like you’re in the wrong, chum! The lady had the light!”

Creep: “Lady?!? She’s no --!”

Spider-Man: “I wouldn’t say that if I were you! That’s the She-Hulk, dummy! Remember what she did to your car? Well, just imagine what she could do to you!”

Creep: “Oh yeah.”

And with the power of Spider-Man’s bomb-ass mediation, the guy realizes that he was in the wrong, apologizes, and leaves in a hurry.

(Her skeptical glare cracks me up for some reason)

Moral of the story: Don’t be a jerk. Stay behind the line when the little man is lit up.

After the guy takes off, She-Hulk praises(?) Spider-Man’s amazing mediation skills by saying he should have been a lawyer. And then they catch up.

She-Hulk is still having trouble adjusting to the East Coast lifestyle and lack of beaches so Spider-Man suggests checking out the Jersey Shore.

She-Hulk: “My big problem right now is housing. Avengers Mansion is nice, but I want a place of my own.”

Spider-Man: “It’s tough -- rents are pretty steep.”

She-Hulk: “The real trouble is finding a place I like. With the thousand a week I get as an Avenger, rent’s no big deal.”

Spider-Man: “I guess not, if you’re making a... a thousand A WEEK?!? I passed up a chance to become an Avengers, and they make $1000 a week?!? Oh, NO!!”

Ha ha, that ol’ Parker luck.

Maybe Thor should have mentioned the money when he tried to recruit Spidey.

Meanwhile, at a federal penitentiary in Vermont, a scene change.

Bentley Wittman, aka the Wizard, aka the Wingless Wizard, aka the adult man who thought the best use of his time was bullying a teenager, is being questioned about Plantman Sam Smithers’ escape from jail.

The Wizard claims that he knows nothing about Plantman’s escape and that he barely knows the guy anyway. They were airlifted from Ryker’s in the same helicopter and that’s it.

But a convenient x-ray tells a different story.

And that story is that “the Wizard” doesn’t have any skeleton bones.

... Were we really at the point in 1983 where we didn’t know about the dangers of overexposure to x-rays? They just causally scan both “the Wizard” and the guy questioning him?

Anyway, the ruse being rumbled, the fake Wizard rips the bars out of a window and jumps out to his death.

Or it would be death if he wasn’t just animate wood wearing a fake skin suit.

Kinda gross if you think about it.

Anyway, where is the real the Wizard?

Obviously, he escaped jail a while back. Not only is he a sinister criminal mastermind who has sinister masterminding to mastermind but also he was tired of the prison hair code. Because dammit, he wants to rock the goatee!

(Literally a comment he makes, calling the prison barbers butchers)

The Real Wizard gets a BLIP-BLIP-BLIP priority alert that informs him that the plant-him has been discovered which means that the authorities will be looking for him now.

Wizard: Now every law officer in the nation will be looking for me. Well, let them! They’ll not find me, unless they look here! And if they do look here, they’ll have a fight on their hands! The Wizard will not bolt and run like some common criminal! My home is my fortress! They’ll never get me out of it! Never!

Anyway, within an hour of the discovery of Plant-Wizard, a disgruntled agent of the national security council named Mr. Sirkorski receives a briefing.

Usually, this problem would be Gyrich’s problem but he’s busy somewhere else, probably making mutants miserable if I had to guess.

-checking- Yup, he’s over in the X-books, being involved in Project: Wideawake, the project that will later accidentally shoot Storm with a demutantifying gun that will take away her powers, leading her to kick Cyclop’s ass, leading to him leaving the team and feeling sad about being happily married.

Wow, Gyrich, you’re the worst.

Anyway, since the Wizard is tied to the presidential hostage crisis via Plantman, that makes it Serious Business.

Hence, Mr. Sikorski’s serious business.

And he hates it.

He hates this bonkers superhero universe. He just wants to live in a spy thriller universe without all this specific nonsense.

Mr. Sikorski: “Oh, great! Plant-Men... criminal scientists... prison breaks! Don’t they think I have enough to do, just keeping track of what the Russians are up to?”

Also Mr. Sikorksi, on the following page: “And it’s up to me to call in the appropriate parties. I feel a little weird doing this! It’s hard enough for me to believe there are such things as Avengers! I certainly never thought I’d be calling them for help!”

This guy is great. I hope he becomes a recurring and just continues to be low-key pissed about what genre he lives in.

SCENE CHANGE TO AVENGERS MANSION’s actually looking cooler than ever meeting room.

The table looks enormous and theres a giant viewscreen that they can display stuff on.

Only misstep in my opinion is that the seats don’t have personalized icons on the back.

On the big viewscreen map, Cap(tain America) is displaying for Captain Marvel known properties and hideouts that the Wizard has used in the past.

And then big boss the Wasp comes in with She-Hulk to start the meeting.

Since the government has requested that the Avengers help search for the Wizard, Captain Marvel suggests that she could zoom around and check off the whole list in no time flat by using her lightspeed.

Cap(tain America): “You probably could, C.M. -- that’s up to Jan to decide, of course. It would save us some time. After all, the Wizard could be in any of these places... or none of them!”

Wasp: “You think so? If I’d escaped from prison, I’d want to go home. But that’s just me, I suppose.”

Cool contribution, Jan.

I don’t mean to mock, its just she makes a goofy face.

(Hey, I wonder if her new costume was inspired by the FF’s negative zone’d ones. It’s kinda got a similar palette and rough design)

Anyway, Scarlet Witch asks whether she can be excused from superheroing for the day to keep an eye on the Vision.

Wasp: “Why, Wanda! I should say not! You agreed to fill in for Thor while he’s off in space, and I intend to hold you to that! I’m the chairwoman, and I’ll decide who goes where!”

In fact, since somebody does need to watch the Vision, Wasp chooses the most reasonable candidate.

Captain Marvel!

Who needs her to get the task done in five seconds! She can watch the coma-robot.

You make interesting decisions, Jan!

The remaining Avengers will split up into squads.

Captain America will take Scarlet Witch and She-Hulk to check the hideouts on the east of the map. Wasp and Starfox will check out the western ones.

She-Hulk: “You and Starfox, huh? That’s rich... the All Flirt Squad!”

Pfft.

Cap(tain America) isn’t feeling the humor and tells She-Hulk to save her jokes for when they don’t have a job to do.

Minutes later, the Avengers land a Quinjet on the front drive of the Wizard’s Long Island estate. He has one of those.

Cap: “Come on Avengers -- let’s get this over with!”

Good attitude, Cap.

Wanda notes that the grounds look neatly tended considering that the estate has been empty for the past several years but She-Hulk thinks a gardener was probably kept on retainer.

The Wizard was stupid rich.

When they get inside, Cap changes his tune. The place looks too tidy and ready for occupancy to be empty so maybe the Wizard is here.

So he pulls a ‘lets split up gang’ and splits up gang with each Avenger taking a wing.

Cap: “Oh, and She-Hulk, try not to break anything if you can help it. This is private property!”

Priorities!

Granted, She-Hulk is known to break things. Why just today she broke some dude’s car.

The Wizard is watching all of this on his home security system and springs individual traps on the individual Avengers.

She-Hulk finds herself in a series of identical small non-descript rooms, each more identical than the last.

So identical that its the same room, looping.

Wizard: “Through the circuity in that doorway, I’ve activated a dimensional matrix which will keep your walking back and forth ad infinitum through the same room!”

Except without seeing herself leaving which you’d think she’d be able to see.

It’s a smart way to trap a Hulk, provided they don’t run out of patience or get frustrated and smash something.

Meanwhile, Cap gets locked in a chamber where an anti-gravity field has been activated, leaving him flailing through the air.

Oh, and dozens of high-intensity laser torches pop out of the walls and start trying to carve up Cap.

Meanwhile, Scarlet Witch’s individualized trap is the most individualized of all.

Because She-Hulk’s and Cap’s could be used on any number of people really. But Wanda’s feels like it was created to counter Wanda. Pretty on the ball from the Wizard considering he doesn’t often fight the Witch.

When Wanda enters the room she suddenly starts spinning out of control, flies across the room, and lands in a chair.

Wizard: “Marvelous! I’ve ensnared the Scarlet Witch within something against which her astounding hex powers are useless. My field effect devices have generated a pocket of non-causality within that test chamber! Within the area, all actions have an equal chance of occurrence. Therein, all probabilities are skewed. She won’t be able to stand, much less cast a hex!”

Wow! That’s some high octane comic book nonsense science!

The point being that every time Wanda tries to do something, something random happens instead because its all equally likely. She tried to walk into a room and ended up standing on the roof. She tried to back out of the room, she started spinning. She tried to stop spinning and she flew into a chair.

Sure.

With the Avengers all trapped, the Wizard turns his attention to deciding how to dispose of them.

Except, as cleverly foreshadowed by my snide comments, She-Hulk’s trap is only as good as Jen’s patience.

Which is good forrrrrrr. Two dozens loops.

At that point, she’s sure some bullshit is up and scratches the wall with her nails to leave a tangible mark. When she sees the same mark in the ‘next room’ her suspicion is confirmed.

And now that she knows someone is jerking her around, she decides to ignore Cap’s suggestion to not break private property by breaking private property and rips the doorframe (and the dimensional matrix) to crap.

There’s a backup trap that drops slabs of six-inch omnium steel around her but yeah she’s a hulk and she’s not playing considerate anymore. She starts KRUNGing the walls with her fists.

Meanwhile, Cap uses physics to get out of his jam. He throws his mighty shield to break some lasers so action/reaction will propel him backwards and he can jump off the wall, grab his shield back, and uses one of the broken-off lasers against the others.

Also, meanwhile, Scarlet Witch tries to figure out her own, incredibly specific trap.

Scarlet Witch: This is like a nightmare! Whatever I try to do, something else happens. Just in making the attempt to call on my hex power, I wound up falling flat on my face! I can’t even... wiggle my fingers? I... I can! Oh, but only very close to the floor! Whatever is causing my actions to go awry must be weaker near the room’s outer surfaces! Then there’s HOPE -- !”

Wizard must have gone cheap on the pocket of non-causality projector for that room if it’s not completely covering the area. Sure, the area it doesn’t cover is relatively small but now what’s about to happen is going to happen.

So Wanda gets as low as she can go to the floor and uses her probability-altering powers.

This causes the non-causality field to reverse because why wouldn’t it? And causes feedback through the circuitry which causes the master control to shock the Wizard.

It also causes every logic circuit in the master control to overload and the whole dang thing explodes, Wizard barely flying out of the control room in time.

Right in She-Hulk’s path.

She’s not happy. He’s not going to like her not being happy.

She-Hulk: “After what I’ve been through, it’s gonna be a real pleasure to pound that helmet down around your ankles!”

Wizard nopes right out of her way and decides to abandon fortress.

Then Scarlet Witch probability alters his battlesuit flight controls to malfunction to halt his escape and make him crash to the-

...

I’m pretty sure his neck is broken now.

I mean, it’s apparently not because he keeps talking and moving and living but he look at that panel. Guy should be dead as movie Zod.

Y’know, if the Avengers are going to kill the Wizard, the FF should really get them back and kill one of their villains. I suggest Grim Reaper.

Anyway, surrounded by Avengers, Wizard pulls his trump card.

Wizard: “Your confidence is ill-founded, Captain America. There is one resource I can yet draw upon. There is a thermonuclear devise beneath my house -- powerful enough to destroy half of Long Island and make the remainder very unpleasant for a very long time. Much as I hate to see this place destroyed, I would press the button, so to speak.”

“You being such renowned public heroes, would hate that even more. But unless you allow me to go unharmed, I shall active the timing sequence of the bomb’s detonator.”

And Cap is like ‘do you mean this detonator’ and pulls out one he prepared earlier.

HAH!

You know, ironically, if he had just hidden in a safe room or on the roof or something, the Avengers probably would have came and went without noticing him. Springing traps on them really backfired in oh so many ways.

The threesome return to the mansion, presumably after turning Wizard over to the authorities, and Wasp comments that it sounds like they had a bit of excitement (Starfox grumbling to himself more excitement than he had searching the Bronx with the Wasp ha ha).

Cap(tain America): “You’ll be glad to know, Wasp, that your instincts were correct. The Wizard had indeed gone home. He gave us all a pretty good challenge... a welcome challenge, I dare say.”

Wasp: “Looks like I assigned the right people to search the right place, huh?”

Cap: “Yes, Ms. Chairwoman, I’d say you did!”

And elsenow, Wanda goes to the medical bay to check in on Vision and relieve Captain Marvel.

Scarlet Witch: “Can you hear me, darling? I hope you can. I was feeling awfully blue today... And I was given a duty that first seemed annoying, and later became dangerous. But I didn’t give up... I came back, and I won. I know that you can come back, too, darling! It’s just a matter of time... and hope.”

“It’s funny! I thought the Wasp was silly for sending me on that mission. But -- in a way --it was something I need. I think the others needed it, too!”

Captain Marvel: “Then that’s why she sent you, Wanda... because she knew what you needed! And that’s why she leads the Avengers!”

Secret friend mastermind Janet van Dyne sends you out for punch therapy when you need to punch something.

Reminds me of when Captain America picked a fight with Goliath Hank Pym to lift his spirits. Except with a lot less fighting her own friends and more pointing them in the right direction.

Something I love about this era of Avengers and with the big shift in Wasp after Hank’s court-martial is that while her character has changed she’s still recognizably and uniquely herself. She’s still a bit goofy. She’s still playful. And on top of that, she’s proven that she’s a good leader for the Avengers. It’s not mutually exclusive.

Cap (previously Wasp’s biggest supporter as leader) started this issue grumpy and even had his own ideas what the best tactic for searching for the Wizard would be, but by the end he agrees that Wasp made a good decision.

Despite playing the ditz for a long part of her career, Wasp isn’t dumb. And she’s got a good head for the interpersonal challenges of running a team too.

I’m reminded that during the much later Busiek run, when the Avengers need to expand and modernize to match up to expanding challenges, Captain America turns the leadership of the team over to the Wasp.

My point being, I was worried that there’d be snapback on Wasp being leader because she is flighty and silly. But instead, she can be flighty and silly and still a good leader.

I’m pleased with this take, Stern.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because there will probably be more Wasp being a good leader. Fingers crossed. Also, like and reblog this post maybe if you also like Wasp being a good leader.

[deadlyanddelicate]

Could you maybe do something like Adam and Ronan hanging out with Blue and Gansey near the beginning of their relationship and Ronan marvelling at how he actually gets to hold Adam's hand now and it feels too good to be true 🥺

dear anon... i’m so sorry. this spiralled from the intended 500 words of cute hand holding to 2500 words of group dynamics. i have no excuse. hopefully there is still enough hand-holding to fit the bill 😅

since this got long-ish, you can also find it over at my AO3 if you prefer to read there!

and at every table, i’ll save you a seat

adam/ronan, fluff, 2.5k. takes place after the main events of trk but before the trk epilogue.

“I’m just saying, if he starts shit, I’m gonna walk out. I don’t need that drama in my life right now.” Ronan huffed, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, hands shoved deep into his leather jacket pockets. His breath condensed in the cold early December air. “Noted,” Adam replied, with the patient tone of someone who had heard the threat before and was not particularly concerned.

Ronan glowered - not at Adam or at anyone in particular, he just glowered. He did mean it. He couldn’t be fighting with Gansey right now, he just couldn’t.

Technically, they were already in a fight. This was new: historically, it was Adam and Ronan snarking at each other until one of them snapped, much to Gansey’s great exasperation; or Adam and Gansey waging cold war at each other until Ronan got tired of it and did something purposefully outrageous just so they’d get mad at him and forget whatever argument they were having. It usually wasn’t Ronan and Gansey. But then Ronan had dropped out of school.

The argument that had followed hadn’t been big and explosive, but rather drawn out into instalments: interrupted before things could get too bad and then picked up again at a different time, with Gansey pleading and needling and insisting graduation was mere months away. Ronan had endured a week of this before dealing with it the only way he could conceive of: by moving himself out of Monmouth and back into the Barns, which had been the plan anyway.

Adam had been a quiet bystander in this. He did not approve of Ronan dropping out, and it was clear in the tight line of his mouth when Ronan had told him. But he had always been good at picking his battles, and he had clearly decided not to fight Ronan’s for him. “Are you sure?” he had asked, looking at Ronan with narrowed blue eyes that, as usual, saw far too much. “Yeah,” Ronan had replied. In all honesty, he hadn’t exactly thought it through, because he could not think it through right now - but that was exactly why he was dropping out. He couldn’t be around people. He couldn’t be expected to function and show up and act like an engaged student and study for exams after– everything. So he said again, “Yeah.” And Adam had nodded, and that had been that.

Of course Gansey, correctly guessing that Adam would disapprove of anyone giving up on education, had tried to gain access to his – recently increased - leverage, but his efforts had fallen flat as far as Ronan could tell.

“But you must realise it’s a mistake”, he’d said on the only occasion Ronan had been witness to, one time when he’d arrived early to pick Adam up from work. “Don’t tell me you agree with him!”

“I don’t, but it’s his mistake to make,” Adam had replied, his annoyance clear even from Ronan’s sightless spot around  the corner of Boyd’s main entrance. “Leave him alone, Gansey. Just because your friends want different things from you doesn’t mean they’re not your friends anymore.”

God, but Ronan loved him.

There had been a long pause filled with Gansey’s chastised silence. This wasn’t solely about Ronan’s choices, and they all knew it.

After that, Gansey’s tactical maneuvers had stopped, but Ronan still hadn’t really spoken to him since dropping out, which was less a hostile decision and more due to Ronan not being in school and refusing to answer his phone. When he left the Barns, it was to spend the night at St. Agnes or go for a long drive with Adam, who knew better than to try to play peacemaker on those occasions.

But now it was Gansey’s birthday, and Blue had summoned them at Nino’s, and apparently would never ever speak to him again if he did not show up. So, whatever, fine. It’s not like Ronan would ever miss Gansey’s birthday anyway. He wasn’t that shitty of a  friend. He just didn’t want any drama.

“I’m just saying he needs to lay off,” he added, defensive.

“Fine,” Adam rolled his eyes. “Now are you gonna stop being a big baby?” he held out his hand for Ronan to take. “We’ve been out here for ages. Let’s go inside, I’m cold.”

“Now who’s being a big baby,” Ronan shot back, but took Adam’s hand anyway. He couldn’t help the little electric thrill that went through him at the sensation of skin on skin. It had been almost a month now since he and Adam had gotten together, since their first kiss on Ronan’s birthday, and he still wasn’t used to the idea of this being offered so casually, like something he could just have. Because he could just have it now.

They walked into Nino’s to see Blue waving at them energetically to signal her position. There was no need for it, of course, because she was sitting at the same booth they always sat in. “God, so dramatic,” Ronan moaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Ain’t that the truth,” Adam commented, his lips tilting into a smirk. Ronan gave his hand a little squeeze.

Blue, satisfied with her flagging-down antics, had sat back down, and now was placidly nestled into Gansey’s side, looking like one of those small angry birds who puff up and tuck their head into their body until they’re perfectly round. On Gansey’s other side, perusing the menu intently as if it didn’t have the same 12 choices as always, was Henry Cheng, his hair looking like an abstract painting and his t-shirt screaming out a Kylie Minogue logo.

And Gansey himself looked… the same as usual, which was to say, it was both impossible to tell and impossible to forget that he had died and been resuscitated in the past month. He also looked anxious. That, Ronan mused, was also usual. He just didn’t usually look anxious about greeting Ronan, and Ronan wasn’t sure he liked that. He chewed on his lip, then gave Gansey a reluctant half smile and hoped it didn’t look like too much of a snarl. Gansey also gave a half smile that looked like a gastritis grimace.

Progress.

“Hey y’all,” Adam greeted. “Hi Blue. Cheng,” he nodded. Then he turned towards Gansey, starting to raise his right fist reflexively; he paused, looked briefly down at where his left hand was joined with Ronan’s, then seemed to make a split-second decision and raised that hand instead, curling his fingers into a fist around Ronan’s, making it so they both fist-bumped Gansey at once. It was embarrassing and looked silly and awkward, but somehow, afterwards, Ronan didn’t feel quite so tentative, and Gansey’s grimace was more and more reminiscent of a smile.

“Very fucking clever,” he muttered in Adam’s ear as they slid into the booth.

“I know, right?” Adam replied with a cheery smile. “I should be a counsellor or something.”

Ronan shoved his shoulder into Adam’s good-naturedly. Adam jostled him right back. Neither let go of the other’s hand.

Immediately, they were pulled into conversation by Blue and required to arbitrate a discussion between her and Henry on whether reality shows were morally bankrupt or a fascinating social experiment. Adam, who had never watched a reality show, sided with Blue out of principle. Gansey, who for very different reasons had also never watched a reality show, was discreetly trying to pull Ronan’s focus with an entreating look; Ronan, warily, let him.

“How have you been, Lynch?” Gansey asked.

Ronan shrugged. “How have you been?”Gansey looked for a moment like he was going to lose his patience. Instead, his face cracked in a different direction, an almost melancholy expression coloring it. “Alright. Adjusting, I suppose. To… everything.”

Everything being “dying and coming back to life as a patchwork tangle of ley line forest”.

“That’s rough, man.” Ronan raised his glass sympathetically, and Gansey tilted his own back.

“You must also be… adjusting. To everything.”

Everything being losing his mother, losing Cabeswater, and almost dying himself.

The undercurrent of things unsaid, hovering just under the surface, was too much; Ronan was going to scream.

But then Gansey did the unexpected.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Ronan choked on his drink a little.

“I shouldn’t have hassled you about school. I just…” Gansey waved a vague hand.

“Think you know better than everyone?” Ronan supplied dryly. Damn, maybe Parrish was rubbing off on him.

Gansey tilted his head. “Perhaps. I made a few bad calls. I, uh. I may have sold Monmouth Manufacturing to get Child to let you stay in school.”

The words were like an ice pick in Ronan’s heart. He felt Adam’s hand tighten around his, despite the fact he was ostensibly still listening to Blue. Adam knew, then. Ronan could only imagine that argument.

“Dick. You did what?”, he rasped. “I never, ever asked you to do anything like that, you colossal fucking-”“I know, I know,” Gansey said, raising a placating hand. “It was stupid. I was maybe not thinking straight. Bit concerned with my own impending death. It’s alright. I managed to buy it back.”

The storm cloud threatening to explode in Ronan’s chest dispelled. Monmouth was safe. Monmouth, with its tall windows and its dusty floors and its walls that held a thousand stories of insomnia and grief and laughter and companionship and fights and friendship. Brotherhood.

“Good,” he said, a little hoarsely. “You love that place.”

“I do,” Gansey admitted wistfully. “It’s just been a little… well. Different. Now that it is just me, I mean. I don’t see you at school, and I don’t see you at ho– at Monmouth. And it’s a big place, and I suppose maybe I was – there is a chance that I perhaps might have been a little afraid of being… well. Lonely. I guess.”

Well. That was a low blow. Or maybe it only felt like one because Ronan had not stopped to think about that and was caught unawares now – but he was gonna go with low blow anyway. It seemed wrong for Gansey – Gansey, of all people – to be lonely. He had always been the one collecting lonely people, the glue holding them all together. Ronan had spent so much time worried about losing Gansey’s friendship, so it was a baffling change of pace for Gansey to miss him.

It made him feel a little bad, but he also knew he was doing the right thing. He needed to be at home right now - his real home, his childhood home, to process everything. And Gansey had other people now – he had Blue and he had Henry, and Ronan had Adam – well, he’d had Adam before, in a manner of speaking, but it was different now. They were both following their own paths. But it didn’t mean Ronan couldn’t be there for him.

“You can still text me, you know,” he said as casually as he could.

Gansey glared at him. “I have been.”“Really?” Ronan said even more casually, scratching at his stubble. He shrugged. “Try again,” he added, more sincerely, holding Gansey’s gaze.

Gansey gave him a small, earnest smile. “I will.”

And just like that, things were okay again. Ronan leaned over the table to give Gansey an amicable punch in the shoulder, but had to raise his right hand, still entwined with Adam’s, to reach forward. It didn’t occur to him that their joined hands were visibly resting above the table until Gansey’s eyes shot down to them and quickly away, his expression doing something complicated but not displeased. He nodded, that little unguarded smile still on his face. Approval, perhaps. Ronan had not asked for it nor did he need it – but it was still nice.

Not as nice as actually getting to hold Adam’s hand though. Now that he’d been reminded of it, he couldn’t stop focusing on it – the warmth, the contact of thumb crossed over thumb, his fingertips brushing over Adam’s still slightly chapped knuckles, the way Adam’s calluses were familiar to him now in a way he’d never expected to know outside of a dream.

Adam – who by this point was wryly arguing with Henry over whether there was even a point to a student council when everyone on it was part of the 1%, to Henry’s impassioned retorts that there are more issues than just classism, Parrish – absently shifted his hand so it was resting palm up on the table, an open invitation, a gentle suggestion to readjust. Ronan followed in kind, resting the back of his hand against Adam’s palm. Adam wrapped his long fingers around the side of Ronan’s palm – Ronan closed his fingers over Adam’s.

He felt warm all over. He took a sip of his iced tea but couldn’t hide the small, private smile playing on his lips, nor could he stop staring at their hands crisscrossed over each other’s on top of the table.

And then he was rudely snapped out of it by Blue’s teasing Awww, cute.

Ronan raised his head slowly, making sure to narrow his eyes menacingly despite the distinct heat he could feel on his cheeks.

Blue was staring at their hands, an unrepentant grin on her face. She met Ronan’s eyes without a trace of concern, taking a big, leisurely gulp of her tea.

“You got somethin’ to say, Sargent?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yeah,” she replied defiantly. “I said you guys are cute.”

This was all new terrain. Ronan had never been teased for being in a relationship, but he’d also never been in a relationship, and hell – he’d all but avoided thinking about the mere idea of a relationship until last year.

Then Adam pressed his leg against Ronan’s under the table, a private show of support, a quiet reminder that it wasn’t Adam and Ronan, but Adam-and-Ronan. It was such a small thing, but it meant so much. Less than a year ago, Ronan had been sitting in this same booth, watching Adam hold hands with Blue and feeling like he’d swallowed his own heart and it was slowly poisoning him from the inside.

And now, it was Adam-and-Ronan.

He tilted his chin haughtily. “Maybe we fucking are, Sargent”.

Blue scrunched up her nose, her expression going from teasing to earnest. “Yeah, you are. It’s nice to see you looking like that for a change.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Cute?”

Blue leaned her chin on her hand. “Happy.”

Oh.

Well, how about that.

Ronan exhaled loudly from his nose and threw himself back against the headrest of the booth; but he also extended a leg under the table so he could knock into Blue’s tiny booted foot. She bumped his boot right back.

At his side, Adam leaned into him lightly, shoulder pressed warmly to shoulder, his head tilted in a way that suggested he might soon be resting it against Ronan’s temple, as he sometimes did when he was tired after a long shift.

Yeah. Ronan supposed that, all considered, he was pretty happy.

[imagitory]

I just woke up from a dream, and I don’t know what writers or artists might need to read this, but...I thought I’d write it down anyway.

A lot of my dreams feature half-baked stories. In this dream, there was a little girl with a mane of curly bright pink hair who was the hero of a bunch of children’s books called Angelina. Her thing was to always, without fail, make sure that the circus came to town. She always saved her small town from every little thing that went wrong, no matter how big it was and how small she was. Maybe the school bus that carried their next star trapeze artist broke down. Maybe it started raining everything from regular rain to comets. Maybe sky pirates appeared out of the sky and kidnapped the ringleader.  No matter what it was, though, Angelina always made sure the circus came to town.

Eventually, though, Angelina got to the point that she did so much for everybody else that she ended up going full-on super villain. Her pain and rage at the world and the lot it had dealt her became so terrifyingly strong that it gave her a dangerous kind of power.

As the dream went on, the narrator telling the story (who I voiced) kept looking for someone in her colorful cast of side characters to stand up to her and save the villain from herself. We went into several strange dimensions looking -- there was one with pirates, one with floating cars, one where everything was a show filmed by people who constantly broke the fourth wall and nobody cared -- but one by one, thanks to Angelina’s new powers or even the characters’ own disinterest in fighting her, they all disappeared. Eventually the only person left to drive the bus to Angelina’s villain lair and confront her is the narrator herself -- so she gets behind the wheel and drives there.

When the narrator (who may I point out towers over just about everyone with her size) arrives, she has to take out Angelina’s two henchpeople (two rather Hostess sweet-like confections) first by picking them up and eating them. When the narrator strides into the room, Angelina shows no fear despite her opponent’s size -- instead she reacts with mock hurt, saying she was expecting the narrator to bring her a present, if she was going to come to her “party.” She uses her all-powerful wand to try to attack the narrator, but the narrator catches the blast with such ease she’s able to stifle it and the wand’s star tip solely with her hand. Angelina is impressed that the narrator is that resilient, but is nonetheless prepared to fight. The narrator, however, is not, and she says:

“You shouldn’t fight. You should listen.”

And the narrator crosses her legs and sits down on the floor, towering over the tiny villainized Angelina. Angelina, still wicked and angry but also very confused, very slowly eases herself down, watching the narrator carefully. Once they’re both settled, the narrator starts to talk.

“I know you’re angry and hurting...but right now, you’ve really been hard on my mental health.”

Angelina frowns, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

“Let me tell you a story,” says the narrator. 

As she speaks, a smiling, kind-eyed woman with dark skin appears over her shoulder, smiling proudly at both the narrator and Angelina. (She looked a lot like my stepmother, actually.) 

“When I was little, you were the main character of these books I used to read with my mom. You were the first character I ever saw with hair just like mine. And you always did your best to help people, even when the whole world was against you. You inspired me, and you brought my mom and me closer together. You made me want to do my best every day and always be kind and forgiving. When I started college, I decided I was going to write my own story about you, as a gift for my mom. I knew even if it was trash, she’d love it anyway -- and maybe if it was good, I could share it with other people.”

The narrator -- who once again, I’ll remind you, spoke in my voice -- was starting to cry at this point. 

“But then...”

The woman over the narrator’s shoulder faded away to dust, the narrator burst into tears, and I was so full of emotion that I woke up.

It’s very clear, looking back on the dream, that the narrator had experienced terrible grief -- the kind that doesn’t just make you cut yourself off from everyone else, but that also makes you hate the whole world and see it as an inherently dark and cruel place. And so she tried to cope through writing those feelings out, destroying the world of her childhood in her own head through her favorite fictional character. And it’s only at the end that she realizes that no one else can stand up to the avatar of her grief but herself. But even though the dream ended before I could finish the story, I can say with confidence what the moral is.

Don’t be afraid to tell your muses no.

Many of us artists use our craft as therapy, projecting our own experiences onto our characters and using them as an escape. But there are times when the real world really needs to come first -- that the best way to handle our problems isn’t through having our characters do what we wish we could do, but by taking time to self-reflect. 

So when you have trouble writing or drawing, don’t feel bad about walking away from your computer or sketchbook or journal or whatever for a while to take care of yourself. When you have to abandon a project because you’ve lost all inspiration, that’s okay -- you can always find another, and maybe in the future, aspects of that original project might inspire something else. If you’re using writing or drawing as therapy like I often do, don’t also forget to reach out to others and maybe get actual therapy too. 

Don’t be afraid to talk to your muses and take control of your own narrative. 

[fwoopersongs]

何必诗债换酒钱 - Notes

Clean version here and thoughts under the cut.

I saw the song translation notes made by @shelterfromrain​ a while back and thought, wow! what a fantastic idea it is to share the results of the rabbit holing (that you inevitably end up engaging in when doing this) and leave a record for your future self while at it too! Currently some of the song and poetry translations on fwoopersongs do have little notes, but those were casually written on the fly and after so long, the thought process behind certain choices often get forgotten, which is such a waste... Long story short - I’m doing it this way from now on!

This song was requested by @peerlesssqq on twitter - which may or may not have bumped it up by like a year on my list (yes, I’ve been sitting on it since 2018 and you’ll see why) - and I had WAY more fun than expected, so 谢啦 ~ It was a delight to receive your DM request. I was happy for days!

Some background: 《何必诗债换酒钱》 is the theme song of 【文定乾坤】- a collection of musical works that feature notable contributors to Chinese literature in ancient times, poets and the like. Oh, and I did notice that the MV on bilibili looks like it could be a promo for a webtoon or game. Who knows? I’ll be checking out the rest of the songs, that’s for sure!

The following part of this post will be my thoughts for first the title, then each section - the intro, verse 1 & 2 and the chorus, ending off with some final comments.

Disclaimer first though (otherwise later you read already then feel like beating me up): Everything in this post is only my interpretation of the song. I have quite limited familiarity with mainland literature and culture, so of course don’t expect much xD Here you’ll only find a story-loving banana who jiak-ed kantang too much in her youth and now regrets it a whole lot. 说好了哈 I’m pants at analysis, worse at Chinese, and am not at all good with words ok?

Title

So《何必诗债换酒钱》, let’s start off with the word here that’s unfamiliar to most of us:

诗债 | shī zhài or a debt of poems/poetry debt is a legit thing! - All you authors and artists out there might be familiar with it - It’s what you call the resulting debt when a poet promises to write something for another person but hasn’t done it yet. Procrastination has apparently always been the curse of content creators.

In fact, in the Bai Juyi’s poem that came up on the 诗债 baidu page《晚春欲携酒寻沉四著作先以六韵寄之》- possibly addressed to a friend he owes - he was complaining of illness, old age and writer’s block. But then oh, he goes on and then I passed by a party where they had drinks, and was quite up to my gills & totally out of it for some time, and THAT’S why I’ve done you dirty and owe you ever so many poems. I don’t really understand the last two lines but apparently he then offers to bring a drink for this person he’s talking to, mentions a wish to meet a winter goddess (????? pretty girl? or the snow? idk which), and starts reminiscing the times that were like a precious string of pearls they had singing at Yang Pass. Most likely farewells, but without context I just don’t get it. Anyway bribery and misdirection huh? I see what you did there bro, and I’m sure the person you attempted to distract saw it coming too...

何必 | hé bì, is a rhetorical question of Must you really? In the case of this word, 何 functions as roughly ‘is it that’ and 必 as ‘it must be so’.

换酒钱 | huàn jiǔ qián is of course, exchange for money to purchase wine.

‘Must you really promise poems in exchange for money to buy wine?’ then is the literal translation of 何必诗债换酒钱.

So here is the question: Is alcohol worth a poetry debt? Onwards to the answer!

Intro

生就诗骨 算来三百篇  Born and already a poet to the bones, (with) three hundred works counting up to now. 

浪掷秦淮长安 风流李杜王白  Spending lavishly in Qinhuai and Chang’an, free/unrestrained as Li and Du, Wang and Bai;

余下十分 便随意肩上担  whatever left is divided in ten parts, casually thrown over a shoulder

权作金玉铜板 相谢好人间  and taken for jade, gold and coin, a big thank you to this good world!

I interpreted the 生 in the first line as 天生 i.e. innate, natural born talent, so this first line describes someone born with a gift for poetry with ‘three hundred’ works to their name. Although... that three hundred should not be taken too literally, it’s more likely to be an allusion to collected works like the 16th century anthology of poems, Three Hundred Tang Poems. After all, Li Bai, Du Fu, Wang Wei and Bai Juyi are the most famous Tang Dynasty poets… and they were all name-dropped in the next line!

浪掷 | làng zhì was a new phrase for me, and means something like spending freely and lavishly or willfully wasted. Of course Chang’an was the capital during the Tang Dynasty and it was the world's most populous city at the time. One can only imagine how prosperous it must have been… and what fun things were there to spend your money on! The banks of Qinhuai river and that general area was once a gathering place for noble/wealthy families, scholars looking for a good time (and some say, the red light district xD). Though by Sui/Tang, that area was no longer doing as well due to political shifts. So the mental image I got from 浪掷秦淮长安 is of someone gallivanting through places of interest, from the bustling and prosperous to the dilapidated.

风流 | fēng liú is as always, hard to translate with no full equivalent in english. The feel it gives me ranges from, ‘cool, dashing bloke on a galloping horse with their cloak/robes/hair flowing elegantly in the wind’ to ‘pleasure seeking dandy who totally knows how to enjoy life, all the courtesans know him by courtesy name!’.

The third line started with 余下十分, which will not make any sense - why leftover? Divide what by ten? - until its put in context with the following:

Three hundred poems 算来三百篇 + 权作金玉铜板 pretend they are gold/jade/money (权作 | quán zuò just means to take one thing for another temporarily.)

The load thrown over the shoulder 肩上担

Spendthrift behaviour on tour 浪掷秦淮长安

The TITLE: bro so u wanna promise poetry in exchange for money to drink? why.

Let’s take those precious poems that can be exchanged for gold - a whole bagful of scrolls, and now I’m so rich I can scatter my money down the streets of entertainment districts and the capital! The very image of a 风流 poet, reckless and free spirited.

// Folks, please learn from this silly girl and do not read songs (or poems) line by line. They need to be appreciated at a distance, not one inch from your eyeballs.

Verse 1

两分与月 劳烦身前打点 Two parts to the moon, (may I) trouble you to take care of me while I’m alive.

哪处巍峨峰峦 当借我悬来观 Wherever there are majestic peaks and ranges, do lend me (your light) to hang and see by.

三分典高楼 好与长风赴宴 Three parts pawned for the tall building, good for attending the banquet alongside the wind,

遍寻可爱星子 唾手一把玩 searching for charming little stars, easily caught to play with.

Now we get to see how the poet is spending his ‘wealth’. This verse is a lot more literal as compared to the introduction, so there’s not much to say.

打点 used here is so interesting! Because it’s what you call bribing someone in a superior position to smoothen your path ahead (so to speak). Thanks to a childhood of tvb drama, I vaguely associate the type of people who would 打点 with rich merchant or minor noble fathers who want to give their sons an easier time at court. Either that or lower ranked officials with less moral scruples. Anyway, what’s being said in the song is something like: here is 20% dear moon, I’ll have to trouble you to bless me for the rest of this lifetime, and also please lend me your light to see by when I have need of it at scenic spots *for art*. The moon is a muse for many poets in all its forms after all… 明月, 圆月, 孤月, 残月, 冷月, 江月, 秋月 and so on.

Actually that whole sentence 劳烦身前打点 is so playful and fun that I put it in quotation marks to emphasize it. We’ve only just begun. Is the speaker already drunk?

And with the third line, 30% has been spent. Just noting here that 典 | diǎn can be read as pawn or mortgage. Another interesting thing to note would be that this imagery of ascending a tall building 高楼 and reaching out for stars 星子 in the last two lines of Verse 1 brings to mind one particular poem, famously attributed to Li Bai. Following translation by yours truly.

《夜宿山寺》- Overnight at the Mountain Temple 危楼高百尺 | dangerously towering a hundred feet high 手可摘星辰 | the stars are within reach 不敢高声语 | one dares not raise their voice 恐惊天上人 | for fear of disturbing the deities

Though the two probably have nothing to do with each other, doesn’t the reverence in the tone of this one bring out the playful irreverence of the other? So. Much. Fun. I adore the whole feel of 遍寻可爱星子 唾手一把玩 SO MUCH.

Verse 2

两分与桥 歇脚南北行船 Two parts to the bridge where travellers on foot and by boat from the north and south can rest,

欣然八方风物 闲话半日茶碗 delighted by the scenery all around, idly chatting half the day away over bowls of tea.

三分典流水 润色枯瘦石山 Three parts for the running water, moistening the gaunt stone mountains

又将天地一展 伸手 试浓淡 and again spreading heaven and earth wide, reaching out to test the viscosity (of the water).

It took a few listens, but in the end I really enjoyed the aesthetics here. And again, this verse is quite straight to the point albeit with two things I cannot understand.

The first point of confusion for me is why the lyricist chose to use 桥 | qiáo, a bridge as the place for people to rest on their journeys. I assumed here that this in reference to a pier or dock, assumed also that he is donating funds for this structure to be built or repaired. However, if that were the case 坞 | wù would have been enough - 船坞 was supposedly invented only in the Song Dynasty though, so maybe that’s why another word was chosen. But it’s not like there is any incidence of 桥 being used to mean ‘dock’ either!

The second thing that confuses me is the use of 典 for 流水. In verse one, that 典 was referring to the poetry works sold to reserve the venue for a banquet. That usage was apt. Here I suspect it might be for parallel structure, because there is no alternative reading for 典 that might allow one to use their 30% 三分 to do anything to flowing water 流水. That’s the literal reading, of course.

If we’re taking this a little less literally, it can be interpreted as borrowing the scenery (figuratively, since the place would not belong to anyone in the way you might own a property) to admire. It also expands on the second line’s mention of the surrounding view 欣然八方风物; there is running water which completes 润色 and brings the appearance of the gaunt and rocky mountains 枯瘦石山 closer to perfection.

润色 | rùn sè means to polish, to bring to greater heights. When you say something has been 润色 it is made more brilliant and closer to perfection by that addition. It can also mean moisten.

We always hear ‘rivers and mountains like a painting’ 江山如画 - originating from Su Dongpo’s《念奴娇·赤壁怀古》- used when the scenery is wonderful, because how often is real life as ideal as what we can imagine and depict? And that is exactly what is described here. The feeling out if the ‘water’ is concentrated or diluted 试浓淡 is used in answer to 一展 unfurling. 浓淡 of ink to 一展 of painting scroll. The land and sky seem like an ink wash painting, so beautiful that the viewer cannot help but reach out to run their hand through the water.

Chorus

Chorus Part 1

若趁游兴直到酣 If we take advantage of our wanderlust and go roaming till it is sated,

千字文章不值钱 classics and essays shan’t be worth a coin.

诗换花 词换雪 A poem for a flower! A song for snow!

再作檄文斗天官 Another denunciation for those heavenly officials!

Starting off with three new terms for me: 游兴 | yóu xìng means enthusiasm for travel. 酣 | hān can mean having a great time drinking, or being very satisfied and satiated. 檄文 | xí wén is a type of official document written for important announcements, declaration of war, or denunciation and condemnation of certain people or actions.

While I still feel this need to go out to see the world, I shall keep on the road until I am satisfied. Who cares about writing, who cares for study, it’s all worthless to me. I do what I want. And what I want is to write a little poem in exchange for a flower, some lyrics for a flake of snow. I’ll even write a denunciation against those officials in heaven (immortals). Fight me!!!!

I point again at Verse 1 with climbing the tower to play with stars. It’s no longer just playing nearby, now he wants a go at the gods.

Among the four parts of the chorus, this one is the simplest for sure. The lines mean exactly what is said. It also feels the most chaotic and mischievous. Is the speaker drunk? Is he high on something? One thing’s for sure. He’s out of money.

Chorus Part 2

何愁不得一样我 Why feel troubled that (I) cannot have another just like me?

知交尽向话中添 for one who understands you and is understood, look entirely towards stories to fill that place

唐解元 嵇中散 people like Tang Bohu (first in provincial examinations) and proud, upright and stubborn Ji Kang

且驰大梦任疯癫 Just chase that great dream, allow yourself to go mad.

I feel like the first two lines are quite straightforward, though they might not appear so on first reading: How could there be a need to feel sad or troubled that I have no like-minded equal. To find a true friend who understands you without need for words, and whom you understand in return, all you need to do is turn to those tales and stories 话中 for people to fill 添 that place.

唐解元 - People like Tang Yin, courtesy name: Bohu 唐寅, 字伯虎 (1470–1524 AD), noted painter, calligrapher and poet of the Ming Dynasty. Tang Yin led a life full of ups and downs that really cannot be covered in a paragraph’s worth of song translation notes. You can check out his wiki page if you’re curious though! There’s a little more on him where I cover the last line of this section. He is addressed as 解元 | jiè yuán here which is the term for the top scorer of the provincial examinations (second stage in the Imperial examination ladder). It is also an honorific for scholars. Tang Bohu is both.

嵇中散 - People like Ji Kang, courtesy name: Shuye 嵇康, 字叔夜, (223–262 AD), one of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove - a group of friends who wisely kept themselves aloof from the dangerous politics of the Court, and devoted themselves to art, refinement and debate, of the Three Kingdoms period. He was a Daoist philosopher, musician, writer and poet.  

An accomplished musician, the qin composition 廣凌散 | guǎnglíng sàn is attributed to Ji Kang, though some versions of the story claim he learned it from a ghost while stopping at a pavillion on his way home. 嵇中散 was one of the names he was known by because of his appointment to the position of Attendant Counsellor, 中散大夫 | zhōng sàn dàfū, a civil official unspecified duties in the court of Cao Wei.

When Ji Kang was sentenced to death for his attempt to testify for a wrongly accused friend, three thousand scholars petitioned for his pardon to no avail. It’s said that at the execution ground, while they waited for the appointed hour, he had his favourite qin brought out and played a brilliant interpretation of Guanglin San that is now forever lost.

Do go read about them both if you have the time!

I would like to point out for the last line that 任 is to allow, to indulge, and it’s just such a heady sensation to say 任疯癫 - indulge in the madness! throw yourself in and don’t look back!

There is an easter egg here too. A nod to a poem by Tang Yin which can be read as his stance on his lifestyle choice after the alleged accusations of bribery in the final step of the Imperial examinations left him disgraced, and unable to pursue a civil career. Thematically the line does not call back to the poem at all, similarities end with the choice of words: chasing the dream 驰大梦 and indulging madness 任疯癫.  I leave an excerpt below. Translation again by me.

《桃花庵歌》- Song of a Plum Blossom Cottage // 若将花酒比车马 | if tawdriness and wine were compared against fine carriage and steed 他得驱驰我得闲 | he would have to drive and work hard for speed whilst I have my idle rest 别人笑我太疯癫 | others mock me for my madness 我笑他人看不穿 | i am amused for they do not perceive 不见五陵豪杰墓 | can’t you see that at the Emperors’ mausoleums and heroes’ graves 无花无酒锄做田 | there are no flowers, no wine, only land ploughed for farming

The second part of the chorus isn’t related to the first, but it has the same theme of showcasing the untamable (unhinged xD) spirit of the speaker. This time, the people he admires ‘intellectual equals’ and kindred spirits are featured, the 任性 feeling here has been pushed to greater heights.

Chorus Part 3

敢夸洒落何须酒 If one dares to boast of carefreeness, why, they hardly need wine.

不煮黄粱也称仙 Even without brewing millet they would still be called Immortal.

镜湖桌 白梅盏 The tables in the mirror-like lake, white plum blossoms in the cups,

等来春风恰开宴 await the spring breeze which arrives just in time for the feast to start!

Li Bai is regarded as both the god of poetry 诗仙 and god of drunkards wine 酒仙 because he wrote some of his greatest poems while drinking. The first two lines seem to be gently poking fun at that. Like hey, if you dare to claim to be all groovy, surely you have no need for alcohol? Just like how an immortal would still be an immortal without wine, your writing talent should not need any stimulants. This would be the time to mention that 黄粱 | huáng liáng is also known as millet, a type of grain that can be used to brew wine.

洒落 | sǎ luò has a few meanings, like shower down or blame, but the relevant one here would be 洒脱 generous, uninhibited and open. For me it feels similar to 风流 in that there is that ‘free, and exhilaratingly unrestrained’ element. 洒落 is in the most positive sense, being always open to having a good time, but without that dissolute or vaguely whirlwind-romance like connotation of 风流.

It feels like the intensity is letting up a little here - this is a light-hearted and frivolous song all the way through, but the words 洒落, 称仙 and imagery of a clear lake, white plum blossoms and the crisp spring breeze are grounding and sweet. Spirited in a different way from before.

Chorus Part 4

四角天地也醺然 The four corners and heaven and earth are also tipsy,

醉极自有桃李搀 when I’ve overindulged, my students will be there to help.

快意只 笔下讨 Gratification can only be claimed from beneath the brush;

何必诗债换酒钱 is falling into poetry debt worth that money for drink?

New words: 醺然 | xūn rán just means drunk. A new word for me though! 桃李 | táo lǐ is literally peach 桃 and plum 李 (李花, also known as 玉梅) flowers, and is a metaphor for students. The term originates from a story in 《韩诗外传》which was set in the Wei Kingdom of the Spring and Autumn period (771 to 476 BCE). There was once a highly ranked official who was sacked from his post and left for the north. He met another gentleman and remarked that the people he helped before did not lift a finger when he was in need. This person replied that, if someone were to plant peach and plum trees in spring, he could relax under their shade in the Summer and taste their fruit in the Autumn. But if that person were to plant weeds, nothing can be done with their leaves in Spring and there would only be burrs to hurt himself on in Autumn. Clearly the people the unfortunate gentlemen had helped before were not worth his effort. Students ought to be carefully selected and carefully cultivated as one would a tree.

Reading the four corners and heaven and earth 四角天地 are also tipsy 也醺然, I imagine the world sort of spinning around the speaker because he is drunk. But that’s okay, because his students (or the trees xD) will be there to support him.

快意 | kuài yì is the feeling of sudden relaxation, and then lightheartedness and joy. In this line, I felt like the intention would be closer to 畅快，爽快 and so chose gratification, because really writing is like scratching an itch isn’t it? Pleasure from satisfaction of a desire. Phrasing it as 笔下讨 is so very fitting though, because 讨 can be interpreted - somewhat contradicting - as either to demand or to beg. What could be more gratifying than having squeezed out the perfect sentence or word under your figurative pen?

So so so after all that, 何必诗债换酒钱? What do you think, is alcohol worth the poetry debt? Is Mr. Poet actually drunk and about to dig himself a deeper hole of owed poems to get even MORE drunk, or has he just been thinking about it all along? :)

Thoughts

This has been such a fun adventure following our madcap big spender from the shining Chang’an to the inviting Qinhuai, shadow of great poets in tow and all. We’ve done everything from talking to the moon and seeing the sights by her light, to boating down a river, dragging fingers through the water. It was sort of like being on a backpacking tour, except with with someone contemplating opening (or perhaps regretting opening this can of worms?) poetry commissions instead of singing in the streets?

Dear reader, if you’ve reached this point of my post, thank you. I hope you enjoy the song as much as I do now!

[blazogirlsoneshots]

After the Third Sunday of the Month (Yancy x Reader)

A/N: @sororia04s and @ghostvirgil really wanted a part two. So, hi guys I hope this is good enough!

Visitation day left the prison with an almost melancholic glow. The inmates floated through their everyday activities with grins on their faces as they thought about the stories they had heard about what was happening in the outside world, but would then cry themselves to sleep as the homesickness burrowed under their fragile skin. During this time, Yancy would usually be the ray of sunshine who carried his family up from this blow. There would be extra rehearsals and more physical activities as an attempt to raise morale and Yancy would become this manic unstoppable force of nature. It was, quite honestly, terrifying but almost comforting. 

For some reason, though, that normal comfort was missing this month. Yancy was more irritable, yelling at anyone who simply grazed his shoulder and then apologizing profusely. He found himself in solitary multiple times a day with only the small birds he could see from the slit he called a window. It was the birds that helped him get through those hours; the birds and the memory of the last Sunday that was. It had been the first time in all his years here at Happy Trails Penatentary that someone had come and visited him. Someone had come to listen and was more than willing to be there. 

But then they left. 

They left and Yancy would have to wait four more weeks until he could recapture that feeling. Four weeks wasn’t that long, right? Right?

No, four weeks was the equivalent to forever, Yancy sulked as he lay in his bed. There was almost an irony to it as he thought back to Saturday ramblings from a week ago. Those had been the thoughts of a hurt and lonely man. So are these, chimed in the voice being ever so helpful. Maybe that’s all I am, Yancy mused, I’m just miserable and alone. I mean that’s what I would be if I didn’t have the rest of my family. Who needs Y/N anyway? I have a group of people who love me that I don’t need to wait forever to see. 

“I don’t need them!” Yancy screamed as tears began pouring down his face. “I don’t need them,” He whimpered. Something on his nightside table caught his eye as he furiously wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. It was a letter that you had given him with orders not to open until the week after your visit. It had been a week and he needed encouragement, so might as well open it now. 

Hands, will you please stop shaking. Heart, why are you beating so fast? Palms, stop sweating and stomach, can you please stop turning? Yancy tried his best to take a deep breath but failed miserably as he ripped the letter open. 

Hey, Yancy. 

You and I both know that one day isn’t very long when you’re trying to know everything you can learn about someone you just sort of kind of met. So, I thought I’d leave you something to look forward to and give you this letter. 

I just now realized that I messed up and realized that we’d probably talk about everything and anything we could think about, so this won’t really work. But I say who cares and I’m going to give this to you anyway. 

I understand that your home is there and, even though I could break you out and you could leave if you wanted to, I respect that. The point of this though is that if you need a friend who can tell what the stars look like from an open window instead of the bars of a cell decorated to look like the inside of stereotypical grandmother’s home, I can be that. If you want to know if there’s a distinctive difference between the same ice cream from different parts of town, I can do that. 

I’m here for you, Yance, remember that. Remember that I’m your friend,  companion, a partner in crime? I’m your partner in crime, because you most definitely need one, but not to illegal stuff, just to have someone who has your back during hard times.

See you in four weeks!

Y/N

Yancy was still crying, but it was okay. He felt a little bit better now. He should start up rehearsals again. The gang probably missed the normal him, so it was time to act okay again.

masterlist

[bledmagic]

**the following is no way indicative of direct rp interactions & is solely referring to the personal canon to idrylla. if your muse wants to refer to the closeness of one of the companions listed here by all means, unless you are holding another rper muse in mind as that connection is different & not based upon these by the interactions idrylla & that muse has had. however if you would like to base interactions on these descriptions with your muse def lemme kno & we can plot on this further !

idrylla is not the only focus of the story, they are one of many that line the cast of our main tale & the interactions between idrylla & these characters drive the story forward or back. as the game still rests within the area of early access & there are hints from datamining of future companions this list is not complete nor is it going to contain anything proper beyond act 1 in terms of connections. with the previous statement said, here is each of our companions & the relationships held with idrylla as per the canon to their character & me. **i will note if i have romanced a npc like this, as the game is in early access n just like in who’s line is it anyway the choices n points dont matter there is no canon romance for idrylla at this moment in time. 

LAE’ZEL: idrylla has very few memories of the nautilus. their capture, their containment, & the escape itself is somewhat of a blurry mess. what they do remember is lae’zel. they remember her face, her struggling, her escaping that pod. they saw the moment the mind flayer infected lae’zel & the fear held within the githyanki’s features. all of this is unspoken between the two, but for idrylla it’s spurned a lot of emotions that have boiled down to pushing idrylla to get close to lae’zel & be quite defensive of her with strangers( shadowheart can make a few insults as a treat, lae’zel in return can make some serious threats in return as a treat ). it is with the first weeks of travel idrylla can be found hanging out along side lae’zel like a safety net, finding the familiarity of their escape as a bridge to base a friendship upon. despite that link that idrylla has tied between them they find lae’zel absolutely delightful in every way possible & considers lae’zel probably the closest friend idrylla has had in years, the honesty lae’zel shows in the most blunt way a refreshing change from the passive aggressiveness of the wizards guild peers. beyond all this, lae’zel is also the first githyanki has ever known & has prodded the poor warrior with a multitude of questions to absorb the info like a weird elf sponge, even going out of their way to learn on their own & ask lae’zel about later on. idrylla holds lae’zel’s opinon in high regard & often will ask her or look to her for her advice & even if not followed takes it in consideration. anyways they are best friends. ( lae’zel: we are not ‘friends’ / idrylla: you’re right. we are best friends, pal. / lae’zel: tch. ) **lae’zel has been romanced 

SHADOWHEART: while idrylla did try to save shadowheart from her pod, idrylla also has particularly failed at every turn to get shadowheart to even attempt to trust them. traditionally anyway. since the common ground of the parasite & needing to team up & trust each other has failed to get shadowheart to loosen up, idrylla has taken the approach to just be a utter nuisance to shadowheart. often chiding the other with jokes or teases, stirring up trouble between shadowheart & lae’zel, forcing shadowheart to go talk to people at parties( notable example is when idryl forced shadowheart to dance with them at the big fun tiefling celebration party in which shadowheart was so emabrassed she probs would have died on the spot if she wasnt actually having fun the whole time ), etc etc. shadowheart stresses idrylla out, so tightly wounded & clearly bothered by something that is clearly at times more dire than the worm in their brain. it activates idrylla’s older sibling mode near instantly as often the fussing of the other reminds idrylla very warmly of their younger siblings, one being very similar to the uptight cleric. when shadowheart does breakdown some of those walls & reveals her religious beliefs idrylla presents themselves as very accepting. while agnostic themselves, they do make a point to show they hold no ill will to shadowheart & support them, but more importantly wants shadowheart to learn to rely on them from then on to be more honest about anything. it’s after this shadowheart tends to be less antagonistic toward idrylla. but only a little less.

WYLL: idrylla noted early on that the “”””stone”””” that rests in his socket has a heartshaped looking pupil & annoyingly( to everyone except wyll himself ) calls him hearteye. as a baldurian they are very well versed in knowing the various tales & stories of the blade of frontiers. wyll is idrylla’s favorite drinking companion & the two get along like a pair of bros in a budding bromance that will make the fans go crazy. wyll holds a hard sense of justice that idrylla tends to think of a buzzkill at times, but does value the pull of morality his chiding holds considering her own moral standing at current is fuzzy at best. she does truly worry about how skiddish he tends to be about his guarded secrets & once learning upon the truth they promise to aid them in his quest to save his ‘totally not devil girlfriend’ & when wyll protests about such a title idryl simply responses ‘oh no i totally get it, hearteye.’ with a laugh & wink. idrylla also has wyll teach them the use of the blade, taking those teachings & applying them to their learnings of the staff as a weapon vs a channel for magic. often one can see them sparing in camp on down time. wyll is also the only one of the companions who gave idrylla a proper condolence when idrylla’s less than tragic backstory is revealed to the the companions, to which idrylla who was properly touched thanked him with a hand to their heart & a ‘aww, thanks man. you’re a real one.’

ASTARION: idrylla is far softer on astarion than they should be & they will deny it. usually such a judgement of letting astarion getting away with ( in most cases, literally ) murder is preceded by a loud groan or sigh. it’s not that idrylla wants to dull astarion’s sparkle, but more of a general worry. the more idrylla learns of him, the more & more they just feel bad( astarion: i rather be spared of pity, thanks / idryl: it’s not pity. i don’t pity you its just. well hearing that shit that happened to you ? makes me sick, man. horrible things to go through. makes me want to hit something. ). but the primary worry is what will happened to their newfound friend once the parasite is extracted, will astarion burn up in the sun ? prevented from hanging out with them at bars ? will they not be able to find something for him to eat on the journey they set on ? idrylla has no real way to comfort astarion in the face of his past & it makes them uncomfortable. all that can be offered is a arm about his shoulder & a ear to listen.  beyond all this, however, the two get along disturbingly well. idrylla’s current fuzzy moral standing & general pull to do really stupid things setting a stage for the two of them to act in their own chaotic fashion. the two make comments with each other that would make people wonder if they share a braincell. idrylla often pulls lae’zel into their shenanigans much to her dismay. the fact that astarion is a vampire spawn has absolutely zero negative effect or reaction from idrylla. **astarion has been romanced

GALE: i hate these two. considering gale being a wizard busybody i have to do the most divergent shit with this mf. love this catdad, anyways here go. gale & idrylla absolutely know of each other prior to the events of the game & have a loving rivalry friendship thing going on. they have met a few times due to the wizarding guild( take in mind, this wizard guild is something im developing for idrylla & is not canonical to the game ) of which gale would visit, but is not apart of, due to his associations. the two never had a proper moment of conversation prior but are as i said, very aware of each other at least in terms of their talents in magic. so whilst there is a pre-established link between them they are without a doubt strangers. their rivalry comes out at any time magic is spoken about or knowledge thereof. a interesting change in demeanor for idrylla who, for all intents & purposes before & during the events, tended to not have a proper ambitious or know-it-all bone in their body. the two will often agree about magic or purposely disagree. they speak of other wizards & generally are capable of working together to figure out spells or something magical in puzzles. when gale says that idrylla knows nothing about the weave, it took everything in idrylla to not set him on fire. when faced with the truth about gale’s utterly stupid need to consume magic & the reason behind it, idrylla simply just starts smacking him on the arm & calling him an idiot( considering idrylla’s recent expulsion from the wizarding guild spurred on by peers that are  power hungry & would do whatever they could to get ahead, the ordeal of gale sits very heavy on idrylla. while they does apologize later & explains the why. ). over time the two have gotten less antagonistic to each other & more or less bicker for the fun of it, showing that the two have found themselves more or less comfortable with each other & in their aventures found respect in each other’s talents. so far anyway. idrylla has threatened to steal gale’s cat( in jest to make gale wig out. )

[edwardsvirginity]

And now... I introduce my best friend to Eclipse! 

--0000000--

[riley’s first appearance]

Friend: who's that

mike?

(the rest of the commentary for the movie is under the readmore!)

--0000000--

[bella reciting the opening monologue: some say the world will end in fire…]

Friend: wow…drama queen

--0000000--

[Edward and bella in the meadow]

Friend: is this real or is this more of her crazy headspace

--0000000--

Edward: marry me

Bella: I have an English final

Friend: wow……. Rude

--0000000--

[Charlie grounding bella]

Friend: charlie…. is the only sane character tbh lmfao

he knows an abusive relationship when he sees one

--0000000--

[Edward sabatoges bella’s truck]

Friend:  Y I K E S

A B U S I V E

this is not romantic lol

--0000000--

Renee: I just want to make sure ur making the right choices for you

Friend: she's NOT

--0000000--

[renee gives bella the quilt from all their trips]

Friend: awwww

except she's selling out her fam for bloodsuckers

--0000000--

[all the cullens wait for Victoria in the forest]

Friend: is it whatshername

the redheaded bitch

--0000000--

Friend: i'm just gonna say….alice and carlisle are the only valid vampires

Me: whyso?

Friend: idk anything about jasper and emmett, edward is weird, who else even is there

--0000000--

Me: [pauses movie because a spider has appeared by my head and I’m freaking out]

[it lands on my laptop and I scream and close it]

Ok… we can resume

Friend: what happened?

Me: [explains]

Him: ? ? ? why didn't you kill it?!

Me: killing it requires getting close enough to touch it, and that's Too Close

i don't kill spiders

anyway

Him: what?!? lmfao

you don't kill spiders

Me: killing them is too scary

Him: i'd rather kill it and know it's dead than wonder where it is

wow

me: i just scream until someone else comes to do it for me

him: that's a lot to take in

--0000000--

[jake confronting Edward about being on their territory]

Edward: I was trying to protect u by not telling u abt Victoria

Friend: mmmm yikes

bella just needs to move tf back to florida

this is….Too Much

--0000000--

[bella goes to lapush]

Friend: tbh i like his pack

--0000000--

Leah: if ur here to torture jake some more u can leave

Friend: oooooh

burn

--0000000--

[movie introduces imprinting]

Friend: tbh i think that whole concept is insane™ and i dont get it

bc it like absolves you of your own…actions

& removes the other person's choice

it's really fucking creepy

--0000000--

Friend: also it would be soooo weird to be able to read people's thoughts

Me: i know it would freak me out

i would hate being able to hear everything my packmates thought

Friend: i don't need anyone else to know how horny i am

--0000000--

[Jacob arguing with bella about the cullens]

Jacob: theyre not even alive

Friend: "they're not even alive" y i k e s

--0000000--

[riley creeping in bella’s house]

Friend: man i'd be sleepin with a shotgun lmfao

& like 12 dogs

--0000000--

[Edward yelling at bella abt bella disappearing with jake]

Me: he’s so overprotective

Friend: she needs it tho

Me: because she's such a danger magnet?

Friend: um….yeah

& she is a fucking damsel in distress

she has no power of her own :((

--0000000--

Friend: he's so…ugly

me: Edward?

Friend: yeah ……….

--0000000--

[Jake appears shirtless]

Edward: doesn’t he own a shirt

Friend: “doesn't he own a shirt"

LMFAO edward voicing my thoughts

--0000000--

[Edward kissing bella before passing her off to jake, who immediately hugs her]

Friend: the way they …. fight with each other by using her body :|

--0000000--

Friend: what do native americans think of this?

Me: [explains]

Friend: so what is the redeeming quality of these movies exactly lmfao

Me: they’re… fun?

Friend: i guess

like indiana jones

racist trash, but fun(?)

--0000000--

Me: I hate his sideburns in this movie

Friend: don't think they're that bad

his whole face tho is not great

especially pale af

--0000000--

[nonconsensual kiss scene]

Jake: ill fight until ur heart stops beating

Bella: u wont have to wait for long

Friend: YIKES

--0000000--

[Edward and Jake fighting post-punch]

Jake: she’s not sure what she wants

Friend: Y I K E S

--0000000--

[Carlisle bandaging bella]

Friend: carlisle is so hot

i wanna marry dr. carlisle

the way he medicines everyone up…

wow

 [..]

edward is useless

seduce Carlisle

 [..]

edward's been alive 100 years and hasn't become a doctor??? c'mon

--0000000--

[Rosalie killing her rapists]

Friend: LM FAO

love that

W O W

that's a more interesting story than bella's LMFAO

--0000000--

[Rosalie trying to convince bella to stay human]

Rose: there’s one thing you’ll want more than Edward… one thing you’ll kill for… blood

Friend: ohhh….

SHE REAL

--0000000--

Friend: & also bella's assumption that Edward is That Great

she's 18….. she hasn't even TRIED college boys

 [..]

has she even had sex with anyone, ever?

--0000000--

Friend: Evil Dakota Fanning is ….. scary af

--0000000--

Friend: i'll say what i want about stephanie meyer being a fucked up mormon…. but her music taste is p good

Me: she didn’t do the soundtracks

Friend: ummm…i remember stephanie meyer specifically thanking Muse in her books

in the "acknolwedgements" section

 or did you, the twilight princess, not read that part

--0000000--

[graduation party]

Friend: I feel like there should be a twilight spoof..

where a high school girl has to choose between dating a furry and a goth

bc that's what this feels like to me

--0000000--

Friend: he freaks me out

the beefy one

--0000000--

[training scene]

Friend: jasper's kinda sexy too

well, everyone looks good next to robert :|

--0000000--

[jasper’s backstory]

Friend: jasper was a confederate soldier?!?!??!

what?? lmfao

confederate vampires? thanks i hate it

--0000000--

Friend: didn't he have like a life and morals before becoming a vampire or

i mean i guess he's a confederate so maybe not but

--0000000--

[jasper’s backstory]

Friend: he just listens to her lmfao

his Evil Mexican Bruja

--0000000--

[about Victoria]

Friend: she should just make someone sexy a vampire and fuck them tho

she has the power here

--0000000--

[about Jacob]

Friend: is there a REASON he never wears a shirt?

--0000000--

[Jake trying to convince bella she has feelings for him]

Jake: you can love more than one person… like sam, Emily, and leah

Friend: thruple!

that's the only resolution here

jacob & edward need to fuck each other and get over it

there's too much tension between them

--0000000--

Alice: you and Edward will have the house to yourself tonight

Friend: oooooo

Alice: you’re welcome

Friend: LMFAO

alice is a bro

--0000000--

Bella [immediately after the scene with Alice]: hey dad, I was wondering

Friend: hey dad… i was wondering. do you have any condoms

--0000000--

Bella: dad I’m a virgin

Friend: not for long….

--0000000--

Friend: but like honestly it's all so deeply unclear to me

he has like no blood, right?

HOW does he get hard

Me: he’s always hard

Friend: i don't think that's how that works

--0000000--

[Edward and bella in edward’s room]

Bella: I wanna ask u something

Friend: "can we fuck"

--0000000--

Friend: i feel like "becoming a vampire" is just a metaphor for "losing virginity"

--0000000--

[Bella tried to jump Edward]

Edward: bella…no

Friend: ???????????

they already kiss and stuff?????????

Me: yeah

i think he's worried he'd like. fuck her to death

idk… her vulva is delicate i guess

 Friend: they could do some Other Stuff

Me: yeah i know

edward is just…. too old school to understand anything but piv

Friend: fuck her to death…with his flaccid vampire dick

 [..]

this is so………Weird

?????????? sex is not a sin

--0000000--

[Edward talking abt how he would have courted bella in 1918]

Friend: ???????????? i dont believe that at all

people fucked in the 1800s

edward is a fucking weirdo

[Edward starts his grand speech]

Friend: Ew

this is…. a Lot

tbh it's Not Sexy that he can't adapt to a more feminist era

[Edward proposes]

Friend: this is…… a Lot

he Keeps Asking

[bella accepts]

Friend: she's only saying yes because she's horny!!!!

--0000000--

Friend: also….tbh it's sad that these vampires have to deny their instincts and have no control over themselves

like ….maybe they should just be euthanized

 Me: :O

Friend: is it fair to deny them their nature???

we don't force tigers to be vegetarians

what is the difference

Me: because… they're sentient and intellectual and can decide for themselves not to eat humans

Friend: i'm not sure i buy that

Me: you think they're not smart enough to make their own decision not to eat humans?

Friend: it seems like they have to be rehabilitated to deny a very natural instinct that they have no control over

are the cullens themselves a metaphor for mormonism?

 Me: yeah but carlisle CHOSE a vegetarial lifestyle… no one forced it on him

Friend: i guess

but at what cost

lmao

--0000000--

[tent scene]

Jacob: I am hotter than u

Friend: LMFAO

--0000000--

Friend: why didn't they bring more blankets?????

how fucking cold is it

Dumbasses

--0000000--

[Edward and jake arguing over bella]

Friend: idk bella….

i'd rather fuck a hot wolf than a freezing rock hard PussyDestroying Vampire

those wolves are HUGE…. huge dicks im sure

--0000000--

[Edward talking about how he doesn’t want bella to be a vamp to jake]

 Friend: i feel like they're Bonding

over their inability to control this woman lmfao

--0000000--

[jake and Edward fighting over bella]

Friend: bella is not that interesting? ? ? ?

--0000000--

Edward: if you weren’t trying to steal bella I might actually like u

Friend: wow

THIS is where they should fuck

t h r u p l e

look deep into each other's eyes

--0000000--

Friend: she'd warm up if they were having sex

--0000000--

[post tent scene]

Friend: she's not even wearing a hat rn

bella…what the fuck

--0000000--

[Edward and bella talking about being engaged, jake overhears]

Bella: it’s the 21st century

Friend: yeah, it is the 21st century…. marry them both

--0000000--

[bella asks jake to kiss her]

Friend: what the FUCK is happening

--0000000--

[bella and jake making out]

Friend: she's not even wearing anything warm

--0000000--

[battle]

Friend: carlisle…. kung fu master

Me: renaissance man

Friend: only breaks the hippocratic oath when absolutely necessary

--0000000--

[confrontation with riley and Victoria, Edward trying to convince riley to turn on Victoria]

Edward: think about it riley.. .you’re from forks… you know the area

Friend: "you're from forks… who would want that"

--0000000--

[Carlisle healing jake]

Friend: god…..my sexy, classy dad

… so smart….. so kind

--0000000--

Bella: I’m not normal

Friend: bella….you are SO normal

the reason every middle school girl read these books and thought they were like bella is bc you are just THAT normal

--0000000--

Edward: I guess we should start planning the wedding

Bella: no… something more difficult first… more dangerous

Friend: is she still talking about her virginity

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

APH College AU: Hong Kong

AU Intro here, AU headcanons are tagged #college au musings.

- Music major. However, he took quite a lot of computer engineering and business classes in high school because China insisted (in classic Asian parent fashion), and he still takes them because he sees them as useful for later life (freelance musician or managing a songwriter or something).

- His reasoning for going into music was that it was a relatively cool and not boring job; he wouldn’t have to always be tied to a computer or an indoor office and had more freedom. I think HK kinda hates getting a job in general because he’s got to Do Very Specific Work and doesn’t have time to do side projects/fool around, but he could deal with being a freelance musician or someone who creates background tracks for other artists, game music, etc. Also chose music to spite Yao, because he was expected to do either business or computer science/engineering (but he’s still pretty thankful for taking a lot of business and engineering classes because he legitimately needs them now)

- Soundcloud artist, and has quite a lot of followers. He does a lot of electronic instrumental mixes (idk how to describe it), but also sings sometimes, with lyrics about taking what you’ve got and running with it, carpe diem, breaking away from norms imposed by elders and parents; a mix of hopeful and rebellious. Never writes love songs, because he thinks it’s rather sappy and would rather express love in other (chill) ways. Doesn’t really write sad songs, but there are occasionally ones about rejection and estrangement.

- Re: soundcloud; he really wants to get in their direct monetization program, but doesn’t want to pay for a pro membership. Complains about it a lot to anyone who’ll listen.

- Memes memes memes memes memes

- Trendy™. He knows all the latest fashions and cool things, often tries to brand himself as the one to go to for fashion advice. He gives good advice most of the time (will tell you if your outfit sucks), but also makes questionable decisions (he stripped in the manga because he said Jackie Chen would do it too). Moral of the story, take some things he says with a grain of salt.

- Internet guy (knows all the hacks). He WILL find a free WiFi network anywhere he goes to avoid paying cellular, and knows way more hotspot passwords than he should via word of mouth and eavesdropping.

- Also, his phone is his lifeline. HK: “What do you mean, you’re taking it away from me?” CHN: “You’re using your phone too much; it’s bad for your eyes!!” HK: “No it isn’t! My eyes are fine; you’re the only one who has contacts in this family!! Give it back Yao!!!”

- Routinely called by other students to fix their computers and stuff, charges 25-75 dollars on average per fix. He is such a stickler with prices and absolutely refuses to go lower than a certain price. When Netherlands comes to him for a repair, they’ll haggle for hours and it’s not fun; Leon will postpone literally anything to keep on bargaining and not give up on his offer/price bar

- Avoids 8 AM classes as much as possible, but has never missed the ones he has to attend

- Learned Cantonese to spite Yao. I think Yao would’ve taught all his siblings (the East Asian squad) Mandarin, but they all picked up another language (or dialect of one) somewhere. Leon learned Cantonese specifically because he was lazy and it uses the same Mandarin characters (traditional vs simplified characters but similar enough) but is pronounced different enough that his brother can’t understand most of what he’s saying.

- Gets really whiney when he’s tired, or when he’s frustrated. Complains a lot.

- When he gets really angry, he becomes really cold. He’ll stop talking as much, but other than that he acts almost the same as usual, and it’s hard for people to pick up that he’s mad. However, everything he says kinda sounds passive aggressive, and he won’t laugh at anything. You have to be the first one to acknowledge something’s wrong, and then he’ll talk.

- Re: anger, it’s really awkward if he won’t talk to you because he’s usually really lighthearted, and seeing him serious is rather unsettling. Plus he can end any conversation when he wants to if he wants to make someone uncomfortable

- Is asked to be the DJ for a lot of college parties. He’s the type of person a lot of people vaguely know about because of just one “thing”, the “thing” being that he’s really good at mixing music and has good taste

- He makes sure everyone who even says hi to him knows about his music and his hobby, so he can get popular. Shouts about his Soundcloud profile (it’s not really bragging, but more like advertising himself)

- Types up all his notes onto his computer, but he uses so much slang that his notes read like weird text messages. His history notes read like a giant reality tv drama, because he tends to put things into modern terms and create his own way of remembering things, if that makes sense.

- Hasn’t touched a pencil in forever; he’s so comfortable in the digital world it’s insane

- Buys luxury brands to show off but is also really cheap, and judges certain products hard because they don’t live up to his very finicky standards (read my last post, it’s my take on his consumerism and is more in depth)

- Rather picky with his food, because he has really high standards. He will complain on and on about a restaurant’s noodle’s being too stale or too salty or something, finds flaws in everything when he wants to.

- B to A range grades, doesn’t stress too much over school. He doesn’t mind missing a couple of assignments (as long as they’re not big projects) and makes up for it with his other work

- Delays stuff until the last minute, but doesn’t panic or anything. It’s basically a habit by now; HK doesn’t mind it because it’s efficient and works for him. He can chill for the evening and then get all his work done between 3-7 am

- His relationship with his professors is okay; they all know his name and that he’s the “music dude” but he’s not too close with any of them; he prefers his friends’ company more. He’d get along with fun or young professors better, since they’re more in touch with “the youth” and he doesn’t see them as boomers

- Average at math, kinda bad at science, it’s just not his thing. He does better in the humanities, although he doesn’t exactly enjoy English and history classes. He’s very good at debating though, so his essays and thesis statements are very strong

- He’s pretty functional on 3 hours of sleep, but loves to sleep in when he can

- Proud of his Asian heritage and shows it!! He sometimes shows up at Asian American Culture Club but isn’t very dedicated, because he thinks some of the meetings are a little cringey

- He’d love to have a last name that isn’t Wang (such as any X starting Chinese surname) because he’d love to watch people struggle to pronounce it and he’d love to correct them (in a polite but simultaneously obnoxious way)

Thanks for reading! sksks these were much more general headcanons that probably could apply to nationverse too, but anyways... Next’ll be Taiwan probably!

[everstarry]

ethereal (1/?)

words: 4926

chapter one: the first encounter

→ next

Althea Canale sat with her hands folded in her lap, looking as regal as ever in a light blue silk gown. She had her head turned to stare out the small opening the carriage provided as a window to her new home. She caught glimpses of green from the trees that decorated the landscape and puffs of clouds that painted the sky. Her new home was not unlike her former one. Mandalore and Saneca were extremely similar. She supposed that meant that homesick feeling that had plagued her would soon disappear. Part of her wondered if she would even think of the place that raised her once she got used to her new routine. Being a queen meant that she would likely be busy from the moment she woke to the very moment where sleep claimed her. Althea gripped her own hands tightly to comfort herself as her thoughts wandered.

“Are you alright?” The sound of her friend’s voice broke her from her thoughts. Remi Sherhi sat across from as she did for most of the journey. Her blue eyes were pools of concern as she looked to her mistress. Althea managed a small smile before reaching over to take her maid’s hand. The warm touch comforted her and gave her a sort of relief.

“I’m just tired,” she promised sweetly as she always did. Althea let Remi’s hand go before leaning back into her seat to resume her view of her new country. The least she could do was put on a brave face in front of her maid. The young princess needed to be much braver the closer they drew to the castle. She only knew so much about her new husband and most of it came from horror stories her brother would taunt her with before bed. The Mandalorian and his soldiers tended to creep into her fire filled nightmares. “I think I could really use a nice bed and a warm bath right about now.” 

Remi merely grinned at that. “I know what you mean,” she shifted again in her seat, something she had been doing the last few hours of the trip. Her friend had grown impatient with stillness that accompanied traveling. She understood, it tended to become monotonous. It was the same thing over and over for weeks. Wash, rinse, repeat. She had stopped asking when they would arrive as the shrinking numbers did nothing but cause her anxiety. Though the boost in moral definitely meant they were reaching their destination that day. That was why she pulled out the dress that her sisters said did her wonders. She could always rely on them and knew that if she wanted to impress the Mandalorian she needed to look and be her best. Without Kalina and Delilah with her she would just have to rely on their previous advice until she could write to them again. The sky blue dress brought out the gold in her hair and eyes. Althea felt beautiful when she wore it and felt the need to try to impress her future husband. “I’ll draw a bath for you as soon as we get settled.” The idea of hot water and hair oils did sound heavenly.

She nodded to Remi. “I think it would be safe to assume that the Mandalorian would grant such a simple request.” Althea actually had no idea if he would. She knew next to nothing when it came to her new husband. Granted, they were merely engaged at the moment so technically she knew nothing about her fiancé. The bedtime stories were one thing but the more she tried to remember anything about her new country the more blanks she drew. Althea remembered something about armor but she couldn’t picture it in her head, knew about the expansion and wars but couldn’t remember the name of the battles. The more she thought about it the more she wanted to laugh. Her tutor must be so disappointed in her. She never paid much attention to her lessons anyway. She had assumed there would be no need, that she would become a lady-in-waiting to one of her sisters as they took their place on the throne. The thought of becoming a queen had never crossed her mind.

“Do you think they’ll have a feast waiting for us?” Remi asked, tapping her fingers on the seat. “I’m starved.” They had been living off dried meat and bread. There had been a few nights spent at inns that provided warm broths and beds that were almost uncomfortable. Althea was looking forward to having a nice meal and a restful night of sleep.

Althea had to stifle a laugh. “I think so,” she replied. “They would want to impress a daughter of the Canale’s.” Her family name tasted bitter in her mouth and felt like venom dripping from her teeth and down her throat. She hoped her disdain wasn’t obvious. Remi raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t say anything else about it. “I just mean–”

“You don’t have to explain,” Remi smiled gently. Althea felt like she could breathe again. The fact that her friend just knew what she was feeling without her having to explain made the world feel a little lighter. “I wonder if they know it’s you,” her friend mused. While she didn’t mean any harm the words still felt like a stab to the gut. Althea pretended like the words hadn’t done any harm but felt her chest shutter as she tried to breathe normally. Her insecurities suddenly brought to the front of her jumbled thoughts. Remi suddenly went stiff as she realized what her words implied. “I mean–”

Althea waved her hand to silence Remi. “You don’t have to explain,” she repeated tiredly. Part of her knew exactly what Remi meant. “I’m the youngest daughter. Technically, fifth in the line of succession. Not anyone’s first choice just merely leftovers,” she replied hollowly. “If my father had any respect for the Mandalorian he would have sent Kalina.” The thought of her older sister sent a fresh wave of sadness through her. It felt like ice and gripped her tightly. She would give anything to just be able to talk to her sister again, to walk into her room to see all the sewing projects she was working on. Kalina was best at that. Each of them seemed to have their own niche. Kalina had sewing, Delilah had art, and Althea was good at gardening. Her garden was now at the mercy of whoever her father had appointed to take care of her flowers. Althea supposed she could ask for her own spot on the grounds of her new home. She had even hidden some of the seeds from her favorite plants in her luggage.

“I think your father knew exactly what he was doing when he chose you,” Remi said carefully, it made her nearly scoff. Althea noticed that she wasn’t as tense as before. Remi almost appeared relaxed. Her friend always was a charmer. Remi knew exactly what to say, it was as if people were harps and she knew exactly which chords to pluck. For someone who often found herself in trouble it was a useful—and necessary—skill to have.

“He knew he was saving his best daughters for other marriages that would benefit him,” Althea rolled her eyes. “I am an expendable princess. He knew that I could be sent and either the Mandalorian will accept that this is the best he will get from any country or my head will be returned to my father shortly. Either way it is a win in my father’s book.”

Remi sucked in a breath as the statement gathered weight. Words tended to do that when people let them steep for too long. Althea thought they were like tea. The longer the tea steeped the stronger it was, the longer the silence the heavier the words became. “Althea,” her friend mumbled sadly as she studied her friend. “Are you alright?” she asked again as if this time Althea would give a different answer, confess her heart’s desire.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Althea hated to disappoint but she had already prepared herself for the possibility that the Mandalorian would cut her down as she stood before him. She had also prepared herself for the possibility that he might send her back home. After all of this heartache, she would have nothing to show for it. Remi eyed her skeptically. Her friend wanting more than anything for her to be okay. Althea knew she had to be okay, had to act like her father wasn’t making a mistake.

“I think that if he sends your head back home in a box your father would go to war,” Remi grinned as she said it but Althea made a face. “What?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head.

“Are your forgetting why I’m marrying the Mandalorian in the first place?” Althea pursed her lips. “My father is doing this for the Mandalorian armies. He needs more soldiers to fight back the Abyssin.” Remi suddenly went silent, understanding dawning on her. “The Mandalorian could do anything he wants to me and my father wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it.” The admittance of her situation made her feel faint. The carriage jostled forward and they kept at their journey. Althea Canale just had to accept her fate. It wasn’t the worst thing to happen to a person. She was at least nineteen. She might be a queen to a huge country. She should be grateful. Althea felt guilty for not being grateful.

Remi sighed once before stretching her legs out in front of her, taking up more space in the small area. “You are so dramatic,” she teased. Althea cracked a smile. “I heard our Mando is a pretty nice guy. Nice as a guy can get without ever taking off his armor,” she mused knowing just how to capture her princess’s attention.

“Where did you hear that?” she heard herself asking before she could stop herself. Her curiosity got the best of her. Knowledge about the man she was marrying was enticing.

“Servants talk,” Remi shrugged. “I just happen to listen.” Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Althea didn’t think about how Remi felt about accompanying her. The young princess knew that she liked to gossip with the other maids and for the duration of the trip Remi had few people to talk to. The guilt that she was feeling earlier came back heavier and larger. It nearly made her gasp for breath as it seemed to settle on her chest. Remi had to leave behind her friends and family just as much as Althea did. She wondered if her friend would hate her.

“What did they say?” Althea leaned forward, knowing her friend would love to have someone to gossip with. 

“That he has a child,” Remi leaned back cooly, watching the dejection cross her friend’s face before deciding to elaborate. “He found the child during a battle. The armies had basically killed and pillaged everyone in the village and the prince found him under some wreckage.”

“Prince?” Althea asked, soothing out the invisible wrinkles on her dress’s skirt. There was something relieving about knowing a small kindness that her future husband had performed. Perhaps he was kind and the stories that scared her a child were just stories.

“This was during the time that the former king ruled as the Mandalorian,” Remi explained. When she saw her friend’s confusion she went to elaborate, “It’s like...” she paused, trying to pick the right words. “Think of it like Mandalorian as just another royal title. So when a new king comes to be he is called the Mandalorian. It’s supposed to keep the ruler as faceless and to scare others. The so called Mandalorian keeps ruling no matter how much time passes.” Althea wondered how Remi knew so much about Mandalore but decided not to press it. “So back to the original point, while his brother ruled as the Mandalorian, our Mando was just a commander in the army. Adopted the child as his own and that was that. After his brother’s untimely demise, he became the king.”

“His child is a spoil of war?” Althea asked shakily, wondering if her story would be the same as the child’s. Nothing more than a casualty of politics. 

“Part of him has to care about this child enough to raise him as his own,” Remi explained. She looked to her mistress to see if there was any more distress in her features. “I believe that same part of him will learn to care for you.”

She hummed in agreement. “I will pray to the Maker that we can at least get along during our marriage.” 

Remi let out a huff of air. “I think you are allowed to pray for more than that. Pray for love. Pray for peace. If the Maker even listened I want to believe he would listen to you.”

Althea felt herself smile at her friend’s words. With Remi by her side she felt like she would be able to survive anything. So she prayed for peace, but mostly she prayed for love. Althea thought she deserved love most of all.

There was a light tapping from the outside of the carriage that broke the comforting silence within it. Her heart seemed to jump to her throat when she realized just what that meant. They were close to the castle, they were approaching it. The signal from the escort was a reminder to be ready. Remi looked to see her friend’s reaction before leaning forward and motioning her close.

Althea leaned over as Remi fussed with her golden hair. She pulled the hair from behind Althea’s ear so it would rest naturally. The young woman had a habit of pushing her long hair behind her ear and she nearly flushed because she didn't even realize she had done so during their conversation. “How do I look?” she mumbled quietly, looking to her friend for comfort.

“Like a queen,” Remi promised. 

Althea grinned at her before leaning back in her seat to see if she could get a glimpse of anything through the small window. She saw some of her escort and a few citizens who stopped to stare. The streets were close together and paved with stone. She tried to imagine herself walking down the streets and stopping at the shops and stands. It was easier than she expected. Mandalore was not how she imagined it. It was noisy as merchants called out and she could hear people talking. Over all the chatter she could hear the unmistakable clang of the many blacksmiths that Mandalore was also known for.

“Beskar,” Remi mumbled to herself. Althea glanced at her friend but found she was lost in her own thoughts. The maid often talked to herself as she did small things. It was one of the things that Althea liked about her. She had other servants who were silent and thought that talking to someone of noble blood would be considered an offense. Althea didn’t care about things like that. She wanted good conversation and someone who spoke their mind. Remi and her were a good fit.

It grew quiet and she knew that meant they were approaching the castle. Althea sat up like her future husband would be able to see through the carriage walls. Remi seemed to sense her nervousness and gave her a comforting smile. While it did nothing to chip away at the tension mounting on her shoulders it did make her feel like she wasn’t alone. Althea gave a timid smile back before preparing herself to face the Mandalorian king.

The carriage stopped. 

She held her breath for a moment. Then three.

The door opened and light flooded the interior. The princess let out the breath she was holding to try to relax. From the brightness came a hand to help her down. Althea took the outstretched hand and stepped out into the entrance. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she soothed out her dress before stepping forward so that the Mandalorian could finally look at her. Her heart pounded in her chest as her gaze fixated on the powerful figure before her. Althea’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of her future husband. There was something so captivating about his dark armor. A sort of butterfly feeling started in the pit of her stomach as she took him in. She wanted to commit the scene to memory, too scared to even blink.

 The Mandalorian stood on the steps to his castle, unmoving. Nothing about his posture or demeanor betrayed how he felt when she stepped out. Althea wondered if he was expecting her sisters, wondered if his helmet hid his disappointment that she wasn’t one of them. Despite the tint on the panel that concealed his eyes, she could feel him studying her just as much as she was him. She flushed when she realized she hadn’t even taken a step forward so taken with the Mandalorian. The princess took small steps toward him. Althea glanced to her side to see if Remi was close behind her but instead noticed that the entrance area had filled with whispers. She looked ahead again trying to ignore the hushed conversations but instead found what she had grown to fear the most on her journey.

 The advisor and guard that stood at his side were whispering to him and she felt her heart drop, felt a storm brew inside her with the uncertainty at what they were telling him about her. However, she knew exactly what that meant.

Althea was not the princess they were expecting. She was not who they had hoped for.

She stood with her head high despite feeling like she was caving in on herself. The feeling only intensified the closer she came and the longer he remained silent. Althea squeezed her eyes shut, despair filled her lungs as water did while drowning. She could describe the feeling as exactly that because that was what she was doing. She felt like she was drowning.

Althea stopped a few paces from him. The Mandalorian king looked taller up close. Everything about him screamed intimidating. If he was a predator then she was his prey. She bowed lowly to him. “Mandalore welcomes you Princess..?” the woman beside him began. His guard knew exactly who she was. The slight smile and edge to the supposed question was done to further stoke the flames of tension.

“Althea,” she supplied. Her own voice sounding meek to her ears. 

The Mandalorian still said nothing.

Her mouth felt incredibly dry. “I see that your father could not make the trip?” the woman pointed out which made her nearly wince.

Althea shook her head. “He had fallen ill two nights before we were supposed to set out,” she explained. Her father hadn’t. He just didn’t want to be there when the Mandalorian realized that he was worth nothing more than Saneca’s youngest daughter.

“We will pray to the Maker that his health recovers soon so that he may visit our generous king,” the woman smiled. It didn’t seem genuine, just all teeth. Althea noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Enough,” the Mandalorian directed to his guard. His voice nearly made her shiver in the spring air. There was something about it that made the butterflies start up again. Althea just wanted to hear it again.

“As you say,” the woman began bitterly. “I was trying to make a point. How dare they–”

Althea dropped to her knees in front of him, interrupting whatever the woman was going to say. It seemed to shock everyone as it immediately became quiet. A pin could be dropped and heard in the silence. She looked up at him pleadingly. “I know I am not your first choice. I might not even be your second,” she took a sharp breath and held her clasped hands in front of her as if she was praying. In a way, she was. “But I can be a good wife to you. I can be a good queen to your people. I can be good,” she urged, on the brink of begging. Althea was desperate. She hoped she came off as sincere. She kept looking at where she imagined his eyes were, hoping that he would understand.

There was a moment of stillness. Althea’s heart pounded against her ribcage as if trying to escape its skeletal prison. The Mandalorian said nothing, but offered his hand to help her up.

Althea took his gloved hand with trembling fingers. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment as she shakily stood. A breath of relief escaped her lips as he continued to guide her up the few steps and into the castle. The leather of his gloves meant that she couldn’t feel the warmth of his touch but she still clung to it anyway. The entrance was filled with excited chatter as she crossed the threshold, still holding his hand as if her life depended on it. “Thank you,” she said softly, hoping he was the only one to hear her gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as soft as she spoke. He squeezed her hand once before letting her go and turning to the many people that flooded the hall. Althea was surprised at the sudden and small show of kindness and affection. She grasped her hand as he had did not moments before, she wanted to remember the feeling of his grip on her fingers. Even though it was something insignificant, she found comfort from it. Althea took her place by her future husband’s side. She looked out into the small crowd and instantly found Remi. She stood next to the Mandalorian’s guard. The princess could still feel the resentment coming from the other woman but she tried to ignore it in favor of her friend’s much more supportive gaze.

“I want things to continue on as before,” the Mandalorian spoke. The crowd was mostly made of advisors and guards any way. She assumed that meant a similar talk would be given to the servants and maids. “That’s all,” he said after a moment and Althea watched in awe as the people scattered to return to their usual stations and positions. There were a few servants that immediately went to get her things and others that stood at posts in the halls. 

“What would you–” the guard began but the Mandalorian stopped her.

“Cara, I want you to show Althea and her maid to their quarters and I want you to make sure they are comfortable.” He looked at Althea once more and then turned to leave. She watched him until he disappeared from her sight. She then looked to his guard who stood stiffly in the middle of the hall. The silence became uncomfortable. Suddenly, Remi cleared her throat and snapped Cara out of whatever trance she was under. 

“If you’ll follow me,” she brushed past the pair and began walking briskly down the hall. “A more detailed tour will be given to you at a later time,” Cara huffed. Althea sped up to keep up with the other woman while she marveled at the walls of her new home. While she wasn’t able to admire the finer details she glimpsed tall windows that let the sunshine in.

She had to think like she was being transplanted. Her roots had grown in Saneca but she bloomed. Mandalore was like a spot in the garden with more light, better growing conditions. Althea would not wilt, she was resilient. She would take here. 

“Do you have a garden?” she asked as Cara took them up a winding staircase. Remi stifled a laugh when the Mandalorian guard gave her a curious look.

“She’s not asking because she wants to take her tea there,” Remi explained. “She has a way with plants and she’s itching to go dig in some dirt,” her maid teased. Cara let out a sound of amusement but kept walking. 

“She means I like gardening not just playing in the dirt,” Althea added quickly, shooting an annoyed look at her maid. Remi merely shrugged. For some reason a part of Althea wanted Cara to like her, even if it was just a little bit. “Forget I asked.”

“But don’t bother asking where your cups and bowls have gone then. She tends to plant in the oddest of things,” Remi added nonchalantly, skipping a few steps to be up with Cara. The guard snorted at the maid’s comment while Althea blushed behind them.

“We have a garden. Once the dinner is done I’ll gladly have someone escort you to meet our gardener and see the grounds yourself,” Cara added, taking them down another hallway. Althea noticed that her tone wasn’t as belligerent as before. “Here we are,” she motioned to a door. “This one is yours, princess,” Cara opened the door and the trio stepped inside. 

“This is beautiful,” Althea slowly turned to take in her new room. There was an empty desk near the window. A room divider hid the bed and wardrobe while the part that was visible held a dining and lounge area. It was much bigger than her old bedroom. “Thank you,” Althea added shyly, finally remembering her manners.

Cara didn’t reply to that but gave her a curious stare. “Your’s is right across the hall,” she pointed to Remi. “Is there anything else you need before I leave?” She looked to both women. 

“Can we have a tub and some oils delivered to my room for the princess?” Remi asked. “I’m assuming you’ll put together her room first so there will be people going in and out. We’ve been traveling for some time and we want to impress the king during the feast,” Remi smiled at Cara.

“Believe me,” Cara rolled her eyes. “Our king is already impressed with the princess.” Althea’s heart beat wildly at the statement but she tried not to let it show. “I’ll get you the tub.” Cara left without another word.

“Good impressed or bad impressed?” Althea wondered aloud, exploring her room now that she felt as if every breath she took wasn’t scrutinized by the king’s guard.

“Is there such a thing as bad impressed?” Remi called from her room across the hall. Althea sat on the edge of her bed and looked at the suite again, trying to imagine her things in all the empty places. 

“I mean an unfavorable impression,” she stood so she could make her way to Remi’s room. Her friend was straightening out the quilt on her new bed when she walked in.

Remi gave her a look when she entered. “You ended up on your knees basically swearing him your undying devotion,” Remi smiled, “And you haven’t even seen his face.” Althea flushed as she remembered her plea and then when she remembered she barely knew the Mandalorian king. “You are probably more than what he was expecting, Thea.” Hearing her nickname seemed to settle her thoughts for a moment. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to Remi. Her maid just sat down at her table and waited for the tub of hot water. 

“He was expecting my sisters,” she pointed out, taking a seat across from her friend. From the open door they watched the beginnings of the luggage be brought into her room.

“You’re sisters would have made good queens,” Remi tapped her fingers on the table. “He’s looking for a wife just as much as he’s looking for a queen. You offered yourself as a wife even before as just a queen. Why wouldn’t he want someone who has offered him a chance at love?”

“I guess you’re right,” Althea mumbled.

“Don’t guess, just know that I am right,” Remi teased with glimmering smile. Suddenly, a tub was brought into the room with buckets of steaming water following. Remi stood to direct the other servants and Althea watched as the bath was put together before her eyes. “What oils do you want to use in your hair?” Remi nodded to the few bottles that were being offered to her. 

“Is there lavender?” she asked. Remi nodded once and grabbed the oil that was on her left. The other servants cleared out of the room to give the princess some privacy. “Can you mix in a bit with the bathwater?” Althea asked as she began to strip from the silk dress. The heavenly smell filled the room as Remi mixed in the oil. Althea could almost imagine the purple flower in her garden as she submerged herself in the hot water. 

“You should have waited a moment,” Remi lightly scolded when she noticed Althea’s skin turn a rosy hue. “It’s hot.”

“I don’t mind it,” Althea let out a sigh. In fact the warm water felt nice. It was the first time in a long time that she had felt truly clean. “I was thinking of wearing the pale pink dress to the feast,” she said absentmindedly as Remi began to work the oil into her golden locks.

“How about whichever dress is easiest to access,” Remi laughed a bit. “Unless, you’re still trying to impress him.”

Althea brought her knees close to her chest, leaning her neck back to look at Remi. “Shouldn’t I want to impress the man I am to marry?” she smiled.

[forgedwild-arch]

@dcschain​ done reckon’d : [chinhands] tell me more abt gus' folk stories pls!!

unprompted asks | always accepting!

thank you so so much for this ask! so i’m gonna be honest --- i love this aspect of August’s character. so much. i can’t wait to explore it more and I say that because.....well, I haven’t done it a whole lot of justice yet as far as development goes lmao. forgive me for that, as time goes on i should def have some specific examples of the types of stories he creates and tells to his clientele. but i’ve only had this boy since late april of this year, and developing all aspects of my muses so they resemble a multi-faceted, nuanced person has always taken me some time. took me five years with my last muse n i’m still not even all that content with him hsjdns.

ANYWAY! ALL THAT ASIDE. i do have some lil headcanons about Gus and his storytelling / creative process, so here’s a quick lil list of random bits n bobs about that ! :

August puts a lot of time and thought into his stories, especially re: his audience and the kind of mood he’s in. does he want to instill a moral lesson in the more impressionable youngsters? does he want to captivate kids with a sense of immersive adventure? or does he want to HORRIFY and INTRIGUE the adults who are seeking a little entertainment, and get a little ego stroke from watching them JUMP in their seats? for a gentle giant, he does have a deep fascination in the macabre and the frightening. whenever he has an audience of teens and adults, it’s a real treat for him. he loves telling horror stories!

he’s very organized about the aforementioned considerations. he has stacks upon stacks of journals in his bedroom where he writes down notes on his tall tales and sketches the people and creatures featured in them, be they wholly original works or his own twists on stories passed down from each generation. and he separates them all on the shelf by genre! 

true to traditional spoken-word form, he’ll usually modify the tales a bit each time he tells them, to better connect with his given audience that day.

he loves using any medium he can to tell his stories --- spoken word being the most obvious. but Gus has even been known to write and perform songs which recount the tales, or cook any mentioned food to serve to his forge’s guests while they gather around his anvil to listen. and he especially loves to make grand, symbolic metal sculptures of the characters or beasts featured in the stories as he spins them. he wants to make the whole experience feel as physically present and real for his audience as he can, no matter what age they are.

Gus draws a lot of inspiration just from people/ nature-watching! there’s not a day that goes by where he isn’t sat outside his workshop on a lunch break, taking notes on whatever he sees. he uses the “and then” approach for drafting his stories a lot. for example, he’ll just jot down anything simple he sees, like a man drinking coffee, and let his imagination run wild with it until he’s got the bones of a plot. it’s not very cohesive at this stage and definitely lacking a lot of substance, but it’s a very fun start for him. honestly? even if he ends up scrapping the whole concept that day, he loves seeing just how far he can push the boundaries of believability with his stories, how grand he can get away with making them when they sprout from such an everyday premise.

storytelling even takes shape in his weaponry creations, although these focus much more specifically on the individual. Gus’s guns and blades are purely artisanal designs, and therefore he makes it MANDATORY that anyone commissioning him for weapons shares a drink or two with him first. he never knows who he might be making a firearm for --- the next great american bounty hunter? an infamous outlaw forever immortalized by history? an unarguable hero to mankind itself? but even if they just end up amounting to a simple farmer protecting his land from coyotes, he designs his works with the hopes that they’ll be a FEATURE in that individual’s life. hopes that the weapon crafted by his hand will be just as renowned as its wielder. they’re highly personal pieces, tailored with the commissioner’s life in mind. and being a man who creates and retells folklore himself, Gus knows that it makes storytelling much easier if the guns are as unique as the characters. and have names. he will also require that you name the piece before he gives you your purchase lmao.

in verses where he has partners, and even kids? they’re definitely the first to hear his story ideas so that he can get some feedback. he also creates personal creative works for his lovers/ spouses/ babies/ friends and honorary family. meant only for their eyes and ears.  

he’s as avid a reader as he is a writer. on his days off, you won’t find Gus at the saloon, but at the bookseller and printing shop asking the owner (and his longtime buddy) Barney what new works he’s got for sale.  by the late 1800s, public libraries were also popping up all over the US! and chances are, if he’s not at Barney’s making conversation about his most recent purchase, or at the hardware shop scouring the stock for dying discount plants to bring home and nurture back to health? yeah. he’s at the library.

[swishandflickwit]

my weary heart has come to rest in yours (i found my way home) — 1/1

Summary: "I don't get it," Katara purses her lips, befuddlement clear in the furrow of her brows as she turns to him. "You'd think the Fire Nation would know such an important detail about their own prince."

The Gaang wonders why the Fire Nation doesn't seem to know much about Zuko, like maybe where his scar should be? It opens up a lot of questions that they want answered. Zuko, on the other hand, just wants to sleep.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 5.7k

Warnings:  unbeta’d, zuko-centric, post-ember island players, pre-sozin's comet, zuko gets a hug (as he deserves), non-canon compliant (more like canon adjacent lol), ember island

AN: working title: obligatory the gaang finds out about zuko's scar fic // alt title: a pocket of happiness for my children

title from: Ride Home by Ben&Ben

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

The atmosphere amongst the occupants of the beach house is sullen and cross following their night out in the theater. 

It isn’t lost on them that the edifice they have come to know as their solace belongs to the very monster man who brought upon their 'deaths'. The certainty that it had all been a fictionalized retelling was not enough to temper even the echo of the crowd’s rabid enthusiasm as they cheered the demise of the Avatar and his friends, nor erase the visceral image of the thespian Fire Lord standing before his adoring subjects—triumphant in his accomplishment of world domination. 

They step through the threshold of the tyrant’s once home. The air grows thicker in acerbity.

Zuko wants to snark at them, I told you they’d butcher it. If he had been the person he was even a month ago perhaps he would have, but the words wither in his throat. The scene of him engulfed in Azula’s flames, however fake or fantasized, sears across his mind on relentless repeat so that it is more selfish entreaty than consideration that has him abstaining from permeating the burdensome silence with his signature brand of pessimism—realism.

Dinner is an equally stilted affair, the only sound to be heard is the clob of chopsticks against wooden bowls and the crackling of the campfire solemnly harmonizing with the occasional sigh of dejection.

This, however, does not last too long.

He supposes he should have seen it coming. This is the boy who offered his friendship at the slightest show of goodness from him. The Avatar is as buoyant in his movements as his element. Though Zuko has come to learn when it comes to his disposition, it is more alacrity than air that has him flitting from one emotion to another, ensuring he never dallies in his worries for too long.

So when Aang bellows, "That's it!" as he discards his bowl with a careless flick, the remains of his uneaten congee spilling carelessly across the cobblestones of the courtyard, Zuko doesn't so much as blink at his latest antics.

He is more surprised at Sokka's indignant huff seeing as it is the first sound he's made in the past two hours (which is subsequently also the quietest he's ever witnessed the other boy to be in all the time he's known him) since they've arrived. 

"I would have eaten that," Sokka mutters irately.

(It is fitting however, that this should be the commentary to break his speechless strike.)

"I mean, what's the big deal? It was just a stupid play!” Aang exclaims emphatically, his voice cracking in his vehemence. “If anything, we should be laughing our butts off—that writer obviously didn't know what he was talking about!"

"Speak for yourself, Twinkletoes," Toph chuckles. "I happened to enjoy my portrayal. It was wrong, sure, but what did you expect from a patchwork of second-hand accounts combined with your regular sprinkling of Fire Nation propaganda? It was dumb, but that was the point. You all know the truth, don't you? Quit being such wet blankets about it already."

After having heard a similar iteration from Toph earlier, Zuko finds no offense from the jibe. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the rest of his companions, save Aang—though even his propensity for optimism appears ready to float away on the next gust of wind.

"At least you were in the play," Suki offers, good-naturedly, if not a bit feebly.

"I think I'd rather just not be in it altogether, if it means I'd have to be depicted like—" Katara shudders before grumbling, as if there truly are no words for that disaster of a parody, "...that."

Zuko wholeheartedly seconds her sentiments.

"Toph's right though!" Aang blusters on, and it all seems rather void but he admires the kid's pluck. "In fact, I think we should all take this opportunity to look back on our adventures—"

Zuko groans. Frankly, he doesn't want to think too much about what it said about him that the Avatar's evasion tactics had relied mostly on improvisation and sheer, dumb luck than calculated military strategy and cunning.

"Or maybe we should just not."

"But Zuko," Aang turns big, round, pleading eyes at him. "Aren't you at least a little curious about what really happened? Not even Toph's heard about half of what we were up to before she joined up with us!"

"You were idiots then, and you're only just a little bit now," Toph snarks. "What else is there to know?"

"Toph," warns Katara just as Sokka sputters, "Hey!"

"It might be good for morale," Suki suggests gently. "I know I could use a pick-me-up."

Zuko gets along with Suki—at least, as well as he is able to get along with anyone. Still, he can't help but shoot her a betrayed glance following her pronouncement. Zuko just wants to sleep, but he should have known better. The minute he starts wanting things is usually the moment they float out of reach.

Suki smiles back unrepentantly, so he sighs in resignation and straps himself down for a long night of reliving his failures (again) and listening to their tales.

"I am a pretty gifted storyteller," Sokka puffs his chest then starts stroking oddly at his face, particularly the area at the sides of his mouth.

Okay? he ponders with a large heaping of confusion.

"That's the spirit, Sokka!" Aang exclaims, but before Sokka can thank him much less get a word in, Aang launches into the story of how the Water Tribe siblings actually found him. Unsurprisingly, it involves less tears—"By which Sokka means no tears!"—and an infuriated Katara and that, he can believe.

Zuko doesn't anticipate being spoken to for the rest of the night. At best, he is a mere purveyor of their communal fire. At worst, an engaged and enthusiastic reaction to the boys' avid narration will be expected of him. And as socially inept as he may be, he has enough tact to refrain from volunteering his side of the events. Even with the amends he's made, he hardly thinks it would encourage rapport to rhapsodize about a time they had been on separate sides at all, no matter how early it had been in their acquaintance. Zuko would (very much) like to retire at some point in the evening without having to worry about suffocating in his sleep.

(He hasn't had that concern for two weeks now, it was practically a new record.)

So imagine his surprise when the focus shifts to him. Toph, much to his mortification, recounts his outburst at being told by a child decked out in derisory Avatar robes (that had to be illegal, right?) that the scar on his 'Prince Zuko costume' was on the wrong side.

"I don't get it," Katara purses her lips, befuddlement clear in the furrow of her brows as she turns to him. "You'd think the Fire Nation would know such an important detail about their own prince."

"Yeah, Sparky." Toph stomps over from the opposite side of their circle to plop down beside him with all the grace of a landslide. "I didn't even know you had a scar until tonight!" She pokes aimlessly at his right cheek. "What gives?"

He stares at her agog before realizing she has no way of deciphering his countenance. So, he responds by addressing Katara's comment instead.

"I don't see why they would," he shrugs. "I'm sure by the time they heard, if they heard about it at all, I had long been banished."

"I'm confused," Aang rubs his head contemplatively. "If you're banished, what's with all the wanted posters? I thought being banished meant you had to stay away, but then they also want to imprison you? You're their prince, it doesn't make sense!"

"Come to think of it," Suki muses, "Why were you banished in the first place?"

"Hold up," Sokka did that thing where he stroked the sides of his face again—seriously, what was up with that?—"I've always wondered, how come you were branded a traitor way before you even joined us? Reading your poster wasn't exactly at the top of our to-do list."

Katara interjects with, "And what were you doing so far out in the South Pole that day we found Aang, anyway?" while Toph reminds him, "Plus, that still doesn't explain why your people don't seem to know anything about you or your scar." 

A headache begins forming at his temples from the barrage of questions. He sighs in vexation before regarding Katara.

"Isn't it obvious? What did you think I was doing? I wasn't exactly sailing around for a vacation destination." Then lowly, somberly, at Toph, "And they haven't been my people," he rubs subconsciously at his marred flesh—mind flitting to that war room—always, always there—and to a whole division of loyal soldiers that in the end, he arrogantly assumed he could defend yet ultimately failed to protect. "Not for a long time."

There is silence in the wake of his disclosure, punctuated by the crackle of the tinder as it is disturbed by the gale gusting in from the beach, and an unnameable terseness that fills the air.

"Why—" he's not sure why he whispers, but it feels appropriate given their stricken expressions. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Suki ultimately is the one to brave breaking the taut stillness, staring at him with purpose.

"Zuko, when—who—" she stutters with what he speculates is an uncharacteristic timidity. That is until she gathers herself with a deep breath, the query crystallizing on her exhalation.

"How did you get your scar?"

It occurs to him, belatedly, that he may have said too much.

"I don't see how it matters," he retorts, hoping the curtness in his delivery puts an end to this inquisition.

But Zuko never did have much luck getting what he wanted.

(No, he broods with a bitterness he wishes he didn't harbor so much, Azula made sure of that.)

"We don't want to upset you—"

"So don't."

Undeterred, Katara finishes in tonalities as soothing as the morning tide, "But it helps to talk about things that might have hurt you."

Around him, the pressure builds. A deadly gas awaiting a fuse.

"Oh, 'it helps,' does it?" he snarls, rage thrumming like wildfire in his veins—igniting his body, and detonating through his next words. "And who exactly does it help, huh? You sure it's my best interests you have at heart? Or—I know! You wanna know my weaknesses, keep the big, bad fire bender on a leash!" He throws his head back, some facsimile of a laugh escaping his lips. "Unless, of course, you're just saying that to satisfy your insatiable need to mother everyone."

Boom.

"Please, I haven't had a mother in years," and he hates it, he hates how it is his voice now that breaks and his body wilts as the violent cloud of his fury dissipates—all the rancorous contention leaking out of him. "I don't need your ridicule or your pity. I've been fine on my own."

And this is the moment he loses everything, he is convinced. Because this is what Zuko does, and what he is best at. His fingers are but sieves from which good things slip. All of him is a razor blade destined to pierce any that would dare come close. He is downfall personified, he is a plague.

This is how it should be, he reasons, cut him now as they would a festering infection.

(As his father, his sister, his mother, would.)

For broken things beget broken things, and they deserve better than to have him bring ruin upon them all.

But then a hand—hands—ground him, keep him rooted, keep him still.

"Well then," Sokka avers, with his special brand of genial but no less poignant solemnity. "It's a good thing we aren't in the business of dishing out pity. Isn't that right, gang?" He clasps his right shoulder, the gesture teeming with meaning though Zuko is the last person to decode it.

"Ridicule, on the other hand…" Toph snickers. Katara sends her an affronted glare before realizing the futility of such an action. She sighs her discontent instead, before returning her attention to him.

"And you're not anymore," Katara says with an earnestness that confounds Zuko to discover is directed at him. "On your own, that is."

"I don't understand," and truly he doesn't. He knows it is not their way to spill blood (barring Katara's commimation during his early days in the Western Air Temple, which was more than fair), but this is the first he's lost his temper in front of them for no valid reason. His choleric speech had their bonfire flaring with every harsh and erratic breath he expelled, sure signs of his waning control. "Aren't you going to kick me out? At least put me in chains!"

Katara's hand joins Sokka's on his opposite side as she approaches him from behind. He has to crane his neck to ascertain her aghast mien. "For what? For being angry? For talking out of turn?"

(It always boils down to this, doesn't it? Agni, why couldn't he ever just keep his mouth shut for once in his miserable life?)

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, because he is and he doesn't know what the right thing to do or say is.

"I know," Katara smiles, but there is something desolate in the curl of her lips. "You always are," she sighs. "I'm sorry, too."

Her thumb brushes back and forth across the nape of his neck and he would have started at the unfamiliar touch if her apology hadn't already caught him off guard. In truth, this entire night has been an anomaly with how quickly they all have made his head spin in the last few minutes alone.

"You're sorry?" he gapes, genuine bafflement coloring his articulation. "Why?"

"For pushing you to talk about what I should have known was a sensitive topic." It's her turn to squeeze his shoulder. "I really am sorry."

"There's nothing to forgive," he stammers, for there honestly isn't. He's still trying to get over the fact he received an apology, let alone that anyone sought a dispension of forgiveness. From him.

"Katara's maternal instincts and overbearing need to talk about one's feelings can be annoying. Believe me, I know."

"Gee. Thanks, Toph," Katara deadpans.

"But she's right," Toph's roughened hands encircle his left forearm. Compared to the siblings, her grip is near painful, as if to dig in her point. "Bottling it up, burying your emotions… it'll only hurt you more."

"But it doesn't hurt," he insists, stubbornly ignoring the waver in his importunity as his palm spans the breadth of his ragged scar. "It doesn't."

"We're not talking about the hurt there," Katara grazes cool fingers from his back to his front, before placing it prostrate and precise. "We're talking about the one here."

Right atop his heart.

"The monks have a saying," Aang has since nestled on his knees in front of Zuko. Without him noticing, their entire circle has gotten closer so that he is at the center—warm bodies surrounding him from all sides, little planets orbiting the sun.

"Holding onto anger is a lot like holding onto hot coals that you mean to throw at someone else. In the end, you're the one who gets burned."

"What do you want from me?" he questions wearily though he knows the answer.

"Nothing," Katara assuages. "Nothing you aren't willing to give."

"And we know you're a fire bender, buddy, but don't you think a fire shared is a village warmed?" Sokka grins encouragingly before sobering. "Maybe you don't want to, but I think you may need this. You've got all this—this—pent-up frustration inside you. I can't believe we never noticed it before, it's practically oozing out of you! Like pus from a boil!"

Zuko grimaces. "Thanks, Sokka."

Unfazed, he goes on. "Don't tell me you've had someone to talk about this with. I can't imagine you and Azula sitting round a campfire having a heart-to-heart."

You'd be surprised, Zuko thinks, if that night of confessions at the beachside counted at all.

"There's still so much we don't know about you," Aang adds. "We just want to understand."

"But, why?" he blurts, frustration mounting again like a forest fire. He is desperate to fathom their persistence, to decipher the motives behind their inexplicably lambent eyes, their magnanimous looks and their delicate tones. 

"Because we're your friends, Zuko," Suki murmurs while everyone makes their approval known one way or another. "Sharing burdens is kinda what we do."

Oh, he thinks dumbly, Oh.

"It doesn't make for a pleasant bedtime story," he states with an almost believable clinical detachment, steadfastly ignoring the pounding of his heart at her proclamation of friendship. "And it's heavy. This is a load I wouldn't wish on anyone."

"All the better," Katara chirps, settling with her knees aside behind him, "that there's five of us then, right?"

Perhaps it is the security found amongst the shadows of the eventide that loosens his tongue. Perhaps it is that Zuko is just too exhausted, figuring that the fastest way to reach his bed is to simply not argue. It might even be the contentment that Aang and Sokka's adage brings him, the closest taste of home he's had since his separation from the person whom he now knows, without question, he loves most in this world. Or maybe it is simply time , here, on this island, the ghost of dual timbres wisened with age—and it can help you understand yourselves—ringing in his ears. And so beneath a collective scrutiny of ingrained amity and determined tolerance and encouragement and just… goodness.

He begins his tale.

He speaks until his already hoarse voice grows even hoarser, the words clumsy and stilted on his tongue, unused as he is to telling his story—along with the extensive range of sensations that come with it, and the illimitable memories it incites within him, some sentimental while others he would rather forget altogether. 

He speaks of a mother's love lending him both strength and weakness, of how it should have been enough yet still could never outweigh his longing for the love of a father who scorns him, of a sister he adored until she, too, eventually saw him as nothing more than a hindrance, then an enemy. He speaks of an uncle whose favor brought him places he knew he ought to be but secretly did not think he deserved, of advice dispensed wisely and discarded carelessly, of a compassion that flamed so bright within him a King saw it as too untamable to remain, and so he snuffed it out with a fiery hand to his face. He spoke of lonely years with nothing but sky and sea and the musings of an old man over tea as his only company, of a path he knew deep down had been aimless yet it was all he could hold on to because it was a reminder that he was still real.

"Three years," Suki mouths, devastation written so plainly upon her profile Zuko couldn't bear to look at her. "He had you chasing a ghost for three years."

"So… so what you said… about losing your honor?" Katara mutters wetly, and if that isn't evidence enough of her sorrow then surely, the unceasingly dampening spots between his shoulder blades are.

He winces at the flashback her inquest incites, shaking his head in internal, forlorn reproach. His shame galvanizes him enough to want to explicate his reasonings out loud, for if there is absolution to be found in his ramblings then all the more reason to try.

"For so long, I fooled myself into believing that finding the Avatar meant regaining my honor. It never occurred to me until recently that honor wasn't something that could be taken away from you. It's something you earn for yourself," he sighs despondently. "Some days though, it wasn't even about honor—I just wanted to go home. But more than anything, my father led me to believe that if I captured you then I would finally, finally have his approval—his love," he shakes his head before releasing a hollow chuckle. "What a stupid thought."

"No, no it wasn't stupid!" Toph exclaims. "It's a parent's job to love their kid. And even then it's not supposed to be conditional!"

"I can't believe he would—that he'd bur—" Aang cuts himself off with a jerk, as if the word, burn, is a most foul curse that would be invoked at the slightest whisp. Zuko doesn't dissuade him. There was a time when he felt the same way, too.

"His own son," Aang finishes dazedly, his face a river of tears, a torrent with no signs of abating.

"I'm sorry," Zuko tries again, a little alarmed now at the frequency of watery displays before him. "I didn't mean to make you sad. Oh," in his panic, he thumbs impetuously at the stray droplets coursing down the arch of Toph's cheeks. In this light, she looks exactly her age, so young and slight, yet so contrary to what he knows of the mighty and unflappable earth bender. A pang goes through his chest that he could ever be cause for her melancholy, for any of theirs. "Please don't cry."

"You first," Toph replies, inconceivably subdued and gentle as she reaches up to frame his face. Zuko holds his breath when he assumes she will palm at his scar, which she does. But there is no judgement there, only indubitable acceptance, and comfort, as she brushes roughly at the tears he didn't even know he's shed.

"Oh," he repeats, not for the first, and certainly not for the last, time tonight.

Suki sniffs. "He doesn’t deserve you."

Sokka abruptly declares in hard intonations, "I'm gonna kill him—" 

Before he can completely swear his intent, the water in the fountain behind them solidifies into menacingly pointy shards while the earth underneath them trembles dangerously.

"Get in line," Katara hisses darkly at the same time Toph grunts, "Not if I get to him first!"

Sokka's eyes are red-rimmed and gleaming. Still, he announces with a fair amount of acid in his inflection, "I know how you feel about this Aang, but you better hold me back when the time comes cause if I get my hands on that crazy, stupid, son-of-a—"

Zuko lurches forward to cover Aang's ears.

"Sokka!"

It seems the contact is all the incentive Aang needs to throw his arms around Zuko. The fire bender isn't expecting the extra ninety pounds and for all four, gangly limbs to wrap around him like a pentapus so he has no choice but to fall back to accommodate the extra weight, his head landing on Katara's lap as Aang does his utmost to actually meld himself onto his body. 

"Slothdog pile?" Toph asks unnecessarily and with a gargantuan amount of glee that the shift in mood gives him whiplash. "No way I'm not getting in on this!"

Toph burrows her head onto his hip, knocking Aang's leg aside as she commandeers Zuko's own left leg like a body pillow. It appears to be all the permission everyone else has been seeking as well, for like dominoes they begin falling into place around him. Katara tucks his head a little more securely on her thigh before leaning her upper body against the lip of the fountain at her back while Suki lists against Sokka who leans his head onto Zuko's right shoulder. 

"What—what's happening right now?" he doesn't want to appear too scandalized but he is at a loss for what to do with his limbs, outstretched as they are on either side of him. The Royal family didn't do touch, much less hug. The gesture became even more scarce when his mother… when she was gone, and though his uncle was a lot more free with his affections, it still hadn't warranted familiarity. His muscles contract at the overwhelming amount of contact.

"I wouldn't think too hard." Above him, there are traces of moisture on her visage but Katara chuckles, fond and ebullient now, much to his relief. "Just go with the flow."

"Says the water bender to the fire bender," he bites back weakly, which only fuels Katara's amusement.

Aang fastens his hold around the prince's torso, and he tenses even more.

"You know your dad's wrong, right, Zuko?"

"About what?" he quips sarcastically, but is surprised by the ardency in their antiphon.

"About everything," Aang counters fiercely. "Like, yeah, you chased us all over the world but you never aimed to kill!"

With his lineage it feels like a low bar but he nods his acknowledgement and his gratitude.

"You didn't save me from the pirates, but you kept them from… touching me," her tone is as algid as the glaciers of her homeland, but the rattle of Katara's bones is so prominent that he shakes along with her. "It could have gone a lot worse."

"I wouldn't do you that dishonor," he whispers brokenly, sick at the scenarios he can so acutely guess is conquering her imagination, it's own horrific play dancing along her features.

"I know," she reciprocates, just as gravely, "I know that now."

"You kept your promise. You could have come back, razed our village—"

"And mine," Suki joins Sokka.

"But you didn't."

He frowns. "Those days, my word was the only currency I had that was worth trading." 

He doesn't like how they make it—him—sound. Every decent deed he had fulfilled in pursuit of the Avatar was done so as a courtesy mostly to himself. If he was to regain his honor, he had to act with as much honor as his, admittedly dastardly-to-begin-with, mission could provide. Now, Zuko isn't exactly an authority—even on his good days—on altruism but he could at least recognize that in those moments, any clemency administered had been the right thing to do.

"Anyone would have done the same," he defends faintly, then immediately wishes he could take it back when Katara growls.

"No, Zuko," she clenches quivering fingers around the ubiquitous pendant adorning her neck. "No, they wouldn't."

"It's more than that, though," Aang asserts imploringly. "It's just you. It's so obvious, how did we ever not see it before now? It's who you are," he takes a deep breath, the wisdom of a thousand others before him laying siege in his every movement, every syllable. "And who you are is the most honorable guy we know."

He does a double-take.

"You… you really think that?" He shakes his head in frantic incredulity, blood roaring like a storm through his veins. "All of you?"

He looks at each of them in bewilderment—lingers especially on Aang, at the roundness of his cheeks that should be testament to his naiveté yet so contrary to the maturity shadowing his bearing—as if he can divine their rationale through sight alone. He doubts them, and it makes him feel older than sixteen, his cynicism a pallium shackled to his shoulders. But there is a chorus of devout agreeance, Aang's hope a living, tangible thing that he gives to Zuko freely. He fumbles. He doesn't trust the fervor with which it sets him aglow (metaphorically and physically, it would seem, as Sokka comments mildly, "Wow, you're like a heated blanket with how warm you are. Hey, why didn't we think of doing this before?"), but Zuko—even with his infinite skepticism—cannot find it in his fractured heart to reject it.

"Zuko?" Aang prompts, raising his head so he can catch his eye, gray and gold colliding in an affable display of security. "You believe us, don't you?"

"Yeah," Zuko reassures, albeit timorously. He takes a bracing, meditative breath before releasing it, sinking into the downy cosset of their affections as he turns his head to Katara's stomach, lowers his arms to clutch Suki and Sokka closer, bundles Aang on his chest with his heated breath, and secures Toph to his side with a hand to her back. Then, stronger, "Yeah, I guess I do."

When he decided to share his tumultuous past, he thought that he might shatter and they would rejoice at the gravity of his turmoil. But he should have known better than to assume his friends—and how marvelous a notion, to think that he of all people would have a group he is honored to name as such his own—will let him. He knows Suki had called themselves so earlier, but he doesn't quite believe it. Not until now.

"We won't let him touch you again."

It is said through a yawn as one by one, they nod off, until only Zuko and Katara are left to drift close to the edge of lethargy. She strokes tenderly at his hair, so reminiscent of his mother that he feels a familiar burning in his eyes and a lump at the back of his throat once more, all from the simple motion—or so he tells himself.

"Sleep, Zuko," she sweeps away the strands at his forehead before impressing upon it a tender kiss. "No one will hurt you. Not anymore, not ever."

Zuko can take care of himself. The way he's brought up, he's had to. Beyond that, they are at the very front lines of a war—any day, any second, could mean the last for them and they would have no way of knowing until it is upon them, so Katara's asseveration should not have brought him the relief it did. If anything, he should have denied it with the same dose of pessimism realism he approaches most everything in his life. 

But perhaps, just this once, he will allow himself the privilege of their refuge. He will allow himself to believe in the vehemency of their promise.

I just wanted to go home, he had said. And this is not a place he pictured himself ever being in, trivialized to a mere furnace, yet strangely he finds he does not mind it (not that he would ever divulge this forthright), not even a little bit. The struggle and strife of his history, of his present, are unchanged, but an effervescence envelops him in spite of the five bodies weighing him down.

Maybe even because of them.

He closes his eyes when Katara has another go at running her fingers through his hair. He can almost conjure the ghost of his mother's smile when she used to employ the same tactics to lull him to slumber. He thinks of his uncle, mistifying and genteel and terrifying and loving all at once, sitting vigil at his bedside when fever and delirium took him during those early days of recovery, and long after then, whether or not he admitted to his desire for him to stay. He compares this house and everything it represents—a relic to his family's happiness—to this strangely colorful and caring mismatch of a rugged group that someway, somehow, just manages to fit perfectly into his arms. He tightens his embrace, and it suddenly hits him.

He supposes home was something he could carry with him all along.

"Sleep," Katara hums.

And so he does.

-//////-

Later, much later, when the power from the comet has receded to the faintest of throbs, and his sister is sedated and heavily guarded while his father is in chains at the bottom of the most isolated prison in the Fire Nation, their fates to be decided in the coming weeks by a tribunal composed of the remaining leaders from all nations—when he retires to his room in lieu of that of the Fire Lord's (despite the mantle and all it entails, both the sordid and the noble, falling solely onto his shoulders), and he sports yet another scar, a burn, that he will bear just as proudly as the first and more fiercely than even his eminent title, for there was no higher honor than protecting a friend—when his uncle has resumed his seat, snoring soundly and deservedly on an armchair at the side of his vast four-poster, always at his side as if they had never parted for even one second, and he is sandwiched between his two most favorite twelve-year olds in the world, Toph as unmindful of his injury as one would expect her to be when she plants her sleep-dead body right atop his chest, and Aang entirely all too much, curled into a ball that hardly breaches his space, apart from his head as he dozes lightly on his shoulder—when Sokka and Suki are passed out at the foot of his bed, his leg a pillow for their weary heads and their bodies as tangled onto each other despite Sokka's own bandaged leg (like the kindred souls he knows them to be, like magnets helpless against each other's pull), and Katara has expelled the last of her curative waters on him, much to his insistence that he doesn't need it any longer, before she sinks into the only unoccupied space above him on his bed—when they lie there in the first quiet they've achieved since they all adjourned here, their heads touching and their breathing in sync—he opens his eyes.

"You did it, Zuko," Katara's voice is a susurrant trill tinged with exaltation and pride. "You're home."

As he does then, he does again now, and tightens his hold—a hand to steady Aang's lolling head, another at Toph's back to still her fitful body, his leg pushing to burrow the blanket further into Suki's side, and the fireplace flaring with his breath to heat the figures he cannot reach. The difference in this embrace, however, is in the absence of doubt and the lack of fear, replaced with all the affluence of his adoration—unhindered and abounding.

"Yeah."

It is his turn to press a kiss onto her forehead, lips moving tired but no less grateful and indulgent. 

Cradled in the warmth of everyone he loves and cares about, he is quite inclined to agree.

"I am home."

-//////-

AN: "Holding on to anger is like grasping on hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets hurt." —Buddha

i feel like you aren't part of the atla fandom and the zuko nation until you crank out one of these lmao. listen, listen, the beach gets cold at night so i just always picture these kids a pile of tired, sleeping limbs at the end of every day and all huddling into the only free source of heat, no fire required. let me live in this world.

come say hi to me!