#but at least no one is telling them that their ship is abusive or lecturing them

[alectoperdita]

I wanna protect everyone who's still willing to draw joukai art in this day and age while braving how it's increasingly the fandom black sheep ship and tumblr's shitty reblogging drought

[bougiebutchbinch]

horrid little brainworm

Frenchie is still green at the start of the Kraken era.

He isn't, by the end.

But back then, when it all begins - when he isn't used to the sting of kohl-mixed sweat dripping into his eyes - he makes mistakes. Lots of them. Simple little things - fluffing a knot in the rigging that has their sail unfurling midway through the dogwatch, goods left unstowed to roll with the list of their ship.

Most of the time, Izzy yells himself hoarse for five minutes, then shows Frenchie how to fix it, interspersing his lecture with expletives. Whatever. That's fine. Let the little man scream - he's not the scariest thing aboard anymore.

Never was, really.

But then Blackbeard (Ed? The Kraken?) stomps out of his cabin, hair a black thundercloud, and snarls 'which one of you men is responsible for that fucking mop', pointing to some cleaning equipment Frenchie forgot to pack away.

And everything goes still, as if they're becalmed.

[CW: whipping, abuse, non-explicit mentions of Frenchie's past locked-box traumas]

No one says Frenchie's name - not even Izzy. He just ducks his chin and refuses to look his captain in the eye. But the eyes of every other crewmember jump guiltily to Frenchie, at least once - and Blackbeard is too smart to miss such a tell.

"A ship needs discipline," he says. "Isn't that what you always tell me, Iz?"

"I'll attend to it," says Izzy, voice scratchier than ever. Frenchie knows this is a bad fucking situation - memories battering against the inside of his locked box, trying to get out - but somehow he can't feel fear. Can't really feel anything.

"With the cat," says Blackbeard. "Give the culprit fifteen. Really make the lesson stick."

Ah. There's the fear.

Frenchie's breath stifles itself halfway up his throat, as screams sneak through the keyhole of his box, along with the crack of a whip -

No. No, no, no. He can't. Not again, he can't -

Izzy glances up. Frenchie expects him to grin, all vindictive sadism - but whatever he sees on Frenchie's face has his mouth pulling into a tight line.

"Yes, sir," he says, though Frenchie barely hears over the dull roar of his heart.

He casts his gaze about, looking for an escape. Over the side? They're too far from land, but fuck, if it isn't tempting -

Jim fondles their knives, glaring mutinously at Blackbeard's back as he returns to his cabin. They don't spring after him (though Frenchie selfishly wishes they would). They're well aware - as is everyone - that right now, with Blackbeard black-eyed and bloodthirsty, they'd lose.

Izzy swallows. Shuts his eyes. Then calls for Fang to fetch the cat.

Frenchie loses time then. Scarcely a blink passes before Fang reappears above the deck, the strings of the knotted whip scraping the floor like the tentacles of a shrunken sea-monster.

They're flaky with rusty residue. Old, dried blood.

Frenchie's fingers twitch in the chords of the first song his Ma taught him. No rituals or superstitions will save him. Nothing will. Because his old crew are marooned, almost certainly dead, and his new crew are - with the exception of Fang and Jim and Ivan - fucking monsters.

He's going to be whipped (again). He's going to shred open all those old scars. The box is going to open, and -

Oh, God. Oh God. Fifteen lashes is survivable (Frenchie knows, he knows) but he's still not sure if anything of himself will emerge from the other side.

He's still frozen, staring at the whip held in Fang's big hands, flat out like he's presenting it to Izzy. Only... Izzy doesn't take it.

No, Izzy moves to stand in front of the mast. Walking stiff, with a bit of a limp. While Frenchie's reeling, struggling to process what's happening, he yanks off his shirt. And - fuck, his back is almost as ugly a sight as Frenchie knows his own would be, if he could bear to study it in a mirror.

A few of the crew draw shocked inhales. Most don't look surprised.

Frenchie is one of the latter group. Sound travels, on a ship.

"Um," says Fang, cat dangling limp. "Boss?"

Izzy grabs the hawsers wrapped around the mainmast. Heaves a deep breath. Rests his forehead against the wood.

"You heard the captain," he croaks. "Fifteen lashes."

Fang's eyes are moist - though they are more often than not, nowadays. "Boss - "

"The captain wants the culprit disciplined," Izzy says. His muscles flex beneath their coating of scars. Bracing himself, Frenchie's mind supplies. For the oncoming pain. Not that any amount of tensing is ever enough. "First mate's responsible for maintaining a tidy deck."

This turn of events finally settles into Frenchie's bones. The whip's not for him, thank everything. His key slides gratefully into the lock of his box and turns, ensuring it's shut tight.

Still, sickness churns in his guts. Last week, sleep eluded him. He'd intended to skulk above decks and breathe the sea air to clear his head. He never made it - because who should stagger out of the captain's cabin, so dead-eyed he didn't even notice Frenchie lurking in the shadows of the galley door, but the Revenge's thrice-cursed angry gremlin of a first mate?

Izzy hadn't looked much like a gremlin then, though. Doesn't now, either. Just looks. Tired. And old. And bruised to shit beneath his shirt, and not all of those lash marks are old, weathered scars, and -

Frenchie's fingers twitch more rapidly, pressing through their imaginary chord sequence.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit -

"Fifteen lashes," Izzy reminds Fang. "If you can't do it, anyone else is free to step up. I'm sure there'll be fucking volunteers."

Frenchie eyes Jim. They and Izzy aren't exactly friends - not when Frenchie has heard them mumble a word that sounds horrifically close to 'Oluwande' in their sleep.

But Jim stays right where they are. Hand on the hilt of a knife. Ivan emulates, and, well, Frenchie's feet have damn near put down roots. He couldn't move from this spot if he was ordered to.

Fang's tears well over, and his hand shakes on the whip handle to the point where Frenchie thinks he might drop it.

A clash from the great cabin has them all jumping - all but Izzy, who rests his cheek on the mast like it's a particularly splintery pillow, eyes drifting shut. Blackbeard barges back out, sousing the air with body odour and smoke and self-hatred and whatever the fuck else he's been marinating in.

"What's the fucking wait?" he demands. "I expected way more screams by now." He halts, frowning at the sight of Izzy, stood where Frenchie ought to be (because fuck, he shouldn't have left that mop and bucket out; how many times has Izzy told him - ). For a moment, the harsh line of his brows crumples on itself in something that could be mistaken for regret. But then that dark sneer crawls onto his lips, the one with which the whole crew is becoming familiar. "Can't pick who gets the privilege, eh? Well, lucky for the lot of you, that's what a captain's for."

He stalks forwards, feline-graceful. Frenchie scuttles from his path. When Blackbeard snatches the whip from Fang (not seeming to notice his whimper, his flinch) Frenchie fully anticipates that he'll turn on Izzy, not him.

He certainly doesn't expect Blackbeard to smile, cold and white as a toenail moon, and thrust the whip towards him, hilt first.

"Oh, no." Frenchie raises both hands in surrender. "No, no, no. I couldn't. Awful with a whip, me. Wouldn't, um..." There's the noise of it again, slithering out through the keyhole of his box. The swish. The crack. The scream. "Wouldn't be able to strike hard enough," he stutters. "No upper body strength, yeah."

Blackbeard doesn't approach Frenchie. Just keeps the whip held out towards him, like the accusative finger of a god.

"You give him fifteen," he says, gently. "And make each one count. Or I give him fifty."

Against the mast, Izzy makes a sound - not quite a whimper. Worse; it's far too much like relief. His hands don't shake, but only because they grip the hawser tight as rigor mortis.

Fifty can kill. Has killed before. Frenchie's seen it.

But Blackbeard doesn't want Izzy dead, right? Who would he torture then?

Blackbeard's blank, lifeless eyes pour into Frenchie's.

Who indeed?

Fuck. Frenchie swallows dry. He tells himself it's for self-preservation that he unsticks his boots from the deck and shuffles forth to take the whip. Not for Izzy. Not like he likes the angry little prick. Man's vicious as a cat and thrice as cursed.

Maybe, if Frenchie tells himself that, it'll make this memory easier to lock away with all the rest.

"Ready?" he asks Izzy, softer than he intends. Izzy twists over his scarred shoulder. He looks at Frenchie - really looks at him - for what feels like the first time. Not even glancing to his left, where the Kraken lurks.

Frenchie can't decipher his expression. Pity, for whatever made him offer himself up in Frenchie's place? Frustration, that Frenchie prevented Blackbeard from whipping him into the grave? Misery and fear - no, that's far too sane for a guy like Izzy.

Izzy turns back to the mast.

"Give me your worst," he says.

Frenchie breathes in, breathes out, and obeys.

[panther-os]

Plo lets the wolfpack and the rest of the 104th have drugs. No, listen, there's obviously rules, right?

Must be in the medbay with the medic on duty available to supervise.

Must have completed mandatory substances & abuse thereof class and be enrolled in clone-to-clone peer support and meeting all appointments. (Wolffe is a special case bc of his rank where Plo is his peer support contact.)

Must cooperate with medics.

Must have had a physical in the last six months and blood work in the last three.

Must not have had a bad or violent reaction to the substance in the past.

Must not be recovering from any major medical procedure.

Substance, dosage, and frequency must be authorized by a medic and co-signed by another and your peer support contact.

Must be at least six hours before next duty shift.

Not during emergencies or battles, not before battles, not when emergencies or battles are likely to happen at any minute. (I.e., shipboard leave and downtime in transit is okay but not "hey we're actively on standby to come to one of these three battalions' aid if they need it")

If you get caught doing unauthorized drugs, you get disciplinary duties and mandatory substance abuse therapy.

If you steal unauthorized drugs - especially if you steal ones used as pain relievers from medbay - you get confined to ship, disciplinary duties, mandatory substance abuse therapy, and General Buir's "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed" face and lecture.

But within those rules they get to try whatever they want at least once. Anyway Wolffe likes to call the other commanders when he's high and weepily tell them how much he loves them.

[eeboshmeebo]

About your bio psychologically speaking the human brain has a very difficult time determining fiction from reality. You can identify the differences but the feelings you feel towards fiction is just as real as what you feel in the same real life scenario.

So allowing yourself to indulge in pro ship content (like pedophilia, incest and abusive relationships) isnt at all better then indulging in it irl! Your still messing yourself (and others) up mentally. Like you said in your bio it could be a response to something that happened to them irl but just because that may be the case dosent mean its okay. Instead they should seek professional help and not indulge in harmful fan creations on the internet

Im not mad nor am I trying to lecture you but I assumed you might not have known this information so I thought id let you know.

(Also pro shipping isnt to be confused with multi shipping which is similar but dosent promote or approve of any of the shipping relationships i mentioned earlier)

If you want to verify my sources just look it up on google and every reliable source agrees (at least with the whole brain cant determine fiction from reality)

(This is ment to be light hearted and not rude so i deeply apologize if it comes across that way)

Thanks for not being mean about it! I think. I don't know how to read underlying messages.

Anyways! I'm a neutral proshipper, which means I don't support all of these ships and stay away from problematic ones, but I won't go out of my way to ruin people's days or harass them because of their opinions.

I'm not into anything they indulge in, but they're human, just like me. They're messed up, like me! I bit someone because I didn't have enough self-control once in school!

However, I believe in people changing. Sometimes they don't but as long as people don't actively tell others to kill themselves over it or they're careful with the tagging so the wrong crowd doesn't see it, I'm fine.

Also I just got out of this new chinese novel that I think's pirated. Thoughts? It sounds so generic but it's okay.

[Global Blessed Land: I Can Add Attributes On The Buildings Novel - Read Global Blessed Land: I Can Add Attributes On The Buildings Online For Free - Novel Bin]

Edit: wait you're using the browser full of AI stuff? Wild. All I'm getting is .com sites, and the only ones that can be safely trusted without misinformation are .gov or .edu OR .org sites. Government, education, or organization sites on mine. do you mind sending another ask with some of the sources please?

[hamliet]

The Crows Summon the Sun

Or, Hamliet’s review of Shadow & Bone, which gets a 4.5/5 for enjoyment and a 3.5/5 in terms of writing.

The true heroes of this story and the saviors of the show are the Crows. However, the problem is that the show then has an uneven feel, because the strength of the Crows plotline highlights the weaknesses of the trilogy storyline. But imo, overall, the strengths overshadow (#punintended) the weaknesses. 

I’ll divide the review into the narrative and the technical (show stuff, social commentary), starting with narrative.

Narrative: The Good 

It’s What The Crows Deserve

I went into the show watching it for the Crows; however, knowing that their storyline was intended to be a prequel, I wasn’t terribly optimistic. And while it is a prequel, the characters have complete and full arcs that perfectly set them up for the further development they will have in the books (which I think should be the next season?). Instead of retreading the arcs they’d have in the books, which is how prequels usually go, they had perfect set up for these arcs. It’s really excellent. 

Jesper, Inej, and Kaz are all allowed to be flawed, to have serious conflicts with one another, and yet to love each other. They feel like a found family in the best of ways. Kaz is the perfect selfish rogue; he’s a much more successfully executed Byronic hero than the Darkling, actually. Inej is heroic and her faith is not mocked, yet she too is flawed and her choices are not always entirely justified, but instead left to the audience to ponder (like killing the girl), which is a more mature writing choice that I appreciated. 

Jesper is charming, has a heart of gold despite being a murderer and on the surface fairly greedy, and MILO THE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT GOAT WAS THE BEST THING EVER. I also liked Jesper’s fling with Dima but I felt it could be better used rather than merely establishing his sexuality, like if Jesper and Dima had seen each other one more time or something had come of their tryst for the plot/themes/development of Jesper. 

Nina and Matthias’s backstory being in the first season, instead of in flashbacks, really works because it automatically erases any discomfort of the implications of Nina having falsely accused Matthias that the books start with. We know Nina, we know Matthias, we know their motivations, backgrounds, and why they feel the way we do. It’ll be easy for the audience to root for them without a lot of unnecessary hate springing from misunderstanding Nina (since she’s my favorite). Matthias’s arc was also really strongly executed and satisfyingly tragic. Their plotline was a bit unfortunately disconnected from the rest of the story, but Danielle Gallagan and Callahan Skogman have absolutely sizzling chemistry so I found myself looking forward to their scenes instead of feeling distracted. Also? It’s nice seeing a woman with Nina’s body type as a romantic and powerful character. 

Hamliet Likes Malina Now

Insofar as the trilogy storyline goes, the best change the show made was Mal. He still is the same character from the books, but much more likable. The pining was... a lot (too much in episode 4, I felt) but Malina is a ship I actually enjoyed in the show while I NOTP’d it in the books. Mal has complexity and layers to his motivations (somewhat) and a likable if awkward charm. Archie Renaux was fantastic. 

Ben Barnes is the perfect Aleksandr Kirigan, and 15 year old me, who had the biggest of big crushes on Ben Barnes (first celebrity crush over a decade ago lol), was pretty damn happy lol. He’s magnificantly acted--sympathetic and terrifying, sincerely caring and yet villainous in moments. Story-wise, I think it was smart to reveal his name earlier on than in the books, because it helps with the humanization especially in a visual medium like film. Luda was a fitting (if heartbreaking) backstory, but it is also hard for me to stomach knowing what the endgame of his character is. Like... I get the X-men fallacy thing, but I hope the show gives more kindness to his character than the books did, yet I’m afraid to hold my breath. Just saying that if you employ save the cat, if you directly say you added this part (Luda) to make the character more likable (as the director did) please do not punish the audience for feeling what you intended. 

I also liked the change that made Alina half-Shu. It adds well to her arc and fits with her character, actually giving her motivations (she kinda just wants to be ordinary in a lot of ways) a much more interesting foundation than in the books. Also it’s nice not to have another knock-off Daenerys (looking to you Celaena and book!Alina). Jessie Mei Li does a good job playing Alina’s insecurities and emotions, but... 

Narrative: The Ehhhhhhh

Alina the Lamp

Sigh. Here we go. Alina has little consistent characterization. She’s almost always passive when we see her, yet she apparently punches an officer for calling her a name and this seems to be normal for her, but it doesn’t fit at all with what we know about her thus far. Contradictions are a part of humanity, but it’s never given any focus, so it comes across as inconsistent instead of a flaw or repression. 

I have no idea what Alina wants, beside that she wants to be with Mal, which is fine except I have no idea what the basis of their bond is. Even with like, other childhood friends to lovers like Ren/Nora in RWBY or Eren/Mikasa in SnK, there’s an inciting moment, a reason, that we learn very early on in their story to show us what draws them together. Alina and Mal just don’t have that. There’s the meadow/running away thing, but they were already so close, and why?  Why, exactly? What brought them together? The term “bullies” is thrown around but it isn’t ever explored and it needed to be this season. If I have to deal with intense pining for so many episodes at least give me a foundation for their devotion. You need to put this in the beginning, in the first season. You just do.

A “lamp” character is a common metaphor to describe a bad character: essentially, you could replace the character with a lamp and nothing changes. Considering Alina’s gift is light, it’s a funnily apt metaphor, but it really does apply. Her choices just don’t... matter. She could be a special lamp everyone is fighting over and almost nothing would change. The ironic thing is that everyone treating her like a fancy lamp is exactly the conflict, but it’s never delved into. We’re never shown that Alina is more than a lamp. She never has to struggle because her choices are made for her and information is gifted to her when she needs it. Not making choices protects Alina from consequences and the story gives her little incentive to change that; in fact, things tend to turn out better when she doesn’t make choices (magic stags will arrive). 

Like... let’s look at a few occasions when Alina almost or does make choices. For example, she chooses to (it seems) sleep with Kirigan, but then there’s a convenient knock at the door and Bhagra arrives with key information that changes Alina’s mind instantly despite the fact that Bhagra’s been pretty terrible to her. If you want to write a woman realizing she’s been duped by a cruel man, show her discovering it instead of having the man’s abusive mother tell her when she had absolutely no such suspicions beforehand. There’s no emotional weight there because Alina doesn’t struggle. 

When she is actually allowed to carry out a bad choice, the consequences are handwaved away instead of built into a challenge for her. Like... Alina got her friends killed. More than once. I’m not saying she’s entirely to blame for these but could we show her reacting to it? Feeling any sort of grief? She never mentions Raisa or Alexei after they’re gone, just Mal, and I’m... okay. They were there because of you. Aren’t you feeling anything? Aren’t you sad?��The only time Alina brings up her friends’ deaths is to tell Kirigan he killed her friends when they were only there because she burned the maps. She yells at Kirigan for “never” giving her a choice, but she almost never makes any, so why would he? Alina has the gall to lecture Genya about choices, but she herself almost never has to make any. 

Which brings me to another complaint in general: Alina’s lack of care for everyone around her when they’re not Mal, even if they care for her. Marie dies because of her (absolutely not her fault of course) but as far as we know she never even learns about Marie. She certainly doesn’t ever ask about her or Nadia. Alina seems apathetic at best to people, certainly not compassionate or kind. 

The frustrating thing is that there is potential here. Like, it actually makes a lot of psychological sense for an orphan who has grown up losing to be reluctant to care for people outside of her orbit and that she would struggle to believe she can have any say in her destiny (ie make choices). It’s also interesting that a girl who feels like an outsider views others outside her. But the show never offers examines Alina’s psychology with any depth; it simply tells us she’s compassionate when she is demonstrably not, it tells us she makes decisions when it takes magical intervention to do so. It’s a missed opportunity. This does not change between episodes 1 and 8, despite the episodes’ parallel structures and scenes, which unintentionally reinforces that Alina had little real development. 

Inej and ironically Jesper and Kaz embody the concept of “mercy” far better and with far more complexity than Alina does. The Crows have reactions to the loss of people who even betray them (Arken, etc), learn, and course-correct (or don’t) when they are even loosely involved in having strangers die. They’re good characters because they change and learn and have their choices matter. When they kill we see them wrestle with it and what this means even if they are accustomed to doing so. Jesper can’t kill in front of a child. Kaz wonders what his killings do to Inej’s idea of him.

Narrative: The Mixed Bag

Tropes, Themes, Telling vs. Showing

So the show’s themes in the Alina storyline are a mess, as they are in the trilogy too. Tropes are a very valuable way to show your audience what you’re trying to say. They’re utilized worldwide because they resonate with people and we know what to expect from them. The Crows' storyline shows us what it wants us to learn.

Preaching tells, and unfortunately, the trilogy relies on telling/preaching against fornicationBad Boys. It’s your right to write any trope or trample any trope you want--your story--but you should at least understand what/why you are doing so. The author clearly knows enough about Jungian shadows and dark/light yin/yang symbolism to use it in the story, but then just handwaves it away as “I don’t like this” but never does so in a narratively effective way: addressing the appeal in the first place. If you really wanna deconstruct a trope, you gotta empathize with the core of the reason these tropes appeal to people (it allays deep fears that we are ourselves unlovable, through loving another person despite how beastly they can be), and address this instead of ignoring it. Show us a better way through the Fold of your story. Don’t just go around it and ignore the issue.

The trilogy offers highly simplistic themes at best--bad boy bad and good boy good, which is fine-ish for kid lit but less fine for adult complexity, which the show (more so than the books) seems to try to push despite not actually having much of it.

Alina and Mal are intended to be good, we’re told they are, but I’m not sure why beyond just that we’re told so. Alina claims the stag chose her, but in the show it’s never explained why at all. Unlike with Kaz, Inej, Jesper, and hell even Matthias and Nina, we don’t see Alina or Mal’s complex choices and internal wrestling. 

Like, Inej’s half-episode where she almost killed the guy they needed was far more character exploration than Alina has the entire show, to say nothing of Inej’s later killing which not only makes her leaps and bounds more interesting, but ironically cements her as a far more compelling and yes, likable, heroine than Alina. We see Inej’s emotional and moral conflict. We can relate to her. We see Kaz struggling with his selfishness and regrets, with his understanding of himself through his interactions with and observations of Inej, Alina, the Darkling, Arken, and Jesper.

We don’t explore what makes Mal or Alina good and what makes them bad. We don’t know what Alina discovers about herself, what her power means for her. We are told they are good, we are told she knows her power is hers, but never shown what this means or what this costs them/her. Their opportunities to be good are handed to them (the stag, Bhagra) instead of given to them as a challenge in which they risk things, in which doing good or making a merciful choice costs them. Alina gets to preach about choices without ever making any; Inej risks going back to the Menagerie to trust Kaz. Her choices risk. They cost. They matter and direct her storyline and her arc, and those of the people around her.

Production Stuff:

The Good: 

The production overall is quite excellent. The costumes, pacing, acting, and cinematography (for example, one of the earliest scenes between the Darkling and Alina has Alina with her back to the light, face covered in his shadow, while the Darkling’s face is light up by her light even if he stands in the shadows) are top-notch. The soundtrack as well is incredible and emphasizes the scenes playing. The actors have great chemistry together, friend chemistry and romantic when necessary (Mal and Alina, the Darkling and Alina, Kaz and Inej, Nina and Matthias, David and Genya, etc.) All are perfectly cast. 

The Uncomfortable Technicalities Hamliet Wants to Bitch About:

The only characters from fantasy!Europe having any trace of an accent reminiscent of said fantasy country's real-world equivalent are antagonists like Druskelle (Scandinavia) and Pekka (Ireland). When the heroes mostly have British accents despite being from fantasy Russia and Holland, it is certainly A Choice to have the Irish accent emphasized. The actor is British by the way, so I presume he purposely put on an Irish accent. I'm sure no one even considered the potential implications of this but it is A Look nonetheless.

The Anachronisms Hamliet Has a Pet Peeve About: 

The worldbuilding is compelling, but the only blight on the worldbuilding within the story itself (ignoring context) was that there are some anachronisms that took me out of the story, particularly in the first episode where “would you like to share with the class” and “saved by the horn” are both used. Both are modern-day idioms in English that just don’t fit, especially the latter. The last episode uses “the friends we made along the way.” There are other modern idioms as well.

IT’S STARKOVA and Other Pet Peeves Around the Russian Portrayal 

Russian names are not hard, and Russian naming systems are very, very easy to learn. I could have waved “Starkov” not being “Starkova,” “Nazyalensky” not being “Nazyalenskaya,”  and “Safin” not being “Safina” as an American interpretation (since in America, the names do not femininize). However, “Mozorova” as a man is unfathomable and suggests to me the author just doesn’t understand how names work, which is a bit... uh okay considering a simple google search gets you to understand Russian names. They aren’t hard. I cannot understand why the show did not fix this. It is so simple to fix and would be a major way to help the story’s overall... caricature of Russia. 

Speaking of that... Ravka is supposedly Russian-based, but it is more accurately based on the stereotypes of what Americans think of Russia. Amerussia? Russica? Not great. 

The royals are exactly what Americans think of the Romanovs, right down to the “greasy” “spiritual advisor” who is clearly Rasputin and which ignores the Romanov history, very real tragedy, and the reason Rasputin was present in the court. The religion with all its saints is a vapid reflection of Russian Orthodoxy. The military portrayal with its lotteries and brutality and war is how the US views the Russian military. The emphasis on orphans, constant starvation, classification, and children being ripped from their homes to serve the government is a classic US understanding of USSR communism right down to the USSR having weapons of destruction the rest of the world fears (Grisha). Not trying to defend the Soviet Union here at all, but it is simplistic and reductive and probably done unconsciously but still ehhhh. 

However, I’m not Russian. I just studied Russian literature. I’ve seen very little by way of discussion of this topic online, but what I do see from Russian people has been mixed--some mind, some don’t. The reality is that I actually don’t really mind this because it’s fantasy, though I see why some do. I'm not like CANCEL THIS. So why am I talking about this beyond just having a pet peeve?

Well, because it is a valid critique, and because it doesn’t occur in a vacuum. The Grishaverse is heralded as an almost paragon for woke Young Adult literature, which underlines itself what so frustrates me about how literary circles discuss issues of diversity and culture. Such praise, while ignoring its quasi-caricature of Russia, reflects a very ethnocentric (specifically American) understanding of culture, appropriation, and representation. All stories are products of their culture to various extents, but it bothers me on principle what the lit community reacts (and overreacts sometimes?) to and what people give a pass to. The answer to what the community reacts to and what it gives a pass always pivots on how palatable the appropriation is to American understandings and sensibilities. There’s nuance here as well, though. 

I'm not cancelling the story or thinking it should be harshly attacked for this, but it is something that can be discussed and imo should be far more often--but with the nuance it begs, instead of black/white. But that’s a tall ask. 

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Writing ideas

I suck at writing so I don’t use these but I wouldn’t mind credit if you do use them

(TW abuse) Din is sent to hunt you down and you beg not to be taken back because the man is abusive and obsessed with you (death may or may not be faked)

Din and you go to a planet for a few days and the village women teach you how to dance and make a dress for you for a festival coming up and you find out Din has also been taught how to doable the night of the festival

You get drunk and Din has to carry you back to the ship, feelings will be confessed

This one is for longer fanfic perhaps, You are a wife to a king on a planet and the least favorite of 3 wives and Din is sent to watch you for a bit (a bit au ish?)

This one could also be a longer fanfic a medieval au but also could be Star Wars universe. Din is your guard and is in love with you but you don’t realize it and you’re also getting married soon, husband is a dick and cheats on you and you find out but he gaslights you saying that you have been cheating with Din, you’re oblivious. You run to a lake for the night and Din comes with you and you two have a what you think is a friendly picnic and you tell him what happened. Could go one of two ways, you run away together or the husband “mysteriously” dies and you marry Din

An innocent reader and you keep asking Din while he stays with your family if you can go with him and then you have to convince your family you’re old enough to adventure out on your own and you promise to call. You obviously aren’t as prepared as you thought you were bc the first bounty you guys had a building blew up (Mando tries to shield you as best as possible)

Mando let’s you have a break for this bounty and you go into a field of flowers out of boredom and the lavender starts making you sleepy so you accidentally fall asleep, Mando comes back to the ship and is worried because you’re missing so he goes out looking for you and finds you lying in the fields and freaks out and goes to help you and you wake up and apologize then ask him if he wants to sit with you. He agrees and you two sit under a tree and talk and he’s able to relax after a long day and you make him a flower crown.

You guys take a walk through a snowy town and get some hot chocolate, aren’t in a relationship yet but you do get a nice hug from him and confess your feelings awkwardly

A guy is chasing after you two and you use your spear to break the ice on a frozen lake as you narrowly escape him and the lake breaking beneath you

You and Mando are goofing off and you get onto a frozen river thinking it’s safe and the ice breaks beneath you and you fall in and Mando has to read save you and warm you up with many blankets and lectures you out of love, you apologize and get all embarrassed bc you were just trying to show off a little

[emletish-fish]

7. what is you favorite sentence/paragraph? read it to us! (asker can choose what fic) (x)

I chose three! One from each of my 'big fics'. No Zombies, Worst Prisoners and Good Boys under the cut:

NO ZOMBIES:

No Zombies was a delight to write. I had pretty much the whole idea from the get-go, (of a returned style AU with Hector coming to spend time with the family in the modern world). I finished it quick - and it's not too long (side-eyeing Good Boy and Worst Prisoner). It was the first fic where I felt like I really "stuck" the landing. I was quite flexible with my original outline, but I still knew where the journey ended. It ended exactly how I wanted it too - happily but with a bitter-sweet note.

The emotional core of this story is how Elena, family matriach, who is so gruff and no-nonsense, who despises Hector in the films, and who has such a warm heart under such a grumpy exterior would slowly soften and come to love Hector, (and how she grows as a person because of this and becomes more comfortable showing love/emotions to her family). It was like a platonic slow-burn as she learns to understand Hector better - which is why this bit is my favourite because it's where she starts to really feel fond of him for the first time:

“Well, I'm just glad I'm a better teacher for him than watching old Ernesto De La Cruz movies.” Héctor had replied with a wry smile. “It's probably because I'm so much more handsome than that butt-chinned, over-the-top ham.”

“Because you're a pointy-chinned, over-the-top ham?” Elena replied, feeling surprising witty. She never made teasing jokes like this normally, but it was so easy with Héctor.

He looked mock-offended. “I'll have you know, my chin is wonderful and I've given it to several of your grandchildren, so there.”

If Elena was a different person, she probably would have pulled Héctor into a warm, laughing hug then. She might have told him seriously that Miguel had always been difficult for her. He felt things so strongly and got so upset and emotional – she'd always struggled with how to help him, how to calm him. Miguel was so happy now. She knew that was because of Héctor.

She might have told Héctor that he was at least six thousand times the musician, eight thousand times the teacher, and ten thousand times the man that Ernesto De La Cruz was.

But Elena was who she was.

Instead she said “Idiot,” and ruffled his stupidly messy hair rather fondly.

She told herself she wasn't warming to the fool musician, but she knew it was a lie.

GOOD BOY:

My current work. It's another platonic slow-burn, but this time set in the Cobra Kai universe with son and father pair - Robby Keene and Johnny Lawrence. In the show, these two characters have such a dysfunctional relationship that is so full of miscommunications and missed chances, and they genuinely want a better relationship (and it would be so healing for both of them! Do not get me started!) I lean much more into the magical realism in this story, as I turned Robby into a dog (Animal transformation - PIXAR's Brave style), so that he could immediately get the cuddles and easy affection he so clearly needs.... because I have never seen a more touch/affection-starved character aside from Zuko in ATLA.

This also gave Robby a chance to really understand, not only his father, but the other people in his cicrcle. He discovered he had a support network. He got to know he was loved by many. he got to witness the actions people would take as they searched for human-him (not knowing that he'd been turned into a dog). And it gave Johnny a chance to learn how to take care of something, feel needed, and express his love for his son without the weight of their complicated history/his own trauma hanging over him. It was hard to pick a favourite, but I will say the Johnny-stream-of-conciousness chapters are definitely the easiest/most fun to write. One of my favourite bits is in the first one, The queen of ice-cream runaway when Johnny tells Robby about when Laura (his grandmother) found out Shannon was pregnant and she was going to be a grandmother.

It's the first inkling Robby gets that while his father wasn't there for him and he was neglected a lot, Johnny did his best to keep the bad shit from his own childhood away from Robby as his own way of showing care. It hints at the deep and damaging abuse Johnny endured. When he finally had a say with his own kid, he would have done anything to protect Robby from feeling the same. I'd say here is where Robby really begins to warm to his Dad;

Then I told her our chosen name and she said I was a dumbass and Swayze was a terrible middle name, and we had to change it to some shit like Alastair or something. She thought he should have a rich sounding middle name. And I say Mom, Alastair sounds like some lame-ass insurance broker who upskirts his secretary and then cries as he jerks off to the pictures, what else you got? She thought Sebastian, and that was worse! What a pussy name.  Sebastian is going to be sitting in the little french patisserie cafe drinking the tiny-ass coffee for dolls and eating the éclair with his prissy finger tips. I already want to kick Sebastian's ass. Who wouldn’t? I’m not going to give my kid a name that is going to get his ass kicked.

And she couldn't talk, cause she named me after Johnny Cash, just cause she liked his music. And she couldn't think of a middle name at the time, so I didn't get one. Thank goodness. I could have ended up Johnny Alastair and had to kick my own ass.

So Swayze stayed.

Then she mentions how she and Sid can help out, so I didn't need to do the two jobs, stupidly long hours thing. And we need the money. I know we need the money. But my whole body froze and I just went No. None of that for little Robby Swayze. ...

... She’s going on about spending Sid’s money on Robby and I just...I can’t. I can't allow it. Cause I knew how he would be, and the way he would treat that kid. So I tell her, no thank you. Not a fucking cent mom.  Sid’s not getting to feel like he owns a hair on Robby’s head. That motherfucker can go jump. You thought we needed Sid’s money when I was a kid. You decided it was better for me, and that was your choice. I did not get a vote in that. But this is my kid, and this time it is my call, and I am choosing no. I’m not going to have Sid make my kid feel like he has to apologise for existing every day. I'm not going to have Sid treat my kid the way he treated me. I will never need money that badly. I will never put my kid through that. I'll work myself to the bone doing 20 hour days before that. I'll work on the 40th floor without a harness before that.  I will sell my fucking organs before it comes to that. Not a cent mom.

WORST PRISONER:

My 'what if Zuko made friends with the Gaang early on?" AU that then turned into a three-book long saga (and I will return to it, Worst Prisoner readers - Thank you for you patience). It does have evenutal Zutara, but the focus is really on the Gaang + Zuko as a whole, and all the interpersonal relationships. I'd say there is more gen-shipping around Zuko as a central character, as Iroh & Zuko, and Sokka & Zuko are both given equal prominence. in fact, all the friendships and familial relationships were equally important to me. (the book 3 Zuko & Azula stuff is so interesting, but it is ...less funny I guess.)

This fic is such a joy to write, and I really try and balance the humour with the bittersweet/sad parts, and one of the main sources of humor was the Sokka-Aang-Zuko -Katara qudrangle of dumbassery. I love the four of them together in book 1, and so many of their interactions were a hoot to write. But if I'd have to pick a favourite moment, it would be the moment in the deserter chapter in book 1, where they all decide to 'officially' be friends:

“Well, you can figure that out and find someone while I'm up in the Northern Water Tribe. Then when we finish up there, we'll come find you,” Aang offered.

“Really?” Zuko’s eyes were shining optimistically. It was a strange expression for him. Aang was so used to seeing him with a grumpy face.

“Really, I promise,” Aang said, feeling so glad that he could help Zuko go home.

“Yeah, I second that. If this means we won’t have to put up with you chasing us, I am in!” Sokka said. “Sheesh, you could have just asked ages ago!”

“You know, this means I was right,” Aang started to say, feeling very vindicated. The others looked at him curiously. “If we had just talked about friendship in the forest, we could have sorted this out weeks ago!”

“Boo, forest friendship!” Sokka said.

“Don't boo him,” Katara admonished, elbowing her brother.

“I agree with Sokka. There's no way I would have appreciated that speech weeks ago, Aang,” Zuko said.

Sokka smiled at Zuko for saying he agreed with him. It actually wasn't that rare of an occurrence, but it still seemed to surprise Sokka every time.

“See, Aang, forest friendship is bullshit,” Sokka said.

“I didn't say that!” Zuko cut in. “I just meant, maybe … I had to be dragged all over the Earth Kingdom by you guys ... and shot ... and taken to nonsense fortune tellers ... and I had to be forced to eat Sokka's truly terrible and disgusting cooking—”

“Oi!”

“—and I had listen to Aang lecture me about friendship and vegetarianism in the forest just so I could come here.” He looked around at the deserters’ camp site. “I dunno, maybe it was meant to be this way.”

“What are you saying? You want to be forest friends with Aang now?” Sokka asked accusingly.

“I mean, sure. If Aang will have me, we can be friends,” Zuko said, and looked uncertain.

“Yay! I knew you'd want to be my friend,” Aang said, feeling delighted.

He was so happy he had a Fire Nation friend again. Kuzon had been an amazing friend, even though he'd gotten Aang into so many sticky situations. He had already thought Zuko was his friend, but it was nice to make it official. Aang always knew the Fire Nation had good people in it too, and now he had been proven right. He jumped up and gave Zuko a huge hug.

[iffeelscouldkill]

TSCOSI Week Day 3: Sana / Leadership

A/N: ssshhhhhhh yes I know it’s late but ssssshhhhh let’s just pretend I’m posting this 5/6 days ago

Here, finally, is my fic for Day 3 of TSCOSI Week, on the theme of Sana / Leadership! This takes place in an ambiguous point in Late Season 2. It does not have any bearing on the episode that was released today, which I haven’t even listened to yet, because I was busy trying to finish off this fic 😂😭 Energy and motivation have not been on my side lately. But here we are!

I had two ideas I could have gone with for this day’s prompt, and of course I chose the one I knew would lead to a longer fic, but it was worth it. This type of TSCOSI fic is my favourite to write - pure Rumor/Iris crew fluff and shenanigans. So enjoy!

---

The first clue Sana had that something was amiss was when she woke up.

Rather than waking to the vibration of her comm against her ear (yes, her comm had an alarm function and yes, she slept with it in in case of emergencies. She would not be taking questions at this time), she came to naturally, which she hadn’t done in months. Sana smiled to herself, stretching – and then froze.

She never woke up naturally, and the few times that she did wake during the night she didn’t feel this pleasantly well-rested. What time was it?

“Computer?” Sana spoke aloud to ELLA. “Current on-ship time?”

“The current on-ship time – is – nine – forty-three AM,” ELLA’s voice intoned. Sana sat bolt upright in her bed.

That wasn’t right. There was no way she’d slept through her alarm, and she had it set to recur at the same time every morning. Which meant…

“Sana Tripathi to all crew,” Sana said, opening up a comm line to all of her crewmates’ devices. “Hey, guys. Would someone mind telling me why my alarm didn’t go off this morning?”

“It didn’t go off because I deprogrammed it when I poured you into bed last night at some ungodly hour,” came the reply in Arkady’s deadpan tones, and Sana cringed slightly, regretting opening up a line to the whole crew. “Also, I’ve said this before, but sleeping with your comm in your ear? Pretty unhealthy, and that’s coming from me.”

“Thank you for that feedback, Arkady,” said Sana, with all the dry sarcasm she could muster.

“Prolonged comm usage, even when the comm is idle, has also been known to lead to hearing damage in a small percentage of cases,” put in RJ, and Sana’s eyebrows rose. “Something to do with a low level of uh, high-frequency feedback? So as a best practice, you should really take it out before bed.”

“RJ, are you lecturing me right now?” Sana asked, halfway between deeply amused and indignant.

“Uhhhh- n-no Ma’am! I mean, uh- no, Captain.”

“They’re right, you know,” Violet put in next. “I mean, it really is a small percentage of cases, but as your medic I have to advise you not to leave your comm device in for prolonged periods. Also, that sounds – uncomfortable? For sleeping?”

Sana sighed, resigning herself to being ganged up on by her entire crew. “Duly noted, Violet. Getting back to the subject at hand-”

“Wow, human ears are so fragile!” This, of course, was Krejjh. “They can really be damaged by comm feedback?”

“For a prolonged enough period-” RJ began to explain.

“We don’t all have your ‘superior alien senses’, dude,” put in Brian, laughing. Sana put a hand to her head.

“Guys-”

“I deprogrammed your alarm because you need a break, Captain,” Arkady cut in, almost gently. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that you’ve been pulling extra shifts so that the rest of us could take breaks, while not taking any yourself.”

“The human body is at its best when given time to rest and recover,” Violet added, also gently. “And you’re human too, Captain.”

Sana could feel her face flaming, but she was also extremely touched by the concern the crew were showing her – even though they’d apparently ganged up on her in the process.

“All right, I can admit that the lie-in was appreciated,” she said. “Thank you for the thought, everyone. Krejjh, I’m coming to relieve you in-”

“Oh, no need, Cap’n,” Krejjh interrupted cheerfully. “Crewman Park is taking your shift! He’s relieving me in ten minutes, and then Crewman Jeeter and I are going to play cards.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Sana said, beginning to feel slightly alarmed. “Park, I’m coming up to the cockpit in-”

“Sorry, Captain, but I think you’ve been outnumbered,” Park said, as mildly as ever. “Also, Krejjh promised me fruit jerky in exchange for taking the next shift, and I’m not about to give that up.”

Sana stared at the wall, running a hand over her face. “Park, you hate fruit jerky.”

“This is special fruit jerky,” Park replied, deadly serious. “The really good kind. Enjoy your time off.”

“There must be something I can do,” said Sana, realising she sounded slightly desperate.

“Uh, you can join me and Krejjh for a game of cards in ten minutes?” Brian suggested.

“Or you can relax, Captain,” Violet said, still in that gently amused tone. “It’s for one day. We promise you’ll be back to keeping us all in line tomorrow.”

The whole day?! Sana exclaimed internally. And okay, maybe the way that she balked at the idea of a day of enforced rest said something about the habits she’d fallen into.

She could at least give it a try. The crew had obviously put some thought into this – and it didn’t seem like they were backing down any time soon.

“Maybe I could use a breather,” she admitted aloud, and pretended not to hear someone’s sigh of relief over the comms. “But if any of you need anything…”

“We’ll let you know, Captain,” Arkady promised her, sounding not in the slightest bit sincere. Sana sighed.

“Okay. Sana Tripathi out.”

Or maybe by the afternoon her crewmates would let up, and she could go back to doing something useful.

---

Sana spent the next ten minutes or so trying and failing to relax with an audiobook, one of a handful she’d downloaded off the public net for sleepless nights. It just felt wrong to be lying on her bed doing nothing during the day. Normally she cherished her moments of downtime when she could get them (and okay, they’d been few and far between lately), but this felt… too much. Surely she should be somewhere else, maybe off discussing their next destination with Krejjh after they managed to resupply on Hathor, going over the new truck with Arkady to check it was outfitted to their needs, or maybe putting her head together with Park and RJ to get their analysis of the latest information about Regime movements.

And sure, they didn’t have any immediate jobs for Boss Violet that needed doing, and it was far enough to Hathor that planning their next destination could probably wait a day or two. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t needed. Even when Sana was off-shift, she tended to linger around the crew areas, just keeping an eye out; watching for signs of exhaustion among her crewmates, making sure they weren’t hiding injuries or strain. Injecting a cheery comment here or a calming word there, to keep people’s spirits up.

She was the Captain, and it was her job to look out for her crew. It had been a tough past few weeks, and Sana didn’t want to take this current peace for granted.

Sighing, Sana shut off the audiobook recording and went to the mess hall. Krejjh and Brian were sat at one of the tables, playing a rousing game of something that Krejjh dubbed ‘Reverse Snap’, where the object was to call out when you turned over two cards that were ‘spiritual opposites’. Unsurprisingly, Krejjh had been the one to devise the system of ‘spiritual opposites’, and was therefore given the power to decide whether a play was valid or not, a power that they abused liberally. Brian never seemed to mind; Sana suspected the enjoyment for him was in watching his fiancé get caught up in the game, and laughing at their ridiculous justifications for why they should be allowed to win each round.

Sana declined to get involved in the action herself, but it was a nice change of pace to just sit and spend time with two of her crewmates, without any other purpose beyond having fun. It was true that she didn’t get to do this often enough.

Unfortunately, the game came to a halt after Krejjh lost three consecutive rounds and poutingly declared that Brian must be cheating, even though he’d been faithfully citing their own rules each time he won a hand. “This is boring. Let’s go snuggle in our room and listen to RIFT!” they said.

Brian just smiled and gathered up the cards. “Okay,” he agreed easily. “How’re you feeling, Captain? More relaxed?”

Sana smiled wryly. “I do take downtime, you know. Despite what everyone seems to think.”

“Captain, you sleep with your comm in your ear,” Brian pointed out, mild and easy-going, but unerringly right, as always.

“I wish everyone would stop fixating on that,” Sana grumbled. Brian laughed.

“Look, this whole ‘enforced day off’ thing wasn’t my idea, but I am on board with the concept,” he said. Sana thought about asking him whose idea it had been, but she supposed it didn’t matter. “You deserve to have a break from looking after us all the time, you know? It was the least we could give you.”

Sana sat back in her chair, a little taken aback. She hadn’t been thinking about it in that way – that this was a joint effort by the crew to do something nice for her, to gift her with a day to herself. She’d been so caught up in chafing at the enforced idleness. But they’d all obviously pitched in on this, making sure that her shifts were covered and that everything was taken care of.

“Honestly, being Captain of this crew? It’s no hardship,” she told Brian – and Krejjh, who was hovering by the table – honestly. “But… thank you. It’s an incredibly sweet thought, and I do appreciate it.”

Brian smiled again. “It’s really nothing,” he told her. “See you later, Captain.”

Krejjh gave her a parting salute. “Enjoy your morning, Cap’n Tripathi!” they chirped, and then bounded after Brian.

Which left Sana with some food for thought, but still nothing to do. The mess, for now, was deserted, everyone evidently occupied with their own work or rest. Should she go back to her room, or try to find something to do around the ship? She wondered whether fixing things up and doing handiwork around the ship would be classed as ‘working’ in the eyes of the crew. Sadly, it probably would.

Resigned to giving her audiobook another try, Sana got up from the table and made her way along the corridor to her room. Passing by the medbay, she noticed that the light by the door was green, which meant that it was open, and she could movement from inside. She knocked, wondering if Violet would want a hand – or some company.

“Come in,” Violet called, and Sana pressed the button to open the door and stepped inside. Violet was inside, surrounded by rows and groups of orderly supplies - evidently doing that full inventory she’d been planning. She didn’t look surprised to see Sana.

“Can I… help with anything?” Sana asked. Violet gave her a wry smile.

“I don’t have a dictionary on me, but I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t come under the definition of “relaxation”,” she teased. Sana put her hands up.

“All right, granted. I can just keep you company for a while, then? Unless you prefer to work in silence.”

“Company is welcomed, Captain,” Violet told her. “And actually, there is something I could use a hand with.”

Sana was about to ask what it was, when she followed Violet’s gaze up to a high shelf full of supplies that she’d evidently been unable to clear. “Oh! Sure, I can help with that,” she said, trying not to seem too outwardly pleased at the opportunity to do something. Judging by Violet’s expression, she probably hadn’t succeeded. “Do you want them all down?”

“Yes, please, Captain.”

Sana got to work lifting boxes of what appeared to be empty syringes and some basic first aid supplies – bandages, gauze, cooling packs – down off the shelf and handing them to Violet, who made a noise of satisfaction when she saw what they contained. “So, how’s the overall situation with our med supplies?” Sana asked her. “Anything we need to restock?”

Violet gave her a sidelong glance, and Sana huffed. “If you want me to just turn off the part of my brain that’s concerned about the well-being of this ship, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

Violet laughed a little. “Okay, fair. We’re pretty well-off for med supplies, though I’d like it if we could get some more heptocaldrin – for injuries, not as a… stealth weapon.”

“Can’t it be both?” Sana joked. “I’ll put some feelers out with contacts who have connections with medical suppliers, see if we can get hold of some. – After today,” she added hastily at Violet’s raised eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Violet said, smiling serenely. “Are you planning to stay and watch me sort these?”

“Well, since I have so much leisure time at my disposal today,” Sana said lightly. “Can I sit here?” She gestured to the recliner that sat in the corner, the spiritual successor to the much-loved beanbag chair.

For the first few minutes, neither of them said anything much. It was quite soothing watching Violet work, although Sana itched to actually get involved and help her. She couldn’t help taking note of the condition of the medical supplies as Violet sorted them and made notes on her checklist, thinking about where they could find better-quality suppliers.

“Can I ask you something, Captain?” Violet said. Sana felt almost like she’d been caught out, though Violet’s tone was casual, almost idle; she hadn’t looked up from her work, still methodically sorting supplies.

“Of course,” Sana said.

“You’re always making sure that the six of us clock off and get enough rest. Why don’t you ever do the same for yourself?”

In hindsight, Sana should have known this question was coming. Before today, she likely would have given it a chipper, joking answer (like she did when Violet asked her, a few weeks after their flight from New Jupiter, how long she had been on shift), but now she made herself give the question some proper consideration.

“It’s different when you’re the one in charge,” she said after a little while. “If something goes wrong, if there’s an eventuality that I’ve overlooked, that’s on me. And given our current – status – the consequences of that could be much worse than me going without a break, or a couple hours of sleep.”

Violet gave her a sad smile. “But those are important things. I know it’s easy for me to say, when I don’t have to feel the weight of that responsibility – I couldn’t do what you do. But you’re at your best when you’re well-rested, too. What happens if you overlook something because you’re underslept and you haven’t had a break in days?”

“Well, that’s what I keep you all well-rested for,” Sana said lightly.

“Captain,” Violet said reprovingly.

“Violet,” Sana replied in the same tone. Jokingly, she said, “Are you going to start singing at me to take a break next?”

Violet blinked confusedly at her before the light of understanding dawned in her eyes. “Was that a ‘Hamilton’ reference?”

“You spend enough time with Arkady, you find yourself making opera and musical theatre references without even knowing it,” Sana replied. “You’ll need to watch out for that.”

“I’ll be on my guard,” Violet said. And then, more seriously, “But if it turned out to be a reliable method, then yes, I would sing at you.”

Sana couldn’t help laughing. “Well, luckily, there’s no need. Here I am, taking a break.”

“Uh huh,” was all Violet said, giving her an appropriately sceptical look.

“I am!”

“And if I asked you for your opinion on the overall quality of our med supplies, I’m sure you wouldn’t have any thoughts at all,” Violet said pointedly.

“Well, you can ask,” Sana replied. “But I’d have to tell you that the Captain will get back to you about that tomorrow, when she’s back on the clock.”

“Oh, good to know.”

 ---

Spending time with Violet in the medbay took up another hour, but before long Sana found herself back in her room and at a loose end again. And okay, maybe she was going about this wrong; she shouldn’t just be looking for ways to kill time all day. Plus, spending time with the crew was nice, but they were all busy with their own jobs, so that didn’t really equate to relaxation. There had to be something she could do by herself – other than listening to that audiobook.

On the Rumor, Sana had spent a lot of her downtime in her room working on sewing or embroidery projects. But lately, she hadn’t really had a project that she could – wait.

Sana sat up straighter on her bed, thinking. When they’d been putting together the ‘shopping list’ of supplies for Hypatia, she’d joked about adding a hammock to the list. She hadn’t seriously gone looking for one, but when she’d been checking out some of the hardware stores near where they made landing, looking for parts for the engine and the ship’s various systems, she’d discovered that they also sold swathes of fabric, rope, and – crucially – wooden poles.

Sana got up and went to the little closet built into the wall of her room. At the back, right where she’d left it, was a bundle of poles and rope with brightly-coloured fabric wrapped around it. Sana pulled out the bundle, breaking into a grin. She hadn’t really expected to find enough time to work on this when she’d bought the materials, though she’d vaguely intended to do a bit here and there. But now was the perfect time to try and put it together.

Sana unrolled the bundle on her floor and got to work.

---

“Incoming call from… Ignatius Campbell. Incoming call from… Ignatius Campbell. Incoming…”

Sana was in the middle of sewing the wooden poles into either end of her hammock fabric when the call came through to her comm link. “Computer, accept call. Campbell, hi!”

“Captain Tripathi!” Campbell’s voice boomed cheerily. “Is this a bad time?”

“It’s a pretty good time, actually,” Sana said as she worked the needle in and out of the fabric. “I’ve got the day off today, so I’m just doing some sewing in my room.”

There was a fractional pause on Campbell’s end. “The day off, huh?” he said. “How’s that going? Not too bored, I hope?”

Sana smiled to herself as she tied a knot in the sewing thread to secure it and then bit off the thread. She had scissors, but they were buried somewhere in the heap of fabric and she couldn’t be bothered to root around for them. “It was a bit slow to start off with, but I’m getting into it now.”

“Gotta say, I can’t believe they actually managed to persuade you to take a whole day out of your schedule to relax,” Campbell said. “The last time I called, you hadn’t slept in – was it thirty-six hours?”

“Thirty-two,” Sana said quietly, to herself.

“-And you were on your sixth cup of coffee – do you even remember that call?”

Sana sighed, part amusement and part resignation. “Yes, I do remember. Sorry for-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I was just – well, it was a bit worrying,” Campbell said. “Anyway, glad you’re taking a break. You sound… better.”

Who knew that everyone had apparently been so concerned for her wellbeing? Sana thought. Then her hand stilled in the middle of threading her needle. Maybe she should have realised how concerning it was to everyone. But she hadn’t thought – well, she guessed she hadn’t noticed that everyone was looking out for her just as much as she’d been trying to look out for them.

She cleared her throat a little. “Well, what can I do for you, Campbell?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Campbell replied. “Just wanted to call to catch up, really. Trade some gossip, funny stories about the crew… It’s been a while since you were able to stop by.”

Sana smiled ruefully, and then a thought occurred to her. “So, you just so happened to call to catch up on the one day when I don’t have anything going on? That’s good timing.”

“Uh—” Campbell’s cornered response was immediately telling. “I might’ve heard that – today would be a good time to call—”

Sana huffed in amusement again, rolling the fabric over the pole at the other end of her hammock and lining up the ends of the material. “Be honest, Campbell. Did the crew ask you to check up on me?”

“I called the ship’s comms last night, and Arkady picked up,” Campbell admitted. “I really was calling just to see how you all were, and well, she filled me in on how things had been lately. How they were all planning to cover your shifts and chores today to give you a break. She said that you might be at a loose end, so I offered to call you back around this time. I would’ve called earlier, but Eloise asked me to watch the boys in the morning.”

“How are they?” Sana asked, smiling.

“Oh, as full of energy as ever, I can barely keep up with them,” Campbell said, a smile in his own voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped-”

“No, it’s – fine, Campbell. Really,” Sana assured him. “I’m touched at how everyone’s been…” She searched for the right phrasing. “I’m touched at how much thought went into this. It really means a lot.”

“What you do means a lot,” Campbell responded, sincere. “To the whole crew. And to… me.”

Sana’s face warmed, and she realised she’d been sitting there, holding the fabric together without doing anything for the past several minutes. She picked up her needle and began on the same neat row of stitches that she’d made at the opposite end. “Thank you, Campbell.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Campbell replied gruffly, and then cleared his throat. “So – any good stories to share?”

“I’ll make you a trade,” Sana offered. “One story about the crew, for every story about your nephews.”

“Oof. You drive a hard bargain, Captain Tripathi, but I accept.”

Sana laughed. “Okay. Well. You might remember how Arkady has an unfortunate habit of leaving some of her weapons holsters in odd places around the ship…”

---

A few hours later, the new hammock – strung up in a corner of the mess where Sana had mounted some sturdy hooks on two adjacent walls – was almost ready. All it needed was a test subject; Sana could of course get in and test it herself, but it would be ideal if she could observe someone else getting into the hammock, so that she could judge how things looked from the outside.

Oddly, the mess hall was deserted, and had been for the past while, which was strange; she would have expected to find at least one or two members of the crew spending time in here. Just then, she spotted RJ, who had entered on the far side of the room and frozen.

“RJ!” she said happily. “You’re the perfect person to test out my new hammock.”

“Uh-” RJ looked around, as if hoping to be rescued by someone, before reluctantly walking over. “You’ve been making a… hammock?”

Sana gestured towards her creation with a flourish. “What do you think?”

RJ’s eyes narrowed as they inspected her handiwork, pulling lightly on the ropes that suspended the hammock. “Is it structurally sound?” they asked doubtfully.

“Why don’t you get in and test it for yourself?” Sana invited them. “Don’t worry about the hooks – they’re the same kind that you find on industrial pulleys. They’ll hold.”

RJ’s eyes flicked towards the doorway. “I’m not really sure if I should be-”

“Oh c’mon, you can take three minutes out of your shift, can’t you?” Sana cajoled them. “Just blame it on me waylaying you.”

RJ laughed a little. “Well – I guess if it’ll only take a minute…” Gingerly, they hoisted themself up onto the hammock, legs dangling over the side, before swivelling round and reclining more fully in the hammock. “Wow, this is actually – really comfortable.”

“Isn’t it? Hammocks are the best,” Sana enthused. “Is the amount of rocking okay?”

“Yeah, it seems fine. It’s not making me seasick, at least,” RJ joked. “You’ve done a pretty good job with the placement of-”

“RJ, there you are,” Park’s voice came from the other side of the mess. “Did you- oh, hi, Captain.”

“Hey, Park,” Sana said easily as Park approached, eyeing the hammock with curiosity. In the hammock, RJ sat back up, a guilty expression on their face. “RJ was being good enough to help me test out this hammock I’ve been making.”

“So I can see,” Park said, neutrally. “Seems like a good use of your time off.”

Sana raised an eyebrow at him, unsure whether the comment was sincere or impeccable sarcasm, but deciding to interpret it as sincere. “Thank you,” she said. “Want to test it out? It would be good to get data from someone taller.”

“I’d love to help, but I really need to borrow RJ,” Park said apologetically. “Sorry, Captain. Maybe after dinner?”

“Of course,” Sana said, as RJ quickly got out of the hammock. She watched Park take their arm and almost steer them away, the two of them conversing in hushed whispers once they were far enough away that they evidently thought she wouldn’t overhear.

Something odd was going on. Sana glanced at the hammock, and then back at the doorway that Park and RJ had just left through. Maybe she should leave it alone – after all, she was off the clock, and she didn’t have to know about everything that was going on on the ship.

Even though Park and RJ were behaving really strangely.

After a few seconds, Sana’s curiosity got the better of her, and she quietly followed.

“Well, I can’t go back through now,” RJ was saying to Park in slightly annoyed tones, as they walked down the corridor. “The Captain will definitely know something’s up. Anyway, I don’t remember seeing a screwdriver in the kitchen.”

A screwdriver? Sana thought, baffled.

“Well, Arkady says there are none in the engine room, and there’s not many other places on the ship left to check,” Park said tiredly. “So, if you’d like to tell her that you weren’t able to look in the kitchen…”

RJ made a reluctant noise. “Fine, what if we-”

Sana, from her vantage point around the corner, saw the two pause in front of the door that led to the medbay. Park raised his hand and knocked on the door in a specific pattern – one long, and three short knocks. After a second, the same knock came back and the door opened.

“Bad news,” Park said as the two entered the medbay. “Sana was in the mess, so RJ wasn’t able to check the kitchen properly.”

Sana moved around the corner until the open door of the medbay was in view, where a baffling sight (and this was coming from someone who’d seen a lot of weird things in her time) greeted her. The medbay observation table had been dragged into the middle of the room, and an array of screwdrivers, knives, and for some reason, spoons cluttered the tabletop. Arkady, looking irritated, was standing on top of the table with a knife in her hand, trying to pry at the cover that enclosed the medbay’s ceiling lamp. Violet, Brian and Krejjh were grouped around the table, looking up at what Arkady was doing; Violet was holding a penknife and shining a small torch in Arkady’s direction, while Krejjh was holding a small hammer, a steel rule and a lightbulb. Brian just looked entertained.

“I think we should check the engine room again,” RJ said. Arkady rolled her eyes.

“I told you, McCabe, I – Captain!”

Instantly, every crew member in the room (except Park, who simply looked resigned) whipped guiltily around, trying in vain to hide what they were doing. Krejjh dropped the steel rule.

“Cap’n Tripathi!” they said cheerily. “You are just in time for our – uh – table performance art routine! We’ve been practicing specially for you!”

“Really?” Sana asked, amused. “Because it looks to me like you were all trying to change a lightbulb. Badly.”

“As it so happens, Act One of our performance-”

“Krejjh, give it a rest,” Arkady said, as Brian laughed behind his hand. “Captain, we’re fine, honestly. We found the replacement bulb, we just need to figure out how to get this damn cover off.”

“And how long have you spent trying to pry it off, so far?” Sana asked.

“It’s been about an hour and a half,” Violet admitted. Arkady’s shoulders slumped.

“I’m almost there, but I think I need a different screwdriver to-”

She stopped as Sana walked over to the table, and held out a hand for Arkady to pull her up. Climbing onto the table, with the help of a steadying hand from Park, Sana took a magnet out of her pocket (she had a lot of things in her pockets) and held it near the rim of the ceiling lamp cover. A tiny screw flew out and clung onto the magnet. Sana held the magnet to the other side of the cover, attracting another screw, and then another, and another. Finally, she twisted the cover, and it popped off the ceiling.

“Lightbulb,” she said.

Krejjh handed her up the lightbulb, and Sana switched the working bulb out for the dead one, before easily replacing the cover and pushing the screws back into place. She dusted her hands and looked around at the crew.

“Well, that was fun. What’s Act Two?”

Violet smiled, and RJ looked impressed, while Brian shook his head. “I told you we should have just asked her.”

Sana looked back at Arkady, who was glowering at the knife she’d been holding like it had personally offended her.

“You could have asked me,” she agreed. “But I get that you were trying not to disturb me after you worked so hard to give me some time off. And, honestly, it’s been one of the best days I can remember for a while. So – thank you all. So much. I know that being the Captain doesn’t make me invincible. Or infallible. And as much as I want to look out for all of you, I need to remember to apply the same thought process to myself as well.” She caught Violet’s eye, and winked.

“In hindsight, it probably shouldn’t have taken a day of forced rest for me to see that, but I’m grateful that you were all willing to go to the trouble of arranging it so that I could. Even to the point of changing lightbulbs.” She smiled.

“And while you’ve all been working hard, I’ve rigged up a pretty awesome hammock in the mess hall, so it would frankly be a crime not to hold a movie night after dinner.”

Krejjh whooped, and Brian and RJ immediately struck up a fierce debate about whether they should watch a historical fantasy drama or a sci-fi epic. Park tiredly followed them out of the room, presumably to act as adult supervision.

“I’d better go make sure that they don’t forget about dinner,” Violet said, and went after them.

Arkady climbed down so that she was sitting on the edge of the table, and after making a space in the collection of cutlery and engineering tools, Sana joined her. For a few moments, neither of them said anything.

“I meant what I said just now,” Sana said, eventually. “I had a really good day, and… it meant a lot that everyone would go to the trouble of doing something like that for me. And of thinking it up and arranging it.”

“Violet did a lot of it,” Arkady said, a little too quickly. “And Park, especially with covering your shifts. And the comm thing was Krejjh’s idea.”

“Really?” asked Sana, amused. “And what about intercepting the call from Campbell that came in last night, making sure it didn’t disturb me, and then arranging for him to call back when you knew I might be going a bit stir-crazy?”

Arkady huffed. “He told you.”

“Of course he did,” Sana said. “Look, I’m sure it was a group effort, but… I couldn’t help thinking that the idea had to have come from someone who knew me pretty well. And maybe someone who’s been more worried about me lately than they wanted to admit.”

Arkady looked away, her shoulders raised in a defensive half-shrug. “I know you’re the Captain. I know you’ve got to look out for us, and – it’s not like I can really talk when it comes to putting in too many hours when I work on something. I don’t think there’s anyone in the crew who hasn’t done that at some point. But you’re always there to kick our asses into taking a break, and-”

“And someone needed to do that for me?” Sana finished for her, wryly.

Arkady looked back at her and snorted. “Pretty much. Thirty-two hours, Sana. With six cups of coffee.”

Sana winced. “In hindsight, that was probably the first red flag.”

“The first?”

“Okay, okay,” Sana said, laughing a little and holding up her hands. “You have my word that I will not let things get to that point again. And if they do, you have my full permission to-”

“-Kick your ass?”

“I was going to say, ‘put me in time-out in my own hammock’, but either works.”

“Speaking of which,” said Arkady, giving Sana a significant look. “Do I need to ask which part of the ship lost its emergency harnesses?”

Sana laughed. “This one is made from actual wood and fabric and rope. Turns out, I had a lot of time on my hands this afternoon…”

“And you used it to build another hammock.”

“It was that, or listen to a really dull audiobook,” Sana said. “I call it an investment in future relaxation! And future movie nights. Good for the whole crew.”

One half of Arkady’s mouth ticked up, and she looked almost wistful. “We haven’t had a movie night since we were on the Rumor.”

“I want to reinstate the tradition,” Sana said. “I think we could all use a bit of a breather every now and again. Today reminded me of that. So – thank you, Kady.”

She was purposely laying it on thick, because winding up your best friend with excessive sentiments that you meant every word of really never got old. She was rewarded when Arkady quickly jumped down from the table. “I think we’ve already done the Feelings Corner for this evening, so if you need me, I’ll just be in the kitchen, helping with dinner.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to hear the latest motivational speech I’ve been working on?” Sana teased her. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it today. It’s a good one.”

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind,” Arkady said. “You’re not allowed to have days off any more.”

---

A/N: This idea came about as a bit of an inversion of the ‘leadership’ prompt - what if Sana couldn’t be in charge for the day? What would it look like if the crew decided she needed to take some time off? I was really taken with the concept (apparently I just have a thing for members of the crew gently but insistently taking care of Sana), and then I came up with the idea that something goes wrong that Sana would normally be able to fix, and the crew is desperately trying to keep it from Sana while she’s “off-duty”. This image popped into my head of like, the entire crew trying and failing to change a lightbulb, and it was so absurdly perfect that I had to write it xD

It also wound up being a spiritual continuation of the theme we’ve had so far in Season 2 of “Sana is bad at clocking off” - hopefully nothing in Episode 3 has come along and contradicted that xD (Guess I’ll find out!)

[akitsune-lune]

a lukewarm defence of Blossomfall

or: How I learned to stop worrying and love the IvyBlossom

Hi there. Do you have a minute to talk about Blossomfall?

My goal here

Analyse Blossomfall’s behaviour in OOTS. Clear up misconceptions and aim to change people’s minds regarding the relationship between Millie, Briar, n Blossom, as well as making a case for IvyBlossom not in fact being A Toxic Evil Ship Propagated by Abuse Apologists. This is going to be an extremely long post and hopefully THE Blossomfall Defence Post. Fly, my pretties, share it around, this took so long.

1: The Text

let’s go over everything single thing Blossomfall has done in OOTS so that there’s no way for us to be in disagreement over what she’s done. It’s gonna take a while. This will be everything vaguely important to Blossomfall’s character, but not including shit like characters noticing Blossompaw sitting with her mentor or whatever. You are free to ctrl-f “Blossom” your way through all of OOTS to see if I’m cherry picking passages for my clever scheme to make everyone think about Blossomfall. (spoilers, I’m not)

Fourth Apprentice:

Literally nothing of note. Just filling in random background bits.

Fading Echoes:

P.68 This is pretty much our first look at Blossomfall. She squabbles with her littermates and maybe has a crush on Toadstep.

P.128 next is our first interaction between Ivypaw and Blossompaw. Ivypaw thinks Dovepaw is getting special treatment, and Blossompaw disagrees.

P.149 And a first interaction between Millie and Blossompaw. Blossompaw jumps onto the Great Oak and hurts herself, then Millie fusses over her. This is a pretty good set-up for showing Millie to be a bit of an overbearing mother and no spoilers, but if Millie’s attention suddenly vanished, you could imagine that would leave Blossompaw off-kilter.

P.174 Now we have an antagonistic interaction between Ivypaw and Blossompaw; Blossompaw is rude and thoughtless and it plays directly to Ivypaw’s deepest insecurities. Throughout the assessment, Blossompaw treats her like she’s useless.

P.235 A quick acknowledgement of Briarlight’s siblings cheering for her

P.248 another moment of sisterly affection between them

P.258 The first mention of Thornclaw in relation to Blossomfall. I’ve heard it cited as evidence of Thorn/Blossom set-up, which... seems like a stretch, but maybe.

P.361 And to round out Fading Echoes we get Ivypaw and Blossomfall working together in battle, and Blossomfall being appreciative of Ivypaw’s abilities.

Night Whispers:

P.33 The very first moment of Blossomfall in Night Whispers is an in-text, explicit acknowledgement that Blossomfall and Ivypaw have put their previous quarrels to rest. After that, (P.111) we get a quick moment of Ivypaw and Blossomfall talking like chill Clanmates, which might further support that their previous animosity is gone.

P.114 We get another instance of Blossomfall complimenting Ivypaw, then an exchange which leads Ivypaw to think No wonder Hawkfrost doesn’t visit [Blossomfall’s] dreams.

P.143 After that, we hear Millie bemoaning how her daughter’s life is meaningless now, followed by

P.143 Which would imply that Bumblestripe and Blossomfall would take issue with how Millie talks about Briarlight and her life.

P.327 another moment of Blossomfall showing concern for her littermates, and that rounds off book 3 of OOTS.

Sign of the Moon:

P.178 Blossomfall is now training in the Dark Forest and Ivypool is very upset by it, later thinking ThunderClan cats are loyal.

P.179-180 In Blossomfall’s first training exercise in the Dark Forest, Ivypool interferes and risks punishment to save Blossomfall from injury.

P.181 Blossomfall is ungrateful, but Ivypool doesn’t really react to her remark.

Next, Ivypool wants to speak with Blossomfall about her training in the Dark Forest. Before she has the chance, however, Blossomfall’s old mentor Hazeltail notices that Blossomfall is injured and tries to draw Millie’s attention to it.

P.273 This is our first hint that Millie has something to do with Blossomfall’s training in the Dark Forest. I’d like to point out that it’s Millie ignoring her and not Briarlight that provokes the anger from Blossomfall.

P.276 Twofold - First, Blossomfall doesn’t jump to Thornclaw’s defence when Ivypool calls him bossy, rather she agrees. Blossomfall also rebuffs Ivypool’s efforts to check on her.

P.277 Next, we have Ivypool pushing further, and Blossomfall seems edgy. Ivypool expresses more concern in her head and is scared for Blossomfall.

Now we have the big scene. Ivypool and Blossomfall go exploring in the tunnels and Blossomfall’s character finally gets her moment.

P.279 Blossomfall makes a remark about losing the use of her legs, which could be interpreted multiple ways, a dark joke about what happened to Briarlight, jealousy over the attention that her sister’s condition has resulted in, etc

P.312-313 Now we cut to the heart of the matter. Blossomfall doesn’t even know if Millie loves her anymore.

P.313 “I hate myself for feeling jealous of Briarlight. I can’t help what I feel, and that proves I’m not a good cat.” Because of jealousy and attention-seeking urges, Blossomfall has decided that she’s a bad person and deserves to go to the Dark Forest.

P.313-314

P.323 Then they get back to camp after having been missing for several hours and after Blossomfall has been injured, and Millie lectures her.

P.323 and then there’s the nail in the coffin. I’d also like to draw attention to the fact that Blossomfall doesn’t lash out. She just accepts Millie’s lack of concern for her and her lecturing, while relying on the Dark Forest for validation. She especially is never shown to lash out at Briarlight. That’s the end of Sign of the Moon.

The Forgotten Warrior:

P.247 In book 5, Blossomfall is shown to be again antagonistic, though this time toward Dovewing, and very protective of her littermates, in a negative light this time. This is pretty much the only moment of note for Blossomfall in the whole book.

The Last Hope:

P.67 Now we get the magnum opus of Blossomfall and Thornclaw being chummy and Lionblaze misinterpreting this as meaning they’re going to end up as mates, then realizing it’s actually because they’re training in the Dark Forest together. This is the third time Blossomfall and Thornclaw have been mentioned in the same sentence, and the first time they’ve ever interacted with each other. It’s the first time where they’ve been explicitly friendly; the first BlossomThorn moment was a mention of Thornclaw’s mannerisms rubbing off on Blossomfall and the second was Blossomfall indirectly calling Thornclaw bossy. This is why I say with relative confidence, BlossomThorn in AVoS was not planned in OOTS. Our ‘evidence’ is

Blossomfall thinks he’s bossy

Blossomfall imitated him once

They’re friends because they trained in the Dark Forest together

She has a similar number of moments with Mousewhisker and Toadstep, but I haven’t included them other than the very first moment with Blossomfall because those aren’t the ships that end up canonized. Even with Toadstep, Bumblepaw explicitly says that she’s mooning over him, which is far more indication of future romance than BlossomThorn gets.

ADDITIONALLY in the reprinted version of The Last Hope...

He’s replaced with Mousewhisker! Which knocks BlossomThorn mentions in canon down to just two, only one of which is at least neutral, and they never even interact before she’s nursing his kits! *screm* Erins WHY?

and uh... that’s actually about it for Blossomfall’s moments in Last Hope. She’s lumped in with Mousewhisker, Birchfall, etc with Ivypool and ThunderClan trying to track them down and make sure they don’t fight for the DF, etc, and then she doesn’t, n book ends.

Alright let’s analyse some data.

2: The relationship between Ivy/Blossom

It's toxic and unneeded- just because it's not heterosexual it doesn't mean it's healthy. Blossomfall bullied Ivypool for almost the entire first half of OotS, and just because she supported Ivy once it doesn't mean that they're friends. It means they've moved on and forgiven each other.

Forum post on January 14th, 2019

Alright, I’ve heard some crazy shit about BlossomIvy and I’m here to tell you, forget it. You don’t have to ship them, but if you’re gonna call them toxic, I’m gonna call you full of shit.

Ivypaw and Blossompaw’s first big conflict is during Blossompaw’s assessment, at which point she calls Ivypaw a bad hunter and Ivypaw gets upset. Now pay close attention, folks! This is the only time Blossompaw and Ivypaw argue before Blossomfall starts training in the Dark Forest. After this, once Ivypaw has been training in the Dark Forest, Blossomfall compliments her on her skills and the text explicitly suggests that now Ivypaw and Blossomfall have ‘put their quarrels behind them.’ After that, once Blossomfall begins training in the Dark Forest, Ivypool intervenes on her behalf to save her from injury and is called out by Brokenstar. Blossomfall is ungrateful, but Ivypool shows no regret for helping her.

Then we get the big moment between them in the tunnels. Blossomfall, after being injured, asks Ivypool if she thinks Millie will miss her. Ivypool realizes why Blossomfall is training in the Dark Forest, and Blossomfall confesses that she knows that the Dark Forest is bad news but feels that she deserves to go there because she’s a bad person (cat?).

Something I want to pay special mention to is the fact that Blossomfall is confessing all of this to Ivypool rather than any other main character, because they understand each other. Whether or not you like the ship, it is an undeniable fact that Blossomfall and Ivypool have a great deal of common ground.

They were both taken advantage of by the Dark Forest because of their jealousy over their sisters, they both know that the Dark Forest is up to no good but don’t leave it, and they both acknowledge in no uncertain terms that they’re jealous of cats that would also want something that they themselves have--in Blossomfall’s case, her able body, and in Ivypool’s, her lack of super-powers and involvement in the prophecy. Blossomfall and Ivypool can relate to and understand each other on a level that they cannot their other Clanmates.

Blossompaw and Ivypaw have a moment of animosity in Night Whispers, when Blossompaw says Ivypaw is a bad hunter and that she’d prefer Dovepaw, and Ivypaw is very upset. Then later, again, we get an in-text acknowledgement from another character that Blossomfall and Ivypaw have put their quarrels behind them. After Blossomfall’s assessment, she and Ivypaw only have friendly or neutral interactions. The next time they argue is when Blossomfall joins the Dark Forest, is out of her depth, and Ivypool intervenes to save her. Blossomfall argues that she can take care of herself and Ivypool thinks she’s full of it, but doesn’t push the point.

Then later, they have a bit of an antagonistic interaction where Ivypool is scared that Blossomfall is making the wrong choice by training in the Dark Forest and wants to help her, while Blossomfall rejects her help.

And then of course, the big scene. Blossomfall admits her deepest fear, that Millie no longer loves her, to Ivypool, and Ivypool immediately understands, thinking of her own jealousy of Dovewing.

That’s pretty much a summary of the evolution of the BlossomIvy relationship. For all you visual learners, here’s a handy chart

It’s hardly scientific, but arguing that Blossomfall and Ivypool don’t move from antagonistic to emotionally vulnerable with each other would be a hard stance to take given the sharp difference between the argument during the assessment and the conversation in the tunnels. Even when Blossomfall is telling Ivypool that she can take care of herself after Ivypool saves her from Ratscar, it doesn’t necessitate an interpretation of them as hostile--it can be read as either “I don’t want your help” OR “I can take care of myself” the latter of which invites a lot of classic romance tropes.

If you don’t read their relationship as potentially romantic, they still go from not understanding each other to understanding each other the best out of any other cat in their Clan. That’s a pretty significant development (especially for Warriors oof) so even if you still think Blossomfall is a brat or spoiled or emotionally stunted because of her jealousy of Briarlight, the text shows that Ivypool and Blossomfall at least have the potential to be extremely close friends and confidantes.

And if you DO read their relationship as potentially romantic, first of all welcome to the club, here’s your club-sanctioned hat and waterbottle with an engraved picture of em, and second of all, it’s really not a stretch. Again, they have a great deal of common ground. Blossomfall tells Ivypool her deepest insecurity and Ivypool understands. She doesn’t lecture Blossomfall and disagrees when Blossomfall says that she’s a bad cat. Despite not having a whole lot to go on, what we do have 100% shows them trusting and understanding each other.

Overall, what I want to argue is that THE BlossomIvy argument in Night Whispers is absolutely not enough to write them off as toxic; in fact, it later shows how much their relationship has developed. Additionally, it’s not just some random ship where we picked two she-cats out of a hat and then made a bunch of fan art; they have a legit connection, whether or not you think they have chemistry or are a better ship than say, FernIvy. They are in similar enough situations that they’re able to sympathize with each other more than Lionblaze, Jayfeather, Bumblestripe, Toadstep (?) or any other important cat in their lives can. That’s a helluva lot more to go off of than just “they trained in the Dark Forest together” or “they’re friendly sometimes” like we have for other major ships for the two of them. (Let me also explictly say that I’m not trying to argue that BlossomIvy is more canon than BlossomThorn and FernIvy, because no shit--the latter two have kits and are canonically mates. I’m just arguing over what makes most sense and who would work best as a pair)

3: Blossomfall’s family

Here’s the other major point of Blossomfall’s character; her relationship with her sister and her mother. Let’s answer a few questions. Is Millie actually ignoring Blossomfall or is Blossomfall being unreasonable? Does it matter if Millie is neglecting Blossomfall and should Blossomfall be self-sufficient as an adult? How does Blossomfall’s jealousy of Briarlight affect Briarlight herself, and what is Blossomfall’s relationship with her littermates? How does Blossomfall react to Millie’s perceived neglect?

And we’ll knock em off one by one:

Q: Is Millie actually neglecting Blossomfall or is Blossomfall being unreasonable?

A: This isn’t an easy question to answer. There are arguments to be made on both sides; Blossomfall is a young adult by the time Briarlight is injured (around 18 if you use my AU lol) and therefore probably shouldn’t require her mother’s constant attention. On the other hand, Millie is shown to be very attentive to her children and very concerned when they’re hurt or potentially going to be hurt (149, Fading Echoes). After Briarlight becomes disabled, Millie’s concern for Blossomfall vanishes. Blossomfall is injured training in the Dark Forest (and let  me point out that Blossomfall is not the one who seeks out her mother’s attention; Hazeltail does it on her behalf) and Millie doesn’t care. (273, Sign of the Moon) Later in Sign of the Moon, Blossomfall has hit her head pretty hard and turns up after hours of being missing and Millie’s reaction is to chastise her for not hunting on Briarlight’s behalf. It’s sharply contrasted in-text with how Whitewing reacts to Ivypool, who hasn’t even been hurt. (323, Sign of the Moon) This is a pretty definitive display of how Millie does not care about her other daughter’s well-being anymore. If you’re thinking, “Well, Blossomfall was being irresponsible by running off into the tunnels, so she’s not innocent here” I agree, however let me employ my good friend Extremely Detailed Metaphor to explain why Millie isn’t either.

Let’s put this in terms of a human situation; a high school AU, if you will. I’ll paint a picture; it’s mid-winter, Sunday night. Blossomfall, her mother, and her sister Briarlight, live on a block where everyone is expected to shovel the snow in front of their house. Briarlight and Blossomfall get to school by walking to the bus stop at the end of the street. Millie tells Blossomfall to shovel the snow outside of their house that night so that Briarlight will be able to get to school on Monday in her wheelchair.

Instead, Blossomfall goes to a party, gets drunk, tries to drive herself home, gets into a car accident, and gets a concussion. Millie arrives at the hospital and, without making sure Blossomfall is okay, goes off at Blossomfall, telling her that she should have shovelled the entire block instead of going out to party.

Now, we’re once again in a situation where Blossomfall has been irresponsible, Millie is putting unreasonable expectations on her other daughter out of pity for Briarlight, and Millie is unconcerned about Blossomfall’s well-being. Unquestionably, Blossomfall did the wrong thing by going to a party/exploring the tunnels. BUT. That does not excuse Millie’s reaction. Millie is justified in being upset that Blossomfall is shirking her responsibilities, but not even bothering to find out how seriously she’s been injured is appalling behaviour from a previously-attentive mother. And you don’t need to take my word for it; from Whitewing and Brackenfur’s reactions, it’s obvious that no one thinks Millie is behaving in an acceptable fashion. She blatantly disregards Blossomfall’s well-being.

Seriously, I know it’s a pretty dire accusation, but with both examples of Blossomfall being injured post-Briarlight-injury and Millie either ignoring her or lecturing her, I don’t really know what other conclusion can be drawn. And let’s not villanize Millie utterly; Graystripe gets absolutely no mention in any instance despite being their father, so ??? what’s up with him. Overall, though, Blossomfall is not making up shit. There is literally no example post-Briarlight-injury of Millie showing concern for Blossomfall, only ever ignoring or admonishing her.

Q: Does it matter if Millie is neglecting Blossomfall and should Blossomfall be self-sufficient as an adult?

A: Again, not an easy question to answer. This is highly subjective, but if an adult’s mother suddenly lost all concern for their well-being, I’d argue that would be pretty damn destructive to that adult’s self-esteem. When you turn 18 or become a warrior, you don’t magically become self-sufficient and totally independent from your family, no matter what Warriors wants to tell you lmao. Those relationships are still very important, particularly for Blossomfall since as I’ll argue later, one of the most consistent points of her character is that she is extremely family-oriented. To go from her mother fussing over her and always being concerned for her health to her mother giving less than a shit about her when she gets lost and injured... I don’t care if she’s technically an adult. It’s not about her being attention-seeking or childish, it’s about her being completely cut off from one of the main relationships in her support system for no fault of her own. It does matter if Millie no longer cares about her daughter, whether or not the daughter in question is 16 or 18, an apprentice or a warrior. Blossomfall has lost an important relationship in her life, and it does a big hit to her self-esteem.

Q: How does Blossomfall’s jealousy of Briarlight affect Briarlight herself, and what is Blossomfall’s relationship with her littermates?

A: Oh good, an easy one at last. First, Blossomfall doesn’t blame Briarlight. She blames Millie. Second, Blossomfall is only ever shown to be loving and caring toward her sister. Third, (again) the most consistent thing about Blossomfall is that she puts her family first. The first two points can be supported in tandem; if Blossomfall truly blamed Briarlight for Millie’s disregard of Blossom, then why are all her interactions with her sister warm and loving? Very unfortunately, we don’t have many interactions between Briar and Blossom of any kind post-Briar-injury, but Blossomfall and her brother are the first to cheer for her at Briarlight’s ceremony (235, Fading Echoes) and Blossomfall eagerly brings fresh-kill to share with Briarlight (248, Fading Echoes). Later, Dovewing and Poppyfrost overhear one of Millie’s little monologues about how Briarlight’s life is ruined and Poppyfrost remarks that it’s a good thing Bumblestripe and Blossomfall didn’t overhear her. Draw your own conclusions, but to my understanding, this is a pretty plain demonstration that “Millie thinks Briarlight’s life is ruined and Bumblestripe and Blossomfall vehemently disagree, to the point at which they would start a big argument with their mother over that point” is common knowledge in ThunderClan. (143, Night Whispers)

Time and time again, Blossomfall loves and supports her sister. There’s no instance of Blossomfall putting the blame of Millie’s behaviour on Briarlight, only on Millie herself. In the big moment in the tunnel, Blossomfall doesn’t say “Do you think Briarlight would happy if I died and she got all Millie’s attention to herself?” she says “Do you think Millie would miss me?” followed by “I can’t bear seeing [Briarlight] suffer.” (312-313, Sign of the Moon) It’s not about Briarlight. She loves her sister and at the same time, cannot help being jealous of her, because it’s about Millie’s attention.

Finally, Blossomfall’s family is incredibly important to her. She and her littermates are continuously used for Dovepaw to angst about how she and Ivypaw are no longer close. For example, we get Blossomfall fretting over both of her siblings (327, Night Whispers), then Blossomfall being petty and upset because Bumblestripe chose to train with Dovewing instead of her and Bumblestripe dismissed her as being ridiculous (247, Forgotten Warrior). I’m not saying Blossomfall was in the right, there, but it does show Blossomfall’s devotion to her family and her expectation that her littermates do the same. There are also all of the above examples of them cheering at Briarlight’s ceremony, Blossomfall bringing fresh-kill to share with Briarlight, and the implication that Blossomfall and Bumblestripe would object to the way that Millie talks about Briarlight.

Q: How does Blossomfall react to Millie’s perceived neglect?

A: Another fairly easy one. Blossomfall puts on a front of not caring. When Millie admonishes her for daring to get lost and hurt, Blossomfall doesn’t lash out at her mother, much less Briarlight. She never fights back, she doesn’t tell her mother that she’s being callous and neglectful, she accepts it silently and then tells Ivypool, verbatim, “Whatever. This is just the way that it is now.” She rolls over and accepts it, as much as it hurts her, and the Dark Forest takes advantage of that unresolved pain. (323, Sign of the Moon)

Even earlier in Sign of the Moon, when Blossomfall has just begun training in the Dark Forest (suggesting she has been ignored by Millie long enough that the Dark Forest has been able to draw her in) she wakes up injured and Hazeltail notices. Blossomfall brushes it off, which I would infer is because she’s adjusted to her pain and injury being ignored but you can read as an isolated incident if you really want to, but Hazeltail insists on bringing Millie’s attention to it. Millie dismisses it and Blossomfall is angry, but silent, which again, I would infer is because that’s what Blossomfall expected from Millie and is hurt to have her expectation confirmed (273, Sign of the Moon). This can’t be read as an isolated incident, because Blossomfall is already training in the Dark Forest, therefore Millie has been ignoring her for a while now.

4: Is Blossomfall a bad person?

In conclusion, no.

Blossomfall is upset when her mother stops caring about her well-being and believes that she deserves to go to the Dark Forest because of her jealousy over her sister (313, Sign of the Moon). I’m not saying that her self-hatred means she’s a good person, but it’s obvious that she wouldn’t choose jealousy if she had the option to not feel this way.

Critically, what I want people to take away from this, is that Blossomfall, like all of us, doesn’t have complete control over how she feels. She cannot choose to wake up and simply not be jealous of her sister and be fine with her mother’s indifference to her well-being. She believes that feeling this way makes her a bad person and would, of course, change if she could. The only thing that is within Blossomfall’s control is how she reacts to her jealousy and hurt. And the way that she reacts is by taking it out on herself, by training in the Dark Forest, and by mentally beating herself up for feelings outside of her control. There is not a single example of her lashing out at Millie, or god forbid her sister Briarlight. She is silent in the face of Millie’s bad treatment of her and supportive and loving of Briarlight. Self-hatred is of course, not a virtue, but our society prefers it to harming others.

That’s why I can say with confidence: Blossomfall is a good person, if prone to occasional self-hatred, pettiness, and thoughtlessness. Those are not flaws that make someone evil, just normal and struggling. She is not perfect and completely loveable, but she is not toxic, or spoiled, or unreasonable. She’s just a person who has been hurt by others’ behaviour and punishes herself for things outside of her control. She loves her family, tries to take care of herself, and doesn’t always perform perfectly.

Thanks for reading. I hope you’re at least thinking a little more about previously formed opinions on Blossomfall and that we all continue to read critically in the future.

End note: So why did I call this a lukewarm defence, anyway? Other than making reference to one of my favourite video essayists, Blossomfall is a complex cat often misunderstood by the fandom, but she’s also a shithead. Post-OOTS, she’s pretty unequivocally a kitty-racist. But she’s also Thornclaw’s wife, so it’s not like that’s the only way her character gets yanked out of its previous characterization for the convenience of the plot. Consider this a defence of Blossomfall in Omen of the Stars by a person who would rather pretend she died just after it and A Vision of Shadows (and later books) has another character in her place. I’m not interested in debating Blossomfall’s behaviour post-OOTS. She’s bad, whatever, but don’t smear the good name of her character development in OOTS.

[craftypeaceturtle]

Folk Stories

Summary: Hakoda has been rescued from Boiling Rock and now has joined the little family his children have created. What a better way to warm everyone up than to tell a folk story he heard while he was in the prison?

Note: This is my first ATLA fic so feedback is crucial!!! I tried to get a grasp on the culture presented in the show but I’m not entirely sure I got everything. So please feel free to give feedback!!! A bog standard Gaang finds out about the scar fic!

Slight discussion around child abuse, no depiction but still be careful. 

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Arriving at the Western Air Temple was bizarre. That was the only way to describe it. The air was chilling with a constant gust. It felt somehow both fresh but also deadened. Like it wasn’t a new wind but rather the same old air forever cycling through the walls. The Temple itself was crumbling to pieces. The place felt… haunted. Not that that was a very sensitive thing to say. But despite the eight children running about and claiming it as home for a couple of weeks now, the place just felt wrong. Like it was wrong to even be standing here. He couldn’t imagine what Aang felt. Maybe it only felt so bizarre because it was the exact opposite of the modern spacious war ship with his very hyperactive chatty son who remained glued to his side.

Not that Hakoda could really complain. Sokka walked away once halfway through to relieve himself and he felt like he had lost a limb.

He walked off the ship as casually as he could and stiffly walked forward to the rest of the group. Immediately, he was knocked over with Katara. He tried to laugh it off but he clutched her just as tight. It still felt weird to be able to stand and hug her rather than ducking down. Her hair was wildly wispy over his face. She smelled of the campfire smoke that was cracking nearby. That was what was probably bringing tears to his eyes. After a heartful clinging hug, he finally noticed the rest of them looking at him. Right. Other people. He sat down with a welcoming smile and beckoned them all. They all sat and chatted.

 What was made instantly clear was that all these kids were close. Like family close. Really, he should’ve saw this coming. Like when he tried to subtly ask Sokka on the warship if he was really sure he wanted to hang out with someone like Zuko and he was immediately met with a stern lecture. It almost made him laugh. His kids had the bad habit of just seeing a potential friend and deciding they would defend them to their deaths. Must have got that from their mother… probably.

 He didn’t really mean to but he was so glad he was taking the time to sit with them all. While it did feel a little awkward, it made his chest glow to finally have the chance to actually know who his kids were hanging out with.  

 Toph seemed a lot, honestly. She was firm and extremely confident in her actions and morals. Which sounds like the exact thing the group needed. A firmer hand to guide them to their goal. Someone to help point Sokka’s genius. Someone to stop Katara and Aang from getting too emotional and getting them out of bad situations. Only problem was that she was a twelve-year-old girl. Her confidence in her actions was her being absolutely certain that punching was definitely an affectionate gesture and that crime should be allowed if it’s fun. But Hakoda found himself laughing along with her so he couldn’t complain much.

Haru seemed the closest thing to an actual responsible adult the group had. But he was very quiet. Very polite. But he seemed content to live his own life and try to get back to some form of normal. He was willing to fight and help the group survive but it was clear he was never going to be involved in helping Aang defeat the Firelord. Maybe that’s a good thing. Destiny wasn’t something he tried to understand but it was obvious that Aang should be the one alone to face him.

The Duke was a child. He was very fun to joke with but then again, every now and then, he would say something make it clear he was a child who had seen the very worse parts of war. He was a child who had never experienced a moment of childhood. His heart hurt for him, but he wasn’t an idiot to say that out loud.

Teo seemed so bright and cheerful compared to the deadened temple. Even compared to his usually bright loud kids. They were so stupidly excited at his arrival, but they still seemed dimmed in comparison to the little boy who was zipping about the place and chattering about potential inventions. He seemed like Sokka but younger.

Zuko… was also a lot. He was biased against him, so it was hard to judge an opinion. Zuko was mostly silent. Sokka would occasionally joke with him and force him into the conversation and Zuko seemed like any other average awkward teenager. But mostly the others let him keep quiet and he focused on what looked like some form of meditating at the campfire.

 It was getting late. But no one dared stated this. Zuko only let the fire burn brighter or occasionally forced Aang to make the fire larger to light the room as a form of practise. Katara stood up at one point, “I’m grabbing my blanket, I’m getting cold. Does anyone else what theirs now I’m up?”

“Ooh! Me!” Aang whipped round with a sleepily excited smile.

“I’m good,” Sokka and everyone else mumbled without even turning, “So, dad, did you hear anything around the prison?”

“Hear anything?” Hakoda chuckled off but everyone turned serious. Sokka sighed and awkwardly fiddled his hands.

“Uh I mean any Fire Nation gossip? Any Firelord plans or propaganda? Anything that could help…”

Hakoda tried chuckling again but Zuko remained completely focused on the campfire. His chest slowly expanding with the flames. He didn’t even flinch. Maybe he could believe that Zuko truly wanted to help them but there was no way he’d appreciate the tiny whispers he heard about his nation. “I didn’t hear anything really useful. I heard some folk stories and a lot of twisted propaganda.”

“Hey, I’m still up for some Fire Nation camp stories!” Toph shrugged. Katara had now returned and flung Aang his blanket and draped another on Zuko’s shoulders. He finally opened his eyes and awkwardly nodded at her. Katara also stiltedly nodded back.

“It’s not a nice story…” Hakoda tried very much to hint as he looked directly at The Duke. Thankfully Haru took his hint.

“That’s fair, we should be heading to bed anyway. I’m exhausted!” He stood and pulled a half sleeping The Duke up as well. They all waved them goodnight. Their footsteps echoed across the empty stone hall as they disappeared into a room.

 “Right. Now the babies are gone. Tell us the Fire Nation horror stories!” Toph chanted way too loudly for how late it was.

“It’s not a very happy story but I guess a story is a story,” Hakoda sighed. Being honest, while it wasn’t nice, it also didn’t sound at all real. But at least it would be a good way to wind down the emotional day.

 “There’s this story about the Firelord and his sons. The younger son had grown jealous of his older sibling learning how to become a rightful heir to the nation.” Hakoda began, despite the fact he couldn’t really recall if it was the older or younger son. It made more sense if it was the younger son. But everyone was immediately clinging to his words. So, he continued, “Eventually he begged his father to attend an important meeting to gain experience and prove he could be responsible. The Firelord, well… the guard who told this story worded it that the Firelord was so gracious and kind to allow his son into the meeting but obviously… That doesn’t seem right.”

“The Firelord let him into the meeting despite knowing his son was not ready. The younger son was very immature and spoiled. He was rude to everyone, even the fellow royals…. That was something that I found odd. The guard worded it as fellow royals rather than family...”

“Hmm,” Zuko spoke, striking lightning through the atmosphere with just that hum. Hakoda now felt awkward. While it was clear the folk story wasn’t talking about his father, how wise was it truly to retell a story based on his family. “The Fire Nation places significance in respecting your elders but there’s also significance in following your own determination.”

“What, so you don’t care for your family,” Katara frowned.

“No… Respecting and bringing pride to your elders is a huge deal but… honestly, I think the Fire Lord wanted to still get people to report any rebelling ideals that family members might have. It’s… complicated.”

“Well, either way the son was a pain in the ass by the sounds of it and he was let into the meeting under the one rule, not to talk out of order. He explained that the councillors were sensitive and easy to anger and wanted to protect his son from harm. Of course, the son then immediately talks over a general in the meeting to suggest his own plan despite having no experience and no idea of the politics.”

 At this, Zuko now frowned. Hakoda spoke slowly, fully expecting to be interrupted (maybe Zuko had heard this as well and he was telling it wrong), but he didn’t say a word. He just merely tensed his shoulders and stayed sat, frowning intensely.

 “The general was furious and the Firelord tried to calm him, but he knew there was no way words would be enough to stop this. A duel was ordered. The son agreed without pausing to think this through. The Firelord tried to explain what would happen but the son brushed him off and interrupted him from explaining what would happen. The day of the duel arrived and the son stood to face his opponent only to find his father, the Firelord, at the other side of the court.”

 Zuko’s eyes opened now. But he was now frozen facing the campfire. Hakoda paused again to let him talk but he said nothing.

 “The son then proceeded to beg for mercy. But the Firelord had enough. The son was greedy, stupid and lazy. And now here he was begging after proposing an aggressive military strategy over an experienced military general. He offered to explain how the duel would work and protect him from it but he ignored him. The Firelord then gave him a chance to fight before declaring that the son was no longer part of the royal family for his disgrace. To try and teach his son one last lesson, the Firelord battled the duel to try and teach him how to fight. But the son didn’t even try, didn’t even stand up to face him. The son walked away that day with a hardy battle scar and no family.”

 The silence in the temple felt like a presence around the campfire as well.

“Well!” Toph leaned back, “You were right. That was kinda a downer.”

“Yeah…” Aang mumbled.

“I think the point of the story is how forgiving and firm the Firelord is and how amazing he must be,” Hakoda grimaced, “But all who overheard it just thought it was more proof that the Firelord and his whole family are evil.”

“Who was it even based off?” Sokka asked.

“Two sons so maybe Firelord Azulon? But didn’t uncle Iroh leave by himself. Like he wasn’t kicked out or anything, was he?” Toph tilted her head to Zuko but he never reacted.

“Zuko?” Aang placed his hand on Zuko’s shoulder. He shot up. Like he was electrocuted.

“I am needing to go to bed.” Zuko scampered backwards. His eyes stuck on the flames. Sokka stood as well but he hovered awkwardly.

“Are you sure? Was it the story-“ Sokka tried to ask but he was immediately ignored. Zuko walked off to his room.

 But he turned just as he was about to disappear from their view, “You should never repeat that story. It’s… not good.”

 The night was just as awkward as the temple after that. A moment silently passed.

 “Maybe we should all call it a night. It’s certainly been an emotional day,” Teo explained, tilting his chair towards the rooms behind where they were all sitting. Everyone agreed and stood as well. Aang was the last to stand and took a couple of breaths before finally manipulating the campfire to fizzle out completely.

“I’ll stand guard first,” Aang said, facing away from them.

“I’ll take over for the morning half,” Sokka volunteered. Hakoda walked away with the others.

 The morning was a little better. If there was one more thing Hakoda could criticise the temple of, it was the fact that there was no way the sun could reach them on the underside of a cliff. He woke up and stretched his back, wincing at the horrible click, and stood and walked out of the room. Toph and Katara were half-heartedly arguing about how to cut some vegetables. He smiled at the quiet normalcy. You never realise how much you miss normal life until you hear people arguing about veg rather than battle strategies. “Morning everyone. The others still sleeping?”

“Hey dad! Aang is practising with Zuko, the others usually all crowd round to watch,” Katara answered, “Feel free to go watch too. It might be another twenty minutes or so for breakfast.”

“I’d go if I was you,” Toph interrupted, “It is so cool to see firebending up close without being in actual danger. And if you ever tell Sparky that then I’ll attack Sokka.”

“Yeah?” Hakoda asked, quietly ignoring the threat to his son.

“Oh yeah. The fire and the colours. It’s just mesmorising. A real sight to behold.”

“Toph,” Katara scolded and now Hakoda felt his face heat up. Right, she was joking. She was blind. “But she is right. It is impressive to see.”

 After bothering Katara by asking if she needs any help, Hakoda followed the sounds of blasts of fires to a courtyard like space. Aang was standing proudly in the middle, his chest puffed out powerfully as he took deep even breaths. His arms twirled around, almost like waterbending, with a solid stance and footing, like earthbending, with powerful flames licking along his movements. Sweeps of orange. Katara really wasn’t joking. He stopped dead in his tracks.

 Zuko was standing to the side with his fingers tapping along his chin. Aang finished whatever exercise he was doing and looked over with the proudest most childish grin ever. Hakoda found himself grinning too. Zuko stood slowly. To Hakoda, it looked flawless.

 “How’d I do Sifu!” Aang chirped.

“Your fire is steady and strong. But I really do think you need to stop puffing out your chest like that and actually breathe normally. You don’t have to puff out like an aggressive pig-chicken. Just… breathe normally! You don’t need to complete the kata strictly chest first.”

“But you said the power should come from my chest!” Aang whined.

“Yes and ever since saying that you only moved chest first! You look stupid! Like a pig-chicken!” Zuko burst out.

“But my firebending is good enough! So it doesn’t even matter!”

“Yeah Zuko, you never know, maybe his stance will throw off the Firelord,” Sokka laughed despite Aang withering glare. Zuko only sighed and approached the middle of the courtyard and quickly snapped to another stance.

“Careful Aang, you’re starting to sound like the son in Hakoda’s story. Zuko knows best. You can’t talk over him!” The Duke yelled over with a point.

 Now it felt like the atmosphere was ruined. Aang snapped to face the boy. Zuko stumbled but stepped back into position hesitatingly.

  “Uh, the Duke, h-how’d you even overhear any of that?”

“Because Haru couldn’t be more obvious if he tried!” The Duke gasped, “It wasn’t even that bad. Like what was the scary part? The scar? He didn’t even explain what it looked like!”

“The story wasn’t even accurate. Let’s move on,” Zuko snapped.

“What? He didn’t tell it properly? Well, what is it actually?” The Duke asked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Zuko shouted, his voice echoed along the walls. Hakoda finally walked forward, approaching Sokka.

“Everything okay here guys?” Hakoda put on his best dad voice and walked forward confidently. Only Sokka looked at him though.

“Why? It’s just some stupid Fire Nation story! What? You offended, Ashmaker!” The Duke screamed.

“Woah, okay now!” Hakoda raised his voice louder.

“Because it’s not some folk story. It was a real thing! You can’t just say shit like that casually!” Zuko didn’t bare Hakoda and his obvious dad attempt at taking control any attention.

“Oh boo hoo! One of your precious Fire Lords once beat up his own son to prove some stupid point! Oh no, your family is filled with abusive dicks!” Haru was now even trying to pull The Duke aside as Hakoda walked to Zuko. He placed his hands firmly on his shoulders and steered him away.

 He didn’t shout anything else but he did unleash a roar of fire before stomping just ahead of him. Sokka and Aang took one moment to swap looks before both running after Zuko. Not that he was paying any attention. Hakoda awkwardly paused, unsure which room to led Zuko to so he could obviously let out some steam, but thankfully Sokka caught up to them and led the way down the hall to the right, into the first room they found.

 It was barren and already had blackened scorches across the walls and ceilings. Hakoda didn’t at all focus on that though. Maybe they were old or maybe it was from some previous Zuko tantrums.

Zuko punched the wall with all the might of his firebending. Sokka and Aang only winced at how obviously painful that was going to be but didn’t seem at all afraid of him. So Hakoda tried to follow their lead despite his racing heart.

 “Everything okay, Sifu Hotman?” Aang joked but he toned himself down. He was only slightly a ball of blinding sunshine of happiness. Zuko tried to match his smile but it was too wobbly and fragile.

“Sorry. That story hit close to home.”

“We figured. If you want to talk about it, do you know what upset you about it?” Sokka knelt down and crossed his legs. They all followed, including Hakoda. One tiny whisper frowned at how much he was following his son’s lead. He remembered trying to convince a baby Sokka not to charge out of the tent completely naked and failing miserably as his son gave an impassioned speech about how it’ll be fun. It was that same boy that he was now following. Zuko fell to the floor deliberately harshly.

“I… I guess I hate- I don’t like what you all took from the story…” He stumbled through. Hakoda went to talk but Sokka placed a hand on his knee. A moment passed and Zuko finally found some more words, “You all took that the Fire Lord was cruel to do that. And you don’t even know the full story. Like, just the Fire Lord fighting his son was enough to mark him cruel. Even if the son was ‘a pain in the ass’?”

“Yeah,” Aang spoke unsurely but he continued saying each word carefully, “I mean, we don’t know a lot of the details about the son but I personally can’t think of any reason where I’d then fight my own son. Especially if he was a child or something!”

“Yeah, like if your son’s dismissive or rude or whatever, then you make more effort to talk to him! What would fighting him even do? It’s just more cruel than what’s needed.” Zuko looked up at Sokka as he spoke.

“It is cruel, isn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question but Hakoda tilted his head and answered, “Of course it’s cruel. I can’t imagine people hearing that and thinking the Fire Lord was in the right. As a certified dad, I don’t think there’s anything that could push me to fight Sokka. I can’t speak for the guards but… I think the reason the folk story didn’t go into any detail about the fight was so it’s easier to agree with the Fire Lord. I’m sure if the injuries were described then the guards would speak differently.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m honestly surprised the story didn’t go into any detail about the fight. That’s the most infamous part…”

“So what’s the actual story?” Sokka asked.

 Zuko looked around nervously and bit harshly on his thumb.

 “There… The son of the Fire Lord wanted to prove himself and attend a war meeting. The Fire Lord’s brother let him in but warned him that he shouldn’t talk. The generals were easy to anger. In the meeting, a general proposed the most… it was an awful plan. I uh… The son got too angry and shouted at the meeting. It was really disrespectful. It was an awful plan but, like, maybe things wouldn’t have been so bad if he just spoke normally. Or maybe his uncle would’ve spoken out anyway. A-anyway, an Agni Kai was ordered. T-that’s like a duel between two firebenders, usually it ends with either one of the people surrendering or getting injured to the point of being unable to fight. The son thought he was to fight the old general who proposed the plan. And really the plan was horrible. It was awful. So he went to fight him as I could so take him in a fight!”

 Sokka and Aang shared an uncertain look. That all seemed to align… But it was clear that this was hitting too close to Zuko. He was refusing to look at them as he spoke. His anger flared again and each word was practically growled out.

 “So the day of the fight came and the boy turned to face his opponent and instead saw father down the court. I… uh… I then fell to my knees and begged. I knew there was no use fighting. I’m not a very talented firebender, even less so at thirteen! So I thought the best thing would be to just… surrender. The Firelord usually prefers if you just surrender and admit your wrong than to fight. He liked when you made him feel… anyway I… well I fell to the floor and begged while crying. I-I can’t imagine what that must’ve looked like to the audience-“

“Wait, there were people watching!” Sokka exclaimed. Hakoda only then remembered the rest of the room. The story was too cold for him to notice anything else. Aang looked just as horrified, shifting on the spot clearly dying to launch himself at Zuko as a comfort. Zuko looked just as caught off.

“Um yeah? Like nobles and the other royal family members.”

“So Uncle was there?” Aang’s timid small voice ripped through the angry shocked words.

“Well yes. Also, he’s not your uncle!”

“He didn’t do anything?”

“No. I don’t think he could’ve.” Zuko fiddled with his hands.

 There was a beat of silence.

 “So your dad beat you up in front of everyone and then banished you? You were upset because we all saw that as cruel while you blamed yourself for that,” Sokka started strong before then realising just how insensitive he was being. Way to rub it in his face.

“He didn’t beat me up. He just burnt me,” Zuko casually motioned his to warped face and perpetually squinting eye to which everyone else in the room stopped breathing, “but yeah he then banished me. I-I… It’s… Three years is a long time to pass. I don’t really remember pretty much anything from that day really. Uncle never talked about it so I don’t know exactly what happened. I thought I got over it by now. I know it was cruel. It was wrong. But… I guess I just thought that was me making excuses… It’s weird to think other people actually think it’s wrong and cruel.”

 The dead air of the temple never felt more gross. Like a panting stranger leaning over your shoulder leering over you. A presence in the room listening in. The room looked empty even with them all sitting there. The story somehow filled the room and now it was finished. Hakoda gulped.

 “I’m so sorry Zuko,” Aang breathed out before gradually reaching over. Zuko blocked his hands from hugging him but did grip his hands instead.

“No dad should ever do that Zuko. And a journey into recovery will never have a nice easy end. But if you already know it was wrong then you’ve already made it so far. You should be proud of yourself,” Hakoda smiled warmly. Zuko still didn’t meet his eyes.

 It would probably be a while before Zuko would truly believe that it was cruel and wrong, and clearly the entire family here was willing to wait and teach that. Hakoda kept his mind from thinking how long it took for Zuko to even convince himself that maybe it was cruel and wrong. Right now, he focused on the warm, forgiving, loving family formed in the ruins of a cold temple.

[lucky-aspen]

This is my first time posting my writing, so I hope you enjoy this one-shot. This is meant to be set some point after episode 107.

TW: there is talk about emotional and manipulative abuse.

Being back on the ocean was welcoming for the Aasimar. From fighting a fake volcano god to a dinosaur. Traveller-Con had come and now was gone. Now it was open seas and a world to explore. These past few weeks had been nothing but eventful. Stopping wars and a forming cult. The surrounding calm was strange but welcoming nonetheless. The distant storm clouds making another wave of reassurance hit her. The sun had finally disappeared from the sky and darkness was brought over the ship. The only light came from the small candlelights of the lanterns that rested on areas of the ship. Darkness sat around them, a large void they floated on.

Despite the eeriness of not really knowing what was in front of her or what was lurking underneath the water Yasha felt surprisingly calm. A calm she knew both Veth or Caduceus didn’t have out in the water. The party had gone and started their own small tasks on the ship leaving the top deck empty and silent just like the area around them. The only sounds were the moving water and the distant rumble of thunder after a brief flash of light in the sky.

She had no real reason to be out here, But there wasn’t much to do on a ship. Not at this moment at least. They weren’t being hunted by a Dragon Turtle and now they had a bigger boat. Most of the crew had gone to bed besides the few who kept watch. It wasn’t until the sound of footsteps against the wood of the deck that Yasha drew her eyes away from the coming storm that would greet them soon.

What she was greeted by were familiar bright blue eyes; eyes that made her breath get caught in her throat. Every time they meant her own different colored eyes she couldn’t help but stare. The barbarian was easily able to feel a small smile creep up on her lips.

“Hey,” Beau spoke first, breaking the silent night air with her words, “I saw you alone out here...so I thought maybe you’d like someone to talk to?” She said with an unsure shrug.

The cool charming behavior the monk had spent minutes trying to build up was already breaking away into a flustered mess. Beauregard could feel herself mentally slapping herself and secretly prayed she wouldn’t say something too stupid.

Yasha found herself looking at Beau, the candlelights casting heavy shadows on her face. The sharp features of her face standing out. It wasn’t until seconds later Yasha came to the realization she had been, in fact, staring far too long without an answer to give to her question. Yasha was quick to avert her eyes to the side of the ship that led to nothing but darkness. Her face flushing with a pink hue.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

The response was soft-spoken like most of the time Yasha spoke. If Beau had not been listening Yasha’s response could have been carried off by the wind without a problem. Soft spoke despite the rage she held in battle. It was strange seeing a woman so brutal in a fight look so vulnerable at the moment. As if she had just been caught stealing something of great value and part of Yasha felt like she had.

Beau had rested her lower back against the railing of the ship, one leg crossed over the other with her arms crossed over her chest. She stood inches away from Yasha who was also leaning against the same railing but with her forearms resting against it. Silence came over the two of them but in hope one would start the conversation up. As the Aasimar went to speak, the monk was already beating her to it.

“It’s-“

“So-“

A small chuckle escaped Yasha’s lips as Beau was stumbling over her own apologize for cutting the other woman off, “no, you go ahead.” Yasha insisted.

“It’s been a crazy few weeks,”

“Yeah. I guess now we finally get to wrap our heads around all that happened.”

“Yeah, I um, I actually want to talk to you about something.”

A raised eyebrow was what the human got in silent reply as Yasha stood to her full height towering over Beauregard. Yasha, a woman, so hard to read most of the time, broke. Concern crossed her face, only for a second, enough for Beau to catch a glimpse of. A side the monk had only seen from the barbarian a handful of times.

“Now that we’re out here, not having to worry about war and a dragon turtle chasing us I’ve had time to think. I’ve had time to think about going and helping Veth and Caduceus and now I’m thinking about the visit we had with my dad.”

Yasha didn’t interrupt, but she felt a certain sadness pull at her chest, and she found herself wanting to reach out and take hold of her hand. Part of her wondered why Beau came to her wanting to talk about her family. Yasha had never been good with feeling, or words. The monk could be with Jester or Caduceus spilling her guts out with all the thoughts she held in her mind. Yet she was here and Yasha knew this wasn’t just the only reason why the shorter woman had come to her during the middle of the night.

Beau stood there, her gaze never meeting Yasha's own. Her eyes glued to the deck floor in front of her. She remembered the night as if it were yesterday. Her father who she thought of as this giant monster who stood tall over her, and she had found herself in the belly of the beast when she walked in her home. The fear that had rested deep within her chest was a distant remainder to her constantly. Even with how the events played out one part stood out to her above most.

The time she had been escorted out with her friends, strong hands of support on her shoulders to know they were there to protect her as she felt like nothing more than a child again, helpless. The difference was she wasn’t alone in this conflict that rested in both her mind and the outside world. One last glance was all she needed, to look at the man who didn’t love her the way he should have.

Yasha stood there, mouth moving, talking in a voice only for him to hear. The wide eyes of the man was enough for Beau to tell Yasha had struck a nerve. He looked...small. Almost helpless as if he were the child getting lectured by the woman with a sword. It was a strange look on the male who did everything to keep order and power; yet the more the pale stranger talked the more his world around him crumbled apart. With that and without another word Yasha parted ways and joined the group as if though she never left at all.

Beau saw all the fear in her father’s eyes as he looked at the group once more before the door shut with a soft click. A man who she thought was bigger than the world around her was now just a coward trying to make a living on one stupid fortune. Beau was no longer that child, and she was no longer alone. She had her friends right behind, but like Beau, she was always seeking answers and the thoughts of what Yasha had said to her father rested in the back of her mind.

“You said something to him that clearly got him scared shitless, what did you say to him?” Beau cut straight to the point of her question, no sugarcoating it.

Yasha shoulders tensed. She hadn’t noticed Beau had seen her when she talked to her father. The spotlight was on her now, and she knew she’d have to give an answer to Beau. She couldn’t lie to her.

“I asked him if we were to kill the hag would all he have just go away. He didn’t know. I told him it’s something he should think about that. That he should be more appreciative toward what is important. That he should be proud of you.”

Beau could feel her throat dry as she listened to Yasha’s voice. Beau knew there was something more between the two of them, something unspoken; a tension that made her want to stay next to Yasha. Both knew there was something there and now that Obann was gone Beau noticed the bolder moves that came from the Aasimar. Before Beau could respond Yasha spoke up,

“I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, you know. He should be proud of you Beau. You’re so strong and a really good fighter.”

Beau looked up from the deck floor she had been looking at and her eyes meant Yasha’s own gaze. A small smile fell on the monk’s lips. A compliment, despite how small it was made Beau’s heart beat fast in her chest. Her stomach felt like it was doing flips and the pink against her cheeks was enough for Yasha to know her words hit Beau.

“Thank you Yash, I appreciate it. You did scare him shitless.” Beau chuckled but the pain that she held toward her father still sat there.

“Yeah.” Despite the chuckle Beau gave, Yasha didn’t return it and held a concerned look in her eyes, “are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah…” a sigh broke from the shorter woman, “like I said, now that everything has calmed I’ve had time to just sit and think. I realize my father doesn’t have any control over me anymore. That I shouldn’t fear him. Yet when we went to my old home all I felt was fear. I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.”

“You know I could have killed him for you,”

This made Beau let out another halfhearted laugh, “As much of an asshole he is, he doesn’t deserve to die. Part of me still cares for him even with all the shitty stuff he has done.”

Beau took in Yasha’s form and looked at the chest piece she wore. The lights reflecting off it. They sat in silence for seconds before she spoke up.

“You still wear the breastplate.”

“Yeah.”

“Why is that? You had the bracers but you decided to keep the chest piece.”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just hard to let go...”

Beau looked confused and part of Yasha just wanted to end the conversation right then and there. Would she even understand?

“Like I said, whenever Obann took control of me, parts of that were me. All my memories that were lost just came back. I did awful things Beau. He took me in when I thought I had lost everything. Before the Stormlord found me. Despite all he made me do, he treated me like a friend. He said all these kind things. He gave me this.” She said gesturing to the breastplate.

The painful look in the monk’s eyes was clear as day. The manipulation that Yasha has gone through was a lot. Everyone in the Mighty Nein knew that. The way Yasha had acted whenever they got her back broke Beau’s heart. The fear the tall woman had when she was back, that she had lost her found family. That she thought that they wouldn’t accept her back in. Yet here she was with the people she now saw as her family.

“He can’t control you any more Yasha.”

“I know that. He deserved what he got in the end. I’d just like to keep this as a reminder. Plus it’s done me some good in battle.”

“Yeah it has. You’ve done a lot of good since we’ve got you back.”

The small smile Yasha gave was sad as she looked down at her hands, despite them being cleaned, in the back of her mind she could feel the blood that stained them. All the innocent lives she had taken. Balling her hands into fists she let out a heavy sigh and turned her attention to Beau.

“I like to believe being with you guys I’ve done a lot of good. But it’s hard to just erase the past.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a bright future.”

Words similar to Caleb own, allow yourself a little happiness in your life. The events that happened on the island Yasha felt like she was doing just that. She had to be doing something right. She got her wings after all, she could fly. The chains no longer held her down and overall she felt…lighter, free. Hearing the words from the woman made Yasha’s heart flip. She was trying, believe her, she was. She found her happiness in her friends and one particular monk stood out against them all. Yasha would be trying for that happiness, now more than ever.

“I like to think I’m trying. I must be doing something right.”

The sound of a low rumble could be heard in the distance before flashes of white light could be seen in the dark sky. A silent word for the Stormlord himself telling Yasha she was. She could feel the eyes of Beau on her even as she looked out at the storm.

“Is that him?”

“I think so.”

“I leave you to your god then.”

With a slight sigh Beau pushed herself off the railing she leaned against, Yasha eyes were now on her once more and no longer on the storm that would be with them soon.

“Thank you for talking to me Beau.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it. I should be thanking you too. Not a lot of people stand up against my father.”

Yasha gave her a soft smile and a nod of her head in acceptance of her thanks. She watched as Beau turned to walk away. Part of her wanted to reach out for her; to ask her to stay, but she didn’t move. She wanted to spend more time with the monk. To talk to her, to hold her, to keep her safe, to just be with her, but she stood stiff. Her voice was caught in her throat before finally she spoke. Just before Beau could get too far away.

“Hey Beau. Would you just like to watch the storm with me?”

She was caught off guard, usually their conversations ended so awkwardly they would just call it there. To have Yasha ask her to stay. It made Beau's stomach do flips. Part of her had to make sure it wasn’t only her hearing it. She had to play it cool, their conversation hadn’t gone completely wrong tonight. She wasn’t going to lose this moment by saying something stupid.

“Sure.”

Making her way back to where she had just been seconds ago, she sat down on the deck floor and looked up at the sky. Watching the flashes of lightning in the storm cloud. She hadn’t expected to see Yasha take a seat next to her, looking up at the sky with her.

“We don’t have to talk or anything, not if you don’t want to.”

She had blurted it out so suddenly, and she was now mentally facepalming herself, nice going Beau, you had to make it awkward. She could feel the heat rushing to her face once she knew Yasha was looking at her.

“If you’d like that. Just listening to the rain is nice.”

Another rumble of thunder in the distance made itself known, along with the light touch of another hand just next to Beau’s own, barely touching.

“Yeah, I always like waiting to hear the thunder.”

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Falling Ch. 7

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader [and a few more to come]

Summary: For a moment you had something good, something wonderful. But moments pass. Now, left with nothing but the ashes of a life and a love you fought so hard for, you find yourself in a free fall. Who will you be once you hit the bottom? [Sequel to Only For A Moment but can be read independently.]

Warnings: Loss, grief, drug/alcohol abuse, violence 

A/N: Hello again! So this is another shorter chapter but there is a lot happening. I think you can expect shorter chapters for the most part as we roll forward with this story (along the lines of the majority of Only For A Moment) because that’s easier for me to maintain. 

There’s also some hints here about what we can expect from our reader in the future, lmk if you have thoughts! 

TAGS ARE OPEN

“Oh for fucks sake!” Rocket yelled as your comm cut out. It was just as likely that you were dead as it was that you turned it off. 

And if you weren’t dead he was tempted to fix that little problem. 

“Nebula, do you have eyes on Trouble,” he found that was a better name for you. 

“I’m a little busy!” She yells back. 

He massages his temples as he tries to keep himself from outright screaming. 

In moments like this, he actually misses the old you. At least when you spent your days in bed, drunk, silent, moving through the ship like some sad ghost he wasn’t worried you were going to get him killed. 

He really should have appreciated those weeks of peace more. Never should have taken you to Contraxia, never should have coaxed you out of bed. What he should have done was leave well enough alone and just make sure you didn’t drink yourself into a quiet death. 

But no. He just had to get involved. 

Now, he was going to have to get out of this pod and find you. That was not the plan. He was supposed to stay in the damn pod. He was the eye in the sky. 

But no. No, you had to go and make this complicated. 

“I got it!” You say, comms coming in clear, just as he’s about to head down. 

“What the fuck do you-”

“Did I stutter?” You huff, clearly running. “I got the payload and I’m heading to the drop point and-” Rocket can make out the sound of a large weapon behind you. “I’d really appreciate you being there right about now!”

“Neb-” He begins. 

“En route,” she cuts him off. 

He brings the pod down just as you and Nebula make it on the platform, behind you both a concerning amount of muscle in hot pursuit. 

“What happened to quiet in and out?!” He screams. 

“Just open the door rat!” Nebula yells. He notes that your arms were full of more than just the case you were all being paid to retrieve. 

Between you and Nebula, he was pretty sure he was headed toward a much earlier grave. Grumbling he lays down cover fire as he lowers enough for you both to board the pod. 

“Woo!” You exclaim as Rocket coaxes the pod as fast as it can go toward the Benetar. “Not too bad.” 

“You realize you’re bleeding profusely, yes?” Nebula asks. 

Rocket glances back. He’d assumed the blood on your face was from someone else. Now he can see a deep gash splitting the right side of your face from forehead to below your cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Ca’al was aiming to take my head though, so I’d say I came out better than expected.” 

“Can’t imagine why he’d want your head,” Rocket rolls his eyes as he docks the pod. 

“It’s a mystery,” you say as the hatch opens.

“Wait…” Nebula says, hovering in the pod after the two of you have disembarked. 

“Ergons take honor pretty seriously,” Rocket says. “Which is why ‘not fucking the mark’s wife’ is high on the list of things not to do when you’re trying to keep a job low key.” 

“There was a list?” You quip, turning to face them, smiling despite the wound. 

“I’m beginning to think all Terrans are like this,” Nebula says low to him. 

“Possibly.” You drop the contents in your arms, kicking a case toward Rocket. “That’s what we came for. And I’ll split the rest if someone will help with this,” you gesture to your face.

“I’m tempted to let you bleed out,” Rocket says as he opens the case. Five tubes filled with glowing viscous liquid are nestled tightly inside. 

“Gonna have to wait for a bigger wound for that,” you say as you have a seat. 

“With your track record, Trouble, I don’t think I’ll have to wait long.”

You shrug, “I’m apparently like a cockroach.”

“What does that mean?” Nebula asks as she examines the cut.

“Very hard to get rid of,” you hiss the last word. 

“Are they formidable beasts?” 

“They’re Earth vermin,” Rocket says as he takes inventory of your haul. He hated to admit that it was impressive.  Whatever your shortcomings, you were an exceptional thief--he had to respect that at least. 

“Same thing,” you say standing. “I mean, look at you.”

“Very funny,” he smiles despite himself. 

“This is likely going to scar,” Nebula says. 

You shrug, “It’ll just enhance my roguish charm.”

“And piss off the Captain,” Rocket grumbles as he locks the case you’d all been paid to retrieve into one of the storage crates. 

“So you admit I’m charming?” He throws a sideways glance at you as Nebula forces your smirking face back to her. “Ow!”

“Who said you were charming?” Rocket asks. “I just don’t want any lectures about ethics and safety from Cap.”

“Which, Cap?” 

“Either.” He inspects a container of very high-grade ammo. “How’d you know where this shit was? No way it was just out in the open.”

You peek around an exasperated Nebula once more, “There are benefits to fucking the mark’s wife.”

“Stay still!” Nebula snaps. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the eye.”

Rocket shakes his head. Lucky may be a better nickname than Trouble. 

The way you managed to walk a razor edge, never quite tipping one way or the other was impressive. And every job you’d been in on over the last eight months ended up in a payday at least twice what they’d bargained for. Still, there was an all too familiar air of self-destruction about everything you did. Like you wanted something to tip you, slide the scales just a bit past no return. 

When he looks back he notices the slightest tremor in your right hand. 

Back on earth, he’d seen it a few times, mainly when emotions were high. No one else seemed to notice it, how each time the air rippled just a bit as some of your hold on that insane telekinetic ability of yours slipped. 

These days, more often than not, it meant you needed a drink. 

“There,” Nebula declares. “That’s the best I can do.” 

When she stepped back he could see that Nebula’s best was actually pretty good. The gash had been reduced to a raised bright pink stripe bisecting your left brow, stopping in the middle of your cheek. 

“Thanks, Nebula,” you say sincerely. A whir comes from the main cabin as a bottle flies into your open right hand. 

“So, how much we got?” You ask as you open the bottle. 

“Can probably get 4,000 credits from the ammo alone,” he holds out his hand and you pass him the bottle. No reason he can’t benefit from your vices. 

“Hear that, Nebula? At least 2k each for the ammo.”

“Excuse me?” He passes the bottle back to you. 

“Did you help fix my face?” 

“My ship. I get a cut of everything, Trouble.” 

“I only helped because I was getting half,” Nebula manages something between a grimace and a smile. 

Rocket playfully rolls his eyes, “Then you can take her half.” 

“The disrespect,” you say on a sigh. “Bleed for your crew, then they cut you out.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Such a martyr,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward the deck. “We’ll get the best deal on Paramatar. We’ll get paid for the case then head there.” 

-

Paramatar was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. 

The money was too good and the distractions too plentiful. Not Contraxia levels of plentiful, but what it lacked in variety it made up for in cost. Everything save for information and ammo was cheap. 

He should have kept an eye on you. Or at least asked Nebula to since she couldn’t help but stay sober. 

Yes, luck seemed to favor you more times than not. You were also heartier then most humans from what he could tell and you’d picked up on how things worked out here quickly. Still, there were substances and situations you didn’t know were better left alone. 

Or maybe you did know and chose to ignore sense. 

Who could say? Because when Nebula found you half dead after two days there wasn’t anyone around who knew what happened. 

“We should take her home,” Nebula said after the medic left with assurances that you weren’t about to die. “They can help.” 

He doubted that. Still, he knew it was the best call. Plus, he could use some peace. 

-

Warm morning sun filtered in through the window, making the few silvery strands in Bucky’s hair shine. 

He sat between your legs on the living room floor with his back against the couch. As your fingers combed through the silky mass of hair, his fingers massaged your right calf, still sore from Okoye’s brutal training the day before. 

This had become your ritual most mornings. 

Usually Bucky was the first out of bed, proving that he was far more a morning person than you’d ever manage to become. He’d start coffee, put on some music, and slip back into bed to wake you before your alarm went off. 

It was the best way to begin your day.

Once up you’d down a cup of coffee, talk about nothing, then by cup two he’d be sitting just as he was now--humming along to whatever song played while you methodically sectioned off his hair to braid it back. 

The first morning you’d done it on a whim. You frequently found your fingers tangled in those beautiful dark locks and had just happened to put it in a french braid. 

That evening he’d casually mentioned how good it was to not have his hair in the face while he worked. 

You knew he’d never actually ask. He was constantly concerned he would somehow inconvenience you or be a burden as it was. So since then you’d just begun doing it, without coaxing or preamble. 

When you finished he let out a long content sigh, leaning his cheek against your bare thigh. 

“Thank you,” he placed a kiss on your knee. 

“Of course,” you leaned over, kissing the tender flesh just behind his ear. He hummed with satisfaction, turning his head to look up at you. The morning light turned his eyes a beautiful icy grey-blue.

“I love you, doll,” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. 

“I love-” you hiss in a breath as pain tears through your skull. 

He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, just sits between your legs smiling… Before he turns to dust. 

You try to call his name, scream, anything but the all-consuming thrum of your power prevents you from doing anything but sit in frozen agony. 

Like an angry beast it thrashes inside your skull, zinging down your spine, until every nerve ending in your body burns with it. 

Stop, you don’t know to whom or what you’re begging but it’s all you can manage. 

The edges of your vision begin to blur, your warm Wakandan living room fading to an endless swirl of colors and shapes before shadow crept in. Those shadows swelled consuming everything leaving you in an endless, familiar, void. 

By now, this place--realm, or whatever it was that your mind saw when your perception went beyond what you were capable of comprehending--was starting to feel familiar. When you last found yourself here, after a night of too much excess, you’d thought of it as The Nothing.

This time a different thought pushes its way in from somewhere in the abyss. 

Oblivion, it whispers. 

Yes. That felt right. The perfect word for this void that seemed to exist between all things. 

Absently, you wonder if you should feel fear rather than this strange sense of peace. Even the hunger that never left you, the howling need for power the stones planted in the marrow of your bones seemed sated, as though there was power enough hidden in the darkness.

Yes, that same whisper from nowhere and everywhere replies. 

Now, the fear comes. You will yourself back, forcing your mind to grasp for existence like a drowning man reaches for the surface.  

You shoot upright, gasping for air, squinting in the bright afternoon sun. 

Sun shone bright on your face. 

This was not your dim room on the Benatar.  

And… 

“About time,” Steve says groggily from a chair in the corner. 

“How?” You croak. 

He stands, stretching, and crosses the room to fill a glass of water from the decanter by your bed. You take it gratefully, though you feel the ache for something stronger. 

“Rocket and Nebula brought you back yesterday.” 

Yesterday.

Futility, you try to piece together a series of events. 

The three of you had landed on Paramatar, offloaded the haul, split the credits, and… Things got hazy after that. 

“Apparently, you’ve been unconscious for over three days,” he sat on the edge of the bed, looking you over. “You look like shit by the way.”

“Thanks,” you say, voice still rough. “You don’t look dewey either.” His hair had grown longer, his beard thick, the circles under his eyes spoke to too many sleepless nights. 

“Shocked you remember what I look like,” he snips. 

The shot hits its mark and guilt blooms in your chest. 

It had been at least 5 months since you’d spoken to him. Once you’d managed to make it back to something closer to a human you simply couldn’t stand the reminder that speaking to him brought, that you had to come back here eventually. You’d wanted to leave everything. Forget about everything you could manage to and become someone else. 

“Sorry,” you say, unable to look at him. 

“It’s ok,” his voice sounds distant. When you look at him his gaze is in the middle distance, elbows resting on his knees. “Maybe we all need space.” 

He sighs, “Clint left. We don’t know where he is.” 

“Natasha?”

“She’s hanging on. Tried to find him but didn’t have any luck.” 

“He’ll come back around,” you said with more conviction than you felt.  

“Yeah,” he plucks a non-existent piece of lint from his sweatpants. 

“I gotta head out soon, some kind of situation brewing in Brazil. Don’t know how long it’ll be,” he runs a hand over his face. “But I assume Rocket and Nebula won’t be hanging around too much longer since you’re up.”

So they had stuck around. More guilt bubbles up. 

“And I assume you’ll be going with them.” 

It isn’t a question but you answer anyway, “Yeah.” He nods, looking down at his hands. 

The silence hangs for several pregnant minutes. 

Your palms itch to reach out to him, your heart screams at you to say something, anything. But you just sit. 

“Y/N…” his voice almost makes you jump. “On the beach when we…” He clears his throat, “You told me I could go… If I needed to.” 

Your stomach drops and with it some of your control. 

You had said that. Told Steve that if he was too tired to keep fighting in this life that he had your blessing to leave. Your only request-

“But that I couldn’t go without saying goodbye.”

“Steve,” your voice trembles. 

He looks at you then, blue eyes unfathomably sad. Without hesitation you reach out for his hand. Gratitude floods you when he doesn’t pull away. 

“The same goes for you,” beneath his words is a barely contained flood of emotions. 

“This wasn’t-” 

“Don’t,” he shakes his head. Gently he touches the new scar by your eye.

You nod. This was one thing you knew you couldn’t hide from him no matter how hard you tried. It was a game he’d played for longer than you’d been alive. Tempting fate, daring it to kill him.

“Not without goodbye,” he says in almost a whisper. 

“Not without goodbye,” you promise and, begrudgingly, you mean it. 

He gives your hand a squeeze before he stands, places a kiss on top of your head, and turns to leave. 

“Oh and, Y/N…”

“Yeah?”

“Take a shower,” he turns and winks. 

“Fuck you, Rogers,” you smile despite everything. 

“Don’t die,” he says as he walks out. 

“You too.” 

With effort you drag your aching body from the bed and make your way to the bathroom. Under the bright light you groan. 

Steve had not been wrong. You did look like shit. 

The scar Ca’al had graced you with was still bright pink and puffy. Far from roguish or charming. Your cheek bones jutted out in sharp angles, lips pale and cracked. And your hair had grown long enough that the ends had started to curl, making you look like a tired crusty mop. 

Only after a minute do you even notice your eyes. They’d become a normal feature, whites shot through with bloody lightning cracks, the tear ducts an angry shade of red. 

As you observe yourself the mirror begins to tremble. 

“Fuck,” you groan, doubling over to press your forehead to the cool bathroom counter. 

Once you feel your control tighten just enough you head straight for your bag, praying that- 

Your fingers curl around a small smooth rectangular bottle and you let out a grateful breath. Rocket must have slipped it in. The Ciegrimitian liquor was strong, a touch bitter, and reminded you of roses. It was a favorite. 

After two swallows you feel the power inside you settle. 

You stare at the slightly iridescent golden pink liquid in the bottle shifting it so it swirls and catches the light. 

Maybe it was possible that you could re-learn to control your abilities, after all, you had gotten far more proficient through training with Bucky and later in Wakanda. But that was before the stones. 

If Shuri had been right, and she usually had been, your subconscious built barriers around your ability to protect you. While you could push those barriers by honing your ability, strengthening it like any muscle through time and focus, those barriers would and should always remain. The human mind could only be expected to process so much. 

Now, if you were right, those barriers were gone. You had no idea how to begin rebuilding them. If you did you weren’t sure you had the energy to care.

Maybe in time… 

Time. Weeks. Months. Years. All without Bucky. 

You’d rather lose yourself to that Oblivion than think about the stretch of life laid out before you.

As you lift the bottle to take another drink your fist closes on nothing. A few remaining inches of the bottom of the bottle clatter to the floor, spilling the contents. 

This wasn’t new, sometimes you lost your grip and your power… unmade something. This time though- 

A cry lodges itself in your throat, threatening to choke you. 

Around the edges of the piece on the floor and swirling in your hand between the glittering specks of dust--all that remains of the top of the bottle--is a deep undulating blackness. Not shadow, not darkness, a pure absence of everything. 

Oblivion, a whisper from somewhere far away calls in your mind. 

You bolt for the bathroom, slamming the door behind you, pressing your fist to your mouth to keep from screaming. 

It feels like hours before your heart stops trying to beat through your chest and you’re able to draw a full breath. Only then do you realize that, just like in that void, you don’t feel the hunger. Only then do you realize how silent your power is. 

The woman in the mirror stares at you with eyes that are less painfully bloodshot than before, the bruise-like hollows beneath them lighter. Her cheeks seem fractionally fuller.

The changes do not feel like an improvement. They feel like abomination. 

Demon. Maybe your mother’s husband and M’Baku had been on to something there. 

In the shower you decide to bury this. It was a fluke, or maybe even a hallucination. Maybe you were still recovering from the overdose, your body reacting poorly to another substance being put into it. That was it. 

“And she lives to make trouble another day!” Rocket calls out from in front of the TV as you make your way to the kitchen in the common area. 

“Much to your chagrin,” you say, opening a cabinet. 

“Coffee is in the one on the left,” Natasha pipes up. She takes a seat at the island. “I’ll take some too,” her wan smile doesn’t reach her own tired eyes. 

You open the can of Bustelo and breathe in the rich smell. It reminds you of better times--of bodega breakfasts before you knew there was such a thing as Hydra, of slow music-filled afternoons with Bucky. Quickly you blink away the tears threatening to fall. 

It was just coffee. 

For several minutes the only sound was the burble of the coffee pot and the drone of the flatscreen. The lack of conversation didn’t feel awkward so much as tired, everyone worn down by the grief and turmoil of the last 11 months. 

When the coffee was done you poured Natasha a cup, grabbing the half and half from the fridge, remembering her preference from when you’d been on the run with the fractured Avengers. She nodded her thanks, silently fixing her cup. 

Your own black brew sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine, a hum of satisfaction slipping free. 

“I mean it’s good but I don’t know if it’s that good,” Natasha teases. 

“Haven’t had coffee since I left,” you say savoring another sip. Her brows raise at that. Honestly, the fact that you’d hardly missed it was more concerning than your increased drinking habit. 

“Maybe we should bring some,” Rocket sniffs the air. “Smells nice.” 

You meet his gaze, relief flooding you. A part of you had been afraid that you wouldn’t be welcome back on the Benatar. Honestly, you wouldn’t have blamed them if that was the case. Rocket called you Trouble for a reason after all. 

“I will try it,” Nebula announces as she takes a seat beside Natasha. 

“Alright. You?” Rocket nods. 

You pour a small amount for Nebula and use an espresso cup for Rocket. 

Nebula downs her’s in one go, face crinkling. You can’t help but laugh. 

“Bitter but palatable,” she says. 

“Just like you,” you quip. 

Nebula almost smiles, “Is there more?” 

The next few hours feel almost normal. No one talked about grief or loss. Natasha complained about the foods that were in short supply, Rocket bitched about prices on contraband being low. You told Natasha the weirder things about space, funny things, like hurling when the ship lost gravity for a few hours. Just friends catching up over coffee. 

Except it wasn’t. And, by the end, that fact had left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

By the time you got on the Benatar the next afternoon, that bitterness had fermented into rage that no amount of drink was going to cool. 

You needed to hit something. Hard.

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Fury, Oh Fury - Part 2

Rating || M (Strong language) Characters || Ben Miller, William Miller. Word Count || 5.1k Taglist || (Starting out tagging some mutuals and people I remember from the previous taglist)  @firefeatherx​ @mylifeliterally​ @mandoplease​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @skylyknightly​ @havenforafrazzledmind​ @beatriz-silva-00​ @veuliee​ @veuliee2​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @dindisneydjarin​ @lilacyennefer​ @dignityneeded​ @agirllovespancakes​​ @xjustmenobodyelse​​ @oscarflysaac @jaime1110​​ @goldenhour-goldenboy​​ @pascalz​​ @briskywalker​​ @herestherealproblem​​ @givemethatgold​​

Author’s Note || No matter how hard I try to keep this project on a backburner, it keeps kicking and screaming to be told. I had most of part 3 written before I put this fic on hiatus, and I’m hoping to have it written before the end of the year. I just need to get through this week and then schools have two weeks off for the holidays. I’m hoping to carve out some time for writing, then.

District Two’s training academy hides behind the façade of a retired school house.

Upon its decommissioning almost thirty years ago, district leadership descended upon the ramshackle building—and thus began its transformation. Training for the Hunger Games is not condoned by the Capitol. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them. While the exterior of the campus remains dilapidated and unassuming, playing every bit the part of a forgotten relic of a bygone era, its interior has its own story to tell.

Old equipment was cleared out. Tables in the lunchroom replaced with rows of sparring rings. The courtyard converted into a range for archery, javelins, throwing knives, and various ranged weaponry. The sagging, cracked walls refurbished and belied with the latest survival equipment and handheld weapons.

Children who display a prowess for fighting—and more importantly, a potential for victory in the Hunger Games—are selected to attend this academy. Training begins at age eleven, and continues until age seventeen, when one is selected to volunteer at the next reaping. These future tributes are up before dawn and smuggled into the academy before the first shift of Peacekeepers hit the streets, and are not let out until late—most days not until after the sun sets.

But the most notable feature of District Two’s training academy is not its staggering array of swords, daggers, maces, spears, every kind of armament under the sun. It’s not the skill with which District Two’s future tributes can wield these weapons. It’s not the way these future tributes can fire an arrow with devastating accuracy by age fourteen. It’s not the cleanliness of what appears to be a retired, collapsing school. No. It’s none of these things.

The standout feature of the academy is the first thing most people see upon entering the building. In the antechamber of the academy are three words emblazoned on the back wall, above the district’s crest.

Honor. Duty. Victory.

And this is the academy’s most notable feature. Painted and upkept with more care than several entire districts see.

It started out—in the early days of the academy—as an unofficial mantra of those who passed through. As time passed, and the academy produced more and more victors, these attributes were prescribed to every tribute.

Honor. Even being selected train, even if it did not guarantee participation in the Games, was considered the highest form of flattery a child in District Two could receive. Second only to being permitted the option to volunteer.

Duty. Once selected as a future volunteer for the Games, it was a job treated with upmost care and respect.

Victory.

Well. That part seems self-explanatory.

--

Future tributes from District Two weren’t exempt from training. Not even on reaping day.

Yes, the day was shortened to make sure everyone was present for the event, but the morning was still packed full of running, exercising, sparring, and survival lessons.

Ben had seen plenty of footage from the outer districts of how this day was observed there. It was a quiet, somber affair—the reaped tributes treated already as corpses at a wake. Families and friends shut themselves in, closed their doors and their blinds, held each other, and prayed that, however their loved one died, it was as swift and painless as the Capitol would allow.

But this was the Hunger Games. A hope for such things is, at best, a feeble one.

In District Two, the air buzzes with energy. Something pure and raw and not quite human. Of course, the knowledge of who will be any given year’s volunteers is kept under lock and key, so bets are placed, wagers made, on who they think will go into the arena based on appearances alone. Those who are selected to offer up their lives try to keep from puffing their chests a little too much, those who did not make the cut hide their disappointment behind polite smiles and kind words.

When the tributes are shipped off their families open their doors to friends and neighbors, who offer up gifts and well wishes. Parties are held for every event possible: the tribute parade, interviews, the start of the Games, and then then it simply did not stop until a victor was crowned or, in the worst case, the tributes were killed.

Then, and only then, did families shut their doors and their blinds, the shame of their tributes failing to bring home another victory outweighing their grief for the loss of a child.

At least that was what they said.

--

Of course, District Two cannot have an eighteen-year-old volunteer step forward at every reaping. To allow that would be to bring down the might of the Capitol if they ever caught on. District Two has worked hard to earn the favor of the president. They’re not about to risk, especially not something as high profile as the Hunger Games.

Some years, a fourteen or fifteen-year-old is selected, some years no one is selected, and the odds dictate who will be traveling to the Capitol that year.

After all, it’s may the odds be ever in your favor, right?

To find out that a district had taken the odds into their own hands, become masters of their own fate. If word of that got out about that… well. It certainly would not be a civil affair.

It was certainly an interesting thing to be said of a nation built upon that exact principle. The Capitol founded itself on this exact principle—built themselves from the ground up because they dared to carve their own path, even if that meant stepping on others. Who was to say they didn’t rig the reapings, anyway?

So for District Two to return the favor would be a horrific slap in the face.

If they ever got caught.

--

“NICE JOB, MILLER! If you go any slower through the next obstacle course maybe I can retire with my pension by the time you’re through!” Ben’s trainer, Alistair, screams in his face.

Ben keeps silent, his face blank and indifferent, his eyes straight ahead. He’s not looking at Alistair. He’s looking through him. Who knew tuning out Will’s lectures about training would prepare him so well for taking his trainer’s abuse?

“Go through it again!” Alistair snarls, and Ben peels back to the start of the obstacle course, hearing him scream “FASTER! I will stick my foot down your throat ‘til your shit’s on my shoe if you don’t hustle, Miller!”

Ben throws himself onto the rope net. He climbs.

Ben catches the rest of his team when he reaches the top of the rope wall. Alistair has them all doing pushups until he finishes the obstacle course, and Ben throws himself down the other side of the wall, gritting his teeth. He makes it through the course faster this time, and Alistair lets the others up. He trots them to the next course.

After the obstacle courses, it’s close quarters combat training with the squad of sixteens. Ben is convinced they’ve set it up this way just to show them how it feels to lose—to use that motivation to throw themselves into a fight willing to do whatever it takes to win. This is the Hunger Games, after all, it’s all about how ruthless you can be.

Ben looks forward to sparring drills the most. From the moment he set foot in the academy two years ago, he’d proved himself fast, faster than most others, even those much older than him. The trainers had capitalized on that. Now, at age fourteen, he can mop the floor with any squad except the eighteens.

Ben makes friends with another boy in his group named Ramsey. They share a brand of indifferent camaraderie usually reserved for teammates that only get along in the field. Ben’s had to swallow so much pride over the past six months alone following Will’s victory that he’s surprised he hasn’t choked to death. Ramsey’s strength is with a strange sort of sword-spear hybrid the trainers call a yklwa.

In close quarters combat, he’s a whirlwind, the weapon a mere extension of his hand. He takes down whoever steps into his path while hardly breaking a sweat. God helps whoever tries to run from him with the yklwa in his hand.

Ramsey says he’s named his yklwa Carmen. After a recruit in the fifteens he’s hoping to get together with.                                                

--

Will takes up woodworking after his Games. His home in the Victor’s Village is covered in them. He starts small—bowls and cutting boards at first are rough to the touch. As he hones in on this newfound hobby, his hand grows steady, smooth, until he’s crafting shelves with intricate details carved into the side panels, whittling animals with striking detail that seem to stand guard in their respective rooms. A particularly haunting interpretation of the cougar mutts he faced in the arena adorn the shelf above his fireplace.

It’s not until after he returns from his victory tour that Ben asks Will to train him. It’s over dinner, one of the evenings their father works late. Will brings home stew and a loaf of bread filled with seeds from the market that they eat on the floor before the roaring hearth. They tear off chunks of the bread and dunk them into the rich, savory broth.

“Why?” Will asks simply. He doesn’t look at Ben. He looks straight ahead at the fire, the dancing flames casting dozens of patterns of shadow and light across his face each second.

Ben pulls his legs up towards his chest, Will’s lack of enthusiasm making him regret bringing it up in the first place. “’Cause…” he says, unsure how to say it without provoking his brother to anger. “The headmaster at the academy keeps tellin’ me that if I keep it up, I’ll be able to volunteer in a few years. I want… to be ready.”

“You don’t get enough training there?”

Ben folds his arms on top of his knees and hides his mouth and nose in the crook of his elbow. “If you teach me, I’ll be even better—I’ll be able to win,” he mumbles into his sleeve.

Will’s eyes drift away from the fire, a muscle in his jaw feathering as his mouth tightens into a thin line. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Okay,” he says at last.

Ben, sensing the hesitation, backpedals, “You don’t have to.”

“No. I want to.” Will gathers up the remains of their meal and carries them into the kitchen. “If they’re going to ask you to volunteer like you think they will—I want to make sure you’re ready. I want you to come home.”

Ben doesn’t follow him into the kitchen, the weight settling in his chest too heavy to move. He just wants to be as good as Will was, he thinks. He wants to bring pride to District Two like Will did.

When he looks through the doorway into the kitchen, Will stares out the window, at something only he can see.

The next week, Will starts carving weapons.

--

The sword is merely an extension of Will’s arm when he knocks Ben on his ass for the fifth time and levels the dull point of the blade with his throat.

They’ve cleared out one of the (many) spare rooms of Will’s home and repurposed it as a sparring ring. Ben and his father were extended an offer by Will to live with him in the home. Due to the nature of their father’s work, he elected to remain in their house inside the district. Ben bounces between the two, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t prefer Will’s house to their father’s.

Ben’s tailbone groans as he slides over the carpet away from Will’s sword. He’s fashioned it almost exactly after his weapon from the arena, every detail down to the carvings on the hilt crafted with extreme accuracy from memory.

“You’re stuck in the moment,” Will advises, flipping the sword around and pressing the tip into the ground between and slightly in front of his feet. He leans into it, the wood barely creaking against his weight. “You gotta anticipate, Benny.”

Ben groans, “It’s hard to anticipate when I’m too focused on not getting my hand cut off.”

He’s forgone a weapon during this session, choosing to focus instead on how to disarm an opponent. If he faces another tribute with a weapon, if he can get it out of their hands, he will earn the upper hand and put the odds in his favor.

Maybe it’s a trait that came from the arena, but Will seems so much more in his element here. He’s relaxed, lines no longer weathering his crushingly young face. His movements smooth, steady, his reactions unlike anything Ben had ever seen before.

How can he hope to go up against anything like that in the arena?

“Come on,” Will’s voice softens when he extends his hand. “Let’s try again.”

--

Ben keeps his focus on his own rhythmic, controlled breathing, sucking air into his lungs and letting it out in a smooth, measured pattern as his feet pound into the concrete of the track. He ignores the soreness in his legs, the tightness in his chest, his thighs begging him to stop and his lungs pleading for more. He ignores the others in his squad running in stride with him, focusing only on keeping the pace. He tunes out the pain, the people around him, and the world around him.

It’s just him and the road.

“Hey, Ben,” Ramsey’s raspy voice huffs next to him.

Ben stays silent, his blue eyes fixed downwards at the patch of the track he would job over five seconds from now. He breathes a slightly deeper breath than before, his concentration irked by Ramsey’s attempt to get his attention.

“Ben!” Ramsey snaps.

Ben closes his eyes, actively putting all of his effort into focusing on the task at hand. He centers his mind on the impact of his shoes against the concrete and his own deep breathing that makes a whooshing sound in his ears. He might fall behind or run out of breath, and if Alistair catches them talking, they’re in for all sorts of hell.

“I’m talking to you, dickhead!” Ramsey hisses, pausing between breaths.

Ben remains nonresponsive. Whatever it was, it could wait until—

A flash of pain sears across Ben’s backside, Ramsey’s hand smacking against his ass as hard as he can manage. Ben fumbles on a step with a yap of shock and hurt. He sucks down a massive amount of air and losing all semblance of pace he had with the others, only to receive a grunt of “Move!” and a shove forward from the boy behind him. Ben sprints ahead to get back into place, his face hot with embarrassment as he clenches his teeth and tries to regulate his breathing.

“Jackass!” he snarls at Ramsay, who cocks a playful grin and breathes through his mouth.

“You know better than to neglect me,” Ramsey pants, keeping up the pace. “I refuse to be ignored.”

“You’ve got a dick punch headed you way for that,” Ben croaks, his ass still aching as he tries to keep running the last half-kilometer.

“Whatever,” Ramsey replies with the vaguest shake of his head. “Anyway, did you do the homework last night?”

Homework is a rather loose term, but they were occasionally tasked with assignments to complete at home. These assignments ranged from practicing an advanced hand to hand combat maneuver, building a snare designed to catch a rabbit, or successfully waterproofing matches. The particular assignment Ramsey referred to had to do with reading about how to identify poisonous plants.

“Kinda late to be asking about that now, don’t you think?” Ben pants.

“That’s why you’re my friend,” Ramsey explains, “When my girlfriend keeps me out too late to do work, you bail me out.”

Ben grunts and cuts a glare at Ramsey that would have burned holes through almost anyone else.

“I know you’re jealous that she gets all my attention, Benny—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Besides, we can’t all be dating some carefree, rich daughter of the mayor that loves to spend all your money.”

Before Ben can respond, a harsh voice calls, “Kick it in! Last hundred meters!”

Ramsey and Ben begin to suck in deep gulps of air along with the rest of their team, holding all of the oxygen they can and sprinting down the last section of track in a final burst of speed. They lean forward and tear down the concrete, ignoring the lightheadedness and the dull throbbing of their leg muscles as they pump their arms and struggle to stay in formation, the soles of their shoes pounding against the surface of the track.

The burning in Ben’s chest and stomach intensifies, the tightness of his body worsening as the end comes into sight.

“You better get across the finish line before I say times up or I’m gonna shove my foot up each and every one of your asses!” the voice roars.

Ben, Ramsey, and the rest of the squad picks up the pace, stomping their feet into the concrete and rushing across the finish line as a group, the last one just barely crossing before the voice cries, “Time’s up!”

The squad trots to a stop, and begins stretching against the wall of the indoor track, lined up single file in order to get out of the way of anyone else using the track.

“So, listen,” Ramsey whispers. “Back on topic: what was the homework from last night?”

“I thought you needed to copy it,” mutters Ben.

“Well, yeah. But I have to know what it is, first!”

“It was just reading,” sighs Ben. “Identifying poisonous versus edible plants.”

“Do you think they’re going to quiz us on it?”

Ben shrugged, indifferent.

“Quiz you on what, Miller?” a harsh voice behind them asked.

Ben and Ramsey cringe and do an about-face, knowing what they would see when they turned around.

Even though Ben had reached an impressive physical height for fourteen, Alistair still holds a few inches over him. He and Ramsey stand tall, staring straight forward as Alistair comes up to them with an acid frown on his face.

“Listen up!” Alistair roars. “Miller here thinks that just because his big brother’s a victor of the Games, that entitles him to a free ride around here! And Ramsey here is so in love with Miller that he can’t keep his hands off his ass! Both of them have disrespected you and me! They had the chance to do this because you aren’t motivating them enough! Therefore, I am going to punish all of you for what one of them has done! The rest of you will run while these two spar in the ring. If Miller wins, He’ll watch the rest of you do a switch run for a half an hour! If Ramsey wins, he’ll watch while the rest of you do a switch run for half an hour! Understand? Go!”

Ben and Ramsey both receive murderous glares from the eight remaining members of their squad as they take off down the track, once more in formation.

“Do I personally have to shin-kick the both of you to get you moving?” Alistair barks.

Ben and Ramsey walk past Alistair, staring at the ground, across the track and into the center field, in which was a platform boxing ring with holographic boundary lines on all four sides. Protective gear and gloves rest against the sides of the platform. Ben and Ramsey unzip the jackets of their track suits, underneath which they both wear plain white tee shirts, and slip a pair of gloves over their hands and headgear over their ears.

“Let’s go!” Alistair barks. “Your fellow cadets are paying for every second you waste!”

“Damn it, Ramsey,” whispers Ben. “I knew this would happen.”

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Ramsey asks incredulously as they walk up the stairs. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Ben snaps as they pass through the holographic boundary lines, traveling to the center of the ring and facing each other. “We’re in this situation because you refuse to be ignored!”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t ignore me all the time, I might say something you need to hear,” Ramsey responds icily.

“Like what?”

“Like, maybe if you pull that stick out of your ass, you might learn to have some fun, instead of just being an asshole most of the time,” Ramsey shrugs, putting up his fists.

“Well, according to you, Ramsey, everyone’s got a stick up their ass, so maybe you’re the one with the problem,” Ben comes back coolly.

“Oh, for fucks sake…” Ramsey growls, taking a swing at Ben’s head.

Ben bends backwards, avoiding the punch, then steps forward and jabs at Ramsey’s side. He lets out a gasp of shock, then nails Ben in his cheek with another quick swing.

Ben stumbles backwards, a dull stinging igniting in his face, though his headgear had absorbed most of it.

“Do you always have to be so goddamn responsible all the time?!” Ramsey snarls. “You always have to be right and you always have to have everything follow your rules!”

Ramsey steps towards Ben to deliver another blow, only to have Ben sidestep around and slug him in the stomach once again. Ramsey clenches his stomach, looking up as Ben knocks him in the forehead with a hard right hook.

Ramsey flies backwards, falling on his ass, stunned.

“You’re not responsible at all! How do you expect to live up to anything that your family wants for you if all you do is fuck off?!” Ben barks.

Ramsey looks up at Ben, getting to his feet. Ben stands at the ready, his fists up to protect his face. Ramsey swiftly strikes at Ben’s face, a hit that is blocked but still distracts him enough for Ramsey to drive his other fist into his stomach. The wind flies out of Ben’s lungs as Ramsey delivers an uppercut to his bottom jaw, whiplashing his neck and throwing him back.

“I don’t worry about it!” Ramsey spits. “You could stand to do the same. You worry about things that aren’t in your control. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the one preoccupied with my family here!”

Ben grits his teeth through the intense stinging in his jaw and neck, his anger fueling his rise to his feet. He leaps forward and strikes one, two, three times at Ramsey’s head, punching into a block each time but not caring. He steps back just in time to avoid another shot at his face from Ramsey, then back forward to hit the other boy in his upper chest.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about!” Ben yells, punching again and again at Ramsey’s defenses, driving him further back. “You don’t know what I’ve been through and you don’t know what I’ve got to deal with.”

Ramsey grumbles and shoves upward into Ben’s elbows, pushing his arms up and pulling his left fist back. Before Ben can bring up a block again, Ramsey’s fist smashes into Ben’s jaw, twisting his head to the side as Ramsey’s right fist punches into Ben’s shoulder.

The dull throbbing pain in his face and the taste of blood in his mouth make the fall backwards almost unnoticeable, until the reverse polarity field at the boundaries of the ring throw him back into the center. Ben stumbles forward and landed on his knees.

“You’ve got to deal with living up to someone, Ben. I know how it feels,” Ramsey sympathizes, not attacking. “But you can’t torture yourself over things you can’t change and how you think someone would judge what you’re doing. You’re not and you can’t be just like Will!”

Ben glares up at Ramsey, lashing out with his leg and sweeping Ramsey’s legs out from under him. Ramsey falls onto his back with a rough thud and Ben leaps across the floor on all fours as Ramsey tries to get up. He puts Ramsey into a chokehold, compressing his neck in the crook of his arm, causing Ramsey to gasp out in panic.

“Well what choice do I have?!” Ben hisses into Ramsey’s ear.

Ramsey gags, and then taps the floor.

Ben releases his friend and stands to his feet as Ramsey collapses to the floor of the ring, coughing. Ben breathes hard, looking down at him, and extends a hand. Ramsey takes Ben’s hand and he helps him, still breathing raggedly. As Ramsey massages his neck and looks at Ben with a mix of pity and disappointment, Ben noticed Alistair standing at the edge of the ring. He disengages the polarity field and steps into the ring silently, the holographic borders flickering off.

Ramsey doesn’t wait for Alistair to say anything. He gives a sloppy, two-fingered salute, then takes off running down the stairs of the ring to join the rest of the squad.

Ben wishes he could feel more pride at his victory when Alistair turns to him.

“Best get going, son,” says Alistair, quieter than usual. “Reaping is in a few hours.”

Ben just nods numbly and exits the ring.

--

The last time Ben found himself standing in a roped off section of the square was eleven months ago, holding his breath as Will was declared the victor of the Fifty-fourth Hunger Games.

Now he stands in a clump of other fourteen-year-old boys, the space tight and claustrophobic as they await the start of the reaping. It’s one thing for a district as large as Two to cram as many people as they can in the square; it’s another to do so in the height of summer. Sweat rolls down the back of Ben’s neck and into the collar of his button-up shirt.

He’s been out here longer than many of the district’s children. He arrived early with Will, who has earned a spot on the stage with Two’s other victors. His chair is front and center, almost directly between the two massive glass balls containing thousands of paper slips and to the right of the mayor’s chair.

Ben’s name is in there three times this year. The thought is a small comfort, even though the odds are entirely in his favor. His heart throws itself around his ribcage, his throat tight. He catches Will’s eye over the heads of the teenagers standing closer to the front of the crowd, and he gives Ben a short, assuring nod.

They’re not going to pick you, Will had said while getting ready that morning when he noticed the way Ben’s hands trembled for a grip on his comb. And if they do, someone will step up.

He’s right. District Two’s favored boy to volunteer this year is an eighteen-year-old named Bromius who doesn’t know how to back down from a fight.

Though he stands directly in the middle of the crowd, Ben is sure he can feel the prying eyes of spectators around him. Him, the younger brother of a victor. It’s only natural for them to wonder if he will follow in the footsteps of Will and volunteer for the Games. He’s sure more than a few wagers are being placed in his favor today.

To Ben’s right, the crowd shifts, and Ramsey shoulders his way to Ben’s side. “Hey,” he says. “How are you doing?”

Ben reigns in the urge to grimace when another bead of sweat drips down his back. “As okay as I can be.” No matter being though this twice before, no matter how much he expects having to step forward and step on that stage one day, he can’t seem to quiet the anxiety that roils in his stomach. He still watches Will, but his attention has been drawn by another victor seated behind him, a pretty girl who won seven years ago, if Ben remembers correctly. They’re both smiling. Ben’s just glad Will can still smile. A handful of Two’s victors have come home, but he’d never seen them smile again.

Ramsey claps him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Besides, you’re not going to volunteer for another two years at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked you to go in when you turn sixteen.”

Why is everyone so insistent that he’s going to be fine?

The thought is chased from Ben’s mind when feedback from the microphone on stage squeals through the speakers. The mayor waits for the sound to ebb before launching into the same speech he gives every year. By now, he has it memorized. Some of the boys around him quote the speech along with the mayor with dramatic voices and giggle to themselves.

As always, they are reminded of the origin of the Hunger Games, reminded of—no matter how much they may be in favor with the Capitol—they will ultimately be at their mercy by sending in their children to their prospective deaths. The only difference this year is that Will’s name has been added when the mayor reads off the list of past victors. He feels a small swell of pride at that.

District Two’s escort is introduced. Terra Evervale, a woman who’s allowed the fact that she has worked with so many victors get to her head, makes a brief statement about how much she’s looking forward to introducing the district’s next victor to the spoils of the Capitol.

Ben keeps his eyes locked on Will, who has made sparing eye contact with him through the procession. With so many cameras on him, he needs to appear alert and engaged. Now he watches Terra as she announces that this year, they will begin with the boys, and crosses the stage to one of the glass balls.

She plunges her hand deep into the ball, rummages around for a few seconds to build the anticipation. By the time she removes the single slip of paper, almost everyone in the square is holding their breath. Ben feels his fists clench, his vision blurring around the edges.

Will watches, his expression cool as Terra crosses back to the microphone. When she breaks the seal and pulls the edges of the paper apart, he has the perfect vantage point to read the name before she announces who the male tribute will be.

Will’s blue eyes go wide, his mouth falling open slightly; Ben can see his breath catch. He finds Ben in the crowd, as if he could call out a warning.

Ben reads Will’s expression, and knows with terrifying clarity whose name is on the paper.

“Benjamin Miller!”

[catrasredemption-moved]

I’m not sure if you’ve touched on this before, so, if you have, please feel free to disregard this, but: I know a lot of people tend to attribute most if not all of Catra’s actions to her wanting to one-up Adora, which is obviously way oversimplifying things. Could you go into everything that was going through her head that caused her to pull the lever, specifically. And how do you think she’d feel about Angella’s death/do you think Glimmer could come to forgive her for her part in it?

Okay obviously everything is complicated about the portal, and I honestly don’t think one-upping Adora was even part of her thought process. I think it, once again, goes back to Shadow Weaver.

Capturing Adora in the Crimson Waste? That was definitely for shits and giggles and her own fun. She didn’t care about what Hordak was doing, or about the portal, until Adora said Shadow Weaver was in Bright Moon. That was when she decided to go back and help Hordak.

And then again in the Fright Zone, it was only after Shadow Weaver confronted and tortured her that she went over the edge. And there’s actually a lot of messed up stuff in that scene I want to address. First of all Shadow Weaver’s “we don’t have to be enemies” is fucking rich considering she manipulated Catra into helping her escape and then left her there to suffer the consequences. For all Catra needs to take responsibility for her own choices, she’s right - Shadow Weaver is the reason she turned out the way she did. Years of physical and mental abuse wore her down to this point, and now her abuser is working with the good guys and lecturing Catra about taking the higher road? That’s fucked up.

And yes, I know - “Catra did the same thing in No Princess Left Behind”, and yeah, she did, but Catra’s never claimed the moral high ground. She was with the Horde, the Horde does fucked up things, and frankly, any time Shadow Weaver spent hurting Glimmer was time she wasn’t torturing Catra. It’s not right, but at least her thought process is more or less linear. Bow and Glimmer, on the other hand, watched and actively helped Shadow Weaver nearly kill Catra, and they’re supposed to be the good guys. Remember Scorpia and Glimmer in season four?

“Catra... I know she’s done a lot of bad things, but please don’t hurt her.” “We’re the good guys, remember?”

We’re the good guys. As in “we don’t needlessly hurt people.” But isn’t that exactly what they let Shadow Weaver do? There were was absolutely no need for her to torture Catra and basically tell her “we’re going to destroy your home and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Bow only stepped in to stop her when he saw Glimmer hurting.

And I’m not saying they were right or wrong, but again, that’s pretty fucked up from Catra’s point of view, when the good guys are helping the woman who abused her for her entire life. And that broke her. Fuck the good guys, fuck their stupid world, it can all burn. Adora was a small factor, because letting her win meant letting her have the friends who stood back and watched Shadow Weaver almost kill her, and letting her have this world that’s screwed her over at every turn. Adora was part of all that, of course, but ultimately she ended up shouldering the burden of every person who drove to Catra to that breaking point.

re: Angella.... again, that’s complicated. She obviously regrets the portal, and having someone’s death on your shoulders is a lot, especially with everything else she has to deal with. And there’s no real way to fix it except to spend every day for the rest of her life proving she’s not that person anymore (or go with one of the many rescuing Angella fics because those are always fun!).

Glimmer... I think has forgiven in her a way. She recognizes that Catra isn’t the same person she used to be, and that being angry at her won’t do either of them any good - she already spent a long time angry about it and, surprise surprise, ended up in the exact same place Catra did. The only reason she got out alive was because Catra saved her - and no, it’s not a life for a life thing, but I think Glimmer is rational enough to realize that, whatever her motives were, Catra did save her at the cost of her own life. So Glimmer has two choices - she can keep being angry, or she can recognize that Catra now isn’t the same Catra who pulled the lever (which is a change Glimmer actually played a huge part in), and get to know this new person she inadvertently helped create.

(Because Glimmer’s role in Catra’s season five development is undeniable. They kept each other company on Horde Prime’s ship, saw new sides of one another, and Glimmer took a chance telling Catra to do one good thing in her life. If Glimmer hadn’t been there, there wouldn’t have really been any catalyst for Catra to change anything. Adora wouldn’t go to the ship with no reason, so there’d be no reason for Catra to sacrifice herself. She probably would’ve just ended up chipped or dead.)

There’s always going to be a part of Glimmer that remembers the role Catra played in her mother’s death (and I feel like it’s very important to remember that killing Angella was not what Catra set out to do - it wasn’t cold-blooded murder, it was a very bad consequence of a decision made by someone who had nothing left to lose), but at the end of the day, Glimmer is a good person, and Catra is someone she’s come to care about a lot. Is it complicated? Yes. But nothing worth having is ever easy.

I also feel like we should keep in mind that a lot of time passes between the portal and Glimmer starting to think of Catra as a friend. At least a year and some change (there are some theories that Catra and Glimmer were on Prime’s ship for a year. Idk if I really go for that, but I do think it was at least a month or two). It’s not like the portal happened and three days later Glimmer said “well you’re my friend now, all is forgotten!” 

[hoodwinkd1]

the stars that shine - Ch 1

Fic Summary: “Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”

He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”

His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. ------ Coming of age in a post-war world could never be easy. Growing up under the watchful eye of Erilea's most powerful and famous heroes is just a little bit harder. Figuring out what the hell they're supposed to do in this big, wide world might require a little more teamwork than either of them realize.

Ch 2 here.

Chapter 1: just two kids

The first time they met, neither of them knew what the hell was going on. The adults spoke in whispers and shed tears that they couldn’t understand, being only eleven years old. Evangeline grew tired of hiding behind Lysandra and clinging to Aedion; she wanted to explore this massive palace that served as her temporary home. Aelin had insisted that they all remain together for a few weeks after her coronation, giving them all some time to figure out how to be a court and a family.

For once, Evangeline’s short stature helped her as she ducked behind people and columns until she found the exit. She picked a direction at random, happy to wander around the hallways and take in the décor, even if some of it looked worse for wear. She hummed to herself as she walked, so focused on absorbing every piece of Terrasen that she could glean from the paintings that hung proudly (if not a bit slanted).

Terrasen. Her new kingdom. Evangeline had never felt any sort of connection to Adarlan. No one had ever held her hand at a celebratory parade or taught her the national song, if there even was such a thing. Her childhood contained no memories of pride or patriotism, nothing beyond a lingering resentment for what her parents did to survive.

“Evangeline! What are you doing away from the party?” She nearly jumped out of her skin at that cheery voice, her eyes darting up to meet the King’s kind smile. Dorian might have deserved her patriotism, if Lysandra and her had remained in Rifthold.

“I was exploring.” She shifted her weight a couple times. Although his face was kind, she really didn’t know him that well. And grown men, especially those with power, cause her to clam up. She remembered her manners just in time to add: “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Your Majesty.”

He waved a hand. “Please, just Dorian. We’ve all been through too much for fancy titles, don’t you think? We were just about to say our goodbyes and head out.”

At his statement, Evangeline finally noticed the boy sulking behind Dorian. Hollin didn’t acknowledge her at all, never even looked at her despite their similar age and forced proximity. She shoved down her irritation, choosing to be the mature and polite one.

“Are you excited to go home?” she asked sweetly, staring directly at the prince. He continued to study the wall next to him, ignoring her yet again, until Dorian shoved his shoulder lightly.

Hollin sighed in a way that made Evangeline’s blood boil. “I cannot wait to sleep in a chamber that doesn’t look like it might collapse on me in my sleep,” he answered, scrunching his nose in disgust.

Her eyes widened. She could have died, not a full two weeks ago, during the final battle against the Valg and Hollin was complaining about the state of his bedroom? Hundreds of replies ran through her mind, most of them including telling him where he could shove that selfish opinion--

“What my brother means to say, is that he wishes Terrasen a speedy recovery after so many trials,” Dorian interjected, placing his hand on Hollin’s shoulder. His grip tightened as he steered his younger brother around Evangeline, mouthing a quick “sorry” as they passed. “I hope you know that you’re welcome in Adarlan at any time. Until next time!”

“Thank you,” Evangeline replied uncertainly, spinning on her heel to watch them walk away. She still couldn’t truly say how she felt about Dorian, but she had never been more grateful for the crown on his head. At the very least, it kept that nasty little boy from having any sort of power he would surely abuse.

She kept walking. Sparing a glance over her shoulder to make sure they no longer lingered, Evangeline pushed into the chambers the royals had just vacated. She wasn’t snooping, just curious if their bed was bigger than hers.

The room was in perfectly fine condition, maybe lacking some of the over-the-top amenities that the former conquering nation of Adarlan could afford. She peeked into the first bedroom and let out a small gasp. So Aelin had given them nicer accommodations. The bed was massive, even bigger than Aedion’s bed (which Lysandra snuck into every night when she thought Evangeline was asleep). Logically, the larger man deserved the larger bed, right?

She looked into the next bedroom. This one was much more comparable to her room, only containing a queen-size mattress and a dresser. Evangeline ran her fingers along the silk sheets, wondering if it would be selfish to ask for these chambers for herself. She might enjoy having the space to herself, and Lysandra might not feel so guilty about spending time with her beloved.

A ray of the setting sun cut through the curtains, reflecting sharply off something in the corner of her eye. There, mostly hidden beneath the dresser, was a small piece of metal. Evangeline dropped to her knees and reached for it, fingers closing around the wiry texture.

It was a ship. Fashioned out of a long piece of aluminum that may have once been a large kitchen utensil. She examined the trinket, trying to imagine how one might have bent the shape hundreds of times to form a tiny replica of the boats that floated in the docks of Ilium.

Evangeline happened to love trinkets and tiny things, so she shoved it in her pocket, considering today’s exploration a wonderful success.

---

Hollin stared at the feast in front of him, wanting nothing more than to snatch up a plate full of food and run to his rooms to devour it in peace. Unfortunately, if he vacated his hiding spot behind one of the larger ice chests, the kitchen staff would surely see him and report his location to Queen Mother Georgina. And then she would surely force him back into the dining room to rejoin the most boring conversation he had ever had to sit through.

As part of his education, Hollin’s tutor taught him the importance of treating guests with civility and respect through proper socialization. While the prince normally managed to suffer through an entire dinner without running away, Hollin simply couldn’t pretend any longer. Not after he stayed up almost until dawn the night before, completely caught up in a new research project.

And although the prince had managed great strides in the two years since the war, shedding some of his more immature and selfish tendencies, he had never learned how to love a crowd the way his brother could. Dorian positively thrived in front of an audience, telling witty stories and navigating even the trickiest of topics with an easy smile.

He watched the head chef finish plating the soups, adding a fried green leek to each bowl. Hollin’s stomach growled, hidden by the noise of crashing plates and rolling carts.

“Hollin!” A sharp voice cut through the clatter. “If you’re in here, come out at once before you embarrass us any further.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. His mother had caught on to his hiding spot far too quickly. Rather than facing the indignation of getting literally dragged out of the corner by the indignant queen, he stood and brushed the lint of his pants.

Walking towards where Georgina stood, her arms crossed, Hollin searched his mind for any excuse that might explain his absence. “I wasn’t feeling well?”

“I planned on serving dinner as soon as the last guest arrived, but now everyone had to wait. Does that make you happy?” she demanded, reaching over to shove some of his hair back. “Remind me to send Donya your way tomorrow. This is getting out of hand.”

Hollin preferred his hair long, brushing his forehead and the back of his neck, but there was no arguing with her. “The dinner?” he prompted, warding off any further complaints about his appearance.

“Go, now. I need to run a final check on everything.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. Hollin ran out the door at that point, marveling at how much better the dinner party sounded after one simple interaction with his mother.

Pushing through the swinging doors, he was relieved to find most people standing around, finishing up their chatter and their drinks. Darting past a couple of particularly dull nobles and keeping his head down to avoid detection, Hollin scanned the table for his name card.

“Your Highness!” He winced at the nasally voice of Lord Ramdon and the impending doom of yet another economic lecture. “I was just telling your brother about the effects of his new trade agreement on the price of coal over the next five--”

“Please take your seats. Dinner will be served momentarily.” The voice rang out through the room, giving Hollin the opportunity to escape and finally sink into his seat, two chairs away from the head of the table.

Dorian slipped into the massive chair a moment later. “Mother tracked you down?” he asked, offering Hollin a sympathetic look.

“Obviously.” Hollin grabbed his napkin and threw it on his lap, a bit forcefully. “Enjoying the stimulating conversation tonight?”

Dorian laughed. “It was getting a bit dull for awhile there. Thankfully, some more exciting guests showed up at the last minute-oh, speak of the devil!” He stood up, waving to someone over Hollin’s shoulder.

The prince stifled a groan. He glanced at the nametag to his right, at the same time as the person in question filled the seat.

“Hello,” Evangeline smiled at him. “I didn’t notice you when we first arrived.”

Aedion Ashryver and Lysandra Ennar took their places across the table, also smiling warmly at him. Hollin never understood how these people managed to be so happy all of the damned time. Something like jealousy always churned in his stomach when he saw the familiarity and love shared between them, as if a devastating war hadn’t almost ripped them apart.

“I had a...prince thing to do.” He winced at how weak the words sounded. “I hope the journey was easy for you.”

“It was! We travelled quite light for this visit, since it’s much more informal and last-minute” Evangeline perked up as she spoke, starting on a tangent about the route they had taken. In all his fourteen years, Hollin had never met a group of people who talked quite as much as Queen Aelin’s court.

At least he grew out of his snark and pettiness since he left Terrasen for the last time. He forced a polite smile on his face as she rambled.

“Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”

He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”

His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. “I wanted to know, are there any additional activities you’d like to pursue while in Rifthold? Perhaps something in the arts?”

“Oh goodness, I’d love that,” Evangeline gushed. “I know that the theater here is beyond what we have in Terrasen; I’m sure there’s so much to learn from the actors and writers there.”

Hollin’s head hurt. He knew that Dorian would try to force them to get along while she stayed with them, in some bizarre attempt to expose him to so-called good people.

Even after the king had dedicated his time to being an older brother, even though Hollin tried so hard to avoid being another problem Dorian had to handle, he would never garner the look of affection that Evangeline did. He would never be Dorian’s friend in a way the Terrasen court was.

“Hollin attended one of the performances last week.” Dorian leaned forward, catching his brother’s eye with a meaningful look. “Perhaps you could take a look at the upcoming schedule, recommend something for her.”

The meddling had begun a whooping five minutes into the first course.

“I would be happy to,” Hollin replied. “Do you have any particular interests?”

For better or for worse, that question set Evangaline off on another tangent. Dorian gave him a subtle thumbs up as she chattered away, returning his focus to Lysandra and Aedion.

Hollin took the reprieve gratefully, digging into his soup. He mentally calculated how many minutes stood between him and the final course, already considering the night a massive failure.

[merryfortune]

Day 23 / Flare

Clover and Violets 2021

Ship: not applicable | Carly/Sherry

Universe: Alternate - Serial Killers

Word Count: 1,085

Rating: M

Tags: Inspired by The Silence of the Lambs, Off Screen Murder/Suicide, Off Screen Cannibalism, Abuse

   She never stopped being one of the most - if not, the most - beautiful women that Carly had never seen. Not even when her imprisonment gave her pallor, made her hair, once blonde like soft sunshine, stringy and otherwise dulled the elegance that she had once been the embodiment of.

   “I’m flattered,” Carly spoke as she came into the den, “that you only wish to speak with me.”

   “I’m old news.” Sherry LeBlanc murmured. “I should be of no interest to anyone.”

   Carly could have clamoured at the bars of Sherry LeBlanc’s prison cell to tell her she was wrong, that she was obsessed, romantically and platonically, with her, that she would pull down all the stars in the sky for her but she didn’t. She had to have restraint. Even as her heart begged her to budge, Carly had to show the security cameras, at the very least, that she could be a big girl who could be trusted alone with the French Ripper. 

   “I disagree.” Carly murmured. “People…” She wanted to use a first person pronoun but she refused. “People find you fascinating.”

   “I don’t find very many people fascinating,” Sherry LeBlanc murmured, “but you, dear Carly, you fascinate me.”

   Carly’s heart fluttered. She gripped her pen and notepad a bit tighter and she stepped closer to the den and she sat down. As always, Sherry had requested some courtesy for her favourite guest, nothing extravagant. Just one of those university chairs with a half-desk attached but it still looked good. Of rich, mahogany wood and a plush inline for comfortable sitting. Yet, Carly didn’t feel comfortable as she sat down, back straight, as Sherry LeBlanc prowled her cage like a big cat. A cougar.

   “Individuals fascinate me but they are few and far between.” Sherry LeBlanc monologued to Carly who listened intently, batting her eyes which were wide and full like moons beneath the thick glass of her trifocals. “I enjoy the company of individuals with beauty. Those who have worthwhile talents, crafted and honed. I see that in you, my dear.”

   “Thank you, Mz LeBlanc.” Carly replied. She felt a rosy hue bloom in her cheeks, warm and flushed. Her voice was melodic, annotated with the romance of her French native tongue.

   Sherry LeBlanc chortled to herself. “Please, Carly, I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times. Call me Sherry, you are a dear companion, I crave you when you are gone. Your sweet smell and the sound of your voice, tis exquisite, dear.”

   “Thank you, you are too much.” Carly replied, diplomatic. “But, um, if I may inquire. What compelled your recent outburst? They say you tried to bite off a nurse’s face.”

   Carly’s expression was empathetic. Upturned brows and she was ready to take quick notes.

   “They mistreat me, my dear.” Sherry LeBlanc lamented. “I am told I fascinate the outside world! Bah! Humbug! What a load of crock. Inside I am treated as no more than a wild animal to be sedated and hung out on a wall like a trophy. To be beheaded would be kinder than this idle fate of slowly wilting, rotting…”

   “My apologies.” Carly offered, slightly harrowed, as she wrote down Sherry LeBlanc’s confession. It was borne of the agony of monotony, it appeared. Mistreatment and malcontent until her hunger, it appeared, could only be satiated in wrongfully provoked rage. That was her understanding, at least, for Sherry LeBlanc was, for the most part, slow to anger. One of her victims, she had merely suggested that he kill himself, not because of ill will but because of boredom.  “I will speak with the warden about proper duty of care.”

   Sherry LeBlanc turned her head as she ceased her pacing. There was a flare of fondness in her hard, blue eyes. Her smile was soft.

   “You are too good, too kind, Carly, that is why I like you.” Sherry LeBlanc said. “Carly Nagisa…” she mused. “Nagisa is written like the shoreline, correct?”

   “Yes…” Carly murmured. “Inlet, bank… all synonyms for one another, I suppose.”

   “It is a suitable name for one such as you, my poor dear…” Sherry LeBlanc lamented.

   “It is? How?” Carly asked, not to write down on paper but to etch it on the beating flesh of her heart.

   “What would you rather be, my dear?” Sherry LeBlanc asked. “The shoreline or the waters?”

   “Pardon?” Carly piped up in a small voice but Sherry LeBlanc steamrolled over her, her gaze somewhere else. Somewhere by the ocean, perhaps, and far, far away from the tiny little cell that she had given on a floor all to herself below the prefecture’s prison.

   “The water who abuses the shoreline or the shoreline who takes that abuse? Perpetually drowned and sunken down, or counting every grain of sand that you possess, fighting to keep what you have even when it is taken.” Sherry LeBlanc murmured.

   Carly inhaled sharply. She - She didn’t know- Flashbacks of her childhood of being bullied came to mind; flashbacks of her very own workplace where she was told her writing was juvenile and her questions were ridiculous came to mind; flashbacks of the very last year when she had been in Professor Sherry LeBlanc’s office and she was being put through therapy but for what?

   For this very moment? 

   When she still sat in a nice chair, being lectured on her niceties and how to prevent them.

   This was a woman who ate people alive metaphorically and preferred them just under blue dead. Carly’s heart stopped and oh how she wished she could offer it to Sherry LeBlanc, the French Ripper, the cannibal and killer, on a plate because she truly wanted to keep her worth paid in flesh and blood to Sherry LeBlanc. She wanted, dearly, to be eaten by her: dead or alive, it mattered not to Carly as she hung onto every word that she spoke in her gorgeous demeanour and brilliant voice.

   “I think I want to remain the shoreline.” Carly spoke in a small voice.   

   Sherry LeBlanc smiled but whether it was pity or whether it was something else remained to be seen but Carly had her news story. French Ripper attacks Nurse Out of Boredom. The people she despised was going to adore her for it.

   “Thank you… Sherry.” Carly murmured.

   “Any time, my dear, any time, I shall pine for you until I am of interest again.” Sherry LeBlanc replied in a dulcet voice.

   With that, Carly nodded and she excused herself.