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somepsychopomp · 8 months

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its avatar time

lol i was trapped on a commute that was like 2 hours longer than expected today and drafted up the start to an ATLA fic I've been wanting to write. There's definitely bits I want to expand on but I'm posting it now just to share for fun

the actual fic will be a very zuko-centric AU, but somehow I ended up writing a hearty prelude (featuring Ursa's POV as she has her first child)

Ig the only warning is that this does feature some old timey women-not-having-it-good themes. Like there's discussions of child bearing and bodily autonomy but it's not too heavy imo. But i absolutely loved writing from Ursa's POV and hope to do more with this AU soon

(also- if u have any idea what's up with baby zuko, i wanna hear what your guess is!)

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Excerpt:

The sages and midwives cleansed the babe and swaddled him, as well as dabbed Ursa’s own tear-streaked face with a cool cloth, before finally permitting her to hold her own child.

Ozai already had a name picked out for him.

“Hello, Zuko.” Ursa said. After the day she had, her voice was little more than a hoarse rasp.

Her son opened his eyes and cried.

Ursa’s stomach plummeted.

Her child was wrong.

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Word count: ~2,900

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Lady Ursa came into her new family with much fanfare, as was expected of a royal wedding. Her new husband insisted upon her superb beauty to all that would hear and lavished her with gifts of fine silk and golden adornments. Spoils of war, as well. Their marriage bed was crafted from highly polished dark wood, inlaid with pearls from the South Pole and abalone imported from the coasts of the Earth Kingdom.

But what her nation did not know as well as she did, was that her husband was not a patient man. Not at all.

Ozai was a man of great elegance, yes. He moved as though no man could best him, as though he were a greater being from another realm. But he possessed a terribly watchful eye. And what he wanted more than Ursa’s beauty or her love was her body. He wanted an heir.

First, he wasted no time consummating their marriage. The man seemed determined to appease his father by getting Ursa pregnant before she could fully remove her wedding gown.

The heat that came off his skin as he held her close was enough to suffocate her.

Ursa did her damndest to satisfy him. She let herself be followed every moment of every day by a legion of medical experts, sages, and attendants who instructed her how to best have her first child. They dictated when she woke up, the temperature of her baths, her food, her dress, her exposure to sunlight, the bitter teas meant to influence her body’s moods, and when she went to bed every night.

They were at their most insistent in the early months of her marriage. She didn’t even have both feet past the threshold of the palace, technically not even a wife yet, before she was whisked away to some private room, told to strip before all their eyes, and examined to a humiliating degree for any bodily deficiencies to be concerned over. They deemed her perfectly healthy and said that with the proper diet and tea, she’d be giving birth by next summer.

But that precious early stage of her marriage, those cool and gentle months between summer and winter, came and went without her menstrual cycle ceasing. Autumn was the most auspicious time for women in the Fire Nation to become with child, as it meant their babies would be born in the hottest months of the year under Agni’s brilliant eye.

But for all his determination, for all the efforts made, winter came in full and Ursa was still bleeding monthly.

That was when she began to pray. She prayed every morning at sunrise and every evening at sunset. In her bedroom, at the royal family’s personal shrine, in the capital’s grandest temple. Sometimes for hours at a time without rest. The sages approved greatly of her devotion. The doctors disapproved, as she could not partake in food or drink while in prayer.

Ursa begged Agni for a baby. She begged for Ozai’s furious advances to cease. Since her wedding night, she had crawled out of bed every morning sore and tender, made even more humiliating when her attendants slathered her most intimate parts with potent oils or creams to soothe the aching and chafe.

Her body was no longer hers, she knew that. But please, was she not devoted to her new husband and her country? Was she not healthy? Why was she being tested so?

Above all else, Ursa asked for something to hope for.

The new year came and went. The nation was alight with all sorts of colors in the sky and endless trails of beautiful lanterns, but it was a cold comfort for Ursa.

Both she and Ozai grew rather distant and demoralized as winter gave way to spring. Or rather, she grew demoralized as her husband grew distant. They sometimes went days without speaking to each other. Yet they retired to the same bed without fail every night. They had no choice.

Her husband began regarding her with this cruel tint to his eyes, as if she were to blame for his lack of progeny. Ursa was afraid of him.

Then, in that delicate time early in the year between late winter and young spring, she found her cycle late. The sages and doctors ran their tests. Ursa felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She almost dared not believe it could be true.

But it was. The palace was jubilant, ecstatic even. Lady Ursa was finally with child.

The sages brought this wonderful news to the Fire Lord, presenting Ursa and Ozai as if they were mere trinkets, more spoils of war. It was a less ideal time of the year to have a baby, yes. This did not go unnoticed by Ozai or his father, the two of them so alike in their dispassionate eyes. But the sages spun a tale of how, as the new year emerges from the ashes of the past, much like the great phoenix, so did Fire Lord Azulon’s great and prosperous bloodline.

His newest grandchild was a symbol of vitality, of hope.

Ursa straightened her back, as did her husband.

And Fire Lord Azulon seemed pleased. He even gazed upon Ursa directly and congratulated her on her first child, implying he’d expect more in the future.

A hand touched her belly and Ursa was surprised to find it wasn’t her own. Ozai caressed her gently, though there was no bump to be had. Not yet. He smiled at her and she could feel the heat from his palm seeping through her clothes and soaking into her skin.

Her child would likely be born in the densest portion of winter, when the days were short and the nights were so very long. They would be a strong child, the sages said, as any creature must be to weather out those dark, bitter months.

There was only one problem. Two, even.

One, Ursa went into labor the night before the winter solstice. For first time mothers, they sometimes went several days before properly giving birth. She almost hoped this would be the case, but Ursa was not so fortunate. Why would she be?

Amongst her tears and fervent screaming, her first child was born after sunset on the shortest day of the entire year. As if Agni himself deigned to fit her with as many ill omens as possible. At least the birth itself was without complications.

Oh, and it was a boy. Not that female heirs were unheard of, nor would it be a travesty for Ozai, who was himself only second in line to inherit the throne. But who would want to disrupt the current dynasty’s male-dominated line of succession after so long?

Ozai would be quite pleased to know his firstborn was male.

The sages and midwives cleansed the babe and swaddled him, as well as dabbed Ursa’s own tear-streaked face with a cool cloth, before finally permitting her to hold her own child.

Ozai already had a name picked out for him.

“Hello, Zuko.” Ursa said. After the day she had, her voice was little more than a hoarse rasp.

Her son opened his eyes and cried.

Ursa’s stomach plummeted.

Her child was wrong.

His skin was fair and pale, his downy baby hair dark and plentiful, his body healthy.

But his eyes…

They reminded Ursa of the beautiful gemstone pendant her mother once wore, a family heirloom from before the war. It was a precious stone more commonly found in the Earth Kingdom than the Fire Nation, a glowing and iridescent opal.

Her child had opal eyes. Half his irises were the rich, bright amber yellow of the royal family. It was undeniably the hue of Ozai’s own eyes. But dispersed throughout the baby’s irises were shards of bright, cerulean blue.

But there was nothing she could do or say. The midwife was letting her husband into the room to view his progeny. Everyone else was leaving to give them a brief moment of privacy, odd after the months of stealing every ounce of autonomy from her. Ursa prayed the baby would seal his eyes and hide his abnormality.

Ozai came upon the side of her bed, footsteps light and a bright smile upon his face. He peeled back a bit of the blanket for a better look.

“Wait-” Ursa said.

Ozai faltered. Not at her request, no. But because he felt the need to recoil from the sight of his child.

“Sages!” he called, not looking at her, “I want the head sage in here immediately!”

Ursa couldn’t say she remembered what happened after that. Only that she was afraid of the venom in Ozai’s voice.

He wanted them to take the baby and ensure that it was indeed his. Ursa didn’t know what kind of rituals they could enact, which spirits they could call upon, to prove that the child was indeed Ozai’s. All Ursa knew was that Zuko could belong to no other man, not that her word held much weight.

Ursa was kept isolated from the rest of the royal family, and her own child, with only a servant and her midwife for company and care. Half of her wanted her baby back. She needed the protection he offered her, where his living body would cease Ozai’s relentless assault upon her own. She could finally cease waking up throbbing every morning, cease the constant monitoring and control over her body, and enter the family as a proper princess.

Half of her was terrified of the baby, of what it could mean for them both if the sages found his lineage inconclusive.

Several days later, her husband entered her quarters with the head sage and the child.

“It is my great honor,” the old man said, “to confirm that this child is indeed the legitimate offspring of Prince Ozai.”

He came to Ursa and allowed her to hold her baby for the first time since his birth. Zuko was no longer crying, instead making these soft sounds from behind closed lips. It seemed to her that he was wanting something. Her touch or milk, perhaps?

When the old man and her attendants all left, when it was just husband, wife, and child in the room, Ozai did not approach her. He just stared at the small mass in her arms swaddled in silk.

“The sages could prove that boy might be mine, but we’ll be lucky if he lives to see his hundredth day.” Ozai said softly. He wrinkled his nose in displeasure, “I am no fool. All the omens indicate he will be weak. Cursed, even. If there is any fire in his blood, I know it will be weak and flickering.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have, but Ursa couldn’t help but snap. She said, “Zuko is still yours, Ozai. His blood is your blood, and his fire will be your fire.”

He scoffed at her, turned his back, and left Ursa to tend to their child.

+++

Ursa knew most children weren’t able to bend until they were a few years old, or their bending was so weak that it was imperceivable. Sometimes it took even longer for them to realize their innate gift if both parents were nonbenders. Only rarely would very young children, tiny souls still mastering the art of walking and talking, display visible signs of bending.

Zuko’s family, however, were very much expecting it.

He really only got to be a baby for a few months before the weight of princely expectations were set upon him.

Ursa would watch as Ozai would ignite a fire at the tip of his finger, no bigger than that of a candle flame, and hold it over their child’s soft, clammy palm. Every time, their baby would recoil from the heat and cry. Zuko refused to take the flame. Ozai would sneer or grit his teeth every time, but he continued to try day after day to get his son to take the flame.

In those moments, it was hard to remember that this strange man was the boy’s father.

Ursa’s small solace came in the form of the sages’ wisdom. They spoke of well documented cases where children metamorphosed early in life, their hair or eyes changing in color before taking on their true hue within a year or so. Ursa didn’t need the explanation, she’d seen it herself. Or heard about it from her mother, at least. She herself had been born with eyes nearly brown in color before they lightened into a dull honey hue by her second birthday. But the explanation did give her hope, however small, that her child would grow to more closely resemble Ozai in the coming years. They just needed a little more time.

Which they would get, it seemed. Zuko lived to see his hundredth day, then first birthday. Ozai never said anything, but seemed to accept that Zuko was not only his child, but that he was also going to live.

And something seemed to change in him.

The summer after Zuko’s first birthday, they went to Ember Island together. No attendants, no guards. Just them as a family. Ozai brought Ursa to his family’s estate on the island, took her shopping, and went with her two nights in a row to the theater. The show they were putting on was such a touching drama that Ursa just had to see it twice, her husband obliging with a kind of abnormally fond patience. He even got up to walk around the empty halls with their little boy whenever Zuko grew restless, all so that Ursa wouldn’t have to miss a minute of the climax.

Baby Zuko, meanwhile, loved sitting in the sand beneath the sun. From morning to night, he relished soaking up the sunlight and the breeze coming off of the ocean. This seemed to please his father, who had a greater tolerance for the heat than Ursa ever could. The two of them would sit out in the sun while Ursa needed the shade provided by a lofty umbrella.

While on a pleasant walk along the shore, Zuko kept wandering toward the water with increasing tenacity. Ursa tried to interest him in the beautiful shells that washed upon the shore, but to no avail. Her son wanted to splash in the water that, while only ankle-deep for her and Ozai, was much more formidable for him. Such a brave, little thing. He did not yet know the dangers of the world, but Ursa was a fool for letting her own guard down.

A sudden swell crashed upon the shore and swept Zuko off his feet. In such a moment, his hand was ripped from hers.

Ursa dove for him, but he was already being pulled by the waves and was out of her reach before she could even utter his name.

She gasped, awestruck, as Ozai threw himself into the shallow water without a hint of grace. In hindsight, Zuko hadn’t really been pulled very far. But he was so small, so fragile. He could not swim. Ozai grabbed the boy and waded through the rough waves back to Ursa, using his body to shield their son from the spray.

Ursa took Zuko and patted him on his back. He wasn’t crying or coughing, he didn’t even seem to understand what had happened to him, but she soothed him all the same. That was when she noticed her husband was bleeding.

Ozai touched the scratch on his abdomen lined with tiny pearls of red blood. It must’ve been from a piece of broken shell, something not yet worn down by the relentless sea. He said it was hardly a cause for concern and in just a few minutes, it ceased bleeding.

Zuko gave thanks to his father by immediately trying to return to the water as soon as Ursa set him down. Ozai snatched him up, but didn’t reprimand his child. Perhaps he knew it’d do little good for a boy so small and curious. Zuko’s feet did not touch the sand for the remainder of their walk.

Thankfully, their vacation concluded without much fanfare.

On the boat ride home, as Ursa watched the clouds drift by with her son in her arms, she dared to believe that maybe, all would be well. That Ozai was merely a man under tremendous, inconceivable pressure to act as the ideal prince. After all, he’d been born into royalty and surely had to contend with things Ursa had not yet conceived of. Perhaps the first year of their marriage was only a rough start. That deep down, Ozai did care for her and Zuko not just as political power, but as his family. It’d just taken stepping away from his royal duties and endless obligations for his true nature to show.

Then there came the day when everything changed. When Ursa knew her life was not in her hands, nor in the hands of her husband, and not even in the hands of her Fire Lord. When she knew her life was dictated by the will of the spirits and theirs alone.

And that her son would never be safe in his father’s house.

#atla #zuko #atla ursa #atla ozai #some spirit chicanery afoot

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nightingaelic · 2 years

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What's your opinion on Harkness in fo3? I believe they wasted so many opportunities.

I'll take healthy helpings of "didn't get enough screen time," "they're deeper than they seem," and "wasted potential," plus a dash of "why was this character in the work at all." I'd love to have more Harkness! He's the first synth to appear in the series, he's an ex-Courser, and he's already setting a strong example for why synths are past the point of self-determination and can't be treated as mere machines anymore. He's also connected to the first appearances of the Institute and the Railroad, obviously, but other than being a bit of a hint about where Bethesda was next taking the games, I'm not sure why Harkness' story is one the writers felt compelled to include. Maybe for the extended Blade Runner reference? Yeah, smash some proto-cyberpunk into your atompunk setting, I suppose, why not.

On the "wasted potential" front, I agree with you, anon: Harkness deserved more screen time to talk about what he saw as a Courser, why he ran away, why he thought his best bet was burying his old memories and taking on a new face and life. We know now through Fallout 4 that the Railroad believes this is the best way to hide runaways, and that a lot of escaped synths are so afraid and ashamed that they would rather go through with a face change and a memory wipe than live with the full knowledge of their beings - but we don't know the extent of this yet in Fallout 3, and once Harkness' quest is over, the exploration of synths and the ramifications of their existence dead-ends. I think part of this is probably just due to the usual time constraints that go along with creating a video game, but they really do just toss down the fact that there are artificial people out there in the world that run away from their creators so often that they had to manufacture retrieval units for them, plus an entire underground network of people has arisen to help them escape, and just kinda let those revelations hang there after you save one (1) security guard. If Harkness is such a formidable Courser, why did he go to the Railroad at all? Why didn't he just use his skills to vanish, like Chase up in Acadia? Why is Rivet City deemed a good place for synths to disappear by the Capital Wasteland Railroad? Is it just because it's big and has an in-house synth doctor? Did Pinkerton do Danse's face change and memory wipe, too? Does the Brotherhood of Steel find out about synths because they got careless?

Oh, one more thing: If you're writing a Fallout 4 fic like I am, Harkness is proof that escaped synths don't have their memories fully erased, only buried. Unless the Railroad changed their policies between Fallout 3 and Fallout 4, which, fair. But if you need to deus ex machina your way into a mind-wiped synth getting their memories back, you just need to get the code word from the doctor who performed the wipe. Easy peasy.

Link to template

#fallout #fallout 3 #fo3 #harkness #character opinion bingo

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z-h-i-e · 2 years

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Yet another writing ask: #13 & #28

Finally getting back to the questions @spiced-wine-fic selected, um, a while ago. But I tend to remember that they are still waiting answers, and so, here we are!

Rate your worldbuilding skills from 1 to 10.

An 11. (I'm modest, too.)

Exhibit A: Raising Cain Again in Valinor -- I pulled @raisingcain-onceagain for a swap a few years back, and world building was one of the prompts. So I did. I didn't just write a story. I wrote multiple stories, did bios with backstories, made song lists, maps (of the city and the house), made art, and even those schmoopy valentines kids exchange in school.

Exhibit B: Bunniverse.

Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

Write what you love and enjoy. You are your first audience member. If you aren't having a good time, it's not worth the limited amount of moments you have in this existence to force yourself to do it.

Be kind to yourself. Too often, I see writers being their own worst critics. Consider this: The ability to communicate as we do, speaking or writing or making of art, is magical. No one emerges into the world fully able to tell a tale, write it down, and illustrate it. These are skills, they take time to develop (even for those deemed to have natural abilities). Just think about how amazing it is that you are able to communicate your thoughts, the things in your head, to others, or even just to yourself to look at or read later. Writing stories -- that's real magic, and you are a word magician (or, word wizard, if you prefer alliteration). Your words have power. They can create worlds, breathe life into characters, and they can take someone from the rough reality of the here and now or someone in the future who you haven't even met yet into another world -- your world. Even if you're writing fanfiction based on someone else's writings -- it's still your world in that moment. (And that last line is especially for those writers I encounter who ask me, is it still okay to love a fandom or characters when the author has done or said things that are personally hurtful. The answer, in my opinion, is yes -- because those characters and that world came off the page and went into your head, where they live rent free, and that world is yours now. You might not own the copyright, trademark, or license, but your concept, your thoughts, those are yours, and no one should take that from you or tell you your love the world and characters isn't valid.)

Someone, somewhere, will always be offended by something you do. That's life, and that's art. If I had worried back in the early 00s about all of the people I was offending, I wouldn't have written about marriage equality, polyamory, adoption equality, religion, or even taxes and capitalism. Writers of fiction sometimes share more truths than nonfiction writers do. So keep on keeping on -- write your thoughts, your truth. Because someone will always be offended -- and while I will defend their right to be offended by what I write, I will also defend the right to write it. And then, if I can't ignore, discuss civilly, or otherwise walk away in some fashion -- there's always that glorious option to block someone if the situation borders on unsafe. I only wish the text said "Get Thee Gone!" instead of 'block'. But I came equipped with imagination, so I'll just pretend that's what it says instead.

I still have number 4 to do, and answered #3, but if anyone else wants to volley a number my way, here's the link to the list

#writing asks #writing advice

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mathiwrites · 4 months

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Wildflowers, a Tamlin x Rhysand prequel fic

Chapter 3 - Two Brothers

Gairdín is the only village of note in the entirety of the Spring Court. It is the home of the High Fae, the Court’s nobles and their servants, which vary from lesser Fae species or humans. The rest of the territory is made of hills and valleys, with some rivers to add a splash of colour to all the green.

Despite all its inhabitants, the Spring Court’s capital houses only one official standing structure: the High Lord’s manor. The rest of it? One simply needs to know where to look to find the burrows, knobs and sheds of shrubbery. As for Tamlin, he knows all the secrets of Gairdín, and the only reason he knows is because he makes sure to visit a lot. You know, to keep up with all the changes and the news to be a good Lord.

“Get up, get up, get up, get up.”

The most annoying ball of sunshine barrels onto Iolin’s massive bed, landing right at the centre of his belly and earning him a pained ‘ oof ’.

“I’m up,” groans the pseudo-sleepy mound.

In truth, Iolin had been up for hours before, reading up on old healer’s notes and jotting down bursts of brilliance. There’s just something about that private hour slotted between midnight and dawn that feeds his inspiration. He does make sure to get back in bed for Tamlin’s sake. His little brother enjoys waking the whole family, if he can. Today is their day together, so Iolin gets the honour of Tamlin’s full attention.

“I’m six now! You said you were gonna teach me magic on my next birthday! You’re late!”

Very few are privy to this free-spirited and loud side of Tamlin. Come to think of it, Iolin’s the only one who hears all of his brother’s unfiltered thoughts. He says the first thing that comes to mind without fear of repercussion.

“Did we? I don’t know, you could be lying to monopolize my time. Do you have this promise in writing?”

Ha! Tamlin knew Iolin was going to ask, so he’d planned ahead. From within the pockets of his tailored trousers, he withdraws a piece of parchment and unfolds it for his brother’s viewing. On it, he’s only written his name in very unsteady attempted cursive.

Iolin takes the note, inspecting it carefully like the important document it is. He looks between Tamlin and the parchment, squinting in fake disbelief.

“There’s been a series of fraudulent documents being passed around these past weeks,” he says, officially. Yet, he nods and hands Tamlin’s note back once he deems it acceptable. “But this is not one of those. I will hold you to our promise.” In a single sweep, he picks the boy up and tucks him under his arm, toting him right out of his room.

Between giggles and kicked feet, Tamlin draws enough breath to shout: “Hey! How come you’re already dressed?”

That answer remains a mystery.

Magic to Faeries is an ambiguous term. It means different things to different creatures, and even between Courts, only the foundations remain the same. To Tamlin, it means independence and growth—it means being able to do his own awesome feats without asking for help. To Iolin, it means doing something extraordinary with the ordinary.

Sometimes, it means listening to the endless chants of his little brother demanding ‘magic time’ without getting annoyed or watching Tamlin run speedy little circles around him without getting dizzy. His little brother nearly runs into a grumpy grey gnome, rolling his barrel of stones down the path to the rest of the village. Iolin has to catch him, then herd him close while offering apologies that no other male in their family would.

“First, errands. You know this, Tamlin. We have a duty to our people.”

The village is full of life, mostly lesser Faeries crawling out of their hidey-holes and starting the day. Tamlin settles beside his brother and waves ‘hello’ to everyone he meets, mimicking Iolin in his open warmth. Their father had always called Iolin ‘soft ’—always said that it was Lady Margret’s fault for it—and Tamlin has come to understand that word as likeable. Everyone likes Iolin and so, Tamlin wants to be soft, too.

There is a distant mound, further out of the village, by the river of Starlight, that houses some one quite extraordinary. It’s the only explanation as to why Iolin makes a point to start with a visit there, then work his way backwards towards the manor.

Tamlin skips along beside Iolin, chatting about the kind of magic that he would like. He thinks commanding earth and stone like their father can would be cool. He could make a statue in the garden and scare Enfys. Maybe he won’t get an elemental power, just Enfys’ talent as a knight-commander. Better yet, what if he’s really smart like Iolin? He can already talk to plants like him, and he’s soft like him, so it makes complete sense.

“I think you’re confusing magical abilities with skill, Tam.”

“Doesn’t matter, I want it all!”

Up the dirt path to the hidden home by the water, Tamlin skips ahead. He peers into the window, watching a human woman putter about in dirt-coloured clothing and a sandy apron. Whatever she’s cooking over the fire smells foul, and Tamlin wrinkles his nose. He bangs his palm on the window, frightening the woman.

“Hellooooo! Oh, sorry.”

At the very least, he has the mind to look embarrassed for catching her off guard.

Glaring at him briefly, Doe wipes her hands, opens the wooden door and looks terribly unhappy. She rests her knuckles on her full hips. The stance implies a certain disappointment that Tamlin doesn’t understand, but Iolin does. He looks sheepish. Compared to the Faeries, she looks plain with her dull brown hair and awkward freckles across imperfect russet skin, but to Tamlin, that makes her just as pretty as the High Faeries. Her looks make her unique, and that’s important because what makes people beautiful is more than just looks.

What good is a nice face when the heart is made of farts, a poem by Tamlin.

“He won’t say anything, I swear it,” Iolin holds his hands out in surrender. It’s the gesture he makes when he doesn’t want Tamlin to bite him.

The human woman who’s known Tamlin for all his life glances at him. She grunts with all the grace that would make his mother sick, especially coming from a woman, and turns back inside. She’s not telling them to leave; it’s as close as an invitation that they’re going to get.

“I won’t say what?” Tamlin asks, innocently.

“If anyone asks, we were never here.”

“Oh, I know that.”

It’s not his secret to tell. If it makes Doe feel better, he’ll swear it to her himself. He likes her and wouldn’t want her to get in trouble. That’s why he can’t tell, right? Because she’d get in trouble? Humans can’t be friends with Faeries unless they’re really, really special. They have to prove themselves the way Doe has. Maybe she was blessed by the Cauldron, in her own way. Maybe Hyacinthus was, too.

“You’re a good brother,” Iolin grins and ruffles Tamlin’s hair.

He leads the way inside the small cabin tucked into the tiny hillside, a cozy home for a modest woman. Dried herbs hang by their stems by the window in perfect view of the sunlight. A pot bubbles and froths, spilling over with dark green liquid that stinks. Tamlin creeps up to it, curious.

“ Don’t,” Doe warns.

“I know! I’ve been here before.” He frowns. The times before, she was nice to him. Cold, at first, but nice eventually. He must have done something to earn her anger. Apologies solve nothing, so he retreats into himself and sits down at the kitchen table, quiet and well-behaved.

Iolin notices the shift in attitude in both of them and frowns. He tries to pull Doe aside, gets swatted for it on the first try and tries again. Though they speak quietly and closely, the ever-tall High Fae leaning in to speak into her ear. He says something that has her frowning, baring her teeth then exhaling all the tension from her shoulders.

That’s his magic , Tamlin corrects his inner monologue about magic. Iolin always knows what to say to make people feel better.

When they’re ready to include him in the conversation, it’s just about the same as it usually is.

“So, you’re six now?” Doe says, as if she hadn’t been giving him a hard time. She takes the seat beside him and leans her elbows on the wooden table.

Tamlin nods, squinting his emerald eyes in suspicion.

“That’s an important age. You’re not a baby anymore.” She waits to see if Tamlin’s going to call her out on her attitude. When he doesn’t, she keeps explaining. “You’re a High Lord’s son, now. Things will change. I’m sorry I was rude.”

He doesn’t understand what she’s talking about, only offering a confused tilt of his head.

The pot reaches the apex of its bubbling, and Doe gets up to turn it off. She doesn’t say anything more about it, just taking it off the heat and pouring it into open bowls for quicker cooling. She’s the best Healer in the Spring Court. Iolin told him so. Better than Iolin himself, who is only just learning the different ways to mend, both lesser Faerie and human. There’s more than just magic. Sometimes, it’s just ‘ che-miss-tree’.

“Is that a bad thing?” Tamlin finally asks.

“Yes,” she answers, bluntly honest.

Hurt crosses Iolin’s features. Tamlin feels it too, but it’s quickly replaced with childish indignance.

“You’re wrong. There’s nobody more important than the High Lord. We’re better than you!” He balls his little hands into fists, betrayed. Why would their friend say something so cruel for no reason?

“There it is,” she says.

This time, Doe sounds tired.

“Doe,” Iolin warns. “He’s young. He doesn’t understand. Is now really the time?”

Doe turns, leaning against the counter. “This is my life, Iolin. This is what it is all the time!”

Clearly, Tamlin is missing parts because there’s a conversation happening within his conversation that he can’t follow.

“They raided my home, Io. They destroyed everything!”

The little Fae looks around. Everything looks fine to him.

“And I fixed it. Good as new. Better than new.” Iolin motions at the room around them.

The more Tamlin looks, the more he notices the slight differences in her home. Scratch marks on the ground that marr Doe’s usually clean home. Aside from the clutter, she takes pride in her burrow and her possessions. There are dark stains on the ground that could be rust, but it could also be something else. He trails his gaze to her, how the circles under her eyes grow darker in the right light, as if to expose her exhaustion. There’s a bruise on her wrist that peeks out from her long sleeves every now and then if she gestures too much.

He wasn’t paying attention. He was just happy to be here and learn about magic.

“Are you okay?” Tamlin cuts through the arguing gently.

Doe’s brown eyes flicker to him, then back to Iolin, holding his gaze. “No.”

“Can I hel—”

“Tam, mind going outside for a bit? You can play by the river.”

“I wanna stay.”

“Please.”

When Tamlin realizes that his brother isn’t asking, he gets up without a word and drags himself outside. He doesn’t want to sit by the river. Something bigger is happening, much bigger than a child like him. Instead, he walks by the cottage, then crawls back when he’s made a clear enough scene about leaving. He sits under the kitchen window and listens. That’s what good hearing is for, isn’t it?

“You’re safe now,” Iolin’s voice is gentle and soothing.

“I was never safe, when will you understand that? No human is safe. Not here and not anywhere in Prythian. I’m tired, Io. I’m tired of being treated like scum.”

“You have me.”

“Do I? Do I have you, Iolin?”

The silence is palpable. Tamlin almost wants to ask if she’ll leave. People do that. They go to other Courts because they’re nicer.

“The Summer, Day and Dawn Court have better policies. You could go there. You could keep practicing your medicine there. You could keep helping people.”

Tamlin wants to revolt. His friend shouldn’t have to leave. He should find who’s being mean to Doe and set them straight.

“I shouldn’t have to leave.”

“My father isn’t going to change. Traditions don’t evolve overnight, not without a new High Lord.”

Doe doesn’t answer. Tamlin wonders if they’re communicating in secret. He almost sits up to peer through the window. Almost.

“I’m not having this conversation with you. The potions can get you punished, but that kind of talk will get you killed. I don’t want to be High Lord, but I can protect you despite that.” A pause. “Doe. You’re important to me. I’d come and find you.”

“I thought you weren’t having this conversation with me, even though you could change everything.”

Iolin sighs. The sigh means he’s frustrated and tired, like he’s been over this with her time and time again. “Is there anything you need? I’m doing my rounds in town today.”

“Yeah,” she says and starts listing off an uninteresting list of things. At least, uninteresting to Tamlin, who knows nothing about the intricacies of me-di-cine.

He sneaks off to the starlight river, kicking off his boots and rolling up the cuff of his trousers to play in the water. He was here the whole time. Yup. The entire time. Tamlin pretends not to see his brother heading in his direction, so he makes even bigger splashes. Sparkling water is tossed in the air haphazardly in an attempt to create an impromptu game with himself to make his playing look more authentic.

Iolin squats by the shore, watching his little brother curiously.

“You were listening,” he accuses.

Well, there’s no point in pretending if he’s already caught. It was a good effort. Tamlin pats himself on the back.

“What’s me-di-cine?”

“I thought you wanted to learn magic?”

“I do! But I also want to know what me-di-cine is now.”

“Mhm. C’mon. Boots on. We’re going picking.”

Tamlin groans. Herb picking is so boring.

Iolin’s meadow is a considerable walk away from Gairdín. There’s no other way to find rare and undiscovered flora if he stays too close to civilization. Crossing the thicket of trees, both brothers make sure to thank the spirits within for their hospitality and they promise never to take more than they need. Their purpose is a good one; healing is an art that all living things need.

“I can help, you know.”

Tamlin climbs over a fallen log, never letting his attention shift from his older brother. If protection is what Doe needs, two are better than one. It’s simple math. The bigger the numbers, the better it is, unless you’re trying to be number one. Then, that’s different.

“Enfys is gonna take me patrolling because I’m six now. I can patrol Doe’s home.”

He misses the way Iolin tenses, thinking that he’s just trying to look for herbs. Tamlin squats near the ground, identifying roots that they can use to neutralize poisons in wounds. He shuffles around on his bum, gathering in his hands every plant that Iolin has taught him about.

“I appreciate it, Tamlin. I really do, but there are some things that should just be left to your older brothers.” Iolin finally says.

“Why? Because I’m little?”

“No, because it’s painful. The weight of some burdens can crush you.”

“But I’m strong!” Tamlin stands and curls his arms, flexing his little biceps.

Iolin laughs. “Yes, you are very strong, but let me worry about this. Please?”

A small huff signals Tamlin’s unwilling agreement. One day, his brothers will let him help. Until then, he will keep getting stronger and smarter so they can include him sooner rather than later.

He dumps his green hoard into Iolin’s bottomless pouch and gets bored soon after. More often than not, Tamlin will help for an hour or so, then decide that rolling around in the dirt is much more interesting. Better yet, he can climb high up into the branches of the tree above Iolin and drop leaves on him with a childish giggle. His attempts of naughtiness are always some kind of attempt to escape into the forest and its trees; he’s happy and free here, but it means he’ll come back home covered in dirt. (A true horror in their mother’s eyes.)

“When am I gonna learn maaaaaaaagic?”

“It’ll come.”

“But you said today was the day.”

“I think it is.”

“Okay, so when do we start?”

Iolin looks up from his spot on the ground, cocking a dark brow thoughtfully. Magic is something that should come naturally. While his father and brother share a different perspective, he has no interest in scaring his little brother into his abilities. He does have a good feeling that today is the day.

“How about you try growing this flower?” The older Spring son motions to a single bloom at the base of their tree. Its yellow petals and orange heart look up at him, silently hopeful.

“Okay!”

Tamlin scrambles down the tree to get as close as possible to the flower. He leans in, holding his knees to his chest and puffing his cheeks with a big breath of effort.

“Don’t push so hard, you’ll give yourself a headache,” Iolin warns when he sees Tamlin’s face turning red.

Nothing happens.

“So, maybe not green magic. Can you levitate this rock?”

Standing tall with his hands on his hips, Tamlin grits his teeth and wills the rock to float. He growls so the spirits of the air will obey him. All he gets is a gentle breeze of rejection.

“It’s not working!”

“Hmm,” Iolin hums. “Try turning your hand to stone.”

Frustrated, Tamlin decides to one-up the request. He stomps over to the tree and asks for its help. Then, with all the brilliance of a child, he headbutts the trunk. He hears Iolin’s hiss of pain, empathy ringing loud and clear. The impact rocks his (seemingly) smooth brain and has him landing on his ass. Palming his forehead, all he’s done is give himself a good bruise. No stony or bark skin.

“Sorry,” he says to the tree because it was rude of him, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “This is dumb! What if I don’t have magic?” What happens to him, then? He won’t be good enough to be called the High Lord’s son. His father will lock him away for everyone to forget him.

His emotions get the better of him, along with a bit of pain, and Tamlin’s eyes well up with tears.

“I hate this!”

Impulse guides his feet deeper into the forest. Sadness blurs his vision and all he can hope is that the green is watching over him as it always does.

“Tamlin, watch out!”

His footing gives, an unseen slope towards a forgotten creek. Tamlin gives a surprise yip before falling several feet, over hard stone and sharp branches. He can hear Iolin’s footsteps close behind him, halting at the high ground.

“Tamlin, are you alright?”

If he’s hurt, Iolin will fix him. Iolin will know what to do.

Sometime during the fall, Tamlin had curled upon himself, trying to brace for impact. Slowly, he unfurls, palms pressed into the dirt and snout—

Snout?

Tamlin waddles over to the water. Looking back at him is the mousey expression of an armadillo with patchy gold hair and pointed Faerie ears. A chirpy gasp escapes him. He can shapeshift ! No one else in their family can turn into a whole animal. Well, okay, most of a whole animal. He turns to beam at his brother, but Iolin shares none of his happiness.

The expression on his brother’s face breaks his heart.

“Tamlin, you can’t tell anyone about this. Father can never know.”

#my fics #tamlin #tamlin redemption #pro tamlin #tamlin x rhysand #rhysand x tamlin #acotar #acotar au #ao3feed #ao3 #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #wildflowers

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animewayn · 2 years

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𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄

hello there, i'm wayn and i'd been writing fics for multiple fandom some time ago. i started this blog to document my little observations throughout my anime-watching experience.

personally, i find interest in analyzing anime characters' backgrounds and understanding the reason behind their actions/reactions. that being said, i'm not professional or any of the sort. everything written here was based on my own interpretation and experience which is pretty much of a normal human's perspective.

i noticed i'd been talking to myself a lot while playing visual novel games and watching anime, spontaneously whipping up analysis behind every word/reaction. so i take this as an opportunity to write them down so i could review them again with much nostalgia. feels like an old lady now sighhhh.

i'd sometimes point out translation mistakes made in manga/anime/games because i love studying different languages and get weirded out by completely unrelated or out-of-character mistranslations easily.

with that said, i'm fluent in english, chinese and bahasa melayu. as for japanese, i can read hiragana, katakana and a couple of kanji but i'm nowhere near fluent yet. it's okay we're all learning. do correct me if i make any mistake in my post.

on a side note, i'd graduated from university and am planning to pursue further studies so my posting schedules are pretty sporadic here.

i also prefer to write everything in small letters so forgive me if that bothers you. occasion capital letter would appear when i want to emphasize something i deemed important. let's just say i don't have a proper format in writing. 💀

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆

as stated, this is a sfw blog dedicated for analysis which covers anime/manga/games that i have interest in.

inbox is always open for chit chat and discussion. feel free to waltz in and talk with me :)

i don't want to intimidate people with too many rules. generally, i'd appreciate it if we can keep conversation safe for all age groups. that being said, swearing/cursing is fine to me if both parties are comfortable with it.

constructive criticism is welcome but not pure hate spam.

if you have anything unsure, don't hesitate to hit the ask button :) i'd appreciate more people to engage so i can establish good rs and a safe space for everyone here.

if you'd read through all these, i thank you with much respect you have for this blog. i hope you enjoy your time here. have a great day!

#wayn's about #updated as of 19/10/22

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iamapuffhuffle · 3 years

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Arrange Marriage ~Halfdan x F Reader Part 1

Authors Note: There is hardly any Halfdan fics and I fell in love with him while rewatching Vikings and I just needed to get a bit more writings about him out there =)

Felt weird writing this, seemed too quick. Usually I write long ass stories that chapters that take weeks to write. -Also my first fic on Tumblr woot! Very nervous about this. ~Also loosely based on actually history to fit the story...like the show. Set year after second Paris attack in that 12 year time frame.

Warnings: Swearing, age gaps, arrange marriage, sexual themes, nudity. Angst (I think) If there are any others that I missed. Please tell me and I will add them.

Part 2 | Part 3

I’ve been staring at the approaching capital of Vestfold, Tamdrup. My legs bouncing slightly from excitement to finally get off this boat or was it because I’m heading to a new place that I’ve never been. Could be both.

Looking to the man that stood on the edge of the boat. Up at my soon to be husband, while he told his men to raise the sail.

He stepped down from the ledge and back inside the floating device. He headed over to the back of the boat were I was and sat down next to his first wife, Aesa, bringing her into a heavy kiss. Her dirty blonde hair wipes through the crisp morning winds.

I advert my eyes while my nose scrunched.

Leif Otryggsson turning around to face me, his older face held a grinning expression, “I am thrilled that we made it and with more than enough time before we are to be married. Right Y/N?”

I look into his eyes and smiled slightly. His dark green eyes burned into mine until his gaze went back to Tamdrup. I’ve immediately dropped my smile.

Our boat and the three others that followed us, pulled next to the wooden dock. Quickly thralls and Vikings dispersed and got off the boat.

Leif hopped of the boat. He looked as if to take in the moment and the scenery. Coming back to reality, Leif helped Aesa off the boat, then he held out his hand to pulled me up. I noticed that I was the last one to get off. I stood up looking at Leif’s outwards hand, placing my smaller one into his rough one. He pulled me onto the wooden dock.

We walked forwarded over what to be fish guts and I step on the dirt of Tamdrup for the first time. My eyes focus on the cloudless blue sky that watched over us.

Why are I here? Right, being one of my father’s many children. I am the 12th child out of 16. Eight daughters and eight sons. My father is Earl Ragnvald of Nordmøre and he had 6 wives. My mother dead 3 winters ago due a sickness. I loved my mother dearly but it helped the grieving process a lot that my father’s other wives treated me like their own daughter.

Father made a decision to create a closer alliance with Earl Leif. He decided to allow Leif to choose which one of us to marry. He had 5 to choose from, me being the youngest. Which he choose me, mostly because I was the only virgin. My sisters had experience in pleasing men and he decided to choose me.

Vikings usually do not care for saving until marriage, but I never felt a need to have sex with anyone. A few warriors have tried but I declined all of them. Probably because I did not feel anything for them.

I certainly do not feel anything for Earl Leif either. His light red hair that grew down his middle of his back. He held it back with a ponytail. A small braid on along his right check. His red beard was kept short but also a bit messy. His features looked like any other Viking, but maybe I can grow to love Leif Otryggsson.

Leif wanted us to be married where he first married his first wife. On a hill just outside Tamdrup. He says the gods will bless our marriage like they blessed Aesa and his marriage for many years.

I heard a deep rough voice shouting a welcome to us. I blink to see Harald Finehair, as Leif said that he are close ally to Harald, who he self deems a King. He places his hand onto Leif shoulder. Greeting us to his capital and asking why Earl Leif was present.

Leif begins, “I only came to marry,” He gestures to me, “Y/N, daughter of Earl Ragnvald.”

Harald smiles, his rough voice erupts, “Welcome! My kingdom is small but doesn’t mean our feasts are. Come, follow.”

Thralls follow right behind me. And Edda, a friend since I was young and a skilled shieldmaiden. Edda wanted to come along and stay with me. Earl Leif was hesitant at first but agreed to my request to allow her to come.

Edda was a taller than the average Viking woman, wavy, dirty blonde hair, pulled back in tight braid while her right side was cleanly shaved. Her sharp green eyes could cut anyone just by her glaring at them. She was well trained.

As for me I can hold a sword, but I do not trust my talents with a weapon, I think I could never hold my own in a battle. Edda always helped me with training, but I never consider myself a shieldmaiden

We walked through a market place when Leif asked a question about where Harald’s brother was.

“Halfdan will be returning shortly. He has been scouting Rogaland.”

“Rogaland?”

“One step closer for me to become king of all Norway, Earl Leif.”

King of all Norway is a great ambition. When travelling here Leif told me about Harald and his dream. Leif believes Harald Finehair will never become king. Leif just plays and tricks to be on the best side. Flipping sides when needed. But Leif is on Harald’s side until we head back to King Svein’s territory.

We stopped in front of a few cottages. Harald states that they are empty allowing us stay while we are here. I thanked Harald as thralls brought our items inside.

The day quickly becomes night, with that the feast begins. Me and Edda walk into the loud and cheerful hall. We both stand in the doorway as we glance around the hall to taken in the sights.

I felt the warmth surrounding me from the chilly summer’s night. The songs that were happily sung by the drunk folk. That included King Harald, his rough voice could be heard through the chaos. I see Leif and Aesa sitting together eating like everyone else.

Edda pushes me towards the table. “Go. Sit down next to your soon to be husband.”

I look back at her. Biting the inside of my check nervously.

Edda rolled her eyes, “I know you weren’t until some else made you y/n.”

I watched as Edda turns to a close by group of warriors and begun to speak to a few men.

Taking a deep breathe and heading over to the center of the room. Sitting down on the bench on Leif’s right side, while Aesa was on his left. Being the closest to Harald’s throne.

He sat drinking his mead while still trying to sing. Harald’s singing died out and he soon he raised his cup high, “To our guest! Even though I do not have my queen yet. The gods have blessed you with another wife, Earl Leif. Skol!”

Everyone lightly lifted their cups towards Harald and shouted ‘Skol’ with him and with that the chaos began again.

I took a slightly sip letting the mead slide down. Leif leaned in towards me. He been drinking many cups tonight, it sent shivers down my spine and my stomach felt uneasy. He continued to mutter into my shoulder. Luckily he was speaking softly and how loud the room was, it turned to words in the wind that didn’t reach my ear. Leif went back to playing with Aesa’s blonde messy ponytail.

Feeling less confined, I sigh heavily, II felt a hand on my shoulder, I jumped slightly out of my seat. Turning to see Edda, I relaxed. Edda leans down and whispers, “Eat Y/N, you’ll feel better. You look ill, your face is becoming pale.”

I nod to her as I picked up a few slices of bread, stuffing my face, “Happy.”

“Yes.” Edda chuckles as she patted my shoulder before leaving me alone again. I swallow what’s in my mouth. I picked at the bread and just took smaller bites.

A short time has passed by and while I watched the others in their own amusements. A group of Vikings come from outside, bringing a cold draft in with them. There was about 15 Vikings and Shield Maidens looking around before dispersing in all directions.

The Viking that lead the pack into the mead hall stayed in in the middle. Harald removed himself from a group and lifts his arms up happily. Harald shouts, “Brother, back so soon!” Harald places his arm around the Viking that once stood in front of the pack. The room shouted a greeting.

My eyes followed the new Viking male. His short, dirty, blonde hair contrasted his brother’s long brown hair. I also notice that he also has many facial tattoos. That must be Halfdan the Black and both of them are heading this way.

I’m trying not to stare but I felt like I had to take in his appearance closer than others I’ve met. It’s a different feeling that I’ve felt before. I watched them approaching the end of the table.

Once Leif left his attention off Aesa, he saw Halfdan. He jumped up off the bench, “Halfdan good to see you after all these years.” They grip their lower arms.

“Yeah, too many years Earl Leif.” Halfdan spoke. His eyes went around the three of us. When our eyes meet, I felt my face getting warm.

Leif gestured with his hand, “This is my first wife Aesa, It been years, you probably do not remember her, Halfdan.”

“Aesa, it’s good to see you again. You throw an axe at me.”

“It’s so good to see you too Halfdan. Too bad that I missed.” Aesa smirked.

Leif interrupted his wife, “And this the daughter of Earl Ragnvald and my soon to be second wife, Y/N.”

I am kind of taken back. When our eyes meet, my body felt different. Different when Leif’s and mine eyes meet. This feels true strange.

Harald breaks our eye contact, “When are you both to be married. Should marry her soon Leif.”

“The gods will favor our marriage if we have it during the same moon me and Aesa were married.” Leif says, “In 2 full moons. Just before the summer end.”

My stomach turns again. It feels too soon. I allowed my head to drop before taking my cup and gulping it down. Knowing it’s mead, it could be a long night of displeasurement. I was now the only one left at the table with Leif went to competed with the other Vikings. While Aesa left the table and is happily speaking to other woman, while I ate bread and drinking too much.

I noticed that Harald and Halfdan do not have wives. Strange they seem to be very popular with woman. I feel like there is history with Halfdan and Aesa, didn’t seem to end well.

After some time has passed, and I drank my weight in mead. I could feel it taking over my actions because I can not stay still. Feeling a bit wobbly as I try to find Edda through the crowds of people. I don’t usually drink this much.

Finally finding Edda sitting with a few men. One of them is whispering something into her ear. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Edda whispered something else to his, before standing and headed next to me. “You are fine. I watched you attempting to walk to me. Let’s get your drunk ass to bed.”

“I have to tell Leif before heading out.” Edda grabs my forearm bringing through the crowd and to Leif.

I looked at Leif’s watching us as we approach him. “Earl Leif, I’m going to go head to bed.”

“I’ll head back with you.”

“No, please continue to enjoy the feast.”

Leif nods to me and I headed out of the hall. I bring my furs a bit closer to my skin hoping to stop the chill.

After a short walk, we entered the lodge. We were greeted by the thralls.

I want to take a bath to try to ease this feeling of displeasure. I asked the thralls to put a bath together.

“The feast was interesting, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. You seem to have your fun.” I grinned at her. “I was my fault you were taken away from that handsome Viking.”

Edda sat on a chair, she leaned and smirked. “We are going to be here for a while, I have time.”

I sat on the opposite seat of my friend. I started to pick at the wooden table. “What is wrong y/n.”

“I do not want to be married.”

Edda heavily breathed outwards in agreement. “I understand how you feel. You’ve been my friend for years. You’ve want to save yourself for the one. Which I think is fucking stupid. But that’s me. I fucked many Vikings because it’s what I desire. Y/n, what do you desire?”

I took a moment to think of an answer. What do I even desire. Yes I would love to lie with a man once and a while, but not knowing anything about them is... not what I want. “It changes Edda, I want to love. I am going to be a second wife. Just a new addition. I seen my father wives. My mother never got any attention, yes she loved him, but he loved the others more. That is what I my fear is. The person who says they love me then just go fucks someone else.” I breathe sharply inwards. I rub the side of my heads.

“Maybe the gods will see you in this struggle and rewards you for your pain. They will...I know it. And look your bath is ready so go in and relax. I’m going to check the surrounding.”

I nod to her. I stood in front of the wooden tub. I thank the thrall and ask her to leave. She quickly leaves as I completely undress. Setting in and sit down in the hot water. It feels great as I roll my my shoulders. I sink more back in the water. After about few moments. Earl Leif comes in. He grins.

“I am taking a bath Earl Leif, sorry that I can’t rise to great you.”

“Nonsense. Rise, we are to be married. You should not be shy about you own naked body. I will be seeing it a lot of after we are married.”

I don’t like the sound of that. Make it seem that my body is a just a prize to be won. Sighing quietly to myself. I dig my nails into the side of the tub before I push myself to stand, greeting Leif.

Leif walks more into the room and in front of tub. He stops me from sitting back into the tub. He gripes my forearms keeping me upwards. He brushes my hair away from off my skin, “Gods. You are beautiful.” His right hand traces along my collarbone and down my arm.

My breathe hitches. I frown but he does not notice because his only focus is looking at my wet naked body. My body shivers from the cold air.

Leif smiles and his hand continues by going right under my breasts. I shiver and bite my lip not wanting to make any sounds to make him continue this show. Leif lets go of me and turns away. Allowing me to reemerge under the warm water.

“I want to fuck you right now” Leif takes a deep inhale of my soaked hair. “But that will have to wait. I’ll leave you in Edda’s care as I go back to Aesa and the feast.”

I weakly nod and stare as Leif walks out of the room.

After Leif leaves, I sat down once again. I am so happy that Leif is waiting until our wedding night as he thinks it will give him more luck. While Vikings usually embrace sex. If the gods favor me more...maybe, Leif will fall sick and die.

Leaning my head back until my whole head went under. I just need to think. To empty my thoughts. But not a moment after, I am pulled back to the air above.

I rub the water away from my eyes to see Edda. She let go on my hair. Her frown deepened, “Was worried that you was trying to drown yourself.”

I shook my head, “I wanted to see if the gods had a message to tell me. Are they putting me through a test. I wanted to see a sign. To see if this is my true fate.”

#vikings #vikings tv show #halfdan x reader #kingharald #first tumblr post #vikings halfdan #multichapter #multiple chapters #firstperson

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benvskylo · 3 years

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The feeling when you’re looking through your docs and you find almost 1000 words of a post TROS mini story that you have no recollection of writing from a year ago and that you’re not gonna finish cause you’ve been sitting on a better idea for at least a week

Said unfinished story, for those interested lol:

Three months.

Since Exegol.

Since Palpatine.

Since the war.

Since winning.

It’s been three months and not a single night goes by where Rey doesn’t dream of Ben Solo.

She dreams of hikes through the rocky islands of Ahch-To.

Of sitting side by side in the cockpit of the Falcon.

Of walking hand in hand through the crowded festivals on Pasaana.

She dreams of stolen glances and his arms wrapped around her.

Of his fingers in her hair.

Of his hands gripping her waist as he pushes her against the nearest wall to kiss her until they both can’t breathe.

But she always wakes up, no matter how much she wishes she wouldn’t. It’s always a damn dream. She hasn’t felt his Force signature in three months. She hasn’t felt much of anything since then, unless she’s dreaming.

Rey wakes from another of these dreams when an alarm in the Falcon goes off. In this dream, they had been back in the hut on Ahch-To, but this time they hadn’t been interrupted. Finger touching had turned to hand holding, which turned to running her fingers down his scar, which turned to him grabbing her face and kissing her with a ferocity that had left her with a warm feeling in her stomach when she had woken.

Rey lays in her bunk and listens to Poe and Finn arguing in the next room. Another thing that’s different. The two of them are constantly bickering about the Resistance.

The argument seems to diffuse and Rey deems it safe to emerge from her bed. They are nearing Coruscant. Poe and Finn had brought Rey along to the capital to visit Rose and Connix. They had said something about ‘girl time’ which had made Rey cringe. She doesn’t want to discuss men or clothing or anything of the sort. She just wants to sleep so she can see Ben.

Once they reach the city, Finn and Poe leave Rey on the Falcon so they can run a few errands. Rey is wandering the hallway of the ship when she feels it.

The tug of energy. The hum of the Force.

She is shaking as she enters the main hold. She doesn’t dare to look for him. He’s not going to be there. She’s dreaming.

But there he is.

On the opposite side of the hold, in all his long haired brooding glory, stands Ben Solo.

“Rey”

She says nothing. She can’t even begin to form the words in her brain. All she can do is close her eyes.

“Rey look at me”

She doesn’t and he takes a step forward as words finally come.

“I’m dreaming”

Another step.

“You’re not”

She opens her eyes and takes a step back from him.

“Yes I am. You’re dead. This isn't real”

“Rey this isn’t a dream”

Every step he takes forward, she takes another one backward until her back is against the wall.

“No you’re not real. You’re not here”

She closes her eyes and leans her head against the wall, clenching her fists as he continues to step forward. He stops just a step away from her.

“Rey. This is real”

She can’t help but slide down the wall just a fraction of an inch as he raises his hand from his side. She is shaking as he reaches out to touch her hand, still clenched in a fist, fingernails digging into her palms.

He touches her.

Her chin trembles and a tear slides down her cheek as he wraps his hand around her wrist. Her eyes refuse to open.

“Rey look at me”

She can feel his breath on her face. She shakes her head.

“If I do you’ll be gone”

Ben lifts his other hand to her cheek and she lets out a sigh as she leans into his touch.

“Not until the connection breaks”

With this, her eyes flutter open.

He’s still there. He’s touching her. She can feel and see and hear and smell him.

She doesn’t dare move for fear of him disappearing all over again.

“What is happening?”

Ben sighs and leans down, pressing his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes and sinks just a little further down the wall as the tip of his nose touches hers.

“Shhhh. I’ll explain later. Just let me be with you now”

The shaking is back. Or had it never left? Rey can hardly think as Ben’s thumb moves across her cheekbone in a soft swipe, back and forth. She opens her free fist and holds onto his wrist. She can feel his pulse. Somehow, Ben Solo is still alive.

Ben’s hand around her wrist moves to her waist, pulling her closer to him. Another tear threatens to run down her cheek as the space between their mouths close.

The kiss is nothing and yet everything like the kisses of her dreams. It is soft and deep and slow and passionate and gentle and hungry. Rey’s fingers find their way to his hair and twist around the strands.

He suddenly pulls back, just enough for her to look in his eyes.

“Come find me,” he whispers, before vanishing.

Update: Ok. So. I wrote this a year ago and forgot about it. I wish I remembered where I was gonna go with it, but unfortunately I don’t :/ However! I have had a short fic idea(just 1, MAYBE 2 chapters) -that would start out similarly to this- that has been in my head for a few weeks and I’m hoping I can at least start on it this weekend!

#star wars #kylo ren #adam driver #ben solo #rey #daisy ridley #reylo #reylo fandom #reylo fic #reylo ao3 #the feeling when #I have no recollection of writing this

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airiustide · 3 years

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If I Could (I’d Kiss Your Fingers)

A Water Witch Tale

Summary: Taking place after Katara returns to the Fire Nation to stay with her new family, Zuko wants to give her a gift as a way to show how much she means to him. With Izumi's help, father and daughter pick out the perfect chocolates for Katara. Meanwhile, Katara works on something precious of her own. Part of the The Water Witch Tales

A/N: I asked myself if I wanted to do a additional piece for The Water Witch of Biei Village or write a Valentine’s special fic? My brain: por que no los dos? I've wanted to write more about this zutara family since ending The Water Witch of Biei Village two years ago. My hearts been set on it and today was a perfect.

also posted on AO3

***

“Chocolates. Chocolates. We’re going to pick chocolates!” Izumi sang, skipping around several staff entering the Fire Lord’s study carrying gold trays of serve ware covered with lids.

Zuko shoos them in, peering from left to right outside the study until the confectioner himself is the last to enter and Zuko can now close the door behind him. “Quickly, lay them there.” The Fire Lord points to the long table stationed in front of the open balcony doors. He grabs a hopping Izumi by the waist and swings her over his shoulders, eliciting a squeal. “Calm down, love. We’ll get to try them all, I promise.”

“Then we give to Mommy?” The four-year-old grins, panting from all the excitement.

“Then we give them to Mommy.” Zuko confirms, reflecting his daughter’s smile.

Zuko had been considering the perfect gift to give Katara after she had returned, after having forced the captain of the airship that was supposed to take her home to the rural lands of the Fire Nation countryside to turn around. It was a moment of joy and tears. Katara proclaimed Izumi her daughter without asking anything in return other than to care for the Fire Nation princess as her own. Any attempt at giving Katara jewels or expensive dresses were turned down. Katara’s humble rejection was sweet but was leaving Zuko a little deflected.

He wanted to impress her. The one kiss wasn’t enough and they talked little of it since then despite Katara’s return being well over a month ago. It was then that Izumi brought up how Katara had never eaten chocolates before, a discussion brought up while the waterbender did the nightly routine of brushing her daughter’s hair.

It was then the idea sparked in Zuko’s head. Chocolates. No one could possibly turn down chocolates. A simple yet desirable candy.

Once the trays are laid out, the confectioner snaps his fingers for his staff to remove the lids. Zuko lifts Izumi off his shoulders and sets her on her feet, the little girl’s bright gold eyes looking at the great display of chocolates laid before her in wonderment. “Wow.” She breathes.

“Only the best chocolates in the whole Fire Nation, your majesty. We’ve traveled all this way per your request from Ember Island. May I present my finest work.” The confectioner, Chou, bows.

Zuko and Izumi approach, stopping at the first tray sitting at the left end of the table.

“The first I’d like to present is a common treat. The bark is made from milk chocolate, quite sweet, I warn, but much lighter than the typical chocolate.” The confectioner explains.

Zuko breaks a piece for himself and Izumi to try. “Hmm.” The Fire Lord hums, finding his jaw lock from the overly sweet candy. “What do you think, princess?”

“It melts in my mouth!” Izumi exclaimed. “But too sweet.”

“Of course. This here, is a truffle.” Chou points to the second plate. “Though, today we’ll try many of these kinds of chocolates, this one’s a dark ganache blended with a touch of champagne.”

“Mmm.” Izumi sighs, popping the truffle in her mouth. “I like this one.”

“That’ll go in the yes pile then.” Zuko chuckled, nodding for one of the confectioner's staff to put the tray aside.

The young Fire Lord had to admit, the amount of it all was too much. Some portions had to be given in small doses to prevent a stomach ache. Izumi was so eager to try them all that the first six or so trays resulted in tossing handfuls into her mouth. Not so much because she wanted to eat them all, but because it was so important to her that Katara had the best.

Cordials, hazelnut, rum, caramel. It was all so delightful. It was not only a means to give a gift to share with someone they loved but the father/daughter time they had lost when Izumi had fallen ill was made up with a simple moment such as this.

There was still more to go. Zuko deemed it unnecessary to try the rest when his daughter’s face became smeared with chocolate and her eyelids began to flutter. They had already settled on three flavors, some which will be boxed prettily for the master waterbender; passion fruit, mint, and champagne.

“Good choice, your majesty.” Chou compliments. “The lady will surely be pleased.”

“Hmpf.” Zuko frowned. Chou would not be saying that if he knew that Zuko planned on gifting the chocolates to a waterbender. The Fire Lord was ashamed to admit that his people viewed waterbenders as conjurers of magic, they’re dwindling race created stereotypes and rumors far beyond what the truth actually beheld. “Do not worry, she will. Thank you for your journey to the capital. You will be highly compensated and even more in the future if Katara wishes for it.”

“Of course.” Chou bows, snapping his fingers for his staff to collect the leftovers and head out quickly.

“Someone’s sleepy.” Zuko turns to Izumi, sweeping her in his arms and cleaning the chocolate off her face with the sleeve of his royal robes. She had gained some weight since her lungs healed, no longer the tiny thin figure she once was when he had thought he was on the verge of losing her.

“Mm...not sleepy, Daddy. I want to see Mommy.” The princess looks over at the neatly boxed chocolates sitting on the long table. She couldn’t sleep yet. She had carefully selected everything for her mother, Izumi wanted to give them to her now.

“You will after a nap. Then, we will see Katara.” He coos, watching Izumi finally close her tired eyes as he holds her gently in his lap while he proceeds to sit in his cushioned pillow so that he could continue his work.

***

This is starting to feel like a distraction. When Kioko had shown up at Katara’s chambers that morning with an urgent request that required them to head to Caldera’s marketplace, the waterbender felt as though she had no choice but to oblige. She wished to see Izumi, if not for a little bit, before her and Kioko departed but the head healer demanded that they make haste.

“What, exactly, is it we’re looking for?” Katara questioned, looking around the busy streets with the older woman’s arm linked to hers.

Guards surround them on all sides, a apparent perk the master waterebender wish didn’t come with officially adopting Izumi but Zuko would have it no other way. His argument, that people were against her legal adoption of Izumi albeit Katara knew the real reason- it meant Zuko was not willing to remarry. Every unmarried noblewoman and Zuko’s advisors made that clear with a single glare directed at her alone. It did not matter that Izumi was a living, healthy heir now. No, they needed more security than that, and marrying a Lady within the Fire Nation meant ensuring this.

Kioko assured Katara that they were jealous nobodies that only dreamed of getting close to the Fire Lord if only to benefit from him.

“Zuko would give you the world.” Kioko told her once, the two ladies held up in Katara’s room with wine and light chat. “He would bow to his knees for you, if you would permit him, and proclaim everything that is his, is yours.”

That came as a surprise to Katara, yet it made sense considering that she had healed Zuko’s daughter from certain death. She ignored that small whisper in her head that Kioko’s statement meant something deeper. The waterbender brushed it aside.

“I thought we might do some shopping. I haven’t seen my poor husband in months since his travels and I want to present him a gift when he returns next week.” Kioko answered her question.

“Are you not the gift, Kioko?” Katara smirked playfully.

“Oh my heavens. That is only between me and the captain I call husband.” Kioko winked. “We had missed our anniversary this last winter and I wanted to surprise him.”

“Sounds easy. What does he like?”

“Hmm, well, I was thinking I’d fashion up a new robe or maybe purchase new cuffs for his uniform. Oh, and while we’re here, why not get something nice for his majesty” Kioko said the last sentence so fast, Katara barely caught it.

“Zuko?” Katara whirled her head. “Oh. I guess I never did anything nice for him before. He did take me out that one time, after all.” A deep blush surfaced on her cheeks and Katara bit her bottom lip from smiling. She remembers where Zuko's hands were. His sultry voice and his low breath that tickled and teased her skin when he had openly flirted with her. The way his eyes glazed over when she had danced with him.

Kioko raised an eyebrow at Katara’s sudden silence.

“Yes.” The waterbender cleared her throat after noticing the head healer was staring at her. “A gift. I see no harm in buying one for him.”

That’s what you believe. Kioko smiles, knowing full well Zuko was caught in Katara’s web and the poor girl had no idea what power she had over the Fire Lord. He loved her and she, likewise. The old woman hoped they’d realize it soon or else she would have to resort to locking them in the same room together, if it meant finally professing their feelings.

The problem was, what does a Fire Lord like that he doesn’t already have? Yeah, Katara had enough to buy a pretty solid gift for someone of her status but Zuko was head of a nation. Katara didn’t have anything to her name that would remotely impress him.

“Child, you’re thinking too hard.” Kioko interrupts her thoughts.

“Am I? I’m not exactly feeling confident here.” Katara panicked. “S-sorry I snapped like that. I don’t think anything here would be to Zuko’s liking.”

“That’s because you’re thinking of his status rather than what he is as a person. His majesty wasn’t as sheltered as you think. He’s traveled the world, he’s encountered struggle and defeat and when the tyrant, Lord Ozai, dies within the third year of Lord Zuko’s banishment and his daughter was seized for his death, Lord Zuko was called back to take his place as a mere child himself, marry, and raise a daughter on his own after his beloved’s death. He’s more humble than he lets on and we have the former general to thank for that.”

Iroh. Zuko often talked about him. “I know he’s like a father to Zuko. I didn’t mean to insult Zuko.”

“You did no such thing, dear. I wanted to remind you that his majesty is more than just a leader. He’s a man and a father first. Look to that when you go about searching for a gift for him.”

Katara halts, a large grin stretching on her lips. “I’ve got just the thing. Kioko, we need to stop at a few places.”

***

Where is she? Kioko refused to let Zuko visit Katara’s chambers, stating that the waterbender was busy and that she would meet them for dinner as soon as she was available. Izumi whined that she wanted to see Katara now and her impatience was starting to weigh on Zuko, who had to try and entertain his daughter as best he could until her mother arrived. They had taken dinner to his chambers this time, so that he and Izumi could give the present to Katara in peace.

Zuko had asked that Kioko distract Katara while he and Izumi snuck in the confectioner and his staff, he had no idea that they would be gone well into midafternoon only for Katara to run back to her room and shut herself away with so much as a greeting.

“What has Katara holed up in her room?” Zuko asked during dinner.

“You’re majesty, I’m afraid this is an important time for Master Katara. She will see you and Princess Izumi as soon as she can.”

Something’s fishy. “You aren’t withholding anything from your Fire Lord, are you, Kioko?”

“You’re majesty.” Kioko feigned shock, resting a hand on her chest. “You would not use your position of power to pry personal information regarding your dear daughter’s mother from me, would you?”

Zuko’s good eye widened, his cheeks blushing profusely. “I- No. Of course not.” He grumbles, finding his food unappetizing because the anxiousness was eating at him. Izumi, the same, poked her steamed slug with a heavy sigh. Katara hadn’t gone a day without being next to her. Had they truly grown that attached?

The three are disturbed by the sound of the door opening and the master waterbender entering the room. “Late-” She pants, her wild hair loose over her shoulders and pieces of random fabric stuck to her dress. “Didn’t mean- I’m here now.” Katara smiles while she gains her composure.

“Mommy!” Izumi cried, jumping from her seat and rushing to her mother’s arms. “What took so long? I missed you.” Her voice trembled.

Katara felt guilty. Izumi had already been through enough when Katara left, she didn’t quite think through how a long separation might affect her again. “I’ve missed you too, love, and I’m here now.”

“Come here, come here. Daddy and I have something to show you.” Izumi pulls her mother along.

“Really now?”

Zuko grips the box in his lap, licking his lips to hide his nerves as Katara sat next him, her arm brushing his arm as she places Izumi on her lap. Agni, give me strength, he prays.

“What’s that you got there.” Katara leaned into him sideways, the box shaking in his hands.

Why was he nervous all of a sudden? Zuko’s throat swelled up, his palms were sweaty.

“Me and Daddy got you a gift!” Izumi replied.

“A gift? For me? Zuko, I thought-”

“I know.” He said, finally mustering the courage to speak. “But this is different. Please accept it, Izumi and I worked really hard to select them for you.”

They both gave her pleading eyes. Spirits, how can she resist such cute faces. “Okay. Can I open it?”

Zuko hands the box to her and Izumi claps excitedly as Katara pulls the ribbon and lifts the top half of the box to reveal something she’s never seen before. “What are these?”

“Chocolates!” Izumi giggled.

“They’re edible sweets made of cocoa.”

Katara eyes the pieces curiously. Unsure of where to start. “They’re all so different.” She comments.

“Here, Mommy, you’ll like this one.” Izumi picks out a passion fruit, lifting it to Katara’s mouth.

Her eyes sparkle as she takes her first piece, her taste buds overtaken with a mix of passion fruit, chocolate and white chocolate. It’s decadent but the flavors are pleasant. “Spirits, that's delicious!”

“Hehe. See, I told you she’d like it, Daddy.”

“So this is what you two have been conspiring this whole time.” Katara teased the Fire Lord.

“We only wished to do something special.” Zuko explained sheepishly.

“Well, this was certainly special.” Katara smiles.

“Why don’t you try the other flavors.” He suggests.

“Only if you guys eat them with me. This is certainly a lot.”

Katara pops one into Izumi’s mouth first. “Your turn.” She says to Zuko.

His heart throbs in his ears. Before he could protest, Katara presses a piece of chocolate to his lips and he reluctantly opens, enclosing it in his mouth along with Katara’s index finger and his brain short circuits. As he chews the piece he can only assume is mint, refreshing much like Katara’s presence, her fingers still lingering on his lips; they’re gazes stayed only on each other.

Zuko leans in slightly, drinking in Katara’s face as she bites the corner of her lip. She likes the look he’s giving her- heavy, glazed and adorning. She wants to see more of this, more of him looking like her just like this. “Do you want more?” She asks in a whisper.

“Well, this has been lovely.” Kioko announced, catching the Fire Lord and Master Waterbender off guard, shame written on their faces. “I’ll take my leave. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

It takes a while for the heat to die down in the room and the tension to fade before Katara tells Zuko she has something for him too. “For both you and Izumi, in fact.” She reaches for the pouch attached to her sash and opens it, fishing out two weaved bracelets with charms on them. “It’s not much but I thought of you two and I wanted to make something that would always be with you.”

“Pretty.” Izumi brightens. Katara ties the bracelet to her wrist, three little charms dangling from it; one of the moon, the second the symbol of the painted lady and the third a sparrowkeet.

Next was Zukos, which Katara delicately tied to his wrist as well. The first charm was of two dragons tangled in a dance, the second a replica of the carved stone on Katara’s necklace and the third the mask of the blue spirit.

“It was all done at last minute, so it’s not perfect-”

“It’s more than perfect.” Zuko corrects. “Thank you, Katara.” He wraps an arm around her neck and brings her to him, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Mine is perfect too, Mommy! I want to kiss you too.”

Katara laughs, puckering her lips and letting Izumi peck them. The waterbender then snatches Izumi to her chest, displaying kisses all over the little girl's face as Zuko does the same until she begs for her parents to stop in a fit of laughter.

I love you. Zuko wants to say. The moment passes, he realizes, watching Katara rock Izumi in her arms with pure love in her eyes. He’ll tell her. Someday.

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #fanfiction #zuko x katara #zuko #katara #izumi #firelord zuko #zuko and katara as parents #zuko and katara #fanfic #the water witch of biei village #if i could(I'd kiss your fingers)

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 3 years

Text

Personal Thoughts on Pacific Rim: The Black (2021)

I watched season 1 of Pacific Rim: The Black, which released to Netflix on March 4! I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting much, after disappointments with the movie sequel. But the Pacific Rim franchise means a lot to me, so I wanted to give it a try. I’m very pleasantly surprised that I enjoyed this new show and connected with it in various ways. And given how wild my own life has been lately, it was really nice to get lost in something that validated the importance of different kinds of connections, and to not close down when the going gets tough or hard to explain.

PRTB is a pretty emotional, angsty story, and it’s not afraid to explore that over the full 7 episodes. The stakes are high, involving the loss of friends and family. So the characters have a real investment in what they’re doing and why they’re fighting.

The grittier tone of the show is a deviation from the movies, which maybe some people would like or dislike more. I think the seriousness helps to balance out having (yet again) inexperienced teenage protagonists. But the show does still get some fun scenes and quips in, and our main jaeger has a snarky AI who provides both humor and critical thinking checks for our protagonists, which is nice.

I liked the 2013 movie because it showed all of humanity coming together to fight a common enemy. Here, there’s enemies and allies on both sides of the Kaiju war, and even some who are in-between. This is a stronger nod to reality while decreasing the fun fantasy violence of the 2013 film. I don’t think this is inherently a bad thing for this series to do, because a series has a lot more space/time to fill than a movie, and even the 2013 film showed that there were significant cracks in the so-called “unity” that the Pacific Rim universe outwardly celebrated. In the midst of the 2013 movie’s talk about countries setting aside old rivalries, we still had politicians who didn’t care, criminals capitalizing off pseudoscience and unsanctioned nuclear weapons deals, religious sectors rising up to worship the title enemy, people being forced into dangerous jobs to keep from starving to death, the rich and powerful experiencing minimal lifestyle impact vs. poor people being abandoned to die or surviving through precarious means, and even toxic hero worship and intriguingly, the glorification of violence for entertainment and toy sales. So in this new show, we’re really seeing the movie’s cracks expanded and focused on. It’s even more front and center, given that the rest of humanity sees Australia as a lost battlefront and has deemed so many left behind as worth less than the effort it’d take to rescue them. So maybe a part of me misses the cool concept of human unity from the first movie, but even that movie was trying to tell people that unity is an illusion. Here, it’s just so front and center that it can’t be ignored in favor of robot fights, and I actually liked that immediate boldness.

(review continued under the cut)

Some of the details feel AU or divergent from what I remember of the movies, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing to me, so long as the show itself can be internally consistent. Transformers franchise spent forever trying to created an aligned continuity to no avail, so it’s not a detraction for me if Pacific Rim franchise wants to just flail in its own playground too.

The animation style grew on me as time passed, as it worked well for animating jaegers and Kaiju even if humans seem a bit stilted. It better captured a sense of scale compared to the sequel film, and the jaegers felt actually integrated in the animated physical space (something I really struggled with in Uprising). The sense of scale is not as good as the 2013 film. But then this show has a significantly lower budget and is a very different medium, so it was easy enough for me to accept it for what it is and to be glad that we got anything halfway decent, really.

The pacing could have been better across the different points of conflict, but honestly if no adult questioned or tried to undercut a couple of teenagers piloting the last active jaeger on an entire continent, that would have felt even more jarring and unbelievable to me.

I think Pacific Rim as a franchise has never been about reinventing the wheel when it comes to characters. But I was definitely interested in the topical similarities between the movie’s Mako Mori and the show’s Hayley Travis. They both do things in want to help/prove themselves, which results in an incredible backlash that they have to emotionally work through and overcome. In comparison, Raleigh Becket and Taylor Travis are both fairly static supporters, but when their hope drops out, it’s Mako and Hayley who kick in with other options, more energy. If we get a season 2, I’d be curious to see how the show further differentiates and humanizes these new characters.

The 2013 movie had main characters who were very significantly traumatized. So having protagonists in the show who are very significantly traumatized as well didn’t feel like a distraction to me but instead just a nod to the franchise and how it’s closely tied with struggles to obtain mental health and connection. I’d be more worried if the teenage protagonists were people who consistently don’t think of consequences or who don’t take an apocalypse or immense power from a jaeger seriously...

PRTB definitely earned its TV-14 rating. It can be gritty and dark at times, but coming out of several TV-MA shows, the way it’s visibly handled on the human side is a nice break and sometimes even more emotionally effective than if extremely gory scenes were shown. I’m a little hesitant to get too emotionally attached to any character for future seasons, though, given this rating.

Some scenes were more personally engaging to me than others, but I’ve watched several shows lately where I couldn’t stand to actually finish them or was checking to see how much more time was left. With PRTB, I kept wanting to see what happened next, and time really flew by with some episodes.

The Kaiju shown are incredibly diverse, with some really cool designs. There’s something in here I’ve been wanting to write a fic about/daydreaming about since 2013 and this show actually does the thing in its own way, so I was personally excited about that.

If this show gets a season 2, I’d love to see our protagonists meeting up with more people from all walks of life and exploring various ways people have survived and maintained or redefined a culture in this post-apocalyptic world.

There’s an element of “connective regret” in this show that really personally spoke to me, given that I’ve lost a lot of people in real life suddenly. Like, you assume people will always be there until suddenly they aren’t, and that fact of life can really destabilize a family or found family. This show doesn’t shy away from trying to validate that stress, or from validating how important healthy connections still are in the face of loss or decoupling from other toxic relationships.

Mental health relapses, trust issues, and survivor’s guilt are also a thing in this show, which I found really interesting, and that was something we really only had time to see in small measure in the 2013 film.

I still have some worldbuilding questions, but honestly I clicked on this show hoping for a good time to lose myself in—and I feel like I received that in this season. So I ended the show feeling like, actually excited to talk about it with other people.

There’s plot twists and characters I want to flail about so bad, but that would involve dropping very significant spoilers here, so maybe I better hold off for now.

But yeah, if anyone else watches this show, please feel free to reach out and flail with me about it!

#Pacific Rim #Pacific Rim: The Black #PRTB #Lightning rambles #I ended up watching the season twice in one day lol #No regrets #whoever said this show feels like Mad Max meets Godzilla #it does feel that way sometimes LOL

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Note

That post about "I'll keep reading a fic that mischaracterizes Dick even if it angers me because the plot is interesting" but with Scott McCall. I'll come across genuinely interesting concepts and plots and power through for that even when Scott is portrayed negatively in the story, he's there at least and it's either that or wading through 99% of fic which centers Stiles/Sterek and the most common Scott tag being "Scott's a bad friend" ya know?

Honestly, what is it about Scott McCall and Dick Grayson that gets them (mis)treated so similarly by their respective fandoms?

Oh yeah, definitely. Tbh, part of why I’m so loud and obnoxious in Batfandom is because in TW fandom it eventually got to the point where I just had to stop reading fic completely, because I wasn’t finding anything that was Scott-friendly outside of the handful of writers I was already friends with and I just got fed up. And I’m too stubborn to do the same thing twice in two separate fandoms so I just....refuse to give up on DG fic by way of a rousing morning “Not today Satan” pep talk. fhslakhfkal

But honestly, the parallels, there are more than a few:

1) Obviously I do think the racism element has plenty to do with it. Especially in the way “is Scott really even Latino on the show though, I mean did they ever actually SAY it” arguments could be swapped out almost word for word with the “is Dick really even Romani in the comics though, I mean it was just a retcon” arguments. With the primary aim of arguments against this being a factor focusing on just invalidating the idea that either are characters of color in the first place, rather than examining the way people engage with these characters for signs of racism. Instead of trying to refute that there’s anything wrong with certain ways people interact with these characters, people jump right into “well there can’t be racism if the character in question isn’t even REALLY a character of color, y’know not like, a board-certified one with proper accreditation and everything.”

But its definitely interesting when you look at how Dick Grayson’s been perceived by fandom overall, like, in terms of looking back over the years. As someone who’s been in and out of DC fandoms to various degrees since the late 90s, as in before Dick was retconned as being Romani in the first place, and as I’ve said before, he used to be a LOT more popular and forgiven for stuff in the past in fandom.....like, I maintain that if you look back at the early 2000s-2010, aka when that retcon was not just written, but gradually and more fully spread into the fandom’s overall awareness and perception of the character....you can almost like, SEE the empathy gap suddenly click into place once he was more fully solidified as a character of color in a lot of fans’ minds. Even if they won’t admit it because that would require admitting to the racism that then began to seep into how they interacted with this character now, compared to how they’d interacted with this character in the past.

And I think the empathy gap - and the complete refusal to admit that’s even a thing, because its not like these are REALLY characters of color so why would it even apply - like, I think that goes a long way to explaining the way both Scott and Dick consistently have their traumas invalidated and ignored by large parts of their fandoms, with the focus always being shifted to how bad things that happen to them are really MORE bad for how they affect the people around them, etc.

2) It also I think has a lot to do with their personalities and the archetypes they both embody as empathetic caregiver types. I think I described it pretty well here in my BUABS fic:

“What do you know about Impostor Syndrome?"

"It's a term sometimes used to describe over-achievers who have trouble internalizing their accomplishments. Perfectionists who think they're frauds because they don't know how to take credit for their own achievements and say its because of luck or timing or something other people did," Dick frowned, puzzling through both the question and the aim of it. He raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't sound like something that applies to someone as arrogant as me."

"Don't be a little shit, Dick," Dinah said with small smirk. "And you're right, I don't think any of that applies to you. However, it's also used in another capacity, to describe trauma survivors who are unable to internalize their own trauma. Who deflect from it, or mitigate it, treat it as less than it is on the basis that it wasn't as bad as what's happened to someone else. It's especially common in trauma survivors who are noted for being especially empathetic or who have caregiver personality types. People who are so used to self-identifying as someone whose role or purpose is in helping others, that they find themselves unable to identify as traumatized because it might shift the focus to themselves instead of people they feel need it more. Does that behavior sound a little more familiar?"

(For the record, that fic is set in the YJ universe, not the comics, and I go with the approach that Dick and Bruce have a much better relationship there than they do in the comics, and thus overall Dick’s mental health and self-esteem are better than in the comics, generally speaking. I only mention this as a tangent, but like....I think Impostor Syndrome as an issue for perfectionists and over-achievers with low self-esteem DOES pertain to comic book Dick Grayson as well as its trauma interpretation. But anyway).

But point is, I think that describes both Dick and Scott, and their respective approaches to dealing (or not dealing) with their personal traumas. This isn’t a problem in and of itself, as its a valid survivor reaction and issue plenty of people deal with....the problem lies in the willingness of fans to capitalize on the OPPORTUNITIES this presents, as fans of other characters, to keep the focus trained on the characters around these two, and THEIR issues, even at the expense of these two.

Basically, its not in either of their natures to ASK for help and forcefully DRAG focus and awareness to themselves and their issues, for a number of reasons including the fact that I don’t think either character feels they ‘deserve’ that focus or need that help more than other people need theirs.

And because these characters are the empathetic caregiver archetypes in their respective ensembles, ie the ones who usually take the lead in reaching out to even characters who don’t normally ask for help themselves....there’s often no one else immediately popping up in reader awareness as like, a likely candidate to extend that same awareness and offer of aid to Dick and Scott even without them actually asking for it.

(Which, is a large part of my commitment to the theme “Stop assembling your ensembles with just ONE of each archetype, mix and match more, or like....use more hybrid archetypes so you don’t HAVE this problem, and also, stop limiting characters to JUST their archetypes, three-dimensional people aren’t confined to only acting upon a limited menu of actions and impulses, and neither should three-dimensional characters be.”)

And then of course there’s the additional component, linked to point #1, that a lot of people refuse to write other characters seeing their need for help or support or offering it even when they do see it, simply because like....they don’t WANT these characters to HAVE help or support.

3) The Intelligence Factor - as in, do they really have it? Both Scott McCall and Dick Grayson are repeatedly and consistently established in their respective canons as being extremely intelligent, and no, not JUST in emotional intelligence. I don’t like sounding like I’m undervaluing that particular form of intelligence, I’m just really irritated by the way people go about saying “oh I do admit they have very high emotional intelligence” like they’re throwing them some kind of a bone. LMAO. No. They both have high emotional intelligence, true, but they’re also extremely intelligent across the board in all other ways. Both are excellent strategists, quick-thinking and repeatedly out-maneuvering even other noted strategists, both display a quick grasp of new information and an ability to see how and where and when to PUT that information to use in practical applications, etc. These are not dumb characters, at ALL.

But fandoms have this weird committment to the idea that only the Smartest Person In The Room REALLY matters, and like, there can only be one of those per room, or like, at most two, so that they can be a matched pair and make kissing noises and then very smart babies, or like, they can be the doting (smart) father and his adored (smartest) son, all others can go home now.

Like, no, that’s not how that works. A room full of geniuses does not suddenly become a room full of ONE genius and a bunch of random and irrelevant cuz they’re dumb non-geniuses the second someone deemed King of the Smarties enters the room. That’s not a thing. Stop acting like that’s a thing, fandoms. Nobody’s intelligence is actually threatened by the presence of more than one character with notable intelligence. Also fuck off with the adoration of notable intelligence like people have more value the more decimal points of pi they can recite off the top of their head. That’s not a more evolved human being, that’s just a nerd. Nerds have value but no more than people who like, chose other life pursuits aside from nerddom.

(Not actually intended as a slight against nerds, just for the record. I say that as both a self-described nerd and also a self-loathing nerd and also lol I’m not a nerd. Look, I’m a very nuanced person okay. I put the complex in complex organism).

But the point here is not just that people are weird about there only being one true genius allowed per ensemble, its that people are WEIRD about how in order to ACTUALLY be smart, you need to like.....accurately match the factory specs for “this is how a smart person looks and behaves.”

And Scott and Dick do not look and behave that way. The sheer number of times - and similar ways - people try to completely discredit the idea they have more than one brain cell by pointing to times they’re being INTENTIONALLY goofy and being like “oh yeah, would a smart person do THAT, hmmmm”.....

Its like...yes? LOL. There is no law that says that a smart person can not be a goofball, or that they are no longer smart if they fulfill a certain quota of actions deemed ‘dopey’ by the official arbiters of smartness.

Similarly the way people like to point at stuff like “my mom buys the groceries” when the writers BEHIND the characters were intentionally trying to play up a comedic moment rather than make a sealed declaration of IQ, and be like, “see, would a smart person be THAT dumb, hmmm?”

First of all, yes, even going off the same canon people try and cite as proof Scott and Dick are too dumb to actually be smart.....you can literally find similarly ‘dumb’ moments for every other TW character....the Sheriff expressed incredulity that Stiles didn’t know what a pendant was, and Lydia was like wtf how are you this dumb at Stiles when he asked if she read the movie the Little Mermaid because he didn’t know there was also a book.....Allison made the same mistake about bestiary as Scott did because the writers were so impressed by that joke they literally had to do it twice....and do not get me STARTED on the number of moments I can point to in comics AND movies AND cartoons where everyone from Bruce to Tim to Jason to Damian and more, like, make utter bonehead moves or utter completely bonehead sentences.

Despite what rumors of my being an ancient eldritch being might have some believe, I did not actually know Albert Einstein personally, but I can still with complete confidence say I GUARANTEE that at more than one point in his life, even he did things that might have been pointed at by time-travelers on vacay as evidence that geez, old-timey smart people were really dumb, huh.

And I think we would all agree that Albert Einstein was actually a very smart man.

But yeah, point is, both Scott and Dick are very smart characters who for a lot of reasons - including personal choice, as in, they don’t really see the appeal in conforming to standards of what a smart person is SUPPOSED to be like (especially when those standards have a weird amount in common with tendencies often described as elitist or condescending or like, having or pertaining to the qualities of an asshole) - like, they just don’t typically behave or conduct themselves in ways that match up with a lot of the assumptions people have for what ‘makes’ a genius or what that’s supposed to look or sound like.

And because they don’t SEEM like they’re that smart, a lot of effort then gets put into insisting that they’re definitely not, and they can’t be, because see look how dumb here and here and here.....which then leeches over into other aspects of the characters and their stories and dynamics, and then combines with the issues resulting from Point 1 and Point 2 and probably two more I’m not thinking of at the moment but are definitely there so that by their powers combined.....fandom summons Captain Dumbass to take over most interactions with these particular characters. And thus repeatedly and insistently engages with these two and their stories only in very dumb, very limited, and VERY annoying ways.

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captainscanadian · 4 years

Text

Exception | Carter Baizen x Reader (Part 1)

My Masterlist

Prologue

Summary: After fifteen years of being away from the Upper East Side, you return to your home in hopes of making amends with your loved ones. But unbeknownst to you, the past that you had chosen to run away from was about to start haunting you. You had no choice but to face it. You could not run or hide away from it any longer.

Word Count: 7100+

Pairing: CEO!Carter x Lawyer!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Gossip Girl References, Heart Attack, Mentions of Death, Capitalism (I HAD TO!)

A/N: As you all know by now, this is my entry for @baezen‘s writing challenge. I am super excited to be posting the first part because this is going to be quite an intense emotional roller coaster for everyone. I would like to dedicate this one to Her Majesty, the Queen of Carter Baizen, because if it wasn’t for her, I never would have convinced myself to write this fic. I love you, Steph! Tag list is open, just send in an ask to be tagged. Love you all! <3

June 14, 2020

According to Dan Humphrey, the Upper East Side was like something from Fitzgerald or Thackeray. Not that you would ever consider the perspective of an outsider trying to get in when looking to describe your own home. You felt that your own experiences of growing up here would be more than enough if there ever was a need to describe life in the Upper East Side. The Upper East Side of Manhattan, as much as you hated it for its opulent wealth and snobbish residents, it had always had a special place in your heart. It was your home.

Being born into an affluent family that belonged to Manhattan’s elite was not something that you had asked for. But you had been born and raised in the Upper East Side, with a silver spoon in your hand and a trust fund under your name. It had been your birthright to be a part of this world; a birthright that you had chosen to leave behind fifteen years ago. Not that you had a choice in that matter either. Leaving New York City had not been a choice that you had willing made. Hell, you did not even know that you would not be returning to the city when you had first left. The circumstances at the time had made it impossible for you to do anything else but run away and never look back. You never looked back, no. Not until now. Sometimes, you just had to be forced into returning to the past that still haunted you to this day. Fate was just so fucked up like that, making you leave involuntarily and now making you come back, also involuntarily.

As the pilot made the final announcement that you would be landing in New York momentarily, you leaned over in your seat to stare out the tiny window. The city that you had left behind all those years ago with your hopes and dreams that had been crushed soon after you had left; in an instant, your entire life had turned upside down. The next thing you knew, you had fled the life of the Upper East Side for good.

This city had waited long enough to see your return. As you flew above the sky, inching closer to the ground, your eyes glazed over with salty tears. They pricked at the brim of your eyelids before they rolled down, your heart breaking as you finally came to terms with the day you had left. Young and barely exposed to the real world; spoiled and stupid you had been. You had no idea back then, that your life was about to change so drastically just days later. But look at you now, you were finally home.

Once you had landed, you stretched your bare feet, hearing you ankles crack as you let out a yawn. You made a mental note to book an appointment for a pedicure sometime, not that the reason for your trip was to revel in the luxuries that you had left behind immediately after you arrived. No, if you had your way, you would not even be here right now. You were left with no choice but to return after that scare you had received a few days ago. You could not stay away for so long. Fifteen years were more than enough.

Your Louboutin heels clicked as you descended from the Y/L/N Industries’ private jet, your eyes darting towards the familiar man who stood by the limousine to greet you. Your lips curled into a smile as you recognized him in an instant. How could you forget that man? “Walter!” You exclaimed, for your heart swelled at seeing your old friend. He looked a lot more seasoned than the last time you had seen him; quite literally, his hair looked as though it had been sprinkled even with salt and pepper. He wore a pair of rimless spectacles now, his eyes probably blinding with age. But he was still the same man otherwise, still your personal chauffeur and the first best friend you ever had.

“Welcome home, Miss. Y/L/N.” His voice cracked as he greeted you and in a moment, he held out his arms to wrap you up in an embrace. “You’ve grown so much.”

You choked back your tears as you returned his hug, taking in his scent as you shut your eyes for a moment. “It’s good to be home.” You admitted, pulling back from the hug to fondly tap his nose. It had been a habit of yours ever since you were a little girl. “You’ve grown so much too, Walter.”

“It’s good to have you back, sweetheart.”

You nodded as you watched him grab your luggage and load it into the limo. “Walter, how is he?” You asked the man as you crossed your arms against your chest, pressing your lips shut as you inhaled a sharp breath of New York’s fresh air. You were home now, but you were worried sick nevertheless. There was a reason behind your return.

“The doctors discharged him this morning.” He replied, sighing as he turned back to look at you. “He’s back home now. Would you like me to take you to see him first?”

You breathed out a sigh before shaking your head. “No, take me over to my mother’s place first. I’ve been on a plane for eight hours. I really need a shower and then... I’ll see him when I’m ready.” You told him with a frown. Truth be told, even though you had finally returned to New York, you were still not ready to face the mistakes of your pasts just yet. You knew you had to come to terms with them somehow, the sooner you did the better it would be for the duration of your stay here. But you could not help it. Your guilt had been eating you away for years now.

The limo ride from the airport to your mother’s penthouse had been rather quiet. You could not stare intently into the streets of New York City through the tainted windows no matter how hard you tried. You could not get a glimpse of the world you had left behind. Perhaps, that was a good thing. Otherwise, your anxious mind would have tried to convince Walter to take you right back to the airport and you would have flown straight back to London with no further explanation.

While you had deemed that your life in the Upper East Side was complicated, your childhood spent in this city had been wonderful. Despite the fact that your parents had divorced when you were merely a toddler, they had chosen to put their differences aside when it came to raising you. Their split was amicable nevertheless and they remained good friends even today. Your father is the CEO of Y/L/N Industries. Your mother, a British heiress and a distant relative of the van der Bilt family, you had always been showered with the love that came from family, along with the wealth that you would inherently inherit. Your parents had done their best, but you had been the one to ruin the life that they had given you. It was all on you.

The moment you arrived at your mother’s penthouse apartment, you were greeted by your beloved maid and former nanny, Annalise. The woman had been working in your childhood home for as long as you could remember. Even after you had left town, she had been the one to update you on how things had been going on in New York. She had helped you keep tabs on your parents. “Miss Y/N!” She exclaimed as you stepped out of the elevator, tackling you with a tight hug that you had grown to miss so much over the last fifteen years.

“Annalise...” Your eyes glazed over once more and you found yourself choking back your tears again. “Oh how I missed you.” You admitted, sighing as you pulled back from the hug. “We have a lot to talk about. But first, where is my mother?” You looked around the familiar home as you entered through the foyer, heading towards the living room to hear your mother’s chatter coming from down the hall.

“Your mother’s in the dining hall. She’s been on the phone with her cousin since she woke up this morning. I would suggest that you save her from that hell.” The maid informed you before she grabbed the cart that held your suitcases up to your bedroom.

You chuckled softly before giving her a nod. “Thank you, Annalise.”

“Anne, I hate to be the one to tell you what to do. It’s his wedding and none of this is your call to make.” Your mother spoke intently on the phone, rolling her eyes as the other woman before she looked up at you. “I would suggest that you back off and just let them do their thing. They’re not kids anymore.”

You chuckled softly, biting down on your lip so that the woman who was ranting to your mother could not hear you through the speaker phone. Despite the fact that Anne Archibald was a distant cousin of your mother’s, no one in the family could stand her. After the drug scandal that landed her husband in prison and William Van der Bilt had managed to cut her off, your mother had been the only one who still spoke to her, much to your insistence. You walked around the table to pull your mother into a hug from behind, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“Alright Anne, I hear you but I should let you go. Y/N just got home and... I’ll be busy for the next couple of days.” Your mother was relieved to finally say goodbye to her cousin, for the woman had always been a talkative soul who had no sense of time whatsoever. “Yes, of course, I will see you at the wedding.”

You pulled back from the hug before letting out a laugh. “When were you going to tell me that Nate was getting married?” You asked her as you sat down on the chair next to hers, reaching for a pastry that had been laid out on the table and popping it in your mouth.

“Even if I did tell you, would it have been reason enough to get you back here?” Your mother asked, teasingly. “I would have told you if I could, baby. But the whole wedding planning has been kept a secret and I didn’t know if you would be interested in finding out that your beloved little Nate’s getting married anyways. I assumed he would have told you, since you two do talk... right?”

“Mom...” You sighed. “Nate’s the closest thing I’ve had to a brother and if he wanted me at his wedding, I would have certainly made the effort to be there. I haven’t spoken to him recently though. The last time we spoke, I tried to talk him out of running for mayor and that did not end well. I did’nt think it was best to call him up and gloat when he lost the election.”

“Y/N, that was over two years ago.”

“I know, I know... I... I might go down and see him while I’m in town, you know... though I’m not sure if he would want me at his wedding.” You agreed with a shrug.

Your mother nodded. “How was your flight?”

“Good.” You replied as you swallowed the last bite of your pastry.

“And how do you feel now that you’re back here...?” She asked you, biting down on her bottom lip as she picked up her steaming cup and sipped her Earl Grey. When you had made the decision to never return to New York, your mother had been the one who had offered you her estate in London for you to stay in. While she had been disappointed in the way you had handled things, she had stood by every other decision you had made since then. Your mother was the rock of your life; she had always been.

“I don’t know.” You admitted, looking down at your hands as your mind wandered to that dreadful night once more. “I... it doesn’t feel like home anymore, but it’s only a matter of time until it does. I just... I don’t want to think about any of that.”

Your mother nodded, understandingly. “Have you been down to see your father yet?”

“No, not yet.” You replied. “I wanted to come down here and see you first. I... I don’t know what to expect when I see him, you know... I feel like a failed him sometimes. Mom, I crushed all of those plans that he had for my future by... running off and doing my own thing for all these years. I don’t want him to think that I abandoned him, when... I didn’t... that was not my intention when I left, mom. But it sure as hell seems like it now, doesn’t it?” You knew that you had to face him at some point. You had to face your past and your mistakes. You had to make amends with your loved ones. You had been gone for long enough and things had changed. Perhaps, it was time for you to let go of everything and move forward, seek redemption. You needed redemption as much as anyone else who had left behind their life on the Upper East Side.

Eight hours on a private jet had certainly not had any physiological effects on you. You found that having a few glasses of champagne during takeoff had pretty much knocked you out for the remainder of the ride. You had slept plenty and you were ready to ensure that the jet lag did not get the worst of you. New York was only five hours behind London anyways; it would not be so bad.

A cold shower had certainly done its job in keeping you awake. You found yourself strutting around your familiar childhood bedroom, wandering through the suite in reminiscence of your old life within these walls. Your mother had certainly had her touch in changing up the decoration of your bedroom in hopes that one day you would return. As the only one in your immediate family to have frequently visited your home in London, she was certainly familiar with your preferences in interior decoration. She had ensured that your childhood home would still feel like home when you came back.

A knock on your door made you fall back on your bed, staring up at the familiar ceiling as you let out a sigh. “Come in!” You called and Annalise entered with a cart of pastries and tea for your breakfast.

“Walter’s waiting outside, Miss Y/N. He said that he can drive you over to your father’s when you’re ready.” She told you as she set the cart next to your bed. “You’re still not dressed? I’ve already unpacked your clothes. They’re all in your closet.”

You let out a sigh as you sat up. “You want to pick me out an outfit like the old times, Annalise?” You asked her as your lips curled into a small smile. “Please...”

You watched as her eyes grew wide and she beamed down at you. “Of course, Miss Y/N, I would love to. Of course!”

“Thank you.” As you stood up from your bed, you reached for another pastry and took a bite of it. “Hey Annalise, can I ask you for a favor?” You asked her as you followed her into your walk-in closet. It was filled with all of the latest collections of designer clothes, despite the fact that your childhood bedroom had not been inhabited by anyone in fifteen years. Your mother had stocked up your closet in light of your arrival and you did not think you were even deserving of that kind of love. Needless to say, you had hurt both of your parents by what you had done fifteen years ago. “Do you happen to know how to get an appointment with the Editor-in-Chief of the New York Spectator?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Your maid replied as spun around to face you. She had picked out a Louis Vuitton dress for you to wear, a matching pair of Prada shoes in her hands. “I can call their office and book you an appointment with him for this afternoon.”

“This afternoon? Isn’t that short notice?” You asked her with your eyebrow raised. “I’m sure the man’s quite busy, Annalise. I don’t want to make his day any worse.”

“First of all, have you forgotten what I’m capable of?” She asked you as she handed you the dress. “Second of all, he’s your little cousin, isn’t he? I’m sure he’d push back whatever the hell he has scheduled for today the moment he hears that you want to see him. I’d say he’d be running over here the moment he hears that you’re back in town. Believe me; no one keeps my dear Miss Y/N waiting for them. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’re a real one, Annalise.”

Even if the limo ride to your father’s apartment was ten whole minutes long, it had been a rather awkward one for obvious reasons. Walter had made sure to turn down the music, as he was aware how sensitive it must be. He knew how you must be feeling at that moment. Fifteen years it had been since you had last seen your father, not that you did not want to. But from the moment you had run off to live in your mother’s estate in London, he had resented you. He was disappointed in you. He could not forgive you for the way you had let your life turn upside down in an instant. You had walked away, not from your life in the Upper East Side alone, but also from your family’s legacy that you were meant to carry on after him. You had left him and his company and he had never forgiven you for it.

Your mother had been the one to call you a week ago. You had just gotten out of a meeting to see fifteen missed calls from her. She was not one to call you like that. She would always text you before to make sure you were not busy. However, seeing as many missed calls from her as you did, you began to worry.

When you had called her back, she had informed you of how your father had suffered a heart attack. It was not a complete surprise to you, for you were aware that he had high blood pressure for a while now. You even knew that you were a source of that, unfortunately.

Once your mother had mentioned that the doctors had to do a minimally invasive surgery to fix a blockage in his heart, you had begun contemplating whether you should fly down to New York in an instant. Your mother had told you that you had nothing to worry about; your father was fine and he probably would not want to see you, being as stubborn as he had always been. But you, you could not stay away from him any longer.

You had lasted fifteen whole years without him. You wanted to see him. You wanted to apologize. You wanted to make amends, because you were terrified that he might not be here for much longer. Unbeknownst to you, it was partially true. He might not be here for much longer, but he wanted to see you either way.

“Your mother did mention that you were coming back.” Your father mumbled as he saw you enter his bedroom. “I told her I would believe her when I actually saw you in the flesh.”

You looked over at the nurse who stood by his bedside, motioning her to leave the room before you walked up to your father. “I couldn’t stay away forever; you know... not when you almost died.” You admitted as you sat down at the edge of his bed, a sigh of guilt escaping your chapped lips as you reached for his cold hand. “I know I’ve been a fucking disappointment to you, but thanks for not actually dying on me, Pop.” You could feel your heart beating right out of your chest as the tears began to slip. “I don’t know what I would have done with myself if you weren’t sitting in front of me right now.”

Your father took your hand in his. “Y/N, sweetheart...” He frowned, wincing slightly as he reached over to you. “Honey, you... you’re not a disappointment. You were never a disappointment. You... you’ve made mistakes but... don’t we all? I’m sure your mother and I are no strangers to the effects of being young and impulsive. As much as I resented the fact that you had committed those mistakes, you’ve... you’ve only ever... you did not let any of that destroy you. If anything, it made you stronger... resilient. You’ve built a whole life for yourself, Y/N, and that too... without my help. You chose to do that and as much as I would have loved to have had you take on after me, to take the company from me, I know I raised a self-made woman and I’m proud of that. I may be a little disappointed that you did not need me after a while... but... I’m proud of you for not letting all that shit destroy your spirit.”

You choked on a sob as you pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, Pop. I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I was young and dumb and didn’t know what else to do than... run away from you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean any of it.”

He wrapped his arms gently around you as he rubbed your back, trying to calm you down. He knew damn well that he had given you quite a scare last week. He had heard from your mother of how much you had freaked out when you had heard what had happened to him. Knowing that his daughter cared that much about him was more than enough for him, but being able to hold you in his arms like he had done all those years ago, that was his redemption.

“I know, sweetheart. I know... it wasn’t your fault. I should have been there a lot more for you when your mother wasn’t around. I should have watched over you as I had promised her that I would. I didn’t do that. I was so caught up on my own quest of finding the love of my life that I fucked up. It was partly my fault and you had every reason to find comfort in your mother at a time like that. But... I wouldn’t call it a mistake, when you’ve turned it all around into the best things you could have ever done. It’s been fifteen years and it’s about time we all moved on. It’s time we all became one big family again.”

“If that’s what you want, then your wish is my command.” You admitted, pulling back from the hug to give him a warm smile. “I might need to make some calls but I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not going anywhere for now. I’ll be here for as long as you need me.”

“Well, that reminds me... my doctors told me not to think about work and I left your mother in charge of the company while I’m gone.” He informed you, frowning as he looked down. “But I have something I need from you. I know that you’ve been clear about not wanting to take the company from me and I wouldn’t blame you for... not wanting that. Look at what the stress of running that company has done to me; it’s put me in a hospital. But it was always meant to be you and... I want it to be you. I want you to take care of something for me while you’re in town.”

“Mom told me that you were stressed with work and that’s why you... what’s going on, Pop? What’s bothering you?” You knew more than ever that your father’s business meant everything to him.

Your grandfather had built Y/L/N Industries from dust to dynasty. For decades, the company had been dominating the food product industry as a leading brand. But due to the loss of a recent lawsuit regarding contamination in one of your factories, something that your father had not been in control of, the company had begun to struggle.

You had done your best to keep up with the news regarding the court case, aware that your father was certainly struggling with the bad press and the debt that followed the lawsuit. No wonder the stress had driven him to have a heart attack. “I’ll do anything you need me to. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“As you know, the company’s in a lot of debt.” Your father informed you with a sigh, certainly guilty about the way in which he had handled that whole thing. A part of him was well aware that it was his arrogance that had led to his demise. But what made him feel worse was the proposed solution to his dilemma. “And I am now in a position to sell a majority of the shares of the company to one of our competitors in order to keep us running. It’s not a choice that I would have made. But the CEO of the next leading brand has offered to... buy the entire thing from us and save us from this debt. Millions of people might lose their jobs otherwise. But this also means that Y/L/N industries would no longer be Y/L/N industries. What made us... us... is the fact that we kept the thing going for all these years because it stayed within the family, the family name and the legacy. It was all that your grandfather had ever wanted, Y/N. I can’t get myself to just... sell it off. By selling his company, I would be letting go of our family’s legacy and... As much as it is financially necessary, I don’t agree with it.”

“So, what do you need me to do, Pop?”

“Well, I want you to... I would be honored if you could offer your time to... take over from your mother and be the interim CEO of Y/L/N Industries while I remain in bed rest.” Your father replied. “Y/N, you’ve shown me that you are more than capable of running your own firm. You’re one of the best corporate lawyers London’s ever seen. Take a seat at the table and try to find a way to not let our legacy be taken away from us. Make sure that we find a way out of our debt without losing the family name.”

You did not think twice about your father’s request, for you knew that this was not only what had always been expected of you. It was also what you were meant to do. It was your legacy as much as it was anyone else’s. “You have my word, Pop.”

By the time you had left your father’s apartment, you were determined to find out what was going on with Y/L/N Industries at the moment. While you had been out of touch with the recent events, you had a corporate brain nevertheless. Corporate companies across the pond feared you, for they saw you as a vulture when it came to settling disputes. Mergers were your strong suit.

Your father’s inability to ask you to represent him in court may have led to this dilemma, but he had asked you to clean up his mess on his behalf. You were going to do just that, do what you had always done best.

Whoever the guy who offered to buy your dad’s company from him may be, he was going to make one hell of a run for it now that you were taking matters into your own hands. The prodigal daughter returns.

Annalise had called you to let you know that she had managed to book you an appointment with Nate Archibald. Not that you would ever need one to see him, as she had pointed out that morning. But things had changed between the two of you in recent years.

After he had informed you that he was running for mayor, you had tried to talk him out of it. Although you hailed from a family of politicians, you could not see him in any position of power. Nate had too good a soul to be engaging in the brutality that was politics and you had tried to protect him from that, as the honorary big sister that you had always been to him.

Unfortunately, this had led to a drift within your relationship. While Nate had lost his mayoral race and learned his lesson, you two were not on speaking terms. The next thing you knew, he had not even mentioned that he was getting married and you had to find that out from your mother, unwillingly. You were surely going to give him a piece of your mind for keeping that from you.

Walking into the office of the New York Spectator seemed surreal. You remembered when you had heard that a woman named Diana Payne had initially created this daily newspaper as an attempt to dethrone Gossip Girl.

A grown woman starting a news website to compete with a teenage gossip sharing site seemed like the most stupid thing to do, at least until William van der Bilt had purchased it and sat his grandson on the head of the table.

That seemed like a bold move on his part. Nate had clearly turned the Spectator around into a major news outlet in the country over the last decade. If it was not for him, you could not have been able to keep up with everything that had been going on in the Upper East Side.

As you followed the anxious receptionist who seemed extremely intimidated by your appearance the moment you had introduced yourself, thanks to whatever strings Annalise had pulled to get her to schedule you into Nate’s busy day, you could not believe how well he had done for himself. You had not seen him in person since he had vacationed in Europe after he had graduated high school. But that seemed forever ago now. Your little boy was all grown up now.

“Miss. Y/L/N for you, Mr. Archibald.” The woman entered his office with a knock.

You gave her a nod before you followed her into his office, giving the woman a moment to walk out and close the door behind her. “Mayor Archibald.” You teased your younger cousin as you walked up to his desk, a mocking tone in your voice before you snickered.

Nate gave you a wide eyed look of disbelief, unable to comprehend the fact that you were standing right there before him, in his New York office out of all places. If anything, he knew how much you despised being in New York and he knew why you had chosen not to return for all these years.

He never would have thought that you would ever return to America, let alone to your not-so-humble home of the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Yet there you were, in the flesh, he was surely surprised to see you. But a part of him was slightly terrified, for he wondered what might be the reason behind your visit. He could only hope that your arrival had not been accompanied by any of your unfinished business.

“When my assistant told me that she got a call about a certain Y/N Y/L/N wanting to see me, I thought it was some prank call.” He admitted as he stood up from his desk and walked around to greet you. “It’s good to see you, Y/N.”

“Well, you know Annalise. She can be a little... aggressive, for the lack of a better word.” You admitted with a chuckle before pulling him into a hug. “Wow, you’ve grown up so much since the last time I saw you.”

It was true, he really had. Nate Archibald was a grown man now, but you had always seen him as that four year old boy who used to bug you at van der Bilt family reunions. He was your little brother from another mother, the closest thing you had to a sibling. He was the only one in the Upper East Side aside from your immediate family who knew where you had been for all these years and why you had left in the first place. He knew everything.

“So have you, mom.” He teased back as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. “How have you been though? How’s London? How are you? How’s Carter?”

“Good. I’ve been doing great, you know... running my own corporate law firm in London and teaching at Cambridge part-time. It’s great.” You told him with a bright smile, holding onto him a little longer as you recalled everything that the two of you had been through in the last fifteen years.

You did not know why you had chosen to trust him with your deepest, darkest secret before you had left town. But you had done the right thing by putting that trust in him. He had kept your secret with him for fifteen whole years now and not a single soul in the Upper East Side would know the real reason why you had left in a sudden or where you had been for all these years. You never would have wanted that.

“Man, I can’t believe you’re still here. It’s so good to see you after all these years.” He admitted, grinning widely. “I wish your mother would have told me beforehand that you were coming back to New York.”

“Well, I wish she would have told me that you were getting married, but that just makes us even, doesn’t it?” You pulled back from the hug. “

“You’re getting married and you didn’t think to tell me? I had to catch my mom on the phone with yours to know this? Really? Nate, I know that we haven’t been on speaking terms lately but the least I would have expected from you was for you to have called me to tell me that you were getting married. How could you have kept that from me? I thought we were friends. We’re family, for crying out loud! Just because we’re fifth cousins or whatever, that does not give you any right to keep me out of such important moments in your life.” You hit him playfully on the chest.

“What? Are you still so pissed at me about me giving you unsolicited advice regarding you running for mayor that you didn’t want me at your wedding? Is that what it is? Are you holding grudges now? Is that what I taught you, little bro? I thought you were so much better than that!” You crossed your arms against your chest as you stared at him with disbelief, expecting an answer but getting nothing in return.

Nate was visibly nervous as you brought up his wedding and he looked down at his feet, letting out a sigh of disappointment in himself for keeping the events of his love life from you for as long as he had. “Well, that was... certainly not my intention.” He admitted, looking up to meet your eyes but only to look back down again. He had never been able to lie to your face and he was not planning on doing that now.

“I just didn’t think you’d show up, to be honest, even if I told you about it. I know how you feel about coming back to New York and I didn’t want to be the one to put you in that place. I didn’t want you to feel like you should... be there. You really don’t... but now that you’re here anyways, Y/N, I would love for you to be at my wedding. You’re a part of my family and I do want you there. I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to call you sooner. I should have... but I got so busy and my mom’s been causing a lot of drama with the wedding planning-”

“Oh so you say...” You cut him off with a chuckle. “She was bitching about it to my mom all morning until I walked in. Honestly, I’m not mad. I’ve kept away from all of the... celebrations in the Upper East Side for a while now. I had no choice in that matter, but... I’m trying to be more present in my own family matters nowadays so, why not start with my dear little cousin’s wedding?”

He bit down on his bottom lip with a nod. “Oh... yeah, for sure, I’m happy that you’re back. I’m sorry to hear about your father, by the way. I know it must have scared the crap out of you. I’m glad he’s okay... my mom told me that it was a close call.”

You gave him a nod. “Oh yeah, I... no wonder I’m back in New York in a heartbeat, am I right? I was so terrified to lose my old man that I hopped on a private jet and flew my ass down here, just like that.” You admitted with a chuckle. “He’s okay, he’s happy... I think he really did want me here so... it’s all good.”

“So, I take it you’ll be in New York for a while.” He noted.

You nodded. “Yeah, I got some things to take care of for my dad so I should be here until that gets sorted out.”

“And Carter?”

Across New York City in another sky rise building was the office of the CEO of Baizen Industries. As Carter Baizen got off the phone with one of his lawyers regarding their recent business endeavor, he heard the familiar clicking sound of a woman’s red bottom heels against the tiled floor. “Oh for fuck’s sake...” He muttered under his breath before rolling his eyes, clearly not in the mood to deal with her drama at that moment. “Not now, Caroline. I’m busy...”

“My mother-in-law is a monster.” Caroline Baizen groaned as she entered her brother’s office, not caring at all that her brother’s mind was rather preoccupied by his business at that moment. She clearly needed someone to keep her from going full-on Bridezilla and she knew Carter had the emotional maturity to keep her sane throughout the remainder of her wedding planning.

She sat down on the chair across from him, clearly exhausted from having to spend the entire day with the woman who had given birth to the love of her life. “She’s... my monster-in-law, to be fucking honest, trying to act all pretentious and dictating how to plan my fucking wedding. It’s my fucking wedding, Carter. I think I have all the right to decide if I wanted roses or tulips at my fucking wedding!”

Carter rolled his eyes once more as he closed his laptop and leaned forward, resting his hands on his desk as he let out a sigh. “Caroline, as much as I love you, I think you’re being irrational right now. I really don’t see a point in freaking out over the flowers at your wedding. You chose to marry Nate, so the fact that you’re going to be marrying him should be the only thing that matters.”

“Easy for you to say, Carter... the groom’s job in a wedding is to just show up and say his vows. You couldn’t even do that.” She retorted, rolling her eyes at her brother. “Nate loves me, but... he’s too soft-spoken. He won’t tell his mother to back off that easily.”

He shook his head as he recalled his own wedding a decade ago, which had eventually led to him being cut off by his father. To say that he had learned his lesson since then would be an understatement. “But he loves you, right? He loves you and he’s marrying you, which means he’s choosing to spend the rest of his life with you.” He reminded her. “Do you really think that if push came to shove, he wouldn’t choose your side over his mother? I don’t think starting a family drama over roses and tulips is worth it.”

“Yeah, he loves me. But what do you know about love and being married? You left Beth Buckley at the altar, for crying out loud.”

He did. He was no saint and his past was proof of that. But what most of his family or anyone else did not know about him was that Carter did indeed know what it meant to be in love. He understood what it meant to love someone, long before he had even left Beth Buckley at the altar. “I may or may not know more than you do, believe it or not.” He admitted as he recalled that early morning almost fifteen years ago.

As the two of you laid hand in hand in the back of the limo, barely clothed as the sun had finally risen over the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Carter Baizen looked over at you with his bloodshot blue eyes. His soft pink lips curled into a smile as he reached over to stroke the side of your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.”

You chuckled, sleepily as you laid your head against his shoulder. “You probably say that to almost every girl in the Upper East Side, you know, just to get them to sleep with you again.”

“But I mean it this time.”

“Oh really?” You asked him with your eyebrow raised at him. A part of you knew better than to put all of your faith in him. Carter Baizen had a reputation for being the bad boy, the heart breaker, the one who could never be trusted. The Constance girls called him an apocalypse and warned each other in the name of sisterhood to steer away from his gaze at all costs. But you had known Carter since you were very little. Your parents had been friends since long before the two of you had been born. You thought you knew who he really was, so you had no choice than to trust that version you knew. But it would have taken you less than twelve weeks to know how wrong you had been about that. It was too late now though. It was way too late now.

He nodded his head as he licked his lips. “You’re my one exception.”

#togwc #aj writes #exception #carter baizen x reader #carter baizen x you #carter baizen x y/n #carter baizen fanfic #carter baizen fic #carter baizen fanfiction #carter baizen fluff #carter baizen imagine #carter baizen series #carter baizen smut #gossip girl fic #gossip girl fanfic #gossip girl fanfiction #carter baizen owns my ass

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aerialflight · 5 years

Text

Storm the World with Reckless Abandon

Snippet #16

District 4 was a close-knit, viciously friendly place. They share the mindset of you’re whether with them or against them, sharks of the sea who follow the scent of spilt blood, especially if it’s theirs. They bare their teeth into grins and laugh with bubbly enthusiasm to mask the sharp canines ready to bite. They can be gentle, kind. But they’re a picky bunch, and don’t have much thought for outsiders.

There’s a reason they’re one of the Career districts. Their whole livelihood depends on being fearless, to be able to jump into the water and take on whatever creatures they face. To be hunters, patient with their nets and waiting for the right time to strike with their fishhooks.

Thrill seekers, every last one of them. If it weren’t for the fact the world around them was contaminated and limited, they’d eagerly explore more dangerous waters, discover another world beyond the shallow reefs.

Brea has been told her entire life she’s far too practical for any of that nonsense. Her father would run a hand through her hair and affectionately tease her for her strict nature. Her refusal to go in the water other than to fish had kids deeming her as boring. She gets her chores done on time, weaves out blankets with fabric traded from District 8, and repeats the day like clockwork.

Being chosen for the Hunger Games was a death sentence for a girl like her.

She wasn’t blind or stupid, she knew her chances were slim to none. And even if she did survive, she wasn’t sure she would want to in the end. To have that much blood coat her hands and never be able to scrub them off was a concept she didn’t want to understand.

In that train leading to her death, the older victor Mags had pulled her aside with deadly serious eyes, and slowly enunciated four words with absolute care, determined to give this one advice to her among the many she already had given through gestures and written word.

“Ally with the outsider.”

Personally, Brea thought the older woman was completely unreasonable to ask that of her. Because it was never going to happen.

The outsider – Ichigo she recalled, the name strange and foreign on the tongue – was the very definition of insane.

He didn’t understand the silent rules everyone followed, spoke out when it could get him killed, and treated killers like they were merely human. He moved too quietly and was wilder than anyone she’s ever met. As strange as he was, he fit right in with the Victors he hung around more with than with his fellow tributes. Not that it was encouraged for the tributes to interact or get close to one another, but it sometimes couldn’t be helped when training together.

But it didn’t seem to matter either way. The orange haired enigma acted untouchable to his surroundings and even if Brea did take Mag’s advice into consideration, it would mean having to watch her own back even more than she was now. The strong belonged with the strong, and Brea didn’t belong in that category. It would mean putting herself in the line of fire.

No matter how kind and gentle the old woman Mags looked, how dazzling and shallow Finnick Odair acted, they wouldn’t be standing here today if they didn’t have a streak of ruthlessness in them. Brea heard the stories, seen the clips. Living in a district so aware of how food chains didn’t just extend to the food they ate, Brea was rightfully wary of those who proved to be more than how they appeared. Blending in or standing out were methods of a predator, or a very clever prey capable of surviving.

Either was a dangerous combination and the Capital was pack full of such people.

She could see it in the other Careers who smirked in her direction with arrogant disdain. See it in all the other tributes whose eyes glinted with determination or desperation to live.

Human beings hunting down human beings in this game that Ichigo seemingly refused to play in. Like he was better than them.

That was what truly made him infuriating. He was a predator who didn’t bother to hunt, content in watching the rest of them struggle and not lifting a damn finger to take advantage of it. Brea knew it was irrational. She knew Ichigo as an ally would be a boon, but in some ways, he was even worse than the Careers. His above-all attitude was implied by his inaction and refusal to train.

It made her grit her teeth, resentment building by the day as he sat by and did nothing.

All of that, however, changed on the second day.

It was the District 2 Career who instigated it. The boy, Lance if Brea remembered correctly. He had been casually hefting the spear at the weapon’s section of the training room with Panthea, the blonde tribute of his own district, when his gaze was suddenly resting on the unmoving, sitting form of the outsider like a shark smelling blood in the water.

Hair at the back of Brea’s neck stood up as Lance swaggered towards Ichigo with Panthea gleefully grinning next to him. The District 1 tributes, who seemed to have formed an alliance with them to the surprise of no one since day one, trailed behind with a caution that Brea found to be rare in Careers. Thad and Ace weren’t such terrible people as Brea expected them to be. A lot quieter than the blond pair, that’s for certain. Still, the way they moved screamed dangerous as their footsteps were quiet and their countenance confident.

She didn’t know what to make of them yet. Their true colors would be revealed in the games though, Brea had no doubts about that.

The whole room was suddenly quiet as all the tributes started to notice the impending drama that was about to occur. Brea would bet her District’s entire food storage that the sponsors behind the walls were watching as well, holding their breaths and waiting to see what would happen.

Ichigo, who seemed absolutely oblivious to all of this, remained relaxed and sitting with his eyes closed. If it weren’t for the deep breaths the cavity of his chest were taking, Brea would be tempted to think he was peaceful as death. He remained so even as Lance loomed over him, grinning bloodthirstily.

“Hey, Outsider. Having a good nap?”

Ichigo opened one eye by a fraction, the color gold underneath the lighting. Taking in the sight of the Career, Ichigo closed it once more in a dismissing gesture that spoke volumes of what he thought of his fellow competitor.

“I was until you showed up brat.”

Everyone stared.

Brea didn’t know whether to gape or laugh in shock.

Lance stood motionless for a full second before swinging the spear he was still incidentally holding up to Ichigo’s neck, his movement quick as a viper and face red with rage. Everyone immediately tensed, the atmosphere turning strained to the point of suffocation.

“What did you call me?” Lance spat out, looking enraged and incredulous at the same time. Like he never imagined someone would be stupid enough to insult him while he was holding a weapon.

Like the maniac he clearly was, the outsider didn’t even flinch as he slowly reopened both eyes. He looked unimpressed.

“I called you what you are.” Ichigo shrugged, unconcerned how the movement jolted the blade so it would scrape against his neck. “If you’ve got a problem with it, then stop acting like one. Brat.”

He’s crazy, Brea thought somewhat deliriously. Or he has a death wish.

Lance seemed to think along the same lines, his grip on the spear so tight to the point one could see his knuckles turning pale.

“Do you want to die? Is that it? Cause I can make that happen for you.” He pressed the blade harder, just barely not breaking the skin. “It would be a mercy for someone as crazy as you.”

At that, the outsider’s inhumanely golden eyes opened fully, wide and unsettling as they pierced through the boy with a sharpness even more threatening than the blade on his neck. A feral grin was overtaking his features, for once not looking apathetic or what Brea now realized was boredom. He looked every bit as insane as Brea and everyone suspected him to be, untamed and animalistic with how sharp his canines suddenly looked.

“You can’t cut me. You’re afraid.” Ichigo said with utter certainty. His accusing stare dared Lance to deny it. “When you attack, you’re thinking “I’m afraid to cut them.” When you dodge, you think, “I’m afraid to get cut.”” Ichigo reached out a hand and tapped the blade pointedly. “There’s nothing but fear in your blade. And because of that, you can’t beat me. I called you brat because your resolve is weak.”

Without hesitation, Ichigo pushed the blade away from his neck with an ease that spoke of how little he thought of the boy, yes, boy in front of him. He stood up, his eyes never leaving Lance’s frozen figure. At that moment, the outsider looked so much older than he actually was. Never has he looked so separate, so much of an outsider than in this very instance.

In the dead silence, Ichigo took his leave, walking out of the room with his head held high and looking like a Victor already.

It was official. No way was Brea allying with a crazy who practically painted himself as a target after this stunt.

Notes: So, I'm alive? For anybody who's still interested in this fic, thank you for your patience and really sorry it took so long to update hahaha. Final exams are kicking my ass and this just somehow came out. Do I regret not studying instead? Absolutely. Would I take this chapter back? Hell no. So, at least there's something good about exams. It's the best time to stress write lol. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy and thank you to those still following this fic!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

AO3

#Fanfiction #AO3 #Snippet #aerial snippet #Crossover #The Hunger Games #Bleach #Fic Idea #Crack!plot #Kurosaki Ichigo #Storm the World with Reckless Abandon

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meduise · 4 years

Note

Whats some of ur fav dino, dino/hibari hcs?

finally i could reply to this ask!! which, anon, i still thank you for bc its the best thing i could ever be asked to talk about ww

reading will likely take some time, but i hope you and whoever else reads this post will share some hcs or at least find them nice ad interesting enough! and of course, i’ll be happy to answer more asks about it!! like the hibari-only post, i may come back to this one and update it over time

general warning for death mentions and spoilers from the novel “haneuma stampede”!!

hopefully this post wont be hidden from the tag search

dino headcanons

until i read about haneuma stampede, i pretty much always headcanoned dino’s hometown being naples, and this because i have neapolitan origins myself www in the light novel we get to know that dino’s hometown is a port city facing the adriatic sea (east) hence the opposite coast to naples, since this town faces the tyrrhenian sea (west). because of this piece of information, tho, i started thinking dino could be from bari, apulia’s capital city

being that a self projection, im still attached to that hc, so to keep at least a part of it i gave dino neapolitan grandparents LOL i mean, it’s not unlikely anyway

this is a recent hc but dino has a huge crush on is a big fan of immanuel casto, a gay italian singer whose most songs are explicit or suggestive and provocative

i think we all can agree that romario is like a second father to dino, right? their bond gets even stronger after cavallone nono’s death ;; romario will occasionally drop his habit to call dino “boss” and call him with his first name instead. dino will remind romario quite often how important he is to him beyond his role as his right-hand man

What Do You Mean Dino’s Tattoos Magically Appeared On His Body When He Was Deemed The Worthy Successor,,, i (falls on my knees) hc’ed that getting them done took A LOT and hurt A LOT and he yelled A LOT to the tattoo artist to stop inking and to his family that he didnt want to belong to that world,,,, im sorry dino

his tattoo and his duty as a boss in general dont give him much freedom (or should i say they dont give him freedom at all) so among the other hcs of situations where he has to cover his left arm, i have this one where dino cant but go to the beach when its empty and/or at night so that no one can see him but his men

the years may pass but he will still blame himself for his father’s death. and i mean. its pretty much true that it was his fault orz thanks light novel for giving me depress

onto the personality-wise hcs,, i talked about hibari’s enneagram type so i cant not do that for dino too. dino is 2w1, which gets called the servant. starting with the basic type: depending on the level of health, the two (”the helper”) ranges from being the most genuinely caring and helpful type to other people to being the type who gives expecting to be given something back to being the type who manipulates people into caring about them. i dont believe dino has fallen or will ever fall into the very unhealthy pit but he does get on the level where he thinks his generosity is the only thing that tie people to him and his people-pleasing attitude starts getting suffocating. he can be quite possessive, too. in a few words, type one is a very principled type, who fears being defective, bad and corrupt. therefore i assigned dino the one wing to kinda enhance the following paradox: being what he hates the most, aka part of a rotten system such as the mafia one. and with a role as a boss, to it. dino as a teenager never wanted to succeed to his father, and even now he wishes he didnt belong to that world but he loves his family, and even tho according to the moral he deserves to go to jail together with his men, he is self-admittedly too much of a coward to do that (theres so much more to add to this but if i do it will get REALLY long. there’s going to be another little enneagram talk in the d18 hcs anyway, lol)

_____________________________________________________________

dinohiba headcanons

these bitches gay good for them, good for them

advanced apologizes for being an angst fucker but for years my #1 headcanon has been a quite twisted one about dino and hibari not allowing themselves die by the hand of someone who isn’t each other’s. its a sort of oath. they feel like if one of them dies it will be unforgivable, and this will lead them to ultimately kill each other. in their mind, “it’s either both or none of them”, both know that they won’t be able to bear with the other being gone forever (yes, hibari too) and the only solution they find is leaving the world together, the same way they fought on it and against it together. the scenario i thought for this is a duel inside the reverse globe of needles. their last fight in hibari’s ultimate technique so that it’s literally just a world made of the two of them lol lol lol

tbh dino didnt like hibari at first, and with hibari being hibari it takes them long to warm up to each other. for long i mean some years w (years of anger, fights, hardship, trauma reveal, and so on)

their first bonding moment happens when hibari finds out about fon (yeah, all the stuff i talked about in my hibari hc post to which i have to add: i made my own timeline where the arcobaleno arc happens about 2 years later than shown in canon). dino is there to comfort him. dino hugs hibari and he lets him do. hibari cries. HIBARI CRIES for the third (3rd) time in his life there

i have this kinda specific hc of dino overhearing hibari sing hitoribocchi no sadame and getting sad about its lyrics

for obvious reasons even when they start dating they’re forced to spend most of the time away from each other but they make sure to be together at least on every anniversary

i love the established relationship trope so much therefore 80% of the times i think and write about them hibari is in his 30s and these two have been married for like 7 years

i’ll get to the marriage proposal and ceremony another time hopefully in a fic too but of course romario and fon are chosen for their best men

idk if people consider ship playlists and such as hcs, but i associate savages by kerli and someone to stay by vancouver sleep clinic to them ;;

about someone to stay: the line will you fix me up? will you show me hope? is hibari -> dino, and the line can you keep me close? can you love me most? is dino -> hibari

and finally, to go back to the topic of enneagram: their compatibility according to their types. on the institute’s official site theres already a good description, which makes me cry everytime i go back to it because it literally starts with “These two types are more alike than they might appear to be at first”. part of this is given by the fact that unhealthy twos get the unhealthy traits of eights and healthy eights get the healthy traits of twos. i made a scheme for it:

i admit that i have no proof that the comparison is legit for the wings too, but finding out the stress/growth correlation even for them was very validating and satisfying, lol

some headcanons are missing from this post bc i decided to post the most important and my fave ones (the fave ones are those asked for in the first place but i cant shut up ashdjsdhfdjsdhfg)

but either way OVERALL i really, really love imagining both dino and hibari overcoming their hardships, individually and together, becoming the better versions of themselves the more the years pass, bringing their best qualities to each other and learning to accept and appreciate their different points of view.

because of the way they are at first they... dont really start good, but with health and trust they make a powercouple tbh

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #hibari kyoya #dino cavallone #dinohiba #d18 #headcanons #khr headcanons #asks #anonymous #I LOOOOVED LOVED LOVED WRITING THIS POST DOWN #its so long that the keep reading appears right after the question #when i only put it right before the dino headcanons title #lmFAOOO #i just cant stop talking

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goodnightkisseu · 5 years

Text

Hwang Minhyun - In The Fields

→ pairing: minhyun x reader

→ genre: fluff, historical!au (kinda?)

→ word count: 2235

→ warnings: mentions of a war but nothing graphic

→ summary: your village had one rule: do not bring in any outsiders. yet, when you find him injured, what else were you to do?

→ masterlist // wanna one masterlist

note: Hehehehe, you thought you were only going to get one fic didn’t you, @prettywordsyouleft? Well, surprise! There are two! I couldn’t just write a fic for your Kyungsoo without also writing one for your Hwangsband. It may technically not be your birthday anymore where you are, but it is where I am! This one is more of a thank you for being such a great friend. I know I’ve probably been a bit insufferable this last month, but thank you for listening to me. I really appreciate you, Chelle, and love you much!

- ash <3

There was one law in your village that was always to be abided by: never, was anyone allowed to take in an outsider.

Your small village was located on the outskirts of two rather large cities. To the east of you was the Imperial Kingdom. It thrived under the rule of the royal family. You had been there only once, but the city itself was lavish. Most of those that lived near the capital made a good living, but as you went further and further out, it was no surprise that those areas were not as prosperous. To the west was what used to be an outpost for the Imperial Kingdom. Many that were unable make a living moved out towards it, as it bordered the neighboring lands. They felt like they had a better chance of making it there than back at home. With time, the outpost flourished into its own large city with the help of the neighboring kingdom, and this was where all of the trouble started.

Being able to bridge the gap with the neighboring kingdom to the west, the outpost sought to grow, making its own entity. In doing so, they started to move out toward the vast plain that separated the two municipalities. Unsurprisingly, the Imperial Kingdom heard of their plans and grew concerned with a war that was likely to break out. And their concern was valid as, not long after, the war was declared. Fights broke out on this vast plain... and your village was at the center of it.

Being located right on the end of the plain, meant that you could thrive raising your farm animals there, as well as growing your crops. It was a peaceful living. However, when intelligence scouts from both sides realized what a great post this would be, troops invaded your small village. It left your home in shambles for years, remaining villagers having to rebuild with the limited supplies that they had. Even now with the war gone and the two large cities learning to coexist, your village was still unwilling to let outsiders in. They worried it would show favoritism, and if a batter were to come again, the town would not survive.

So you were well aware of what it would mean if you helped that injured man... and yet you defied your village's law. Because your kindness would not allow you to leave a person in need of help...

The day you had met him, the man you would later know as Minhyun, you were taking your horse out on a ride. It was rare that you left your farm in recent months. Between making sure that all of your animals were healthy, and that you had enough goods to bring out to the local market, your days were usually just spent there. However, today you decided to break that routine and go out, knowing that it would be good for you and your trusty horse who had been stuck roaming the same plot for the last while. The two of you came to a small shaded area to rest, and that was when you found him. Lying next to the water, somewhat obscured by the trees was a man, unconscious. Your initial reaction was to get out of there. It could be dangerous, and you had heard about bandits using a similar tactic to rob innocents. But for an unknown reason, your concern for him was far greater than your sense of fear. After all, what if he was injured?

Against your better judgment, you approached the unconscious man to check on him. His breathing was low, his skin a bit pale. That was when your eyes trailed down and noticed it. The large gash in his leg. He was losing blood, and the wound needed to be treated. Without thinking on it any further, you fumbled to get him upright and onto your horse, leading her back to your farm.

You tended to his wound and let him rest out in the living area for the night. Still, you woke up with a start when you heard clattering in the other room, things being knocked off the table. Tentatively, you approached the commotion, seeing the male on his feet, hobbling around, in obvious pain as he rummaged through the things that were near him. As if sensing that he wasn't alone, he turned towards you, and you froze on the spot, unsure of what to do in this type of situation.

"Who are you? He asked. "Who sent you after me?"

Now that he was mere inches from you, pure adrenaline bringing him to his feet to confront you, you finally got a clear look of his face, in motion. You had thought he was handsome before, almost princely, but now there was coldness in his features, something you hadn't expected. And it was apparent to you that he was in pain, though he tried to hide it.

"N-n-no one…" you piped, though his icy stare told you that he didn't believe you. "I saw that you were injured, and so I brought you back here..."

"Out of the kindness of your heart?" the man inquired, though his words almost sounded condescending, and you didn't like the tone of it. "I'll give you one last chance to tell me who and to tell me where I am."

Though you had been terrified before, the male confronting you like this upset you, and instead of being scared, you spoke up. "I told you that no one sent me after you. You're in the village to the southern plain. You know that we don't like bringing people in. I helped you because you were injured, mere inches from losing your life. If you don't want to stay, you can leave."

Your sudden bravery seemed to shock him, and the fact that he was located so far from where he had started, was also shocking. You saw him calm down as he took a step back from you. "Thank you for your help," he finally said.

You let out a sigh. "I know that you would like to leave, but your leg needs to heal up first. I'll assess it in the morning, and change the bandages. For now, please get some rest," you suggested, before disappearing back into your room.

In the morning, you made breakfast for two, though you could see that he was still skeptical as to your kindness. You didn't push him to eat, instead, leaving the food there on the off chance he would think of his own health and consume it. This continued you for a few days until he finally spoke up. He told you his name, Minhyun that he was from the Imperial Kingdom and had been coming back from a reconnaissance mission when he was attacked. He had been with another soldier that managed to get away and hopefully get the intel back to the royal family. He then, for the first time, since he arrived, thanked you for your kindness.

And that was the moment when the two of you finally started to open up to each other.

Minhyun told you that, back home, his family had also owned a farm, though nowhere near as this one. When the war hit seven years ago, he had been drafted into the Royal Army and had to leave home, along with many other young men that were deemed fit to serve. The training had been endless... and then the war hit. He had lost everything in it. His family was gone, the farm was gone, and he didn't really have a home to return to once it was all over. So he stayed on, working for the only people that he knew. It wasn't ideal, in his opinion, but it gave him a purpose. And honestly, you could understand the need for a purpose.

In seemingly no time at all, Minhyun's leg had healed. You had expected him to leave then, knowing that he had far better things to get back to. And though it saddened you, as his companionship had been pleasant, different from your animals, you knew that you couldn't keep him there. But much to your surprise, he didn't leave right away. He had made the excuse that his leg needed more time. He needed to be able to walk around on it, to make sure that it was in good shape for when he returned. Slowly, he started to work with you on your daily tasks, picking up on work that you struggled with or just didn't have enough time to do.

You grew to depend on him, and though you would have been happy to let him stay with you forever, you knew you had to confront him about why he seemed to be refusing to head home. Did he have a job to do? Why would he want to be stuck out here, taking care of a farm?

"Minhyun, I know that your leg is better. You've been able to lift those bales of hay for almost two weeks now. Why are you still here?" you asked one day when the two of you were walking in from feeding the chickens.

He stopped in his tracks at your question, almost as if he were surprised that you had noticed. "Um... I..."

You turned to face him, with just enough time to see that flustered expression cross his features. You hid your smile, however, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. "Don't you want to head back to the city? I feel like your life there would be more comfortable..."

A gentle sigh left his lips. "I like it here, though. This type of work reminds me of home. It reminds me of the things I used to have before the war. And I like working here with you. I like your company..." he admitted. "I know that you never planned on having anyone stay with you for so long, but if you're alright with it, I'd like to stay here... with you."

And so he stayed. Every day, Minhyun would wake up when you did. The two of you would eat the breakfast that you prepared before going out and doing your daily routine. The work no doubt, got done a lot faster with two people, and you found yourself going to market more often now that you had more products to sell. Granted, the villagers were not too fond of the help you had received. Minhyun was never allowed to come further into the village with you as you sold your goods, but you supposed it was the best outcome, as the original punishment was an exile. At least they still bought what you had to sell.

The more time the two of you spent together, the more you grew to see Minhyun differently. He wasn't just a man that shared your home for the sake of working on your farm. You grew to care for him genuinely, feelings of love growing towards the male who helped to take care of you and your home. You lived together, worked together, and it became apparent to you that you felt more than just friendship towards him, though friendship was a big part of it. He made you smile, made you happy, and you soon realized that you did the same for him.

It didn't happen extraordinarily. It had been simple. One day, he just slipped your hand into his. No words needed to be said, no strange confessions. Your relationship grew organically, though it did feel a bit more domestic now that the two of you were an item. Going to bed meant being in his arms. Waking up meant gentle kisses to your temple and cheeks. It felt warm, cozy, and you liked it.

This type of lifestyle suited the two of you, and just thinking about it made you smile.

"Why is my love smiling like that?" Minhyun probed from behind you, his hands on securely on either side of you as he held the reigns. You had just finished up another day at the market, all of your contents sold and were now on your way home. "I can see that smile spreading out to your cheeks and up to your eyes from back here, you know."

"It's nothing. I'm just thinking about how fortunate I am..." you said gently, leaning back against Minhyun's chest. "That night... it could have turned out very differently for the both of us. But that was how we met, how I ended up with you in my life. I'm happy."

"I am as well... even if the townspeople don't really like me," he said with a chuckle.

"But Minhyun, tell me something," you started, hearing the soft hum from behind you. "Why did you never want to go back?" Your head was turned, trying to get a glimpse of his reaction.

Minhyun smiled, a content sigh leaving his lips. "I didn't think I was going to stay, but the more time I spent with you, the longer I worked at your farm, the more I realized that I longed for something I had lost. And I found you. I never went back because you wouldn't be there. My life feels complete here, with you," came his gentle reply, placing the softest kiss on your lips...

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