#but i suppose little tidbits like that are just a bonus for following me

[south-sea]

Second Chance AU Shadow (Headcanons Masterlist)

I was encouraged by a certain someone to share all the Shadow headcanons I omitted from a more recent post, but it quickly got away from me and turned into a sort of masterlist with all the links being added in for context.

So in the interest of eventually having a working catalogue of "view these specifics posts for more organized information on Second Chance AU instead of sifting through various rambles", here it is!

Initial context for what this AU even is is here.

(edit: this is definitely out of date by the time you're seeing it, see pinned for an overall tag)

He figures things out about himself/interacts with new or developing interests in phases. Which is probably pretty standard, but so far he’s gone through a particular trend of weather —> photography/scrapbooking —> food —> adventuring/getting into Situations [you are here]. No telling what’s up next, but he never really abandons discovered interests either. He still keeps up with photography/scrapbooking, still appreciates new weather patterns/cloud formations and whatnot, and is basically never not thinking about Good Food. I would love for him to some day focus on music and maybe pick up an instrument or something; he could learn piano from Metal’s caretaker, even.

Discovering preferred foods is also a slow but unique process in that he doesn’t notice, really, until someone else points out he has a clear preference for something. From his perspective, he still doesn’t really have favorites because why would he, but anyone else would be able to tell there are certain things he gravitates toward (and that applies to everything, not just food). So far, other than expensive chocolates, that’s mostly tomatoes, whether raw or roasted; cherry tomatoes especially. They’re somewhat of a comfort food at this point. A few other honorable mentions: avocado, sautéed spinach mixed in with things, and grilled veggies in general. Weird little kid who goes out of his way to ask for vegetables, really. He also especially likes the crunch of carrots, but celery and lettuce on their own practically insult him for how comparatively tasteless they are.

Don’t ask him what his favorite color is either. He has no idea. He likes the green Emerald the most, but also the light blue one (he’ll never admit it, if just because he doesn't consciously realize it, but it’s because that one specifically reminds him of Metal). From his perspective, that’s about as much as he’s able to place; wires get crossed and he answers according to his Chaos Emerald color preference, not ‘colors in general’. From my perspective, I see it as him being partial to blue and green because that’s what he’d most commonly see from the ARK, looking down at earth. Objectively, blue probably wins by sentimentality alone, given so many of the people he’s close with are/were inherently associated with blue.

He starts a lot of sentences with “I think”, as a sort of parallel to Metal regularly starting statements with “but”. Those who don’t know him might wrongly assume that this, paired with the fact he rarely speaks above something comparable to a whisper, means he’s not very assertive/sure of himself. Not the case, he’s just naturally very quiet. To hear him use his whole chest to speak is unusual, and to hear him shout is downright shocking.

He rests his hand on his forehead to self-soothe, as leaning it against Maria was something he would regularly do when cuddling with her back then. As a direct consequence of this, he does not allow people to touch his head without warning, but pushing his forehead into someone's chest/shoulder is often something he does automatically if someone hugs him, so it's an "on my terms only" kind of thing.

This is very much canon. She/her feels like he’d be stepping on toes (that’s for Maria, not him), they/them doesn’t quite feel right, and neo pronouns are not for him. So, using he/him really is just for the sake of convenience. It’s not quite right, but being referred to that way doesn’t bother him either, so there’s really nothing else for it. That’s just how it is.

The more exploring and such he does, the less sensitive his paw pads get. That eventually leads to wearing half-gloves instead.

He currently lives in a place that looks an awful lot like space. The house is shared with Metal, and has two stories. Upstairs is where his study/bedroom technically are, but he rarely goes up there to do anything but write. A majority of his time is spent downstairs, either cooking or napping. Who needs a proper bed when he has a comically oversized blanket to make a nest out of? (This blanket is eventually torn beyond reasonable repair. While it's replaced with another of similar size, the original is eventually tailored into a jacket.)

Re: this, it directly lends to what I was getting at in this post. There will come a day where he’s so much more “Maria” than himself that he practically drops everything and has to find a more earth-looking [second] home. He will keep and take care of this place even after the “Maria day” passes. I expect this location to be mostly rural—he wants to appreciate nature, its sounds, weather, and things like sunrise/sunsets unhindered, but not so much that he’s fully isolated. Maybe on the outskirts of a smaller town, but still within walking distance of it so he can check in and people-watch or window shop, things like that.

Relatedly, his relationship with his own age is complicated at best. He's neither adult nor child. (There is no argument to be made about how mentally mature he is otherwise. No matter how you spin it, he is still a minor. Arguments about that are not tolerated here.)

The rest of the points are arguably less general and more “Shadow regularly gets himself into trouble: the series” and delves into things like his regeneration ability/biology in relation to the Black Arms/etc, so I’m stuffing ‘em under the cut. Nothing particularly gory or anything like that, just a general courtesy in case people don’t want to read about that rougher/more scientific aspect of his character.

Shortly after his revival, he (safely) gave himself over to trusted scientists. For a few months, he underwent a gauntlet of tests/scans/etc in hopes they would help him find a cure for the illness Maria suffered. Some of these scans were painful despite what he thought was a high pain tolerance, which came as a surprise to him. This is relevant for most of the upcoming points.

Most controversial take: he finds guns boring. Primarily in the sense of what’s being used against him as a weapon, though. Bullets will not stop him. If you want him to stop moving, you’re going to have to lop something clean off, then flip a coin. Heads he stops, tails he’s too hyped up on adrenaline/chaos energy and will still wreck the antagonist’s shit.

Needless to say, his relationship with pain/injury is a bit weird, to the point of being distressingly casual about it. He can recover from just about any damage within reason; so far, he can and has regenerated an entire arm before (with help from an Emerald). Pain and dangerous situations that might inflict damage do not scare him.

His tolerance for pain is another matter entirely, though. In some twisted kind of way, once he realized he does in fact have a limit/pain threshold (e.g., the scans, and a particular other few events, even before the arm loss), he almost started getting more reckless to challenge and raise that threshold. His pain tolerance is already pretty high, so the fact there still exists situations in which damage exceeds that tolerance is almost like a thrill/challenge. He won’t go out of his way to or purposely hurt himself, but if the dangerous situation he’s half-intentionally placed himself in causes an accident or something, then so be it. The more experience he gains, the less likely he's going to be stunlocked by pain when stakes are high.

If he’s left to his own devices for too long, he gets restless. Being restless leads to getting himself into Situations (e.g., the above points, and also kind of like this.) Basically his impulse control just plummets. That’s where races or spars with Metal might eventually come in later. He can only stand being serene and mild-mannered for so long. There is still Black Arms blood in him; it's where he gets his otherwise well-hidden temper/competitiveness/etc. Playing rough with Metal, who has a similar “so what if I lose an arm, it can be repaired” outlook, is a good way to safely manage and expend that energy when it starts to drive him a bit stir-crazy.

Speaking of blood, his is not green. The chaos energy overrides the Black Arms’ blood color, so instead his glows bright gold in the first few seconds it’s exposed to air, and then gradually dulls down into a near-black.

In the event he’s injured, the spots being healed/regenerated come back a bit paler, not unlike a scar (the fur, too, is a bit finer). Eventually his fur evens back out to the usual black, but is a bit longer around the edges of where the injury was for a little while after/to the point he might have to manually trim it. Also tends to keep souvenirs of sorts when he gets into Situations. (General sketch page mulling over all of this. I'm still not 100% sure about the 'his fur eventually goes back to its normal color' thing; he may just Stay Like That with the paler patches/missing quills/etc like regular scars, but until I decide for sure, I'm just operating under the assumption this is not the case.)

He's essentially a highly efficient energy burner. Food/water just gets converted into pure chaos energy. Nothing is wasted; frankly his anatomy doesn't even allow for it.

In the same vein, he can go a few days without food/water, but it'll take a lot to replenish his energy stores. It's typical for him to go into an almost coma-like sleep for a few days to recover from critical injuries (not unlike in Sonic Battle). Outside of that, if he doesn't replenish his chaos energy quickly enough, he stays lethargic/fatigued for about a week.

He is biologically incapable of contracting illnesses (the Metal Virus would still, hypothetically, be an exception), and cannot be poisoned. Whether it's inhaled/ingested, he'd just cough or spit it back out without it taking effect. Similarly, he doesn't experience typical nausea outside of extreme fatigue/pain, so it's one of the few things he knows of due to his time with Maria, but can't really empathize with.

When tired, he's more Creature than not. There's a lot more little squeaks/chirps/huffs and whatnot that you'd expect from a typical hedgehog. This is especially true when he's already asleep/recovering. If he's cradled or hugged for an extended period of time, he will start to purr in a way more comparable to a bear cub than cat. It's so faint it's more felt than heard, and can otherwise only be heard by the person actively holding him.

[snifflesthemouse]

Harry’s the Problem. His wife is the symptom. He is the real Diana 2.0 Wannabe...

         Since the Oprah interview aired, my whole perspective regarding the spare and his spouse has shifted. It would seem that I’m not alone in my thought process as more and more media outlets start reporting similar stances. Just recently, there was an article suggesting Harry didn’t change; but rather, he is only finally revealing his true self. The more I think about it all, the more I’ve come to the realization #6 is the real culprit behind everything.

         I’m not saying that his wife doesn’t have her own agenda or shares responsibility for her part in all this. Her hands are far from clean. What I am saying is it’s finally time for all of us to consider the cold, hard truth. Harry is his mother’s child. Harry is the bad egg, and his wife is only a side effect of the real problem here.

         Had it not been for the Oprah interview, I would have never put it all together. The problem with oversharing is too much information gets put out in the public. Most assume PR firms would worry about oversaturation in the press, but the real problem comes from personal interviews they cannot control in real-time. Puff pieces can be edited before publishing so facts and statements align; live interviews cannot. Over time, one of two patterns form from this oversaturation. Consistencies, repetitions, and similarities can be found in oversaturated truth-telling. Inconsistencies, changes, and huge differences result from those like Harry who prefer their trousers scorching hot from bursting into flames from deception. When you consistently lie, the only constant is the inconsistencies. 

         Now, those of us who have been following these two already know by now inconsistencies and changing stories should be expected. But the Oprah interview really highlighted some interesting things I had previously missed. The interview with Dax Shephard only solidifies my theories. Up until lately, those two have been together through most everything. Very seldom have we seen Harry alone in an interview or speech. There’s never a time where the missus isn’t popping up. James Corden proved that. Then we have the Oprah interview where she was supposed to be the star of the show. But, that was the moment it all changed. That interview was the moment she became the understudy. 

          Think about it. Who is the one being used in the media lately? Most people would suggest that the impending delivery of child number dos is why the missus is absent. One would then argue the Apple + special with Oprah started production well before the second child was a topic for discussion. The missus is being used less and less on camera or in the media. Everything is all about Harry. Forget about when Harry met Sally; Harry Met Hollywood! 

         Harry is the one doing the interviews, dropping projects, and talking with big Hollywood names. Even their announced Netflix projects are focused on one of Harry’s pre-married concepts. All the wife has going for her is a book that’s only number one in the “Books written by ex-Royals who couldn’t hack it” category. Seriously though, as of this posting the Bench is #2130 on the Amazon Books list, #12 in Children’s Black and African American Story Books, #73 in Children’s Emotions Books, and #167 in Children’s Family Life Books. Being pregnant isn’t a disqualifier for being interviewed. But, apparently being just the wife is.

         So, if it was his wife’s plan from the beginning to marry Harry, get him to abandon his family, move to California, and become a big star with a Prince for a husband, her plans have been ruined. And if you think about what she said in the interview with Oprah, you can actually see the moments she told us all exactly that. She clearly tells Oprah Harry was her direct link and source to the Royal Family and everything she needed to know. She didn’t misspeak or misunderstand a thing; she was telling us that Harry’s next to be markled. In every weird answer or revelation where she gave her versions for why their child(ren) were without title, saying they wed three days before the chapel, or having to cry out to HR since Harry failed to help her while she was so depressed she wanted to kill herself and her unborn child... all of it. It was all just the beginning. It may seem like she is attacking her husband’s family, but Harry’s the real target now.

          In just a couple sentences, she managed to reveal who Harry really was. Harry, of all people, should (and does) know how to navigate the press. Clearly, he failed to not only help her acclimate to Royal life, but it could also even be argued he set her up for failure for the get go. Let me give you an example. When my husband introduced me to his family for the first time, he told me little tidbits of information he found important for me to know. He essentially prepped me for the meeting so things went well. He wanted his family to like me because he loved me. I wanted them to like me because I loved him, too. So, I took to heart everything he told me. Yet, Harry’s wife shared with the world how little Harry cared about that. She credits Fergie with teaching her to curtsey, google for teaching her the National Anthem, and even said Her Majesty made her feel especially welcomed. So how did Harry not do more? If they started seeing one another in the early Summer of 2016, how is it Harry failed to teach or explain anything to her prior to meeting his grandmother, the Queen, when he had months and months of time to do so? How is it he failed his wife so miserably, she didn’t even understand basic UK custom, laws, or protocols? Why might you ask?

         Simply put, Harry is so much like his mother, all he knows is how to play the victim narrative while using the link to the Royal family as a nonstop ATM machine. Many people aren’t honest with themselves when it comes to Diana. She wasn’t the Mother Theresa everyone makes her out to be. Mother Theresa wasn’t a Mother Theresa either, though. Did Diana do some great things? Absolutely. Did she do them only because they were nice or great? Absolutely… not. Diana’s PR team would even have her switch up her charity causes whenever they felt it was getting to martyrdom level. They’d refer to her PR stunts as flavors. Does that sound like an innocent woman?

         Not to me. This whole time we all have seen his wife as the root of all issues, but she’s the side effect. It’s becoming more clear by the day that Harry searched out her. He wanted someone with the basic Hollywood connections that he could capitalize. Someone that seemed so controlling and ambitious it would be easy to believe they were controlling him, too. Of course he knew she would invite all the celebs she did. He probably inspired that guest list. Instead of guiding her in the press and in British society, he leads her to slaughter. He hides behind her repeated gaffes and wokeness to keep on his own mission.

         You see, Harry is obsessed with his brother eventually becoming king, being the “Second Son of Diana” and being the misfit. He is obsessed with his brother and father. They are all he talks about. When you obsess on something like that, it is more revealing than anything you say. Harry’s true motives aren’t protecting his wife and children. His real motive is making a name for himself like his mother did. If he can manage to get some revenge by making the Firm feel some backlash, hey that’s a bonus. 

         While his wife may think in her mind she will be the next Diana 2.0, the truth is we all missed who really will be. Harry is the one wanting to be Diana 2.0. If that’s the case, then that means the much older spouse for whom there are two children with, aka the wife, would be his Charles. Remember, Diana lost her HRH and titles. And we have Harry being very aggressive and pushy, to the point it seems he is trying to get ahead of a Palace announcement of them losing their titles. But it makes sense now.

         They aren’t trying to lose anything, but instead Harry keeps opening his mouth to create pressure in the media. He knows his wife does not want to give those titles back. But if he himself keeps saying outrageous things, then it would put everyone in ultimatum mode. Either Harry will push hard enough that Parliament and the Queen will have enough, or the press will get so critical of the two, Harry will push his wife to agree to returning the titles.

         Harry is following the Diana business model. While in the Royal Family, they both were seen as rock stars who had more star power the the Sovereign, which was an issue. Then, they couldn’t take all the abuse, coldness, and inhumanity, so they bolted for freedom. Instead of putting the past behind them, they use the past to monetize grief and trauma in such a way, they become their own brand. Right now, the trauma being monetized comes from the past, but the problem will soon come when that trauma is tapped out. He will need a source of new pain or victimhood. Enters the wife stage left.

          The wife is a tool. She of course has her own plans and thinks she is the one in control or the genius. She thinks she is the one everyone wants to work with. But it’s becoming clear to her that isn’t the case and she’s been played by her elite buddies. They all want him, not her. They all duped her for him. If I can see it, and I can see her already finger pointing that Harry is the failure here, then she can see it. And that means paradise will soon be lost in those Montecito hills. His wife won’t go down without a serious fight here. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she eventually causes him to lose his special visa. 

         Overall, Harry hides behind his wife like a beard or shield protecting him from the press’s glaring lens. He lets her do and say whatever she thinks is great so he can keep plotting his own plans. He allows her to take the fall, look stupid, pull stunts people can see through, etc. for a reason. He isn’t completely sure he can make it in his new California life. He knows he can’t if he keeps her for too long, but he also knows he needs an exit strategy in case it blows up. So, he pins the press to attack her as the true culprit. If they split and he has to, he can return home and play the victim of her. If they split and he is doing okay in Hollywood, she can be the reason he plays victim to big named people like Oprah and Gayle. 

         I can see it now. An Oprah Special with Harry tonight on Apple +. Something cheesy or corny that is almost plagiarism. Like Narcissus and the Prince or something. Watch. Mark my words. Oprah talking to Harry about surviving the marriage while trying to rescue two small kids, being in the spotlight as a Royal while being gaslit by a narcissistic wife… yes I can see the green screen set up now.

         I know this is difficult to digest, but I do ask you to try. While his wife is not innocent, she clearly is guilty for her own part indeed, his wife isn’t the true problem. The true problem here is a man who has a serious issue with living in the shadow of his future-King father and future-King brother, and his future-King nephew, that he has chosen to use the same exact attack model his own mother used to merch and marginally disrupt the institution that made her a star. Harry and his mother both wanted the entire spotlight, but both knew they could never have it the way they wanted it. So, they wrote their own victimhood narrative.

         And here we are now. Mark my words. Harry will keep pushing until those remaining titles are removed by them forcing the hands of Parliament and the Queen. Or, they’ll push and push in the press so much the outrage and hypocrisy will leave them no other option but to renounce and re-gift those titles and rights to the line of succession. That is what he wants, even if his missus doesn’t. Also make no mistake about it. Harry is the real Diana 2.0 wannabe, not his wife. Keep an eye out. I have this gnawing feeling that soon enough, there will be plenty leaks from the wife about the husband. She won’t go quietly into the Beverly Hills… but neither will he.

[justanotherghostwriter]

prompt: wait I've got a good one (I hope) what about SWT ZK AU - I know you love theorising over it so here we go - Zuko's been in the South Pole for like a week (or two?) and is very lonely and homesick (these are complicated feelings bc of abuse tho) as he learns to adapt to his new life...? (as a bonus Hakoda is a Dad in every universe <3)

(No I'm not making you write my fic for me shhh)

Uhhhhhh so apparently this just... didn't post when it was supposed to? Tumblr, you okay??? Sorry for the unintentional delay. And thank you so much for this honour. I just... wow. I'm so absolutely beyond myself that you would ask me for this and I so, so, so, so hope I've done your AU and your prompts and your desire for the right kind of feels/vibe justice aksjakajs. Thank you for all you are and for thinking up this AU and letting me scream about it and giving me tidbits and just allowing me to stick my greedy fingers into this 'verse.

It wasn’t the cold that bothered Zuko the most – it was the white. Everything in that place was fighting against being swallowed up by blank nothingness. And, for the most part, it appeared to be losing. To somebody used to bold colours everywhere, whose mother was best remembered in the quiet sanctuary overrun with life and fragrance, this place felt like the definition of rejection. He could recite by heart the reasons he’d been given for being sent there, and he ran them through his head frequently whenever the bleak expanse of white, cold, emptiness was broken by a hostile stare or a pointed silence following another obvious sign that he knew nothing about these people or their way of life. He repeated it like a mantra to steady his breathing to, for all that helped.

The ice was open and vulnerable. Zuko knew all the side passages and unused rooms and just-big-enough pieces of furniture in the palace so that he could disappear in plain sight within a moment. He knew how to make his way near soundlessly and invisibly across the expanse of an entire room; could cease to exist for hours, when it was necessary. In this place, there were only tiny rooms and wide open communal spaces he wasn’t welcome in and the vast, open white on which he stuck out like a blot on paper no matter how far he went, and which reflected his own element’s source back out at him in intensities that blinded him no matter how much he tried to follow the instructions of the Water Tribesmen on how to avoid the glare. It was a raw, scraping feeling, to always be seen. To always be looked at, even when the snow was making it even harder to look back. To always have to face up to the distorted reflection of himself in others’ eyes.

Agni, he wanted to go home. And the overwhelming desire for warm gardens and tight spaces, for known routines and spicy tea was as big as his disgust that so childish a desire lived inside of him. Both desire and disgust rose up inside of him at once like twin tsunami waves, blocking out his ability to sit still because he knew his skin would explode at any second from the pressure of it all. He wondered if anybody would care, or if they’d just belabour the mess.

But of course they’d care. The treaty would be compromised.

I am loyal to the Fire Nation, he told himself as he loped away, heading to the first tiny mound of snow out beyond the village in the hopes that it would hide him, taking care where he stood. Just a little. Just for a while. It wasn’t running away it was… He wasn’t running away. He was loyal to the Fire Nation. He was of royal blood. He was not Azula, clearly, but he was not weak enough to need to run from a tribe of mostly old people and children.

The mound he had as a destination already had a job as a shield, however, and Zuko pulled back with some surprise as he stared down at the rough nest that contained three puffs of fluff and six huge eyes that stared at him with little fear. They were certainly not turtle ducks, but it was... a good change to be regarded with no emotion for once.

“Where’s your parent?” he asked them, because he felt really awkward just standing there having a staring contest with three baby… what had the Aang kid called them? Otter penguins? Of course, the chicks didn’t answer. But neither did they do more than eye him a little warily when he sat down beside them. He wasn’t at all hidden by the mound of snow, and he didn’t want to be found out there by anybody so he knew he only had a few minutes. He spent them by closing his eyes and pretending he was warm, and that the world he would open his eyes to would make sense.

***

He was worried the three otter penguin chicks had been abandoned, because he never saw any adults near their nest. And so he’d created a little bag, of sorts, to smuggle fish into for them, just in case. It was with some regret that he fed the hungry little things the fish from inside his parka sleeve that day; he’d had to extract himself from the group (he hadn’t stomped. He refused to believe he’d stomped. He’d walked away proudly and unhurriedly when it had become clear he hadn’t been welcome. And he’d only yelled back a little) before he’d had time to actually eat anything himself. No matter; he’d gone hungry for longer.

The little fuzzballs were growing on him, even if they smelled. It wasn’t as though much in the Southern Water Tribe didn’t smell of fish, and he was a little resigned at how used to the cloying odour he’d gotten in the week or so since he’d been there. They also made rather interesting (not cute. Interesting) noises when they crowded around him for food, nuzzling his fingers to get the scraps off his gloves.

And then, all of a sudden, all of them scattered in alarm behind the snow mound just as Zuko became aware of a presence just over his shoulder. He threw himself to his feet in a familiar move, slipping only a little on the snow, muscles tense, arm raised because one always first fended off Azula’s attack before making one of your own; one would get hurt if one tried to negate her inevitably more powerful attack with an attack of one’s own.

The sunlight on the snow was annoying, and making it hard to see, but it also reminded Zuko where he was, so he lowered his arm and squinted. Until the person moved a little to their right, and the glare was blocked by the form of the current chief. He was staring at Zuko with a measured expression, and Zuko’s muscles relaxed no further than the position they’d landed in when he’d lowered his arm.

“I came to talk to you about – ”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Zuko snapped at once, feeling coiled tight enough to snap.

But this man had already made up his mind on what he was going to do to Zuko; he knew from experience that the way he reacted didn’t really change the outcome that men had planned for him. And he was angry enough at what had happened that the need to defend himself rose, hot and heavy and stupid, dum-dum from his belly and out through his mouth. He did not learn. At least this man was not a bender.

Hakoda looked at him, still steady. “I know,” he said, simply.

“I didn’t touch the –” The chief’s words sunk in, and Zuko’s sentence died like a flame snuffed out by his fingers. He stared at Hakoda, thrown off balance, wary, distrustful.

“We’ve been telling Kurdek not to play close to the fire for weeks, and he hasn’t listened. It was inevitable that he’d trip into it. All the accounts confirm it was certainly not anybody’s doing. Not even a Firebender’s. Even Amka knows that. She was simply very, very afraid for her child in the moment and lashed out, saying things in her fear she does not believe now. Some have told me, however, that you were the one to reach in and pull the boy out.” It had been instinctive. Zuko had seen the accident a second before it had happened, and he’d simply launched himself to his feet and charged. “I came to see if you were alright. Katara is nearly done healing Kurdek, and then she can see to you.”

Zuko shook his head. “I’m fine.” Hakoda frowned and looked to Zuko’s hands and forearms, pausing over the places where his right glove and parka’s right sleeve had burned, presumably searching for damage. Zuko rolled his eyes and yanked off the glove and shoved up the sleeve, showing untouched skin. “It takes a whole lot more than that to burn a Firebender,” Zuko scoffed.

Hakoda looked back at him – specifically, at his left eye – and his frown deepened. Zuko felt himself beginning to flush, but whether in anger or embarrassment, he didn’t know. And the silence stretched for so long that the chicks cautiously hopped from their hiding place and puttered around his feet, cheeping at him for attention. Zuko wanted the ice to swallow him. He wanted Hakoda to go away and leave him alone. Go back to the woman who had called him ashmaker for saving her son, who was presumably now being punished for his disobedience as they spoke.

“Would you like to come and repair the nets with me?” Hakoda asked, suddenly.

Zuko’s heart sank. He’d spend more time re-doing what he did wrong the first, second, third time, and he hated feeling so shamefully useless. But it was part of his duty to be useful. And he would do his duty. Stiffly, he took a step forward, halting when Hakoda didn’t move.

“That was a request,” the man said, evenly. He glanced down at the otter penguin chicks. “You can also choose to stay here.”

Try as he might, Zuko couldn’t tell what the game was. What the consequences would be depending on what decision he made. People said Azula was hard to read, but Zuko understood the words she said and what he was bringing upon himself by reacting in certain ways to them far better than he understood whatever trap the Water Tribe Chief was spinning for him.

“Okay,” Hakoda said, taking Zuko’s silence for an answer when it was just him deliberating. “I’ll tell Katara where she can find you.”

With a nod, the man walked away. Just like that. Zuko watched him go until he was an indiscriminate blur against the white and other blue blurs in the distance, and then slowly lowered himself down to the wet, cold snow, pulling his glove back on. At least it was quiet, out there.

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While I'm out here exposing myself with permission, have an unprompted snippet that has been in my head for weeks. I don't have a clue where they are. It's their first time visiting some place as a married couple IDK. Handwave, handwave.

-----------------------------------------

Katara had once woken up every time Zuko had rolled himself out of bed, even if she’d learned to understand he was trying to be gentle about it. Nowadays, the motions of him rising were familiar enough she slept through them, and woke at her own good time. Familiar, too, was the sound that greeted her when she woke: even, deep breathing, and the low flickering of a fire source of some kind. At home, she liked to lie in the leftover warmth of the sheets and listen to Zuko meditate, lulled into a doze by the rhythm of his morning meditations until it was past dawn enough that she had to rise.

That morning, the unfamiliar setting they were in – specifically, the warmth of the day even that early, and the smell of their hosts cooking breakfast already somewhere close – had Katara waking up faster than usual. But still languidly; she cracked open her eyes first without moving and took in the guest bedroom before rolling to find Zuko. He was sitting with his back to her, facing the open windows, sitting in the patch of sunlight that was filtering through. He was bare chested and bare footed, as though he wanted every part of his pale skin to be subjected to the sunlight, and Katara had to smirk a little at the slightly dramatic nature of it all. Like Sokka’s too-serious declarations that he was dying of hunger, or Toph flinging herself into a pile of mud the moment any fancy happenings that required her to be clean were over; a hyperbolic desperation.

To be fair to her husband, though, it was difficult to expose much of yourself in the South Pole for more than a few minutes. Even for a Firebender. He probably missed the novelty of not wearing layers; she remembered how foreign it had felt to her when she’d moved around in only a tunic and leggings for the first time when she’d first travelled away from her home. And she realised, a moment later, that this was one of the first times she’d seen Zuko without layers on for a long period of time; realised, that his pale skin wasn’t as unblemished on his back as she’d imagined. There was a thin scar around the hollow of his tailbone that she wondered at for a moment. And four thin burns over his right shoulder, curving to the back of his neck. That puzzled her, because she would have expected any burns to be on his left side; splatter from whatever accident had caused the burn over his eye. But that shoulder was, at least from the back, unmarred.

Still sleepy enough that she didn’t have any thoughts about her staring being creepy, Katara puzzled over the mystery of the burns, wondering what could have caused them. And it came, like the jolt of Appa descending too sharply, a few moments after tossing possibilities around in her head. Those were fingers on him; fingers of a hand that had reached from beside him over his shoulder and around the back of his neck to hold him in place. Large fingers; larger than any man had. Which meant they’d stretched with Zuko as he grew.

Katara had always known her childhood had ended when she’d been eight and her mother had been ripped from them all. Staring at Zuko’s back, stomach in knots as she remembered his offhand comments about how much it took to burn a Firebender, she wondered for the first time how many years of childhood her husband had been allowed.

[phoenixhalliwell]

Well Helloooo Nurse

Pairings: Will Miller  X Gender Neutral Reader ( Nurse Lark but goes by the name of Birdie) 

Word count: 1887

Author's Note: Good Evening all, welcome to the Will Miller show. Please be gentle as it’s my first time writing for him. I also have no idea how the inside of an ER works, i’m just winging this whole thing lmao  I hope whoever stumbles on this enjoys it :) 

Hope you don’t mind the tags: @lilacyennefer​ @cinewhore​ @dignityneeded

Thanks to his idiotic brother, Will ends up in the ER. Benny in an attempt to make amends, tries to be his wingman. 

Throwing yourself down into your chair, you let out a small cry at the relief at finally being off your feet. To say it's been a long week is an understatement. Your back is in agony, your stomach won't stop growling  and there's a throbbing pain behind your eyes . The ER has finally quietened down after a disastrous morning and you're counting down the minutes until it's home time.  

'Is it just me or is time moving slower?'

You glance at the clock. Another 20 minutes  and you are free for the next two days to do absolutely nothing. Closing your eyes you smile at the thought of the large glass of wine, warm bath and take out that awaits you when you get home. Your happiness is short lived though when you hear your name being called out.

'Urghhh, just leave me alone'

"Birdie, my good friend. How are you? You are looking fiiinnneee today, is that a new pair of scrubs."

Opening your eyes, you glare at your friend Letti who is currently batting her eyes at you. You scoff. You  know for a fact you look like shit. Your hair looks like a bird's nest ( no pun intended) and you're pretty sure that your scrubs have seen better days.

"What do you want?" you narrow your eyes at her.

"You know how you're my absolute best friend and you love me so much? Could you find it in that golden heart of yours to stay on just a little longer and cover the end of my shift. It's only a couple extra hours. I wouldn't normally ask but Scott has managed to ship the kids off to his mum's tonight and it's been so long since we've had adult time, if you catch my drift. Please. Help me out here Birdie I am dying" She begs.

'Pfft least you're getting the option for adult time' you think to yourself.  You watch as she clasps her hands to her chest and starts to give you the sad puppy dog eyes .You can feel your resolve start to crumble. Groaning, you throw your head back in defeat.

"Fine, but you owe me one and you better believe I will collect" you sigh. Letti fist pumps the air before grabbing your face and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I fucking love you Birdie. I will name my next child in your honour"  she promises.

"Yeah like I haven't heard that before" you snort, wiping your cheek. Letti suddenly thrusts a clipboard into your hand before rushing  you through your next patient, eager to get home to her husband. You're not really listening to her, nodding along  every so often as you try to decipher the chicken scratches on the paper in front of you.  

' Did a child fill in this form?'  

You hear snippets of what she is saying: "Hotter than sin..... If I wasn't married...  wouldn't be able to walk straight"

You are finally able to pick out the important information:  

Exam Room 3 - William Miller, 40, laceration to left arm.

'Ok I can work with that'

Calling out your goodbyes to Letti  and telling her to have a good time, you make your way to exam room 3 to get started. Drawing back the curtain, you step into the room and  call out

'Mr Miller?'

"Yes?" two voices answer at the same time.  

" They are talking about me Dumbass, I'm the one that's currently bleeding no thanks to you. Please excuse my brother, he was dropped on his head a lot as a child"  your patient apologises to you. You let out a snort at the quip.  It's not until you get a proper look at his face that  your laughter is quickly cut off.

'Oh' is all you can think before your mind goes blank. Sitting in front of you is a man you can only describe as an Adonis.  Even though his face is twisted slightly in pain, you would gladly stare at him  for the rest of eternity. Beautiful  blue eyes, soft blond hair, a well groomed beard. Your mind  takes you to some bad places when you think about that beard.

'Hotter than sin indeed...."  

A choked out laugh causes you to tear gaze away from William and over to the other man in the room who waves at you looking far too amused.

'Oh god, he knows I was checking out his brother' You cringe internally.

"Hi I'm Benny in case you were interested" the other man jokes. He is also a fairly attractive man  -you can see some similarities between the two. However, Benny has nothing on his brother. You shyly nod your head in greeting before making your way to Will's bedside.

"Ok Mr Miller, I am Nurse Lark. From what I could make out from your form, it says that you have a laceration on your left arm. Is this correct?"  you ask the older Miller.

"Yes that's right. Sorry about the scrawl, Benny didn't make it past the 3rd grade."  Will  teases.

"Fuck you dickhead" Benny hisses back.

"Boys, settle down, this is an ER  not a playground " you interject. Both men mumble their apologise and you try not to laugh. Gently picking up Will's arm, you turn his arm left to right to get an idea of  the extent of his injury. He's lucky in the fact it's not too deep. Unfortunately it cuts directly through the tattoo on his lower arm. Potentially a future scar but that was out with your control. Raising your head, you notice how close you are to each other's faces. Will stares back at you and you lose yourself for a minute.

"For fuck sake, get a room" You hear Benny mutter behind you. You cough and busy yourself getting the equipment you need to start patching Will up.

"I'm sorry but this might hurt a little"  you warn him in advance.

" Don't worry about me, I'm tough as nails " He smiles reassuring you.

You nod before getting started. So focused on your work, you didn't notice Will admiring you from where he sat. He liked the way  your eyes never wavered from your task despite Benny blabbering on in the background. How your nimble fingers made quick work of his wound. He thought the way you stuck your tongue out slightly in concentration was the cutest thing.

Benny was quick to notice his brother's heart eyes and started snickering.

" You know what Will? Maybe if you're a good boy the nice nurse will kiss it better once they are done"

You glance up in time to see Will's face turn scarlet. 

'Just when I thought he couldn't get any cuter'

"That's it, Benny get out now!" Will  growled.

Benny sighs dramatically and sulks out the room but not without muttering "just trying to help you get laid dickhead". You glance back at Will who is now staring up at the ceiling, looking as though he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"It's days like these I really wish my parents had got me a puppy instead of a little brother"

"Well from what I've seen of him so far, the man is basically a gold retriever in human form" you joke back. The laugh he lets out catches you off guard.

'I  could get used to that sound.'

You had to stop yourself from sighing and scolded yourself for acting like a love sick fool instead of the professional you are.

The conversation came easy for you both after that.  You started by telling him your name before the both of you shared little tidbits about each other. Will seemed like an interesting man from what information he gave. He was funny and incredibly smart.

'He's perfect'  is all you could think. However, it didn't take long after Benny got asked to leave to finish patching the rest of Will's arm up.  

"Well Mr Miller, I guess that's you done. Please make sure to keep the area as clean as possible and have someone help you change your bandages"

You feel sad at the idea of him leaving. It is evident that he feels the same by the way he stalls collecting his things. He looks like he's debating with himself before he finally turns to you looking determined.

" Would you maybe like to go to dinner with me sometime? I know we haven't met under the best circumstances but I had a really great time talking with you. I'd end up hating myself if I didn't at least ask"

Your heart races at the question and you don't hesitate to tell him yes. His face lights up and you find yourself falling a little more for Will Miller. Grabbing a pen from your top pocket, you hastily write down your phone number and hand it to Will. You both wish each other goodnight before parting ways. You find yourself grinning and bite your lip to try and contain your glee.

" Guess  I will be naming my first child Letti"

 Outside the hospital

Benny leans against the wall (pouting like a child) and waits for his brother . He still can't believe he got thrown out of the room. It feels like forever and a day before Will finally makes his appearance with a smug grin on his face.

'He looks like the cat that got the cream'

' What's with the grin man? Did they give you the good shit for the pain or something?"

Will shakes his head before showing Benny the piece of paper in his hand. A set of digits.

"William, you sly dog" Benny laughs in delight before he slaps Will's arm. He's quick to realise his mistake when his brother grunts in pain clutching his bad arm. Benny panics and makes to touch him but is stopped in his tracks.

"Don't . Fucking . Touch me.  Just get in the fucking car. " Will hisses. He marches off to the car park, swearing under his breath.

'Well that victory was short lived' Benny thinks, following his brother.

Bonus Scene - Date night

'Is it just me or is time moving slower?'

You glance at the clock for what feels like the millionth time. Another 10 minutes before Will is suppose to arrive. It's been so long since you were last on a date and you can't remember being this nervous. You look down at your outfit and run a hand over it to make sure there wasn't any creases. Will had text earlier to let you know to dress casual for your evening out but wouldn't give you any more information. The sound of the doorbell interrupts your thoughts and you let out a nervous giggle.  Trying not to seem too eager, you give yourself a beat before  opening the door. You feel yourself go weak in the knees. Will is dressed to impress - A black leather jacket over a soft grey t-shirt with a nice pair of black jeans that does wonders for him. He lets out a soft laugh at the way you are blatantly eyeing him up before doing the same to you. He lets out a low whistle.

"Well hellooo nurse"

[coreastories]

Greetings From the Winter Palace

FEB 12

Following the subdued elegance of the Corean Awards, we’ve seen and heard precious little of Her Majesty.

His Majesty the King’s office has also been quiet, although the king’s statements continue in the news. 

The palace website now has a static banner that the queen and the baby are well.

And then glorious day! The exclusive telecast message of Their Majesties’ holiday greetings. 

This is a late report about those messages, because unlike certain monarchies with territories across the world, Corea is a small (but wealthy) kingdom, and as such, the messages from their king and queen remain local. 

We were only allowed to publish certain photos. For complete disclosure, this author did scream in the powder room again, like usual, when confronted with these beautiful royals. 

Greetings came from the Winter Palace both for Christmas and the solar new year, and the Lunar New Year, Seollal, which has more significance for Coreans.

December 31st was rather mind-blowing. Previous holidays saw the king make his greeting from the throne room or the Audience Hall. 

But now Coreans would remember this beige couch forever. 

The King and Queen delivered their speech without fuss and without pomp, just two people so happy and also wishing their people the same happiness. 

Unlike Chuseok and Seollal, Christmas and New Year didn’t come with the usual formal greeting from the king and queen in their royal regalia. 

This one was sweet and very modern. It was published exclusively on the palace website with the very simple, “Have a happy Christmas and new year. We wish you joy and health.” 

This just whets our appetite and excitement for the family photos we’d get once these modern royals have children. 

And then just to mess with us, there was also this photo, venturing past sweet and into sizzling hot, which you wouldn’t get from any of the European royals in their stodgy suits and dresses. 

Whether this was a mistake, calculated or not, remains a hot speculation to this day. This photo disappeared from the website about an hour after it went up. 

We have sanction from the Royal Public Affairs Office to publish it here. But we would delete it if they change their minds, so save this photo if you haven’t yet! 

For Seollal, the king and queen published this intimate photo from Gyeoulgungjeon alongside their formal greeting in the royal regalia. Also exclusively posted on the website. 

Winter Palace tidbits

The people of Pyeongchang, particularly Gyeoulchon (literally “winter village”), the village adjacent to the palace, adore the queen. 

We’ve had reports that Their Majesties had excursions to the village, but if smartphones ended up capturing photos and videos, the villagers are being very possessive about them.

I suppose I’ll just have to visit to see any photos. Probably framed, I’m certain! 

We’ve heard talk of the king going to a public sauna. Now THIS is a crime for being undocumented in photographs, although I understand Corea’s men just sweat through their shirts instead of taking them off. 

I wonder if it was connected to the king being spotted several times running around the winter palace? Why? Photo below! 

We’ve also heard talk of the queen and several ladies having a moonlight sleigh ride. Why do these things happen when I’m not there? 

This time, the armed forces of Corea didn’t deploy (like they did when the queen was lost in Seoul-- see our report here) but light flooded the palace and Gyeoulchon, and the Air Forces have been called to assist. 

Introducing Soryeong (Major) Kim Jeong-han, who’s in charge of the ground combat force and military police under the Corean Air Force securing Their Majesties. 

In this photo, holding the gold plaque from Corean Century Awards for Excellence in the Armed Forces, which he received in 2019. 

We did get several delicious photos! Some from the villages, and some from the Royal Public Affairs Office. 

Go here for our report on the queen’s accident in November, which led to a shakeup in Corean laws and an old family going into exile. 

From the Royal Public Affairs Office: Her Majesty being shown Pyeongchang’s wildlife monitoring and preservation statistics for the winter.  

From an unverified source, circulating online: The queen spotted in Gyeoulchon

From an unverified source, circulating online: The photographer is apparently enamored of the queen’s face. I am, too. She’s flawless. 

On that note, while the villagers are keeping their royal photos to themselves, they did post about chatting with the queen. She asked about their children, their work, and they’ve asked her about her skincare. 

YES! Thank you, Gyeoulchon! 

Reports have been consistent that the queen’s answer to questions like this was washing her face with soap and applying moisturizer and sunblock. She also drinks a lot of water. 

I would love to get my hands on the queen’s dresser for a more specific dish on what the queen uses. Her Majesty’s soap is probably not like what we mere mortals know as soap. We have heard rumors of the organic, palace-milled soaps, formulated by the Lady Hae Soo, harking back to the reign of Gwangjong of Goryeo. 

Speaking of kings… here’s His Majesty looking very… well, fit, demonstrating the benefits of a fitness regimen. 

Ajhummas have told me that there’s a very archaic tradition of giving your wife your sweaty shirt to give her strength for her labor. 

Well, the king always looks like he smells good, even in this sweaty photo. And as someone who has reported on events attended by the royals, this author can honestly report he does smell good. 

And I think this is as good a place as any to end these tidbits. More to come soon! 

---------------

CoreaNews is back. Posting all the pent up posts. So sorry for being inactive. Hello, new followers! I’m more active on Twitter @CoreaStories, but also not much. I’m so awful with social. But I do reply there (takes me some time), and I’m still writing. I will finish these. Everything is outlined. Work just bit me in posterior hard. :) Check on CoreaStories on AO3 and Wattpad too. 

With very fond thanks to @di-elle​ for the image edits. 

Bonus points for everyone spotting the references to other K-dramas I've watched since I last updated. :) 

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

ADM Director's Cut: Iktibith E

This is in reply to THIS ask. Director's Cut is below the cut

I fled far away from the Company, my breath coming in ragged spurts as tears blurred my vision.  All I could hope for was that nobody would follow me.  I just wanted to be left alone.

Soon my feet left the familiar cobblestone of Rivendell’s paths and trod upon the plush, green grass.  I had no plan of where I would go; I just knew I needed to get away.

Suddenly, I found myself on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the rushing river below.  It reminded me of the stream back in Lothlorien, except more wild and unpredictable.

This part right here, where I began to describe Imladris, was kinda interesting to do because I just started to unconsciously start to compare it with Lothlorien and tried to connect Estel to it in some way.

A soft sigh escaped my trembling lips as I thought back to my foster mother and how she would take me out to the stream every day for a walk, balancing on the stones out in the gurgling waters and laughing if one of us got wet.

Oooo, this was interesting too because it was the very first time I ever mentioned Estel's foster mother and her backstory. This is truly where she began to grow as a character and take shape. Also note that I never specifically mention that her foster mother is an Elf... But it's kinda a given since I talk about her living within Lothlorien for a time.

I could still see her long brown locks tumbling down onto her shoulders, and blue eyes that sparkled with a merriment that still couldn’t quite conceal the pain she hid inside.

A pain she had never explained to me, other than a few passing words about a man she had loved very deeply, but had to leave.  She told me about the young son she had left behind as well, a boy no more than two centuries old whom she and her husband–my foster father, I supposed, even though I had never met him–had named after the season of green leaves he had been born into.

Also another interesting-as well as hard--part to write as I described her foster mother's history and gave you guys some tidbits to get you wondering about who she was....

Thinking about my mother finally broke the dam holding back my tears, and I began to sob; shoulders shaking as my head fell into my hands.

It was only one word, but it rocked me to my very core.  Not because of what it meant, but because of who said it.

My absolute favourite dialogue--well maybe not absolute, but up there in the top five ;). It really just packs this huge punch of emotion. Because really, if anybody else insulted Estel, she wouldn't really think twice about it. But since it was Thorin... well, that hurt pretty badly.

Back when Naneth had told me about the man she loved, I hadn’t understood her pain.  But now I did; on a personal level.  I knew there was something special about Thorin the moment I had laid eyes on him, but I hadn’t expected him to treat me with such blatant dislike.

Being raised in Elven culture, I had been taught about their belief in soulmates.  The person who you just knew deep down in your soul was the one the first time you laid eyes on them.  I didn’t know if Dwarves had such a belief or not, but the feeling I had felt deep inside me when I had first met him…  It was as if we were two halves of a whole being drawn nearer to one another in order to complete ourselves.

But he obviously didn’t feel the same.

“Miss Estel?”

I quickly wiped at my tears, trying to steady my breathing.  Of all the times in the world to approach me, he did it at the one time I didn’t want to be around him.

Heavy footsteps trod closer to me, but I didn’t look up to see who it was.  I already knew from his voice.

“Leave me alone.”  I growled out, turning my head away from him so he couldn’t see my tears in the bright moonlight reflecting from the river.

Thorin let out a sigh and proceeded to sit next to me, resting his arms on his knees as he looked out across the gorge.  "I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.  I truly didn’t mean to do so, Miss Estel.“  He murmured quietly, and I distantly wondered if he had gone mad.  Since when did Thorin Oakenshield apologize to anyone?

This was a bit of a delicate dance here since I was trying to make Thorin still seem aloof and unfeeling towards Estel--because he totally doesn't like her, that would just be crazy, right?--but I also wanted him to teach her Khuzdul.

I continued to hide my face from him, trying to use my midnight locks as a shield, but my attempts to quiet my running nose caught his attention.

"Are you crying?”  Thorin asked softly,  concern lacing his words.  A hand rested itself on my shoulder and I started, whirling to look at him in confusion.

Oh this was funny too, since as a rule, Dwarrows are FIERCELY protective of their Ones and Thorin would be horrified to see that Estel is crying--which explains his uncharacteristic physical touch.

Honestly, his first reaction would be to try and make her feel better, as well as go murder the person responsible for making her cry--himself--but since he's obstinately denying that he is in love with her, he settles for just being concerned.

Thorin watched me with a furrowed brow, retracting his hand from my shoulder.  I swallowed hard, turning away to wipe at my eyes.  "No, I’m fine.  Just leave me alone.  I know you don’t want to be doing this.“  I said roughly, but Thorin shook his head, sapphire eyes turning to look at the ground.

"I’m sorry.”  He murmured again, and I scoffed.

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything, Master Thorin.  It’s cowardly to insult someone in a language they don’t understand, and ‘sorry’ won’t magically fix it.”  I said, and Thorin’s gaze wandered over to my face.

“How do you not know Khuzdul?  You are a Dwarrowdame.” He said, voice filled with confusion.

I bit my lip.  He was beginning to tread on dangerous grounds, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it.  One wrong word and I could end up on my own.  "Personal reasons.“  I muttered, and Thorin opened his mouth, about to ask another question when I cut him off. "Personal reasons that I won’t be sharing, Master Thorin."

Yet another hard part to write. I really had to watch my wording here since I didn't want Estel to reveal any part of her upbringing to anybody yet, so giving Thorin an answer he wouldn't contest was a little difficult.

He nodded in understanding, his expression gaining a strange hesitance.  "Would it help if I taught you Khuzdul?”  He questioned, and I pulled my gaze away from the grove of maples I spotted on the other side of the gorge, raising an eyebrow.

“You would teach me?”

“Of course.  All Dwarves should know Khuzdul.”  He said, and I considered his offer, wondering just what strings were attached to this.

This is a good part. So of course, Thorin doesn't want to seem TOO nice, but I really needed him to be teaching her Khuzdul. So he just throws it out there, torn on whether he wants her to say yes--he would get to spend time with her and maybe find out about her backstory, who knows--but he also doesn't want her to say yes--he would be spending time with her and might mess up/make a fool of himself around her.

Of course, Estel is a bit skeptical about this--I mean, we are talking about the Dwarf who seems to want nothing more than to have her gone from this quest--but she goes along with it. (If I'm being honest, she probably would like to spend more time with Thorin too... ;))

There had to be something.

“And I wouldn’t be a burden?”  I asked skeptically, and Thorin was quick to shake his head, dark brown hair falling onto his chest.

“No, you wouldn’t be more of a burden then you already are.”  He said gruffly, and the faint feeling of warmth blossoming within me was snuffed out, only to be replaced with the familiar resentment of the Dwarrow sitting beside me.

My absolute favourite dialogue scene in this chapter beside the previous one I mentioned above. I just adore this part because it circles back around in Anrâd... Buzrâ when Estel brings this back up.

Backstory on Thorin's dialogue... To the person who isn't in Thorin's mind in this moment--everyone except me, haha!--this sounds like a really harsh comment that just reflects Thorin's feelings on Estel. Or maybe they recognize that he's just trying to maintain his gruff image. Either way, the true meaning behind his words is not revealed until Anrâd... Buzrâ.

That's when Thorin tells Estel that those words carried no weight for her since she was, and I quote: “You’ve never been a burden to me, Estel.  Only the greatest gift Mahal could ever give.”

Now isn't that sweet?

“I accept your offer then.  Thank you, Master Thorin.”  I said sincerely, “but I have one question.”

“What?”

“What does 'amralimí’ mean?”  I asked, and Thorin looked at me, his brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before he began to chuckle.

Note the purposeful misspelling of Amrâlimê here. I wanted to ensure that Estel didn't know the exact way to pronounce it since she might ask someone else to explain it for her. It also sounds more believable since she doesn't know the language, and therefore would be mispronouncing words quite easily.

“I’m afraid that I cannot tell you that just yet, Miss Estel.  You will just have to be patient.”  He said, standing up and rolling his shoulders.  "Zann galikh.  That means 'good night’.“  He said, striding away from me, back towards the paths of Rivendell.

Thorin's denial here is pretty characteristic of him. There might have been some internal panicking--we'll find out in the chapter of Matters of the Heart that covers this from Thorin's POV--and he's trying to figure out how to cover up his 'slip of the tongue'.

~~~~~

The next morning found me reluctantly packing my things so we could leave as soon as possible.  I had hoped we could linger in Rivendell for awhile, but Thorin wanted to be off as soon as we could.

Here I really wanted to talk more about Estel's experience in Imladris, but I just kinda ended up skimming the entire thing, so hopefully I'll get around to writing a Bonus Chapter that covers it!

It would be an understatement to say that he disliked Elves.  He hated them with every fibre of his being.  But all this haste didn’t stop him from beginning to teach me Khuzdul.

"I am your ugshar; your teacher or one who is very learned in certain subjects.”  Thorin said while I rolled up my bedroll.  "Repeat the word.“

Rolling my eyes, I stared up at him.  "Ugshar.  Happy?”  I asked and he nodded gravely.

“That is a good start.”  He rumbled and then walked away from me, towards Dwalin who was leaning up against a wall inspecting one of his axes.  "We’ll continue this later.“

As soon as he had turned his back to me, I threw up my hands in a gesture of defeat.  I was never going to learn anything at this rate.

Estel is already frustrated with Thorin, isn't that funny? But anyways, Thorin is kinda nervous talking with Estel and he is looking for a way out of this situation and finds it in the form of Dwalin.

My guess in this moment is that Dwalin ribs him about Estel; says/does whatever guy friends say/do to their friends after they see them talking with their crush, idk.

"Hey, Estel.”  A voice whispered and I turned to see Kili and Fili motioning for me to come towards where they stood, partially hidden by a pillar.  "Come here.“

Letting out a quiet groan, I walked towards them as nonchalantly as I could and joined them beside the pillar.  Crossing my arms, I gave them a no-nonsense look.  "What do you want?”  I asked, getting a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach at the sight of Kili’s cheeky grin.

“Rumor has it that Thorin offered to teach you Khuzdul.”  Kili whispered conspiratorially and I nodded.

Nosy buggers getting involved with their Uncle's 'secret' crush already... I love these two.

“He did and it’s none of your business so bug off.”  I said, making Kili snicker.

“I’m curious, why don’t you know Khuzdul.  You are a Dwarf right?  Or are you just a really short human woman, or–Mahal forbid--an Elf?  Thorin might have a heart attack.”  He said, and even though his words were in jest, I felt a small shiver of fear travel down my spine.

I really love the Easter egg I planted here; it's yet another beautiful piece of this chapter. I plant a little seed of suspicion here as Kili says '...Mahal forbid--an Elf?"

Thorin doesn't like Elves, I state that many, many times and Estel knows that very well. It also ties in with Estel's mental description of her foster mother.

Again, note that I never specifically stated that her foster mother was an Elf. But right here, I actually reveal that her foster mother is indeed an Elf, because of Estel's reaction to Kili's words. If she had been raised by a human woman in Lothlorien, she wouldn't worry so much about Thorin's reaction to her upbringing.

But she is concerned, and that just reaffirms the belief that she was raised by Elves. It's also just a funny line of dialogue from Kili as he is his usual dramatic self.

“It’s none of your business.”  I repeated, but Kili didn’t want to let the subject go.

“What has Uncle dearest taught you so far?”  He asked, and I shrugged.

“The word for teacher and that’s it.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do before we head out or Thorin’s going to kill me.”  I said, turning away and beginning to walk away from the two annoying brothers.

But Fili and Kili reached out and grabbed my arms, pulling me back.  "I doubt he’d kill you, Estel…   I can guarantee you that thought has never once entered his mind.“  Fili laughed, and I gave him an incredulous look.

Fili slips up a bit here and reveals that Thorin cares for Estel. Not that my oblivious little Dame realizes that...

"Are you daft?  Wait, don’t answer that.  I already know the answer.”  I said, making Fili frown at my teasing.  "Have you seen how he treats me?  The way he looks at me?  And you think he hasn’t ever once thought that I’m an annoying burden?“  I asked, and Kili and Fili gave me astonished looks as though I had just said some sort of blasphemy.

Kili began stuttering unintelligibly, his brown eyes wide with shock.  Fili was a bit more eloquent and started to say something, but a sudden deep voice behind me cut him off.

Here Estel blows Fili and Kili's minds as she talks about Thorin in such a way. They thought that it was obvious to her that Thorin liked her and all that--again, noting that they all believe she is a Dwarrowdame raised by Dwarves. So now they are wondering why Estel doesn't like Thorin and are going to try and change the tide.

"Fili, Kili, what are you doing?  Have you gotten everything packed up?”  Thorin boomed, and I whirled around to see him walking towards us, his steel blue eyes smoldering.

The brothers muttered something about being almost done and quickly darted off, leaving me and Thorin alone.

“Were those two Lalkîths bothering you?”  He asked, stopping in front of me, and I cocked my head, not understanding his word of choice.  "Young idiots.“ Thorin clarified after taking in my puzzled expression, and I nodded in understanding.

"A bit.  They dragged me over here to ask if it was true that you offered to teach me Khuzdul.”  I said, and Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“Did they tell you anything?”  He asked, and I shook my head, wondering why this was so important.  "Good.“

Is it or is it not apparent that Thorin is deathly afraid of his sister-sons revealing his feelings about Estel to her? I mean, by this point, literally everyone in the Company--except for Estel--knows that Thorin is head-over-heels for Estel.

I opened my mouth to ask him why, but he had already turned away from me and was striding away, barking orders at everyone else.

I watched him go, Fili’s words echoing in my mind.  ”...I can guarantee you that thought has never entered his mind.“

There was a meaning to his words, I knew it, but I couldn’t figure out just what it was.  Perhaps it would be the key to understanding Thorin; the Dwarrow that seemed to change the moment you thought you had him figured out.

Estel is a bit confused over Fili's words and how they relate to Thorin, since she really doesn't even consider the idea that *gasp* Thorin might actually like her back.

[quickspinner]

Killer Combo - Ch 1 The First Match

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Epilogue | Bonus Tidbits | ART inspired by this story! | AO3 | Fiction Master Post

Max and Marinette have been playing in the Ultimate Mecha Strike III professional leagues for a few years but they're finally making the jump to the Master League in hopes of winning a cash prize that will let them make their dreams a reality. Team Lucky Charm is on their way, but Marinette faces a challenge in the individual league—she can't seem to beat former champion Viperion.

Aged-up Lukanette

When I took prompt suggestions on tumblr for my follower milestone event, one of the prompts was "reverse crush" and another was "Luka beats Marinette at video games and she gets all gooey over him" (not the exact words). Neither option got picked in the voting but somewhere along the line they melded together in my brain and I thought I'd give it a shot.

It was supposed to be another chapter for I'll Never Not Know You and then suddenly I was 15k words in and like...this is not a one shot anymore. So I bring it to you as a new chapter story instead. I hope you'll enjoy!

“It’s your third Master league event,” Max observed with some amusement as he watched Marinette bounce on her toes in front of the door about to open for her. “Your win record is above 94% from the last two. How are you still nervous?” 

“I’m not nervous,” Marinette insisted. “Not really. Just ready to get started!” She added, almost to herself, “I didn’t expect to play him so soon. I mean, I didn’t even know he was back in the league this year.” 

“That is a little surprising,” Max agreed, adjusting his glasses as he looked down at Marinette’s match list in his hand. “We could have prepared more if we had known sooner that he was returning. His rank is only marginally higher than yours at the moment, however. Numerically, your third match will be of much more importance. There’s a much bigger disparity between your ranks which will mean a bigger jump in rank for you if you win.” 

“If I win?” Marinette teased, nudging him. “So much faith, Max.” She slipped her red-and-black hoodie off of her shoulders, and then pulled it off entirely, deciding it was too warm to wear in the closed match space. Ultimate Mech Strike III had been gaining steadily in popularity, and the pro leagues were getting more and more of an audience. With that came an increase in both exposure and cash prizes—and a corresponding increase in cheating. The Master and Grandmaster leagues now held their match events in person at local exhibit halls and convention centers, with players isolated from interference in “pyrapods” that held standardized headsets, controllers, and screens—but they could be a bit stuffy. Matches were streamed from the game center live on the website, and the players who brought in the most traffic were targeted for sponsorships and interviews.

“I can calculate the odds if you—” Max began, but the door to her pyrapod slid open, indicating it was time for the match to begin. Marinette shared a quick fistbump with Max, and then tossed him her hoodie and bounced inside without hesitation.  

She donned the provided headset (which still smelled of cleaner, but she was more inclined to be thankful than annoyed) and picking up the controller. The screen in front of her lit up with the view that would be livestreamed. 

Marinette set her feet and pressed the button on the counter to indicate she was ready. She took a deep breath and waited for her opponent, rolling up and down on her toes as she tried to settle the nerves she’d told Max she didn’t have. 

The voice channel crackled to life in her ear as Viperion put his headset on in his own pod. 

“Ladybug vs. Viperion,” the dispassionate electronic voice announced, “Prepare for countdown to match start.”

“Ladybug, huh?” Viperion said, and Marinette blinked at the quiet, smooth voice. “Nice to meet you. I heard some new blood was tearing up the ladder. I’m excited to take you on.” 

“Likewise,” Marinette told him, eyebrows raising slightly. “I didn’t expect to go up against a former champion so soon.” She’d been shocked when she saw his name on the list of computer-generated matchups she’d gotten at registration. He should have been much too high up on the ladder to get matched up against her. This was only her third match event in the Master League. She’d only moved up this month—and now she had a month to get out of the bottom 5% before she’d be dropped down to the lower leagues again. 

So, champion or not, Viperion was going down.

“I had other commitments last year,” he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “So I’m in with the newbies this year. Don’t worry, I’ll be back up the ladder and out of your hair soon enough.” 

Marinette scoffed but the ten second match countdown popped up before she could respond. 

“Good luck, Ladybug,” Viperion said.

“Same to you, Viperion,” Marinette replied, eyes fixed on the big red numbers ticking down until the word FIGHT flashed once and the game began.

Marinette was used to trash talk, was even good at it. She’d come to enjoy trading quips and good-natured insults, at least until she started winning. Then her opponents tended to either get quiet or get nasty.

Viperion, by contrast, was nearly silent from the beginning. Every once in a while she thought she heard...humming? over her headset, but she wasn’t sure. 

“Oh, nice,” he breathed finally, when she landed a major combo on him. “Oh, hell, here we go, it’s on now—” But it was almost like he was talking to himself rather than trying to trash talk her. 

“You wanted it, I brought it,” she muttered back through the headset. 

“Show me what you got, Ladybug,” he chuckled. “I can take it.”

Marinette’s eyebrows rose slightly at that. Cocky, she thought, grinning to herself at the thought of taking him down, former champion or no.

She wasn’t smiling for long. Viperion wasn’t cocky, he was right. He could take it. His snake-based mech specialized in status effects, and he used his haste and slow abilities masterfully to compensate for his relatively weak armor. He hadn’t neglected his damage stats either; his venom strike didn’t pack a lot of punch up front but the damage dealt over time added up. She’d never seen anyone use this combination of abilities so effectively without a partner to tank for them. Marinette’s lips got tighter and tighter as her health bar turned blue and then red. She was adapting, finding his weak spots, but not fast enough. She had him in the red but—Marinette smashed one last combo in desperation but she could see even as she did it that Viperion had the edge, and she sighed in frustration and let her controller fall on the counter in front of her as GAME OVER flashed in red letters on her screen, followed by the image of Viperion’s mech and the word WINNER over and over. 

“Whew.” The breath Viperion blew out fuzzed over her microphone. “Nice try, Ladybug. Good game.”

Well, at least he was a gracious winner, she thought grumpily. “You too, Viperion,” she said, as sincerely as she could manage, and pulled her headset off with a sigh.

Max was waiting for her outside the pod with his phone in his hand, where he’d no doubt been watching the livestream of the match, and a sympathetic look on his face—at least, she thought he was giving her a sympathetic look from behind his dark glasses. “Too many variables with an unexpected opponent,” he reassured her. “And Viperion is the former champion. We’ll study the match and improve your odds for next time.” 

Marinette mustered a smile and threw her arm around his neck, though nowadays she practically had to stand on tiptoe to do it. “Thanks Max.” He grinned, adjusting his glasses in the way he always did when he was pleased he’d said the right thing. “Well, Ladybug may be down but she’s not out, and Team Lucky Charm is still on top. I’ll win the rest of my matches and then we’ll tear up the two-on-two, right Pegasus?” 

“Odds of victory 94.3%, Ladybug,” Max grinned, and she pulled her arm back to bump fists with him. Then she slapped him on the back, right on the big silver horseshoe on the back of his black hoodie. The skinny boy staggered, but chuckled, and handed Marinette back her own hoodie, red with black on the shoulders and black spots traveling up her forearms from the black cuffs, with a large five-spotted ladybug emblem on the back. She slipped it back on over her tank top and checked her reflection in the mirrored pillar framing the pod. The red mask dusted across her eyes with makeup, accented by black eyeliner dots, was still mostly intact. She gave her pigtails a quick tug each to tighten them and grabbed her black lipstick out of her pocket, reapplying quickly.

“All right,” she said, turning to find Max looking at his own reflection over her shoulder and adjusting the small silver horseshoe pendant hanging at his throat. She was still a little bitter that he was suddenly taller than her, but he just grinned when he caught her pouting at him. He’d been the small and skinny one for so long that he was totally fine with being a beanpole now. “Two more matches to go, and then we’re up.” She softened slightly. “You know you don’t have to wait for me. It’d be okay if you’d rather just wait and show up for the team matches. Or if you want to go check out the competition while I play.”

Max just smiled and shook his head. “I can’t abandon my teammate to her inevitable nerves in her hour of need.” 

Marinette scrunched up her face. “I’m not that bad.” 

Max just chuckled. “You have fifteen minutes before your next match,” he reminded her. “Given your usual patterns I suggest you use them for a bathroom break.”

Marinette groaned. “That’s creepy, Max,” she muttered. But she also followed his advice, the match with Viperion still on her mind. He was more adaptable than she expected, she reflected as she pouted her black-painted lips in thought. She was still frowning when she returned from the bathroom, but Max gave her an awkward punch in the arm, bringing her back to the present and she smiled at him again. Max was right, she’d beat Viperion next time, and losing to him just made beating her next opponents that much more important.

The rest of the day went much better. Marinette swept her the rest of her matches, including the all-important third one. The two-on-two competition was likewise satisfying. Ladybug and Pegasus had been playing together for a long time and they were a well-coordinated team. Marinette’s power and versatility coupled with Max’s diligent data gathering and analysis made them pretty unstoppable. They went undefeated and exited their pyrapods whooping and cheering, buzzed on their own success.   

“Yes!” Marinette exclaimed, hugging Max. “We’re on the road, Max! One step closer to making Markov Robotics and Miraculous Designs a reality!”

“We still have a considerable distance to go before that happens,” Max cautioned, whipping out his calculator. Marinette put a hand gently over it.

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” she quoted cheerfully. “Let’s just enjoy the moment, Max.”

“Yes, of course,” Max smiled, putting away his calculator. “You are correct, Marinette. I did have concerns as to whether we would be able to succeed at this level after lingering at the top of the Diamond League so long. I won’t be able to accurately calculate our odds of success for a few more events, but the outcomes so far have been encouraging.”

“That’s the spirit!” Marinette cheered. Her step hesitated lightly. “Do you want to go to the post-match social?”

Max winced, looking as reluctant as she felt. “We probably should,” he said, shoulders slumping slightly. “We are new to this league, after all. It won’t help us to make a poor impression.” 

“Or none,” Marinette sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” 

“Perhaps a community of more serious gamers will have a more mature attitude,” Max suggested hopefully. “The time commitments and skill level required at this level are not insignificant.”

Marinette smiled. “You’re right, Max. Way to look on the bright side! Come on, let’s make some new friends.” 

Marinette took a deep breath as they entered the main hall, where quite a few people were milling around. 

Of course, she noticed the clothes first. There was a fair amount of UMS gear on display—not surprising. Some people wore hats or pins or other small tokens referencing their mechas, but nobody, she noted with satisfaction, had anything nearly as cool or as customized, nor anything approaching a complete look, as she and Max did. 

“Ladybug?”

Marinette turned and looked up in slight surprise. And then up a little further. The boy—man? young man—standing behind her was several inches taller than Max, and surprisingly well-built and tanned for a gamer. He was...kinda hot, actually, in a lean, slightly lanky sort of way, which made Marinette tense a little, but his smile was friendly and his blue eyes were...wow.

“I thought that must be you,” he smiled, indicating her clothes with a slight gesture. “Nice look.” 

“Marinette designed and created our attire herself,” Max put in proudly as Marinette tried to remember how to make words.

“Oh, nice,” the stranger said with appreciation, and Marinette blinked. 

“Viperion?” she asked. The voice was unmistakable. 

“In the flesh. My name’s Luka. Nice to meet you,” Viperion said, his smile widening as he offered his hand. “Good game. Great game, actually, you were amazing. You really had me sweating.” 

“Thanks,” Marinette replied, her smile tight, but Max nudged her and she managed something a little more sincere as she shook Luka’s hand, a little surprised to find it rough and calloused. Clearly gaming wasn’t his only pastime. (Not like that was special, it wasn’t hers either, and her fingertips were calloused too.) “I’m Marinette. Next time it’ll be better.”

“No doubt,” Luka said warmly, and his voice, smooth and deep and even more appealing without the tinny sound of the headsets, also gave the impression of gentleness even as he squeezed her hand lightly before letting go. “I’m looking forward to it. I hope we can play again sometime, Marinette, I had a lot of fun.” 

Marinette’s smile turned a little more genuine in spite of how much she hated to lose. It had been a good match. “I did too, actually. You played a really good game, Luka. Oh, this is my two-on-two partner, Max—Pegasus.” 

Luka smiled at Max, leaning in to shake hands with him as well. “Nice to meet you.”

He really was good looking, Marinette grudgingly admitted. Luka’s hair was black and cut short on the sides, but longer on top, hanging nearly into his eyes, and dyed the same turquoise as his mech. He had a jaw that could cut glass and a sharp chin and nose, but the overall impression was softened by an easy, dimpled grin, worn, comfortably tattered clothes (including the most dire hoodie Marinette had ever seen over a UMS shirt that must have been at least five years old), and relaxed attitude.

“I saw your matches in the co-op tournament,” Luka was saying as he pulled back from the handshake. “Congrats on your wins, you guys really destroyed everyone there.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t there, were you,” Marinette challenged, grin widening as she folded her arms and cocked a hip. 

“Nah, I don’t usually play the two-on-two,” Luka laughed, and it was a pleasant laugh, genuine and not mocking. “The individual tournament’s more than enough challenge for me most days. I love video games, but they’re not all there is to life, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Marinette nodded slowly, uncomfortable with the way her stomach suddenly felt like jelly. “That’s true—” She jolted suddenly as somebody crashed into her from behind. Luka put his hands out quickly, catching her shoulders.

“Hey, sorry—oh, it’s the bug,” a voice said behind her, followed by a beleaguered sigh. Marinette’s expression twisted slightly before she put on her game face and turned around to face the man who’d run into her. He had a goatee and wore a jacket with a ruff around the neck like a lion’s mane. “Thought I left you behind.”

“What a surprise,” Marinette said, her voice dripping with sweetness as she turned away from him slightly to make sure Max was okay where he’d been knocked into the rail. Max gave her a slight nod as he straightened his glasses and got his footing, waving away Luka’s offered hand. “I thought the same about you,” she continued, turning her back to Leo with her fakest smile.  

“Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home,” he singsonged, and then sneered. “Before you get squashed.” 

Marinette’s eyes narrowed, but she merely inspected her fingernails. “Not by you, apparently, considering how today’s match went.” 

He went red in the face. “Listen, little bug—” 

“Woah, rude much?” Luka said, folding his arms. “Come on, man, show some respect, we’re all competitors here.” 

“And you are?” 

“Luka,” he replied, a slight edge in his voice. “Viperion.” 

“Oh, hey, Viperion. I’m Leo.” He held out his hand and leaned toward Luka, forcing Marinette to take a step back. She felt Max put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze, and tossed him a smile to show she was okay. “Nice to meet you, I didn’t know you were back this year. I watched you in the final a couple years ago, it was sick.”

Luka met his hand slowly and shook it. “Thanks,” he said, glancing at Marinette. “But we were talking, so if you don’t mind—” 

“Oh, yeah, sure, I’m sure we’ll meet up again,” Leo said, taking a step back. “I’ll see you around, Viperion.”

“Not if I see you first,” muttered Luka as the guy walked away. He glanced at Marinette and Max. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Marinette chirped, with a hollow laugh. “He’s old news, I’m used to it.” 

“That sucks,” Luka said bluntly, frowning. “You shouldn’t have to get used to that kind of crap,” he said, an edge of frustration in his voice that Marinette hadn’t heard from him even during the match. “Damnit, they were supposed to be stepping up enforcement of the sportsmanship guidelines when I left. I guess it fell through. Again,” he muttered, glancing at the bored looking official standing nearby. 

“I gotta hand it to you, Ladybug—Marinette,” he continued. “You’re tough as nails, and not just in a match.” He glanced back in the direction Leo had gone and grinned. “You kicked his ass, huh?”

Marinette grinned back. “Wiped the floor with him.” 

“Sweet.” Luka held out his hand for a fist bump and Marinette obliged. 

“It won’t matter in a month,” Max said with certainty. “I don’t even need to calculate the odds; he won’t make it out of the bottom before the cutoff.” He adjusted his glasses. “His mech is powerful but his strategy is inconsistent and short-sighted.”

Luka blinked, glancing at Marinette, who shrugged and grinned. “If Max said it, then it’s as good as fact.”

Luka chuckled. “Is that so? Should I even ask about my odds?”

“No,” Marinette said quickly, just as Max began, “Actually, without additional data my predictions are only thirty percent reliable beyond the third month—”

Luka went from chuckling to full on laughing. “You two are funny. Well hey, you’ve certainly got my respect if it matters. I’m a little surprised you’ve only just moved up to Master, you’re really good.”

Marinette made a face. “We couldn’t make the minimum match count last year. Too many school commitments. It’s easier to work around a university schedule.”

“Team Lucky Charm was the Diamond League champion for the last two years,” Max announced proudly, though Marinette blushed a touch at the open boasting.  

“Well, welcome to the big leagues,” Luka grinned. “Like I said, I hope we’ll play again, Marinette.”

“Statistically probable,” Max began, but Marinette stepped lightly on his foot and he shut his mouth. 

“Oh we will,” she promised, eyes narrowing slightly though a smile was tugging at her lips. “I’ll see you in the playoffs, if nothing else. Then again,” she smirked. “You may not find it as easy to leave me behind as you think. I’ll be on your ass all the way to the top of the ladder.”

Luka gave her a slow grin that made her insides go all wobbly again as he checked the time on his phone. “I’m looking forward to it,” he told her, giving her a quick wave as he turned to go. “Nice meeting you both. See you guys next time.” 

Marinette raised a hand automatically to wave back. He shot her a positively roguish smile before disappearing into the crowd. 

And to her horror, Marinette blushed. Hard.

Behind her, Max snickered. Marinette threw an elbow back into his gut, but he dodged and just laughed harder. 

“You’re doing well, Marinette,” Max reassured her from the small window at the top of her screen. “Your rank has been increasing after every match event. You easily got out of the bottom 5% before the drop cutoff, and Team Lucky Charm continues to climb the ladder as well. I’m not sure why you’re so focused on this.”

“Because I’m losing , Max,” Marinette complained. “My win rate against Viperion sucks, and you can’t deny it.” She threw herself back in her chair with a huff. “And I can’t even be mad about it. I’m mean I’m mad about it, but I’m mad because he’s a great player and I deserved to lose every time.”

“It’s true that your win-loss record against him is—” Marinette shot Max a glare. “Suboptimal,” he offered, with an apologetic shrug. “However, you are improving against him every time and you did win your last match.”

“One,” Marinette groaned. “One match out of six. The stupid computer keeps matching us up.” 

“The fact remains that you have been more successful as you gain more experience playing him,” Max pointed out. Then he smirked. “And I don’t believe you are as annoyed with being matched with Viperion at all.” 

Marinette’s mouth drew into a pout. “Low, Max. So what if he’s cute? I still want to beat him.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Max sniggered, and Marinette’s mouth dropped open.

“Max Kanté!” she gasped, grabbing a crumpled up piece of paper from her desk and pitching it at her webcam. 

Max shrugged unrepentantly on the screen, unbothered by the projectile. “Kim has been my best friend for years. I am not as naive as people like to think.” He made a face. “Unfortunately.”

Marinette giggled. 

“Admit it, Marinette,” Max said smugly, folding his arms. “You don’t hate Viperion.”

“No,” Marinette sighed. “I almost wish I could hate him, but I don’t.” He was just so...nice. And fun, honestly. She couldn’t even hate playing him because the more she played him, the more talkative he got, and she enjoyed his subtle trash talk and open teasing. It was...like playing with a friend. 

A friend whose unreasonably attractive ass (not that she was looking) Marinette was determined to kick. 

Marinette groaned and let her face fall onto the pile of interviews and match analyses she was going through again. Not that any of it had helped the first time. Or the fifth. Or the fiftieth.

“That doesn’t look good,” came a teasing voice from behind her.

“Hi Alya,” Marinette mumbled without looking up. “Don’t mind me, just wallowing my in my failures.”

“Still haven’t beaten that one guy, huh?” Alya asked with a grin, and Marinette heard her throw herself down onto the chaise. “Hi Max!”

“Hi Alya,” Max replied. 

“So what’s his name again?” Alya asked. “Viper?” 

“Viperion,” Marinette corrected. “And once. I’ve beaten him one time out of six.” 

“Is he a jerk?” Alya asked. “I know you have a lot of trouble with those guys.” 

Marinette tried to fight the smile that wanted to spread over her face, but Alya’s widening eyes proved it would be futile anyway. “He’s not a jerk. He’s...sweet, actually. And funny. He seems like a nice guy.” 

“A very attractive nice guy,” Max snickered again. 

“Ooooh,” Alya giggled, and Marinette sat up, glaring at her traitor of a partner.

“So, wait,” Alya sat backwards in Marinette’s second chair, leaning her arms on the back of it. “Let me get this straight.” She held up one hand and began to tick off her fingers. “He’s hot. He’s nice. You know he’s good with his hands—”

“Alya!”

“She’s not wrong.” Max nodded sagely. “It’s true that the speed at which he executes his combos requires a higher than average level of dexterity.”

“Max!” Marinette whirled to face him and scowled. She was so going to have words with Kim.

Alya just grinned wickedly and kept going. “He knows how to change things up and keep it interesting—” 

“ Alya!” 

“And he knows when to slow things down and when to go hard and fast—” 

“ ALYA CÉSAIRE !” 

Max burst out laughing and Alya raised her hands and eyebrows both. “You said it all girl, I’m just recapping!” 

“Oh my God,” Marinette groaned, putting her head in her arms on her desk. “I didn’t say any of it like that!”

"Nevertheless, you did say it," Max pointed out, trying to smother his laughter without much success.

Marinette muffled her scream in her arms and then shot up, reaching for the computer. “Goodbye, Max. You better find a new partner because I have to go kill my best friend now.” She switched off the video call and dropped her head back into her arms.

“You liiiiiike this guy,” Alya teased. 

“Yes,” Marinette muttered, giving into the inevitable.

Alya started slightly, sitting up straight. “Wait, what?”

Marinette raised her head. “I do like him,” she whined. “I really, really like him.” 

“Does he have a girlfriend?” Alya asked, grinning.

Marinette sighed and pitched a gaming magazine at her. It fell open immediately to the well-worn interview. Marinette knew it practically by heart, but Alya raised her eyebrows and began reading aloud. 

“Viperion, real name Luka Couffaine. Twenty years old—Ooh, an older man, Marinette—” 

“Two years,” Marinette muttered, letting her face fall onto her arms. “Barely. Not a big deal.” 

Alya continued to read what Marinette already knew; other hobbies included music and motorcycles, no girlfriend not that it mattered why did they even ask that—it all seemed to point to him being a laid back, relaxed kind of guy, who played because he genuinely enjoyed the game and was good at it. He was competitive enough to keep his edge but he didn’t take the competition too seriously. 

“So how much time have you actually spent talking to him?” Alya asked, giving her a sharp look. 

“We talk every time I play him,” Marinette said, sitting up in her chair. “He comes to find me after every match, shakes my hand and says I played a good game, and we chat for a few minutes about whatever.” She was starting to look forward to their short conversations, to his rough hand enveloping hers and the lilt in his smooth voice when he teased her. Even if Max gave her hell afterwards because even he wasn’t so obsessed with his numbers that he couldn’t tell something was going on. Marinette might not be the stuttering, blushing mess 

“How’d he do when you beat him?” Alya asked, eyebrows raised, and Marinette turned away to straighten the knick knacks on her desk so that Alya wouldn’t see her smile.

“Just the same. He seemed just as happy as when he wins. All he said was not to get too comfortable because we’re not in the playoffs yet.” Her smile fell slightly. “Which is true,” she sighed. “If I can’t beat him in the finals it doesn’t matter how many rank matches I win. He can afford a loss or two, even to me.”

“Even to you,” Alya echoed with a scoff. “Marinette, you’re the best UMS player I’ve ever seen.”

Marinette refrained from pointing out that Alya hadn’t actually seen that many. “That doesn’t always matter,” she shrugged. “Guys don’t like getting beat by a girl. Really, our rankings are so close that losing to me doesn’t hurt him that much. He doesn’t lose anything by being nice to me.”

“But…” Alya raised her eyebrows, and Marinette blushed.

“He’s nice to everybody,” she said with a small shrug, turning to her desk and tossing another magazine Alya’s way. “He’s a popular player. Not only is he a former champion but he’s personable and he has such a unique playing style, his matches get a lot of traffic on the livestream. They interview him a lot—” 

“Probably doesn’t hurt that he’s cute,” Alya commented. “From a marketing perspective, he’s a great face to put out there to the public. Helps dispel the idea that all gamers are—” Her eyes darted towards the screen where Max had been a moment ago. “Nerds,” she finished finally with an apologetic shrug. 

Marinette rolled her eyes but conceded the point. “He talks about sportsmanship and not taking yourself too seriously in almost every interview,” she said, pointing to the magazine in Alya’s hands. She herself had it practically memorized. 

Q. I understand you’ve been calling for the league to up the enforcement of their sportsmanship practices. There’s been discussions about implementing a fine or rank penalty for unsportsmanlike behavior. 

A. Yeah, I have, and I think that’s really important. I mean, when it comes down to it, we’re all here to play the game because we love it. Of course the money matters, but it’s not the only thing that matters. Making money off something you love is great in theory but if you let the thought of the money take all the joy out of what you’re doing, then you might as well work a desk job and let your hobbies stay hobbies. We’re not gladiators fighting to the death. We lose nothing by treating our opponents with respect, no matter whether it’s a girl or a guy, or somebody younger or older than you or with a different skin color, we’re all here because we love the game, and we ought to respect that love in other people. Bottom line, the league has guidelines in place for a reason and they should be enforced.  

Marinette wasn’t sure how that made her feel. Really, he was right; the league was too lax about enforcing their sportsmanship guidelines across the board, and players like Marinette and Max suffered the most for it. A certain amount of trash talk was accepted but using abusive language or attacking a player’s sex, sexuality, or race was supposed to be against the rules, but she’d seen those rules enforced only a handful of times in any of the leagues she’d played in, and without any penalty to back it up, the rules largely went ignored.

Alya’s whistle snapped her back to reality. “Girl, you’ve got it bad. I haven’t seen you this deep in lala land since���” 

Marinette groaned and put her head in her hands. “No. No, Alya, I can’t do this again,” she whined. “He’s older, he’s cool, he’s probably got a million people interested in him, and I’m—”

“You.” Alya began ticking off her fingers. “You’re a brilliant designer and a super creative mind. You’re also like, the nicest of the nice when you’re not in a competition. You know famous people—”

“One famous person.”

“Jagged Stone. Nadia Chamack. My mother.”

Marinette sighed, slumping. “Fine.”

“I’m just saying, don’t give up before you even talk to the guy,” Alya said, getting up to sit in Marinette’s second desk chair and take Marinette’s hands in hers. “I know the last time shook you up but you’re still an amazing person and just because Adrien couldn’t see it doesn’t mean that no one else will.” 

Marinette managed a half-hearted smile and some kind of response that must have satisfied Alya, because before long her best friend was chattering on about other topics.   

The thing was, Alya just didn’t understand. Many, many of the male gamers Marinette met were very nice, normal people, a small percentage were a little too eager to be friendly, some were fine until she beat them and then they became cold and closed-mouthed around her. 

Then there were some who were downright hostile from the first moment she stepped in. Those nasty standouts were the reason she leaned into her Ladybug persona, separating Marinette from the gaming world as much as possible. Her hoodie and mask makeup were armor as much as branding, allowing her to slip into a tough shell that could handle the abuse hurled at her.

She could see it in Max, too, the difference between his everyday self and Pegasus. As her partner he both witnessed the vitriol flung at her and came in for a fair share himself, and not just because of his association with her. She felt guilty about it but Max had stood by her even when she suggested he might be better off with a male partner, so she did her best to keep up her bluster and sharpen her tongue to shield her sensitive partner from the worst of the abuse. Team Lucky Charm always showed up to the matches with their game faces on, Pegasus behind his dark glasses and Ladybug with her blue eyes burning defiance from her red and black mask. 

Marinette and Max had agreed to make the commitment to move up to the Master League because they both had big plans and big dreams. Marinette depended on her gaming winnings to support her more experimental designs, which, when they went well, earned her more commissions. Every commission took her one step closer to her dream of owning her own boutique line. Max used his gaming money to fund his robotics research and experimentation. Both their dreams were on the line. No matter how much fun she had playing Viperion, sooner or later, they’d be out of these rank matches and facing each other in playoff elimination matches. She had to figure out how to beat him before then. 

Ladybug couldn’t afford to be getting soft over a velvet voice, a slow smile, and gentle eyes, no matter how many butterflies took flight in her stomach when she talked to him. No matter how good of a guy he was, Ladybug needed to beat Viperion.

[raendown]

A gift to @sakxuraz for the @tobiizugiftexchange, I hope you enjoy! 

Pairing: IzunaTobirama Word count: 4398 Rated: T+ Summary: Building a village with other clan-packs wasn't a terrible idea in theory. In practice it opened the door for all sorts of miscommunication as they all navigated the difficulties of integrating not only as humans but in their secondary animal forms as well. What does a cat know of birds? More importantly, what is he willing to learn?

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A Word For Home

Coming from a clan more disposed to mammalian second forms, living with a bunch of birds was strange in many ways. Tobirama was more than used to seeing family and close friends groom each other but the ways in which Uchiha showed their affections seemed incredibly odd in his eyes. So odd that in many cases he wasn’t actually aware what the purpose of such gestures were supposed to be until he was informed so later on. 

The first time Izuna brought him a handful of leaves he could only stare, mind racing as he tried to figure out what sort of insult was being offered to him. Each leaf was a different shade and all of them newly shed by autumn trees. After a full minute of silence he looked up to see the other man watching him intently with his dark eyes wide in anticipation, waiting for some sort of reaction, and Tobirama hoped his utter lack of any expression was as disappointing as he was sure his rage was meant to be amusing. 

“I have plenty of leaves in my own front lawn,” he rumbled. Then he had turned to sweep away, missing the dejected slump of Izuna’s shoulders before there came the rushing pull of a change. Even without looking he knew the sound of strong wings hurrying away. When he dared to look back the leaves were arranged carefully on the ground in some unrecognizable pattern. He left them there. 

An isolated incident like that could have easily been forgotten, written off as nothing more than yet another attempt to annoy him over petty grudges, if it hadn’t been the beginning of an utterly strange trend. The second time Izuna approached him the man came bearing an armful of cloth all with different brightly colored patterns. At first glance Tobirama thought it to be a small mountain of clothing but a closer look told him the bundle wasn’t even that much, just scraps of varying sizes all piled on top of each other. They were at least neatly folded. Still, he might have no idea what insult the man was trying to imply but he had more important things to do than to indulge his rival’s pointless games. 

“There is a laundromat just down this street if you were looking for somewhere to clean your rags,” he advised stiffly. 

“Rags?” Somehow Izuna managed to insert such a heavy amount of dejection in to his tone that for a moment Tobirama almost thought him genuinely saddened by the denial. Then he came to his senses. 

“Fly away, little raven, I have things that need to be done today.” 

With that he brushed past and paid no attention to the trill that followed him down the path. His mind was already full of the blueprints he and a team of Nara had been working on for the new hospital. 

After that it seemed as though he ran in to Izuna around every other corner and every time he found something being presented to him as though it were some great treasure. Yet without fail each so-called gift turned out to be nothing more than scrap and chaff, never anything of value but neither could Tobirama make heads or tails of what this game was meant to be. He would have asked if it wouldn't have felt so much like losing. 

In his office Izuna brought him a spool of wire. On his front porch was left a basket of untreated wool. Turning corners in the marketplace he found his hands full of old blankets that had clearly seen their share of use. For the life of him he couldn’t seem to connect any of these offerings together. With every new piece of junk in Izuna’s hands Tobirama only grew more and more confused. The two of them were no longer enemies by any stretch, not since their clans had formed a pact to share the same territory several years before, and although they weren’t exactly the best of friends they had managed to achieve a unique sort of equilibrium that worked for them. Casually sniping each other with pointed - if dull - insults might look to anyone else as though they hated each other but Tobirama had been secretly thrilled to have someone who finally understood his particular brand of communication. 

The more bits and bobs of random materials Izuna attempted to give him, however, the more he began to question whether he had grievously misunderstood something. Jabs and jests he could understand. Pranks, on the other hand, had never been part of their repertoire. Oh he had seen Izuna pull the wool over other people’s eyes before and he’d been woken more than once by the eagle scream of Madara caught in some trap or another by his precious little sibling. Until now Tobirama himself had seemed to be the only person who escaped such treatment. He’d assumed his counterpart understood that he was not the sort of person to trifle with such things. 

Curling under his desk in the brisk morning air, autumn hovering just at the edge of winter, Tobirama was grateful to his second form for both its warmth and smaller stature at the moment. Naturally resistant to the cold and easily capable of hiding under the desk like a child, Tobirama closed his eyes and laid his head down atop crossed paws. Above him Izuna could be heard rustling around. Whatever today’s gift was it apparently required more space than had been left on the desk and clearly the remedy for that was to ruin several hours worth of careful organization rather than just leave it on the floor.

“Bastard probably heard me coming and scarpered.” The tone of irritation was almost more familiar than the sound of his voice. 

From his hiding spot Tobirama cracked one heavy eyelid in agreement. That was exactly what he’d done. Never had it been so convenient to be able to slip away from even the Sharingan’s detection. While there were definite limitations in not having access to chakra in this form, the fact that it left one nigh undetectable by sensors was a clear bonus that he was happy to take advantage of now. 

It took only a minute or two of patience before Tobirama found himself alone in the room once again, celebrating the much needed peace by stretching out his front paws and flexing each toe to watch his claws appear and retract. With a great yawn that curled his tongue he brought his paws back to fold underneath his head once more as though truly contemplating the notion of an early morning nap. He could use it. Even if he knew very well that he would never actually sleep when there was work to be done it was nice to pretend for a bit that he could be just as lazy as any house cat. Only after his sensitive ears heard the sound of another office door closing down the hall did he finally crawl his way out from under the desk, pausing to shake out his body and resettle any displaced fur. 

As he did so the motion of his reflection in the window drew his gaze and Tobirama blinked thoughtfully at the great snow leopard staring back at him from the glass. It had occurred to him, of course, that whatever Izuna was up to might not be a prank but he hadn’t considered before that it might have something to do with the Uchiha propensity for avian forms. Cocking his head to one side and watching his ears flop, he considered it now. How many times had he seen Uchiha flitting about through the forest collecting twigs and leaves and dismissed it without curiosity? So few of their clan had warmed up to him still and he’d returned such lukewarm sentiments with an utter lack of care for learning their ways beyond what tidbits he picked up from interacting with Kagami. Now he sat back on his haunches and wondered if perhaps he shouldn't sacrifice a little of his pride after all. 

Later, though. For now he had work to do. 

With today’s confusing gift already delivered, Tobirama was able to coast through the rest of his work without the tension of waiting for something unknown. By the time his desk was clear and the sun began to set behind him it felt as though he’d been able to get nearly twice as much done as the past week put together. It was amazing what he could accomplish when he was actually able to concentrate. He left the office with a surprising amount of energy left; just enough that he thought he might be able to deal with the humiliation of asking for help from his brother. 

For such a late hour the streets were still quite packed with people running a few evening errands and couples venturing out to meet for dates. Just in the time it took him to reach the Senju compound Tobirama passed three couples holding hands, two making out in places they probably thought were inconspicuous, and one in the midst of a proposal that did not seem to be very well received. Peace, it seemed, was quite the aphrodisiac for many people once they finally settled in to the concept of it. After that first uncertain year had passed and their peoples got used to sharing the same territory it was as though half the population was suddenly caught up in some unseasonal mating frenzy. Strange how priorities changed when one didn’t need to spend every moment of every day fearing for one’s life. 

“Tadaima!” His own voice echoed back to him when he stepped inside, mingling with the sound of the door clicking shut behind him. As he kicked off his shoes he frowned and strained his ears. No sound. A quick sweep showed the building empty to his senses as well. Either he was home alone for the evening or Hashirama and Mito were not walking on two legs. 

Since the questions knocking about in his mind weren’t exactly urgent he took the time to stop by his bedroom and change his clothing, shedding the dust and sweat of a long day in favor of well-worn cotton soft on his skin, comfortable loungewear he would never be caught dead in outside the home. Then he wandered through the living room, the kitchen, the green room filled with plants where he often found Hashirama napping when he was meant to be doing so many other things. Nowhere was there any sign of life until he happened to glance out the back window and spotted two massive forms huddled together in the backyard. 

Unobserved, he allowed himself a moment to simply watch with a smile. It had always struck him as particularly funny that when human Hashirama was about as clumsy as they come but in the form of a bear he somehow managed to exude grace and calm. Even as he tore in to the strip of raw meat clearly serving as his dinner he looked more adorable than terrifying. The same could not be said of his wife. An empress in all but title on two legs, it had been a surprise to learn that her secondary form was also that of the bear until the first time Tobirama witnessed her tearing in to an enemy with tooth and claw. Hashirama might be a cute docile little sun bear but his wife was a brown bear ready to rampage the instant she perceived a threat to the ones she saw as her own. It was oddly fitting.

At the moment, however, the two of them were doing nothing more violent than partaking of a meal together and Tobirama was loath to disturb such a domestic scene. He contented himself with a plateful of leftovers from the previous evening’s dinner and ate alone at the kitchen table with fingers and chopsticks while he waited. The sun was barely finished setting and he had only just finished washing his dishes when the other two made it back inside. A whuffing moan greeted him, to which he rolled his eyes. 

“I do not speak bear, Anija. Such uncouth noises.”

“So mean,” Hashirama pouted as he flowed back to humanity with the seamless grace of someone who had made the change countless times before. “We were going to leave some for you but you never came outside so I ate your meat.” 

“Thank you, but I was content with stew.” 

Mito narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at him but said nothing, only reached out to bring the tips of her fingers against his shoulder. He accepted the gesture with a nod before looking back to his brother. 

“Can I ask you a few questions? You would know more about the Uchiha than I do.” His should have known better than to be so vague. The words had hardly left his mouth when Hashirama froze in the act of searching out an after dinner snack, turning to look at him with an already exhausted expression. 

“Oh Tobi-” he started to say.

“I didn’t do anything!” Tobirama protested. “Not this time, at least. I just wondered if you could give me a little insight in to some of their habits. If you’re going to be a dick about it I can always find someone else to ask.” 

“No! I’m sorry! Please don’t ask anyone else. What, ah, what did you want to know?” 

Hashirama offered him a cute little smile but it fooled no one. They both knew all he wanted was to make sure Tobirama didn’t go asking the wrong questions to the wrong person and starting a fight with his habitual bluntness. Still, if it got him the answers he wanted right now he was willing to overlook the lack of faith this once. 

Just because his brother had a point didn’t mean he had to be so obvious about it. 

“If I describe a certain behavior that I’ve observed could you tell me if you know the reasoning behind it?” Tobirama waited until he received an attentive nod before going on. “Right. Say one person is bringing things to another and presenting them as if they’re gifts. Except all of these ‘gifts’ are pieces of scrap or garbage or even just leaves off the ground. Does that sound like any sort of Uchiha-specific behavior to you or just some kind of very elaborate prank?”

For several heartbeats his brother stared at him, almost like he was trying to determine whether or not that was a serious question, until finally he pulled off a signature personality flip by sliding straight in to a swoon. 

“Whoever you’ve been watching, they’re so lucky!” he declared. 

“Lucky?”

“Yes! It seems they’ve caught someone’s eye!”

Tobirama scowled. “You know I hate it when you make such poor attempts at humor, Anija.” 

“But it’s not a joke! I’m serious, that sounds just like how an Uchiha behaves when they’re trying to catch the interest of a potential mate!” Hashirama sniffled, wounded to be accused of making jokes. Or perhaps wounded that his terrible sense of humor had been so rightly assessed. It didn’t matter. Tobrama was much more interested in the utterly ridiculous bullshit his sibling was trying to feed him. 

“How does bringing someone litter off the ground or used rags translate as an offer to mate?”

Immediately affecting another swoon, Hashirama sighed like a woman from one of his trashy romance novels. “The gifts aren’t litter, they’re materials! Madara explained it to me once when his secretary kept trying to bring him twigs. When an Uchiha wants to mate with someone they bring them whatever materials they think could be used to make a nice nest for them both. Things like leaves and cloth might be the lining, wood and sticks might be used for the main structure, even pretty little baubles that might just be for decorating! I think it’s really sweet. They build homes together!” 

“Nests. That’s...they were all...nesting materials.” Swallowing felt suddenly three times more difficult than it should have been. “I need to sit down.”

“You’re already sitting down?”

“I need to lay down.”

Hashirama blinked at him, studied him closely. It took several moments but a slow grin began to form that stretched his face with a maniacal sort of joy. “It’s you! You’re the one who’s been getting these mating gifts! Someone is trying to court you!”

“According to you he is asking me to bond with him permanently!” Tobirama had never felt so close to a panic attack in his life. 

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” 

“Because I had thought his opinions of me to be mere tolerance! I had no idea he felt anything like this! What do I even do with this information, Anija!?” 

“Oh I don’t know. You could try accepting a gift or two? Going out on a date? You could tell me who it is! Is it that very pretty lad who works in the mission room? No! It’s that quiet man in the archives! I knew I saw him looking at your bottom that day! This is just so sweet, I am just so happy for you!” Hashirama’s arms struck like a pair of sun-browned cobras to wrap around his neck and squeeze tight. “My little baby brother is all grown up and finding a mate!”

It took squirming, yelling, and a smidgen of violence to extract himself from such an unwarranted embrace. By the time he struggled himself free Hashirama had nearly soaked one shoulder of his previously clean yukata with tears and snot. Delightful. Only years of training in speed and flexibility allowed him to escape the kitchen without being dragged in to another hug, hurrying down the hall to lock himself in to his bedroom where he staunchly ignored the whining coming through his door. Hashirama could be happy for him all he liked. That didn’t make it any easier to process the revelation that had just been dropped on him unexpectedly. 

So Izuna was attempting to court him with the intention of mating. Tobirama knew as well as anyone else who spent any amount of time around their clan that the Uchiha mated for life, unwilling to commit themselves to something of that magnitude unless they were certain it was what they wanted for the rest of their lives. Now that he had finally cottoned on to what was actually happening he needed to figure out how he felt about it before taking any action. 

Did he want this too? 

Waiting for sleep that night was made harder by the familiar chakra creeping up and down the hall to check whether or not his bedroom was still locked several times. His brother never had been able to understand proper boundaries. Either he finally gave up or Mito grew tired of him rustling about and tied him down somewhere but whatever the case Tobirama did eventually fall asleep. By his best estimate, however, when he woke again he had only dreamt for perhaps a little more than three hours. 

He made sure to avoid his brother on his way out of the house the next morning, detouring through the marketplace to pick up something to break his fast. For once in his life he was actually grateful to the swarm of people who mobbed him the moment he stepped inside the administration tower. Any other day he would have been annoyed to have so much extra work shoved in to his hands before he even made it to his own office but today it was nice to have something that demanded his attention, something to occupy his mind without the gnawing guilty feeling of knowing he was only avoiding the inevitable. With his arms full of fresh paperwork he marched his way up the stairs and buried his face in whichever scroll he was able to unroll without upsetting the whole pile. A distraction was only good if he let himself sink in to it. 

Of course, he’d known the moment he left home that he would only have so much time before the very thing he spent all night giving his deepest considerations to would come barging in and demanding even more of his attention. As he watched the door swing open Tobirama supposed that he should at least appreciate that Izuna had allowed him an hour or so of peace to settle in. 

“Morning!” Under the cheer of his tone Izuna’s smile was wan, almost false, though whether he was losing hope or if he’d simply not slept well the night before was unclear. 

“What do you have for me today?” Tobirama asked.

After a moment of startled blinking Izuna was quick to hold out the small bundle of cloth in his arms. “Before you ask, no, none of them have an uchiwa on them.”

Tobirama hummed and bent his neck for a closer look. Clothing, although different from the last similar offering. Before he had been offered well used scraps that - he understood now - would have carried a great deal of  sentimental value and made a very potent addition to any nest. These clothes were much newer looking and yet his sharp nose told him the other man had very carefully worn every item in that pile at least once to coat them with his scent. Not quite as important to avians but to a cat scent was everything.

When he reached out to accept the bundle he got the distinct impression that Izuna only barely stopped himself from fainting. 

“Since I won’t be wearing them,” he mumbled, “I don’t suppose it matters whose mon they have stitched on them.”

“You...took them. You took them? You took them from me. I think I’m asleep.” Izuna reached across himself to pinch his own arm without breaking eye contact. 

“If you had perhaps used your words I might have been inclined to accept your, ah, offers a little sooner.”

Tobirama’s hand twitched with the urge to scrub at the back of his neck with embarrassment, though he managed to keep himself from doing it. He would probably never admit it to the man but he owed Hashirama a great deal for explaining things to him the way he had. As much as he would absolutely be teasing Izuna about this it was a very good thing his old rival had never actually explained what his gifts were meant for. Having someone else clue him in gave Tobirama the chance he needed to panic in private, get past the instinctual need to run, and actually face the emotions he had apparently been repressing for longer than he wished to acknowledge. 

“Does this- you do know what that is, right?” Izuna asked carefully. He visibly held his breath when met with a slow nod. 

“Yes. I do. Well, now I do.” And that was all he hoped he would have to say about that. “You should probably know that snow leopards do not make nests.”

“No?”

“Our dens don’t require much personalization so I will need your guidance on how to go about this. If we’re both to be comfortable then I’ll want to make sure our nest is to your specifications.” Tobirama very much hoped his cheeks were not as red as they were warm. Romance and mates had never been something that took up many of his thoughts, never a subject he felt much of a need to pursue. It was lucky for him, then, that he seemed to have fallen in love with someone willing to pursue him instead. 

If Izuna had been blessed with four legs in his second form he would no doubt have begun purring raucously in the moment it finally hit him that this was real. Since his vocal chords were not shaped for that he instead broke out in to the toothiest, smuggest grin that Tobirama had ever seen. It was a terribly good look on him. 

A low, pleased trill echoed up his throat as he stepped forward until they were pressed together, chest to chest, and lifting his chin to nuzzle against the underside of Tobirama’s jaw. It was a surprisingly gentle gesture from someone whose usual method of showing he cared was a well timed insult aimed straight for the weak points. Even more endearing - and even more surprising - were the hands that brushed their way up the length of Tobirama’s abdomen to rest softly against his chest. Unassuming, unasking, reaching out yet still allowing space. How could a man do anything but pull him in to a loose embrace and close his eyes to bask?

“Mate,” Izuna whispered against the skin of his throat. “I’ve been incredibly patient for the honor of calling you that.”

“You have indeed,” Tobirama admitted. 

“I think I deserve a little something for my troubles.”

A smile lifted the corners of Tobirama’s mouth. “I might be convinced to compensate you if the request isn’t too ridiculous.” 

He was answered by another soft trill that plucked at his heartstrings in ways he never would have been able to admit if Izuna had not made the first move. Though finding a mate had never been a priority in his plans for the future he would have to give up his title of ‘genius’ to turn down an offer of happiness like this one. 

“Would you be willing to share a bit more of your nest building customs? I would hate to offend by accident so early in our bond.” 

“Before we worry about offending anything we should, oh I don’t know, maybe get busy forming the bond,” Izuna suggested. His tone by itself was suggestive enough even before he pulled away a scant inch or two to lock their gazes with a filthy leer. Tobirama tried to resist but it was no good. He smiled helplessly, the first of many capitulations to come. 

“I am eager to learn any part of you that you wish to share,” he said. 

And if perhaps under the suggestiveness of his own words he had cleverly hidden the softest parts of his heart laid bare, well, it was only right of him to share every part of himself with his new mate as well. 

[reynesofcastamere]

Splintered Perspective [β]

(A/N: For reference, any fics I write that aren’t related to my main series will be marked with [ β ] in the title. I may just have to make a masterpost to organize these at some point. Anyway,the prompt for this was: ‘How Rex or some other person from Ahsoka’s past would react to her being enemies with benefits or in a relationship with Maul.’ I decided to go with multiple POVs for the fun of it. And so I didn’t break myself with The Sad. Poor Rex T_T. Perspectives are not in chronological order. Mentions of past Ahsoka/Barriss. Warnings for dehumanization, mentions of torture, death, violence, some ableism and possible misogyny.(Maybe? Your mileage may vary.) Unbeta’d.  ) Being one with the Force is...not exactly what she had been taught to expect. Barriss Offee is part of everything, all at once. Those in the Light, living and dead, she is all of them, and yet still herself, in a manner of speaking . Time is no longer such a rigid concept, nor is there any particular sense of urgency. What has happened was meant to be, and the future...Is forever shifting, ripples overlapping in a still pool. Which is why it comes as such a surprise when she can feel Master Plo’s disapproval like a storm on the edge of breaking. At first, she cannot determine what has woken his ire, but slowly the images come into focus. Ahsoka.

Barriss no longer possesses a heart, and yet she cannot deny the lance of bittersweet pain through her chest. There is relief that her friend is still alive, but also regret and something bordering on envy. A feeling that only sharpens when she notices the tattooed Zabrak that Ahsoka currently has pinned down. Wait. She knows him. Not personally, but...He is a Sith, a murderer, a monster. Why is Ahsoka-brash, kind, clever person that she is- smiling at him?  It is possible that she is misinterpreting this. Both of them appear rather bruised and a touch bloody, and the lack of lightsabres doesn’t mean-She misses the words exchanged between the pair of them, but...The kiss is unmistakeably passionate, bordering on obscene as the Force crackles around them. Somehow, this is not the worst of it. When they part for air, there is a...look, shared between their eyes, and Barriss experiences true dread. Long ago, she and Ahsoka had-been close. Intimately so. As much as anyone could be, following the Order’s mandate that attachment was forbidden. She’d harboured dreams then, of maybe and one day...But no. Too much had happened, and her rosy illusions had been cruelly shattered. Somehow, watching this unfold hurts worse. Because there is something genuine beneath the crude physical attraction on display. Master Plo does not say a word, but his righteous indignation is so strong that it is a miracle he does not physically manifest in front of them.

Her dearest companion does not belong in the Dark, with this...creature trapping her in his coils, dripping venom into her thoughts. Barriss can only hope Ahsoka will extricate herself before it is too late.

=====

The failed apprentice. A wretched vermin who simply refuses to die. Not for much longer. Darth Vader’s gaze narrows as he reviews the incident reports. A decade of nothing but the occasional annoyance and whispers from the dregs of the galaxy, and only now does Maul scurry out from beneath whatever rock he has been sheltering under. Why? There is no grand plan, no great advantage in breaking into an Imperial prison. Especially one that contains such...unimportant occupants. Then again...The swathe of carnage and destruction left behind had been almost a direct path between the Dathomirian’s entry point and the interrogation chambers. Not a calculated assault, but an act of rage and desperation. Vader had felt it at the time, how the Dark Side had howled and torn at itself like a half-crazed beast. And then there was the fate of the interrogator: Hands cut off, abdominal perforation, shattered jaw,and eyes torn from their sockets. He had suffered a great deal, however briefly. As for the prisoner with him- Records list a female Togruta, mid-to-late twenties, with blue eyes and orange skin. Possibly Force sensitive, but difficult to determine due to her physical state upon capture. The prisoner hadn’t been in possession of anything resembling lightsabres, but had been carrying a wealth of assorted small armaments. It couldn’t be. She died back when...We found her sabres among the graves. Anakin Skywalker is long dead, but sometimes his ghost is loud enough to be heard over the multitudes that inhabit Vader’s hulking, monstrous shell.

Graves required someone to dig them first. Which meant that either some unknown individuals had come along and taken pity on a multitude of strangers...Or that the survivours had done the work themselves. Yet, if Ahsoka Tano lives, and was temporarily imprisoned, it still does not explain the identity or methods of her unlikely rescuer. She was sent to capture him on Mandalore, why would Snips-? Why did she leave us? We needed her when Padme- The room around him warps and buckles in a single, furious moment of clarity. She chose that...animal. That thing, Oh, but she’d been richly rewarded, hadn’t she? One only had to look at the risks her...protector had taken just to secure her freedom. Approval and utter disgust war within him as he rises. So be it. Sentiment has already destroyed them, and it will be his pleasure to finish a task that should have been resolved long ago. Traitors to the Empire must all be purged.

===== Rex should probably be angry. Ahsoka is certainly looking at him like a shiny expecting a stern lecture for breaking regs. Instead he just feels...tired. He can’t be mad at her, not really. Maybe if he’d stuck around longer or managed to make contact more often, this wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it would have. Maker knows his trio of Jedi could never stay out of trouble for long, and that war makes for strange alliances and even stranger...pairings.  Still, he has to ask, because he knows her, knows the depths of love and compassion that make her who she is, beneath the layers of soldier and spy.

“Is it serious?” Ahsoka fidgets with her lekku a bit. “I don’t know.” A long pause as she inhales. “It keeps happening, and...I want to murder him half the time, Rex. The problem is that he likes it.” The expression on her face perfectly sums up her opinion on that little tidbit of info. He might have laughed, under different circumstances. Instead, he takes her hands in his. “We’ve known each other for a long time. I might not understand why you’re doing this, or how it works-” He absolutely does not need to know the mechanics, as there are not enough drugs or alcohol in the galaxy to purge the associated mental images. “-but I trust your judgement. And your ability to slice his horns off and hang him from his ears over a pit of rathtars if he pushes you too far.” Rex grins, silently offering to be her backup should that ever happen. Kind of a surprise it hasn’t already, since Maul never karking shuts up and Ahsoka’s patience has a set limit for windbags. Her eyes are wet when she hugs him tightly. “You’ll be the first person I call, Captain. And I’m sorry.” He knows she’s not just apologizing for this, not with their history. “I’m sorry too, Commander.” Rex murmurs, hugging her back. They can stay like this for a while longer. Her superiors are just going to have to wait. He might not be such a ‘good’ soldier anymore, but he knows damned well how to be a good friend. And that’s what they both need, more than anything. People that will survive the disaster long enough to see it end, and come out smiling.

=====

“When I warned that you might be tempted by the Dark Side, I did not expect it to be quite so literal.”

“Master.” “Then again, I suppose there is a certain appeal. Ventress was certainly a...passionate opponent. Lovely sense of humour, too. I suppose you don’t get much of that with your-No, I suppose you are the better half in this equation.” “Master Kenobi.” “Come now, we haven’t spoken in ages, surely you can indulge your grand-master’s curiousity.” “You did not break comm silence after years of letting everyone think you were dead just to call me about my sex life.” “Well, no, but it is an unexpected bonus. How does that work, exactly?” “It sounds like you’re angling for a demonstration.” “Oh Maker, no. I’m not that eager to find out.” “Good, because I don’t particularly feel like dealing with him if he decides to drop everything just to hunt you down.” “Ah. He’s...still upset about that, is he?” “You have no idea.” “Well then. To business. And Ahsoka?” “Yes, Master?” “It is good to hear your voice again. Do take care of yourselves.” “You too, Master Kenobi. And don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“One last question: When should I expect great-grand-padawans?”

“OBI-WAN!!!!” (A/N: Yes, I had to end with levity. Especially considering the characters involved. To clarify, Anakin isn’t upset because he has any sort of romantic inclination towards Ahsoka. It’s general Darksider possessiveness/jealousy mixed in with a lot of anger and some guilt. Looking after Ahsoka’s wellbeing was ‘his’ job, so far as he’s concerned. And now it’s apparently been usurped by That One Asshole. Also, if anyone’s going to recognize that level of...obsessive regard, it’s gonna be the OG Skywalker Drama King. Many thanks to the anonymous person who requested this, both for the prompt and your compliments. Cheers!) 

[aka217]

OK, SO 2020

Welp.

I’m certain I won’t have to come back to this post to remember what happened this year. This year the world shared one similar experience; a year that seemed to have sat still while also continuously rampaging tragic events one after the other. A catalyst in many ways. It stands no reason that my year has not aligned with the rest of the world, yet we’ve managed to make it even more interesting. This year will be transcribed countless times, so let me focus on the parts in which are uniquely mine:

Despite the world falling to a pandemic, lock downs and quarantines for most of the year, it amazes yet how much I’ve squeezed out of this year. First and foremost: we did it. We moved to the west coast. A long time coming, some delays, some uncertainties. But we prepared, we agreed, we wanted something new. Clearly nothing stood in our way this year, we were going to go. As much as a curveball a pandemic can through at us, we were resilient and making the move. It’s not all positives, as settling here is a mix bag: unable to fully experience the city, me not quite sure how I like this position, Ashley not able to secure her next career opportunity, not able to even visit back home. But look, we made the move, we are here, let it not go to waste, as there are experiences still available and unique that we should not take for granted.

Let’s map out what happened this year:

January. The year started with a visit from the Cabacoys to Disney and SeaWorld. Shortly after, in the most gratifying way, I used up most of my vacation for the year in a single trip. We traveled to the California, a kind of sneak peek at what’s to come. Knowing our financial situation would be up in the air very soon, it was our best option as we’d see a variety of friends, family, places, all the while having lodging mostly covered. Although sick in the beginning (hmm? Nah just congestion) San Fran consisted of me watching the Witcher and eating Popeyes chicken sandwiches among other SF delights. The drive down Highway 1 was spectacular, this time not as foggy, giving us great views of the ocean all the way through. We were able to take the scenic Monterey coastal drive, passing through pebble beach and the like. Stopping at our favorite little hotel in San Luis Obispo, we find ourselves in LA the next day hanging out with the newlyweds. After the trip, January rounds out with a nice Disney breakfast with my family.

February started with a quick trip to Playa Linda, wearing ski jackets to the beach. Valentines/birthday weekend was the long-awaited Vigo cruise to the Bahamas. There’s something so satisfactory about a trip where I don’t anticipate anything, and everything comes at a delight and surprise. Next up we have G-Ading’s wedding, being the only wedding we end up going to this year! Very memorable time, and the food, oh my jeez it just kept coming. And last, on the final day of February (jk leap year), was my last day with JBT AeroTech. 8ish years would come to a close. The first place to give me a chance at becoming an Engineer and letting me not only prove to myself I could, but to give me opportunities to fulfill dreams bigger than my own.

March. Whoa now. This is a sensitive month for many people. And while many may mask as March entirely being pandemic, that part didn’t quite start until March 14. Let’s not forget what I managed to pull off before then. First off, Science Night Live in Orlando, something we’ve been wanting to do but finally was able to go. Second, Conexpo Las Vegas. I had an inkling that I would not be going with JBT this time, and so I booked it with my own money and still went. This expo is so cool for someone in the industry, there’s so many great vehicles to check out. Plus I figured it would be a good place to be to meet with connections and find Cali opportunities. Strapped for cash I secured shared accommodations and dinners provided my business acquaintances, but quickly evaporated as many attendees pulled out due to the growing pandemic (not locally yet, but this was an international expo). I managed to scrap together living spaces, and find alternative free meals. And while the people I was supposed to hang out with did not show up, I stuck with now old coworkers and even ended up finding new acquaintances there, which culminated to the most lux Vegas party I can imagine in penthouse suites (plural), a wild night I won’t forget.

And that’s double true, because the next day the lockdowns started to occur. I come back home to quarantine, lock down, uncertainty. One day I’m dancing shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of people (which how lucky I didn’t catch anything then) to now not coming within 6 feet of anyone, stocking up on groceries and toilet paper. It was all so strange. We were afraid to hug my nephew, him being confused when he saw us, a confusing time of unknown. Initially I thought being out of work was going to be weird, maybe nice in some ways. And in a way it was; an unease of not having something to do, but all the while glad I didn’t have to work through this coping phase of the pandemic.

April was a weird time for me. What was supposed to be 2-week quarantine led to what we now know to be months. It still felt like more March, as nothing has progressed in the last weeks. Ask me now what happened and all I can remember is watering the grass everything, or waiting to water the grass every day. Nothing really else. Well, ok, maybe securing a job in Oakland (it really is about who you know), and slowly purging and moving out of our house. Towards the end of the month we went to Ocala to see Ashley’s parents once more, as it marked the start of our goodbyes.

May was wild and nonstop. While the world waited, we had to find a way to say goodbye to friends (heart breakingly distant), family, and our possessions. We had plans to seek out our favorite food spots and share final meals with people, but that was not possible. We made visits with family, while trying to figure out where to stash away the items we were not ready to give up on. I also said goodbye to my Miata. This car meant a lot to me, symbolized a lot, characterizes me in many ways. I always enjoyed driving it. And it if wasn’t raining, the top was down, and even sometimes when it was raining. It is a piece of me I had to let go. I have no regrets, I did not take it for granted, and I can only hope that I find another car that brings me as much joy each time.

And so, mid-May, we make the move. You can wait for the perfect moment, but as we see here there is no perfect moment, so my advice is this: now is probably the next best chance. We couldn’t wait any longer, and maybe regrets to go sooner can be argued, regrets of not going can be as well. And so we embarked on our journey to Oakland. I start my job to following week. It was a strange time as everything, and this time basically everything, was a strange new place to be. New city, new job, new world. But we did what we could. We have support here of friends and family, and we turned to them immediately. This month will start to shape the remainder of the year: food take out, video games, facetimes, picnics, cousins. We explored the Bay Area (by means to buying and selling Facebook marketplace items) just to get a feel of the surrounding areas and try to get our bearings.

June and July were much of the same. While Ashley took a trip back home, I stayed back, exploring the hills in a rental (more on that later). My Dad made a pitstop here as he finally managed a flight out of the Philippines. I had not seen him since December, and so much has happened since, so it was nice to see him just for a brief moment; because if not it would have been more than a year, because as I write this I have not seen him since. The rest of the months we try to explore various areas, including the Berkeley observatory, Golden Gate Park, Emeryville Marina, Ocean Beach.

August is much the same as you can expect, though we do see Ashley’s Cousins more, as well as my cousins and their daughters. Ashley hosts her birthday on our landlord’s porch, where we go through a makeshift game of “we are not really strangers,” a moving game much harder to play without the ability to hug at the end.

September picks up and gets more interesting as we start to explore further away from the city, including a nice relaxing day down at whale cove beach, as well as a relaxing vacation (away from the heat waves, smoke, and fires) down in Saratoga/Santa Cruz area.

October was another trip, this time all the way down to Paso Robles for a birthday celebration, exploring the vineyards and a bonus trip up highway 1. Although much different, it was nice to get a trip with a big group of friends. October we also saw a couple movies, including a private screening of Tenet (wut) and my first drive-in movie ever, Coco, and once more another drive-in for Hocus Pocus.

November was much of the usual, as we are limited in options (and a bit limited in finances) to try anything new. We made the very difficult choice not to travel back to Florida for thanksgiving, and instead spent thanksgiving with just the two of us, although we cooked for 8.

December is here, and we squeezed in a few interesting pieces. I took a drive out to some of the mountains towards San Jose in a newer Miata. Another weekend we spent in San Rafael, where we didn’t leave the hotel the entire time. A very welcoming weekend with no pressure, no rush, just stay in and play video games, watch movies, and eat in (room service and delivery to our door!). That was a nice weekend with the only expectation was that we were doing nothing. As Christmas approaches, we venture out into the city to look at some of the lights. We also manage the watch Elf at the drive-in (although the foggy night didn’t make that easy), and once more drive-in to see Wonder Woman 1984 before the new year.

Alright, quick tidbits:

Cars I’ve rented – BMW 330i, Hyundai Santa Fe, Nissan Altima, Fiat Abarth 124, Jeep Wrangler, Mazda Miata. A nice plethora of cars this year, and with the availability of mountains in the west coast, and the convenience of Turo, I have the opportunity to take nice day long drives through the windy roads. This was one of my goals for moving and I’m glad I’m still able to put that into fruition. It’s convenient to have nice back roads so close, and the beautiful highway 1 coastal road for longer trips. It was nice to rent a couple convertibles, including a few similar to my Miata. I hope next year brings some more interesting cars, and hopefully some off-roading fun as well. It’s hard to pick a favorite, as each ride held a unique experience. But I am thinking about getting a Jeep so…

Best Thing I Ate – man there’s so much to consider. G-Ading’s wedding was crazy delicious, the best wedding food ever no question. Having a mini Hot Ones episode at Ashley’s parents and at Kevin’s was delicious and the conversation meaningful. I started my goodbye food tour but didn’t see it through, but that came with some favorites from Gators Dockside, Pho Vinh, Gold China, Vicky’s Bakery. As far as the West Coast: Farmhouse Thai’s Lao platter is tray full of little wonders. And here in the Bay Burmese is plentiful (something that should definitely make its way into Orlando). Let’s not forget a couple homemade treats, such as Mia’s delicious Ube cookies and smore bites, and Ashley’s brownie muffins she considers was a mess up (I think they were perfect).

Between the pandemic lockdown and my new Xbox, I’ve played quite a few notable games. My favorites this year include Nier Automata, Jedi Fallen Order, and The Outer Worlds. Breath of the Wild also has now become a comfort food/ re-watch staple this year in Cali.

A couple movies/TV to note watching: Before Sunrise, Columbus, Westworld season 3, Mandalorian Season 2, Dash & Lily.

There’s a lot that can be said about 2020. There were big expectations, and life comforts, which were all stripped from us. And so while we made a big leap into the unknown, the rest of the world follow suit. But it’s hard to say if it was a bad choice or good, because I really don’t know what would happen if we stayed in Florida. Maybe things were more familiar and grounded, maybe see family a bit more. But what jobs would we have? Would we have been at higher risk of getting Covid? Who knows. But what I do know is that right now we are fine. We are healthy, we are financially stable, our family is healthy. And we may be limited in the interactions we can have, but that does not mean we can’t enjoy some of what this west coast adventure had in store for us. I think it was important that we experience the change, chaotic as it was.

We purged ourselves of the past: got rid of old clothes, old furniture, old junk of our college and early adult years. We carry with us only the essentials, and have a new outlook on what we acquire along the way. May would see us move out of our home, be in limbo back in Miami, and even once we got to Oakland, we would move just 2 weeks later (and move out again 3 months later, and we’ll be moving again this January). This is a year of being unsettled, which was to be expected with the move, but add a global pandemic, marches for equality, an uncertain presidential election, nothing was the same, everything has changed.

But honestly, since many of life’s grievances are a shared collective, my year relatively was ok. Pre-Covid was fantastic and jam packed with family and trips, par for the course of what I deem important to me. And even during the pandemic, my comforts are driven by much of the same elements: friends, family, and trips, albeit a bit differently. I have hopes for next year, I really do. I don’t think things will go back to normal, and for us there is no normal here. But I think things will settle and be grounded, and we can look forward to more of things that make us whole and human. Things that may have been missing this year are the grander friends vacation trips, and the live concerts and museums. I also hope to see my family soon, and get back to a place of comfort and familiarity, even for a brief moment. I hope to see more of that next year. But all I can ask is that our health and wellbeing stay intact.

2020, you were a nightmare. But catalysts are never calm, and the outcome is sure to be filled with great energy.

[myownpersonaldemons]

Self-Tober Prompt 18

Date

HT!Papyrus/Reader

This is a continuation of the Selftober Day 2 fanfic! Though, you don’t really need to have read that one to read this one. 

It was finally date night! It felt like it had been forever since he had asked you out after you had purchased your sweater. You absolutely adored the sweater, and wore as often as possible, which was quite frankly a lot.

Of course, your stomach was fully of nervous flutters as you adjusted your outfit for the fiftieth time in the closet mirrors by your apartment door. You were pretty sure this was a cute outfit, and you were wearing the Halloween sweater you had bought! So, it was a bonus! You’d added some cute accessories, and bam! Cute date night outfit!

You preened yourself a few more times before the doorbell ring. Exactly at 6:30 like he said.

You’d been ready for about twenty minutes now, those first date jitters always got to you. However, you were going out with someone who’d been your friend for a while now and you weren’t going to let your nerves get in front of your excitement. So, you hurried over to the door and opened it, smiling up at him.

“Right on time,” you said happily, allowing him to step into your home. He had to duck to enter, but the large grin on his face just grew as he took in your outfit. There was a faint blush decorating his cheeks that made your own cheeks heat up.

“YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL,” he praised happily, “AND YOU LOOK EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL TODAY.”

Okay, you were definitely blushing deeply now. You weren’t great at accepting compliments, so you dropped your gaze from his and shyly thanked him before complimenting him as well. He was always stylish, and today was no exception. However, he was a bit more subdued than normal which made you curious…but you also didn’t want to drawn attention to that if he simply wanted to be more subdued.

“You’re looking extra handsome today as well,” you said shyly as you made sure you had everything before bashfully meeting his gaze once again, “so…um…shall we?”

“WE SHALL!” he said joyfully, holding the door open for you. You followed him out into the hall and then accepted his offered arm once you made sure your door was closed and locked.

You honestly didn’t even think to ask where he was taking you as he had constantly stated that it was a surprise. Thankfully, he did include a text that told you to dress casually. However, you had still wanted to dress up a bit for him rather than the venue. Now that you were walking arm in arm, you didn’t care what you did as long as you were spending time with him.

He filled you in on everything that had happened since you had last seen him all the way to the car. When you asked how Sans was doing, that nearly took up the entire ride with his enthusiasm about how Sans was improving and had actually managed to become a full-time volunteer at a shelter relatively close to their home. You were pleased at the news, Sans had trouble focusing for stretches of time and became closed off if anyone pointed it out. The fact that he had something to do? Well, you were happy for him, and Papyrus was proud of his older brother as well.

The conversation easily turned towards you with equal enthusiasm from Papyrus as he asked you all about your life since you had last seen him, and that was prior to even just seeing him in the store. You hadn’t really talked too much about what you had been up to over text or the couple of phone calls because your life hadn’t really changed all that much.

Papyrus finally directed you to park and you glanced at the building nearby. You were in the University district, and you glanced over at him curiously.

“I Booked Us A Couple Cooking Class,” he explained upon seeing your inquiring look. You saw his fingers inching towards his top to start fiddling with it, so, you reached over and grasped one.

“That’s awesome!” you said, allowing excitement to seep out as you spoke. His eye lights landed on you and he grinned happily.

“GREAT! LET’S HEAD IN!” he chirped happily, climbing out of your car.

No wonder he said to dress casually, and why he was so dressed down compared to normal.

After signing in and being directed to your station, you giddily held onto Papyrus’ hand and the two of you chattered away about how fun this was going to be. It was going to be a four-course meal, and they had offered wine but you declined as you were both the driver and you didn’t drink normally. Papyrus also declined the wine because he said that he wasn’t a fan of drinking.

Once the rest of the couples were present, the class began.

It was so much fun! Cooking with someone else whom you enjoyed the company of was delightful. You took over all the cooking of the meat as you knew Papyrus wasn’t comfortable around raw meat, and he resolutely kept his face turned towards the counter as he focused on his task. The moment it was cooked, however, he was back to glancing over at you and complimenting you on practically everything. Or giving you a gentle nudge towards proper techniques.

Hell, the teacher leading the class was even impressed by Papyrus.

Though, you did see there was a bit of discomfort in the teacher around Papyrus, you didn’t mention it. Nor did you let it affect you, because you knew for a fact Papyrus was aware of the teacher and he wasn’t letting it affect him.

By the end of the night, you were full of delicious food, you had a new recipe to cook, and you had spent three hours with your favourite skeleton. It was a great night. You sighed contently as you relaxed into your car seat after buckling up.

“That was…incredible,” you admitted looking over at Papyrus as he shifted until he was comfortable in his seat. “We should totally do that again someday. I’d like to try the cheese making class too!”

Papyrus face brightened, which you hadn’t noticed until then that it wasn’t at it’s fullest. “AGAIN?”

“Yeah! I mean, our next date doesn’t have to be a cooking class again. It could be anything! I think I have a place I’d like to take you to next time,” you said excitedly, turning on your car with a big grin. Then your face fell slightly, “That is…uh, if you…if you want to go on another date?”

“OF COURSE! WHY WOULDN’T I?” Papyrus said, reaching over and placing a hand on your forearm. You peered over at him, and then shrugged slightly.

“Just…didn’t want to assume anything,” you insisted, giving him a large smile. “I for one, would love to go on many more dates with you.”

His grin widened, before announcing quite loudly, “I AM SO HAPPY!”

You giggled, “Me too, Paps! But uh..why were you looking not as happy when you got in the car?”

Papyrus’ face grew a bit bashful, “Oh, Because I Was Worried That You Wouldn’t Have Enjoyed Yourself. You Didn’t Say Much As We Left The Class.”

Oh…shit.

“Sorry! I just, crowds make me nervous,” you winced slightly, “Uhm…there was a lot of people crowded near the door and I just wanted to get to the car.”

There was a soft frown on his face, “I Didn’t Know That About You.”

“That’s…because I tend not to say anything about it. Usually more than about four other people and I start to get nervous. Don’t know why, but it happens,” you said casually, attempting to brush it off. “Anyways, I did really enjoy the actual cooking aspect and getting to spend more time with you.”

That little tidbit of information was squirreled away in Papyrus’ brain immediately, and he gave your arm the gentliest of squeezes before releasing you. He could’ve done the thing you hated which was when people make it a point to try to reassure you that being nervous in crowds is you making a big deal out of nothing, or to try to tell you that they totally understand it and that they hate it when there’s lots of people around as well. He gave you a warm smile instead, and said, “I’ll Keep That In Mind, and…I Enjoyed Tonight Too.”

You returned the smile, “I’ll drive you home.”

He pouted a bit, “But I Wanted To Walk You To Your Door.”

“But I don’t want you walking alone in the dark,” you retorted, and you started to pull out of your parking spot.

“I Don’t Think There Is Much Out There That Would Try To Do Anything Against Me,” Papyrus said, rather drily. You peeked over at him, and then smiled.

“I suppose not, but…humor me?” you asked, and he sighed dramatically. “I’ll walk you to your door? Then you can walk me back to my car,” you teased and he laughed.

“EXCELLENT PLAN!”

On the way, you did stop off at a fast food joint to pick something up for Sans, and Papyrus’ face practically shone with affection and he was gushing about how thoughtful you were. Honestly, you were doing it more because you hadn’t seen Sans yet and you weren’t sure how he was going to react to you dating his brother. Might as well sweeten it by offering food. Sans was always wary around humans, and you were no exception…even if he had loosened up around you a bit more.

At the brother’s house, you cut the engine and escorted him to the door. He beamed down at you, and opened his mouth to say something when the door opened and Sans leaned against the doorframe. He scratched at his sternum, glancing between the two of you with a grin. You held up the fast food bag and drink, which his large single eye light dropped down to look at. He reached out, accepted it, and then nodded.

“carry on.”

Then the door closed once again.

Papyrus sighed heavily, “NOSY BONES!”

You giggled and quickly put your finger up to your mouth and made a shhing noise. “It’s late, Paps,” you reminded him with a fond smile.

“Oh! Right!” he said, voice returning to a quieter tone and shooting an apologetic look at the surrounding houses as if someone would be peeking out the window. Which they very well could be.

“Thanks for the wonderful night, Papyrus,” you said quietly, “I look forward to our future dates.”

“Me Too! Oh! And Just So You Know. I Cannot Kiss Because I Don’t Have Any Lips!” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “So I Cannot Give You A Kiss Goodbye.”

“That’s alright,” you said, before gesturing for him to lean down, “come here though!”

He leaned down, and you gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek bone before bonking your forehead against his lightly. “I can give you as many smooches as you want.”

A blush burst along Papyrus’ cheek bones as he let out a cute giggle before gently nuzzling his forehead against yours. “I Can Live With That!”

“Goodnight, Papyrus,” you smiled, planting another kiss to his other cheek before taking a step towards your car. He stopped you, and looped your arm back around his.

“I Believe You Said I Would Walk You Back To Your Car!” he retorted, “And I Am Nothing If Not A Gentlemonster!”

You tittered softly, and leaned your head against his arm. “You are the gentlemonsterliest gentlemonster,” you said, ignoring how the word ‘gentlemonsterliest’ stumbled out of your mouth awkwardly. It didn’t seem to go noticed by Papyrus, but he was more likely ignoring the fumble.

“I AM!” he said, louder than he probably meant to but you just smiled.

He opened the driver’s door with a flourish and gestured in.

“Thank you!” you said with a giggle, and you slipped in. When you turned to say goodnight, he leaned down and pressed his teeth against your cheek in a faux-kiss.

“You’re Very Welcome. Text Me When You Get Into Your Apartment! Goodnight, Dearest,” he said, and you actually swooned a little.

“I will,” you promised, before he gently closed the door and moved back onto the sidewalk. The two of you waved before you drove off back towards your apartment.

Nothing could ruin this night.

[jaywrites101]

Tag Game: About the Author

I was tagged by @trickster-writes you should give her a look-see if you haven’t already. Thanks =)

Rules of the Game: Answer these questions and tag blogs you’d like to know better.

Nickname: thejay101 was the name I used while gaming online, what little of that I did. Now, on Social Media, I use JayWrites101 as a brand name to unify my different accounts (even though the only two I’m active on is Twitter and Tumblr) Fun Fact: Jay. is my nome de plume or pen-name. There’s a lot of meaning packed into those four characters lol.

Zodiac: Uhhh, Capricorn, I think. I don’t put stock into zodiac signs so I keep forgetting, but I like reading posts about _____ as the signs, so I keep re-looking up what I am. XD

Height: Don’t know. I don’t measure. I’m taller than you’d think but shorter than a lot of people.

Time: rn it’s 11:11 A.M. I think I’m on U.S. Central timezone.

Favorite Band/Artist: Favorite?

Song Stuck In My Head: The Cups song, -- I can’t remember it’s proper name -- but I’m weird so I’ve also got bits of Five Rings, New Divide, Halzy’s Without Me, and the main refrain of Spectacular Spider-man interrupting at “fun” intervals. (Spec-tacularr, Spec-tacularr, Spider-man! Spec-tacularrrrr (repeats))

Last Movie I Saw: Captain Marvel. And before that Shazam. (I watched S first so I wouldn’t be quite as biased towards one or the other.) The JayReviews should be finished on Friday.

Last Thing I Googled: The correct spelling for the word “necessarily.” In my defense, that was four days ago. And I double check words a lot out of paranoia more so than proper misspellings. (I have Grammarly for that.)

Other Blogs: None, but again, I’m on all Social Media platforms except Kick. But again, again... I’m only active on this one and Twitter.

Do I Get Asks: Every once and a while. I love asks, especially about my writings, life, philosophy, or my furry little editors. =D

Why This Username: Well, I started gaming under thejay101 ‘cause Ima school ya’ ;D I’ve always been really good at games, and I’ve always been a bit (read lot) of a braggart. But with the march of the internet, that name got more and more taken by people who were not me. XD 

So I came up with JayWrites101: A Writer on Social Media. It was unique, interesting, slightly more humble and -- most importantly -- not already taken. So I spasmed my fingers across my keyboard as fast as I could to go through each of the Social Media accounts and stake my claim at the accounts before anyone else could. I even made a website under JayWrites101 so no one else can.

This way, It’s a brand name. I’m still trying to grow it. To figure out what I am and what I do, but I’m getting there slowly. =) Right now it’s just my author’s platform, but I’d like to think that someday if I get big enough and have people who share my dreams with me, it’ll grow and become a pillar of the internet.

Following: Only 667. And... Fun... Fact.... <.< I’ve only got 274 followers, but in your defense you guys and gals and everything in between are Awesome!  I love ya all and I like how much interaction we have ^.^

Thank you.

Average Amount of Sleep: 8-10 hours! I’m a long sleeper. If I get any less than that I end up groggy, slow, and it’s all I can do to go about my day on autopilot.

Fun Fact: Once while I was working at DG, I was so overworked and go so little sleep that I spent a whole workday running on autopilot and when I got home I couldn’t remember anything I did that day at work.

Bonus Fact: The day after that was my day off and I spent the entire 24hours asleep!

And my manager still wonders why I quit! <.< Whackadoodle.

Lucky Number: Ten. Let’s see if you can guess why lol XD

What am I wearing: Well, normally it’s a t-shirt and blue jeans, but today I’m being wild so it’s a t-shirt and sweatpants!

Dream Job: Making money as a playboy billionaire who made a tech company when he was six and is still making enough from interest alone to justify him never needing a job as long as he lives, but he continues to go to the office and sign paperwork so he can make even more money, buy a few yachts, tour the globe eight times over in style, and still have enough money to fund a few local social programs like “here, I’m not a dick.”

Just kidding, my dream job is doing everything I’m already doing, just getting paid for it.

Dream Trip: I’d really like to tour Europe, just once. Go to London, travel to France, see Rome, and Athens, go to Barcelona. You grow up hearing about these places and seeing them romanticized through film, but... I want to see them for myself. It’s kinda like wanting to go to Disneyland to see the unpaid actors and find the cracked, seams in the facade. I want to see the reality behind the dream.

And I want to go with friends or family. Or maybe both. I know I don’t want to go alone.

Favorite Food: Chicken Fajitas with either Fried Rice or Nachos and just simply drowning in queso cheese. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: It’s heaven in a plate.

Instruments I Play: Um... I can read sheet music, and I can sing. Roughly that means I can sorta play all instruments badly, but none of them well.

Fun Fact: I took piano lessons as a kid, but stopped.

Bonus Fact: I still compose little tunes to go with my poetry.

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Aesthetic: Combat boots and a long brown overcoat, a wisard’s staff in one hand, and a short sword in the other, a broadsword across my back and a mischevious grin on my face.

I don’t know if this is an aesthetic like your looking for, but it’s how I see myself.

Languages I speak: I badly speak English, I can read and write in Spanish, and sorta hold a conversation. (Hearing words pronounced is a challenge) I can bluff my way through Japanese (A few very important words) and various bits and tidbits across all the Latin languages that come from studying etymology. 

Most Iconic Song: If it’s theme songs you’re looking for that would be Centuries, by Fallout Boy. But if we’re talking about songs that are iconically me to me, that would be Fairly Local, by Twenty-one pilots.

Random Fact: There’s no such thing as fire or lighting. 

What we see as fire is actually a low-level plasma that’s formed from the air superheating into the fourth state of matter due to an exothermic reaction. (A chemical reaction that releases heat energy and carbon stored within the wood.)

And what we call lightning is the same phenomenon caused at a much higher intensity as invisible electricity moves through the air. The sheer friction of electricity passing electrons through the air causes the air molecules to superheat and change states into plasma. Basically, electricity is burning the air as it moves from one point to the other.

Tagging: @currentlynotreading, I have to know what your answers are lol. @bexminx @blueinkblot @pens-swords-stuff @kiramartinauthor @odd-dog @ciestess @ednaraged @thatoneaceinthecorner @siarven @prettydoddleoddle and @soul-write

I think you’re supposed to tag twenty, but you’re all my most active followers. =)

[myberkeleyadventure]

My Take on Celebrity’s Memoirs/ Autobiographical Comedy Books

Lately I’ve been listening to a lot of autobiographical comedy books authored by celebrities on my commute to/from work. With a one-way commute of about an hour, I can get through the books fairly quickly! I haven’t been posting too much on my blog lately, but thought to do a very quick, brief summary recap of the books I’ve listened to. Both as a way to keep my blog active, and just so I can document my readings. Keep in mind, I’m listening to these books (read by the authors, so it’s a cool bonus!) in my car.

Why Not Me? by Mindy Kaling. 9/10 I really liked this book and Mindy’s perspective. I’m a fan of Mindy’s  through The Office, and just because I can tell she's a young, funny woman. I liked her first book of “Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?” and this was the first book I listened to, and the first to start this new trend. She talks about her career, her dating life, and just has a really quirky personality that I liked! If she writes a third book, I will definitely listen to it. This was over a month ago, so I honestly can’t remember too many details of the book. I do remember feeling really bored at her fictional “what if” character; she said she’d have been a Latin teacher if she didn’t become an actress and there was a series of emails (all fictitious) and a fake plot regarding her working at a school. This was hard to sit through and listen; would’ve been easier to read through.

Yes Please by Amy Poehler. 7/10 I liked Amy Poehler for her work in Parks & Recreation and just because she’s a funny woman. (Note: I’m drawn to books written by funny people, and bonus if it’s a woman!) The book was interesting but there were times I felt pretty bored. There wasn’t anything “juicy” about her book; she wouldn’t talk much about her divorce or anything like that. It seemed a rather professional but funny book unlike Kaling’s book (funny and casual and cool book). I also sorta got tired of her mentioning so much about her improv history, how writing a book is so “hard”, how her kids are crazy and being a single mom, and things like that; it definitely felt like she was complaining and over-exaggerating some aspects of her life and it bored me. But on the whole, this book was still enjoyable.

Seriously... I’m Kidding by Ellen Degeneres. 8.5/10 I love Ellen. Not only is she funny, relatable, and has a cool talkshow, but she is older and her book definitely reflects her added years of experience. She talks about being comfortable in her own skin, being ok with the aging process, and etc etc. I actually gained some more comfort and liked her little life tidbits. I liked this book and I felt like it was in a similar vein with Mindy Kaling’s book.

Scrappy Little Nobody by Anna Kendrick. 7.5/10 I’m still a little on the fence about this one. I’m not a huge Anna Kendrick fan (I really only know of her from Pitch Perfect) but decided to listen to her audiobook anyway (female funny person). She is a bit relatable and has a humble, down-to-earth grounded personality but sometimes, at the same time, not so relatable? Or maybe just to me. She talks about drinking, and drugs, and partying at a young age and I wasn’t able to relate to that personally. I liked that she talked about her being a “late bloomer” and losing her virginity later; that made me feel she was pretty open and telling. Or the discrepancies between wearing super expensive wardrobe and living in an apartment with a tar-stained carpet.

Read Your Own Autobiography by Neil Patrick Harris. 4/10 Ok, ok granted I didn’t listen to much of his book. But apparently, this book is hard to listen to because I think you’re supposed to switch around pages etc and this book is meant to be interactive. So listening to this was a challenge and I gave up after an hour. I didn’t like his fun take on it (at least not while listening to it on a busy commute to work); everything is in second person, aka “You were born to blah blah blah” and I didn’t like it. I did check out the physical copy of the book and will read it (vs listen) and see how I like that instead.

The Bassoon King by Rainn Wilson. 7/10 I loved the Office, and was looking forward to this book. However, not only did he barely talk about the Office (just 30 pages maybe), I felt like he rambled too much about his Baha’i faith. Okay, I get it, he’s an avid follower and this is his memoir so it follows his life, how he was introduced to the religion (his parents), his fall out with religion, and his re-introduction and recommitted faith to the religion. But it was just a bit much for me. Maybe because I’m not religious myself but while I was definitely interested and open to hearing about his faith, I soon grew restless with every mention of his faith. He also talks about his “bohemian” lifestyle a lot (aka hippie lifestyle) but overall, again, this book was still pleasant to go through. I was also a little bit surprised/ sad that he “struggled” so much in the acting industry and had other acting ventures but they were not too successful (TV sitcom following The Office that was cancelled, The Rocker movie, and a few more). It seems like The Office is his main popular success, and I mean, he has had other smaller roles and he does a lot of charity work too and by all means is quite successful, but there was a part of me that wished he had more success.

Currently, I’m listening to Bossypants by Tina Fey. I have skimmed the physical copy of the book last year but I’m glad I still decided to check out the audiobook. Not only is it read by Tina Fey, but it’s easier to sit through listening to it versus reading it. I can already tell it’s in the same vein as Mindy Kaling’s and Ellen DeGeneres’ book AKA I’m liking it. 

[therapeutic-steter]

What if, during a rogue alpha attack, Stiles was injured and lost his sight. He becomes really depressed, and nobody but Peter seems to know how to help him. after Stiles transitions with Peter's help, Stiles uses his magic to help Peter take revenge on Kate. sort of like murder husbands ig? thanks, your writing is fantastic!

Oooo, angsty, angsty, angsty. And murder husbands! You knowme so well already, haha. Thanks for the prompt! I hope I did it justice!

—–break—–

Footsteps echoed like ripples in his mind’s eyes, tinted redfor the Alpha they represented. His magic tingled up his spine as they nearedbut he didn’t fear.

“Peter.”

“Stiles,” Peter purred, stepping closer and wrapping hisarms around Stiles’ middle. He leaned back into the Alpha’s arms, hummingthoughtfully.

“A little birdy told me where we might be able to go jaguarhunting,” Peter said, warm breath caressing the bare skin of Stiles’ neck.

“Oh?’ Stiles asked, tilting his head just a bit more, baringthe vulnerable flesh to the dangerous creature wrapped around him. “Well Iguess it’d be rude if we didn’t stop by for a visit.”

Peter chuckled darkly. “My thoughts exactly, dearest.”

Stiles grinned, the scar across his face itching at themention of the woman, their prey.

“Let’s go hunting.”

…

It should’ve been just a routine set-up. Wards were tripped,an omega was running loose, mucking up their system.

Scott liked to play good cop while Stiles would run inbehind him, cleaning up the messes Scott didn’t want to see left behind. Scottwas the hero, the do-gooder; Stiles was just the side-kick, the back-up. Thehuman. Even when he’d started learning magic, Scott had still mitigated him tothe background, left him hanging on pack runs, kept him out of pack meetings onthe new Big Bads. It hurt, but Stiles was a fighter and he’d protect his Pack,even if they were being major douche-nozzles.

But it was supposed to be an omega. Just a lone omega.

Peter and Stiles often got paired up by default when it cameto the buddy system that Scott had employed. Stiles due to his cursed fragilehumanity and Peter due to his untrustworthiness. They had a good system at thispoint though, Peter taking point, Stiles following his footsteps to avoidmaking too much noise. He’d keep the chatter to the minimum until they were onthe way back and Peter would humor him with a few tidbits of information Stileswouldn’t have been able to find anywhere else. They’d banter and snark, andwhen push came to shove, Stiles would trust Peter at his back.

When the rogue wolf crashed through the foliage, eyes abloody red and form some deformed monstrous thing that made Peter’s previousAlpha form look cute, Stiles froze.

It was supposed to be an omega.

The Alpha locked onto the human, scenting his vulnerability,and the need for Pack burned through it. It roared, lunging towards the boy whobarely had time to duck with a terrified yelp. Peter answered its challengewith a roar of his own, slamming into its side and digging his claws deep intoit’s chest. The Alpha threw him into a tree, eyes instantly landing back onStiles’ form as it reached for him, crazed desperation and fury practicallydripping from it. It swiped at the boy, trying to drag him closer, and Stilesscreamed as sharp claws raked across his face.

Then everything went black.

…

It was only after he woke in the hospital that he learnedPeter had went into complete berserk mode, tearing into the Alpha until therewas nothing left. Then he’d rushed Stiles to the hospital and remained at hisside. Scott had apparently found some way to blame the entire ordeal on Peter,saying the man had plotted this just to get the Alpha power back, just tochallenge him for the Hale land again. Stiles’ dad quietly told him that Peterhad nearly spat in Scott’s face, told him to get off his paranoid high-horseand quit worrying about his delusions when he should be concerned about Stiles.It had won the man some serious bonus points with the Sheriff, if no one else.

It was also after all of this that he learned the real onebehind sending that rogue Alpha their way.

“Kate Argent’s still alive?” Stiles asked, still not used tospeaking and not being able to see the one he was speaking to. He was morereliant on hearing and touch to determine a person’s whereabouts now, thoughhis magic could help him somewhat. Peter had taken to always be touching somepart of him whenever he was in the room so Stiles wouldn’t have to search forhim.

“Apparently Chris hasn’t been fruitful in his hunt,” Petergrowled, sneer evident in his tone.

“Hm,” Stiles hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe…he needs somehelp?” he offered.

Peter was still at his side before his fingers gentlystarted caressing Stiles’ wrist. “Maybe. Once you’re able to fight.”

Stiles’ grin was a nasty, dark thing. Vicious and cold.Merciless.

…

It didn’t hit Stiles on all he’d lost until he was releasedfrom the hospital.

He couldn’t drive himself anymore. He couldn’t watch TV. Hecouldn’t play video games. He couldn’t read. He couldn’t use his phone. Hecouldn’t even cook for himself.

“Ahhhh!” Stiles screamed, falling to the floor in defeat inthe kitchen. His eyes may not work anymore, but they were sure prickling withthe familiar sting of tears. He sniffled pathetically, curling up on the floorin the middle of spilled milk where he’d been trying to pour himself a cup todrink. Stupid thing had toppled over and now it was everywhere, not that hecould see it to clean it up.

“Oh, Stiles.”

Stiles jumped at the sudden voice before crying even harder.He couldn’t see anyone coming. Every noise startled him. He was useless now,even less than useless. He used to be the research guy, but how he couldresearch when he couldn’t read?

“I just wanted something to drink,” he mumbled pathetically,hearing Peter pick up the cup and milk before stepping through the puddle tohelp Stiles up. “I’m so pathetic.”

“No, no, never,” Peter soothed, hugging him close, notseeming to mind that he was damp. Stiles buried his face in Peter’s neck,closing his eyes and pretending it was his decision that everything was darkand that all he had to do was open them and he’d be able to see again.

“How can you say that?” Stiles cried, pushing him away. “Ican’t do anything! I’m worthless! I can’t read, can’t research, can’t helphunt, can’t keep watch. What good am I to the Pack now? What can I bring to thetable?”

“Stiles, you are brilliant, loyal, fierce, cunning, andstubborn as anyone,” Peter began, cutting off his rant of self-pity. His handswere gentle as he framed Stiles’ face, holding him steady. “Everything’s hardright now because it’s new, but you will adapt. You are strong, so very strong,sweetheart. Never doubt that. Right now you just have to take little steps andsoon you’ll look back and realize you’ve walked miles.”

Stiles hiccupped, wiping his face off. “You really thinkso?” His voice was weak, tentative.

“I know so,” Peter vowed. His was steady, sure. It gaveStiles confidence. It gave him an anchor.

…

“The level of determination at which you have to give me aheart attack is quite impressive.”

Stiles smirked in the direction of Peter’s voice,maintaining the spell just for a few more minutes before letting the lightningcease crackling between his fingers.

“Cool, huh?” he bragged.

“Maybe,” Peter relented. “But I’m more concerned with yourspatial awareness spells.”

Stiles waved him off, a fluttering of sparks erupting fromhis fingertips which Peter watched worryingly. Thankfully they went out beforehitting the carpet.

“I’m going to be like Daredevil, man. Use echo location andshit. I’m going to be a badass.”

Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Whatever made iteasier for Stiles to cope, he guess. They still had bad days, but this was muchbetter than it had been.

Peter wasn’t sure what the official story that was releasedwas, but he did know the Sheriff had pulled Stiles from school and the boy wasnow taking all online classes through a webcam with speakers. He also knew thatnone of Stiles friends had been by beyond the first few ‘How are you holdingup?’ visits, which he knew the boy tried to hide how much that hurt him. Scotthadn’t even made the effort since the boy had been home; he’d only came oncewhen Stiles was in the hospital, which was the time Peter kindly chewed him outfor having his priorities wrong. Peter hadn’t seen or smelled him anywhere nearStiles since.

“I can hear that epic eye-roll, dude,” Stiles accused, buthe was smirking. “Oh ye of little faith.” Then he stepped heavily, humming inconcentration before he walked around the table casually, slipping around thechair without touching it and finally resting his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Hegrinned at the other man, his sightless eyes staring just a few inches to theright of Peter’s.

Peter returned the grin, only just managing to keep fromkissing him. In due time, he promisedhimself.

…

Kate laughed maliciously. “Oh, this is just cute. Did thedoggie think to come after me again? Your first two tries didn’t work, so nowyou want another go?” She sneered nastily at Peter, gun leveled with Peter’schest even as her eyes flared a supernatural green.

Peter grinned just as spitefully. “You made quite the mistake,sending that Alpha to Beacon Hills.”

Kate quirked a brow. “Oh? Why? Did it kill off the rest ofthe Hale line? About damn time, if you ask me.” She smirked victoriously.

“Oh no, it didn’t kill anyone,” Peter corrected, his owngrin growing when she pouted disappointedly. “But you certainly made an enemy.One even greater than myself, if I must admit.”

Kate’s nose scrunched in confusion and her shift flickered,fangs lengthening and skin darkening. “Then where is this enemy?” She demanded,voice a deep growl.

“Right here, bitch.”

Kate whirled on the voice, a roar caught in her throat asthe oxygen was stolen from her. She choked, reaching around her neck andfeeling the pressure but there was nothing physically there. She snarledwordlessly, thrashing against the magic. She focused on the boy in front ofher, vaguely recognizing him, although the scar marring his face was new. Threeslashes, probably from claws, stretched across his face. His eyes were foggywith blindness but narrowed with hate.

Kate leapt at him, ignoring the lightheadedness as best shecould. Peter slammed into her side before she even neared him, roaring in herface, Alpha eyes flaring bright. Kate felt fear well up in her at the sight,remembering how this same creature had brought her down before. Only this time,she knew he would be thorough. There would be no getting away this time.

The magic cutting off her oxygen released and she scrambledaway, kicking at the Alpha’s chest wildly and hissing angrily. She yowled whenher ankle was grabbed and twisted cruelly, the bones crackling as the Alpharoughly jerked the limb.

She looked around desperately, trying to find her gun, andinstead found herself looking at the cold, foggy eyes of the mage. He waslooking right at her even though she knew that wasn’t possible; he was clearlyblind, there was no way the boy knew where her eyes were.

The boy had a gun in his hand and he raised it, rightbetween her eyes. Kate tried to run only to have the Alpha leap onto her form,claws digging into her skin and muscles and holding her steady.

“Not even going to ask me to apologize this time?” Kategrunted out, staring down the barrel of the gun and jerking against the Alpha’shold. It only dug his claws in deeper, his teeth near her throat. His growl waslike rolling thunder in her ear. “Or are you so far gone you can’t even formwords?” She mocked the Alpha. “Leashed by this boy?”

“Hey,” Stiles spoke, earning her attention. “Stop talking.”

The gun’s echo was muted with a silencer, the final shottrue. Kate’s body instantly slumped, life gone, but Peter had had her slip awayenough. He roared victoriously, claws digging further into her skin and rippingher apart viciously. Stiles listened to the sounds of dismembermentdispassionately, waiting for his wolf to enact his revenge on her pound offlesh.

Peter threw back his head and howled into the night, revengeand fulfillment, despair and loss. Completion.

Stiles stepped forward and grasped Peter’s shoulder,squeezing once. The wolf breathed heavily, slowly pulling his shift back untilhe stood bare before the boy. He turned, snuffling against Stiles’ neck andgently curling his bloodied hands around his hips.

“It’s over, wolf,” Stiles murmured, hand curling into thehair at Peter’s nape and pulling the man closer.

Peter growled lowly, still non-verbal after having justshifted. Stiles hummed soothingly, slowly running his free hand up and down theother’s back. They’d figure out the next step later; for now, Stiles was happyto just to hold his wolf after a job well done.

[creative-type]

The Problem with Ichigo Kurosaki

Back when Bleach’s final chapter came out, the one thing that perplexed me most about the omnishambles that was the last arc was that Ichigo had taken over the Kurosaki clinic. 

I’d long-since given up on a satisfying end to the series and was following out of morbid fascination more than any sort of interest. I’m not a shipper and the glacial pacing and empty pages killed any spectacle that might  have been entertaining enough to cover the massive flaws of the series. I entered the Quincy arc with no expectations and still managed to be surprised by how little thought and effort Kubo put into his product. There was no personal investment left, so I didn’t care enough to get upset over how things ended up.

But Ichigo taking over his father’s clinic...that was a surprise. And through that I came to a startling realization that after almost 700 chapters and 15 years I still knew nothing about Ichigo as a character.

I want to be careful when writing this, firstly because as a self-admitted filthy casual I’m not nearly as familiar with Bleach as I am with most other things I write about. Secondly, while it’s a nice bonus I don’t think that every story necessarily requires a deep, super nuanced character driving it. 

I’m gonna use One Piece as an example here because I think it fits well. Luffy isn’t a complicated dude. He’s well-rounded with clearly defined dreams and goals, but ultimately he’s your basic Shonen power fantasy. What sets One Piece apart from almost every other manga in existence is its world building, and by creating Luffy the way he is, Oda has made a main character that facilitates the exploration of his world.

Ichigo starts off well enough for the protagonist of a monster of the week-style battle manga. I think it’s pretty apparent that Kubo wrote Bleach by the seat of his pants, because a lot of early details don’t match what we see later in the series.

...

...

...

And, again, this type of writing can be done, but it has to be done carefully because without forethought it’s really easy for plots and characterization become a muddled mess. 

Early Ichigo stood out from other mainstream manga protagonists. There’s a mature edginess to early Bleach, and a strong aesthetic that highlights one of Kubo’s greatest strengths as an artist: drawing really cool shit. Ichigo isn’t a hyperactive goofball, in fact he gets pretty good grades and is generally regarded as being a reliable - if grumpy - guy. His backstory isn’t exactly groundbreaking, but again, having a main character that’s hellbent on protecting others is exactly the sort of protagonist that can drive a monster of the week-style story.

More importantly, at this point in the story Ichigo has agency as a character. In chapter 2 of the series, Rukia demands that Ichigo fulfill her duties as a soul reaper while she’s out of commission. He initially says no, but quickly changes his mind when he sees a cute kid almost get eaten. Ichigo agrees to help, but on his own terms. In his own words, he’s only paying off a debt. 

Fast forward to chapter 25. Ichigo has survived his encounter with Grand Fisher and had a nice little heart to heart with his dad. He makes the above declaration, effectively choosing to continue on as a soul reaper even after Rukia regains her powers and his “debt” is paid. 

What makes the Grand Fisher fight effective is that it highlights how much growth Ichigo needs to undergo, not as a fighter but as a character. It is vitally important for a battle manga not to have fights for the sake of fights, or even because they’re demanded by the plot. A good fight conveys story and develops characterization - a clash of ideals as much as swords. 

The problem is that this doesn’t really go anywhere. Ichigo’s gotta protect them all nature suits shorter, one-off arcs but isn’t suited for the long, sprawling epic Bleach would become. The scope of Bleach’s world and story expanded, but Ichigo stayed the same. Or rather, he devolved into something lesser. 

Ichigo’s goal to protect those he cares about is problematic in two ways:1) it requires someone to need protecting, and 2) it’s reactionary. This limits how much influence Ichigo has on the plot as a whole. It’s no wonder that the Arrancar saga is copied wholesale from the Soul Society arc because rescuing people from danger is literally the only thing Ichigo ever shows interest in doing.

Instead of taking the time to develop Ichigo as a person, Kubo instead has to create increasingly-ridiculous ways for him to play a part in the plot. This has the unfortunate side effect of making Ichigo literally everybody’s pawn to be used and manipulated in whatever way it takes for the story to get from Point A to Point B. I would think by the time Yhwach comes around he’d be sick of it, but all Ichigo is capable of doing is react, react, react, often looking very surprised when someone plays him like a fiddle yet again.

And maybe to compensate Kubo gives Ichigo a mishmash of powers and abilities, but ironically the more things that are added to Ichigo’s moveset the less unique and special each one becomes. 

It’s kind of like mixing colors. Red and blue together make purple but if you add yellow and green and orange along with it, in the end all you’re going to have is a brownish sludge. Ichigo starts the series as a human-shinigami hybrid. For the sake of brevity, I’ll call this version of Ichigo a humigami. As a humigami he has basic swordsmanship, immense spiritual power, and the ability to follow spirit ribbon thingies to find people. So far so good.

But with the introduction of the Soul Society and the massive influx of characters, Ichigo is no longer The Special. Kubo has two choices here: further develop Ichigo’s shinigami powers or add something new into the mix. Kubo elects to do both, and Ichigo gains his hollow masks AND learns bankai in a matter of days. 

Now a human-shinigami-hollow (humagollow for short), Ichigo saves the day only to get curb-stomped by Aizen. The post-Soul Society chapters would have been a good place to do some old-fashioned character development, but while there is some nice closure chapters nothing really changes before the next major arc kicks in.

Put yourself in Ichigo’s shoes here. You’ve gone through the gauntlet to save a friend from her execution, witnessed the slums of the afterlife, fought several life or death battles against an organization who keeps, among other things, genocidal maniacs in their employ. You’ve seen corruption, you’ve seen conspiracy, you’ve seen a totalitarian regime that insists on following the letter of the law over common sense and justice. You’ve lived your entire life striving to protect those weaker than yourself and the last several months sending spirits to what you thought was a peaceful, idyllic afterlife.

Would you leave the Soul Society in good terms? Would you consider them allies and fight their wars? Would you be okay with leaving your friend, who you risked life and limb to save, in the very environment that wanted her dead just days before? Would you not have questions and demand answers?

Apparently not, if you’re Ichigo Kurosaki.

Fast forward again to the introduction of the arrancar and visored. It’s about this time where Ichigo loses everything that made him unique as a character. A whole host of characters are introduced that have a mix of shinigami and hollow powers (which, despite ostensibly being antithetical to one another are functionally identical) and it’s revealed that Ichigo isn’t even the only shinigami in his family. 

Isshin’s fight verses Grand Fisher becomes especially egregious when we the audience get this little tidbit about how all high-level shinigami compress their sword’s spiritual power into a smaller form

because back when Ichigo first showed off his bankai one of the notable things about it was that it was kind of tiny - a direct contrast to how most releases worked. 

It’s the same for all of Ichigo’s other attacks. His bankai is supposed to boost his speed to incredible levels, but he’s constantly out maneuvered by enemies, the surprise attack from behind being a Kubo specialty. His main ability is nothing but a giant energy slash, easily replicated by a shinigami’s kido or a hollow’s cero.

By having Isshin steal the Grand Fisher fight from Ichigo, Kubo robs his main character of a chance to show off how he’s changed since the early part of the series and robs him of his uniqueness as a fighter. The fight itself is not good, memorable, or fun enough to counterbalance how much the author is crapping on its protagonist, a trend that unfortunately gets worse as time goes on.

Anyway, through training Ichigo becomes a human visored (hisored) and goes off to Hueco Mundo to kick ass and get his ass kicked in about equal measure, and once again questions are brought up, if not explicitly than implicitly through the course of the narrative, that are never even addressed.

1) If it weren’t already obvious, the Soul Society cements itself as being absolutely terrible by its treatment of the visoreds. Are they really the good guys here, and why is no one trying to reform their more archaic and barbaric practices?

Unfortunate Implication: Ichigo is willing to ally with complete assholes to accomplish his goals. The whole “protecting those who can’t protect themselves” schtick only applies when people he cares about are in danger.

Conclusion: Ichigo is kind of an asshole, or at least apathetic to the plight of others, a direct contrast to his characterization thus far

2) If hollows are impure spirits, and high-level hollows spirits who have evolved by consuming countless others, would it not be in the best interest of Nel and other “good” arrancar to be purified? Is it even appropriate to think of hollows who have evolved as individuals or a conglomeration of all the souls that have been consumed? Are hollows inherently evil, or has the Soul Society’s understanding of the hollow/non-hollow spirit dynamic been flawed this entire time?

Unfortunate Implication: Either Ichigo doesn’t think through the logical conclusion of having hollows as allies enough to question what he’s been taught about hollows thus far, or he’s okay with leaving countless spirits in an impure state and damning them to a miserable existence of insatiable hunger and denying them access to the proper afterlife/reincarnation cycle

Conclusion: Ichigo isn’t as smart as he’s presented to be, or he’s okay with making friends with the very monsters he’s sworn to destroy...as long as they’re cute and helpful

This is what I mean when Ichigo devolves as a character. By the time the Fullbringer arc rolls around (for those keeping score at home, Ichigo has gone from hisored to fullbringer back to humigami) Kubo has built a world full of shades of grey, but continues time and time again to have Ichigo play it as if it were black and white. The reveal that Ichigo is, in fact, a quincigami is just the icing on the cake, stealing the one thing that made Ishida unique only for it to go absolutely nowhere and confuse an already muddled backstory.

All of these changes in power and the complete disregard for the moral quandaries brought up by the story mean that any change in Ichigo is superficial, like a skin change in a video game. He might look cool and give his attacks spiffy names, but it’s all an excuse for Kubo to draw him in different outfits because once again, all Kubo really cares about is drawing really cool shit. Everything else is secondary. Nothing has to make sense. Who cares about Ichigo’s hopes and dreams and desires when he can have two swords that he’ll never use in battle. Oh, it’s the epilogue and Ichigo needs to be a grown up doing grown up stuff...might as well make him a doctor. It was good enough for his old man, right? It wasn’t as if he said anything against taking over his father’s clinic some day.

Then again, Ichigo never said that’s what he’d like to do either. Almost 700 chapters and 15 years went by and Ichigo never once said what he wanted to do with his life when he grew up.

And that, my friends, is a problem.

[guylty]

I was going to post my contribution to the Mystery Blogger Award today, but have decided that I must record my thoughts on yesterday’s podcast by Christopher Maynard of Following Films with Richard Armitage. I am going to lean far out of the metaphorical window here and say that it was a near-perfect interview. And what a surprise, too, sprung on us some time yesterday afternoon (GMT) by way of a call for questions.

And the resulting podcast was an even bigger surprise. Not only because it actually arrived when it said it would (the same night unlike some other sites who keep tapping us for questions and likes and then never deliver the goods…), but because it turned out to be a *proper* interview, not just a mini Q&A but a veritable 41 minutes long! For posterity – here it is linked below. I suggest you keep these visuals in sight when listening to it.

An intense phone interview…

Both gifs snaffled from PreoccupiedwithArmitage

https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/followingfilms/episodes/2017-10-29T15_20_30-07_00

So why is this an outstanding interview? Because it is a calm, long conversation rather than a short sensational quiz. Interviewer Chris Maynard gives Armitage space to expand his thoughts – not just to get the usual information about the release date of his latest work across, but to actually talk about his process and experience on Sleepwalker. The interviewer asks considered questions that cannot just be answered with a simple yes/no or a one-sentence anecdote, but demand careful answers. The whole interview feels less like a Hollywood entertainment show between a celebrity reporter and a movie star, but much more like an in-depth conversation between two interested equals. And as such, Maynard manages to draw out so much more from Armitage than most promo interviews that stay at the surface because they are after the funny anecdotes and need short sound-bites.

Armitage, in turn, is a true pleasure to listen to. It’s not just his beautiful diction, the way he expresses his thoughts in supple, measured sentences – but also the passion when he’s touching on issues that excite him. I even like the little pauses he makes – a sign of an active mind searching for the right word and the right thought to answer a question in a careful, deliberate way, considering language very carefully.

Yeah, no one believed that Bateman was real… In fact many of us were rightly pissed-off that the BBC fobbed us off in such a cheap way… Final scene of Lucas North in Spooks 9

It’s actually the glimpse of the workings of this actor’s mind – his approach to details of his work, the insights into his work on set, the context he puts his work in, both in terms of practical anchoring of a character’s actions, as well as their supposed subconscious. From my notes I can see that I particularly was struck by his audience awareness. And by that I don’t mean that he was aware of who was likely to be listening to the podcast (and for whom he was thus adjusting his statements) but his general awareness of the audience who will perceive his work. For instance, when talking about Sleepwalker, he touches upon the risk the filmmaker is taking by leaving the film somewhat ambiguous – and Armitage shows his audience awareness by conceding that ambiguity is tricky for an audience. Or around the 11:00 minute mark, Armitage uses the Lucas North/John Bateman dichotomy as an example for the importance of taking the audience seriously. These little tidbits resonate with me because they exactly touch on things that *I* struggled with in the respective film/show. Whether Armitage agrees with my POV or supports the filmmakers’ decisions is not really the point – for *me* the point is that he is *aware* of audience reactions.

Other bits that resonated with me:

Armitage on himself: “not a performer or a showman”, “would rather like to be observed than push something to the audience” – as in ‘quietly doing his job’ rather than ‘pointedly pretending to be someone’? Or ‘being a character’ rather than ‘pretending to be a character’? ‘Method acting’?

The gratification that is in the work: “the riches are not financial but artistic”

And total bonus: His laugh at 31:50 Someone make a ringtone out of that, please

Oh, and Armitage inadvertently answering my question re. the playlist for Scott White. Interesting answers – he mentions Max Richter and Mica Levi, both producing suitably “atmospheric” music for a film that is dealing with the subconscious. Have a listen to these two samples of their work – they both sound to me as if they could’ve been on Armitage’s playlist (although he doesn’t mention the exact pieces)

Self-indulgent Guylty guilty plus: Interviewer Christopher Maynard even acknowledged the input from fans who submitted questions right at the end of the podcast. That’s a definite first. Thank you for that!

So, a really nice interview – I really liked what I heard. Not least because it will provide more fodder for my imaginary version of the Armitage, considered actor, assured talker. Over and out.

    On Hearing Richard I was going to post my contribution to the Mystery Blogger Award today, but have decided that I must record my thoughts on yesterday's podcast by Christopher Maynard of Following Films with Richard Armitage.