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joonie-beanie · 4 years

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Of Nudes And Praise

Pairing: Asmodeus x Reader

Word Count: 6,071

Preview: You've been feeling...needy...and decide to ask Asmodeus for some help.

And by that, you mean if he can spare you any toys.

However, when the Avatar of Lust is involved, you tend to get more than what you bargained for.

** Please note that this is a cross-posting **

This chapter was originally posted on 3/8/20 as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3.

When you’d first arrived in the Devildom—overwhelmed with the new situation and all you had to learn—you’d accidentally forgotten about some important, basic tasks.

Like doing laundry.

You hadn’t thought to ask about cleaning your clothes until 2 weeks in, when you’d had nothing to wear but a pair of pajamas. Thankfully, at that point you’d been comfortable enough around Mammon to ask him if they had a place to do their laundry (which of course they did), and you’d spent the entire weekend washing and folding clothes.

And then, when you started to break out, you’d remembered that skin care was a thing too. Asmodeus had been kind enough to give you some products to use, and you were always grateful for all of the boy’s hospitality.

Now, months later, you’ve mostly remembered all the little things you should be doing. Except…

Your fingers reach between your legs, pressing at your aching clit. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten off, and ever since the realization struck you a few days ago, you’ve only managed to work yourself up.

“C’mon,” you hiss, biting your lip as you lean forward, your forearm resting on the vanity in your bathroom. The room is humid from your shower—fog coating the mirror in front of you, but even so you can see the look of desperation on your face.

You really need to cum. Just once. Once is all you need, really. Just enough so you can clear your head. Then, you bet you’ll be fine.

“Come on!” you huff, your hand still working between your legs, but you know it’s no use. With a sigh, you give up—head hanging in defeat. You’ve never been good at getting off without a trusty toy, and at this point you’re just starting to rub yourself raw.

Frowning, a little disgruntled, you stand tall and run a hand through your damp hair. There’s an unsatisfied ache in your gut, and you try your best to ignore it as you return to your bedroom and rummage around for clean clothes to wear. However, the more you attempt to ignore it, the more you crave release, and it doesn’t take long for you to break down.

Pulling on a hoodie and a pair of leggings, you exit your room—making your way to the one person you’re sure will help.

…one way or another.

Knock Knock

“Oh, who could it be~!” A sing-song voice calls from the other side of the door, and you’re tempted to roll your eyes.

“It’s me!” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hear footfalls getting closer. After a few seconds, the door is opened, and you find Asmo grinning back at you.

“Oh, my dear~ This is an unexpected, albeit welcome visit. What can I do for you?”

Without waiting for your response, he turns on his heel and strides back into his room. You assume that’s his way of inviting you in, and you step inside—closing the door behind you. For a moment, you simply watch him. He’s dressed only in a robe—makeup sprawled across his vanity, and his hair pinned on his head thanks to a butterfly clip. From the look of it, he’s going out tonight—which doesn’t surprise you in the least.

“Hmm, I don’t mind if you stare, Y/N—I do know I’m beautiful—but I have to get going soon, ya know?” the Avatar of Lust pipes up, staring at you through the vanity mirror. When you flush red in embarrassment, he winks.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

“I, um…,” you start, holding your arms in front of you. Your eyes scan the floor at your feet, and Asmo’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He’s never seen you quite so flustered before.

“I…was wondering if you can hook me up with some…toys?” you say, although you end in a squeak. Honestly, on your way here you had been determined to just be casual about it. After all, this is Asmo! He loves to talk about sex, and anything of the like! So there’s no reason for you to be feeling so…shy, but you can’t help yourself.

You’re basically admitting that you’re horny and need some help.

At your words, stars light up in the Avatar of Lust’s eyes.

“Ehhhhh~? So you do have those kinds of feelings?!” he speaks, surprise in his tone. You pout your lips at him, glaring a little.

“Of course I do! It’s just…I’ve finally reached the point where I need to do something about it,” you admit. You move to sit against the edge of his mattress, and Asmo’s gaze follows you through the mirror. “At first it was easy to ignore, but…now I seriously need an orgasm, if only for my own sanity.”

You laugh a little, feeling more comfortable as you talk. Asmodeus hums.

Standing, the Avatar of Lust reaches up to undo the clip in his hair—tossing the piece of plastic back onto the vanity—and then moves to join you. You shiver as his fingers crawl against the back of your neck, his grip settling on you he pulls you in—pressing a soft kiss to your heated cheek.

“You’re very cute when you’re embarrassed,” he giggles, his other hand moving to rest on the upper part of your thigh. He gives it a little squeeze, and you feel a bit of heat flare between your legs in response. Even if Asmodeus’s powers don’t work on you, that doesn’t mean you don’t feel attraction towards him. You’ve listened to his tales of passion countless times over the last few months, and while at the time they hadn’t affected you, now—if you think of the way he described his hands on a woman’s body, or the things he had made her say and feel—now…they definitely make your heart skip a beat.

“But!” he continues, disappearing from around you. You blink, eyes following him as he bustles across the room. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a few gifts from admirers set aside!”

Asmo disappears into his closet, and you hear him digging around in what you can only assume is an overwhelming amount of clothes and personal items. After a minute, he reappears, a gift box in his grasp—topped with a bow and everything.

“Do you…get a lot of gifts you just ignore?” you ask him, lifting your arms to take the box from him when he stops in front of you and holds it out.

“Mmmm, I mean, how can I possibly keep up with them all?? Sometimes they just get put aside to be used at a later date. But now they’re yours!” he says cheerily, rocking on his heels. “And don’t worry!” He swoops down to hug you tight. “I picked the items I think you would like~!”

Asmo cradles your face against his chest, and you can smell the sweet perfume on him. It’s almost intoxicating. However, before you have a chance to think to hug him back, or comment on how good he smells, once again the Avatar of Lust is gone from your side. He returns to his vanity, picking up a tube of crimson lipstick. He raises it to his lips, but doesn’t apply it. Instead, he pauses, his eyes landing on you once more—contemplative.

“Actually,” he twits the lipstick back into place, caps it, and then tosses it towards you. By some miracle, you manage to catch it, and Asmo winks at you. “Take this too. The color will look good on you. Now--!” he finally gets back to his work—immersing himself in applying makeup and dolling himself up for his night out.

“—as much as I would love to personally stay and help you, I do have plans I should probably keep, and I need to finish getting ready. Feel free to text me to let me know if you’re having fun while I’m gone though~”

He ends with another wink—that same, teasing sparkle in his eye—and you can’t help but laugh.

“Sure, we’ll see,” you say, and Asmo giggles as you show yourself to the door.

In all honesty, you never intended to text Asmo.

You’d gotten back to your room, opened up his package, and unloaded the contents—of which included: a vibrator, a tube of stimulating lube, a sheer set of pink lingerie, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. The items had made you flush red despite your brain trying to convince you they were all fairly normal to receive in a “hope this helps with your horniness” gift basket.

Perhaps it was just the fact that Asmodeus had given it to you that was really the issue. He was only being a good friend, but…realizing that the Avatar of Lust had given you a package of naughty things to use…it managed to light a fire in your gut.

Too needy to be shy, you had immediately grabbed the vibrator and lube. Within minutes, you managed to bring yourself to climax—Asmodeus’s name hanging on your tongue as you rode out the waves of pleasure. It only seemed right to think of him. After all, he was the Avatar of Lust. (Or, at least, that’s what you convince yourself. In reality, you’ve likely got some more intimate feelings for the demon that you still need to work out—but that sounds like a lot of work).

After cumming, you bid your time—lazing in your bed with your D.D.D, and trying to keep yourself occupied. However…it doesn’t take long for your attention to shift over to the opened package on your dresser, the rest of it’s contents still inside and waiting to be used.

Well, maybe I can have a little more fun, you think to yourself, and hop out of bed. You gingerly remove the pink lingerie from the box and inspect it. The material is completely see-through—a two-piece set. Both the tops and bottoms have a cute lettuce trim—the top looking to be off the shoulder and elastic lined, and the bottoms a little too small for comfort—a classic tie-able bikini type.

You bite your lip.

You actually want to try them on.

So—still naked from your previous round of self-love—you hurriedly pull the top over your head. It takes a minute to tie the bottoms correctly and evenly, but once you do, you step in front of your floor length mirror and give yourself a once-over.

Asmo obviously wasn’t lying when he said he had picked them with you in mind…the lingerie fits like a dream, and as embarrassed as you are, you feel very pretty.

Humming to yourself, you begin posing—surveying yourself from different angles. There are still certain areas of yourself you’re not totally confident about, but overall you feel…good.

Good enough to begin taking selfies.

You’re not exactly skilled in the art of taking lewd photos, but you’re not unfamiliar with it either. You know a few good angles.

Grabbing your D.D.D, you open the camera app and begin your photoshoot. Within the span of minutes, your camera roll is filled with dozens of new photos—ass pressed out, and tits squished together. You pout your lips as you begin scrolling through your gallery—deleting the photos that don’t piqué your interest. However, in the end you still have a handful of good pictures to choose from, and your heart begins to beat unsteadily in your chest as the idea of sending one to Asmodeus resurfaces.

He’d probably like it…, you reassure yourself, clicking on your favorite photo. Your body is sideways to the mirror—the curve of your ass accentuated, and your tits round and perky beneath the mesh lingerie.

Squashing any of your self-doubt, you open your chat with Asmo and send the photo.

Not knowing what to say, you don’t say anything. Simply…wait to see if he notices your message.

You’re about to close the app and head to Devilgram (hoping to keep yourself busy and not worry), when all of the sudden dots appear at the bottom of the chat. You immediately freeze, gaze locked onto your screen as Asmo types out his message.

Asmodeus: Ara~ Looks like you’re having fun without me. How rude of you~

Asmodeus: You do look scrumptious in that lingerie, though. I definitely picked well!

Asmodeus: If you’re willing, I’d love to see more~

You roll your eyes at his flirting, your cheeks feeling warm.

You: Maybe if you say please~

His response is immediate.

Asmodeus: Look at you, teasing me when I’m not there to put you in your place~

Again, you’re tempted to roll your eyes, but instead you dig out your next favorite photo and hit send. This time you’re facing the mirror—thighs shyly pressed together, and an arm wrapped around your torso beneath your bust line—causing your breasts to squish together.

You: I’ll tease you as much as I want to.

This time, there’s a beat of silence before he responds.

Asmodeus: Are you sure you want to do that? I am a man, you know.

Unconsciously, your legs rub together—arousal swirling in your gut.

You: I’m very sure of what I want, Asmo.

You stare at your screen, waiting for him to respond, but he doesn’t. A check mark letting you know that he’d seen your message pops up beside the bubble, and you feel your heart sink a little. Had you said something wrong?

Frowning, you stare at the chat for a little too long, hoping to see the ellipses appear at the bottom of the chat, but they don’t. Asmodeus is silent.

Sighing, you press to your feet, and head into your bathroom. You survey yourself in the mirror, wondering if perhaps your self-image is off, but shake your head. You’re sure you look cute like this, Asmodeus is probably just busy. He went out tonight to have a good time—he’s likely partying and doesn’t have time to respond.

Nodding, silently holding onto the notion that he’s likely preoccupied, you pull out a face mask and decide to pamper yourself. Really, anything that will take your mind off the Avatar of Lust and help you to not overthink the current situation.

Once the mask is in place, you heft yourself up onto the sink counter, and continue scrolling through your phone. You click into Devilgram, laughing when you swipe past a photo of Satan deadpanning at the camera. Mammon can be seen over his shoulder trying to put the moves on what looks to be an older, richer female demon.

“One day Mammon will turn into a sugar baby”, the caption reads, and your shoulders shake.

Thanks to Satan's comedic post, you actually forget about all your worries for a few minutes.

Once the face mask has started to dry out, you hop off the counter and peel the damp sheet from your face. You toss into the garbage and yawn as you head back into your bedroom. Maybe you should just sleep soon—

“Ara~?” a hand suddenly covers your eyes, an arm wrapping around you just beneath your breasts, and you gasp. The warmth of a body appears behind you—soft kisses pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulders.

“I was hoping I’d find you writhing on your bed moaning my name~ Did you decide to wait knowing I’d come?”

“A-Asmo?” you breathe, shivering in his hold as he hugs you tighter against him. You can feel something poignant and hard rub against your ass, and you stiffen—heat scorching the inside of your stomach as you realize how aroused he is at the moment.

And it’s likely all thanks to you.

“I…,” you struggle to respond, your voice shaking as he moves his hand to grip your breast—giving it a soft squeeze.

“Mmm~ you look even better in person. The lingerie fits you so well,” he purrs, tongue tracing a wet strip up your neck. Again, you gasp, your ass curving against him as you attempt to get away from the overwhelming sensation. Your neck has always been sensitive, but somehow your current lack of sight has raised the stakes ever higher.

“W-Why are you here? I thought—”

“How could I stay out knowing that you’re at home playing with yourself and looking so delicious?” he responds, not bothering to let you finish. His hand releases your breast—his fingers coasting down the front of your torso. You feel his touch brush against the edge of your lingerie bottoms, and you inhale sharply.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, noticing your reaction. His teeth nip at the lobe of your ear. “Or aroused?”

“Both,” you respond honestly, face feeling like a tomato.

Sure, you had hoped to tease Asmo and get a reaction out of him by sending your lewd selfie, but you had never expected him to abandon his night out to come and find you!

“Why are you nervous?” he questions, his hand not sinking lower. Instead, his fingers move to tug at the ties of the bikini. You feel the fabric loosen ever so slightly, but it’s clear he has no intention of undressing you until you answer him.

“I…didn’t expect this,” you tell him, biting your lip when he peppers your neck with more kisses. The soft sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“I can stop if this isn’t what you want,” he says, breath fanning against you. You’re quick to shake your head, and Asmo giggles.

“Okay, so you don’t want me to stop then. That makes me happy~ Because I really don’t want to.”

His fingers tug a little harder at the ties to the lingerie bottoms, and you startle. As much as you want nothing more than for him to touch you—

“Are you sure I’m good enough?”

His movements halt, the world standing still.

You blink as Asmo removes his hand from atop your eyes—the Avatar of Lust gently using his hold on your hip to spin you so you’re facing him.

“What do you mean by that?” he asks seriously. Your gaze darts away, too many emotions plaguing you at once. You’re standing in front of him, practically naked—flustered beyond belief thanks to his touches—and now he’s seriously trying to embarrass you more with his question.

“Y/N.” Asmo’s hand moves to cup your cheek, and he coaxes you to look at him. There’s a perplexed look on his face, like he’s confused and frustrated at the same time.

“I just…you’re the Avatar of Lust, and you’re beautiful,” you tell him quietly, one of your hands raising to press against his own as you lean into him. “I’m sure you could have the most attractive people in the world if you wanted to. You’ve already had so many. I guess…I’m just worried I’ll be forgettable.”

You laugh a little, closing your eyes as you flash him a bitter sweet smile. You’d seriously been trying to have confidence in yourself tonight, but—

“Mmph!” You startle as his lips crash into yours—his hand leaving your hip and finding purchase in your hair instead. As Asmo tugs at your roots, he deepens the kiss—his tongue sneaking into your mouth and stealing your breath away. You’re helpless but to moan against him, the daintiest of the brothers suddenly overwhelming you with his presence.

“You have no idea—,” he speaks against your lips, taking a step forward and in turn causing you to stumble back. “—how long I’ve wanted to touch you.”

You gasp when your legs hit the edge of your bed—your knees giving out beneath you, and your body landing on the mattress unceremoniously. Immediately Asmo is kneeling over you, his lips once again finding yours.

“You’re so adorable,” he tells you, his kisses straying from your mouth—trailing across your cheek and onto your jaw. “So pretty, so cute—and you really think you’ll end up being forgettable?”

“I--,” you struggle to find your words, your brain feeling like it’s in overload. At your obvious dilemma on how to respond, Asmo pulls back, glancing at your face. You’re redder than he’s ever seen—your eyes wide, and lips parted. A twinkle appears in his gaze as a lightbulb clicks on in his brain, and he grins, one of his hands moving to rest against your waist.

“Do you not like being praised?” he asks, although his tone is teasing. “Does it embarrass you hearing that your skin is so delicate and supple—that I want to touch you all over and feel every inch of it?”

Asmo’s statement has your heart hammering against your ribs—and you instinctively raise your hands to hide your face.

“Asmo~,” you whine, and the demon giggles.

“Mmm, I think I’ve been neglecting praising you. I guess I’ll have to play catch up tonight~”

You whimper, both extremely shy and aroused at the idea. You’ve always been the type to get flustered at compliments, so the thought of being praised (and by Asmo, of all people) has your heart feeling like it may beat straight out of your chest.

“First things first though—”

You feel something soft and fuzzy secure around one of your wrists, and suddenly your hand is yanked away from your face.

“Hey!” you cry, watching as Asmo forces your arm above your head. He threads the pair of handcuffs through one of the slots on the headboard and then tugs your other hand upward—fastening the free cuff around it tightly.

All of the sudden, you can no longer hide yourself from his view.

“That’s better~,” he sings, leaning down to kiss your flustered face. “It won’t be much fun if I don’t get to see all of your delectable little reactions.”

“You’re seriously trying to kill me,” you whisper against him, and the Avatar of Lust attempts to kiss your worries away.

“Maybe just a little bit,” he admits. He leaves your lips, his head moving to nestle between your breasts. Asmo makes a contented sound as he nuzzles the squishy flesh.

“But—you can always tell me to stop. I’m not a monster who disregards safe words.”

His tongue flattens against your nipple through the thin layer of lingerie, his half-lidded honey colored eyes staring up at you.

“Stoplight colors?”

“S-Sure,” you swallow, still in disbelief that Asmo is seriously about to have his way with you. Humming in acknowledgement of your response, the Avatar of Lust finally indulges himself.

He sits back, his fingers curling under the elastic hem of your top. You watch him as he keeps the band tight along your skin—dragging the hem upwards and subsequently gathering your breasts together. The elastic catches on your hardened nipples, causing your breath to catch in your throat, and Asmodeus licks his lips at the sound.

“Look at that,” he says, his gaze trailed on your tits as the mounds finally pop free—the mesh top bunched around your upper chest. Without wasting time, Asmo captures one of your nipples with his mouth—his hand moving to fondle the other. As he sucks and squeezes, you can’t help but writhe—tiny, embarrassing sounds bubbling up in your throat.

“God, your tits are so gorgeous,” he moans, being sure to press kisses to every inch of the soft skin. “I just wanna leave marks all over them.”

Asmo takes your nipple into his mouth once more—his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud—and your chest curves into his touch. He smiles at the instinctive movement, his gaze settling on your face as he gives your nipple a small bite—watching as your eyelashes flutter, lips parting in a gasp.

“You’re just so pretty,” he speaks, one of his hands remaining on your chest while his mouth trails down your torso. He pauses to leave a few teasing kisses to your tummy, but as he does so, he suddenly freezes. He sits back slightly, blinking up at you.

“Where’s the lipstick I gave you?”

Your eyes shift to look at your dresser, and Asmodeus disappears from atop you. He quickly moves to retrieve the tube of lipstick, and your eyes sink to look at the obvious bulge trapped beneath his leather pants.

“Don’t you want to free yourself?” you ask him, motioning to his crotch. Asmo looks down at himself, and as if on cue, you see his member twitch.

“I’ve been denied a lot,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

As your mind momentarily detours to imagine what an orgasm denied, begging Asmodeus would be like, the Avatar of Lust opens the crimson colored lipstick. Within seconds, his lips are coated red, and he smiles down at you sweetly.

“When we’re done here, I want you to be able to see every place of you I’ve touched, and loved,” he says. As you flush once more at his words, Asmo leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You can feel his lipstick smear against your skin—a moan leaving you when he deepens the kiss, slotting his mouth against your own.

“Mmm, you look so good like that,” he tells you as he pulls back. The lipstick is messy on his face, but the sight only serves to arouse you.

“Touch me more,” you whisper, your hands tugging against the cuffs. You want to feel him too, but you can’t. As you pout, Asmo giggles, slinking down your body. He tracks light kisses down your sternum, his hands squishing your breasts together as he peppers the sensitive mounds with lipstick marks.

“Ahh~ I have a succubus friend who has the cutest markings,” he mumbles, once again reaching over to grab the tube of lipstick. He holds your breast with his free hand—a grin on his face. “You’d look so good with little tattoos all over you—my own personal love bug.”

Asmo presses the lipstick to your tit, drawing a perfectly shaped heart around your nipple. He then mimics the heart on your other mound—looking thoroughly satisfied with his work.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” he breathes. You can see the hunger in his eyes—like a switch has finally been flicked in his brain. Up until now, he’s been totally content with moving slowly—teasing you—but now he looks like he’s craving more.

“You know, you can stop with the praise and just fuck me,” you tell him, hoping for a little bit of relief yourself. Not only are his words embarrassing—your heart feeling like it may explode out of your chest—but they’re arousing too. Each praise off his tongue has caused more arousal to pool between your legs, and you can feel that the skimpy lingerie bottoms are already soaked.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” Asmo grins right back, and the sparkle in his eye tells you that despite his own desires, he doesn’t intend to stop praising you anytime soon.

“Besides--,” suddenly, he reaches down, his fingers scooting beneath the hem of your bottoms and finding your womanhood. You gasp as his fingers nestle between your wet folds, gathering your arousal.

“—I think that despite your outward reactions, you get off on my praise.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. You can only stare at him, thighs shaking with need as Asmo rubs his fingers against your clit—his eyes carefully watching your reactions.

“Have I mentioned that you taste good?” he says, once again leaning down to press kisses against your torso. His mouth slowly sinks lower—his tongue licking a hot, wet strip from the edge of the lingerie panties to your navel.

“Mmm, I’m sure you taste even better here, though.” He accentuates his words by rolling your clit between his fingers, and you whine, wrists once again tugging against the cuffs.

“Please, please fuck me already, Asmo,” you beg. However, Asmo simply ignores you—moving to reapply lipstick his lips. He also pauses to draw a heart around your belly button, along with an arrow pointing down towards your most intimate area.

“There we go!” he giggles, a cute “Asmo’s <3” scribbled beside the arrow. The possessive nature has you whining even more, and the Avatar of Lust clicks his tongue.

“I promise I won’t leave you hanging~”

His fingers leave your womanhood as he scoots his way down between your legs.

“You’re leaking so much of your precious juices everywhere,” he pouts, noting how wet your bottoms have become. “But I guess I can’t complain, considering it will be so easy to put my cock into your pretty little pussy~”

“Asmo,” you try again, a shaky breath leaving you as he spreads your thighs apart. His mouth works at the supple flesh—leaving an array of kisses and bites across the skin.

“You’re shaking,” he teases, glancing up at you with a shit eating grin that honestly makes you want to kick him. You’re not exactly sure how long he’s been praising you, but it’s been too long. While he may be used to being denied, you are not, and you’re really going to lose your shit if he doesn’t put his dick in you soon.

“Please. Please fuck me,” you breathe, desperation painted clear on your face. Asmo’s fingers tug at the strings holding your bottoms in place.

“Do you admit that you’re good enough for me? That you’re beautiful, and should have never been worried?”

“Yes, yes! I’m fucking adorable and I know you want to stick your dick in me, so do it already,” you whine, your hips wiggling in his hold. He giggles.

“God, you’re so fucking precious.”

With that, he finally tugs your bottoms loose. The sheer fabric falls away, and Asmo is quick to get to work. He sits back, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it on the floor beside your bed—his pants following soon after. As he pulls the tight leather pants down his legs, you watch his cock spring free—curving up against his stomach.

“Worth the wait?” you ask, tongue darting out to lick your lips as he kicks the fabric from around his ankles.

“Definitely,” he responds, a little breathless as he drags the head of his dick between your folds. It’s obvious that as much as he was holding himself back, he was beginning to near his breaking point as well.

Before you can think of anything more to say, Asmodeus is thrusting himself inside you. Your breath catches at the sudden stretch—but the tension held in your body is quick to melt away—a sense of satisfaction settling in your gut. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

“More.”

And the Avatar of Lust is happy to comply.

He fucks into you with just the perfect amount of roughness—enough to have your toes curling, and the bed rocking—his cock brushing up against your g-spot with every movement. The sensation quickly has you coming undone—your spine curving off the mattress and your mouth hanging open—quiet cries sneaking past your lips.

“God, just look at you,” he speaks, his hands settling on your waist as he grinds against you. You look so pretty beneath him—arms trapped above your head, and colorful kisses littering your entire body.

“A-Asmo,” you plead, wishing you could hide your face, but he only continues.

“Seriously--,�� he fucks into you particularly hard, and a moan is ripped from your throat. “—If I could make you into my personal little succubus, I—ah—would.”

The idea has the already tightly wound coil in your gut winding tighter, and you find Asmo’s eyes. Your gaze is filled with lust—a mindless desire for him to make you cum—and his dick throbs.

“Fuck, you feel too good, Y/N,” he hunches over, sweat beading on his brow as his messy hair falls into his face. “You really might make me cum too soon.”

“I—mmm—just t-touch my clit. Please,” you tell him, the bundle of nerves pulsing with a need to be touched. “I’ll cum w-with you.”

“Such a good girl,” he praises, his fingers moving to press between your folds. He rubs at your clit faithfully—a side to side motion that quite literally has your legs shaking—and you quickly feel yourself coming undone.

“Oh fuck, Asmo,” you cry, your skull pressing into the mattress as your orgasm builds within you. All the while, the Avatar of Lust picks up his pace—little moans of pleasure rolling off his tongue as he fucks you.

As much as he loves to tease, he’s enthralled that he’s finally getting to take you like this. To feel your pussy clench around his dick—to see your tits bounce—to watch you struggle to find words to say. Your body is right on the brink of release, and it’s all thanks to him.

It honestly feels like a dream.

“I—I—”

Your brain feels like jello, your eyes struggling to stay open. The muscles in your lower abdomen begin to tense, and Asmodeus knows what’s coming.

“I’m right behind you, princess,” he says, biting his lip, and you can’t wait a second longer. With a high-pitched cry, you come undone.

Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave—your pussy contracting around Asmo’s dick as you ride out your release. The sensation causes the Avatar of Lust’s pace to falter, a quiet curse leaving him as he loses himself. He fucks into you one last time—full seating himself within your heat—before he cums as well.

The next few moments are a blur—the two of you lost in your combined bliss as exhaustion replaces previous feelings of need. However, the first to speak up is you.

“Let me touch you~,” you whine, puppy eyes trained on Asmodeus as he focuses his gaze on you.

“Ara~ Still needy, I see,” he giggles, pulling his length from inside of you. You feel his seed slip from your pussy, and your face gets warm once more. Luckily, Asmo doesn’t bother teasing you. Instead, he moves to grab the key to the cuffs. Within seconds, you’re free from your restraints, and immediately you’re reaching up to hug him.

Asmo melts into the embrace, pressing a few gentle kisses to your cheek.

“Was I as good as you dreamed~?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes a little.

“I enjoyed it a lot,” you respond honestly, and Asmo presses onto his forearms, staring at you sweetly. You can’t help smiling at him, your hands raising to cup his cheeks.

“You’re cute.” You drag him into a kiss, and he grins.

“Oh? Is it my turn for praise now?”

“How about--,” you push him from atop you, and Asmo blinks in surprise—watching as you scoot to the edge of the bed and stand. Immediately, more of his cum slips from inside of you and begins dripping down your thighs, and you have to fight off another blush. Asmo snickers.

“How about—,” you try again, extending a hand to him. He takes it, allowing you to pull him to his feet. “—we take a shower, and I can tell you all about how pretty you are as we wash each other?”

“Oh, yes, you’re speaking my language!”

Not waiting for your lead, Asmo tugs you along to your bathroom. However, just before you step inside the tiled room, the demon pauses. He grins, tugging you in front of him, and facing you towards the wall. You wonder exactly what he’s doing, when he gently grabs your jaw and directs your attention to the floor length mirror you’re now stood in front of.

From head to toe, you’re littered in kisses—bright red lipstick painting your skin.

“You know,” Asmo speaks, his tone playful as he rests his head on your shoulder. “I know some witches who can probably whip up a potion that will leave you with cute little breeding marks.”

“No--,” you say, embarrassed, and head into the bathroom. Asmo pouts after you.

“Oh c’mon~ What if they only appear when you’re horny, that would be fine, right?”

“…maybe.”

Asmo giggles.

“Just wait. I’m very good as persuasion~”

And somehow…you don’t doubt that at all.

#om!#obey me #obey me smut #asmo x reader #asmo x mc #asmodeus x mc #asmodeus x reader #asmo smut #asmo fic

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somethingwritey · 3 years

Text

sneak peek: “run to you” - a rangshi longfic

💖 i am currently working on a rangshi longfic (50k words at the moment) that i’ll eventually publish on ao3. it takes place directly following the events of The Shadow of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee.

💖 my writing commissions are open! message me with commission requests or questions!

💖 here’s a sneak peek of “run to you”!

---

Kyoshi had blood on her hands.

Quite literally, at the moment.

She stared down at her palms and fingers, hoping they didn’t shake as badly as she feared.

She knew she needed to wash the weight of Rangi’s blood away, watch it swirl down her arms and out of sight, as if that alone could wipe away the pain she’d caused her girl, but for some reason, Kyoshi couldn’t seem to move her feet.

Every part of her felt heavy and languid, and it was hard work to imagine that these were the same limbs that had carried, defended, and healed only hours ago. Kyoshi wanted to curl up into a ball and wait for someone else to save the world for once.

Because that was the oh, so incessant problem about Avatarhood. No matter how many messes Kyoshi cleaned up, there were still new terrors cropping up the moment she sat down to catch her breath. It was exhausting. Behind all the makeup and armor, she was still the servant girl in the mansion - tasked with the never-ending job of cleaning up.

“You saved her life.”

Kyoshi lifted her head to see Hei-Ran, standing only a little less poised than usual. The teetering fate of Rangi had taken a toll on even the most rigid members of her group.

“I did my duty.” The words came out defeated, as if Kyoshi had lost instead of won. Then again, with Yun’s grey body lying somewhere inside the ruined mansion waiting to be put to rest, and a bloodied Rangi being tended to by Atuat, maybe she couldn’t claim victory after all.

Peace comes at a price.

She heard the words in Lao Ge’s voice, although she was fairly certain he’d never actually uttered them to her.

“You did far beyond that, Avatar.” Hei-Ran thought about it for a moment, then took a seat beside her - flicking her robes out behind her as she did. “You should be honored for what you’ve done.”

“Yeah, except no one will even know!” Kyoshi slammed her fists down on the ground, causing a small tremor beneath them. “Zoryu’s made sure of that! He gets all the credit, and all he’s done is sentence an innocent man to death!”

This outburst probably wouldn’t win her any favor in Hei-Ran’s eyes - the woman so committed to her duty that she’d willingly sacrificed her hair and honor to acknowledge her failures - but Kyoshi couldn’t help it.

Her first choice for a confidant would’ve been Rangi, of course. Or maybe Kelsang. But with the latter dead and the former barely conscious, she supposed the old headmistress would have to do. The woman had claimed Kyoshi as a daughter back in North Chung-Ling. Perhaps that warranted a bit of sympathy or at least a listening ear.

“The Fire Lord’s job is complicated,” Hei-Ran stated. “As is yours. You’ve both been tasked with the impossible: governing a world that does not wish to be governed by you. Chaos is the natural order, Kyoshi, as much as we pretend it is not. The Fire Nation must go to great lengths to maintain our control. Even if it… requires some bloodshed.”

“I didn’t ask for this.” Kyoshi shook her head. She no longer felt the dull aching in her chest that used to come with a reminder of her station, but that didn’t mean the Era of Kyoshi hadn’t been stained with blood and confusion and deceit.

“The Spirits chose you.”

Why?

The plaintive question would’ve made her sound like a child, so Kyoshi sealed her lips and kept the pleading inside. She wanted answers. And since Hei-Ran would understand nothing more about the mysterious methods of the spirits than she did, Kyoshi decided to at least start with something the woman stood a chance at knowing.

“Was Rangi mad?” She rubbed the side of her face and dried blood flaked off, fluttering towards the ground. “When I left, I mean.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Hei-Ran’s face. “Enough to shoot flames out of her ears.”

For a moment, Kyoshi tried to picture it - a steaming mad Rangi, with her face boiling red and fists clenched into tight balls. The last time she’d gotten that upset, the Firebender had flipped a table off a balcony. For a moment, the memory tugged at the corner of Kyoshi’s mouth - lifting it into a lopsided smile.

And then the moment passed.

“I’m sorry I killed your daughter.”

Hei-Ran frowned. “You healed her, Kyoshi.”

Only after Rangi had traveled to fight alongside the girl who’d locked her into the ground and put her mother on a possible death bed. “Because I put her in danger. It doesn’t count. Doing right by her after that was just… canceling out the bad.”

Kyoshi felt like she’d been doing that her whole life: making mistakes and then fixing them. It didn’t seem right to take the credit for something she’d messed up in the first place.

You were the one innocent party, Yun had told her. Oh, if only that were the truth.

“Hei-Ran?” Atuat had emerged from the infirmary, traveling up to where Kyoshi and the headmistress sat. Hei-Ran was on her feet immediately, but whether to appear respectable in front of the doctor or out of fear for what news she’d bring, Kyoshi couldn’t be sure.

“How is she?” Kyoshi found her way to her feet as well, Atuat’s presence sending a fresh wave of worry down her spine.

“Oh good, Kyoshi’s here, too. Saves me a trip.” Atuat took her time reaching them and with each passing moment, Kyoshi found herself more and more on edge. By the time the Waterbender made it over, she could feel her body vibrating again.

“Well?” Hei-Ran demanded, clearly just as impatient as Kyoshi, but with better control over her exterior.

“She’s asleep.” Atuat’s manner always confused Kyoshi a bit. She never seemed exhausted by the threat of death. Perhaps she’d just become too acquainted with it, or maybe mastering the power of healing made her immune to the fear. Either way, she always emerged from battle hospitals like she’d finished a rather routine examination.

“Will she be okay?” Kyoshi remembered the crunch of earth as it impaled Rangi’s back. The way the blood had rushed away from her lips. How she’d looked up at her as the life drained away. “Is the damage permanent? I know I didn’t heal her right. I tried my best, but -”

“Kyoshi.” Atuat held up her hand. “Rangi is a strong girl. She’s going to be alright. In pain, certainly, but in the end alright.”

Kyoshi exhaled shakily, barely able to keep it together enough to thank her.

“You need rest, too, Avatar,” Atuat pressed, motioning down towards the infirmary. “There’s a spare bed down the hill.”

The last thing Kyoshi wanted to do was sleep. How could she just let herself clock out when Rangi needed caring for? When the Flying Opera Company was wounded? When Jinpa still hadn’t come down from his medicine high due to her own poor measurements?

As if Atuat could read her mind, the doctor narrowed her eyes. “That monk is off his rocker. You gave him too much.”

“Sorry, sifu.”

“Rest, Kyoshi,” was the only response she got in return. “And take off those clothes. You’ve got blood all over you.”

///

“I can feel you staring at me.”

Kyoshi jumped a little, hurriedly switching her gaze to the other side of the room and away from Rangi’s bed before deciding hiding it was futile. The Firebender hadn’t moved in over two hours, but apparently, the wounded girl was more perceptive than Kyoshi had anticipated.

“I thought you were sleeping!” Kyoshi whispered, doing her best not to disturb Kirima and Wong, who were asleep in their respective wooden beds.

“I’m resting.” Rangi still hadn’t opened her eyes. “A concept you might not be familiar with.”

A hum of relief ran through Kyoshi’s arms. If Rangi was well enough to give her shit, then maybe that meant the girl would be alright after all.

“I know how to rest.” Kyoshi crossed her arms and did her best to look wounded.

“Yeah, and Jinpa’s a murderer.”

Kyoshi glanced over at her secretary, who was propped up against the wooden headboard and still singing to himself in dulcet tones.

“Kyoshi, please try to sleep,” Rangi pleaded.

Easier said than done. Sitting still seemed too difficult for Kyoshi at the moment, let alone actually falling asleep.

“Yeah, well,” Kyoshi mumbled offhandedly. “I’m not really keen on seeing you die again in my dreams.” It came out sounding more dire than she’d meant.

Only then did Rangi open her eyes, staring at Kyoshi from across the way. “I’m fine.”

It would’ve been a lot more convincing if her hands weren’t locked tight around the thin cotton sheets, compensating for some sort of pain she must be feeling.

“Fine?” Kyoshi stared at her incredulously. “You were stabbed.”

“Can you two please keep it down?” Kirima suddenly cut in, gesturing to her splinted leg. “Some of us are trying to heal!”

Apparently, her ability to tell who was asleep badly needed fine-tuning.

“Noise won’t delay that process!” Kyoshi shot back, trying to keep her smile at bay. She really had missed her friends.

Silence fell back over the infirmary, and Kyoshi allowed herself to lean against the headboard for the first time all night. She drew in a shaky breath, basking in the safety she felt around the Flying Opera Company - even if their legs were broken.

It was a few minutes before Rangi spoke again, lowering her voice to whisper in that raspy way of hers. “You’re pretty far away, you know.”

At first, Kyoshi wanted to protest that of course her energy was distant - she’d killed one of her closest friends and nearly lost the other one - before she realized Rangi was speaking literally. She closed her mouth. Hard.

A little too hard, actually. Her jaw still ached where Yun had thrown the discs.

Rangi even managed a little grin. “Do you think Atuat will kill you for sleeping with a patient?”

Giddy with the idea of lying beside Rangi again, Kyoshi slid out of bed and made her way over to the other side of the room. She’d flirted with the idea of climbing in before, but with Rangi’s fragile state, she hadn’t wanted to cause any more damage than she’d already done.

“You’re not gonna break me,” Rangi mumbled, but Kyoshi still saw her struggle to make space in the small frame.

“This is a bad -”

“Will you quit worrying and just crawl in, please?” Rangi did her best to pat the bed beside her, wincing horribly. “I’ve suffered worse.”

“Mmm, what a terrible fate,” Kyoshi grinned, finally allowing herself to gingerly lie down beside Rangi. “Sleeping next to Kyoshi. What an awful - hey!”

Rangi had elbowed her in the ribs. She tried to laugh, but it barely masked the tremor behind it.

“Stop hurting yourself,” Kyoshi hissed, laying an angry kiss on the Firebender’s cheek. “I mean it.”

In response, Rangi moved to curl up closer against Kyoshi’s chest, her eyes falling shut again. For a long while, they stayed just like that - Rangi in too much pain to move and Kyoshi too nervous about causing her any more. It felt awfully reminiscent of the first time they’d shared a bed, with Kyoshi awake all night inhaling the smell of Rangi’s hair against her lips.

Kyoshi had vowed to protect her then, and she still wanted to protect her now. She didn’t miss the way Rangi’s face screwed up as she slept, sleep inhibiting her ability to hide the discomfort. A couple of times, Atuat came to check on her. She clicked her teeth together at the sight of Kyoshi in the bed, but didn’t seem altogether surprised. The doctor didn’t force her away either, something for which Kyoshi was eternally grateful.

In the blue-grey hours of the morning, Kyoshi finally succumbed to the heaviness in her eyelids - letting them shut as her head fell back against the headboard - at last, too tired to worry about any new dangers coming for them that night.

-----

💖 that’s all for now :) i might post a little more soon! i’m very excited to get this up on ao3 in the near future!

💖 if you enjoy my writing and want to commission me, send me a message! my commissions are open!

💖 keep an eye out for more commissioned pieces coming soon :)

#kyoshi #rise of kyoshi #rangshi #rangi #rangi x kyoshi #shadow of kyoshi #avatar the last airbender #writing commissions #my writing #longfic #sneak peak #writing #wlw #avatar kyoshi #atla #fic

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shhhlikeme · 4 years

Note

Hello, could I have a request? If it’s not too much of a bother, maybe about kenma having a crush on a foreigner who’s still new to speaking Japanese, so he teaches her how to speak better, gets to know her better and finds out she’s also a gamer? Sorry if it’s too specific, I love your writing!! 🥺

Thank you so much for reading my work! I adore Kenma he is everything so thank you for requesting him. I didn’t want to stop writing this! I hope you like it!

Kenma x Foreign Student Reader

——————————

You were the absolute ONLY thing that could take Kenma’s attention away from his Nintendo switch

When you trotted into class silently that day as a new student that just moved to Japan from [Your City] Kenma just scribbled in his notebook like he always does when the teacher is talking because he didn’t hear you come in

The teacher asked you to introduce yourself and you did, shyly and in less than accurate Japanese

This got catboy’s attention

When Kenma heard your angelic voice he lifted his head up from the paper for the first time that day

Baby boy is smart af. He doesn’t even need to listen in class and he gets straight A’s

His eyes widened when he saw you. You clearly weren’t from here and he didn’t know how he felt about that

He takes a mental note that you looked.....different.

Um, good different.

VERY good different. He realized, as he studied your features

Kenma thought you were beautiful and although your introduction had grammatical errors, he found your mistakes quite adorable

You sat in front and to the left of him which was ideal for Kenma because you couldn’t really see him staring

Since Kenma is a gifted student he is always abnormally bored in classes. His teachers always took away all of his electronics so he didn’t even try anymore. This current Modern Japanese class was no exception until you joined, and as the days went by he found himself not even missing his electronics for the first time in his life because he shared that class with you

He has you to look at now

You were so pretty and interesting to him.

He wished he could talk to you

Hiding behind his hair so that he wouldn’t get caught with red cheeks and all, he sighed admiringly as he watched you listen diligently to the teacher. The way you looked when you were concentrated made Kenma’s stomach hurt because you were just so cute. Watching you made him wish he had Kuroo’s confidence when it came to girls

Maybe he would ask Kuroo for advice, albeit a mortifying thought

Day after day in class Kenma watched as you read the teacher’s lips in hopes of slowing down the language in your head better. When everyone got a worksheet in class Kenma always did his work fast and just smirked to himself because you would quietly sound out everything you were reading and translate it to English.

So cute

Kenma knew his fair share of English because of his American gamer friends, so when he heard you translate a Japanese word incorrectly, which would have been detrimental for your grade on this paper, Kenma wanted so badly to jump in to help you

But he was anxious

In silent panic, he watched you whisper the wrong answers out loud because you had translated one early sentence incorrectly .

Oh no.

You were going to fail!

What would Kuroo do??? Kenma thought.

In his animated mind, he conjured up an air bubble version of Kuroo looking down at him and lecturing him, telling Kenma that: “you are like blood that should flow towards the blood that has the most attractive body covering it which is obviously a reference to the cute foreign girl you have a crush on so STOP BEING SUCH A WUSS AND HELP HER, KENMA!”

Kenma shook his head violently. The air bubble version of Kuroo disappeared.

God, even in his made up thoughts his best friend was obnoxious

Kenma’s volleyball team, Fukurõdani’s volleyball team and Hinata all knew Kenma’s true personality.

They knew that Kenma wasn’t a shy person like most people initially think when they see him alone in the corner. In fact, he wasn’t shy at all. He just didn’t like people. Learn the difference.

And when Kenma did like specific people he still wanted them to stay at an arms length

So why did he like you so much? He was convinced that he wouldn’t mind having you closer than an arms length because of how pretty you are. Kenma liked looking at aesthetically pleasing things, and in that respect you were much much better than his games or his volleyball friends.

But jumping in to save your assignment still wasn’t him. It just wasn’t Kenma. He didn’t chat to others in class and enjoy it like everyone else in this school. He liked chatting with Kuroo, Shōyō, and his gaming pals, sure. But everyone else was slightly annoying.

But not you.

He wasn’t annoyed by you despite the fact that he’s been watching your embarassing quirks for over a week now. He felt quite the opposite for you, actually...

Completely unaware of Kenma’s daily analysis of you like you always were, you smiled as you finished your work. Ready to leave, you collected your paper, preparing to hand in the open-book assignment worth 40% of your grade. But before you stood up you felt a delicate hand on your arm, halting you.

“Uhhhh.......” You look up to see the most gorgeous boy you’ve ever seen in all the countries you’ve been in. He had striking cat-like eyes that made your heart beat faster and his voice was soft and alluring.

With a serious face, he removed his hand from your arm and pointed to your sheet. In perfect English he said, “That means “theatre audition” actually. Not “movie theatre.”

You were shocked that his English sounded better than your Japanese

Kenma felt a burst of pride within because he could infer that he impressed you with his English

You blushed and quickly started erasing the subsequent answers. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much.”

You expected the gorgeous boy to walk away after that but you were even more taken back when he pulled up a chair next to you.

His sudden movement blew breeze in your direction which wafted the mango-scent of his shampoo toward you. You almost salivated. His hair was so shiny, he was so beautiful and to top it off he smelled to-die-for.

“You made minor translation errors in question 1, 4 and 5 too. Mind if I help you? My name’s Kenma.” He asked hopefully, still speaking to you in impeccable English.

You introduced yourself too while blushing some more and of course you accepted his help

Throughout the rest of class, Kenma, talkative as ever—asked you a bunch of questions in order to get to know you. You shared with him that your parents were divorced and that you decided to move from [Your City] where you lived all your life with your mom to move in with your dad in Japan for high school and University because you loved/missed him. You told him that your dad spoke Japanese to you as a baby but you lost a lot of it living so far away and having no one to practice with.

Kenma became more and more intrigued by you. He could listen to you talk all day which would probably give his best friend a heart attack since Kuroo was put on a strict talking time limit that kicked in after 3 hours.

The more the cat boy learned about you the more he wanted to learn. Especially when you mentioned that your favourite hobby included gaming.

Kenma, being fairly asexual but attracted to you, was unfamiliar with the way the concept of you gaming turned him alllll the way on.

He imagined you beside him during his gaming weekends wearing a baggy t-shirt & just your underwear underneath like he wears.

Damn

He flushed

Let’s just say Kenma had trouble shifting inconspicuously under the desk to adjust his tightened pants when he thought about you gaming.

He mentally prepared to get himself off on the thought as soon as he got home tonight

Yep. You officially had him wrapped around your finger, and you didn’t even know it.

You had no idea that that conversation would go on forever

You had no idea that Kenma had always denied tutoring others when the Modern Japanese teacher asked, and that is why the teacher gladly allowed you two to work together

You had no idea that the rest of the class was ASTONISHED by the quiet and stunning setter of Nekoma (who does everything in his power to not be approachable and avoid social situations) going out of his way to keep a conversation going with another student

You had no idea that all the Kenma admirers were soooooo jealous of you right now

You had no idea that Kenma would glare back at the girls who glared at you and try his best to become your friend in the coming weeks

You had no idea that you both would enjoy every moment of your close friendship. A bit too much

You had no idea that, weeks later, Kuroo would force Kenma into confessing to you, even if it was over your favourite game as avatars... and you would cry tears of joy

You had no idea that you would lose your voice cheering for your boyfriend at Nationals........twice.

You had no idea that upon graduation you two would adopt an adorable kitty and name her -cinema-

You had no idea that years later, Kenma would become the husband of your dreams and that shortly thereafter you would give birth to the most beautiful cat-eyed baby girl that was a splitting image of her stunning bearded father

Just imagine daddy Kenma all grown up with a beard omg

No.... as you sat there in class trying to repeat after him the Japanese sentence on the worksheet, you absolutely had no idea

But

When Kenma asked for your number at the bell and you blushed beautifully again, he felt butterflies in his stomach by the sight, and that’s when

He did have an idea that all of that would happen.

Because love-struck Kenma wouldn’t accept anything less.

#haikyuu!!#haikyu requests #haikyuu boys #haikyu #daily haiku #kenma x reader #kenma x you #kenma kozume #catboy #nekoma #karasuno #haikyuu suggestions #kenma fluff #kenma sfw

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mimosaeyes · 4 years

Text

It doesn’t seem to make a difference whether Jon smites or spares an avatar. He can’t save anyone.

Post-173. A conversation about morality, monstrosity, and hope. Angst and hurt/comfort, 1.5k

Speedily beta-ed by @emberidzae. Many thanks, friend.

The houses seem sullen to Jon as they make their way down the endless street. The owls and nightjars have stopped their calls, and whereas before they’d heard the occasional shriek of a child, now there’s only silence. It feels pointed, almost accusatory.

He knows instinctively which direction will take them out of this domain, so he walks while keeping his gaze trained on the silhouettes of each building they pass. From the road, all that’s visible are darker shapes against the dark sky. The pinpricks of light in it are not twinkling stars but slowly blinking eyes.

A list of names plays in his mind as he focuses his attention on each house in turn. He may have stopped speaking, thanks to Martin, but he still knows what each child imagines lurking in the shadows around them. He listens to the trembling reasoning behind the hiding spots they’ve chosen: it can’t sneak up on me if I sit with my back to the wall; nothing can hurt me if I stay under my blanket. He experiences, vicariously, the tightness in their throats from trying to be quiet. The hands clamped over their mouths to stifle a whimper when it escapes.

At some point, without consciously deciding to, he’s tangled his own hand in the straps hanging off his backpack, wrapping them around his fingers and over his palm. He squeezes until the pressure and pain blot out thoughts of what’s going on around him. What he’s allowing to continue, even though he knows very well what it’s like to be an orphan alone in the dark.

“It’s getting brighter, at least,” Martin observes from somewhere to his left. There’s a brittle, slightly forced cheerfulness to how he says this. By now, Jon recognises it as him attempting to be optimistic.

Jon sighs near-soundlessly. “A little. Maybe.”

In the house to his right, a little girl opens the door to the last room she hasn’t checked yet. It has taken her a length of time she cannot easily quantify to work up the nerve to move around, rather than stay put somewhere that seems safe. The room is empty. She curls up in a corner, and Jon feels the moment she gives up on looking for her mother. She understands that there is no comfort to be found in other people. There is only the night and the unrelenting dark.

He shudders, clenching his hand into a fist and hunching his shoulders. “Let’s just keep moving.” His voice is hollow.

Martin is looking down and frowning. “Jon,” he says, “stop that. You — you’re hurting yourself.” Moving swiftly from disapproval to alarm, he reaches out and tugs on Jon’s hand, forcing them both to halt.

Jon immediately tries to pull away. Then he goes still. Even without being able to make out Martin’s expression, he can feel the force of his glare.

But Martin’s fingers are gentle and warm against his clammy skin as he unravels the backpack straps. “What were you thinking?” he chides. “This is your burnt hand, you’ve probably already got nerve damage. It can’t be good to cut off the circulation like this.”

Jon remains silent.

After a few more seconds of fruitless squinting, Martin releases his hand and fumbles for the other one. “Come on, we need more light.”

Jon still doesn’t say anything. When they walk more quickly, the children’s names and plights reel off dizzyingly in his head. He closes his eyes, as if that would stop the deluge.

Martin’s grip on his hand tightens. “Jon? What’s going on? Talk to me.”

The names change. Not!Sasha, Jude Perry, Jared Hopworth. Oliver Banks, Arthur Nolan, Callum Brodie. It doesn’t seem to make a difference whether Jon smites or spares an avatar. He’d stood in that Flesh garden and said I can’t save everyone. I can’t save anyone. Now he really knows it’s true. Martin should know too, but he’d said he hates when Jon says things like that.

He bites his lip. He’s not good at lying, so eventually he settles on a partial truth. “I keep... knowing things about the children.”

“I thought you could control that now.” Martin pauses, then asks, “How much longer until we’re out of here?”

Faint static rises as Jon checks. “The equivalent of seventeen minutes.” Time and distance have little meaning now, so his estimate is based on footsteps and heartbeats.

Somewhere along the street, a little boy pulls a storybook from his bedside table and flicks on a nightlight. Jon knows the bulb will cast strange shadows in the room, and fizzle out before he reaches the end of The Monster at the End of This Book. Jon knows that that’s the all-time bestselling Sesame Street book, and that the plot revolves around Grover pleading with the reader not to turn pages because he’s afraid to meet the monster at the end. Of course, there is no monster except for lovable, furry old Grover himself. That’s been the case every other time the boy has read the book. He won’t know this time, though. Not for sure.

Martin is calling his name to get his attention. He’s already begun raising his free hand, presumably to slap Jon again, when Jon hurriedly says, “Sorry. I was just... It’s fine.” He gives a breathy, half-hearted laugh. “Anyway, it’ll be over for me in sixteen minutes.”

A beat. “Oh,” Martin says quietly. “I get it. You’re choosing to know. Because you feel guilty.”

Jon frowns. He really is terrible at hiding anything from him. “I’m already leaving them to suffer,” he points out. “The least I can do is... bear witness.”

Martin takes a deep breath and exhales noisily. “That’s not what you’re doing, though,” he says, and something about his tone makes them both stop walking at the same time. “You’re punishing yourself, Jon. Don’t.”

“Why? I’m the one who opened the door and ended the world. I’m the reason they’re stuck here.” Jon pulls his hand back from Martin’s and gestures wildly to indicate their surroundings. Even as he speaks, he wants to make himself stop, but the words keep spilling out of him, spiky and bitter and everything he wishes he could keep bottled up instead of taking it out on Martin all the time. “It’s these kids, but it’s also everyone else in the domains we’ve passed so far. If killing avatars doesn’t release those people, what am I supposed to do to Magnus to fix all this?”

He really wishes they’d decided to have this conversation somewhere they could properly see each other. As it is, he doesn’t know what to make of the long pause before Martin replies.

“I don’t know. But what are you saying — that we shouldn’t be going to the Panopticon in the first place? We can’t just give up.”

As soon as he says this, Jon reels backward as if he’s been physically struck. Because he has been giving up, he realises. With every encounter they’ve had, he’s been feeling more and more like he can’t do anything to help.

“We’ll figure it out,” Martin says, closing the distance between them again by taking a few steps forward. “And we’ll make things better. I know it.”

Jon searches his face, or at least, what he can make out of it. “What about what you said before you heard the statement? You said leaving children in this place would be inexcusable. That it would be monstrous.”

He’d made that call before Martin had even noticed anything amiss. Then he’d made his point to Martin in the cruellest way, knocking on Callum Brodie’s door and watching Martin’s reactions. He’d barely protested when Martin asked to hear about the domain, and afterwards he’d asked Was that what you wanted? like he’d been vindicated by his horror, like it’d satisfied some terrible hunger. Did that make him a puppet of the Eye, hoping to squeeze a little more dread out of Martin?

Or did it make him the monster at the end of all this, himself addicted to dragging the trauma out of people?

“I think the monstrous thing,” Martin says slowly, “would have been to kill a thirteen-year-old boy to feel less helpless, when you knew it might not have helped all the children he was tormenting. I think every one of our options here is monstrous, so if you’re second-guessing the one we went with, you’re probably on the right track.”

The words our and we reverberate in Jon’s mind for a second.

“I think I made it too much your choice,” he blurts out. “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to have all the answers. I — I rely on you a lot, so I don’t lose myself. I’m afraid I may already have.”

Martin makes a sort of upset noise and wraps him in a hug, which Jon returns after a moment of being stunned.

“It’s alright,” Martin says, his voice muffled as he presses his face into Jon’s hair. “From now on, we make decisions together, and if some of them are bad, we try to make up for it when we get to London. We rely on each other. Okay?”

Jon thinks there just isn’t enough strength or hope to go around, at the end of the world. But still he nods, and says, “Okay,” and holds Martin close in the dark.

Far above them, the filament in a broken streetlight buzzes and flickers. Once, twice.

[also available on AO3 here]

[my TMA fic on AO3]

#the magnus archives #TMA spoilers #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #mimofic

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wenttworth · 4 years

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5 times martin used a pet name and 1 time jon did

The first time was on the train to Scotland, hastily-packed bags at their feet and hands clasped tightly together. Jon was sitting perfectly still, eyes closed and concentrating on their surroundings, Knowing everything that he could. There was nothing suspicious, but it wasn’t like the Beholding didn’t often let him know of danger seconds before it happened. Peter Lukas might be gone, torn apart and cast… somewhere far away, but he had never been the biggest danger. He was even useful, right now. The statement of an Avatar was more nourishing than a normal human. He could push further without risking quite so quick an onset of starvation. Even if he would have risked that and more to keep Martin safe.

Martin was sleeping, a dreamless sleep that Jon hoped would dissipate the vestiges of the fog that still clung to his mind. Even out of the Lonely, he’d still been a little faded, quieter. Like he was trying to fold himself smaller. His eyes weren’t yet back to the shining brown they usually were.

Martin stirred, and Jon rubbed his thumb over his knuckles.

“Jon?” His voice was quiet. Subdued. Everything Martin shouldn’t have to be.

He let go of the Beholding. They were safe. Only Basira knew where they were, and she knew how to keep a secret. For now, they didn’t need to worry. He leant against Martin’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he reassured him.

Martin kissed the top of his head. “You should sleep, love.”

If he’d been standing, Jon was sure he would have fallen over. Love. Love, love, love. He knew that Martin loved him—Knew and knew—but such a casual affirmation. Something present and coming directly from Martin. No vague, cut off sentences or rumours. No past tense, as if he were resigning that feeling to the fog.

What could he say to that? What could he say to the one person who had always trusted and believed in him? Who had loved him so unconditionally?

He raised their entwined hands and pressed a kiss to Martin’s knuckles. Martin’s breath audibly caught in his throat at the gesture, cupping Jon’s cheek with his free hand. Jon’s pulse was pounding in his throat when he tilted up his chin. His eyes were bright, the dull grey finally gone to reveal the warm brown Jon had missed so much over the past few months.

Martin was only a hairbreadth’s away when the elderly lady sat in front of them coughed pointedly.

They pulled away hurriedly, Martin biting his lip against a smile that made Jon’s chest fill with light bubbles.

The only food available at the cabin was instant noodles and canned vegetables, which Martin threw into a pot with a distinct look of disgust as Jon cleaned some plates he found in his hunt through the cupboards. He’d found a map of the area in one of them, and measured the distance to the nearest town—3 km by footpaths. “We probably have time to go to the supermarket today,” he said.

Martin twisted some noodles around his fork and prodded at the very English boiled vegetables. “Let’s do that.”

The sun was setting when they left, Martin easily slipping his hand into Jon’s. It was bracing, the wind through the highlands, the emptiness of their surroundings. London was always so crowded and claustrophobic.

“If it wasn’t for the vertigo I think I’d like the Vast,” he said. Thoughtlessly.

Martin flinched, and Jon squeezed his hand. “Sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I just don’t want to think about…” He sighed. “It’s just that we have a chance to leave that behind, maybe.”

Jon held his tongue. He could feel the vague hunger pulling at his mind. Still easy enough to ignore for now, but it would only get worse. He would never be able to leave it behind. Still, if Martin wanted to… leave it. To start over. Jon would be the last person to stop him. Not that he was brave enough to bring it up now. “Okay,” he said, leaning his head against Martin’s shoulder.

“It is beautiful,” Martin said. “I always missed spaces like this in London.”

The supermarket was well-stocked enough with spices and vegetables that Jon was suitably inspired. He wouldn’t be butchering his grandmother’s recipes, at least. Martin made himself… well, useful in getting things from the higher shelves that Jon had no hope in reaching, having to hide a smirk the entire time.

Jon was comparing a couple of bags of chickpeas when he asked: “How is your cooking, Jon?”

Jon blinked. “Fine? Why?”

“Well, you… you set the microwave in the staff room on fire the last time you used it.”

The only time he’d used it. He wrinkled his nose. “I’d never used a microwave before. My grandmother was…” he considered. “Traditional. She didn’t grow up with a microwave so she didn’t see why I would need one. I think my parents had one, though.”

That seemed to satisfy him. “I’ll go get some meat. Did you want any in particular?”

Jon decided on the locally sourced chickpeas, if only to see if chickpeas grown in Scotland were any different. He dropped the bag in the trolley. “Chicken. Lamb if they have any.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Martin said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.

Jon dropped the other bag of chickpeas and stared in disbelief as the bag split and the runaway legumes covered the floor. “Oh,” he said.

At least his skin was dark enough that it was difficult to tell when he blushed.

“I’ll go get the meat,” Martin said, obviously holding back a laugh.

Jon made a vague noise of agreement and braced himself when a shop assistant approached.

They’d settled into a sort-of routine within the week. Jon would wake before Martin, press a kiss to his forehead as he grumbled and rolled away, and be halfway through making breakfast by the time Martin joined him. It took him much longer to wake up than Jon, as he wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist and yawned against his hair. He always seemed fascinated with his shoulders, where the tops Jon stole from Martin were falling off them. He never even avoided the scars, kissing them just the same as the scant clear skin.

The kitchen smelled like home, the freshly crushed garlic, the pitta bread in the oven, the cumin, the slightly sour yoghurt. And it was even better with Martin’s arms around him, the warmth and softness pressed against his back.

“Awake?” Jon asked.

“Almost,” he said, before pulling away and rooting through the cupboard for the tea. “Could you fill the kettle, darling?” he continued.

Jon dropped the wooden spoon into the saucepan, making Martin jump with the noise.

“Are you—?”

“Okay! Good. I’m… fine,” Jon said, throwing tahini and garlic into the pot haphazardly. His grandmother would be horrified. It took another couple of seconds of Martin watching him in amusement before he remembered the kettle.

The hunger was starting to hit him harder, and although he did his best to keep it from Martin, it was within a few days that he brought it up.

Jon had climbed onto Martin where he’d been lounging on the sofa, overcome with a fatigue that he knew wouldn’t fade until he found another statement. The TV was playing a documentary, and Jon idly corrected the information until he drifted off with Martin gently stroking his hair.

He barely remembered his dreams, but he didn’t feel any more rested when he woke up.

“I’ll call Basira and ask her to send some statements, okay?” Martin said when Jon shifted.

“Okay,” he mumbled, muffled against Martin’s chest.

“How bad is it now?”

Jon sat up. “Bearable. I can wait another couple of days before I use the one Basira managed to sneak out. Then it will give her time to send more.”

Martin’s hands had settled on his thighs, rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs. “Do you think a blindfold might help?”

“A blindfold?”

“I was thinking about the, uh… quitting method, and maybe it could help? Short-term, obviously.”

It would be vulnerable, definitely. But it was Martin. He could trust no one if he couldn’t trust Martin.

Jon leant down to kiss him, smiling at the surprised hitch in his breath. “Couldn’t hurt,” he answered. “Do you have anything I can use?”

He did, in fact, and before long he’d fetched a length of soft, black fabric. Jon was sat between his legs, and remained perfectly still as Martin gently tied it around his eyes. He was even careful of his hair, smoothing it down so it wouldn’t catch in the knot.

It was… uncomfortable, frankly. Something so foreign and against what his patron was. Everything inside him fought against it for a long moment, which peaked when Martin’s hands left him.

He jolted, fear flooding him. Fear of the unknown, urging him to rip off the blindfold, to make sure that Martin was still with him, that Martin was safe. He couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever. “Martin,” he exclaimed, and Martin immediately took hold of his shoulders. Jon pushed back, clumsily grabbing his wrists to guide his arms around him. “Don’t let go,” he insisted.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Martin repeated, pressing kiss after kiss to every part of exposed skin he could reach. He was squeezing tighter now, almost enough for Jon to be breathless.

The hunger didn’t go away. He could still… Know if he wanted. But without that constant barrage of information that came from humankind’s most important sense, it was easier to focus on something else. Like touch, the way the soft, stretchy fabric felt against his eyes, his hair tickling the exposed skin of his shoulder, and… Martin. Around him, holding him with a strength that took Jon’s breath away, the gentle but desperate way he was kissing his neck, that spot just behind his ear that always had been way too sensitive, his thighs pressed tight around Jon’s hips.

“Breathe, love,” Martin whispered against his shoulder, and Jon obeyed, letting himself sink into Martin’s chest.

He didn’t know what it was, the effect that those little endearments had on him. He’d always assumed he’d had a general hatred for being called anything except his name, still shuddered uncomfortably when he remembered the only time Georgie had called him a pet name. But with Martin, it was somehow different. Maybe it was just how absolutely he trusted Martin. Maybe everything he’d avoided with Georgie would be different with Martin. It was a trust that he’d had to purposefully choose in the beginning, of course, but now was easy as breathing.

“Okay?” Martin asked softly.

“Y-yes,” Jon replied, barely able to remember how mouths worked.

“Better?”

“Easier to focus on something else. So yes. Just… just don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Martin vowed.

Martin was, as Jon had discovered much too late, far from an idiot.

He was more observant than Jon, for one—Ceaseless Watcher be damned—sharp and quick to pick up on clues that others overlooked, and brilliant at weaving lies that were close enough to truth that they could barely be distinguished.

“So… we had three dogs when I was growing up, I never came out to my mother, the reason I like spiders so much is because they were the subject of the first documentary I ever watched, and I…” He bit his lip against a laugh that threatened to bubble out. “I was suspended from high school for smoking behind the bike sheds.”

Jon snorted. “Well, the last one is the most typically British high school experience, so I’m thinking that’s true.”

Martin grinned.

“You’re not really a dog person, though,” Jon continued.

“Spider person,” Martin joked.

“Oh, don’t,” Jon said with a shudder. “So, is that the lie?”

Martin shook his head. “I never came out to my mother.”

Jon was quiet for a moment, then reached to pull the blindfold away from his eyes. “Why not?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t have to,” he answered. “She, uh… walked in on me and my first boyfriend.”

Jon blinked, before laughing. “Well that must have been a bit awkward.”

Martin’s skin, being a couple of shades lighter than Jon’s, was therefore a lot easier to tell when he was blushing. Especially with how close they were to each other. “She was not… impressed,” he said carefully.

Jon pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, honey. Your turn.”

Jon had been on his knees to easier reach Martin’s mouth, and when his strength gave way he collapsed awkwardly on his side. Martin patted his cheek. “Do you… would you prefer if I didn’t call you l-like that? You always react quite…” he trailed off and pulled his hand away from Jon’s cheek.

Jon caught it, kissed the knuckles. “I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted. “I just… I’m not used to it. I’ve been… I’ve been alone for a while.”

Martin watched him, picked up one of the curls that were lying haphazardly on the bedsheets. He twisted it around his finger before lying down next to him, easily shifting to accommodate Jon as he settled more comfortably in his arms.

There was hope bubbling in his chest. He’d spent the last couple of weeks trying to quash it, surely something would go disastrously wrong today, or the next day, or the next, but he couldn’t help it. Martin’s easy optimism was rubbing off on him, that simple but powerful wish of happiness.

“We should probably start thinking of getting jobs,” Jon said. He twined their fingers together, tracing the lines on his palms. He paused at Martin’s ring finger but shook off the idea. Too soon.

“I think the library’s hiring,” Martin said. “And the supermarket is probably hiring.” He pulled a face at that but sighed, tucking his face against Jon’s neck.

It was exhilarating to plan something not about the Institute, for once. He hadn’t even tried Knowing anything for days. Maybe the Eye’s hold on him was weakening. Maybe Eli—Jonah had found someone else to torture.

“Let’s try the library first,” Jon said.

Jon sang more, these days.

It was a small thing that Martin had noticed within the first couple of days. When Jon was relaxed, he was always singing something quietly. Everything from classic rock to whatever they were listening to on the radio. He’d sang Lacrimosa in the shower the other day. More than that, he was good. All the control and sweetness of someone who had grown up singing in a choir.

Martin tried to concentrate on the book he’d bought the day previously, but his eye was continuously drawn to the sliver of the kitchen he could see through the open door. Jon was dancing in and out of view as he rummaged around the kitchen. The kettle boiled a couple of times and his voice was louder as he fought with the noise. The smell of cumin and lemon and tahini and garlic spilled from the kitchen, a smell Martin was quickly coming to associate with home. With comfort and love and everything he’d barely let himself dream to hope for.

It wouldn’t last. But it could.

A steaming cup of tea appeared in his peripheral and Jon dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Here you go, darling,” he said.

He’d finally been the first to wake this morning. Jon was beautiful in the early morning light falling across the bed, wearing another of Martin’s t-shirts that he’d managed to squirrel away. He’d been curled towards Martin as if even in his sleep he was seeking that warmth.

He hadn’t been able to bear pulling away or moving, in case he woke him and shattered the moment.

Martin took the tea on autopilot, and his mouth went dry when he registered Jon’s words. His eyes were welling up with tears. He never could have expected this, from Jon or anyone. Jon was always so gentle with him now. Not walking on eggshells or anything like that. Just… loving. In a way that Martin had never experienced before.

“So, there’s that new café opening up in town,” Jon started. “I thought we…” he trailed off when he saw Martin’s face. “Martin?” he asked.

That was another thing. He’d always loved how Jon had said his name, the way his voice curled around the first syllable. When they’d first met just that was enough to send shivers crawling up his spine. But now when it was said so gently, so affectionately, it was almost unbearable.

Martin gave a short laugh as Jon scrambled to get both their tea safe on the low wooden table and climb into Martin’s lap at the same time, pushing his hair back from his forehead to kiss it. “What’s wrong?” he asked desperately, brushing tears away with his thumb where they were falling over his cheeks. Miraculously none of the tea had spilled.

Martin laughed again, pressing his face into Jon’s thin chest as Jon tightened his grip around him. Like he was afraid Martin would fade away.

It had been tempting even nowadays to fade, to give up on this happiness that he wanted to deserve but couldn’t. There was still a chance it wouldn’t work, but that was life, right? Didn’t mean he couldn’t love with everything he could muster whilst it did last.

“I’m fine, I just didn’t expect it,” he explained.

Jon chuckled, worry still warm in his eyes. God, he was beautiful like this, hair loose and falling over his shoulders, still mussed from where Martin had been clutching it earlier. He pushed his hair aside so he could press a kiss there. He never wore his own clothes around the house, and it satisfied some jealous part of Martin that he didn’t like to acknowledge. Well, he’d never claimed to be perfect.

“And you thought you should stop using pet names,” Jon scolded, still stroking his hair, dotting kisses on his forehead. Generally acting like a fussy mother hen. “Hypocrite,” he continued fondly.

It just felt so good to be held, to have someone who was just as happy to take care of him as Martin was. He hadn’t realised until their first night here, Jon lying on his chest, just how much he craved someone’s touch. It had almost been uncomfortable, the way his skin tingled wherever they touched. Some parts of him had constantly been urging him to back away and put more distance between them, but Jon had looked so exhausted on their journey and in the end he couldn’t bear to wake him. Even now a hateful part in the back of his mind was encouraging him to reject Jon’s caresses. He flinched away sometimes, when Jon caught him off-guard, but it was becoming easier to accept.

“Okay?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Martin said.

#jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #the magnus archives #tma #I didn't mean to use the 5+1 format it just happened #my writing

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thefinalyeehaw · 3 years

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(Obey Me Fic) Deathly Hearts {Ch. 2 - The Great Mammon and the Third-born Brother}

The House of Lamentation was more refined from the usual image of an academy's dorm house. The entrance hall was a grand room; vaulted ceilings emphasized its vastness. The walls were luxuriously decorated with oil paintings and golden light fixtures. Two stone statues of dragons sat hunched over at the curve of the dual staircases as if to attack any unwelcome guest. The floor shined with a fresh layer of wax on the wood surface, a long, intricate runner stretched across the length of the shiny floor ending in another room beyond the grand hall. The rug looked to be recently laundered, definitely by the command of Lucifer.

"This is the House of Lamentation. It's one of the dorms here at R.A.D. Well, it's not JUST one of the dorms. It's the dorm reserved for student council members." Mammon's voice echoed as he strolled into the center of the hall. He gestured lazily around like a bored tour guide.

His fluffy white hair contrasted the dark colors of the entrance hall. Killian noticed a trend with the demonic brothers; all were extremely attractive. Mammon was a handsome demon with a slender yet athletic physique, his tan skin reminiscent of warm chocolate. His golden-blue eyes reminded her of gold and sapphire; a few necklaces she owned came to mind.

Before meeting Mammon, Mattie and Killian were introduced to three other brothers. First, there was Asmodeus, the fifth-born brother, beautiful with wavy champagne hair. The demon's orange eyes held a yellow gradient, reminiscent of a human world sunset. The fifth-born spoke with saccharine words and coquettish mannerism. However, the reaper wasn't blind to the way his gaze slid down her physique before shooting her an impish smile. Killian scoffed in response, quickly neutralizing her face when Diavolo looked at her quizzically. She knew Diavolo would ask her later about it. Fucking Great.

Next, the fourth-born Satan, devilishly handsome as Lucifer. Golden blond locks, reminding Killian of a particular bothersome angel, and smoldering green eyes, blurring into yellow, heavily contrasted the hall's gothic style. Killian grew unnerved as Satan spoke, sensing the unbridled rage concealed by the poise of a gentleman's demeanor. Unlike Asmodeus's seduction failures on Killian and Mattie, Satan's wrath was concerned, to say the less, for many reasons. Many included the safety of her and the human as she doubted the Avatar of Wrath was exceptionally patient with others. Since he greeted the reaper with the warmth of an iceberg.

Last was Beelzebub, the sixth-born brother. Standing the tallest of the other demons, except for Diavolo. A disinterested frown etched on the towering man's handsome face, violet eyes stared blankly at Mattie and Killian. Clear hints of muscles barely hidden underneath his rumpled uniform as Beelzebub shifted slightly. He spoke bluntly to them before complaining about his hunger to Lucifer, prompting a glare from the firstborn.

Although Killian would admit rooming with attractive demons for a year is a plus, to an extent. Honestly, she might have flirted a bit with Mammon or Satan if one wasn't so full of himself and the other being a ticking bomb of rage. The arrogance practically bleeds from Mammon's attitude from the moment he barged into the assembly hall, spewing useless threats and shooting glares at her and Mattie. But, of course, he is a totally insufferable bastard. Even better than Lucifer appointed him as the unofficial babysitter of her and Mattie as luck loved to fuck Killian over sometimes.

Mattie strolled further into the room, eyes twinkling at a stone dragon statue. They hovered a hand over the stone, fingers mimicking the curved designs on the dragon's chest. "So, I guess we are members of the student council, then." They awed. Killian smiled at the child-like curiosity on the human's face. "It seems like it. Although, oddly, mostly all of the council are brothers."

Mammon's face soured at the reaper's words, the second-born began to rant, "Lucifer, Asmo, and the others take every chance they can get to insult me. Callin' me scum, sayin' that I'm a money-grubber and stuff...but I'm an officer on the student council, same as them. The elite of the elite, the top of the R.A.D. social pyramid." Mattie and Killian exchanged looks as they watched as Mammon grew more riled, thriving the captive attention of two new members.

Mammon's gesticulation grew more dramatic as he became more impassioned with the speech of his sheer greatness, "In other words, I'm a big shot. A REAL big shot. Like, even regular big shots are impressed by what a big shot I am. So don't you go thinking that I'm just some ordinary demon. I'm nothing like those other peons walking the halls here!"

Killian grinned, "I doubt any of those 'peons' would dare to compare themselves to the great Mammon." Mattie hid a laugh behind their hand as Mammon puffed out his chest proudly. Apparently missing the sarcasm oozing from Killian's words as she studied a painting of an unsmiling couple dressed in Victorian attire.

"Exactly!" Mammon exclaimed, believing Killian's words as the human let out a snort behind him. The second-born cleared his throat "...Anyways, the long and short of it is that us seven brothers all live here together." He quickly summarized, his golden-blue eyes never leaving the emotionless porcelain mask as Killian turned around. "It's time I show you to your rooms. Follow me, and ya betta not get lost!" Swiftly pivoting on his feet, Mammon ascended up the left staircase. His stomps clicked against the marble steps.

Mattie hurriedly followed the demon up the stairs as Killian lagged behind; a bulletin board pinned to the wall against the second landing caught her attention. Although she was a princess, Killian enjoyed working. As a young reapling, Killian helped her nanny with simple tasks such as cooking and cleaning. As an adult, she performed countless jobs in the human realm, accumulating vast life experiences and skills. Maybe she'll ask Diavolo about part-time jobs in the Devildom when their first meeting is scheduled.

Unlike Mattie's tasks as a R.A.D. student, Killian's tasks included monthly meetings with Diavolo, a check-in on her progress in the Devildom. The prince's eyes shone as he cheerfully commented on how he looked forward to their sessions. It seemed he was suggesting the meetings were like a hang-out between old friends and not a conversation between a student and the headmaster of R.A.D. Not wanting to curb the prince's enthusiasm, Killian expressed how she also looked forward to it as Lucifer stared her down like a hawk.

"Hey, don't just stand there with your jaw open. Hurry up, or I'm gonna leave ya behind." Killian's eyes moved towards Mammon standing at the top of the staircase, arms crossed impatiently. "If there's something you wanna ask me, you'd best do it now," Killian snorted at the demon's growl.

Mammon acts like a snarling dog, but he becomes a meek puppy whenever someone bares their teeth at him. On the phone, the demon behaved imperious, dismissing any time she or Mattie brought up what Lucifer had told them as if he was an important king wasting precious time on peasants. After Mammon's audacity to shout through the phone, Killian's patience wore thin. She quickly figured out the Avatar of Greed had a cowardly side. He yelped when the reaper subtly threatened to rip his tongue from his body if he ever interrupted her again.

The slip of cowardice vanished quickly as Mammon regained his crass persona. Although she unintentionally wounded his ego, the drop gave insight into how Killian could handle Mammon if his overconfidence got out of hand again. "Nothing in particular. I just got lost in my head a bit, sorry," Killian flashed an apologetic smile, quickening her climb up the stairs.

Mammon eyed her, determining whether to question the reaper further. "Hmph...fine then." He grunted, not caring enough to pry. "Now, I'm gonna give you a piece of advice, so listen up. If you wanna survive even a day here in the Devildom, you'd better listen REAL close to what I'm about to say." Mammon stopped to turn towards the two exchange students.

Golden-blue eyes observed them, shifting between the two curious students. He leaned close if he was about to reveal a big secret. "If it ever looks like a demon is about to attack you…" Mammon's voice dropped low. Killian ignored the shiver down her spine at the huskiness.

"...run away. Either that or die," Mammon stated, drawing back to gauge the reactions. Mattie blinked, their eyebrows furrowed in sheer confusion, their mind progressing Mammon's advice.

"Huh?" They muttered under their breath as Killian raised an eyebrow.

"How about this? I vote for YOU to die, Mammon." A venomous voice hissed. The three turned as another demon stormed down the hallway towards them, orange-blue eyes glared daggers into the second-born.

"D'ah…! Levi…" Mammon paled, eyes widened in surprise like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. The second-born stiffly gestured to the fuming demon, failing to school his features. "Uh, l-listen up, human! This here is Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy. He's the oldest of us brothers." His voice slightly trembled.

Mammon coughed as a fake smile appeared on his face. "Since his name's sorta hard to say, you can just call him Levi!" He began to usher Mattie and Killian further down the corridor, trying to flee the anger of the third-born.

Levi's glare intensified. "Mammon, give me back my money. Then go crawl in a hole and die." He demanded, stomping closer to the white-haired demon. Unsurprisingly, Levi was just as attractive as his brothers, with fair skin that lacked any blemishes or scars. His indigo hair was styled nicely with sweeping bangs, framing his orange-purple eyes that glowered at Mammon.

Mammon winced under his brother's angry stare, "Come on, I told you I'd get it to you! I just need a little more time. … And you still want me to die even after I give it back? That's real harsh, Levi!" Need more time? Sounds like famous last words. Killian wasn't too surprised the Avatar of Greed was indebted to others.

The frown on Levi's face deepened, "You need a little more time? How much more?"

"A little more, okay?! A little more means a little more!" The second-born tried to reason, but to no avail.

"You've been telling me that for the last 200 years, Mammon." Levi shot back. Mattie made a choking sound while Killian let out a low whistle; that is a long time to wait for the money.

"Hey, no! It hasn't been 200 years! It's been 260! Get it right, Levi!" A pause of silence stretched as the three stared at Mammon in disbelief.

Killian let out a baffled sound, "Why would you correct him on that?" She couldn't believe Mammon actually corrected how many years he owned Levi's money. She must have offended Diavolo in the past, and now he was punishing her by making this idiot her guardian as revenge. Killian made a note to be more cordial to the prince during her stay. Maybe she and Mattie could upgrade to a more competent guide as a result.

Levi sighed at his brother's dumb remark, obviously used to Mammon's lack of filter. "Unbelievable. Seriously Mammon, you're-"

"I'm what? Scum? Is that what you're gonna say?" An unreadable emotion flashed in Mammon's eyes, frowning at Levi.

"-you're a lowlife and a waste of space." Levi continued to spew insults.

Mammon let an offended gasp, "Hey! Come on, that's even worse!"

"Whatever." Levi rolled his eyes, crossing his arms impatiently. "Just give me back my money. I need it to buy the Blu-ray box set of Journey to the Devildom: The Tale of a Little She-Devil and Her Reluctant Companion." His angry face slightly brightened at the mention of the show, "The initial round of copies includes promotional tickets to a live event as a special bonus."

Mammon huffed, growing frustrated with the conversation. "I've got no idea what you're even talking about, but it doesn't matter! Because I don't even have any money to give you. How am I supposed to give back money I don't have, huh?!"

"So then. You're telling me you refuse to pay me back?" The air in the room grew thicker as the tension built.

"...What? You looking for a fight, is that it?" The smirk on Mammon's face fueled the boiling tension as the air pulsed with solid auras. The situation was becoming increasingly dangerous. Demon fights were notoriously nasty to witness. Killian feared Mattie and her were about to get stuck in the crossfire of one.

"Mattie," Killian spoke low, catching the human's attention as they watched the brothers' bickering. "Stay behind me no matter what happens." She felt almost bad as Mattie flinched at her words. Their eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. With the potential of the bickering becoming a brawl, Killian knows she can easily defend herself if someone happens. Still, Mattie doesn't have the power to protect themself from something as brutal as a demon fight. Mattie said nothing as they quickly followed Killian's order, stepping behind the tall woman, partially hidden behind her slender frame.

Killian raised her right hand slightly, her thumb stroking the obsidian ring on her ring finger. She felt the familiar tingle of energy warming her arm as it swiftly spread through her body, ready to activate her scythe at a moment's notice.

As if sensing the mounting stress of the room, Mammon turned his attention to the two exchange students. Killian remained rigid, her arm raised to her chest with feet firmly planted to the carpeted floor. The porcelain mask was void of all expressions. Two piercing blue eyes glowed in the shadows of the eye slits, trained on the scene as if waiting for an opening to defend. Mattie stood semi-hidden behind the alert reaper, watching the scene, fear etched on their face as their frame slightly trembled.

"Listen, you two. You remember my advice from before about what to do when demons attack? Well. You're about to witness that for real. So…" Mammon inched backward, walking a bit further in the hallway. Killian's eyes widened at Mammon's flighty action, wasn't he about to—.

"Hold on. I thought your advice was to either run away or—damnit, Mammon! That ass...he ran off…!" Levi screeched furiously as Mammon sprinted down the empty corridor, vanishing past a sharp turn.

Mattie stumbled out from behind Killian, taking in a shaky breath as their eyes stared down the hallway where Mammon had once been. "What just happened?" Shock trembled in their voice, gawking at the fact the second-born had just ditched Killian and them at the first sign of trouble.

Killian heavily sighed as she relaxed her stand, rolling the tension out of her neck and shoulders. It wasn't indeed a surprise Mammon escaped at the first mention of conflict. She figured that the second-born brother was a coward. Rarely do cowards actually fight, usually fleeing as Mammon had done. "Do you realize what just happened? Mammon used you as a distraction to get away from me!" The third-born retorted as Levi glanced over to Killian and Mattie, irritated by his older brother's escape. "Or maybe I should say he used both of you as sacrifices."

"I think it is a little bit of both," Killian commented. However, she didn't appreciate the slight blame behind Levi's words as if they were naïve toddlers swindled for their candy.

Levi ignored the two as he rambled, "I'll admit that Mammon is one of the scummiest scumbags you'll ever meet...a total lowlife. But still, that was pretty dumb of both of you letting him use you like that."

"Excuse me?" Killian placed her hands on her hips, angrily gritting her teeth.

Levi was too ensnared to notice the increasing amount of magic slipping from the frustrated reaper as he chose to continue his rant. "This is EXACTLY why reapers and humans are—Wait a second. Humans....yes, that's it...Suddenly, I've got an idea." Levi turned towards Mattie; his face grew a focused expression as he studied the human.

"You know what? Never mind." Mattie yelped in surprise as Levi's hand reached out and grasped their wrist, tugging them deeper into the house's unknown bowels. "Either way, you're coming with me."

Levi let out a squawk, jumping as a warm hand gripped his wrist. "No. We're coming with you." Killian stated, smirking at the glare Levi shot in her direction. "We're both exchange students, guests in your house. It is rude to ignore a guest, right?" Slipping on a polite smile as she not-so-gently tugged Mattie from the third-born's grip.

Where the human goes, I go, remained unsaid, but the warning was apparent in the reaper's tone. Killian wasn't dumb enough to let Levi drag Mattie away, to allow a demon to carry a human away in unknown territory. If Mammon was any instance, it showed that the brothers weren't as reliable as Killian initially thought. It was already apparent the disinterest of some brothers towards both Mattie and Killian. She already wanted to punch Lucifer, and she hadn't even known him for a day!

"Well, yes...but no! I don't want to bring a bunch of normies to my room!"

She ignored whatever the fuck a 'normie' was supposed to as she shot back, "Then, tell us right there and right now. If it is revenge on Mammon, you can tell us. I doubt he will be for a long while." The straightening of Levi's back revealed his idea did involve revenge. Taken back, Levi muttered about 'stupid normies' as he tried to make a decision, fidgeting.

Mattie shot a concerned look to the reaper, who gently patted their shoulder in reassurance. Killian predicted it was up to her and Mattie to properly survive this year. Telling Diavolo would only make matters worse and just piss Lucifer off more if he had the demon prince breathing down his breath. Not to mention how complaining to Diavolo would only hurt her reputation further. She couldn't afford that, especially this early in the program.

Fuck, she wanted a cigarette.

Killian felt a buzzing in her pocket. She reached into her jean pocket to retrieve the vibrating D.D.D. There were four unread messages from Mammon.

Mammon: Heya, I suddenly remembered I have some business I gotta take of. So, if ya need something, just ask Levi.

Bullshit.

Killian scoffed at the winking demon emoji Mammon had sent. It was a blatant attempt to placate her after his vanishing act.

Mammon: Oh, and just to make sure... Don't go around tellin' stuff to Lucifer, ya got that?

He sent a glaring demon emoji, which Killian promptly sent back to Mammon. But, of course, she wasn't planning to tell Lucifer to begin with. She might be a royal, but Mammon being a cowardly bastard wasn't worth the energy for a conversation.

She smirked as Mammon quickly sent a nervously grimacing emoji back. Oh, she had an excellent idea as she tapped the keyboard.

Killian: Okay, I won't tell Lucifer.

Killian: But Mammon, the next time you put on that stunt, you won't have the chance to run.

Killian slipped the phone back into her pocket, ignoring the buzzing on her thigh. Glancing back up at Levi, she grinned. "So, what is your good idea?"

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

I finally had the time and energy to edit this!!!

I hope you enjoy this chapter, please reblog and heart it if you want (constructive criticism is also appreciated!)

Stay in-tuned for the next chapter: How to train your Avatar of Greed (with blackmail).

Thank you!

#obey me #obey me mc #reapscape au #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan

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middleofnowhere92 · 3 years

Text

Yukka for my ATLA Rarepair Valentine’s Day Oneshots for @ljf613

A Crush

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sokka/Yue (Avatar) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, High School, 2000s, Alternate Universe - 2000s Summary: Ty Lee pressures her BFF Yue to confess her crush to Sokka on Valentine's Day. It doesn't happen as expected.

Read below the cut or an ao3

Ty Lee spun around in her seat, so she was facing her best friend, “Yu, you have to tell him today. It’s Valentine’s day, it would be soooo romantic.”

Yue looked around frantically and hissed back in a whisper, “I’m not telling him ever. He would never in a million years like me.” Ty Lee leaned her forearms on Yue’s desk, “Yu-yu, just stop. You’re like the prettiest person, ever. Of course he likes you. You have to tell him!”

“Tell who what?” Mr. Bumi looked down at the girls. All eyes in the class turned on the two, but Ty Lee easily piped in, “Well, Mr. Bumi we just wanted to know if you could tell us the physics of the Earth Kingdon’s ancient postal system again.” The entire class gave a groan of annoyance, but Mr. Bumi had already wandered back up to the front of the room to give his explanation.

Yue quickly shot a glance over at Sokka who was sitting in the back corner of the room focusing on the Nintendo DS that he was playing under his desk, while Toph tried to put a pencil through the gauge in his ear. At least he didn’t notice Yue and Ty Lee’s fumble like the rest of the class had.

The bell rang signaling it was time for them to go to their next class. The girls gathered their things and navigated the hallway. Ty Lee whined, “Yue, seriously, just go up to him and be like, ‘Hey cutie!’ It works every time.”

Yue hugged her books closer to her, “I’m not like you.” Ty Lee huffed a bang out of her face, “What’s that supposed to mean?” Yue rolled her eyes, “I’m not outgoing like you are.” Yue huffed into her seat in Political Science as Mr. Long Feng started rambling about who knows what.

Yue’s eyes flicked across the room until she saw him. He was bent over his desk furiously writing. But as Yue watched the way he moved his pen, it was evident he was drawing instead of taking notes. She took the time in this class to tune out the teacher and study Sokka. It wasn’t her fault he was so cute.

His blue eyes were bright as he smiled easily as Zuko made some comment to him. Sokka’s black hoodie was pulled up over his head, his brown chin length hair poking out of it.

Ty Lee hissed, “You need a plan to tell him.” Yue whispered back, “I do not need a plan.” Both girls jolted as Mr. Long Fend stood in front of them, “A plan for what ladies?” “Oh just a plan to ask you when our next group project is,” Ty Lee quickly answered. The class groaned and probably shot daggers at the two friends.

The bell rang and Mr. Long Feng called out, “I dismiss you, not the bell.” They all slumped back into their seats. Yue frowned. Long Feng was such an asshole. He was going to make them late for P.E.

He finally let them go and Yue and Ty Lee twisted and turned down the hallways to get to the locker rooms. They hurriedly changed out of their cheerleading uniforms. As they headed towards the gym Ty Lee tried again, “Yue just tell him.”

Yue pushed open the door to the gym with more force than necessary and felt it hit something, or rather someone. Yue hurried and said, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.” Then she spotted Toph on the floor and Zuko and Sokka looking at Yue like she had murdered their pet cat.

She held her hand out to help Toph, “I am so so sorry-” Toph pushed herself up and grumbled, “Can it, pretty princess. We all know you think you run the school. You don’t have to treat everyone else like crap.”

Yue choked out a sorry and then walked off. She heard Ty Lee arguing behind her, “It was an accident. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.” Toph shot back, “Your friend literally hit a blind person.”

Yue tuned out their voices and jogged away. She climbed underneath the bleachers and sat in the darkest corner. It was gross down here and frankly she shouldn’t be sitting there, but she felt like trash, so it might as well keep her company.

She remembered the times she hid here during basketball games, after Hahn had said something particularly mean to her. She hadn’t felt like smiling and cheering and waving pom poms for him. She hid here after they broke up and he spread every rumor he could about her.

So she hid here now, after she had hit a blind girl for Tui’s sake. She shouldn’t let Ty Lee get under her skin like that, she was just trying to help after all. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her, shoving her face into them as she cried. She had felt so lonely since her and Hahn broke up. She had lost everything, except for Ty Lee.

It had been nice to day dream about Sokka during class. It gave her some reprieve from the constant loneliness nagging at her. She had a crush on Sokka since she saw him freshman year, but she figured he would never like her. She was a cheerleader and he well, wasn’t anything close to that. So she had dated Hahn, who was captain of the basketball team and it ended up being a complete nightmare. She cried harder thinking about how stupid and naive she was.

She heard footsteps against the metal of the bleachers and said, “Ty, go away. Tell Zhao I’m on my period or something.” The steps kept coming, so Yue sniveled into the nest she had made in her knees, “Ty, seriously I’m fine. I was just so stupid to date Hahn you know? I should have known he was an asshole.” She paused and took a breath, “And I know you think I should tell Sokka I like him, but he’s never going to like me. You heard what Toph thinks about me. I mean she is right, what kind of bitch hits a blind girl.” Her rant trailed off as she cried.

A soft voice said, “Toph’s kind of overdramatic, I wouldn’t take her word for it.” Yue’s head snapped up, because that was not Ty Lee’s voice. Yue looked up and immediately tried to wipe away the tears on her face, “Sokka, I’m so sorry, I thought you were Ty Lee.” He gave her a small smile, “You don’t have to apologize so much.” She sniffed, “I know, I’m sorry.”

He sat and crossed his legs in front of her. His knees pressed at the holes in his black jeans, “Like, I said Toph kind of blew things out of proportion. We could totally tell it was an accident.” Yue looked down at the scars on her knees from years of cheer practice. His voice was still soft as he asked, “You okay?” She nodded, “Yeah, I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m just overreacting. Sorry.”

He snorted and she bit her lip realizing she had apologized again. She felt her cheeks warm up, embarrassed that this was their first real conversation.

He pulled a sharpie out of his pocket and started drawing on his sneakers. She watched, glad that all of his attention wasn’t on her. He spoke up, “If you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me.” She cautiously looked at him, “Why would you offer that? You hardly know me.” He shrugged, “You hardly know me and you like me apparently.”

Her eyes went wide as she remembered that being a part of her tearful rant. She chewed on her lip, unsure of what to say. She glanced at him and his focus was completely back on her. He spoke cautiously, “If you want we can do an activity sometime, get to know each other better.”

She laughed lightly, “An activity?” He gave her a small smile, chewing on his snake bite, “Yeah, maybe go somewhere a little more spacious than where we are now?” She giggled and realized that his easy way with people was what had pulled her to him in the first place.

Later that day, the other kids starred as the emo boy rolled up on his skateboard to the cheerleader’s locker.

The next day, Meng whispered to Moku, “I heard Sokka and Yue went on a date last night.”

Moku looked aghast, “Oh my Spirits, where?”

Meng filed her nails, “I think Dairy Queen.”

Moku rolled his eyes, “I doubt that’ll last.”

Yue had those doubts initially too as the rumor mill at school spread and questioned her-that she had the audacity to date someone out of her social circle.

But later that year, when Sokka walked her to her locker, Yue realized that he made her happy and that’s all she wanted.

#yukka #2000s au #emo sokka #ty lee and yue are brotp #mids atla rarepair oneshots

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firelordappa · 4 years

Text

The Secret Society [M] - Chapter One

Pairing: Sokka x OC

Word Count: 2813

Genre: Romance, baby. Fluff AND smut

Hello, everyone! I hope you give this story a read, I have lots of good things planned for it. I actually posted another version of the first chapter for this story but I decided to rewrite it and I like this version a lot better lmao.

In this story, Sokka is 22 and our main female love interest is 20:) Just in case you’re too lazy to do the math, that means that Aang is 19, Toph is 19, Katara is 21, and Zuko is 23.

Like I said, I have so many things planned for this story! Me and 2 friends actually planned out the entire plot line one night sitting in my car and I knew I immediately had to start writing. Before we start, I’d like to give a shout out to @mystic-kitten-writer for inspiring me to write a story of my own! If you haven’t already, go check out her story “Limerence”. It’s a Zuko fic with lots of fantastic smut and honestly just one of the best fics I’ve ever read.

Let’s get started!

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The sun felt nice on my skin. The warmth of the rays hit my cheeks and for a short period of time, it made me feel alive. My entire life has always felt like one huge identity crisis. I’ve never truly understood who I was or what my place was in the world. My family and I constantly live in a constant state of fear of people discovering who we really are.

It’s a secret that I have to bear with me for the rest of my life.

“Tenzin?” My mother’s soft voice spoke from behind me. I turned around and looked at her and it was in that moment that I realized how similar we look to each other. Her round, dark brown eyes that she passed down to me looked at me with concern as I sat here on the cliff side right behind our house. Her waist-length chocolate brown hair was pinned up neatly, showing off her angular cheekbones that even with age, have failed to lose their place on her face. My mother truly was beautiful.

“Yes, mother?” I stood up. I had a thin cotton dress on due to the heat that came with the summer time. But with the way she was looking at me, I knew it was time for me to go to work and that I would need to change. Just another day doing the exact same thing I’ve done for the past 10 years of my life. Life was monotonous for me and my family, and slowly but surely I’ve just come to accept it.

This is my life. There’s nothing I can do to change it.

I walked inside of our house and turned one corner to make it to my room. We lived in a pretty small house, but with just me and my mother that’s all we really needed. Both my mother and father both never really cared for luxurious things, but even if we did there was no way we could afford to live a lavish lifestyle. That’s why my father opened the ramen shop. So that our family could get by, even if it required us to scrape the bottom of the barrel sometimes.

But we were happy. That’s all we really needed.

I rummaged around my room trying to find my apron before finally finding it hiding underneath some of my blankets that had fallen onto the floor. I tied it maybe a little too tightly around my waist and then walked over to the mirror to check my appearance before I had to head out for the day. I braided a few pieces of hair before pinning them back, trying to look a little more put together. I’ve never been confident about my body, or anything about myself really. I think of myself as devastatingly average. Just someone who could blend into the background and nobody ever thinks twice about.

My parents always raised me to believe that I shouldn’t obsess over my looks. Shallow and surface level desires like that were just things that we didn’t believe in. When I was younger this was easier to follow, but now that I’m way past the marrying age and I still have nobody interested in courting me, it makes a girl wonder.

“What’s wrong with me?”

The shop was right next to our house. Very convenient, if you ask me. We typically didn’t get much business because just like us, everyone else in the village was also struggling financially. Most people found jobs within the city, but they’re restricted to working in the outer rings where money is still pretty short. Looks like we all have it out for us, huh?

“This is just what I needed!” A voice called me to look up from my place at the counter. A group of people walked through the doors and I immediately got excited because these were our first customers in a few days. One of the men caught my eye.

Gods, he was exquisite.

He was tall and had beautifully tanned skin. He had his hair tied up in a short ponytail and he carried himself with so much confidence that anyone would immediately be drawn to him. He had a lean figure and his arms were toned and on full display in the sleeveless shirt he was wearing. I need to stop gawking, I shouldn’t be thinking about him this way.

“Hello, everyone. You all look tired! You must have been traveling. What can I get for you today?” I broke out of my trance and walked over to the group to greet them. The Avatar…?

The beautiful man looked up at me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. His face was even more handsome up close. His full lips turned up into a smirk and he looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

I could feel how deeply I was blushing, but I hoped he didn’t notice. Is he flirting with me?

“Yes, we’re just passing through the area and looking for something to eat. None of us are really picky.” One of the women smiled at me as she spoke. She was also jaw-droppingly beautiful, and the similarities between her and the man led me to believe that they were siblings. What’s in the water where these people are from?

I laughed at her obvious attempt to try and divert her brother’s advances. “Alright, everyone. I’ll make sure to have it out for you as soon as possible.” I gave the group one last smile before turning on my heel and walking towards the back to my mother. I felt very flustered by that man’s...flirting? I’ve never had a guy show any interest in me at all. Is that what all of these feelings were in my chest?

It felt… good. Really good.

“Mother, we have customers!” I told her excitedly as I walked into the kitchen. She looked up and smiled warmly and I could tell that she was happy about finally having business. She immediately started fixing everyone’s food for them and while she did, I couldn’t help but daydream about the blue-eyed beauty sitting in our shop. My heart was fluttering just thinking about seeing him again in a few minutes. Would he try to flirt with me again?

Why were they traveling here in the first place?

My mother eventually finished up everyone’s meals and I took them on a serving plate to bring them out to the group. As soon as I walked through the doors the man snapped his head in my direction. His eyes slowly scanned my body up and down, drinking me in. The butterflies in my stomach came back immediately and I could feel the blush burning on my cheeks.

“Here’s your food, everyone. I hope you enjoy everything! If you have problems with anything please let me know. My name is Tenzin.” I placed everyone’s bowl in front of them. They all seemed eager to finally have something to eat, but as soon as I mentioned my name, the young Avatar’s eyes met mine. The look that he gave me almost sent chills down my spine because he was narrowing his eyes at me so suspiciously. I need to tread lightly…

“Tenzin? You know, that’s a very beautiful name.” I placed the man’s food in front of him as he spoke. I couldn’t help but let a giggle leave my lips. So he is flirting with me, after all.

“Thank you. I hope that you all enjoy your meals.” I gave the group a smile before nervously walking off. I didn’t really know how to respond to his advances towards me because I’ve never been in this position before. My whole body felt hot because of my nerves, and I’d rather just remove myself from the situation instead of trying to embarrass myself. They’re travelers anyway, I shouldn’t be worrying about this guy.

I’ll probably never see him again after today.

I stayed in the back with my mother until I felt like it had been long enough to check on the group again. Whenever I walked back into the main room, they were all gone except for one. The Avatar sat at the table with his eyes glued to the wall in front of him as if he were deep in thought. He quickly turned his head towards me once he had noticed that I had entered the room. Our eyes locked and I couldn’t really tell what was going on in his head, but clearly something was troubling him. I walked over to the table and sat across from him. We sat there in silence for a few minutes before he finally had the courage to speak.

“Who are you, Tenzin?” His stormy gray eyes bore into mine. I thought the Avatar was supposed to be an incredibly nice and kindhearted person, but this man was not the one that I had heard so many great things about. He seemed troubled - sad even. “I feel a very strong energy coming from you. The type of energy that I haven’t been around in over 100 years.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Avatar Aang.” I don’t know why in this moment I decided to act stupid. I knew exactly why he felt the shift in energy whenever he was around me. I just don’t think I’m ready to be able to join a side of the world that I was never truly accepted in. I knew what would become of me if I confessed my family’s one true secret. So in this moment, I continued to play dumb.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His voice rose slightly, the frustration in his voice clearly evident. “Please. Be honest with me.”

“I’m sorry. I- uh, I can’t.” I stood up from the table as soon as I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I rushed out of the shop and ran to the cliffside behind my house. This was the only place I knew that could help me feel better or just help me think whenever I felt overwhelmed. In this moment, I was certainly overwhelmed. Deep down I knew that the Avatar was certainly someone I could trust with my family burden. And yet, there was still a part of me that wanted to keep my secret a secret. I knew that if I revealed the one part of myself that I was always forced to keep hidden from everyone to him that my life would never truly be the same after that. I would be throwing myself into the same situation that got my father killed.

But there was a nagging voice inside of me screaming at me to use this as an opportunity to live the life I’ve always truly wanted to live. I imagined how much more full my life would be. I wouldn’t be stuck in this poor, tiny village serving ramen to people with my mother until I died. I would maybe meet a man, get married, have a few kids who would possibly end up bearing the exact same weight as I for their entire lives. We would be happy, and then eventually I would die. My life would’ve served no real purpose. It would continue to be the same boring, monotonous life that I lived every single day.

So, what if I changed my fate?

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It had been three days since Aang and his group had visited our shop. Everyone in the village knew their purpose for visiting now at this point. They were scouring the Earth Kingdom villages in search of benders so that they could help build up an army against rebels from the outer ring of Ba Sing Se. According to Aang, these rebels had poisoned the Earth King and murdered him in cold blood. He made sure to explain to everyone that this fight was meant to restore justice and peace within the city, but many people from the village were obviously not interested in fighting against the people that they worked with every single day. Some of us were the outer ring of Ba Sing Se. Regardless, they still managed to find a few benders from our village and convinced them to join their cause.

I knew that this was my chance to leave. They would probably be leaving soon, so I knew I would need to act fast. However, my nerves kept getting the best of me. What would happen to my mother? The shop? Was I really ready to drop everything and leave? I would be putting not only my own life in danger, but also my mother’s. My family’s.

It was that same afternoon that Avatar Aang walked back into our shop. I knew he was here to talk to me, but I still had reservations about the entire situation. I walked into the main room and he looked at me sternly.

“Follow me, please.”

He walked with me out of the shop. We ended up walking into the trees that surrounded the outskirts of the village until we stopped at one of the many waterfalls that were sprinkled throughout the forest. He guided me to the edge of the water and sat down before motioning me to do the same.

“You know, for the longest time I’ve felt so alone. Whenever Katara and Sokka took me to the Southern Air Temple all those years ago and I realized that every single one of my people were gone, I didn’t really know what to do with myself.” He spoke softly as he watched the water rush down from the waterfall. The mist was spraying us gently and in a way, it was oddly calming. So his name is Sokka…

“Ever since then, I’ve been so desperate to fit in. To know that my entire culture has been wiped out terrifies me. I’ve never felt something more painful than the pain of knowing that nobody else is like me. Yeah, there are other benders. But nobody else truly understands me and my beliefs.” I turned my head from the water to look at him while he spoke. His hair was wavy and unkempt. The blue ink of his tattoos contrasted almost beautifully from the light tan of his skin. He turned his head and gazed at me in almost the exact same way I had been gazing at him.

“I know who you are, Tenzin.” He breathed and looked away from me again. “I know what you are. I felt it from the moment I stepped foot in this village. I guess I just wanted to hear you say it outloud so that I wouldn’t feel crazy.”

“Aang…” I could feel myself choking up. I couldn’t even lie to myself anymore because I feel just like he does. The only person in my life that I ever felt truly connected to was my father because we were one in the same. Whenever he died, I lost that connection and since then I, too, have also felt like an outcast with no one else who would truly understand what I was going through and the weight of the burden that I had to carry. “I’m scared.”

“I know. But with me, you don’t have to be alone anymore.” He turned his body so that he was facing me. He took both of my hands in his and looked at me with an agonizingly longful look in his eyes. “Please come with us. I promise that we will protect you and keep you safe from the people who are scared of us. I can’t lose this now that I’ve finally found a connection from my past.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. He lifted his hand to my face to wipe it away with his thumb and for a moment, I felt like I was where I needed to be. The connection between us was undeniable and for once in my life I finally met someone who was just like me. Aang shared the same burden as me.

The same gift.

“I will come with you.” I whispered, my eyes dropping to our hands. He was squeezing mine so tightly that his knuckles were white, but as soon as the words left my lips it seemed as if all of the tension he had been feeling had been released. The storm that resided within his eyes seemed to finally be calm, and a soft smile formed on his lips.

I was choosing my own destiny. Finally, I could truly live as the most authentic version of myself. It was in this moment that I felt like I knew who I was truly meant to be.

I’m an Airbender. And I was ready for everyone to know.

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Alright, first off, if you’re confused about the Aang having hair thing, look up “aang with hair comics” and you’ll see what I mean, mama.

I hope you all enjoyed! The next chapter will probably be up soon depending on how often I feel like writing. I wrote this entire chapter today because I just felt really inspired. Anyway, I hope you all liked it enough to stay along for the ride :)

-Bekah

#avatar #avatar: the last airbender #sokka #sokka fanfic #aang #katara #avatar toph #atla appa #atla #zuko

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adventuresloane · 5 years

Text

Love Was a Kind of Emptiness

Read on AO3

Relationships: Dani & the Quell, Dani/Aubrey, Sylvain/the Quell

Rating: T

CW for body dysmorphia, disordered eating, heavy angst

For Danbrey Week 2019

"You're her."

This time, she didn't run. In the days since she had started following them, she had always skittered back into the woods whenever she got spotted. With how bone-pale she was, she shouldn't have been able to disappear into the black shadow that quickly. But she had slipped into the penumbra the way sugar in hot coffee dissolved to become a part of the amorphous dark.

Now she was still, and not. She was the potential for movement, like a frozen deer primed to spring away. Potential energy herself. Felt for miles around.

"And you're Dani," she responded. Her head inclined slowly and smoothly to one side, just a little. As always, a waist-length swath of straight and shiny black hair moved as one curtain. "Am I just 'her' now? What are my names, that you know of?"

Dani couldn't answer that, and not only because of the way her jaw had begun to lock up in fear. She didn't know how. As far back as she remembered, everyone had been loathe to give a name to this, had acknowledged this at all only with reluctance. There were names she vaguely recalled seeing in schoolbooks, with Ancient Sylvan pronunciations she couldn't have wrapped her mouth around even if she did remember them well enough. These days, even after the crisis had been averted, still people spoke obliquely. The Quell. The Storm. Hardly names at all, really. They described something that one did, not something that one was.

Those titles had seemed appropriate enough when they were all simply talking about a natural force, something that acted, and acted violently. But that wasn't what stood before Dani now. This was a woman, just like her, and also not like her at all.

"I see," she said. Dani wasn't sure what she was responding to.

"You shouldn't be here." She surprised herself at the force of her own voice. She supposed that she had some practice in speaking with gods. Just that morning, she had talked the avatar of her planet's life force out of filling an old dried-up lake with maple syrup. But it was easy to forget with Aubrey. Aubrey, whom she knew as her love first and as Sylvain second, whose presence had felt as easy and natural as breath long before they had learned everything. It wasn't easy to forget when the waves of dark power radiating from this woman overtook her. Potential energy. A fault line, a land mine, a fragile slope before a landslide. She was all of these things and much more. Dani could feel it, and she wanted to run with all she had, but already her knees had ceased to bend.

"Yes I should. We have to talk."

"Why?"

"You..." The Quell hadn't made eye-contact all this time, something for which Dani would have been grateful if she were capable of feeling anything but anxiety at the moment. She had been focused on a spot somewhere just below Dani's eyes. Now she glanced away entirely. Her eyes flashed, and not in the way people normally talked about eyes flashing. Light glinted off them as though her gray irises were made of chrome. Or like there was lightning in them. "You are always with Her."

"No."

"You are Her companion."

"No. You're not getting near Aubrey."

"You couldn't stop me if I wanted to see Her, you know." The Quell still had her head cocked, out of...what? Curiosity? Scrutiny? Did she even have feelings? "You're afraid of me. Why?"

Dani couldn't bring herself to move her mouth, even if she had had a way to reply to that. She thought of the leveling of her world. For months now, she'd been traveling around to witness it. She'd seen forests of trees gone horizontal, prostrating toward the setting sun. She'd seen mountains smeared into flatlands as if they were wet clay under a thumb. Marshland where there had been fertile valleys.

And well before any of this, she'd seen, as a young child, the refugees surging through the gates of what was today the city of Chicane and what had then been the whole of Sylvain. People who had fled the other cities overtaken by the Quell's violence. She had watched them slump in, looking as though gravity affected them more than most, with their shoulders sagging and the very skin of their faces pulled down by frowns. Seeing them, she had felt dread for maybe the first time in her life--not for herself or out of fear of them, but at the idea that an entire existence could be so easily lost. Despite her parents' reassurances that their home was safe from the Storm, she still sat alone in her bedroom for ages, eyes closed, trying to imagine what it would be like if the whole house suddenly vanished with everything she'd ever known inside it, along with every other house on every other street she'd ever seen. She couldn't, back then.

"It's because you've seen what I can do."

"Stop it," Dani managed through tight teeth. This was too much. Her brimming brain could barely process the Quell's presence, let alone her words.

"What?" There was short pause before she shrugged. "I can't help that I get impressions of what you think and feel. I can do the same for everyone born on this planet. It's like asking me not to feel the wind."

And had she felt the desperation of those she had displaced? Had she felt the panic in the half-seconds before some had been utterly consumed by the Storm's madness? Had she done it all in spite of that?

"I do wish you wouldn't fear me, though." The Quell stepped closer again. There was a twinge of what might have been a smile on her face. The chuckle that came out of her sounded quiet and ragged as the crunch of dead leaves underfoot. Everything she said sounded like that. It was assault to Dani's ears. "You know, you're just as much my child as you are Hers."

"No." She forced just enough air through her slowly constricting chest to say it. At the Quell's words, anger had started up somewhere just behind her sternum and started to spread through her body like a drop of ink in water. The adrenaline was almost enough to break the hold her nerves had over her. "You just...you wreck."

"What of it?”

"I'm an artist." She pushed past the quiver in her voice, in her legs. "I create, just...just like Her and j-just like Aubrey. N...none of us are like you."

"Do not try to tell me about Her."

"Stay away from Aubrey."

"Don't tell me--"

It was only three words, but the three had been enough to knock her down. The quiet voice had exploded suddenly into a multitude. Some flat. Some screeching with static. Some so deep that they were more felt than heard. Some glitching and skipping like a scratched record. It hurt. Physically, it hurt. Dani felt the noise tear through her as it tore through the air, felt the cacophony.

Dani dropped to the ground, or, rather, her body finally went totally stiff and carried her down with it. She stared at the grass with her hands over her ears and her fingers in her hair, and she tried to regulate her breathing, but she hardly had control over even the expansion of her chest. She was a soul bumping around inside a sack. It felt as though she had pulled herself out of her limbs, that her consciousness had retreated to somewhere deep within the core of her body to protect itself.

"I'm sorry. I'm..." The Quell trailed off. Her voice had returned to normal, and yet had not. Her tone was more hushed. Frailer.

All the same, any sound right now made her shrivel deeper into herself. It was one more input out of far too many, and it made it harder to focus on regaining control of her body again.

And anyway, how dare she be sorry? There was plenty to be sorry for before now. So many lifetimes of things lost. Did she feel the weight of it? Did it bend her spine like a punishment, the way it did Dani's? Or was she even corporeal?

The color began to fade from her vision. By the time the mist had rolled in entirely, everything was blank and gray, blotting out the world. It wasn't too unusual--fog often rolled in among the trees of this forest. Except that this fog muffled not only her sight but her hearing. The whoosh of the wind in the leaves seemed less obtrusive now. Everything did. And while she likely should have been nervous, she couldn't help but be glad for this cloud cocooning her from her surroundings for awhile.

When she finally felt her heart beating rather than vibrating, she slowly glanced to her left to see the dark silhouette of a woman kneeling on the ground beside her. She, too, had not moved the whole time.

"Is that helping?" the Quell quietly asked. "Good," she said before Dani could reply. That should have made her angry, but she was too tired for anything beyond dull irritation now. Even the fear was muted.

"You would rather not speak out loud right now, I take it?"

Dani shook her head a little.

"May I say something, then?"

She waited for a long while before she shrugged. To her credit, the Quell waited for that.

"I..." She came to a halt. "I'm not good at apologizing."

Dani looked her way and felt her eyebrows raise before she could stop herself.

The Quell huffed and said quickly, "Thacker claimed that I shouldn't try to hold power over people or try making them afraid simply because I feel afraid, so I apologize that I did that to you. Is that right?"

She was too distracted to give an answer to that, as she questioned what could make the embodiment of destruction afraid.

"I've just missed Her," she murmured. The mist had nearly dissipated now, and Dani could see her arms crossed over her knees.

And if she felt any sympathy for the Quell in that moment, it left her like a dying breath when she thought of the tree that used to stand in the center of town when she was growing up. Itslong, willowy branches hung heavy with tear-shaped purple seed pods strung along them, she could sometimes see it from the window of her house waving at her in a strong wind. It had waved, too, when she had been kept at sword- and wand- and spear-point, backed up against Sylvain's gate. She'd seen the slow lift of the thread-like branches over the heads of the crowd gathered to see her disappeared for good. She didn't see her parents or her brother in the crowd. She hadn't known why, and she hadn't had much time to think about it before being shoved through the portal. Maybe they had just gotten lost in the throng. She hoped so. She hoped that they had at least shown up, that the moment she had been dragged from the house and arrested wasn't the last they had seen of her.

For the brief time between when she was brought into custody and when she was sentenced to banishment, they didn't really explain what it was, exactly, that had done her in--someone reporting her bad-mouthing the Minister of Preservation and his bad sideburns, is what she had always assumed, but it could have been something else. Maybe one of the new laws. There were new laws made all the time back in those days, so quickly that hardly anyone could keep track of them all. Ignorance of the law, naturally, was not considered an excuse.

"Sorry." The word was nearly soundless this time. Dani wasn't sure to whom she was speaking. The Quell's next sentence, though, was certainly directed at her. "How did you bear it?"

Stop asking leading questions, Dani thought at her in the most deliberate way she could manage. She focused on the words and her own aggravation, trying to keep the memory from creeping up on her. You know I can't help trying to think of the answer. It's not fair.

"I am not used to communicating with someone who can't hear my thoughts too. Even just speaking is still strange to me." She paused. "Your kind...Brightfangs, isn't that what you're called up here? You're some of the closest to Us, you know. To She and I both. I felt you come together in the soil from where I rested in the center of the planet, before you rose fully formed from the ground."

She didn't know what to think of that. Instead, she thought, My family used to tell me that. Though, to be honest, I'm still getting used to the term 'Brightfang' again. Humans called me a vampire for so long. And I think they thought we rose out of graves or something.

"Goodness," she said, with a soft sound that was suspiciously similar to a chuckle. She rubbed her foot through the grass but stopped just before the scrape of it became enough to bother Dani. "Was it difficult to put up with them? Humans, I mean."

No, she thought.

"That's not how you really feel. And don't be upset. I can't help it."

Dani felt herself frown. She wanted to think about anything else other than the early days in the lodge. Those memories came on anyway. She felt the approach of them the way one feels oncoming nausea, and she was back to the first moment that she had taken on a human form. She had looked down at herself, at this new body attached to her like a tick, and had not seen the familiar glow of her skin like the glow of the Crystal, and had felt blunt teeth behind her lips instead of the sharp points she had liked to tap her fingertips against, and it had felt too short and too warm and too much of everything after everything had already been too much.

She had cried, and sometimes she had screamed, and even though Mama never flinched while patiently waiting for her to calm each time, she had felt shame that only made the tears fall hotter onto the foreign flesh of that new body.

In the earliest days, she remembered wearing that form like an ill-fitting rubber suit. Maybe it wasn't as bad as she remembered, or maybe it was even worse. But looking back on it, she recalled hell. Everyone had said that there would be an adjustment period, and they had turned out to be right, but even two years on she had still felt how much it was not her own. This body needed food, and it felt a hunger that couldn't be satisfied by the hot springs or by Sylvain's light. At seventeen, she started skipping meals and would just wait to feel the scrape of pain deep in her belly, just so she could feel some measure of control over this form that she had been forced into. That was until Mama noticed and, after a drawn-out scolding, made her eat dinners with her for awhile. That might have saved her. She knew that, but still felt a twinge of bitterness nonetheless.

And if she were to be truly honest with herself, maybe some of it did have to do with how she thought about humans. She didn't particularly want to be one. There were their strange traditions, the rapid speed at which their lives progressed. Mama, at the start, trying to explain that humans assumed things like gender based on appearance--that while no one at the lodge would ever judge her for how she decided to look, Dani had to be prepared for strangers to do so, wrong as they were. And of course, everyone on Sylvain knew about the missing shard of the Crystal, but she had never really considered that if the piece were still where it belonged instead of on Earth, then she would still be where she belonged instead of on Earth. For the first months, on the rare occasion that she got out of the lodge or otherwise saw an unfamiliar human, she had to suppress the urge to hiss and show her now-blunted teeth. That instinct left her, slowly. Over time, the anger completely dissipated. Truly, it did, albeit more gradually than she would have liked to admit. But years later, she never stopped making excuses to stay and draw or garden whenever Jake asked her to hang out with him in downtown Kepler. Sometimes she looked sideways even at the humans she knew and trusted and loved, and she would feel only lonely looking at them, thinking that they would never quite comprehend what it was like. Not even Mama, and certainly not Jake's friends or the park rangers or Leo or Duck or Ned--

Ned.

Sometimes she had wondered whether she could trust Ned. Everyone had on some level, she guessed. Now, every night after Aubrey had gone to sleep beside her, she lay awake for awhile and shivered with the knowledge that she should never have wondered.

"You can't blame yourself for hating them.” The Quell had been quiet up until now. "You felt like they had taken your home from you. Like you wouldn't have been on Earth if it hadn't been for them destroying the Crystal." It wasn't a question.

I didn't hate them. I loved some of them. I love them now. She hoped the Quell felt a new force to her thoughts. What? Are you going to tell me that's how you felt, too? About Sylphs taking...Her away from you?

"I'm not saying it was right to think so." She stared at the ground. The mist circled her now, and her image wavered slightly. "But you tell me, mortal, what was I supposed to do when for centuries on end I had felt only Her absence? Of course I was going to want to feel anything else, even if it was anger, or hunger. What would I have done without anger, or hunger?"

It was still your decision to act on it.

"Was it?"

Before she could swallow it down, the thought of the sarcophagus bubbled up from her stomach. By the time she had emerged from that bright tomb, whatever small part of her had remained lucid felt only the fear. Felt her body hurtling unstoppably forward. And then there was the blood, and the bang, and the flesh giving way to her now sharp teeth. And through it all, hunger, hunger like an engine as she plowed into the man who had put himself in her way to save her, and not knowing what she had done, and then the terrible knowing after she had woken up again--

And then Aubrey. Aubrey being there even when Dani felt not all there herself, even when she couldn't bring herself to speak for hours on end. Aubrey never smothering her, but never far either. Aubrey warming her even when they were apart. Aubrey holding her when she finally broke and carefully kissing the tears from her cheeks. Aubrey murmuring against her skin, skin that had felt more sacred to her than it ever had before, because it had been touched in this way. Aubrey crying herself and still whispering to her, "You didn't kill him. I know that wasn't you."

Who are you, really?

For all the Quell claimed to know her mind, she apparently hadn't been expecting Dani to say that. It was some time before she answered, slowly, "I am this planet's force of destruction. I clear things away. It is Her role to create them."

That's what you do. Well, no, it's what you have done, I should say. Destroying, I mean. That doesn't have to be all of you. Wouldn't you rather be something else?

"What sort of a question is that?"

It wasn't the familiar feeling of home that had drawn her to Aubrey at the very start, though that sensation would come in full force soon after. Instead, she had seen this woman walk in and immediately thought that she was seeing someone who knew herself. She took up space--not just with her wide stance and the thick poof of candy-red hair standing high on top of her head, but also with the way her voice filled the room without her trying, the heat of the flames she made filling every empty corner. She was utterly herself, and she wanted everyone to know about it, to see her. And Dani saw her, alright.

How comfortable she seemed in her own skin. It was sort of contagious. The more she was around Aubrey, the more she wanted to feel that way, too. At times, she almost did. That was usually when Aubrey would do things like kiss her all over under the covers and count out each one, claiming she was giving her a kiss for every one of her freckles. She would never reach the end of the count--they would both either dissolve into giggles or into sleep, but either way, Dani would be left grateful for her form, for the freckles that covered it.

She had also thought, at first, that Aubrey would be the last person capable of understanding what foreignness felt like. It appeared that she, the traveling entertainer, could make a home anywhere she pleased, could be comfortable anywhere. And anyway, she just felt so familiar. Dani eventually found herself to be wrong about many things, of course. The knowledge of all she had gotten wrong started with the night that Aubrey sat on the bed, hands folded between her knees, speaking quietly about her mother and the empty lot where her house had been.

And it turned out that she didn't know herself as well as Dani had assumed, either. She didn't know how good she was. She spent so much time worrying about how her fire could destroy that sometimes she hardly seemed to see how much light she gave off. Dani wasn't sure how best to make her see it. She tried to show her anyway, where she could.

The Quell cut in, "Well, of course She was full of light. She is the Life-Giver. She is not capable of making anything that is not beautiful."

Sylvain is inside her, but Aubrey is herself. She's all human. She thought a bit more. Humans are all so different. They're kind of...flexible, I would say. They have to spend a lot of time thinking about the kind of people they want to be. I don't think that's a bad thing.

The Quell let out a hum.

By the way, is that really what you think now?

"What? Oh, about the beauty of the surface, you mean."

Yeah. You think so? After all you did to it?

The Quell faced the sky, eyes wide open. "I believe...before, I simply rolled over the surface of this planet. I saw all of it as only obstacles. Now that I'm made to just...just be, I see that it was all Hers. I was so busy searching for Her that I could not see Her in everything she had done, in front of me."

Dani hated to admit how much she understood.

"I...I feel ashamed." Her head snapped in Dani's direction as if she had just recalled something. Then she sighed once more. "You still don't want me to see Her."

"No, I don't." Dani finally managed to speak aloud, albeit shakily. "And I...I don't forgive you either, yet."

"I see."

"But I might, sometime. She might."

The Quell smiled, really, for the first time. "Then I will speak to you again."

I didn't say I wanted that, she thought. Talking to her, Dani found, was still sort of exhausting.

"You didn't have to." She did not move, but the long shadow of a tree stretched to blanket her, and she seemed to have never been there to begin with.

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misscrawfords · 5 years

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Rose! How do you feel about Emma and its various adaptations?

Sorry for the delay in answering - blame the school trip!

I love Emma. I wrote my dissertation partly on it (also on Northanger Abbey, Rob Roy and St Ronan’s Well) and while I loved it before I loved it even more after studying it. All of Austen’s novels are extremely well plotted, but Emma might just be the best. It’s like a detective novel in that respect (and has been described as such on multiple occasions) because you can pick up on clues to what’s really going on all the way through but on a first read, you don’t see them. Miss Bates unintentionally reveals details that can be explained by Frank and Jane’s secret relationship but they are hidden in her verbal overloading. Emma’s own thoughts betray her unknown interest in Mr. Knightley, and his actions point to his love for Emma. And so on.

Jane Austen is also being radical in her use of literary conventions and genre in Emma (as she is in basically all her novels). She has the tightest mystery plot ever written at this point hidden directly inside a novel that sticks strictly to the conventions of romantic comedy. She even goes overboard with it - successfully navigating three couples to appropriate happy endings. However, within that solid structure, she plays with expectations and conventions in a subtle way and this is where I get really excited.

First we have Emma herself, a heroine “nobody but myself will like”. Austen clearly loved questioning and pushing conventions of who was allowed to be a heroine. Her previous novel, Mansfield Park, gave us Fanny who most people at the time found disappointing after Elizabeth Bennet and modern readers (unjustly IMO) hate, and she followed Emma with Anne Elliot who was far too old to be a romantic heroine according to contemporary standards. In the middle we have Emma Woodhouse, a meddling snob. She’s got a lot in common with Mr. Darcy actually and her character development in terms of recognising the bad behaviour she is guilty of and the prejudice she feels towards those of a lower social status is pretty similar. But while Darcy and his character development is held up as beautiful and heroic and romantic, Emma is frequently condemned as dislikable. I do wonder why that could be… Personally, I love Emma. She’s clever and shrewd and funny and, honestly, is there anyone who doesn’t think Miss Bates is annoying and doesn’t want to throw a tantrum at the prospect of being upstaged by Mrs. Elton? Are you, dear reader, such a paragon of rational enlightenment and charitable feeling? Would you instantly see through Frank Churchill and resist his flirtations? Would you be best friends with Jane Fairfax and not be just a little bit jealous of her and how much Mr. Knightley everyone seems to admire her? Have you never said something cutting and regretted it? Are you perfect, reader, ARE YOU? Come on. Emma is one of us. She messes up, she judges badly, she says cringeworthy stuff in inappropriate situations, she gives bad advice - she’s human. And she deals with it without losing her positive outlook and she does grow, enough to “deserve” her happy ending (though that’s a loaded concept) but not so much it’s unrealistic. And what makes her likeable through it all are that her intentions are good. Emma is not a bad person who has to become good and “be redeemed”. She is a fundamentally warm and caring person who needs to have some bad habits of thought and action corrected by guidance and experience. Emma’s intentions and understanding are good from the beginning.

Emma’s also interesting because, yes, she does change, but if you put her in the context of the genre she inhabits, she also gets to keep a lot. Basically, in another novel, Emma would have to pay significant penance for her bad behaviour before she would be allowed to marry Mr. Knightley and she would have to prove that she is a changed woman and is absolutely not going to continue meddling and will be a good and submissive wife. Usually this also involves giving up the dangerous reading of novels which have led her astray. Several points. Firstly, Emma is not a novel reader, she is a novel writer. Emma is described by various critics as “an avatar of Austen the author” and if you read the novel through the prism of Emma being an author, things become really fascinating. Beautiful, illegitimate Harriet Smith is the heroine of Emma’s novel and obviously Emma-as-author wants to discover that she is really the long lost daughter of Somebody and give her a socially advantageous marriage. Emma’s matchmaking attempts are the workings of a novelist plotting with characters. Emma is creating her own world. This is radical stuff, in a society where female novelists were looked down upon. Emma has the means and independence and cleverness to write a story of her own - and she is comically bad at it. This is one way in which Austen plays with genre. Secondly, it is not at all clear that Emma does give up her matchmaking at the end of the novel. Austen is coy when she floats this suggestion about Mrs. Weston’s daughter: “[Emma] would not acknowledge that it was with any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella’s sons”. Does this suggest that maybe Emma isn’t as cured as she should be? Thanks to Austen’s levels of irony it’s impossible to tell, which is the point. Thirdly, Emma is the only Austen heroine to have real financial and social clout. Emma really does rule Highbury and at the end of the novel, instead of being subsumed into her husband’s world, he in fact moves in with her (however temporarily). This is practically the Regency equivalent of her keeping her name after marriage. She and Mr. Knightley are social equals and she does not leave her home or her sphere of influence when she marries. The only other heroine this would be true of is, interestingly enough, Fanny Price. But Mansfield Park is notoriously inward looking and Fanny’s ending allows her to truly become a Bertram which is what she wanted all along for better or worse. And Fanny and Edmund’s social status and influence are much less significant that Knightley and Emma’s are.

Something else to bear in mind when thinking about Emma’s character is that, despite her social power and wealth, she also lives an extremely confined and limited life. She is essentially a carer for her stultifying and claustrophobic father. She has never left the environs of Highbury. She is surrounded by people who jump to her every command and shower her in praise, both deserved and undeserved. The only person who criticises her is also in love with her. The only eligible men in her world before the arrival of Frank Churchill are her brother-in-law who is 16 years older than her, and the obsequious vicar. Yes, she can remain a spinster but even a rich spinster cannot maintain the sort of power she currently holds when faced with a married woman like Mrs. Elton (who is a real threat to her), but her alternatives are bleak. A woman of her rank and fortune should be having a London season and meeting other young people of her rank and forming external connections. Because of her father’s passive control over her, Emma has none of these opportunities. Even Fanny Price travels more and meets more people than Emma does. Yes, Emma Woodhouse is handsome, rich and clever and has had very little to vex her, but I suspect that is probably Emma’s own view of her life and it is not necessarily accurate.

Okay, this post is already far too long so I’ll end my discussion of the novel here. There’s also a lot that could be said about Jane and Frank, Emma and Mr. Knightley’s relationship and more, but Emma is clearly the most important and, honestly, the most in need of defence!

Onto the adaptations, and I’ll try to be brief:

1. The Gwyneth Paltrow film. Jeremy Northan is divine though his hair could be better and he’s not my favourite Mr. Knightley, even if I do have a massive crush on JN. Harriet Smith is a not particularly attractive redhead which is… weird. Frank Churchill is Ewan McGregor but he has appalling hair so IDK what was going on there - such a missed opportunity. Gwyneth Paltrow as Emma is a casting disgrace and I honestly can’t bear to watch this film because every time she is on screen I cringe. The producers were more interested in the aesthetic than making a good adaptation. My grandma hated it. Enough said.

2. The Kate Beckinsale film. Honestly, I don’t dislike anything about this except that I wish it were a mini-series and the proposal scene is a bit… eh. But I think it manages to stay true to the book in a feature film and I love Kate Beckinsale’s Emma. She has the right mix of liveliness and arrogance for me. Mark Strong is a stern Mr. Knightley but he’s not too handsome. Frank Churchill is perfect in this adaptation. Controversially, this is my favourite period adaptation.

3. The Romola Garai miniseries. I love lots about this mainly because the length allows everything to be expanded suitably. Johnny Lee Miller is the best Knightley by far. The Eltons are fabulous. Frank and Jane’s relationship gets more time dedicated to it. The Westons and Bateses are great. Harriet Smith is dumbed down too much - she’s naive and not too bright but this adaptation makes her practically an idiot, almost as much a disservice as the 2005 P&P film’s character assassination of Bingley, though physically the actress is perfect and she’s very likeable. And I really do appreciate what they were trying to do with Emma. It was clearly an informed choice to make her bubbly and often silly and a chosen interpretation of the text and I respect that - better that than wilful misinterpretation which some adaptations go in for. I fundamentally disagree with it - whatever her faults, I don’t think Emma is silly and giggly and I struggle to believe this Emma is a 21 year old woman secure in her position as a social leader. Her mannerisms often come across very modern - her little waves, giggles and posture and this is very irritating because Romola Garai has done some fantastic period acting (Daniel Deronda, The Hour etc.) and these mannerisms aren’t consistent across the cast. I love Romola Garai and I think it’s an interesting choice of direction, but not one that rings true to how I see the character though.

4. Clueless. Clearly the best adaptation of Emma ever made. We all know it.

5. Emma Approved. Only seen a bit of it and didn’t warm to it. Should probably give it another go. Why did they change Knightley’s name to Alex? What the hell is wrong with George!?!?

Anyway, here are my thoughts on Emma. Hope they’re at least somewhat interesting. There is nothing I like better than rambling on about Jane Austen! :-) Thank you for giving me the opportunity!

#Emma #Jane Austen #Emma Woodhouse #literature #books

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tanoraqui · 5 years

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Eldritch Terrors of The Magnus Archive as rated by me, now finished with season two (sequel post to). Cut for length.

The Eye: 10/10. I still know where my bread is buttered. Incidentally, when they held that Intervention and Elias gave Jon the CCV tapes like “maybe these will finally reassure you”, it was the equivalent of it my dog half-destroyed my backpack while rooting around it it for food and I pulled her away and gave her a stern talking to and then a sandwich, like “maybe this will stop you from being hungry.” Jon is a knowledge beagle. Side note: kind of took my suggestion for a performer who finds themselves Watched with that newswoman, but not quite as I’d wanted.

The Stranger: 7/10. Notsha was pretty good. I quite liked the taxidermy (same flowery smell as Sarah the noise tech from Melanie’s hospital ep, so her origin is settled, ish! Look forward to seeing her again.) More importantly, I remembered that one of the scariest nightmares I’ve ever had involved me coming home to signs that there had been an intruder in the house and finding that they’d made nearly perfect copies of all my stuffed animals and left them on the bed with the real ones - like they’d meant to replace them but didn’t have the time, maybe. And I could tell which ones were real, were loved and mine, and which were soulless copies with colors just slightly off and eyes slightly duller, but I knew, looking at them all, that no one else would be able to tell. And that’s the Stranger all over, isn’t it? The NotThem specifically - except instead of replacing the semi-imaginary friends you have slept with every night of your life, whose presence is an eternal reliable soft warm hug and whom you named one by one and gave personalities like pieces of your very self, it goes for, like, your cousin. Good concept, amateur execution relative to the terror my young mind cooked up in the wake of a Winnie-the-Pooh episode with alternate, evil New Jerseyean versions of Tigger, Piglet, and Pooh.

The Distortion: 9/10. Points for being the first entity to utilize the internet, and just...consistently being peak Cheshire Cat. I fucking love Michael every time he appears, even when what he’s doing is fucking with people just to see what happens (and, please note the title “Liar”: definitely wanted Jon to meet Leitner and definitely has an angle other than For The Lulz here. But it might be, well, upside-down and inside-out and twisted like a broken elbow relative to anyone else’s angle, so possibly we don’t even need to worry about it! Possibly.

The Flesh: 6/10. Solid, reliable performance from the cannibalism crowd this season, and connection with boneturners confirmed. MEAT IS ME.

The Slaughter: 9/10 god i just love Melanie King so much, okay. “It was like once I’d seen that there was a path to stray from, I couldn’t unsee it, and I couldn’t ignore the call from the woods all around.” Actually that’s more Eye, probably - 7/10 to the Slaughter, I wish we had more but also there may be only so much you can do with mindless bloodthirst; 15/10 to Melanie King, embodiment of “’[X]’s haunted’ ‘What?’ *cocks pistol, walking out* ‘[X]’s haunted.’” Also, I spent most of “Grifter’s Bone” thinking it was probably the Stranger but when the woman turned out to have mauled a neighbor and then herself with a hammer, I gasped, “Slaughter!” delightedly. Music of war!

The Web: 7/10. Won this season’s award for creepiness, I think? Annabelle Cane is clutch, y’all. Also, the grudge match with Desolation over Hilltop House is fun. ALSO, who the HELL is Adulard Dekker; I met him in a fic or two also and I have questions?? Anyway, shoutout to the Web for frequently reining the others in, actually - spiders killing worms, binding the NotThem...agreeing by uneasy truce to help raise Desolation’s...whatever exactly Agnes Montague is...

The Desolation: 6/10. Most interesting by far is that the Desolation/Cult of the Lightless Flame is the only beings we’ve seen using I would call “sympathetic magic” - whatever they were doing with those pictures of Gertrude + her hairs in that Scottish grove, some ritual with Agnes and spiders once her tree fell. TMA doesn’t seem to have much of a “magic system”, but this indicates...something with rules.

The Lonely: 6/10. Points for most interesting and long-term - both in practice and effect - destruction of a single human’s psyche, in “Personal Space.” That’s craftmanship, that is. Pretty boring season otherwise, aside from Peter showing up to lose a bet on whether a man would survive a brush with the Buried.

The Buried: 5/10. I dunno, it’s still just not doin’ it too much for me. I do love how I can’t figure out if Katerina Gorka is lying about her experience on the train or if she just...hasn’t noticed that she’s definitely become some sort of dirt-shedding avatar of death underground.

The Darkness: 3/10. Weak! Showing! Who CAN’T make the tunnels underneath an ancient church crypt creepy? Oh, wow, you also killed a handful of police officers and a guy in jail who nearly....god, I so desperately want to know exactly what Robert Montauk was trying to do. Raynard implied that he’d tried to kill the Darkness? Ballsy.

The Vast: 9/10. So, when I wrote that obviously autobiographical bit in the s1 ratings, I was really just remembering “Freefall”, which didn’t describe the Vast much like that at all. I listened back at “Page Turner”, the first Leitner, which was Vast, and it had some similarities that might have been bouncing around my subconscious...but the reason I checked back was that “Literary Heights” had a lot of similarities to the autobiographical bit I wrote, which I wrote BEFORE listening to that episode at ALL...9/10 because that’s actually the most unnerved I’ve been all podcast.

The Corruption: 4/10. Weak too, tbh, particularly relative to the magnificent Jane Prentiss. Introduced, I think, though, the concept of objects that can be wards (John Snow’s syringe) instead of harbringers, which is very interesting. Concept: Corruption episode based on rotting food, please? At a fancy restaurant or at a dump or just in someone’s house, everything going bad...maybe a dig somewhere at how much supermarkets just throw away...

The Hunt: 5/10. Vampires still neat. More to the point: Me, standing outside Jonathan Sims (the reality one)’s house at 2am, blasting Schubert’s “Erlkonig” from a boombox while shouting: GIVE! ME! WILD! HUNT! GIVE!! ME!! WILD!! HUNT!!

The End: 5/10. Did, uh. Did Mary Keay kill and partially flay her own son, binding his uneasy ghost to a page made from his own skin, and then give that page to Gertrude as a weird passive-aggressive present. I guess that book might be Flesh instead, but it seems more End and I just have to ask. Nobody should answer, but between scattered spoilers and what episodes I’ve heard, this is...an impression I have formed... The End didn’t do much at all but it always has decent credit just for being The End.

#tma #the magnus archives #in this post: a boombox. the music of war. 'jon is a knowledge beagle'. more about my relationship with stuffed animals #than you probably wanted to know #(SOME stuffed animals. MY stuffed animals. not ALL stuffed animals.)#(though of course i would defend any stuffed animal in the world with my very life)

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softshelltaakos · 5 years

Text

what’s up everybody! it’s time for part 2 of my taz graphic novel review.

part one covered (most of) my beef with the writing and storytelling choices. this part is gonna cover character designs!!! you should know going into this that my opinions are not positive. this post is also a lot less analytical in tone than part 1, because art is not my forte.

disclaimer: i love the mcelroys. i truly do. taz has gotten me through some very difficult stuff and i have a tattoo. all this to say i’m not doing this because i hate them or because i like hating things. if you feel the need to message me about how i am overreacting, specifically to green taako, or about how i should just calm down and ignore it, or about how it’s sad that i’m getting so worked up instead of just enjoying the show, i’ve heard it and i don’t care. you will not be taken seriously. save yourself the energy.

there are spoilers for the graphic novel under the cut.

alright. i’m getting the elephant in the room out of the way first because it’s the most important thing to address, and once it’s out of my system i’ll feel better goofing on the rest of the designs. as i mentioned in the disclaimer: Green Taako Is Bad.

[ID: a panel focusing on taako. he’s skinny and minty green with chin-length light blonde hair and a big, pointy nose.]

now, a lot of people have made posts about this before, and i’m not saying anything new about it by any means. i’m also not the most equipped person to talk about why green taako is bad, because i’m a white gentile (i’ve heard conflicting opinions on whether or not green taako is antisemitic, but it feels remiss not to mention that there’s been discussion) and therefore not part of any groups affected by this whole debacle, but in short: when pressed for more diversity, specifically in taako’s case as a pretty large chunk of his arc involves literally inventing a mexican cultural food (fun note: that’s never mentioned in this book,) carey pietsch decided he should be green and the mcelroys were down with it. this is not an issue that cropped up when this design was released; it was something that there was already a ton of discourse surrounding, and it should never have gotten concepts drawn, let alone made it to publish.

this article by natt cuesta has been linked before on the subject, and i think it’s a good, concise explanation of why green taako is bad as well as why aracial characters in general are bad. this is a racist design.

now that we’ve gotten those ethical ramifications out of the way... i’m sorry, but it’s an ugly design, lmao. he looks like a palette-swapped version of pearl from steven universe with less character. the ONLY thing about this design that i like is the prominent lower lashes, if only because they’re the only thing that keeps him from looking entirely generic. because, like, y’all, when has anything about taako been generic?

[ID: a panel focusing on magnus. he’s a muscular fair-skinned man with auburn hair, a bushy beard, and a scar over his left eye.]

generic is a word that’s going to come up a lot over the course of this review, because i genuinely can’t think of a more apt descriptor for pietsch’s designs. it feels like she went with the lowest common denominator of every character’s design, a synthesis of all of the most popular (and most boring) ones, except in instances where that would lend any personality to a character’s design. magnus fits what brief description we’re given in the podcast: auburn hair. beard. big. and i guess that’s all you need?

i understand that by appealing to the most common and basic designs for these characters you’re inviting a lot less ire than you might by going with something more individual, so i get the motivation behind it -- or i would, if her designs hadn’t always been about this dull. but it’s bizarre to me that in a story as unique as the balance campaign, we ended up with the most basic ass Fantasy Hero lookin’ dude in the world as one of our protagonists.

i just really don’t have a lot to say about this. i’m just bored by it.

[ID: a panel of merle. he has medium-dark skin with a smooth white bun and beard.]

merle is simultaneously the design i like most out of the boys and the one that throws me the most, because i feel like he’s the most out on a limb one. which... oof. most merle designs i see give him a floral motif (i guess he has a few petals in his hair, maybe?) and big coke-bottle glasses, and i miss those things with this design, but at least it doesn’t totally feel like pietsch threw every merle she could get her hands on into a blender and poured it out on a page, although honestly, that might have been more satisfying. people do some really fun shit with their merle designs, but again, he’s. generic.

as the cuesta article mentions, with how much of an issue it was to get any of the boys to be poc in the first place and in conjunction with minty up there, this design also feels like tokenism -- an appeasement rather than an honest attempt at diversity or god forbid because the artist actually headcanons merle as a person of color. personally, i wish that she’d gone a step beyond re-coloring his skin and idk given him a natural hairstyle or something. he still feels very much like a recolor to me rather than a character who was designed as a person of color from the beginning.

i feel like he looks more like a cleric than he looks like a merle, which i feel like is pretty contradictory to who merle is.

[ID: a cutaway showing griffin, a white man with brown hair and glasses wearing a collared shirt.]

i’ve said before that it feels a little odd to talk about her design of a real person, so i’ll keep this brief, but... you know how every drawing of a basic white dude looks a little bit like griffin mcelroy? you know how that one arthur character looks a little bit like griffin mcelroy? you know how everyone is constantly messaging mysillycomics about how her avatar looks like griffin mcelroy?

how did carey pietsch manage to actively attempt to draw griffin mcelroy and miss the mark? it boggles the mind. he doesn’t not look like griffin, i guess, but he doesn’t look like griffin, either. i don’t know, man

[ID: a generic gerblin. he has yellowy-green skin, slight tusks or fangs, and weird, nubby little horn-type things.]

i hate these gerblins. they are ugly. next

[ID: two images of klaarg/g’nash. he’s a bugbear with brown fur and yellow eyes as well as a mouth full of pointy teeth. in the first image he looks pissed off; in the second he’s starry-eyed and delighted.]

klaarg is probably my favorite design in the book, and that’s just because he looks like a cute dog for most of the time he’s on the page. he’s fluffy and i love klaarg anyway, so like. did not take a lot to reach this mark. especially considering how i feel about most of the other designs lmfao

i do definitely think he keeps up the trend of looking generic, though.

[ID: an image of barry bluejeans. he looks like tom arnold, kind of; he’s square-jawed and white with thick-rimmed glasses. he also has a light brown mullet.]

i hate this. i hate the mullet. i’m sorry, y’all, i really, truly, cannot stand the mullet. i don’t feel like barry has mullet energy. i feel like it’s too powerful a move for him. it wouldn’t be a good move, mind you, but it would be a big one. i don’t know y’all it’s just bad

[ID: an image of killian. she’s a green-skinned orc woman with prominent eyelashes, eyebrows, and tusks, and straight brown hair.]

i can’t have been the only one who was hoping for a badass, visibly muscular, maybe even butch killian design, right? that wasn’t just me being a big old lesbian, that’s a pretty common theme of killian designs? i guess kudos for going out on a limb again, but then, like, take the kudos back for going out on the most boring limb possible again. i could hang with the face if her hair wasn’t so boring, but it’s... it’s so boring

[ID: an image of magic brian. he’s a drow with long white hair and an oblong face and oddly shaped nose.]

for how many of her designs are syntheses of popular ones, i..... don’t understand how this happened. i don’t understand how whimiscal and flamboyant magic brian who’s often drawn as taako-but-a-goth-dark-elf ended up looking like this. he looks like he used to play football and got his nose busted up and peaked in fantasy high school. he looks like the first quarter of a monster factory video where the thing’s just ugly but doesn’t have a personality or any endearing traits yet. he didn’t have to be the goth twink we all know he is but what.......... is this

[ID: an image of gundren rockseeker/bogard. he’s a light-skinned dwarf with dark long hair and a matching beard.]

..........listen i know they’re cousins and distant cousins at that but all of merle’s cousins are light-skinned and, like, not to say that that can’t happen but having them be anywhere near merle’s skin tone would’ve been such an easy way to help bolster the obviously inaccurate idea that this is a work concerned with diverse character designs, or rather to help ppl claim it was being bolstered, and yet

[ID: avi, a fair-skinned man with long dark hair kept up in a ponytail and slight scruff on his face.]

i feel like maybe avi is intended to be east asian so i think at this point that brings the count up to a whole two characters of color. we’re almost done with the book. cool. he’s cute, i guess, but guess what word i’m about to say again (it’s generic)

[ID: a panel of several unnamed cameo characters. from right to left: carey fangbattle, a light blue dragonborn; brad bradson, a green orc man with a long brown ponytail; and presumably lucas miller, a tan human with glasses and dark hair.]

ok. deep breaths.

first off, there’s another panel w these three as well as boyland, who looks fine, but i didn’t grab that one bc it’s harder to make out detail. carey is cute. brad is fine.

i assume the third guy is lucas miller because i’m not entirely sure who else he would be, and... oof! as you may know i can’t stand lucas miller, which has nothing to do with his necromancy or nerdiness and everything to do with the various human rights violations he commits in the small time he’s got focus as well as the fact that he’s got a theoretical redemption arc that’s not actually an arc so much as us being told he’s better now. lucas is an entitled jackass who repeatedly uses other people’s bodies and minds without their consent, from the obvious offense of using the bugbears as brainwashed chore-doers (read: slaves) to the less-oft discussed dragging of noelle and others out of the astral plane into robot bodies, again to do his chores for him. because of this, it has always sat very uncomfortably with me when people make lucas a poc, because everything about him screams Shitty White Nerd Boy to me. it sits extra uncomfortably coming from carey pietsch, given how white all of her other designs are.

it’s a little hard to tell because i took all these pics with my phone camera in my room’s lighting so they’re not super high fidelity or anything, but pietsch’s lucas is noticeably darker than any other character we’ve seen so far save merle. maybe he’s just a white guy with a tan, but all the same, it strikes me as incredibly skeevy to have one of so few characters of color be this fucking guy.

[ID: johann, a black man with an oblong face and textured dark hair.]

johann’s design is fine, although this is a similar face shape to that brian from earlier and i just. i don’t. understand it. it’s not especially interesting, but hey, at least he’s not another generic white guy.

that being said, as i mentioned in part 1 of this review, johann’s role is severely cut in this -- he’s reduced to three panels, when in the show itself he’s the one who escorts the boys to the voidfish’s chamber and inoculates them. as i mentioned in that post i understand that they shifted it some to give lucretia a more prominent entrance, but as i also mentioned in that post, they should have compensated for that. three panels.

johann is not a character with a great deal of screentime as it is, but he’s a character with a major impact. he is the reason story and song happens. his song serves as a direct foil to john’s nihilistic conversion of his own home plane into the hunger. the fact that he’s been reduced to three panels with little to no characterization at this point, especially in conjunction with the fact that he’s one of very few poc, makes me really, really uncomfortable. avi is in more panels in this book than johann is, and while i love avi and as i said i am parsing him as an asian dude, he’s also still light-skinned enough and the style is nondescript enough that there are definitely people who will parse him as white, and also, avi’s role in the story is not as big as johann’s.

it doesn’t sit right with me.

[ID: an image of davenport, a fair-skinned man with a big red mustache and slicked back red hair.]

ginger davenport with a big mustache. groundbreaking.

[ID: an image of lucretia, a slender black woman with short white hair dressed in blue layers.]

and finally, lucretia. now, i’m biased, and it’s hard for me to see a lucretia design i don’t like. i also think that this is, compared to a lot of the others at least, one of the more interesting designs in the book, at least as far as her clothes go. it’s not a long robe that would be hard to move in, and i appreciate that -- it strikes me as a pretty practical outfit while also being ornamental and wizard-y. and she’s pretty, and she’s not whitewashed, and that’s all great. i like her earrings.

all that being said, i feel like it’s not enough. luc’s hair continues a theme with merle’s and johann’s (as well as the preview we’ve seen of angus,) which is that it strikes me as very low-effort on pietsch’s part. it’s short and it’s definitely not straight, but it doesn’t feel to me like it had as much thought put into it as, say, minty green taako’s hair. we could’ve had a lucretia with a big beautiful afro, or long box braids, or so many other natural hairstyles; we got this. it’s not bad, but i do think it’s disappointing. without going looking for it and without being a person who reads a great deal about character design, i’ve seen a fair amount of discussion from black women (artists, writers, and none of the above) about the portrayal of black women as it pertains to their hair. they’re never designed to be as feminine as their white counterparts. their hair is never treated with the same amount of detail or respect as their white counterparts. it’s short, maybe curly if you’re lucky.

i’m gonna circle back quickly to killian’s hair. it’s long and smooth and kept down, despite the fact that killian is an action-oriented women and might not want it to be in her face all the time -- it could have at least been braided or in a bun. it could’ve been short! and that would’ve made sense. and i don’t mean to say that lucretia couldn’t have short hair, but she’s a very elegant woman whose dress is described as intricate. she wears business regalia. she could have any number of hairstyles, from something elaborate to something simple but more out-of-the-box than this, but she doesn’t. i found this on a quick hunt through my ref tag -- it’s a tutorial for drawing black folks with just a small selection of interesting things you can do with afrotextured hair. these resources aren’t hard to find! and i’m doing this for fun -- carey pietsch is a professional artist who was paid for these designs. if she’d put in more than the bare minimum effort, we could’ve had some really interesting shit going on, but she didn’t.

and that’s the core of the issue here. i truly do not feel like pietsch put the same amount of care into the designs for the few characters of color we see as she did into the white ones, and that’s upsetting and emblematic of a larger problem in the work: neither pietsch nor the mcelroys put in very much care at all for the fans of color who spoke up and asked for representation.i know i said i was getting taako out of the way first so the majority of the post could be goof-heavy, but goddamn, y’all, it’s hard to goof about when it’s so blatantly shitty. pietsch’s designs are boring at best and racist at worst, not to mention conspicuously lacking in anyone who is not skinny, muscular, or a dwarf. people have praised this thing so uncritically, including people whose opinions i generally really respect, as if the fact that the mcelroys signing off on green taako made it above reproach.

it didn’t, by the way. there’s no such thing as an unproblematic fav, because everybody fucks something up now and then, but even then, this is a pretty egregious fuck-up! and it was willful!

i’m not saying y’all need to burn your copies of the gn or stop listening to the mcelroys entirely or anything of the sort -- you may remember the disclaimer at the top of the post where i say i really, really love them, and more specifically, i really love taz: balance. but i am BEGGING YOU to think critically about their work. good, good boys can do bad, bad things. white people can produce work that’s racist even if they’re gay women. it’s not mean to critique the boys and it’s not homophobic (or god forbid reverse racist, which is still not a real thing) to critique carey.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ the real kicker of this whole thing for me is that there’s a small fanart gallery in the back of the book. most of them aren’t labeled with the artist’s handles, just their names, but there are some truly beautiful pieces featuring diverse designs -- galacticjonah and milkychai both have beautiful latino taakos featured! galacticjonah’s is fat, too! but even after the backlash against green taako, even aside from that being the design that people are going to accept as canonical, there are pieces in the gallery of green taako, as if doubling down on it was the right move.

and by the way, yeah, i’ve read griffin’s apology. but i thought we all learned in kindergarten that an apology doesn’t count if you don’t act on it.

#prim.txt #tazposting #tazmeta #taz: balance #taz balance #taz graphic novel

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sassycassie-s-writing · 6 years

Text

Dramatic Confession

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avatar: The Last Airbender/Zuko

Rating: Pg-11/T-

Original Idea: This Imagine

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) @welovegroot asked if I’d write more Zuko/A:TLA so I did!

^^^^^

Zuko scooted over to make some room for me on the front bench—which was longer than the back bench. It squished the four of us together, but Katara and Toph only protested a little bit. Toph more so than Katara. Who understood that since there were seven of us, we needed to crowd together to fit.

“Thanks,” I said, sitting next to him.

He and I were the Fire Nation runaways. Him the Crown Prince, me an ex-soldier, drafted at a young age due to natural Firebending prowess. Since deserting the military, my hair had grown past regulation-length. No one guessed I was a soldier anymore. With some of my hair in a top knot and the rest hanging down, I almost looked like a high-society citizen. I knew people knew that the Avatar had two Firebenders travelling with him. A lot of people probably knew one was Zuko. No one outside the military knew or cared about me. And I liked it that way.

“No problem,” he muttered.

The play started. All seven of us were in mild shock. It was so corny and blatantly false that I almost wanted to vomit from disgust. Seriously. What was with this writer? Zuko’s actor was over-the-top (but alarmingly accurate to his emotional outbursts)—Katara’s was too—Sokka’s just… wasn’t funny. Aang’s was just a bit bizarre. Toph’s was hilarious—

Then I got introduced.

“Oh my word,” I muttered under my breath, pulling the ribbon I wore as a headband down over my eyes.

“Oh! My dear Prince Zuko! It has been too long since I’ve seen you, my love!” the actress playing me exclaimed, hands collapsed over her heart dramatically. Blushing like mad, I slid down as far as I possibly could on the bench.

She was dressed in a way-too-revealing and entirely impractical version of a Fire Nation military uniform. Her hair was regulation-length—down to the scapulae being the longest hair allowed—with some of it tied up in a top knot. I reached up and pulled the pin out of mine, letting it fall so fewer people would recognize me.

I peered out from under the ribbon around my eyes in time to see Zuko’s actor grasp my actor into a tight embrace around the waist. “My darling!” he replied, equally as dramatic. “Oh how I’ve missed you!”

I felt Zuko tense up next to me, but neither of us could move since we were all squished together on the bench. No sliding away from each other.

Aang leaned forward on my left side to whisper in my ear, “Hey, I thought you and Zuko never met ‘til you joined us.”

“We hadn’t,” I replied. “But given everything else this play has been wrong about… are you surprised?”

Aang let out a little, “Hmm,” of thought before leaning back to watch the rest of the play.

I wished I could set the theater on fire to get out of this ridiculous situation. Oh my word I was going to cry from how terrible this play was.

After a long and disgustingly audible kiss between the actors playing me and Zuko, I covered my eyes with my ribbon again, folded my arms over my chest, and refused to relax from the cringe in my posture.

It mellowed out a little bit, not so much focusing on me and Zuko anymore—though there were moments that I could feel coming from a mile away where I covered my eyes—to the point where I could emerge from under my ribbon.

At intermission, I practically ran out of the theater and into the rest of the building, desperate to get away from Zuko and the events happening so inaccurately on the stage.

I could swear I heard Zuko calling my name, but I ignored him and found a place to hide.

A hallway with a corner at the end that led to nowhere.

There, I leaned against the wall and fixed my hair, smoothing out my ribbon headband and the odd waves from taking out a top knot. I was panting from my jog to get away from the theater. “Oh my word,” I muttered again, burying my face in my palms.

The floorboards creaked.

A callused hand wrapped around my wrists and gently pulled my hands away from my face. “Hey,” Zuko said quietly. “Are you alright?”

“No,” I retorted. “I'm embarrassed.”

“Well no one else knows that we’re here and we’re us,” he said. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed yet. If we are visibly embarrassed, it could give us away.”

I took a deep breath, trying to get a grip. “You’re right,” I said, shaking my head.

Zuko nodded once. “Take a minute. Get yourself together or whatever. See you back inside.”

“See you back inside,” I said.

When the intermission was over and I crammed myself back onto the bench, I did everything in my power not to look at Zuko.

It went well for all of five minutes before the forced love story between he and I got overdramatic and sappy again. We glanced at each other and made faces in apology of how ridiculous the whole situation was.

At the end of the play, when he went down with a cry of, “HOOONNNOOORRR!” the actress playing me wept profusely and promptly lit herself on fire, declaring that she wasn’t going to live without the love of her life. I sank down in my seat again, wishing I’d been born as a bush on the edge of the beach.

Thankfully, when it was all over, we went back to the Fire Lord’s summer home on Ember Island and no one even noticed or recognized us.

Everyone turned in for bed. Except me. I sat out in the yard where Aang, Zuko, and I did Firebending training together and looked up at the stars. It was a warm summer night and the comet was approaching. We didn’t have a lot of time…

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind me.

I whirled.

Zuko was standing just under the covered porch, one hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He was in his usual clothes, the dark cloak he’d worn to the play nowhere to be seen.

“Hi,” I replied, scooting over as a cue that he was welcome to sit by me.

He did so, plopping down next to me casually. He wrapped his arms around his bent knees and looked up at the stars. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” I agreed quietly, following his gaze.

After a moment, Zuko sighed and shoved his hand into his scruffy hair. “Listen. I'm sorry about today,” he said. “About the play making you uncomfortable. I knew it was going to be a disaster. I tried to talk the others out of it—”

“It’s not your fault, Zuko,” I said, wrapping my arms around my knees as well, copying his position.

“About, uh… about their portrayal of us…” he began.

“It was definitely over-the-top,” I said.

“That’s an understatement,” he grumbled. After a moment he seemed to steel himself for something, taking a deep breath. “They may have been dramatic but… well… they weren’t wrong how I feel about you.”

The world came to a screeching halt—my brain slammed to a stop and my heart skipped a beat.

“What did you say?” I whispered, looking away from the stars to focus on him.

“I, uh… I really like you. Maybe… even… ah man. Maybe even love you.”

I felt my jaw drop open. For several long moments I just stared, my feet sliding away from me, straightening out my knees as my hands fell to my lap.

“You’re going to punch me, aren’t you?” he asked apprehensively.

Impulsively, I reached out.

My hand slid around the back of his neck and pulled him to me.

I kissed him with complete reckless abandon. The others were all asleep by now, surely, and who else would see? Who else would have to know?

I felt his fingers find the back of my head and neck, threading into my hair. He kissed me back with the passion I was fairly certain was unique to Firebenders. The kind that willed tongues of flame into being.

I don’t know how long the kiss lasted. It wasn’t long enough. When we pulled away for air, our foreheads rested together. I could feel his hair against my skin.

“I… honestly thought you were going to punch me,” he whispered.

I couldn’t help but smile. “No. I wasn’t. It’s about time you admitted you like me, Your Highness,” I replied breathlessly.

“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled with no real malice or menace behind it, chin tilting forward. Our mouths searched each other out again, sealing together hungrily. I could taste the fire on his skin and I was certain he could taste it on mine.

“Hey Zuko have you seen—what the—?!” Sokka exclaimed, quiet but startled.

Zuko and I pulled away from each other with an audible suction noise. “Sokka!” I hissed.

“Never mind. G’night!” Sokka replied, turning on the ball of his foot and skittering away.

Zuko sighed. “I’m going to go talk to him,” he said, moving to get up.

I caught his wrist and pulled him back in for one more kiss. “For luck,” I whispered against his lips.

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