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super-ion · 2 months

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Ion & Emily - Best Friends

(Just a little bridging chapter between "How It All Started" and "Unexpected Company")

“She kissed you!?”

Sarah is literally bouncing with excitement while I blush and try not to make a bashful little grin.

It's weird. I'm still not exactly sure how it happened. She kind of adopted me and we just sorta platonically clicked.

I am now best friends with Lady Lacuna.

(Pause here for inner fangirl screaming - seriously though, she's super cool and we hang out all the time in each other's lairs)

“Oh my god! Jen has a girlfriend!”

“Technically Ion has a girlfriend… well, I don't actually know, it's not exactly official. The whole kidnapping thing is kinda weird for genuine conversations.”

I ponder this for a bit before letting out a frustrated sigh and peer back at the circuit board I'm working on for her.

“I… I don't want Ion to be the only side of me she sees. Like I want to spend time with her as Jen. You know?”

Sarah flops back on the sofa next to the bench where I'm working.

“Then ask her out. You two text all the time, she's obviously into you. Text her right now and ask her.”

“Yeah, but what about the whole secret identity thing?”

“Eh,” she says with a dramatic shrug. “That's half the fun. Honestly, I'd be surprised if she hasn't figured it out already.”

I frown and chew my lip.

“Text her. Right now. Get on your phone and ask her out as Jen.”

“It's not that easy,” I protest.

“It totally is.”

“But-”

With a wave of her hand a tiny portal opens up over the workbench and she snatches my phone.

“Hey!” I shout, fumbling with the soldering iron as I scramble to get to the couch where she is now cackling maniacally and tapping away.

“Dear Emily,” she says. “I think you're really hot and we should get married.”

“What?? No! Give me that!”

I tackle her and somehow manage to wrestle the phone out of her grip. It's not as bad as what she just said, but she's still texted Emily. “

Me, 5:21pm

Hey, are you busy Friday night?

“Oh, you are evil,” I growl.

“Duh, I'm a super villain,” she replies with a wicked grin.

I look at my phone and watch three little dots dancing on the screen. Emily is typing a response. I grip my phone with both hands, watching as the dots dance in and out of existence as she composes a reply. Sarah sits next to me, craning her neck to watch the screen and grinning expectantly.

We both wait with bated breath. Finally (finally!) the phone pings.

Emily, 5:23pm

Nope! Anything in particular you want to do? :)

Oh god… she signed it with a smiley face. This is happening.

“What… what do I want to do??” I ask with a wide eyed beseeching look to Sarah.

“Ambient music cocktail hour at the modern art museum.”

I blink at her in surprise.

“That's a thing?"

“Yeah, totally,” she says. “A girl I dated last year was super into that sort of stuff. I think you'd like it.”

I do a quick search and yes, it is in fact a thing that happens on the second Friday of each month. Huh…

I take a fortifying breath and tap out a response.

A few seconds later:

Emily, 5:31

Oh! That sounds awesome! I'll pick you up at 6?

“Yes!” Sarah whoops and pulls me into a tight hug. “When you get married, you have to make me the maid of honor!”

I smirk as I extract myself from the couch to finally finish the upgrades to her boots.

“Enough about me,” I grumble. “How did your date last night go?”

“Uuuugh,” she says, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “It was awful. He kept trying to mansplain quantum physics to me. Like I totally don't have a PhD in high energy particle dynamics. Seriously, I'm swearing off men forever.”

“Didn't you swear off men forever last month?”

She scrunches up her face and glares at me.

“Yeah, but I mean it this time.”

“Uh-huh…”

I watch her as she sulkily pulls out her phone.

“Have you ever thought about dating another super?”

She frowns and looks at me with a questioning glance.

“I mean… you're always complaining about everyone you date. Maybe you need someone who can meet you on your level?”

An expression flickers on her face, something I've rarely seen, a strange sort of uncertainty and vulnerability. It's gone in a moment and she cracks a smile.

“Relationships between villains can be prickly,” she says. “You remember when Reverb and Osprey leveled half the fashion district? Lovers quarrel.”

Yeah, that brawl was a whole entire thing. I guess I can see how strong villain personalities might cause some issues.

“Unless you mean I should date a hero?” she says with a strained laugh. “Wouldn't that be a hoot?”

Okay, there is definitely some history there, but I'm not going to poke at it.

Instead, I turn my attention back to the boots and slip the circuit board into the heel before running some diagnostics. The heels aren't like stilletos or anything, they're decently sturdy, but still, they've gotta be at least 4 inches.

“How do you even fight in these?” I ask.

“Practice,” she says, not looking up from her phone. “After beating childhood cancer and getting a PhD at 19, learning how to run and fight in heels seemed like the next logical life goal.”

“I could never,” I muse “I'd probably break my ankle in five minutes.”

“Skill issue,” she replies.

I gasp indignantly and she gives me a wink and a cheeky smile. She's not wrong. I mean, I probably could if I really wanted to. But I didn't really want to. I'm tall enough without heels.

“Well…” I say, “they're calibrating now. The updated control loop should boost performance and help you stick more landings.”

“You're the best!” she says, bounding to her feet to examine my work.

“Hey, you wanna rob a jewelry store or something?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes at me.

“You're trying to get out of training aren't you?”

“Yeah…” I admit, hunching my shoulders.

“Jen…” she sighs. “I watched your last fight. You keep missing bunny boy’s right hook. You're going to keep missing it if you don't practice.”

“Nobody told me being a super villain would be so much work,” I grumble.

But I'm already sullenly climbing to my feet and unzipping my sweatshirt as we head to the fighting pit.

Oh, I think I forgot to mention, I'm in Lady Lacuna’s evil lair, which totally used to be Doctor Magma’s evil lair. We're walking past all sorts of diabolical apparatus, like a whole entire mad science laboratory. It is the absolute coolest shit you can imagine. Like imagine the coolest evil lair of evil, now double the coolness of that. That's about where I am when I come to visit this place.

So here I am, about to enter the fighting pit with my best friend where she will proceed to kick my ass for an hour. Not gunna lie, it's actually a really good workout by itself. Even if I still get knocked around by Jackrabbit's right hook, I'm still in the best shape of my life.

I still can't believe how much my life has changed since I got powers. I love what I do and I have more money than I know what to do with. I have a best friend now. I (Ion) have a girlfriend (probably). I (Jen) have a date with that same girl on Friday.

Yeah, life's pretty good.

I feel like I'm ready for anything life has to throw at me.

#my writing #lesbian #transgender #supervillain oc #ion & emily #writers on tumblr

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yoditorian · 2 months

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Lacuna - The Rewrite - Part 2

din/gn!reader

i split the original chapter into two upon rewriting, which is why the second half is missing

original part 2//series masterlist//main masterlist

word count: 3.1k // warnings: some swears, too many italics, that's literally it tho, still 18+ no babies

“-wiped out, no one survived.”

“Well, someone did.”

They’re arguing, still. And you’ve been delivered five meals since being directed into the small office for questioning. So it’s been at least a day, almost two. Probably. The voices in the hall fade, they must be off to discuss your situation with someone who might be able to make the decision. They’ve already searched you and your pack - already confirmed you’re not a spy for the Empire - so what’s the hold up?

You don’t hear a set of footsteps approaching the door, too wrapped up in your own anxieties about what might happen if they don’t let you in. Which is probably why you jump half a foot in your chair when the door slides open. It reveals a woman, dark hair and sharp features, deep green flight suit tied at her waist. She’s pretty, although she’s clearly not sure what to make of you just yet as she eyes the binders at your wrists.

“What do you do?” She asks, arms folded as she leans against the doorframe. You don’t answer straight away, not sure if it might be some kind of test, but at least she doesn’t look overly annoyed that she has to repeat her question to get an answer.

“Pilot, mechanic, fucking janitor - whatever, honestly.”

“Triple threat,” Her voice is even, but she’s fighting a smile that gives her away immediately. Not a test, then. “What kind of experience you got?”

Shara has to admit that the rumours of a surviving member of the Corellian spy ring had piqued her interest. Jet fuel runs in the blood there, it’s a safe bet that whoever the generals had spent the better part of forty eight hours grilling has more than enough experience to hop straight into a starfighter. And with heavy losses in recent months, pilots are something the Rebellion is desperately short on.

So she isn’t shocked when you start listing every planetside transport, every planet hopper, cargo freighter, gunship, and starfighter you’ve ever worked on or flown. The list is extensive, impressive honestly. It dwarfs the experience of many of her colleagues, and Shara can’t help the thrum of excitement in her veins. Not only are you an experienced pilot, but you’re a mechanic - a scrapper, the rebels need more scrappers. Too many politicians, too many people who are far too used to having every resource in the galaxy at their disposal. It’s a glimmer of hope, she realises, in a night becoming all too dark for anyone’s liking.

“So, you can fly anything?” Shara asks, no longer hiding the wide grin on her face.

“Anything.”

You’ll fit right in, she decides - there and then.

And you do, you slot in like you’ve lived your whole life orbiting Yavin.

They drill you like there’s no tomorrow, you’ve got the deep muscle aches to prove it but it’s thrilling. Your back hurts and it’s everything you ever wanted it to be. Where the Corellian spy ring was all sneaking and secrets, the Rebel base on Yavin IV is a full scale production. Every daylight hour is spent running the same manoeuvres in the main four fighters - before you know it, you could fly any one of them with your eyes closed. Despite the pain and the exhaustion and the repetitive nature of the training, you love it. But you’ve got your eyes on the prize.

A coveted position in one of the primary starfighter squadrons has conveniently opened up, its previous placeholder reassigned, and you’re not the only one who’s sure that the fourth bunk in Green Squadron’s barracks has your name on it.

“I know I don’t see you coming for my track time.” Shara Bey’s voice is loud and clear over the buzz of the hangar, and you can’t keep the smile off your face despite the ache deep in your bones.

“Maybe I am, are you finally gonna do something about it?”

Shara launches herself at you the moment you set your datapad down, a boisterous laugh echoing off the ships. You’re steadily climbing the ranks in training, the years of experience already under your belt make you more confident in the cockpit than the other new recruits and you’re not afraid to pull a stunt or two. A flawless dead drop recovery had earned more than a few nods of approval from some of the qualified pilots. Although the Commander overseeing the recruit training made it clear that it was definitely what landed you with patrol maintenance duty on top of your usual drills in the first place.

“I talked to Draven.” She says, and your stomach flips. You’re leaps and bounds ahead of the other recruits, for sure, but nobody seems to want to sign off on your training. There’s always something about required hours or simulation times or more drills. You’re starting to get the feeling that, while you’ve got enough support from your would-be colleagues, no one in command wants you in the air at all.

“I told you I would!”

“I know, I know. But look, if I ask it’s more like an endorsement.”

“Shara-” You’re talking over one another, but not missing a single word. It’s a talent that leaves the commanding officers astounded more often than not.

“He said he’d think about it, which in command language means no-”

“Tell me there’s a but.”

“But,” She grins widely, “He told me if you get this next info grab done, he’ll put in a good word with my commanders. And my commanders know I’m not going in the air unless you’re at my nine o’clock.”

Shara’s been far more welcoming than just about everyone since the moment she’d rocked up to your interrogation room and asked about your experience. And, over the moon to find you wandering around the halls and out of the binders, she’d spent the whole of your first night curled up in your bunk in the recruit barracks - recounting every little bit of drama she could think of. By the morning, you know who was dating who, who wasn’t happy about it, which crews were rivals, and which held the fastest course runs. Hers, obviously .

You weren’t as forthcoming with your own journey, only mentioning that you’d run with some rebels for a while on your home planet, made a few detours along the way - she didn’t seem too surprised, and you wondered how much of that she knew already. Ran’s voice, still, in the back of your mind reminding you that everybody has an agenda . But her eyes were so open, so kind, you’ve yet to see that slip. Shara Bey might be the first genuinely good person you’ve ever met.

“And Kes’s crew is due to swing by tomorrow, in case you’ve changed your mind.” She winks, although she already knows you well enough to know you won’t take her up on the offer.

It had come up that first night, somewhere along the way, when she’d started lamenting about the pitiful state of the dating pool. Not something she had to worry about anymore, thank God, but a nightmare nowadays if you were after anyone who didn’t have history with someone in their own crew. She was happy to get her boyfriend to set you up with one of his friends - Pathfinders, never on base long enough to establish a history with anyone, fine enough to pass the time, and strong enough to manhandle you a little. If that’s what you’re into.

You’d still been a little wary of sharing too many details about your history, something about how you weren’t interested muttered in the dark over the quiet breathing of the other new recruits. You could only tell her that you didn’t expect to see him again. He’d gone home, you didn’t even know where home was. She’d understood, with an arm around your shoulders and an attentive ear if you ever wanted to share more, although she made it clear that the offer of a muscular pair of emotionally unattached Pathfinder arms was always open.

It’s close to a year since you got scooped up by their spies for asking about the Rebellion, but Shara’s never failed to make it seem like much longer. Like you’ve been best friends, sharing lunches and secrets on the landing pad in the shade of her A-Wing for your whole lives. Even now, she’s looking at you like she knows you - backwards, forwards, sideways, inside out. Truth be told, she kind of does. It’s a closeness you’re sure you’ve never had with anyone, and you know you wouldn’t give it up for anything.

“Someone came here last week having never left his planet before and they put him on the training roster. You’ve logged more flight time than any recruit I’ve ever seen and we didn’t even have to teach you in the first place. I know you’re Draven’s golden child, but he can’t keep you on the ground forever, kid.”

“You can’t call me ‘kid’, I’m older than you.” You laugh, shoving her shoulder with your own.

“You’re ruining the moment.” She winks, pressing a kiss to your temple before she waves at a commander calling her name and makes her way to her ship.

The datapad beeps a reminder from its resting place on your tool trolley, you need to pack for your intel grab. It shouldn’t be a long trip, Draven had assured you, a simple in and out: information in exchange for protection and transport to the base. Protection and transport optional. He makes the hard decisions, you’ve learned during your time running the smaller missions for intelligence. The more important runs get given to rebels like Cassian Andor and the group of mercs you’d seen filing into the command room a few days ago. It was an odd combination, seeing people like that somewhere like this, and you know you shouldn’t have stared but you couldn’t help yourself. Weapons strapped to every empty space on each body, armour and clothes on a number of species from all across the galaxy. One of them had looked jarringly like you, although you hadn’t really gotten a good look at their face before they’d disappeared.

Just this mission, and you’d be in the air next week. Hopefully. It’s enough to get your feet moving towards the barracks to pack.

You only need the basics, a change of clothes and some medkit refills. Just in case. Except there’s still an empty space when you zip it shut, sitting heavy between your neatly folded shirts and the top of the bag, and you keep looking at your blanket. It gets cold in hyperspace, a voice in the back of your mind pipes up, and you decide that’s good enough reason as any to fold it in alongside your supplies. It smells solidly of the clean soap of your bedsheets, his scent - Din’s scent, a mix of metal and warmth - had faded before you even plucked up the courage to go looking for the Rebellion, all those months ago. You still hold it to your nose for a moment, just to check, before it too gets folded and laid in the top of your pack.

Now you’re ready.

Din isn’t overly fond of Nevarro. It’s not an unbearable heat, the dry plains are to thank for that, but he’s not a fan of days where the wind picks up and carries the sulphur of the lava fields under the lip of his helmet. The covert welcomed him back, more or less with open arms - though he’s not sure if their ever-dwindling numbers might have had anything to do with the warm reception. He hadn’t let them go without a cut of his pay for every job he’d done for Ran, always sending something back to the foundlings, so at least he hadn’t totally abandoned them. The Armourer decided he should be their beroya , their bounty hunter, and within days he found himself tracking a quarry in a system he’d never heard of. It was easy, really, to take the skills he’d garnered all his life and apply them to this. Paz had laughed with the familiarity of an old friend and told him that if a skinny thing like Din was their beroya , they were all fucked. So at least no one was openly angry that he’d left them.

The guild rep slides a puck across the table, metal scraping against the stone, and the blue hologram flickers. The human man staring back at him is unassuming, but the notes suggest otherwise. A former senator’s assistant, with strong connections to both the Empire and the Rebellion. Din nods, flicking the puck off and tucking it into his pocket without another word.

His loyalty is to the covert, to the Mandalorians. It always has been and it always will be. This is the way. But one mention of the Rebellion has his mind surging back to thoughts of you. Everything in his life seems to. Every time he sets foot on the Crest all he can see is you, bent double with your head in an access panel and a greasy rag tucked into the back of your pants. He’d see the sun and remember how you always used to turn your face to it, just for a moment, whenever the team ran jobs planetside. You’d never told him where you came from, but Ran had let bits and pieces slip over the years. In the looming shadow of the Razor Crest, Din wonders if you ever made it off the station. If you decided to drop everything and find the rebellion, the way you said you would when you were half asleep on his chest, your mind fucked out and hazy. He hopes you did.

The tracking fob brings him to a semi populated planet, somewhere near the border of the Unknown Regions. Vast swathes of land and water are completely uncolonised, left to nature, only a few cities dotted here and there over the whole planet. The bounty is evidently in possession of some brains, having chosen a mid-sized city to get lost in, and Din is almost disappointed that he knows it won’t take long. Wishes he’d picked a different puck, a little further away. Just to keep his mind occupied and out of more dangerous territories.

He stays vigilant, but pays no mind to the beeping of the fob on his belt. He can steal a moment, he thinks, to take in the area. To live the life of some extravagant explorer in his mind while he does a little recon, the life he might have led before it was cruelly snatched away in seconds on Aq Vetina. The last thing he expects to see when he walks into that crumbling little cantina is you.

Din spins on his heel and is out of the door almost as soon as he enters, slipping down the alley to the side of the building to catch his breath. He’s fairly sure you don’t notice - but his mind is reeling, echoes of the vows he swore as a child and the Armourer’s words swirl in his ears.

His loyalty is to the covert. His loyalty is to the covert. His loyalty is to the covert.

But he only sees you. The way you always had time for him back on the station, how you told the others where they could shove it but always gave him a smile. You went above and beyond to help him without complaint when he asked, only ever got snippy with him when someone else had pissed you off first. He still remembers the way you felt in his hands, how you sounded, how you tasted. He still thinks about it on quiet nights, more often than he should. This is not the place to remember, there’ll be time for that later, although his body needs another minute to be completely convinced.

All he feels is guilt, once the blood comes back up to his brain. Guilt over the covert, over his vows and his creed and his people. But what’s more convincing is the guilt he has over you. Over how he just walked away, left you sleeping, and took the ship you’d spent months working on. Even if you were the one who told him to take it. You’re beautiful, still. Of course you are, you always have been to him.

You notice when he walks in this time.

The sunlight streaming in from a window catches on the glass of his visor and your heart jumps into your throat. You don’t know if he’s spotted you yet, as he takes a seat at a table by the door angled away from you. Logically, you’d say it could be any Mandalorian. But you spent countless hours studying the way he moves, you had to know his gait to know if walking around a corner would get you killed or not. It almost had on more than one occasion. You could recognise his footsteps anywhere.

The untrained eye would think him relaxed, as relaxed as a man in head to toe armour can be, but you know better. There’s a tension in his shoulders, the same he used to get when Xi’an made another move on him with that grating giggle or Qin handled a blaster too roughly. His hand sits on his thigh, fingers splayed, ready to find the smooth contours of his blaster at any moment. Ever the soldier, never quite at ease. Apart from the last time you thought you’d ever see him, it seemed.

He leaves before you’re even done with your drink, sitting there for barely five minutes when he throws a couple of credits on the table for a drink he didn’t buy and stalks out. You sigh and down the rest of your drink, hoping it’ll quell the nausea rising in your stomach. It doesn’t, but you follow him out all the same.

You’re sure you were right behind him, weaving through the slowly emptying streets as the sun sets and the chill of the night begins to settle in, but now he’s nowhere to be found. Until you feel a set of eyes land heavily on your shoulders. You turn, slowly, and catch a glimpse of where he ducked into a narrow alley. The city’s full of them, but you’re certain he hadn’t been there when you passed it.

A long moment passes when you’re swallowed by the shadow of the buildings towering either side of you, a moment where he just watches you. You can’t deny you’re watching him too, carefully surveying his armour for new nicks and scrapes. There’s more than you’d like to admit to caring about.

“What are you doing here?” He breaks the silence, the tension, first. You shrug.

“Working, what are you doing here?”

Din holds a small round disk in his palm, arm stretching out towards you as the holo flickers to life and you’re faced with your contact for the intel drop.

“Working.”

Fuck.

And that’s when a really, really bad idea starts to take shape.

i don't have access to my old taglist forms anymore so feel free to message or drop me an ask if you want to be tagged in future :)

#summary is i love shara bey and i want to be her best friend end of chapter #lacuna #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars fic #the mandalorian fic #liz does words

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sabraeal · 26 days

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fruit of the bitter tree, Chapter 1 [King's Beast | Ou no Kemono, Taihaku/Rangtsu]

[Read on AO3]

Written for @obiyuki-beebs, who has been a long time sufferer of this B-ship with me. One of the newer OnK chapters came out right before I asked for her birthday request, while we were both still wallowing in the DREAD GRIP of this pairing, and I was all too happy to be the first person to write fic for these idiots.

The decision to take on a new aide is one Tenyou-sama does not make lightly. The pavilion of the fourth prince has always been leanly staffed— at least according to Taihaku, who grumbles each time he tallies up the two ajin guards and one civil servant that populate the sprawling palace— but with the increased responsibility of becoming third prince—

“You can’t possibly expect me to take this on alone,” Taihaku tells him, belatedly— if reverently— tacking on, “Your Highness.”

Rangetsu does not naturally speak out both sides of her mouth, not the way the other courtiers do— the way Taihaku can, his words still light despite the weight of the double meaning they carry. But she has learned to listen for them, for the lacuna between breaths, for the way eyes often shoulder the burden that voices cannot. And Taihaku’s is all too plain.

A prince might suffer so few servants, the twitch in his cheeks mutters as the vein in his temple shouts, but an emperor cannot.

Tenyou-sama receives both rebukes with the same abashed bemusement as he takes most of Taihaku’s scoldings, head just barely bowed and smile strained at the corners.

“Of course.” One hand curling open, his magnanimity as reflexive as his kindness. “You are right, as always.”

Caught halfway through forming his next argument, chest puffed large as a bellows, Taihaku practically deflates, hollowed out beneath the tense line of his shoulders. “Oh. Ah. Are you really—?” His teeth snap around the rest of the question, dispelling it with a clearing of his throat. “I mean, thank you, master. Your wisdom is unimpeachable.”

One side of Tenyou-sama’s mouth twitches, stretching toward a smirk. “In this matter, at least. I have full trust that you will pick out someone suitable.”

“Me?” Taihaku’s jaw falls slack, one hand raised to sweep back the fall of his fringe before he remembers himself. “You mean—? Wouldn’t you rather select…?”

This time Tenyou-sama allows himself the smirk, one elegant brow sweeping up the smooth expanse of his forehead. Rangetsu’s fingers itch to trace its path. “You’re not the only one with more work, you know.”

“Ah…” Confusion converts to consternation, a bright flush creeping up from the collar of Taihaku’s robe, painting up the tense column of his neck. “Right. Of course.”

Tenyou-sama may be beautiful in that way that blossoms flutter on the breeze, or snow gathers on stone, but it’s Taihaku the palace maids giggle over. There’s something pleasant about his mouth, she’d heard one say, after he asked her to change out the arrangements in the fourth prince’s pavilion. I like watching him speak.

Rangestu had tried to see it— she’d had plenty of opportunity when he’d found her next, since he’d launched right into an impassioned lecture on the number of feet the fourth prince’s guards should keep on the ground when at court. Through all the sneering and snorting and snide remarks, she hadn’t found much of it pleasant to say the least.

But there is something about the way his jaw works that attracts her attention now; the jump of the tendon, perhaps, as it sets, or how delicately his throat bobs when it swallows. Or perhaps it is merely the grit of his teeth, the smile that is more nerves than nicety as he says, “I won’t let you down.”

Like an ajin’s, she realizes. That’s what his smile is like. And when she angles her own up to him, chasing his heels as he stomps out the door, he scowls back.

“Don’t,” he warns, darkly, “even think about making more work for me.”

“I was just wondering,” she says, trotting past his shoulders. “If my brother still has that liquor the Kougai-sama gave him.”

“This is just like him!” Beside her and Sogetsu, it is easy to forget that Taihaku’s official title was guard rather than aide for the first stumbling years of her tenure. But there is strength in the arm that he drops, leaving the table trembling beneath its weight. “I tell him there’s a problem, and then he— he goes off and gives me the power to fix it! Because gods forbid he actually…”

His voice drops to a mumble, muffled by the hand he curls over his mouth. Even with her ajin ears, Rangetsu can’t make out more than one word in five. Not that she needs to— when he gets like this, Taihaku cares more about airing his complaints than having them heard— but she still leans in, close enough one of her splayed knees brushes against his, and asks, “You don’t want to pick out the new servant?”

“What?” His hand lifts, burying itself in his hair rather than corners of his jaw. It’s not often she sees his eyes like this— unobstructed, no spray of fringe to hide the impatience in them. Or, sometimes, something she’s almost sure is fondness. “Of course I do. If I left it to Tenyou-sama, he’d pick someone like you.”

She blinks, filling his cup when he holds it out. “Ajin?”

His mouth curls around the cup’s edge. “Hopeless.”

Ichii joins them when the sakura first begins to bloom.

There’s petals tumbling in the air when Taihaku kneels at the bottom of the pavilion steps, leaning forward to lay prostrate at Tenyou-sama’s feet. They catch in his hair, dainty pink dotting inky black, like still water at twilight.

Standing at his shoulder, Rangetsu is glad for her mask— she cannot be sure what the third prince’s chief aide might do if he saw her smile, but it would almost certainly involve copying the worst poetry in the palace’s collection until her strokes were as fine as his. Or at least, until he got sick of disappointment.

His kowtow is serviceable, its execution technically perfect if lacking in abject devotion; the ideal model for the boy beside him, who hurries to make a more meaningful one.

Seated at the top of the steps, robed in pristine white and flanked by two ajin guards, Tenyou-sama is ethereal, more spirit than man and every inch an imperial prince. “This is the one you picked?”

“It is, Tenyou-sama.” Taihaku sits back on his heels, the veil of his fringe settling over his serious eyes. “Ichii recently passed the civil servant exam at its highest levels. Even amongst this year’s impressive showing of applications, he stood out in both the written and physical portions of the exam.”

Across Tenyou-sama’s elegant shoulders, Sogetsu meets her eyes, and even masked as he is, his amusement is plain. As is Tenyou-sama’s, his mouth unable to resist a wry tilt as he hums, “Did he?”

Taihaku’s brow furrows, frowning at their amusement. “Yes, Your Highness. I hope he meets your expectations.”

“If he was chosen by you, then I have every confidence he will.” He shifts, one hand curling under his chin as he adds, “It’s only….”

“Yes?” Taihaku prompts, impatience scraping the reverence off the edge of his voice.

“Well…” Tenyou-sama shifts, his own cheeks blooming with a dainty flush. “I would never have expected you to pick an ajin.”

“Don’t get any stupid ideas!” Taihaku glares over the rim of his sake cup, cheeks flushed with more than just alcohol now that both the boy and Tenyou-sama have been put to bed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the two of you.”

Sogetsu’s lounge only makes the arch of his brow all the more insolent. “Is that so? Here I was, half convinced you might like us.”

“I meant what I said.” He glances between the two of them, shoulders hiked right up to his ears. “He’s the best of a bumper crop.”

Impressive, at his age. The boy is young— young enough for one dark ear to droop as she took him to his quarters, so tired he didn’t noticed until she clasped it between her two fingers and rubbed at the muscle beneath. Rangetsu had no memory of how her own ears came to stand so proudly— there was little occasion for tenderness in the crèche— but during her short-lived retirement, she saw one of the old farm wives doing the same to the litter of pups their best bitch had whelped, urging them to standing. It was supposed to be a kindness, but—

But Ichii had smacked her hand away, eyes wide all the way around, and told her, “That won’t be necessary.” His voice had cracked at the end, still high when he tersely bid her goodnight.

“And no one else would have taken him,” Sogetsu adds. It’s not a question.

“No.” Each syllable elbows its way out of his mouth, begrudging. Tenyou-sama may have made it possible for ajin males to serve as more than fodder on the battlefield, but few humans would hire an animal to balance the books. “They wouldn’t have.”

Her brother hums, taking another delicate sip from his own cup. “Their loss.”

“Yeah.” Taihaku shoves a hand through his hair, unveiled eyes meeting hers for a moment before skittering away. “You could say that.”

“Do you like your room?” Rangetsu had been breathless when she’d showed it to Ichii the night before— private quarters, with a washstand filled fresh each morning and night. It’s the sort of luxury children in the crèche would only whisper of behind their hands, the kind they would only see if they were taken as royal guards or managed to make a name for themselves among the other flowers in the red light district. “I could hardly sleep my first night here.”

There are few civil servants who could keep pace with two ajin guards— especially ones as tall as her and her brother— but the boy manages it with only the scantest scarcity of breath, his chin tilted up pridefully between his deadly bookends. “I have no complaints, Rangetsu-dono.”

She stares down at him. Only a single night here and already he sounds like Taihaku. “Really?”

His nose wrinkles above his already rumpled mouth. “Yes.”

“I slept on the floor.” Sogetsu leans down, hanging over the boy’s shoulder with a conspiratorial smirk. “The bed was too soft. Took me nearly a month to sleep there the whole night.”

Ichii’s mouth rounds. “R-really?”

Sogetsu nods, straightening into his usual saunter. “There’s no shame in struggle here— not like there is out there. If you have trouble adjusting, you need only speak up.”

“My room is just down the hall,” Rangetsu blurts out, eager to have Ichii turn to her with the same wide, reverent eyes he gives her brother. “And Sogetsu’s is down in the other direction! Taihaku, too, he’s right next to me, so if—”

“I will make sure not to disturb you.” It’s a solemn promise, one he makes with head bowed and shoulders square— and exactly what she didn’t want.

“No!” He startles as she slings around him, taking her next stretch of steps backward to make sure their eyes meet as she says, “Please, do! If there is anything, I am happy to help-- no matter how small!”

Ichii’s mouth falls slack around an, “Oh.”

“Don’t look at me,” Sogetsu drawls when the boy casts his curious eyes on him. “I expect you to keep your problems to daylight hours. And amusing, too, if you mean to drag me into them.”

“Taihaku will handle most of your academic education, but Sogetsu and I will be handling your martial training,” she adds, falling back into step beside him. “But if you’re struggling with anything, tell me right away! Taihaku is a great teacher, but if you need him to go slower, I can tell him to—”

Ichii’s mouth pulls thin, a narrow perforation in his unblemished face. “Thanks you, Rangetsu-dono,” he says, not sounding grateful in the least. “But I won’t need any help.”

“Oh my,” Sogetsu snorts, as the boy outpaces them, his small back disappearing around a corner. “For having pretended to be an adolescent boy so long, my dear, you certainly don’t know how to handle them.”

Ichii does, of course, need help. The civil service exam may have prepared him for a life of clerical work in honor of the emperor, but there are different expectations for a prince’s aide. A rounded reading list, for one, with a working grasp of both classic shi and the newer fu poetry— a subject that Taihaku bemoans her progress on even now— as well as exemplary skill in the use of the short sword.

Oddly enough, it’s the last that Ichii struggles with.

“He is physically gifted,” Sogetsu hums, squinting over the training yard. “Even though it’s clear he’s never touched a sword save to pass that exam.”

Tenyou-sama shifts on the bench, one arm lazily folded over the pavilion’s rail, watching Taihaku and Ichii trade blows below. Or rather, they would be, if Taihaku didn’t easily side step each of the boy’s swings, delivering a corrective tap to his side. “As all ajin are. I’m sure with a few more months of training, he’ll outstrip Taihaku with ease.”

“Me too.” Sogetsu tilts his head back, grin sharp as his knives. “Looks like it will be up to my dear sister to make sure our newest addition meets his potential.”

“He’s over-committing.” It’s obvious in the way his shoulder reaches with every swing, in how long it takes him to recover his footing with each dodged blow. “Relying too much on strength when he’s fast too. Much more than Taihaku, if only—”

“My my.” Sogestu arches one of his brows, letting it disappear beneath the pale fall of his hair. “Maybe you should be the one down there.”

It’s not an idle suggestion, not one made from innocence and sincerity— no, as much as Rangetsu may love her brother, as much as she would be willing to lay down her entire life to see him alive and safe, she also has learned: Sogetsu never speaks a single syllable without some scheme behind it.

One which is all too clear when Tenyou-sama turns on his bench, glowing in the heat of the sun, and inquires, so innocent, “Oh, yes! Why aren’t you down there, Rangetsu?”

Sogetsu has earned more than the second of scowl she spares him before she replies, “Taihaku said I’d be in the way.”

“Underfoot,” Sogetsu supplies, so helpful. “I believe that was the word he used, sister dear.”

Rangestu only means to pass by Tenyou-sama’s office. Really, she does— it’s the most direct path between her chambers and the training yard, and after the kerfuffle in the kitchens today, she’s already late to her standing spar with Sogetsu. She doesn’t even pause when she passes the open doors, skirting around the curtains billowing in the first summer winds, until—

Until Tenyou-sama’s soft words drift through them, inquiring, “How is Ichii progressing?”

It’s hardly any of her business— Ichii’s made it quite clear that she last on his list of aides to beg favors from. Sogetsu might tease, might say, you read a room as well as you read any of the classic poets, but even she knows that she can’t elbow her way into his good graces by will alone.

And yet, she presses herself to the wall, ears perked to hear Taihaku’s buoyant, “Very well, Your Highness.”

Rangetsu frowns. He’d never spoken so glowingly of her accomplishments, as if just the thought of them put a skip in his step. As if they were something to be proud of, rather than grudgingly won.

Even Tenyou-sama seems surprised. “I hadn’t thought you would take so well to being an instructor again. Not after…”

Her.

“Ichii takes to everything like a duck to water,” Taihaku boasts, for once eager to praise. “Poetry, economics, imperial history— his calligraphy is already good enough to use in official correspondence.”

Unlike hers, which was hardly fit for the scrap paper she scrawled it on. Tenyou-sama said she had an endearing hand— a compliment she had taken pride in until Taihaku scoffed, that’s the sort of thing parents tell their child.

“And his martial skills,” Tenyou-sama presses, strangely unsure. “I suppose it might be time to let Rangetsu teach him the better points of—”

“No need, Your Highness.” Taihaku— Taihaku— laughs, deep in his throat, like a pleased parent fondly chiding their favorite child. “I’m happy to handle his training too.”

“Really?” At least Tenyou-sama seems as left-footed as she does. “I would have thought you would be eager to get back to your regular work.”

“And give up my best student?” He snorts. “Not likely.”

There’s something wrong with her, she thinks.

She makes it to her spar with Sogetsu, but her hands shake when she picks up a spear, her rolling stomach making the ground beneath her pitch and yaw like a ship’s deck. It fades as she advances toward her brother, chasing his his tail around the yard as if they were children still— he never did quite learn to fight the way he should, more fox than wolf even with a weapon in hand— but a simple kick from him sends her skittering across the clay, painting a bright red streak down the back of her uniform.

Sogestu, for his part, only watches her get to her feet, but his eyes narrow when she puts her back to him, pleading fatigue.

They narrow even further at dinner— taken together, at his insistence— when she only picks at her plate, unable to summon up her usual enthusiasm for the whole grilled fish placed in front of her. By the time Tenyou-sama dismisses them that night, it’s a wonder she can see anything more than a sliver of silver-blue, lingering on her as she stays behind, a soft hand already reaching for hers.

But there is no relief to be found in Tenyou-sama’s touch. No, when he strokes a hand down the bared skin of her arm, the tension beneath it snaps instead of sparks. She’s used to a pleasant hum that follows in the wake of his hands, like the air before a lightning strike, but instead she feels like an erhu strung too tight, the only music he can draw from her sharp and discordant.

He’s disappointed when she begs off his attentions, but spares her a welcome smile when she slips from his arms— and a less helpful kiss, leaving her nerves jangling as she slinks off to her rooms, strangely dissatisfied.

There’s nothing that eases it; not the briskness of the air nor her steps-- not even the palms she rubs down her arms, trying to urge her skin smooth. Something in her is laying at odd angles, and no matter how she sways and jumps, it won’t lay flat, won’t let her go back to the easy routine she’s settled into.

At least it doesn’t until she catches the spill of golden light from beneath Taihaku’s door. He’s up, still, probably poring over reports Tenyou-sama has long set aside. That’s the thing about the fourth prince’s foremost aide: he’s never once learned how to relax—

“Hah!”

Rangetsu jumps, skirting around his door like a skittish cat at a puddle. That had sounded like— like Taihaku. But it’s impossible; he doesn’t laugh at anything save her. And it’s not like that, all bright and bubbly, amused rather than tired—

“Is that your argument?” His tongue keeps tripping, his normally perfect syllables crowded by the laugh he’s barely holding at bay, and it’s strange how her heart pounds with each skipped consonant or strangled vowel. It’s Taihaku, it is, but unfamiliar, and though she knows she must go, she cannot make herself do anything but lean against the wall, drinking it in.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he insists, more evenly now. “Unless you want to get laughed out of the room before you can make your case.”

Her blood runs cold at the soft voice that squeaks out, “Of course, shifu…”

It's just...odd, that's all. Taihaku had always chased her out of his quarters after hours, telling her that he wasn’t her teacher again until morning. Later, she'd learned she could simple bring a bottle and her problems to his door, or sometimes simply sweep in, trapping him in questions before he could think to turn her out, but still--

It’s been hours, and they’re still in there, laughing over— over things. Poetry, probably. Literature, even. All the things Rangetsu could never get the hang of, but Ichii takes to as easy as breathing.

Ichii. Just thinking the name sets a spike through her breast. My best student.

Rangetsu lowers her chin, letting it dig into the flesh of her arm. It's silly, worrying about this. It's been ages since Taihaku called himself her tutor-- I've washed my hands of you, he tells her each time she shows him her attempts at calligraphy, stick to waving around that pole of yours-- no longer just his student, but friends as well. Just because Ichii is good at...at everything doesn't mean he doesn't like her too. It's just--

Well, only one of them is in his room right now, aren't they?

“Oh, my my my.” Sogetsu slips onto the railing next to her, eyebrows already lost behind the sweep of his hair. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

She frowns. “What is?”

“Why…” His teeth flash in the moonlight. “Not being the favorite anymore.”

#ou no kemono #the king's beast #taihaku/rangetsu #taigetsu #my fic #onk #future fic #slow burn #and of course what debut of mine would be complete without a completely load bearing oc #but it had to be done. only two fics on AO3 and they're both for the main ship #when the b-ship is so good! hopefully this time the mangaka doesn't make them siblings #they are different species!!! but i have a feeling this woman could find a way #in any case please enjoy rangetsu experiencing jealousy over taihaku's attention #and wanting to hurl herself into the nearest physical conflict in order to not have to process those emotions 🤣

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notasapleasure · 4 months

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WIP ask meme

@stripedroseandsketchpads tagged me in this. And oh my god. If you think there are Too Many Words in the fic I publish, you should see my poor notes app. Here is a sneak peek of its contents. I haven't edited for brevity/those I'm actively working on, these are just all the unfinished files I could find. Some I don't intend to do any more with, others I'd really like to pick up again. The only ones being actively worked on right now are the Andor Saga AU and the first one on the list for Andor.

I put ALL the Lymond I could find in mainly for @oughtaagh who has been leaving the most lovely comments on my Lymond fics that I have totally failed to respond to. I'm sorry! I will cycle back round to Lymond one day, it's inevitable <3

Tagging uh.... @distressednoise, @r0b0tb0y, @faceofpoe, @donnaimmaculata, @batri-jopa, @elwenyere, @notabuddhist and anyone else who wants to say I tagged them! Also sorry if you'd already been tagged, I'm not keeping up with the dash very well at the moment!

Anyway please send me asks/comments/cease and desist orders about these. xxx

ANDOR

C: We decided we were thirsty, and you wanted to go to Cavo's. As yet untitled Brassian alternative scene - what if instead of a great collaborative cover story this was a great collaborative fuck? Almost(?) finished?

Saga AU pt 2. This actually does have a working title of 'The Bear and the Berserk' but this doc is just a short bullet point list of plot things for a specific part of the fic.

Cassian pov. It's a Cassian pov chapter! For...drumroll...the first chapter of the Saga AU pt 2! The rest is going to be back to Brasso FPN. The file actually includes a rough first draft of chapter 2, as well.

"You're up early this morning," Bix says lightly. A follow-up chapter to Only Ever Just One Night started back when I had epic plans for continuing this, bringing in Cinta and Vel and Luthen, whumping the hell out of Brasso, and having Cassian rescue him. This is just one scene of awkward conversation with tea though.

Oh god it developed Plot. Related to the previous chapter - a bullet-pointed list of things that might have happened in this fic I Wil Not Write (not least as I'd rather just see what happens in S2 first anyway).

AND THEN WE DANCED

It was a sunny day in Batumi... Patchy few paragraphs of the next chapter of Inchoate.

Plannnnns (again). Plans for how Inchoate would/will continue.

THE LYMOND CHRONICLES

Canon-verse/other AUs

Multiple pieces of follow-up to The next man with a ladder, Danny/Jerott post-canon: It was dark when they rode into the port town... [Chapter 3, basically done, plus most of Chapter 4 but it devolves into broken paragraphs at the end]. "I'm going to the other bed," Danny said in a voice like someone was standing on his throat... [??? there's loads of this written! This is the file where they Get Down To It] Stitch the scenes together [a few paragraphs in which I hoped to make a logical leap from Chapter 4 to fucking, but seemingly never quite got there].

Lymondar saga draft. Actually two files of the abortive first effort at writing a saga AU. I was trying much harder to write in saga style and playing with lacunae in a way that was fun for me but exceedingly nerdy. I think I found the idea more fun than the execution, too.

St Seb. Remember ages ago when I was writing a post-canon 'Jerott gets shot full of arrows and has to admit his feelings because he thinks he's gonna die' fic? This is the file! Some bullet points and some text, some of which I even posted as Sunday sixes way back when iirc.

Fait prosperer qui n'est à croire vain. Fuck me, there's LOADS of this. Pawn in Frankincense/Ringed Castle AU where Marthe steals Lymond's ride with Kiaya Khatun and persuades her they should take over Russia together. Meanwhile Francis is left with Jerott. Hahaha. It kept getting longer because Francis kept trying to escape and I kept finding ways to drag him back, but the 'and now kiss!!' with the two of them behaving in character was just not coming easily.

Francis Crawford's Holistic Inquisition Agency. I wrote this??? One chapter of a Lymond/Dirk Gently AU, where Francis is obviously Dirk and Jerott is a furious/bemused Todd.

She tried every instrument, she redrew every chart. A few short chapters, never finished, of Marthe wrestling with her role in canon and her fate as assigned by La Dame. A couple more paragraphs of a similar sort of thing in Volos.

Malta. Half-arsed few paragraphs of wondering how Jerott would cope with meeting a fellow Knight being imprisoned for sodomy.

Band AU (my 1980s rock band AU for the series, see also @theartistknownaslymond)

Au of an Au. What if, after the Battle of the Bands at Solway, Jerott went to stay at the Edinburgh townhouse for a while and he and Francis got to collaborating in the shed? There's quite a lot of this and it's quite fluffy.

Out out out! The band celebrate Thatcher's downfall. Happy epilogues for everyone! However it's an epic task trying to do all the characters justice, so I was trying to write it as vignettes to match each song on the playlist. Six-ish are written. And earlier draft with plan for characters intercting is in Ding dong the witch is dead.

Jerott/Marthe - four times it just about worked, one time it really didn't. What it says on the tin? aka you just know Jerott has said 'Francis' instead of Marthe at least once when he comes. Only the beginning of the first time exists in this chapter, but I think I explored the idea elsewhere, whenever I dig up that file...

DWTH missing scene. Jerott/OC missing scene from Don't wake the house. Not finished, probably not going to be finished. I think I have enough Jerott smut on the go.

Workshop. Patchy draft of pre-canon Jerott and GRM 'therapy' session in which GRM learns about Francis Crawford and what a hold he has on the boy he thought of as his own plaything. GRM doesn't like sharing.

F/P. Draft of a fluffy kiss prompt someone (@erinaceina? @notfromcold?) sent for Francis/Philippa. Post-canon pregnant Philippa and worried Francis written when it was too hot in summer. It's probably complete enough to post tbh! hmu if you want it posting.

Jerott behaving badly (again). Somehow this ended up in the 'comfortember' section of the notepad, which...no? Maybe it was intended to be originally, but it grew a life of its own. Post-canon, post split-up with the OC, pre-getting together with Danny. Joining the mile high club and regretting it, then ending up crashing at Joleta's (who he meets coincidentally at the airport, NOT who he's screwing in the airplane loo!!). It's meant to end up cathartic, but didn't get finished :') I'm actually really pleased with what I have - post-canon Joleta is so much fun to write!

Somewhere (Google Drive?? an actual Word doc??) there is also loads and loads and LOADS of Pawn in Frankincense band AU around Baron Morgan's place (the Aga Morat), featuring fucked-up Francis/Morgan, fucked up Marthe/Kiaya, fucked up Francis/Kiaya, and bewildered cold turkey Jerott. There's also some Jerott/Marthe from later on.

Other

Crossover. A sequel to my ATWD fic I will shake mountains, where Merab and Irakli encounter celebrity diners in the restaurant they work in: respected musician Francis Crawford and friends take the boys for a drink and share queer/artistic inspiration/history with them. There's quite a lot written but I couldn't quite manage to finish it off.

St Mary's. Another ATWD/Lymond crossover, placing Merab and Irakli among the mercenaries of St Mary's. Mostly bullet points.

3m. Furious that there was no fic for the film Three Months I decided to jot down a scene I wanted to see afterwards. I wrote four lines and cannot remember what my plan was at all.

#often i think it would do me good to fear a wordcount more #my wips #my writing #my fics #wips #wip ask meme #memes #asks #please send asks about any of these!!#long post #:))

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myfearless-love · 4 months

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Swan of the Lake Ch. 11 - Lacuna

Summary:

While searching for her past filled with mysteries and legends, Emma Nolan loses her present in an unfortunate accident. The man rushing to save her is no prince charming, and he must realize soon enough that the girl, who has no idea who she is, awakens instincts and desires in him that he had long since buried deep within his soul. But who exactly is she? What if her memories come back? Will she remember anything at all?

Words: 3.7k

Read on: AO3 or FF.net

Buy me a coffee if you like :)

prologue II ch. 1 II ch. 2 II ch. 3 II ch. 4 II ch. 5 II ch.6 II ch.7 II ch.8 II ch.9 II ch. 10

Chapter 11: Lacuna

Killian shoots a surprised glance at Swan, utterly clueless about what's racing through her mind at that moment. Before he can decipher it, she shuts her eyes, and her face becomes a canvas drained of color. In a heartbeat, he darts towards her, cradling her in his arms just as she threatens to make a less-than-graceful return to the icy stage. Scooping her gently into his arms, he pulls her close.

"Well, I tend to have this effect on women," quips the dark-blond guy with a mischievous grin.

Killian shoots him a look that could chill a cup of espresso and signals for the dimmer switch on the charm offensive. The girl in the black hat takes a subtle jab at the man, successfully dialing down the wattage on his smile.

"Is she okay?" Concerned, the lass – Lily, or was it? – questions, prompting Killian's sarcasm to make an entrance.

"Does she look like she's okay?" he retorts with a raised eyebrow.

Suppressing the urge to unleash a kraken of irritation on the unwitting duo, Killian reluctantly acknowledges that they aren't to blame for knowing Swan. He really shouldn't harbor resentment towards them. Still, annoyance simmers within him like a pot of overzealous soup, threatening to boil over. As he looks at her, who's blissfully unaware of the turmoil within him, he contemplates the unexpected turn of events.

"Swan," he murmurs gently, but she remains unresponsive. Are her memories resurfacing, threatening to erase the Swan he knows when she opens her eyes? And why does the prospect sting with an unexpected, piercing pain? Killian sighs and turns to the duo, reigning in his irritation for the sake of friendliness. "You two seem to know her," he observes, prompting bewildered glances and a subtle nod from the man.

READ THE REST ON AO3 or FF.net

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare @jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779 @winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd @eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie

#cs #captain swan #cs ff #killian jones #emma swan #ouat #captain hook #emma x killian #once upon a time #ouat ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan ff #SOTL #niki writes

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ao3feed-zukka · 2 months

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lacuna

Read now on Ao3 at https://ift.tt/DB4J8Xr by icansmelltheghostsofsmoke (n.) a blank space, a missing part or, Zuko and Sokka meet for the first time in two years and they're living in the same cramped apartment. The last time they spoke, it was screaming their heads off at one another and would've involved fists if teachers hadn't stepped in. Hopefully this time will be better. Words: 2587, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Zuko (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Katara (Avatar), Hakoda (Avatar) Relationships: eventual Sokka/Zuko - Relationship, Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar) Additional Tags: Roommates, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Slow Burn, Bad Parent Ozai (Avatar), Mentioned Ozai (Avatar), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Eventual Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Zuko-centric (Avatar), (and sokka centric sort of because the POV shifts sometimes), Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Read it on Ao3 at https://ift.tt/DB4J8Xr

#IFTTT #zukka #sokka #zuko #avatar: the last airbender #atla #ao3 feed

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ginneke · 6 months

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for the fanfic end of the year asks, number 3!

(Fanfic end of the year asks available here: link)

Oh, thank you for the ask! And there’s really one passage that stands out to me as a favourite of 2023, which hails from Corrigendum – the self-indulgent, entirely unnecessary third part of my series Keepsakes.

But first, as single lines go, it has to be this:

"Why," says Revali, his voice lifting in shrill distress, "do you never pay the slightest bit of attention to me?"

(from A Study In Patience. Part 2 coming soon!)

(…What, did you think it would be that line from the end of A Seed of Song chapter 4? While that is certainly a favourite line, it was technically my favourite line of 2022 – it was already written all the way back in Feb ‘22, even though it was another 16 months before you would see it.)

—

Anyway. Corrigendum. Chosen passage and a brief recap/rationale below, under a cut for length and for varying degrees of spoilers for, somehow, all three of Keepsakes, Pinesong, and Moonlight:

Keepsakes was originally a two-part meditation on the piece of cloth Revali tied to the Great Eagle Bow, which always remains on it no matter how many times you break it and have it rebuilt, and the following line of Harth’s in the first Keepsakes story, Memento: “Where things are kept, what they are kept with, that has a meaning.”

Memento and Lacuna were both set within the boundaries of canon, focusing on Link’s possession of the Great Eagle Bow and more than a small dose of headcanon about the Paraglider; Corrigendum, meanwhile, played on the famous amnesia plotline of @ghirahimbo’s Pinesong, with a little of my and @heleentje’s answer to the Alive!Champions scenario in our Moonlight series baked in: if there were stasis chambers in the Divine Beasts, just like how the Shrine of Resurrection was revealed to be part of a Divine Beast in the Champions’ Ballad DLC, then was it not possible that the revived Champions might suffer a similar level of memory loss as Link did: i.e., total?

That’s the context with which the following scene between Revali and Zelda needs to be read. (A small section relating to Zelda’s personal feelings of guilt and regret has been cut for length.)

There was one person she hadn't mentioned, of course. Revali wondered whether she would comment on it of her own accord, but she seemed willing to speak only of others. If he had to pry the words from her, so be it. "I cannot help but notice someone missing from your account, pri- Zelda," he said, correcting himself at the last second. It felt strange to address her without titles: a hundred years and his memory removed from such formality, and yet it still seemed like an overstep. Next to him, Zelda went very tense. "What do you mean?" Honestly. Must he spell it out for her? "You," he said, as though it should be obvious. To him it was: it seemed its own sort of hellishness, to have so many memories that nobody else shared. "How are you faring?" Her look of surprise – had he truly shown so little concern for her in the past, that she was taken aback by his questioning now? – faded into something more sombre. "I... cannot complain," she said at last, which seemed to be all she was willing to say on the subject. [...] Zelda inhaled a steadying breath. "...About Li–" Her words lodged like ice. Revali cut her off: "Don't." He couldn't bear to speak of Link. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Certainly not while he was so incapable of reconciling the words in his diary with the roiling confusion left in their wake. Even thinking of that knight brought a wave of weariness over him. Though Zelda had done nothing wrong, Revali no longer had any wish to continue the conversation.

Revali and Zelda come into this conversation from incredibly disparate positions, and they're on completely different pages. Firstly, Zelda has the advantage of memory, but in some ways Revali has a clearer view of what their relationship from 100 years ago was actually like, thanks to his diary (the contents of which are alluded to or outright paraphrased in the opening part of this scene). Secondly, Zelda has full knowledge of what happened to Link -- at least up until he disappeared after the thought of re-boarding Vah Ruta (as Zelda wanted to do in the 'true ending' of BOTW) proved too much for the Keepsakes version of Link. (Yes, Link’s disappearing act is another small nod to Pinesong.)

But Revali does not.

From Zelda’s point of view, Revali’s comment about ‘some[body] missing from [her] account’ sounds like a not-so-subtle dig at the missing Link. I actually tried to thread this idea through even in his narration: 'she seemed willing to speak only of others', is meant to tread that thin boundary line of which person he's actually talking about, Zelda or Link.

Her reaction is therefore wary: she wonders how much Revali now remembers, and how much of his comment is a continuation of his century-old dislike of Link. — After all, she wasn’t privy to the scene in Lacuna’s flashback; and despite that interlude, Revali and Link’s relationship didn’t change all as much as they might have hoped. (Or as much as Link wants to believe, by the end of Memento/Lacuna—the true backstory there was one of might-have-beens instead of let’s-do-betters.)

She’s surprised, then, by Revali’s question being not about Link, but about herself. And this is something that I would have loved to delve into a little, but the nature of the story kept me bound tightly to Revali’s perspective: Zelda is doing well only in that she’s throwing herself into distractions, trying to adjust to the circumstances of being a hundred years displaced from the world she’s familiar with.

(Sidenote: I toyed with that dichotomy of the post-Calamity world being utterly uncanny to her – at once familiar and yet also somehow alien – in another story I wrote this year, catharsis, which had Zelda finally reuniting with Impa after a century.)

And she has ample distractions with the other Champions, who – as her recounting of events implies – she’s spent rather a lot of time around, and considerably more time than she has with Revali. She wouldn’t even be at Rito Village now if it wasn’t the home of Kass, the only person she thought might be able to find Link.

Perhaps, if she had taken a little more care to visit him, Zelda would be aware of the narrative Revali has been constructing, piece by piece, while he’s been left to fend for himself…

To an extent, Revali's own diary was held against him. His words are taken as a primary source of insight into his character, rather than at least part of his writing being a continuation of his attempts to define and shape his future legacy (his 'legend', as the diary's forepage none-too-subtly declares).

Yes, Harth did come to the conclusion of something existing between the Rito and Hylian Champions of a century ago (incidentally, that's why he makes the offer of showing Revali the same sheaf of papers he shared with Link in Memento – providing an alternative source of information), but Teba has a different focus. Harth is interested in the truth of the story; Teba is protective of the people involved, and with only circumstantial evidence to suggest that Champion Revali had at least some positive feeling towards that knight, and significantly more evidence to suggest Revali didn't care at all for Link, he deflects and puts it off for now.

Nobody expected Link to be AWOL for months.

And that brings us back to this passage, the first real opportunity for the truth to come out; and so Zelda takes the initiative, trying to bring up Link. 'If you want to know how we're all doing,' she's thinking, 'then I should tell you about him as well.'

But Revali is of the belief – entirely logically, based on the facts he knows! – that Link is long dead. Whether 100 years ago, or at some point in the decades since. Hylian lifespans just aren't long enough for him to still be around. We only need to look at the oldest Hylians living in Hateno, who weren't born until after the Calamity during the Era of Burning Fields, to know that 80-90 seems to be the Hylian limit.

—

Here's another thing: In the time since writing Corrigendum, I saw a post here on tumblr suggest that grief is a topic that's fairly impossible to write about, because grief doesn't end as long as you remember it, and it's the sort of thing that hits you, over and over, in often mundane ways that look bizarre to the outsider. Yet -- not to put too high a declaration of quality on my writing, but I honestly do believe that I achieved that in Corrigendum, while staying true to the character in question.

Yes, it was deliberately under-written, circled around instead of facing it head-on -- even the early use of the word 'grief' was shied away from, declaring it only 'something like grief'. That felt far more 'Revali' than giving in to sentiment. So far, most of this emotion has been in the gaps where he's confronted with knowledge of the past, of something missing, of something more to Link; he's seeing Link better in this patchwork recollection, able at last to look beyond '[the] sword that drew the eye and distracted from the man that bore it'. And it's in these moments that his true feelings linger, even if he can't (or won't) give voice to them.

—

Link has always been a touchy subject. Once, they might have been on a similar page regarding that (their mutual complicated feelings about a boy around their age to whom things seemed to come so easily).

In reality, they still are — and it's a different page to the one they shared before, of resentment and frustration and trying to figure out their own place. Link has long become a person to them—Zelda openly, as seen throughout the original game; Revali less obviously, but still apparent through his post-Blight dialogue and particularly in the DLC content, as well as the additional background and memory/ies I created for Memento/Lacuna.

But this Revali – a Revali who still has only a partial sense of his own identity, who doesn't necessarily like the person he'd been even if he can't figure out who else he could be – this version of Revali can't yet acknowledge or confront the truth of what he's experiencing.

What I wanted was to challenge Revali to say it out loud and admit to it — "I am grieving." This, here, is the closest Revali can currently get... Ice. Roiling confusion. Something unbearable. Weariness. Within his narration, the raw, aching wound of grief is clear, but aloud, the only thing he can think to do is to cut Zelda off and prevent her from saying what he cannot yet confront.

"Don't." Don't bring him up. Don't make me hear this. Don't make it real.

Characters frantically back-scrabbling away from open and frank communication, in the interests of protecting their own fragile hearts, is something that can be so delightful.

—

Zelda, who isn't privy to the struggle Revali is going through, can only hear this rejection at face-value and back off, assuming that things are as they were 100 years ago. This is something that can only be repaired by finding Link himself – and so she'll continue with her original plan, enlisting Kass to help track the wayward swordsman down.

(And Revali will finally give voice to what he's been feeling… when a certain someone arrives in Rito Village :3 )

#fanfic asks #fanfic ask meme #fic series: keepsakes #fic: corrigendum #ginnefic #(about) my writing #an anon appears #thank you for the ask!

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reneesbooks · 5 months

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the final daily lacuna snippet

buckle up bitches time for chapter 11, the princess. it’s the last one and I’m not about to spoil the WHOLE thing but I’ll give yall a long one.

Keelan stumbles out of the alley and sits on the curb with his head between his knees. His breathing is too fast, something that Annie the bartender has a fancy word for, but he definitely can't be bothered to remember it now. His fingertips tingle and go numb, his head spinning.

It had to have been Birdie. It couldn't have been anyone else. She was older, a young woman and not the child she had been when he saw her last, when he tucked her into her bed with a promise to keep her safe. She survived and grew up and returned, but not to her home.

He's failing at convincing himself that there is a single good reason for her to be with the two most wanted criminals in the city. They'd clearly known her, trusted that she would protect them. She is alive. She is on friendly terms with at least one mass murderer and a serial thief.

He can still hear her tripled voice— "when thieves steal for honor" —he can still feel her hanging off one of his arms.

Levi hadn't killed her—he'd managed to hide her from Maura for years. Why? What had he told her, taught her?

She hadn't recognized him at all. Maybe Levi used memory spells to erase him. Maybe he erased more than that.

"Sir?" One of his soldiers is standing next to him, expression nervous. "Our team completed another sweep of the—"

"Get away from me," Keelan forces out through gritted teeth, "or I swear to Leyna I will gut you like a fish."

The soldier is gone in an instant.

Birdie had disappeared in an instant, in the blink of an eye the way Levi had all those years ago. What else had he taught her?

He is on his feet, walking towards the castle.

Levi had always been obsessed with Birdie's visions, and the prophecy. The one that supposedly predicts Maura's death. And now Birdie is in hiding with thieves somewhere in Morbhard, alive but not coming to tell her sister that. He is not a scholar, but he can connect those dots himself.

He's reached the castle gates. The guard is sending someone out to meet him—he drew the short straw, by Keelan's guess, since he is pale and sweaty when he reaches Keelan. "Captain O’Leyne. You are still banned from—"

"I'm not on castle grounds, so you can spare me the speech." His feet are firmly planted on the cobblestoned road. "I have to speak with the queen immediately."

"Queen Maura—"

Keelan's hand closes around the knife in his belt and the guard quickly backtracks, looking distinctly like he's going to throw up. "Her Majesty has ordered us to turn you away if you come to speak with her."

Keelan grinds his teeth. "Then bring her a message from me."

"Sir Keelan—Captain O'Leyne, I really can't—"

"This is too important for you to get in my way," Keelan hisses, taking a step towards the cowering guard. "You'll deliver a message to the queen for me. You'll tell her that I saw..." He hesitates, suddenly acutely aware of the people walking by, the nearby market, the gutter children collecting pieces of gossip for men like him and Jack. "Tell her I saw the duckling. She'll know what it means."

"Captain O'Leyne." The guard's gaze is fixed somewhere over Keelan's shoulder. "If I disobey orders—"

"If you do not deliver this message, I will be the least of you worries," Keelan says, getting up in the guard's face now. "This is of immediate and utmost importance. It concerns the queen's safety. If you fail to deliver this message, or even if you fail to tell the queen that you saw me, she will find out. I suspect she'll be very angry." He reaches up to scratch the skin under his dead eye. "Do you know what she does when she's angry?"

He sees a small wet spot appear on the guard's trousers. If he was still in charge of the royal guard, he would kill the man for a coward. The guard tells him to wait and he watches him sprint up the front path through the bars of the gate.

Keelan's gaze lifts to the castle towers. He wonders where Maura is, what she's doing. Will the guard interrupt a session of the court? Likely not, there aren't enough liveried servants loitering outside the gates. Perhaps she'll be in the library, studying her spells and curses. She never liked to be interrupted when she was in the library. He wonders if the same guard will even come back.

One of his soldiers finds him after a while and gives him an update on the search for the thieves. Unsurprisingly, they've vanished without a trace. Keelan considers telling him about Birdie, but he doesn't want to do it before telling Maura.

Would she read his memories to see if it was really her?

He sends away the guard with instructions to continue the search and double their efforts and men in the lakeside district.

The coward is returning. The wet spot on his trousers is just a bit larger. Keelan doesn't dare walk forward onto castle grounds until he knows what the man is going to say. He reaches Keelan and clears his throat. "The queen has lifted your banishment." Weight lifts from Keelan's chest that he can't believe he has been living with. "She awaits you in the throne room. I am to escort you—"

"I know the way."

He brushes past the guard and goes home.

The hedges are overgrown, long branches reaching out onto the path at random intervals. There is no one to open the doors for him, and the hinges groan when he pushes through. A few maids scurry through the corridors, but there are no others to stop and gawk as the Knight of Lacuna Lake returns home. His footsteps echo up into the vaulted ceilings, where dusty chandeliers hang half-lit as if someone had pulled them up before they were ready.

The throne room doors swing open easily at his touch.

Maura is sitting alone, her head resting on one hand as she watches him approach. Her favorite green dress hangs off her ribs a bit, as if she'd done the lacing herself. There are deep, dark circles under her eyes and lines around her mouth hardened by years of sorrow and rage. Half the chandeliers are lit and she hasn't raised most of the curtains, bathing the room in shadow.

Her eyes dart to the door behind him. He stops at the base of the steps up to her throne. Her gaze returns to him and she clears her throat. "The guard was meant to escort you."

Keelan takes a deep breath. "He's a coward. I would have him killed for it."

The corner of her mouth twitches. "You've risked much to return here, Sir Keelan."

He kneels. "My queen. I had to tell you immediately. I saw...I saw something in the market."

"Yes." He looks up to see her knuckles whiten on the arms of the throne. "The guard said something about a duckling."

"It's her." He can't stay on his knees, can't hold himself back. He is on his feet and halfway up the stairs, his hands itching to reach for her. "I—I don't know how, but it's Birdie. Those eyes..." He's caught in Maura's silver gaze, tears welling up in those same eyes. "I could never mistake those eyes."

He doesn't think he knows how to read her anymore, but he does recognize the way her fingers touch the empty space on her left hand. "Do you...what kind...what was she doing? Who was she with?"

He blinks. "I...I don't know where to start." He hesitates a step from the top. "Do you..." He puts one finger to his temple. "Aren't you going to...?"

Her face falls a bit, different emotions flashing across. "No. Not—I swore I would never..." She grips her left finger. "Not without..." A shaky inhale, her eyes unreadable. "Not unless you want me to."

He thinks of the servants and others that he's watched her curse over the years. The golden light that pours out of their faces. "Does it...does it hurt?"

Maura looks away. "I don't actually know."

He thinks of how her healing spells taste of sweet pea. He remembers the warmth of the golden light that comforted him in the Black Cell. He takes the final step up to her throne. "You can read my mind, if you...you can do it."

"Only if you want." Her eyes burn through him. "Never again unless you want me to."

He inhales sharply, the scars on his chest burning. "I...I want you to."

She rises to her feet and his nose is filled with her perfume. She is so close and his hands are begging to hold her, but instead he stands stock still as she lifts trembling hands to his face. "If it...if it hurts, I'll stop."

He nods and she presses her fingers to his temples.

Golden light fills his vision.

He is eight years old, standing at the front of the chapel in Leyne, evening light shining through the stained-glass windows.

He feels it more than he hears it—Maura's voice, somewhere in the back of his head.

Too far back.

He is fourteen, sword in his hand as he walks away from his burning house, bloody feet leaving footprints in the dust.

It's almost like a nudge, Maura's presence in his head. She sifts through his memories like the pages of a book, searching for the right moment.

She finds him in the market, hearing the squire announce the opening in the city guard. He looks up from his groceries and sees her in her green dress, standing across the crowded square.

He sees her as he leaves the burning flat on Amber Road, sees her as he walks into the city guard headquarters, he sees her standing behind Jack in the lakeside market.

There.

He watches it happen again, sees Birdie appear and disappear in slow motion. The edges are faded, but Birdie is clear as day. Her eyes burn through him, even just as a memory.

Maura steps away from him, her eyes wide. "You think she's here to kill me."

"I don't." He looks away. "I don't know."

"You were right." She presses her fingers to her forehead, sitting heavily in her throne again. "You're right, Levi was always obsessed with the prophecy. He'll have raised her for that very purpose."

"Maybe it's something else."

Her mouth quirks. "Maybe Lacuna Lake isn't bottomless."

The quirk fades and she sinks into thought, her nose scrunching as she stares at the royal seal in the stonework. Keelan puts a shaking finger to his temple, trying to see if there is any warmth left over.

“When you read someone's mind...” he says slowly, and Maura's eyes flick to him with more than a little anxiety.

“It's less like reading and more like watching,” she says cautiously.

He thinks of her standing in the background of his memories, her silver eyes piercing through him. “You could see what I was thinking after I saw Birdie...is that normal? To see what they thought?”

She hums, tracing patterns idly on the arm of her throne. “I get more of a sense of what the person was feeling in the moment. Sometimes thoughts pass through, if they were particularly important in the moment.”

He stares down at her, her words registering slowly. “So you can feel what they felt?”

Her eyes are guarded. “Yes, wh—”

He grabs her hands and presses them to his temples, meeting her eyes fiercely. “Read my memories. Every one that you can find.”

“What are—”

“I never lied to you,” he says, and her eyes fill with tears. “I would never lie to you. I want you to know that. I need you to know that. Read my memories, every single one that you are in, and know that I never lied. I loved you the day I saw you and I have loved you every day since. Send me away again, cut out my other eye, I will crawl back blind and begging. I will always love you, Maura. No matter what.”

She tries to pull her hands away but he holds them firmly, her fingers pressed to his temples. “Keys, please.”

“I will ask nothing more of you,” he says quietly. “You said you wouldn't do it unless I wanted you to. I am begging you to. If you only feel an ounce of the love I have for you, it would be enough. I need you to know that I never lied.”

She inhales shakily, and he lets go of her hands. She doesn't lower them from his temples, but her thumb touches the corner of his dead eye. “I don't...I don't know if I can...”

“Please, Maura,” he whispers. “Please.”

The golden light fills his vision again. He is standing in the throne room for the first time, his eyes caught on the golden princess in her throne. He is sitting in the gardens, his sword forgotten in the grass as her laughter chases away the ghosts. He is seventeen, spinning around her in the ballroom as she laughs and he falls harder and harder. He is in the Black Cell, grasping her golden light as his only salvation. He is next to her in the theater, holding her hand in the safety of the royal box as she rests her head on his shoulder. He is holding her against him in the throne room, feeling her fluttering heartbeat through his shirt. He is standing before her with his knife in his hands and his blood on his face but he is only thinking if this is enough, if this will make her believe him, if he has finally broken the last remaining piece of light in his life. He is exhausted at his desk, marking up a city map in the hopes that he'll find the thief and go home soon. He is standing before her again, his heart breaking as he sees the pain she is in. He is in love.

She yanks away from him like he burned her, her eyes welling up with tears. She won't meet his gaze, hers fixed firmly on her hands instead. She sinks back into her throne.

“I never lied,” he murmurs, reaching to catch her hand. She doesn't shake him off, just slips her fingers into his, and it gives him the courage to keep going. “I...I don't know what I did wrong, Maura, but I never stopped loving you.”

She inhales shakily, her gaze darting up to his missing eye. “You didn't...I need to tell you some things.”

dw abt what those things are. lacuna taglist: @serenanymph @lyssa-ink @oh-no-another-idea @lena-rambles @ashen-crest @tragicbackstoryenjoyer @serpentarii @allianaavelinjackson

#finally reaching the actual conflict of the raedoran cycle. did I mention keelan and maura are the villains?#this has been sitting in my draft for like. a week. embarrassing #anyway! birdie is alive and maura thinks she's in the city to kill her! who thinks that's true sound off!#something something best tragedies are the ones where there was every opportunity to avoid it #anyway birdie and her band of misfits will be introduced soon lol #lacuna #writeblr #writeblr community #original fiction #fantasy novel #keelan #maura #rb original #daily snippet #posting a jack and arthur snippet after this...eyes open

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autumnalwalker · 2 months

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Ashan, I named you Glassheart and now you keep being a mirror for people.

In retrospect I should have seen this coming. It was practically in the title of your first POV chapter even though I meant it as a reference to something else.

Sullivan since the start of the story: “Huh, this Glassheart kid is a pretty strong wizard and has a lot of similar ideals with my friend (Road). I should arrange for the two of them to become friends so Glassheart can replace me one day, because I’m pretty sure my presence is ultimately harmful.”

Road in Chapter 24: “Hey Ashan, I think Sullivan likes you and he almost never likes anyone. You should try talking to him. He’s had something eating at him lately and I think he could really use more than just one friend in his life, especially now that his wife’s gone. I promise he’s not as bad as he tries to make himself seem.”

Road in Chapter 21: “You know, Eris, you kind of remind me of Sullivan.”

Sullivan in Chapter 24: “You know, Ashan, you kind of remind me of my friend (Road).”

Road in Chapter 21: [Calls Eris by a nickname that only three other people use for her and then gets told that name isn't for them to call her.]

Sullivan in Chapter 24: [Starts to call Ashan by the name his parents remember him by and gets interrupted and told that name isn't for him to say.]

Lacuna ever since first meeting Ashan: "Wow, he's so pretty and cool and powerful. Maybe if I were more like him I could actually be useful instead of an ugly, awkward, anxious wreck. Then I actually join everyone else on their cool adventures and help keep Eris safe the same way she makes me feel safe when she's around."

The child in a side story who would grow up to be Sullivan: “This street urchin (who will eventually grow up to be Road) just broke into my room to steal my leftover cake. I’m going to feed them and we’re going to be friends. I’ve never had a friend before.”

Eris and Ashan in Chapter 12: [One of my favorite exchanges in this whole story so far...]

“Hey, maybe don’t eavesdrop on people,” a low voice from behind Ashan says at the same time a heavy hand grips his shoulder.

He looks around to find Eris standing behind him. She gestures back down the garden path with her head and gently but irresistibly pulls him away from Lacuna and Jero.

“I apologize but it was not my intent to intrude on their privacy,” Ashan says once he and Eris are out of earshot. “I was merely waiting for an appropriate break in the conversation so that I would not interrupt.”

Eris rounds on him with a protective fury in her eye and raising her voice as much as she can without drawing attention. “Do you really think I would really believe that half-assed an excuse coming from a…” She trails off, really looking at Ashan’s face for perhaps the first time and then studying him up and down. He can see the gears turn in her head as snippets of information gleaned over the past two days click into place. A hand goes to her head and she begins massaging her temples before continuing more softly, “Oh, God dammit, you’re a frickin’ homeless kid who hasn’t had legit social interaction in years aren’t you?”

“A wizard makes his home wherever he wishes, and solitude is the whetstone of the mind.”

“Yeeeaaah… no. Are you even old enough to drink?”

“By this world’s calendar and the laws of my birthplace, yes.”

“Uh huh… And with inter-world temporal sync factored in?”

“Probably.”

“God dammit. Have you had dinner yet?”

“I do not see what that has to do with -”

“Have you eaten yet today?”

“I was going to after everyone else was seen to.”

“God frickin’ dammit.”

Eris grabs Ashan’s wrist and begins dragging him toward the entrance to Bridgewood Manor. With her other hand she begins typing a message on her phone.

“What ever are you doing?”

“Dealing with the fact that I now have two dumbass friends who don’t know how to feed themselves.”

“I assure you I am perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

“Kid, you have no idea how many times I’ve heard that one.”

Ashan opens his mouth to object once more to such humiliating treatment when one of Eris’s words catches up with him and forces him to reconsider.

Friends.

Ashan Glassheart, you're the only member of the main cast without a pre-existing relationship to the others and now they're all projecting those relationships onto their interactions with you.

I love it when I do this sort of stuff on accident. Makes me feel like I know what I’m doing.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #empty names #writing process #character parallels #oc thoughts #ocs

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rosemaidenvixen · 23 days

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Algea

Chapter 2

Ao3

Content warning: near drowning

“Cannonball!”

They all shrieked with laughter and swam back out of the way as Gus leapt from the small cliff top, tucking his arms and legs in as he landed in the lake with a splash.

After a few seconds he resurfaced with a gasp of breath “Did I do it right Luz?”

“You betcha!” she flashed him a thumbs up from where she swimming in the shallower water “A flawlessly executed human style cannonball,”

“Man human warfare is weird…” Jerbo mumbled.

“Amity Viney Luz over here!” Skara shouted “Let’s play cockatrice!”

Luz eagerly paddled over, Viney and Amity not far behind. It was such a beautiful day and she was having a blast. The sun was shining, turquoise waters of the lake sparkling as they all swam and splashed around inside the sheltered inlet.

A perfect beach day.

“Oooh what’s cockatrice?”

“We sit on someone’s shoulders and try to push each other off,” Skara replied, extending a hand to Viney. Viney grinned back and accepted it, using the leverage to hoist Skara onto her shoulders.

“Neat! We have that in the human realm to,” Luz turned towards Amity “Hey is it ok if I climb onto your shoulders?”

Her face flushed a deep pink “Oh, sure– of course! That sounds great,” she leaned down in the water and helped Luz get on top of her

“Cool!” Skara looked back over at them, from her perch on top of Viney “Traditionally it’s played over a pit of bile beetles, but being in a lake works to,”

“...yeah I should have seen that coming,” Luz finished climbing onto Amity's shoulders then glanced down “Alright sweet potato you ready to show these guys what we’re made of?”

Amity giggled, cheeks pink “Let’s do it!”

The two of them squared off against Skara and Viney. Amity and Viney slowly walking towards each other in the water until they were close enough for Luz and Skara to lean forward and grasp the other’s hands. Skara flashed Luz a feral grin, which Luz just as easily returned. Below them their partners tightened their grip on each of their legs to anchor them. Behind her Luz could hear the others laughing and splashing around in the lake water.

From below them Viney locked eyes with Amity and smirked “On your mark…get set…go!”

Twigs and leaves snapped under her shoes as Boscha stomped down the forest path, birds and bugs fleeing scattering as she approached but Boscha barely noticed. Glancing back down at her scroll, her mouth twisting in a deep scowl.

She’d asked Skara to hang out today, but Skara said she was busy with a family thing. Only Boscha’s mom had run into Skara’s dad at the tea house and according to him Skara had the whole day free.

Smelling a rat, Boscha had checked ‘Find your friends’ and spotted Skara’s location at the south shore of lake Lacuna and headed straight there to catch her in the act of double crossing her. That’s why she was walking the rest of the way after riding her staff to the lake. She wanted to catch Skara off guard so she couldn’t cover anything up.

And according to the blinking dot on her scroll, Boscha was almost on top of her.

Her fingers tightened into claws around the device, sizzling with the beginnings of magic.

No lying or weaseling her way out of this, it was bad enough Amity had stopped hanging out with them. No way Boscha was going to lose control of any of her other friends.

Skara was going to pay for ditching her.

So was so focused on her scroll that it took her a few seconds to recognize a new sound echoing towards her through the trees.

Laughter and splashing water.

Shoving her scroll in her pocket, Boscha rushed ahead and burst through the forest right on the edge of a cliff. Down below was a small inlet, a narrow strip of water butting up against a small beach and sheltered by cliffs on either side. Skara was down there, laughing and splashing around in the water close to the beach, but she wasn’t alone.

Skara was sitting on top of another witch’s shoulders, one of the multi track losers, propping her up so she could square off with the human. Each of them trying to push each other into the water. She squinted and took a step closer, trying to see who the human was sitting on–

Her jaw dropped open, hands falling to her sides, for a moment she was so stunned she forgot to be angry.

Amity. Amity was down there holding the human up on her own shoulders. All four of them shrieking with laughter as they tousled in the water.

The sound of more splashing drew her attention, shutting her jaw with a click and glancing around the inlet.

That scrawny illusion witch and the oracle dog demon were conjuring images in a pool of shallow water while some other loser witch built a giant abomination out of algae with stupid half-a-witch Willow.

Boshca felt her face growing hot, hands balling into fists at her sides, palms beginning to sear with heat while she quivered with rage.

It was bad enough that Skara lied to her, but seeing both her and Amity ditch her to hang out with losers like that human and worthless half-a-witch Willow–

A growl escaped her clenched teeth, smoke rising from her sizzling fists as she stomped down the trail that led to the cove.

Her friends thought they could ditch her, these losers thought they were good enough to hang out with real witches, stupid enough to think they were actually worth something– Well Boscha would show them, she’d teach them all a lesson they’d never forget…

Hunter allowed himself a small sigh of relief as he crossed the last location off the map. Belos had ordered him to scout the forest on the southern side of lake Lacuna for potential locations of the Looking Glass Graveyard. It had been grueling work, and he hadn’t found any trace of the graveyard, but after long hours of searching he had finally ruled out all the locations on his map. Now he could head back to the castle and debrief.

Folding up the map and tucking it away, he headed towards the edge of the forest. Just needed to get clear of the trees and he could use his staff to fly back. But part way to the treeline a strange noise caught his attention. Hunter paused for a second, training an ear towards the sound. It sounded almost like screaming, but something in it was…off.

He shook his head. Whatever that sound was played no part in his mission and was therefore irrelevant. He should ignore it and head back to the castle. Despite knowing this he couldn’t make himself continue on, his curiosity piqued.

Against his better judgment Hunter pivoted course and followed the sound to a further side of the forest. Breaking through the trees he found himself at a narrow inlet of the lake, lined on either side by steep cliffs, the lake water having turned the stones at his feet to coarse sand, but that wasn’t what made him stop in his tracks.

A group of witches were swimming around in the water, the sound he’d thought was screams actually their laughter, but not just any witches. His heart gave a little leap as he recognized the other Emerald Entrails through the narrow band of vision allowed by his mask. The human was here to, letting out a shriek of laughter as she was pushed off of Blight’s shoulders into the water. Tumbling into the lake with a splash, emerging seconds later, the whole group giggling. Hunter was so stupefied at the sight that for a moment he couldn’t move.

Which unfortunately gave the human the opportunity to spot him.

“No way, Hunter!?”

He jerked sharply, tightening his grip on his staff, as all the witches in the lake turned towards him. Torn between the desire to flee and stand his ground as the human started swimming towards the shore straight towards him.

“What are you doing here?”

He straightened up, falling back into the stiff, professional bearing of the Golden Guard, clearing his throat to speak in his most authoritative tone “I’m on a mission for the Emperor,”

“A mission to spy on our beach day?” the youngest witch asked– Gus he remembered his name was.

One of his eyes twitched behind his mask “The objective of my mission is classified. But it’s not…that,”

For a few moments the only sound was the soft lapping of water on the shore as they all appraised each other. Then the human– Luz, broke the silence “Wanna swim with us?”

Hunter blinked “What?”

“What!?” Blight whirled on her, eyes wide.

“I’ve got a spare pair of swim trunks?” a skinny brown haired witch added hesitantly.

Blight glowered, glancing back and forth between Hunter and the others “You guys can’t be serious, this is the Golden Guard! We can’t trust him,”

“Bark bark,”

“Barcus says his aura checks out,” Viney said with a shrug “If he’s cool with Barcus and Jerbo he’s cool with me,”

“So how bout it….” Luz spread her arms wide, beaming in Hunter’s direction “Want to join our beach day?”

“Come on,” Captain– Willow said, waving him over “It will be fun to have all the Emerald Entrails together again,”

“Yeah hop in,” Skara shouted “The water’s great!”

“I can’t believe you guys are considering this…” Blight grumbled.

Meanwhile Hunter was trying to figure out how to make his voice work again.

This was foolish, frivolous, insubordinate! He had responsibilities to uphold, the idea of him abandoning his duties to just…paddle around a lake with civilians was outrageous. Now that he’d finished his mission his first priority was heading back to the castle to give his report. He should just do that and leave these civilians be.

Then again…they did look like they were having fun. And he did finish his mission early. Scouting the lakeside was supposed to take the whole day, if he was out a few more hours no one would question it–

He took an involuntary half step back. No. He shouldn’t. Couldn’t. He was the Golden Guard. The titan ordained right hand to the Emperor himself. He had a standard to uphold. He couldn’t just goof off and….

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with using your spare time to do something that makes you happy

Something unfamiliar but not unpleasant fluttered up in his stomach. Part of him still thought this was wrong. He couldn’t let his uncle down, break the trust he’d put in him by abandoning his post.

Then again Headwitch Darius did say it was good to make connections outside the castle, and he was a knowledgeable capable coven head. So if he said it was fine to take a little time for himself…

A little voice in the back of his head was still screaming that this was wrong but deep down he knew his mind was made up.

He pulled back his hood and lifted his mask away “I’ll…take those trunks if you don’t mind,”

Just a quick swim, an hour, two tops and he could still be back at the castle in time to give his report well ahead of schedule. The empire wouldn’t come crashing down if he went for a quick swim.

The witches in the water cheered and whooped with delight. All except for Blight, mouth twisted in a scowl as she glowered at him.

Hunter just smirked back, folding his cloak and setting it aside.

A quick change into borrowed trunks later Hunter was wading into the lake to join the others, suppressing a shudder as he waded further and further into the lake. Cool water soaking into the trunks and climbing up his legs. The temperature was nothing compared to what he’d dealt with during scout training, but it was still a noticeable difference from the open air.

Reaching others in the waist deep water, Hunter cleared his throat to dispel some of the nervous tightness “Since this inlet is sheltered from the winds, we should take advantage of the calm waters and do laps to build our endurance, then we can take turns with breathing ex–”

He was cut off by a wave of cold water smacking into him from the side, the sudden shock making him jerk and shiver. Whipping around, he spotted Luz standing behind him, smirking and meeting his gaze unapologetically.

“Human! What is the meaning of–”

She slapped a hand against the water and splashed him again, giggling as Hunter sputtered.

“Stop it with your childish–”

Another wave of water cut him off as she splashed him yet again.

A growl built up in the back of his throat, smacking his own hand against the water to hit Luz with a wave of his own. She was splashing, he was splashing, she was laughing–

From out of nowhere a tangle of vines shot out of the water, snagging Luz around the waist with a yelp and suspending in midair her above the lake.

“Sorry Luz,” Willow swam up to Hunter’s side, one hand spinning a green spell circle “But the Emerald Entrails have to stick together,”

Luz shrugged while still tangled in the vines “Well I can’t argue with the power of friendship,”

Willow flicked her wrist, the spell circle dissipating and the vines lowering Luz back down into the water.

Hunter pushed the now damp strands of hair out of his face “Th– thank you captain, now to start with laps–”

“Dude you don’t have a beach day to swim laps,” Viney swam up to join them “You just do it to chill,”

“The temperature of the water is properly invigorating,”

“What she means it to relax,” Gus cut in “Take a break and unwind,”

“What could be more relaxing than training to better prepare yourself for the future?”

The four of them shared a look, knowing glances flashing between each other in a way that indicated they were aware of something that he wasn’t. Hunter felt his face growing hot, wishing he had his mask to hide the bright red no doubt filling his cheeks.

“If you’re set on laps…” the skinny witch– Jerbo, spoke up, gesturing behind himself with a thumb “I can race you to the side of those cliffs and back,”

Hunter gave a curt nod “That seems like an adequate substi–”

“Readysetgo!”

A large splash hit him as Jerbo whipped around and dove into the water, rapidly paddling towards the cliffs.

“Hey!” Hunter sunk lower into the water up to his chest and took off stroking through the water “Get back here!”

A few minutes later a pouting Jerbo swam back to the group, where Hunter had already rejoined them.

“I demand a rematch!”

“You couldn’t beat me when you had headstart,” Hunter folded his arms with a smirk “What makes you think you can beat me in a fair race?”

“I’ll race you Jerbo!” Luz piped up, diving into the water with a splash that smacked Hunter in the side, her and Jerbo racing off back towards the cliffs.

Hunter glowered, pushing wet hair out of his face again.

“Think fast!”

From the corner of his eye he saw something flying towards him, reflexively whipping around in the water and catching it in midair, finding it softer and much lighter than he expected.

“Hey Hunter!”

He looked up, spotting Gus waving both arms in the air.

“Toss it to me, I’m wide open!”

Hunter glanced away from Gus and back to the object in his hands–.

Oh. It was a ball. This was a game.

Hesitating only a moment, he gently tossed the ball at Gus, who caught it with a whoop.

They spent some time spiking and tossing the ball around, as far as Hunter could understand there were no rules or structure beyond moving the ball around but didn’t speak up about the seemingly nonsensical nature of the activity. The members of their group shifted as people joined in and peeled off to take turns racing to the cliffs and back in pairs.

Eventually they’d all rotated through, half of them panting with exhaustion.

“Man…” Skara said between gasps “There’s just no competing with your freakishly long arms,”

Jerbo smirked, giving his wet hair a toss “Excuse me I think you mean championship winning freakishly long arms,”

Skara flopped back in the water with a groan.

“Well as fun as all that racing was,” Gus spoke up “I’m ready for snacks,”

“I’ll join you,” Luz swam up to his side “Eda packed some really good stuff,”

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit,” Willow waved them off “I want to try some deep diving,”

Viney lit up at that “Oh yeah count me in!”

“Bark bark,” Barcus paddled up to them.

“What about you Hunter?”

He jerked at hearing the human call his name.

Glancing around, he saw the group's eyes on him again.

“You ready for snacks or wanna do some deep diving?” she continued.

“I’ll– I’ll participate in the deep diving, that sounds like an enjoyable endurance activity,”

“I’ll join in to,” Blight swam over towards the four of them “It’s always good to build lung capacity and good breathing practices,”

“Ok,” Jerbo waved as he and the others started heading towards shore “See you back at the beach,”

The others left for the beach and soon it was just Hunter, Viney, Barcus, Blight, and Willow paddling further out towards the lake proper. The cliffs widened around them and soon enough the lake bottom fell away, the five of them kicking in deep water.

“So uh…” Hunter spoke up slowly as they swam out further“How should we begin?”

Without slowing down Viney drew a spell circle and materialized a cluster of uniform, brightly colored sticks into her hand “Easy, we toss each of these in at different depths of the lake. And for each one we all dive at once and see who can grab it first. Then we move on to the next stick,”

“Bark!”

“Oh yeah, and we attach light glyphs to them so we can see to the bottom,”

“That sounds…sufficiently challenging,”

“So glad our lake day activity earns your seal of approval,” Blight said in a clipped tone.

Hunter narrowed his eyes at her, Blight meeting his gaze unflinching. He couldn’t quite tell if her comment was meant to be sarcastic or not.

Abruptly Viney halted in the water, the four of them stopping behind her as she tapped the paper fastened to the end of the stick, wound up her arm, and tossed a it further out in the lake. She kept throwing glowing sticks in at various points of the lake while Willow passed out nose clips. Hunter just finished fixing his in place as Viney dropped the last one directly below them“Ready guys?”

All four of them chorused with “Ready!”

Hunter sucked in the deepest breath he could manage, filling his chest with as much air as possible, the others around him all doing the same, and then they dove.

The water wasn’t too deep here, only about seven or eight feet, and fairly clear. The ball of golden light tethered to the orange stick directly below them illuminating the muddy lake bottom. But beyond their little bubble of light the lake was pitch black. The only thing piercing the gloom more small lights from more sticks trailing off into the distance.

Hunter tore his eyes away from the sight and angled his body down, pushing himself through the water to head towards the bottom. His distraction had cost him, he’d fallen behind and Willow, Viney, and Barcus were nearly at the bottom. Using his full strength to push forward he started to close the distance between them but not fast enough to beat Barcus to the stick. He grasped it in his jaws before pivoting and paddling upwards, the rest of them following suit.

One by one they broke the surface, gasping and panting.

“Great job Barcus,” Willow said between breaths.

Barcus made a muffled ‘murp’ sound from behind the stick.

“He says thanks,” Viney translated.

For reasons he didn’t quite understand Hunter found himself smiling “Your performance was excellent Barcus, but I bet I’ll get the next one,”

“Hah!” Viney nudged him with her shoulder “I’ll take that bet,”

Hunter did get the next one, Willow the one after that, Viney the next one. After which Barcus promptly told them he was heading back to the beach for snacks.

“I’ll catch up with you and Jerbo soon!” Viney called after him as he paddled away “I just need to smoke these guys at least one more time!”

Hunter let out a sharp laugh “Oh we’ll see who smokes who,”

“Are you doing alright Amity?” Willow spoke up gently “You haven’t been getting close to the bottom, is this too much for you?”

“Oh– No, it’s fine, I’m having fun just trying,”

“Ok then. Two more, let’s go guys!”

They all dove.

Each of their diving sticks had been in progressively deeper water. For this one the glowing glyph was visible from just below the surface, but the stick didn’t become clear until Hunter got closer. His lungs were actually starting to burn as they approached the bottom. Blight was about five feet above the rest of them; Hunter, Viney, and Willow staying even with each other as they moved towards the bottom. Viney managed to surge ahead and grab the stick, immediately pivoting and kicking towards the surface once she did. The others right alongside her.

By the time Hunter broke the surface Viney was already there, sucking in deep, shaky breaths as she tread water.

“Oh man guys, I think that’s it for me. I’m gonna head back,”

“Ok then,” Willow said with a wave “Save me a not-dog,”

Viney flashed a quick wave back before she turned and started heading towards shore.

Now it was just Hunter, Willow, and Blight floating in the water.

“You guys up for trying the last one?” Willow glanced between the two of them “It’s in pretty deep but I’m up for the challenge if you are,”

Hunter snorted “I’m the Golden Guard, I think I can handle a dive,”

“Me to,” Blight bobbed her head “Let’s do it,”

The three took a deep breath and dove. The sounds of gentle breeze and lapping water vanishing in the silence of the lake water.

The last stick was nearly at the edge of the inlet, part of the lake proper, only visible as a faint glimmer. So far down that for the first time Hunter wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to reach it. Still he wouldn’t allow himself to give up. Kicking and paddling further and further down until the stick and the lake bottom were finally visible.

He and Willow kept pace with each other as they got closer and closer to the bottom, Blight having fallen behind early on. At the last second Willow outpaced him by an arm’s length, reaching down and grasping the stick with the tips of her fingers.

She turned towards Hunter, the two locking eyes, a triumphant grin on her face , dark hair floating around her face in a halo. For a few seconds Hunter lost himself in the peace of the moment, the two of them sheltered in their small bubble of light at the bottom of the dark lake, sheltered by the peaceful silence of the water.

Then Willow gasped, a large bubble of air escaping her, and the spell was broken, a sharp spike of panic taking its place.

Hunter grabbed her upper arm and immediately started kicking towards the surface with all his might.

The water lightened as they rose up, he could see Blight kicking on the surface above them. But it was far, too far. Hunter had to fight against the rising panic and keep his motions strong and steady while making sure his grip on Willow stayed firm. His lungs burned to let out the breath he was holding, but if he did then it was over for both of them. He was fast and holding that pace well; but based on their speed, the distance left to cross, and the pressure in his chest he wasn't sure he’d make it to the surface in time, and Willow had even less time than he did–

Hunter clamped down on the thought hard.

Don’t think about how far the surface was, how much water was on top of them. Put all of his focus into moving them up, put all his strength behind each kick and push to move them ahead–

Abruptly something pressed into him from behind, pushing the both of them and rapidly accelerating their ascension, the surface getting closer, closer…

He broke the surface, light and sound returning to the world with a pop. Fumbling with his nose clip, gasping and sucking in deep lungfuls of cool air. And to his immense relief Captain was coughing in breaths of her own right alongside him, strands of wet hair pasted to her skin.

“Are you guys ok?” Blight dispelled her spell circle, the abomination arm that hauled them to the surface dissolving “It looked like you were struggling for air,”

“We went too deep,” his voice was raspier than he would have liked but that wasn’t important right now. He shifted around to grasp Willow’s other arm as well, keeping a firm grip to make sure her upper body stayed above water “Captain, are you alright?”

“I’m–” she let out another series of coughs and cleared her throat, flashing him a weak smile “I’m ok, guess we went a little too deep there,”

“Oh– umm…yeah, we should probably train more before attempting to dive at this depth again,”

Willow giggled at that, Hunter found himself smiling as well, until he looked down and noticed something that made the smile drop off his face. Abruptly dropping Willow from his grip and swimming back, cheeks filling with heat.

“Captain! Ah– uh– your bathing suit! The strap is…”

Willow blinked and glanced down, seeing that the tie of her swimming suit had indeed come undone.

Face red, she quickly reached into the water and grabbed the straps, refastening them behind her neck “Thanks,”

“N– not a problem. And I– I– didn’t see anything!”

“I know you didn’t,”

A protest and an apology rose up in the back of his throat at the same time, tangling together and coming out as a strangled squeak.

She giggled at him “The suit is tight enough that it stayed in place without the strap,”

“Oh, that’s…good,”

The soft clearing of a throat pulled both their attentions, turning and seeing Blight treading water a few feet away.

“Let’s…head back to the beach. That was too close, we should rest and get some snacks. You guys start and I’ll follow behind,”

Hunter gave her a nod “Understood,”

He took off paddling towards the beach, Willow following short behind and Blight trailing them both.

Boscha smirked to herself as she walked back into the forest, the noise and brightness of the lakeshore fading into the shadowed quiet of the trees.

She’d planned on tossing a few fireballs, maybe even summoning a swarm of gore leeches to get payback. But instead she got something much much juicier.

She had no idea who the blonde witch with the scars was, probably someone from Glandus or Saint Epiderm, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was she’d managed to snap a picture of him holding up Willow, the two looking at each other with dopey expressions, right at the moment the straps of her bathing suit slipped beneath the water.

Between that and the lake being up to their chests, anyone looking at the photo had no reason to think either of them were wearing bathing suits at all.

Boscha felt her smirk growing into a vicious grin as she typed out a caption.

Half-a-witch Willow spotted skinny dipping with unknown witch, does this look like a Flyer Derby captain to you?

Vindictive glee bubble and popped inside her as she tapped the button and posted the photo to Penstagram.

#the owl house #algea #rmvwrites #tw near drowning #drowning #luz noceda #skara #viney #jerbo #gus porter #barcus #boscha #willow park #hunter

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ao3feedzukka-blog · 2 months

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lacuna

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54817681 by icansmelltheghostsofsmoke (n.) a blank space, a missing part or, Zuko and Sokka meet for the first time in two years and they're living in the same cramped apartment. The last time they spoke, it was screaming their heads off at one another and would've involved fists if teachers hadn't stepped in. Hopefully this time will be better. Words: 2587, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Zuko (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Katara (Avatar), Hakoda (Avatar) Relationships: eventual Sokka/Zuko - Relationship, Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar) Additional Tags: Roommates, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Slow Burn, Bad Parent Ozai (Avatar), Mentioned Ozai (Avatar), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Eventual Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Zuko-centric (Avatar), (and sokka centric sort of because the POV shifts sometimes), Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added March 29, 2024 at 08:43PM

#IFTTT #Zukka #AO3Feed Zukka #Sokka/Zuko

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armthearmour · 2 years

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Book Review: Welsh Soldiers in the Later Middle Ages

Published by Boydell and Brewer in 2015, Welsh Soldiers in the Later Middle Ages, 1282-1422, written by Adam Chapman, seeks to fill what the author perceives as a lacuna in the scholarship of the late medieval English military history. This lacuna is the role of the Welsh in the English army in the given period. This work seeks to answer several questions regarding the Welsh in English warfare: what sort of Welshmen became soldiers? How was Welsh society organized for war? What impact did wider political considerations have upon Welsh service in England’s armies?

Pursuant to this goal, the work is divided into two parts. The first part (which consists of chapters one through five) provides a chronological account of events beginning with the conquest of Gwynedd in 1282-1283 and ending with the end of the reign of King Henry V in 1422. The second part (which contains chapters six, seven, and eight) examines the organization of Welsh culture as it relates to war and the production of soldiers.

Beginning with Edward I’s Gwynedd campaign in 1282 and ending with the King’s death in 1307, the first of this work’s eight chapters examines the role of the reign of Edward I in bringing the Welsh under English influence and the role the Welsh themselves played in this process. In particular, the author pays close attention to the number of Welsh soldiers serving under Edward I even at this early date, finding that they played a substantial part in Edward’s armies even before the conquests began.

The second chapter continues with the reign of Edward II. Here, the author claims that Edward II was even more dependent upon his Welsh subjects than his father, citing the even larger numbers of Welsh soldiers serving in Edward II’s Scottish campaigns. The focus then shifts to the internal conflicts of Edward II’s reign, where the author continues to emphasize the importance of Welsh infantry in both the armies of the King and his enemies.

The third chapter concerns the third Edward and his campaigns in Scotland and France. Whereas Edward I had established a particular manner of military machine, which his son Edward II used throughout his reign, Edward III’s military career was characterized by refinement and reform of the old machine he had inherited. The author characterizes this period as a transition from the infantry focused army of Edward I to the mixed mounted archers and men-at-arms which Edward III would utilize most heavily in his war with the French. This change, Chapman claims, brought down the English reliance on Welsh troops due in large part to the Welsh economy’s inability to produce large numbers of well furnished, mounted men.

Chapter four discusses the fomenting of rebellion in Wales between 1360 and 1400. Here the author argues that Anglo-Welsh relations had been molded by war, and that this informed the Welsh attempts at self-determination. The fifth and final chapter of this section considers the reigns of Henry IV and Henry V, the second Welsh rebellion, and the resumption of the war in France. In particular, Chapman argues that the second rebellion “remilitarized” Wales, which led to a readoption of the infantry archer by Henry V for his Agincourt campaign.

The second section of the book focuses on military and social organization. Chapter six, in particular, considers military organization and obligation, focusing on the shifting military obligations of the Welsh to the English crown as the organization of the English army changed. Chapter seven discusses Welsh recruitment and deployment, once again paying particular attention to the changing elements of recruitment and deployment as the nature of the English army changed, but also discussing topics such as pay and other rewards for military service. The eighth and final chapter of the work considers the Welsh soldier and his equipment in terms of distinguishing him from his English contemporaries. This chapter also considers the particularly Welsh tactics employed by the Gaelic members of the English army. Finally Chapman synthesizes his information and arguments with a concluding chapter.

The main body of the text is followed by two appendices, the first of which provides charts concerning the size of English armies and the numbers of Welshmen whom the English crown recruited constituted them. The second includes a brief list of important Welsh figures and short histories of them. A useful glossary is included which covers technical terms in both English and Welsh. A bibliography which includes both primary and secondary sources is appended, before a final index to finish the work off.

The author relies primarily on period English sources for his arguments, leaning on exchequer, treaty, and patent rolls, as well as auditors accounts. The body of secondary scholarship cited by Chapman is substantial, however all of it is in English. In the main body of text, Chapman includes a large number of footnotes allowing the reader to source his information as well as providing additional commentary.

In all, this work is a valuable one which provides much needed commentary on the role of the Welsh in the English war machine. The prose is approachable, and the information is clearly laid out, but it is also well sourced, making this a useful book for individuals of all experience levels.

#book review #review #art #history #medieval #middle ages #england #english

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