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azucanela · 4 years

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OMG I AM OBSESSED WITH YOUR WRITING YOU ARE DEFINITELY ONE OF THE BEST WRITERS ON TUMBLR NO CAP!!! i love ur zuko fics, and i wanted to request some sokka x reader!!! i want u to have complete creative freedom but i love how you write slowburn omg so some enemies to friends to lovers sokka content would be insaneeee! maybe reader is fire nation (zuko’s cousin/iroh’s daughter??) but joins the gaang after crossroads or something?

AFTER | SOKKA X READER

SUMMARY: Sokka didn’t expect the girl who held a knife to his neck to be the same girl he’d fall for. Y/N didn’t really expect to fall either.

WORD COUNT: 10k

WARNINGS: injuries, implications of death, kisses, bloodbending, threats of bodily harm, death threats

A/N: time to give sokka the attention and hype he is OWED, also im SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONGGG but this is quite possibly my favorite Y/N. writing for sokka is hard tho. im not sure how much i like this tbh but its really long omg. also thank you!!!! i feel honored to be considered the best :D you are too kind

When she was younger, Y/N joined Azula’s little troupe of girls. Though she wasn’t some loyal little soldier for her to order around, no, Y/N never feared Azula. Nor did she follow her blindly. No, it had always been a struggle for power between the two. Even when her father was booted from the throne as the rightful heir.

Losing her brother made her wonder if giving up like her father had in Ba Sing Se was the easy way out. Perhaps thats why she promised herself she would never give up. Maybe thats why she challenged Azula to... an unofficial duel when she’d heard her comment. Challenged her and won.

The new Fire Lord’s pride and joy had lost against his niece, a shame.

Y/N hadn’t thought much of it, but it probably would’ve explained why Fire Lord Ozai was rather pleased when Y/N had came to him and explained her intents to go alongside her father and cousin in banishment. She was, no matter how unlikely, another potential heir to the throne. And unlike Zuko, an actual threat. Sending her on a journey to find someone who’d been missing for a century was the best way to get rid of her.

If Y/N was honest, she viewed the banishment as more of a vacation. All her life, she had to deal with banquets, politics, war tactics, all at such a young age. It was tiring, and dull, spending day and night in the palace doing such things. Now, she had the opportunity to travel the world, though her grumpy cousin was rushing them throughout each spot, it was still nice. Zuko certainly didn’t think so, given that they hadn’t found the Avatar yet, not that Y/N believed they ever would but, it is what it is.

A sigh escaped her as she sat, on leg propped up against the other on the deck of the ship, they had arrived in the Southern Water Tribe after seeing an odd light in the distance. Maybe it was cruel, but Y/N sincerely hoped they didn’t find the Avatar. She didn’t want her vacation to end, she didn’t want to return to the politics, and she didn’t want to deal with one of the most powerful people on the planet. Aside from her own desires, Y/N couldn’t help but disapprove of Zuko’s need to please his father, the man who’d hurt him beyond forgiveness.

She sincerely doubted her father approved either. Though their relationship had been strained for some time now. Y/N didn’t hate her father, she doubted that was possible, he was a kind man and a good father. Things between them simply felt... off. She liked to think she’d gotten over it, the initial jealously she felt when she discovered her father intended to join Zuko on his hunt for the Avatar.

When she’d found out from Fire Lord Ozai.

Sometimes she wondered if her father even intended to say goodbye. But she wasn’t a fool, Y/N knew he had recently lost a son, they were both hurting and Zuko needed someone who wasn’t going to hurt him if he did something wrong. Though, Y/N saw him try to save the lives of the soldiers of the so-called great Fire Nation, not do something wrong. Regardless, Zuko needed a father figure, yes. But Y/N needed a father as she grappled with the death of her brother.

Maybe she was just a little bitter about it.

“Are you coming?” Zuko asked, his words coming out harshly.

Raising a brow, Y/N shook her head, “no. Don’t get too violent, though.” She warned, looking at him pointedly, “they’re a small tribe that’s going extinct.”

Zuko rolled his eyes as he exclaimed, “that’s not my fault!”

Sitting up to face him, Y/N smacked him upside the head as she walked past him, “considering the royal family, which you are a part of need I remind you, ordered the genocide of every single Waterbender they had...” She paused, cracking her knuckles before turning to look back at Zuko, “I would say you that everyone here probably blames you for it by assosiation.” Y/N reasoned. She had never liked the history that her ancestors had, much less approved.

Taken aback, Zuko exclaimed, “you’re a part of the royal family too!” Y/N was well aware of the circumstances surrounding his banishment, he’d tried to save lives, but war was the only thing that mattered to the Fire Nation it appeared.

His attempt at defense simply earned him a shrug, “perhaps.” Y/N didn’t consider herself a member of the royal family, and she doubted her father did either. And no matter what Zuko thought, though he was royal by blood, his banishment severed his ties to the throne permanently.

Unless they happened to find the Avatar, though that wasn’t very likely, Y/N decided she would rethinking her life choices should the Avatar be here of all places, as she rested her forearms on the side of the ship and watched Zuko march down his soldiers.

She wasn’t going to tell him that the Southern Water Tribe didn’t have a military, much less benders. As previously mentioned, the genocide destroyed the benders, and the most of the soldiers in the village had headed off to fight in the war against the Fire Nation. Though her brow did raise as she watched him yank an old lady from the small crowd of people, Y/N straightened her back, preparing to get involved.

Of course, a young warrior ended up running at her cousin, war paint and all as he attempted to attack. Key word being attempted. Watching him fall face first into the snow, Y/N realized he wasn’t a warrior, but a boy. The Avatar also happened to be a boy. A very, very young boy. Not a century year old Airbender.

Y/N supposed it was time to start rethinking her life.

Sokka didn’t know what he was supposed to do as he helped Princess Yue onto the Sky Bison. They needed to find Aang’s physical body, quickly, otherwise he wouldn’t be returning to the real world, and they happened to be fresh out of Avatars up until recently so that wasn’t really an option. Not when they needed the balance of the world to be restored immediately.

Sighing, Sokka moved to get onto the Sky Bison, only to be yanked backwards, stumbling before having a knife pressed to his neck. “What the hell!” He exclaimed in shock, garnering the attention of the others that were already on Appa. Katara’s mouth gaping open at the sight of him as Princess Yue cried out in shock.

The knife against his neck is certainly uncomfortable, and he realizes that he probably should’ve stuck around Kyoshi Island long enough to learn how to get out a situation like this. “I’m coming with you. Someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t do anything else dumb.” Comes a voice from behind him, and Sokka’s brows furrowed in confusion, who was this? And why were they trying to kill him? More importantly, how did they know Prince Zuko, the guy who had been chasing them since Aang had come out of that iceberg. Questions ran rampant through his mind, and he nearly forgot that his life was being threatened.

That was a luxury he couldn’t afford at the moment.

Though he couldn’t see the person behind him, he could see Katara grimace at her demand, anyone associated with Prince Zuko likely had a similar end goal, to capture the Avatar. This wasn’t something they could allow, and Sokka recognized this as Katara asked, “why should we trust you?” Katara’s eyes soon met Sokka’s and he knew that no matter what he said, she would give into the girl’s demands for his safety. Sokka mentally scolded himself for failing to prevent this situation.

The girl behind him scoffed, “unlike my dear cousin,” Sokka couldn’t help the shock that flooded him, cousin? As in Zuko is this girl’s cousin? Or did she mean someone else? He was kidding himself, there was no one else it could be. “I like banishment, it’s like a fun little vacation. I could care less about the Avatar.” The knife draws in closer to Sokka’s neck, nearly drawing blood, likely expressing the fact that she could care less if Katara believed her. Though Sokka doubted she didn’t care about the Avatar, he was one of the most important people in the world.

But Sokka would likely die if she didn’t agree, or at least end up fatally injured. No matter how far Katara had come with her Waterbending, she hadn’t perfected it yet, and healing was only so effective. Sokka sincerely doubted she could beat the speed of this girl and her weapon considering the fact that she’d gotten the jump on them the first time around. Death wasn’t something he wanted, but anyone who knew Zuko couldn’t be trusted, much less someone who shared his blood. If he turned out... like that, Sokka didn’t want to imagine how this stranger ended up.

“Don’t try anything.” Katara warned, eyeing the girl wearily. Though it was an empty threat for the most part, in the air, there was little Katara could do against a foe. Though three, well two if you exclude the princess, against one seemed like favorable odds, this girl seemed talented in combat, even without bending.

She released Sokka, and he turned to see her beaming up at Katara, “happy to be doing business with ya.” Turning to Sokka, she looked him up and down, sizing him up before speaking, “be a gentleman and help me up?” Yeah, she was crazy. The pretty ones are always crazy. That, and she was Zuko’s cousin, it made sense. Though Sokka was fairly sure that she was joking, you could never be too sure.

“Who even are you?!” He exclaimed, exasperated and preparing to whip out his boomerang as he glared at her. He didn’t recognize her, but she’d likely been traveling with Zuko for quite some time now if they were related.

She just shrugged, “you can call me Y/N.” She got onto Appa with ease, Katara on guard a she eyed her, eyes piercing into her soul, Y/N raised a brow upon noticing this, “calm down. I wouldn’t have killed him.”

Katara inhaled deeply, trying to maintain patience as Sokka got into the saddle, “yip, yip.”

Y/N wasn’t really shocked when it turned out Azula was after them. Of course good old Uncle Ozai sent his most valuable asset to bring them back. Though some good at come of it, Zuko cut his ponytail, something Y/N had taken pleasure in bullying him over. Now they were on the run, in the very city that her father had tried to run to the ground all those years ago.

Irony at its finest.

Tugging at the sleeves of her Earth Kingdom garments, Y/N sighed, walking through the streets of the city. She didn’t know where she was if she was honest, and standing in the beautiful plaza, Y/N wondered if maybe, it would be better if she never returned back to that horrid apartment. Her father was starting over, getting them all jobs at a tea shop, even Zuko had tried to move on, going out on a date with a girl.

The Earth Kingdom was an odd place, but here, no one knew who she was. It wouldn’t be difficult to restart, alone. Without the expectations she’d been raised with. Fists balling up, Y/N exhaled slowly, turning a corner. There wasn’t graffiti in this part of the city, she realized, staring at the walls. Though there was an odd poster, squinting at it, she moved closer. It was a poorly drawn image of-

A Sky Bison. The same one she’d ridden on back during the Siege of the North, not that any others existed, the Sky Bison were a dying breed. Which could only mean one thing, the Avatar was in Ba Sing Se.

"Have you seen him?” She heard from behind her. Y/N recognized the voice, it belonged to the boy she’d held at knife point, “the drawing isn’t my best but-”

Turning around she spoke rapidly, “don’t freak out.” This was a problem.

Y/N liked to think she was the least threatening of the Royal Family, aside from her father that is. Though they could both be lethal in their own ways, neither demonstrated the true extents of their power unless it was truly necessary. Maybe that’s why Y/N hoped that the boy, Sokka, she believed his name was, wouldn’t freak out.

Of course, he did. Dropping the posters in his hand, he opened his mouth, likely to scream, only for Y/N to practically tackle him. She slammed his body against the wall, covering his mouth with her hand as she glared at him. Sokka let out a grunt of surprise, immediately beginning to struggle in her hold, “calm down! I don’t have a knife this time around.” Y/N cried out, her voice a hushed whisper. Of course, what she said was a lie, she always had at least three weapons on her. Upon entering the city, she’d knocked that number down to only two weapons, much to her dismay and Iroh’s relief.

She felt him lick her hand, and she quickly removed her hand in disgust, while keeping the other planted on his shoulder, they both exclaimed, “what the hell!”

Sokka’s eyes narrowed at her, “look. I don’t wanna cause a scene, so I’m just gonna go-” He sighed when her hand remained on his shoulder, firmly holding him against the wall as he tried to move away only to be pushed back into the wall. “Or not.”

“Look, you cannot go back to your little group and tell them that I’m here.” Y/N tried to choose her words carefully, if she didn’t need to, she didn’t want to suggest that her father and Zuko were also in the city. “I’m trying to have a permanent vacation, away from the Fire Nation and my crazy family, in Ba Sing Se.” She explained, slowly removing her hand from his shoulder, “think you can respect that?”

He looked at her wearily, during their last interaction, she’d made no attempts to actually injure them. And when she had the Avatar right in front of her, unlike Zuko, she hadn’t tried to kidnap him. Y/N had been honest last time, and chances were, she was being honest now. That didn’t make him feel any better about trusting her though.

“How do I know you won’t follow me and kill me in my sleep?”

Y/N looked at him incredulously, “is that a joke?” She’d considered that too though, the possibility that he’d follow her back to her shared apartment and alert his friends of their location. Y/N refused to be the reason that they lost their new lives in Ba Sing Se, and had already decided to check into an inn for the night.

Raising a brow at her, Sokka gestured for her to give him an answer, and Y/N stared at him momentarily, “well. How do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep?” Y/N retorted.

Sokka rolled his eyes at her, “I’m a good person.” Came his response.

“Debatable.”

Sokka stared at her in disbelief, “I’m trying to save the world here!” He exclaimed, and Y/N wasn’t shocked by his response, her goal had been to fluster him and she had.

Tilting her head at him, Y/N replied, “sure.” Stretching her arms upwards, she waves to him, “don’t tell your friends I was here, and we’re good.” She began to walk further into the alley, towards the other side, “see you around.” If he was here, his friends were probably around the area as well, meaning she had to leave.

His mouth gaped open and he stared at her figure as she stalked off, pausing momentarily before groaning and running after her, ending up at her side. “What do you mean, sure?” Sokka asked, confusion laced in his tone.

Y/N raised a brow at him. “What are you doing?” She wanted to laugh at his reaction, though he was now following her liked a lovesick puppy, which could prove problematic.

Crossing his arms he responded, “making sure you don’t do anything bad.” Sokka eyed her suspiciously, “because I am a good person.” He asserted.

“And I’m a bad person?”

She already knew he was going to say, ‘yes, yes you are.’ After all, she was from the Fire Nation, and Y/N had no doubt she’d done terrible things in her life, especially when she’d fallen into a dark place and taken on... less than favorable coping mechanisms.

And he’s silent for a moment, leaving Y/N to wonder if he suddenly cares about the feelings of the enemy. Only for him to say, “in my experience... good people can do bad things.”

That wasn’t what she expected. Y/N found herself stunned, speechless as she looked to Sokka, though he simply continued to walk alongside her nonchalantly. Quickly collecting herself, she looks away from him and to the nearby food stand, “that didn’t answer my question.” And as Sokka opened his mouth to likely continue his statement, Y/N realized she didn’t want to know the answer as she spoke, “you want food? I want food. Let’s get food.”

Sighing, Sokka followed her, “as long as you don’t poison me.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed at his comment, looking back at him, “do you-” A small laugh escaped her, “do you think I just carry around poison?”

Sokka didn’t know why he swelled with pride when he made her laugh, “in case you run into your enemies, absolutely.” It was probably because she was the enemy, and it took real talent to make someone who hated you laugh.

“How often do you think I run into my enemies and invite them to get food with me?” She asked, picking up a few things from the stand, before heading over to pay.

Frowning, Sokka watches her pay, “I thought we were bonding over,” he paused to take a meat bun from her and shove it into her face dramatically, “meat! Yet, I’m still your enemy.”

Y/N simply shrugged, “this is a one time thing.”

It was not a one time thing.

Sokka found himself ‘coincidentally’ running into Y/N, more and more often. She’d be walking through the streets of the upper ring about once a week, though she had started walking through the streets of the inner ring of Ba Sing Se far more frequently than normal in recent weeks. He’d been meaning to ask her why, maybe she’d also grown accustomed to their meetings and started to come around more. During their meetups they’d talk, about things other than the war, which was a conversation difficult to come by with the others. Though he cared for his friends, talking to Y/N felt different, a good different. She wasn’t overbearing like Katara, or mean like Toph, but she also wasn’t as passive as Aang.

It was odd. Knowing someone who had once held a knife to your neck in a more friendly way. Though, if Sokka was honest, he didn’t trust her, and she likely didn’t trust him either. They’d both taken precautions due to the mistrust between them, not that be blamed her. At the end of the day, they were still on opposing sides, kind of. Y/N had never seemed to care about finding the Avatar, but she was certainly loyal to her family above all else.

She’d demonstrated that in the Northern Water Tribe.

Sokka was the same, if he had saw an inkling of betrayal as a possibility, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell the others. Their safety was his priority at the end of the day, and Y/N didn’t owe him anything, just like he didn’t owe her anything. Maybe that was the beauty of it all. But for now, everything remained peaceful, calming, and simple.

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

Katara had oddly disappeared after Aang arrived with news of his vision. And then, as though things couldn’t get any weirder, Iroh arrived, Y/N’s apparent Father Iroh. Toph seemed to know him well, which certainly came as a shock to Sokka and Aang. “I need your help, Prince Zuko has been captured.” He explained, opening his mouth to continue only for Sokka to interrupt. He couldn’t help it when his brows furrowed in both confusion and frustration, Y/N had never suggested that the rest of her family was here.

“Are you crazy? You guys were trying to capture Aang not to long ago!” Sokka pointed out, throwing his arms outwards, “why not get Y/N to help?” She was certainly capable of raiding the palace and retrieving her cousin.

At this comment, Iroh’s face darkened, “we were separated in the palace. I’m unsure if they managed to capture her or if she escaped.” Oh. So that’s what he was going to say.

Sokka couldn’t help it when his face dropped, looking to Iroh he exclaimed, “well- why didn’t you lead with that!” Pushing past Aang who had been prepared to start giving a speech on why they should assist Iroh, only for his mouth to gape open as Sokka headed for the door.

“Why are you so eager?” Toph asked as they began to follow him out the door.

He faltered, quickly trying to think up a good excuse as he replied, “no reason.”

Toph’s frowned, “I can tell when you’re lying Sokka.” She reminded him.

“We can discuss this later!” He exclaimed, flustered. “Let’s go.”

Y/N had contemplated killing Zuko before.

It had never really been serious, as far as she would’ve gone was maybe injuring him badly enough that she got her point across. But at the end of the day, she protected Zuko to the best of her ability, and tried to keep his mind from being poisoned by the Fire Nation ideals that she’d once lived by unquestionably.

Now she actually wanted him dead. He stood alongside Azula, who had offered Y/N her spot in her little gang hours ago, though she’d rejected the offer much to Azula’s chagrin. But she seemed sure that Y/N would accept some time soon. Perhaps it was because Zuko had betrayed her father and left him to the Dai Li.

He had betrayed her father, the man who had practically raised both of them.

Y/N had a violent past, she wouldn’t deny, and she liked to think that she was past all that. But looking at the situation ahead of them, watching the Waterbender, Sokka’s sister, Katara, cry over the body of the Avatar, she realized that maybe violence was the answer. Just this once.

So, when she hopped in front of them, she had a plan. A violent one.

“Pull yourself together.” She snapped at Katara, who looked up at her, bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down her confused face, “he’s getting out of here alive. But first, I need you to soak them.” Y/N gestured towards the troops coming towards them, Zuko and Azula accompanying them. Katara opened her mouth, and Y/N didn’t care what she was going to say as she ordered, “now!”

Katara’s brows drew together as she released the Avatar’s head onto her lap, raising her hands to use the waterfall behind them to successfully drench the soldiers, who groaned at the discomfort but pausing temporarily before they continued towards them. “What did you think that would accomplish? What a pitiful-” Azula’s taunts were paused when she watched as Y/N drew her hands together, inhaling deeply, and Azula stopped her movement. “That’s not possible.”

Suddenly, lightning was between Y/N’s fingertips, and she extended her hand into the large puddle of water that Katara had created. Y/N had learnt to bend lightning soon after she’d mastered Firebending, from her father, he’d insisted that she only use it when necessary, so she kept her ability to herself. This was necessary, she decided, hand touching the water and sending a shock throughout everyone with it, successfully putting all of the soldiers out of commission.

Unfortunately, Azula recognized the signs of lightning bending, and withdrew alongside Zuko, and the two were now coming to attack from above at a rapid rate. Y/N whipped her head around to see Katara, mouth gaped open at all the fallen soldiers. “You two need to leave, I’ll hold them off.” She began to move to create another strike of lightning

“No.” Called out another voice, and Y/N whipped her head over to see it was her father, Dai Li agents likely nearby as he moved in front of Y/N. “You all need to leave. Take Y/N with you, she will help the Avatar reach his destiny.” Y/N wanted to laugh at that, how could he be so sure? If the boy did die, then this would all be for nothing

Y/N scoffed, “are you crazy?” She moved closer to her father, “unlike Zuko, I’m not leaving you.” She exclaimed, exasperated.

Iroh simply smiled at her as he said, “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

Sokka knew he seemed dumb. He knew how others perceived him, as the ‘extra’ member of Team Avatar, the useless one, because he lacked bending. At the end of the day, Sokka was the brains of their operations, he was observant, and this helped him develop plans that most people would never even consider.

Not that anyone else knew, but Sokka was the only one that had actually interacted with Y/N prior to what happened in Ba Sing Se. Sure, they’d all met once or twice in the past, but Sokka had a knife to his throat then, so Y/N probably didn’t seem that appealing to the others. And he doubted they understood how odd it was that she was so... apathetic. Normally she’d tease, and joke alongside him but now?

It was odd, and nobody else could notice the shift in her personality but him, and he was concerned. Y/N had lost her father, and been betrayed by her cousin, and she had yet to talk about it, at all. Sokka liked to think that they were close enough to discuss such things, and he’d tried to get some sort of emotion out of her, the key word being tried.

Despite her apathetic personality, the others had warmed up to her for the most part. Apparently Toph had met Y/N in the past, during the time she’d run off and encountered Iroh. So, the two got acquainted fairly fast, Aang was happy to have a Firebender, and insisted that once he was back to full strength, and they’d found a better place for practice, he’d learn Firebending from her. Y/N had agreed but it was clear Aang wasn’t as excited as he was acting, Sokka figured he still associated the time he hurt Katara with Firebending.

Katara had been far less weary of Y/N than Sokka had expected, but given what Katara had told him when she’d first joined, that made sense. Y/N was a powerful Firebender who had betrayed her entire nation to help save Aang’s life, and though Katara didn’t approve of everything she’d done in the past, she tolerated her. Which was better than nothing in Sokka’s book.

They were currently camped out in the woods beside a Fire Nation town, everyone had scattered to prepare for the few nights they’d likely stay in the area. Katara had gone to the town with Toph and Aang, in search of supplies and food, while Sokka and Y/N set up the camp and collected wood to help start a fire. Y/N had insisted that she could maintain the fire without any wood, but Sokka viewed this as an excuse to get her alone and force her to discuss her feelings.

“So...” Sokka mumbled, looking to her as she leaned down to pick up another piece of wood, “lovely weather we’re having.”

Y/N turned to him, raising a brow before nodding, “yeah.” It was clear she wasn’t entirely paying attention the nonsense that was coming out of his mouth as he tried to get her to listen to him.

Sokka grabbed another piece of wood, “how have you been?”

Tilting her head at him in confusion, Y/N brought another piece of wood into her arms, “fine.” Looking up at the dimming sky she frowned, “we should start heading back to that spot we’d found earlier.” Y/N turned to begin walking, and Sokka struggled to match her pace.

His brows furrowed in frustration as he stared at her, the light of the falling sun filtering in between the trees and onto them. Y/N seemed to glow as she maneuvered between the trees, “how have you been sleeping?” Even Sokka sounded confused at the question he asked, but he didn’t know how to broach the topic with Y/N.

She simply paused her movement, turning to him, he stumbled slightly due to the abrupt stop, and met her eyes. “Just ask what you wanna ask, Sokka. Stop dancing around whatever it is.” Y/N sounded tired, looking to him expectantly as she awaited his question. Sokka scolded himself for being so obvious that she’d noticed something was up.

He sighed, “are you okay?” And she opened her mouth to respond but he continued, “actually? You can say that you are okay, and not mean it. Y/N you lost your dad and were betrayed by your cousin, and you-” Sokka grimaced as he met her eyes, “you haven’t been the same since you joined us.”

Y/N is silent for a moment, then her eyes were piercing into his, “how would you know that I haven’t been the same?” She asked, turning away to continue walking back to the chosen campsite, “it’s not like you know me.” His statement had set her off it appeared, but her response had easily done the same for him.

“Are you serious? Not like I know you?” He scoffed, jogging to catch up with her, “I know that you do whatever it takes to protect the people you care about. I know that you really like Earth Kingdom food because most of the food within the Fire Nation is on the spicier side.” Y/N didn’t seem to be listening, and the camp was in sight, but Sokka continued, “I know that you get really cold easily unless you regulate your body temperature with your Firebending. And I know that you can’t pick a favorite color because you are very indecisive.”

Aggressively, Y/N dropped the sticks into the center of the campsite as they arrived, turning to him, “you can stop now.” Her voice was almost taunting as she spoke, sarcastic in a way.

Sokka simply followed suit, placing the firewood in the center and facing her head on, “and most importantly, I know what it’s like to lose someone.” He takes her hand, and Y/N practically growls at the contact, attempting to yank her hand out of his grasp, she ends up pulling him closer towards her. Sokka clumsily topples onto her, knocking the both of them down into the dirt with a grunt. His forearms preventing him from crushing Y/N under his body weight as he held himself up, his eyes meet hers.

Y/N finds herself glaring daggers at him, while Sokka finishes his little speech with, “you don’t have to deal with this alone.”

And in that moment, he looks at her, really looks at her. And she’s really pretty.

Y/N opens her mouth to say something to him, only for someone else to begin speaking, “are we interrupting something?” Toph. Looking up, Sokka sees the others as well, Aang looks rather smug as he wiggles his eyebrows at Sokka, and Katara gives him a pointed look, likely disappointed that he’d fraternizing with the former enemy. He can’t help it when he feels his cheeks warm, and before he can move to get off Y/N, she’s launched him off of her, and he’s flat on his back on the ground. Toph laughs at the actions, bending a seat of earth for herself and the others before falling backwards into it, the girl seems to wish she had popcorn as she watched the moment unfold.

“No.” Y/N mumbles, bringing herself to her feet and dusting herself off. “I’ll be in my tent if you need me.” She retreats into one of the tents they’d set up earlier, and Sokka groans as he lets his head fall backwards into the ground and runs his hands over his face.

When he removes them, Aang is standing over him, along with Toph, while Katara organizes the firewood. “So... did we interrupt something?” Toph asked.

Sokka just sighs, his plan failed. This time at least. Next time, his goal would be to make her laugh, to make her smile. At least she had expressed some emotion, anger was better than nothing.

Anger seemed to turn to annoyance, since Y/N doesn’t leave her tent until nightfall and Sokka can’t help but wonder what was entertaining enough to keep her in there for all that time. When she does exit, she uses her Firebending to light a fire, and uses the firewood they’d collected earlier to ensure it stays alight. The rest of the group was seated around the center of the campsite, and Sokka wonders if she’s going to go back to her tent when she realizes the only open seat is next to him.

She doesn’t return to her tent though and he’s grateful. Though she sits as far as possible from him on the bench that Toph had created, half-heartedly listening to the things that the others are saying. Y/N can feel herself getting cold and can’t help the resent that bubbles up in her chest as she recalls what Sokka send earlier. Exhaling deeply, a puff of blue fire escapes her mouth and Y/N feels nauseous at the small reminder of Azula.

This catches Sokka’s attention, though the others are too enraptured in the story Aang was telling, Sokka turned to her, “cold?” He asked, leaning to the side to grab a blanket from his small pack, he offers it to her.

Y/N knew she wouldn’t be able to regulate her temperature when she fell asleep, but accepting the blanket from Sokka felt like... it felt like accepting him and everything he had said about her. So, when she doesn’t take the blanket from his hands, Sokka sighs, moving to put it back, only for Y/N to snatch the blanket from his hand and wrap it around herself begrudgingly.

This was her way of apologizing, moving closer to Sokka on the small bench she huffed as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself and turned her attention to Aang. She’d been mean, she wouldn’t deny, but what was she supposed to say? Exhaling deeply, Y/N closes her eyes temporarily, allowing drowsiness to consume her for a moment, before looking back to Aang.

It isn’t until Sokka feels a weight fall onto his shoulder midway through his own story that he realizes Y/N has fallen asleep, his mouth gaping open in shock as he pauses his words. He quickly shakes off the shock, cheeks warming as he turns back to the rest of the group, who all regard him curiously. Aang once again wiggles his eyebrows and Sokka ignores the action, continuing his story. Though he’s more weary of his vivid hand movements in fear of awakening Y/N, and noticeably quiets his voice. Sokka finds himself wishing he was Y/N as he listens to Katara’s Water Tribe horror story intently, after all, this is the most peaceful he’s ever seen her.

It doesn’t last long, because she’s soon startled awake, hand going to her side where she keeps her dagger as she and Toph speak simultaneously, “someone’s coming.”

As an old woman emerges from the shadows, Sokka practically holds Y/N down to keep her from lunging at her and attacking as the woman speaks. And of course, Y/N’s distaste for the woman doesn’t stop there, even when she invites them into her home, though Sokka doesn’t blame her. She’s a suspicious woman.

It’s not until he and Aang are attacking each other that Sokka regrets preventing Y/N from attacking the old woman when she had the chance. Katara is struggling to move, and Sokka can only hope that Toph and Y/N return from the cave soon as he yelps upon nearly making contact with Aang, the old woman laughing cynically. Sokka watches as she shifts, hand outstretching behind her, “don’t think I forgot you little Firebender.”

His eyes widen in both shock and fear as Y/N’s body is suddenly thrown onto the ground in front of him. Her body rising almost mechanically, back to a stand, Sokka realizes there’s lightning at her fingertips, the woman manipulating her body to aim for Sokka. “A shame you’ll be the woman to end your friend’s life isn’t it,” She’s making eye contact with Katara who is crying out and begging for her to stop.

Sokka can see the panic in Y/N’s eyes as the her hands aim towards him, “Y/N. It’s okay.” He calls out her, in an attempt at assurance that he doubts does much to soothe her. “It’s okay.” He repeats, squeezing his eyes shut as he prepares for the lightning to hit him. Except it never does, instead, it goes upwards into the sky as Y/N cries out in pain, having moved her body despite the woman blending her blood.

She had overpowered Hama’s bloodbending, something that clearly came as a shock to the old woman as Y/N turned around sluggishly, staring at the shocked old woman as blue fire left her mouth once more, chest heaving. Sokka could feel the weight on his bones slowly disappear, leaving behind an ache, the woman likely intended to focus her abilities onto Y/N, who was struggling to walk towards her.

“Scared?” Y/N asked, looking up at the woman, “you should be.”

The next time that Team Avatar feared Y/N. She was face to face with Zuko.

He’d approached them as they sat in the Air Temple. And Y/N had practically jumped out of her seat, preparing for a fight as lightning seemed to dance at her fingertips. Though Sokka knew better than to allow her to attack her cousin, and grabbed her arm. “Can you guys handle this?” He asks the others, maintaining eye contact with Y/N. The others looked to them understanding what would likely occur if Y/N was allowed to be involved.

Zuko wouldn’t walk away from that fight.

“We got this Sokka.” Katara assured, pure hate in her eyes as she stared Zuko down, and Sokka couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he should remove both of them from the situation.

Sokka’s hand found Y/N’s, and it was almost burning hot, a sparks seeming to fly between them, he pulls at her hand. Y/N hesitantly allows him to drag her away, though she turns back momentarily to meet Zuko’s eyes. “I’ll kill you later, cousin.” She promises, and her voice is scarily calm. “For my father.” The condescending tone in her voice and the wince Zuko has in response is enough for Sokka to know that her intent was to hurt him emotionally if she couldn’t do it physically, and it was clear she had been successful.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N closes her eyes temporarily as Sokka brings her into one of many abandoned rooms in the temple, sitting her down onto a bed before kneeling down in front of her. “Are you good?” He asks.

“That’s a stupid question.” Comes her response.

Sokka tilts his head at her, giving her a smile, “well I’m a stupid guy.”

He’s rubbing gentle circles in her hand as she shakes her head, a small laugh escaping her, “no you’re not.” Her voice cracks and she cringes at the sound so she clears her throat, staring at the wall beside her. Sokka can’t help the way his heart swells at this comment, because for once he doesn’t feel like the comic relief, he doesn’t feel like the side character. Though he appreciates the rest of Team Avatar and loves them all dearly, at times, they didn’t take him seriously.

Y/N makes him feel important. Though he doesn’t say this as he looks at her, clearly shaken by Zuko’s sudden appearance, she speaks once more, “are you sure I can’t kill him?”

This time Sokka laughs, shaking his head, “I’m sure Katara would love to help you with that, but I doubt Aang would approve.”

Y/N nods slowly, letting out a shaky breath as a tear escaped her, though she quickly wiped it away and looks to the ground. “You wanna sit with me?” She asks, patting the spot on the bed beside her.

“Sure.” He replies softly, moving to sit on the bed with her. One he’s situated, Y/N leans her head onto his shoulder, and Sokka finds his hand wrapping around her waist. And they sit like this for several moments.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N removes her head from his shoulder and looks to him, “thank you.”

Sokka raises a brow, “for what?”

“Being here.” She replies, bringing her hand to move a hair from his face, Sokka watches her actions intently and in awe. “With me.” Her hand remains on his face for longer than necessary, and when she moves to let it fall back into her lap, Sokka’s hand cups hers.

They’re both silent when Sokka’s hand releases hers, and his other hand leaves her waist, both coming to her face. The look in his eyes tells her enough, and she nods to him.

The kiss felt like the first breath of fresh air in a while. Maybe it’s because it had been long overdue, but as Y/N brought her hands to his arms to pull him closer, she felt her head empty of all thoughts.

He pulls away momentarily, their foreheads resting against each others, he can see her eyes are shut, lashes pressed against her cheeks. “I hope,” Sokka pauses, and her eyes flutter open to look at him, he can feel his cheek warm as he continues, “I hope I can always be here, with you.” It’s a confession in its own way, and Sokka understands the weight of his words as he watches her reaction.

She opens her mouth, likely to reply, be closes it quickly, and Sokka can’t help the panic that floods him. Though this is quickly replaced by the feeling of her lips on his as her hand collides with his chest and pushes him down on the bed, earning a grunt from him.

“Guys, Zuko is gone-” Y/N throws herself onto the floor as she rolls off Sokka, and he sits up immediately. “Am I interrupting something now?” Aang asked, giving Sokka a look.

Y/N clears her throat, “no.” Sokka couldn’t help it when his brows drew together at this comment, bringing a hand to his temple as he sighed, and Y/N stood, dusting off her thighs as she mumbled, “see you guys later.”

She started avoiding him after that.

When Zuko joined the group, she’s also made a point to avoid him no matter how hard he tried to apologize to her. And of course, when Sokka first showed him to his room they had a... chat. To put it simply, Sokka had threatened him.

Just a little.

“So yeah, here it is, your room.” Gesturing to the room, Sokka gave Zuko a tight lipped smile, watching him wearily.

Zuko’s back was to him as he placed his stuff down, “thank you.” He said, expecting that to be the end of it, upon hearing the door close he assumed Sokka had left.

When he turned around, Sokka was still very much there. “Let’s have a chat, Prince Zuko.” It didn’t go unnoticed by Sokka how the boy grimaced at the use of his title, though that didn’t stop him from moving forward and placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder a little too tightly. “Y/N does not want to speak with you.”

“I know,” Came his reply. “Thank you for keeping her from... killing me. The other day. I intend to apologize-”

A small laugh escaped Sokka, “next time. I won’t stop her.” This was for multiple reasons, one of which being that Y/N was avoiding him, and the other being that he wished to respect her and her feeling about Zuko. “And you need to respect her wishes. One of those wishes being, avoiding you. Until she approaches you, leave her be.”

Zuko’s brows furrowed at this comment, “she’s my cousin. You can’t expect-”

“Leave. Her. Be.”

Zuko became silent, nodding slowly as he looked to Sokka curiously.

And now, to avoid some of his problems and solve some of them, Sokka ended up running away in a hot air balloon with the person he related to the most at the moment, and the person he threatened rather recently. Zuko. Both of them were being avoided by someone important in their lives, and they both had slightly crazy younger sisters. Though their conversations were certainly... odd.

“My first girlfriend turned into the moon.”

Zuko looked at him for a moment before saying, “that’s rough, buddy.” There was silence after this, a temporary lapse in conversation that Zuko seemed determined to fill. “So...” Zuko mumbled. “You and my cousin huh.”

It wasn’t a question, Sokka realized this, but he disregarded it as he responded, “what about us?” Playing dumb would hopefully get him to drop the subject.

Zuko raised his brows at Sokka, “us?”

Scolding himself, Sokka realized he’d unintentionally dug a deeper hole for himself when he said this as he tried to avoid Zuko’s gaze. “Not really.” Sokka replied, “she’s avoiding me too.”

Nodding, Zuko gave him a tight lipped smile, “what did you do?”

“I wish I knew.” Sokka could only make assumptions about why Y/N had begun to avoid him, but at the end of the day was confused over it.

He really needed to talk to her.

As the day of Sozin’s Comet drew closer, Sokka had started trying to talk to Y/N more and more, she’d keep basic conversation but whenever he tried to address... the kiss, Y/N would shut down the conversation. And now, it was the day of Sozin’s Comet, and they established that Zuko and Katara would take on Azula, Aang would take on Ozai, and the rest of them would go after the army that was heading for the Earth Kingdom.

It seemed that Sokka intended to try to speak with her once more as he approached her while she strapped a dagger to her thigh. “We need to talk.” He said, plopping down onto a rock beside her.

“About battle strategy?” She asked, looking to him, “I had some ideas.”

Play dumb, play dumb, play dumb.

Sokka’s brows furrowed as he shook his head, “about the kiss, Y/N.” Y/N tried to hide her shock at his forwardness, he’d never been this blunt before, during his previous attempts to discuss this with her. Turning to him, she prepared to speak but he silenced her, “you’re going to listen this time.” Grimacing, he looked away, towards the horizon. “I don’t know what’s going to happen today. And if something goes wrong, I need you to know-”

“Nothing is going wrong.” Y/N stated firmly. “Nothing. So, we can have this conversation after.”

Sokka sat up from his place on the rock, moving in front of her, “there’s no way to guarantee that Y/N.”

Squeezing her eyes shot, Y/N took a deep breath, “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you guys.” She promised, “and I swear we can talk about this after.” She grabs onto his hands, holding them in hers as she looks away. Y/N knew why she was avoiding it. He was right, it was totally possible for one of them to die, and a relationship in the midst of a war was the worst possible idea. After would be better, or at least that’s what she’d told herself.

The pleading look in his eyes almost burns through her resolve as he asks, “will we?” It almost hurts that he doesn’t believe her, but Y/N can’t blame him.

“We need to go.” Her voice was almost a whisper as she releases his hands. Even if she wanted to continue discussing the subject, they needed to begin the battle soon.

Sokka frowned though, “if you don’t want this, just tell me and I’ll-” He sighed, bringing a hand to his temple. “I’ll stop bothering you.”

Y/n began to shake her head, “you are never a bother to me I just-” Sighing, she looked into his eyes, “I want this. I do, I’m just scared, and we’re in the middle of a war Sokka!” She exclaimed, the words spilling out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“You think I don’t know that?” Sokka cried out, exasperated. “Y/N I’m so scared that something is going to go wrong, and I’ll never get to tell you that I-”

“Don’t say it.” She interrupts, fear in her veins as she watches him.

So, he didn’t.

If she didn’t feel like she had something to come back to, maybe that would make it easier. Sacrifices would have to be made to reach victory, and Y/N wouldn’t hesitate to be the one to make them if it meant the others survived. They deserved to see the new world, the world of peace, prosperity, and freedom, the one that came after all this.

Y/N could feel the power flooding her as the comet drew closer, pure and raw power. Though this accompanied by her skill would likely help her in the upcoming battle, dozens of Firebenders with half her skill and the power of the comet was something she was definitely worried about. Overpowering them all was unlikely, and in the best case scenario, Y/N could slow them down. But she wasn’t a fool. In war, there were always casualties, and she was prepared to become one of many.

Then there were the thoughts in the back of her mind. Though nobody had discussed it, the throne could potentially go to her after all this, and that wasn’t really something Y/n was looking forward to debating. Perhaps it was selfish, but Y/N didn’t really care. Was it wrong of her to dream of escaping the shackles that bound her to the Fire Nation since birth, to leave behind the politics and the lies and the pain of it all?

Maybe.

Sokka knew Y/N had a lot going on in her mind right now. And he knew she was scared of what was to come, and no matter how much it hurt him, he respected her wishes to wait until this battle was over to discuss whatever it was between them. He knew where he stood. But now that Suki had left them, he found himself beginning to regret it. On the top of the Air Balloon, Toph was practically blind, and Sokka could do little in terms of long distance, aside from his boomerang. Which left Y/N to do her best to defend them from the Firebenders that had begun to swarm them.

“Go!” She cried out, knocking one of the Firebenders off the balloon. “Take out the rest of the fleet.” Y/N dodged the oncoming flames, intercepting them with her own to prevent the others from getting burned.

But Sokka wasn’t going to let anyone die today. “You still owe me a conversation,” came his response, looking down at the bridges on the Air Balloon. “Jump!” Sokka cried out as another ball of fire rushed towards them, he took Toph by the hand and hoped that Y/N followed.

Thankfully, she did, he took notice of her as he fell towards the bridges extending from the giant hot air balloon. They were all screaming as they fell, and Y/N grunted in pain as she hit Sokka, tumbling over him and off the edge, yelping as her hands grasped the bridge, with little leverage. Toph similarly went over the side, her screams filling Sokka ears as Y/N released one of her hands from the bridge and caught Toph’s wrist.

Panic flooded Sokka as he scrambled to the edge of the bridge, Y/N’s hand slipping, “Sokka! Hurry up-” Another scream rips out of her as she loses her grip on the edge.

Nearly falling as he grabbed her hand, his chest heaved. “It’s gonna be okay.” He promised, looking into Y/N’s panicked eyes. “It’s gonna be fine Toph!” He cried out to her.

“Yeah, right!” She called out into the wind, the fear evident in her voice despite the sarcastic nature of the comment. “Y/N I don’t wanna die.”

Y/N almost can’t hear her, too focused on maintaining her grip on both Sokka and Toph’s hands. She exhales slowly, eyes falling on the soldiers that are beginning to make their way down to them as she replied, “you’re gonna be fine, I promise. I’m gonna get you to Sokka, okay?”

Sokka was internally panicking, he wouldn’t be able to fight back against the incoming soldiers if both his hands were occupied, but his grip was faltering and he couldn’t pull them both up. Grimacing as he looked down at the two, he nodded in agreement to Y/N signaling that he was ready. It made sense in his mind, she would be able to use her free hand to Firebend, which was far more useful than anything he could provide at the moment.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N looks to Toph, “Toph, I need you to climb up my body, and grab Sokka’s free hand, okay?”

Toph’s death grip on her hand seems to grow stronger, tears brimming her eyes, “I- I don’t think I can.”

Y/N shakes her head at these words, “yes, yes you can. Bring your legs up to grab my lower body, and then make your way up, okay? Like a tree.”

Toph shook her head rapidly, “I’ve never climbed a tree!”

Sokka couldn’t help but grow impatient as he exclaimed, “there are soldiers coming, Toph please!” His hand was growing sweaty as he used his free hand to throw his sword at one of the oncoming soldiers, effectively knocking him down.

Y/N felt her arm swing slightly, and watched as Toph blindly extended her legs, finally managing to wrap them around her legs. She released Y/N’s hand and wrapped both arms around her lower body, slowly inching upwards until her legs were around Y/N’s waist and her arms were on her shoulders. “Good job, now reach up, as far as you can, and Sokka’s gonna grab your hand.” Y/n instructed using her free hand to pat the hand that Toph had wrapped around her.

Y/N could feel the young girl’s tears fall onto her shirt as she extended her hand upwards, Sokka’s freehand moving as far down as possible. The strain on Y/N’s body slowly becoming too much as tears leaked out of her eyes.

Maybe it would be better to just... let go.

She quickly shook off those thoughts, Toph, Toph, Toph, she couldn’t do anything brash until Toph was safe. Y/N watched as Sokka’s hand narrowly missed Toph’s. “Sokka, please.” Y/N whispered, looking to him with pleading eyes.

Maybe it was the desperation he heard in her voice that moment, or maybe it was pure luck, put his fingers grazed Toph’s and he latched on, extending his arm as far as possible and gripping her hand. “Now let go of me, and Sokka’s gonna pull you up, okay?” Y/N explained, looking to Sokka, his eyes meeting hers. Y/N quickly realized he couldn’t lift either of them up. Just like her, this was straining his muscles, and Sokka was struggling to keep both of them up.

“Sokka.” She said, demanding his attention, his eyes met hers, filled with fear as Toph relieved Y/N’s body of her weight and evened out the distribution on Sokka’s body. “You can’t fight back with both your hands taken.” More tears were streaming down her face as she spoke, “a-and... you can’t pull us both up.” Sokka was crying too now, shaking his head rapidly as Y/N simply pointed out the facts.

Toph’s grip on his hand tightened, “we’re all going to die.” There was resignation in her voice, and it hurt Y/N to hear it.

“We’ll figure it out. We are all going to be okay.” He stated firmly, a shaky breath leaving him as he made an attempt to pull them both upwards, a failed attempt.

Squeezing her eyes shut momentarily, Y/N allowed herself to imagine it, a life with Sokka and the rest of her friends. A life where they were all happy. Where everyone made it out of this war alive, and they helped bring balance to the world.

To give them that world, they had to end this war. And what was war without death?

Opening her eyes, she looked to Sokka, and he was panicked, noticing that far more soldiers had surrounded them and were preparing to mercilessly throw them off the balloon. “Sokka.” She repeated, and he looked to her with a tear streaked face.

“I love you.”

Everything seemed to slow as she spoke this words, and Y/N didn’t see the horror on his face for long as the grip of his hand faltered when she released it, he was screaming, crying, begging for her to stop. Toph clearly didn’t understand what was going on as she began to call out Y/N’s name in a panic.

And then she was falling.

It appeared there would be no after.

It felt peaceful, she decided. Falling. The stress on her body had dissipated and she caught one final glimpse of Sokka’s mortified face before going through the clouds. The comet was visible from where she was, the horizon, it was a beautiful way to die. But staring at the comet she realized she wanted to know what would come after, she realized that Toph was practically helpless and all Sokka had was a boomerang against dozens of Firebenders.

They would die. So, what was the point of her sacrifice? What was the point of her dying?

No, she wouldn’t be dying today.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N felt the power course through her veins, and she reminded herself that she was Y/N L/N, a force to be reckoned with. Nobody would forget that as fire tore through the soles of her shoes, and extended from her hands, propelling her upwards.

She was the daughter of the famed Dragon of the West. And she would take on his mantle, she decided, as she flew upwards and through the clouds.

She could see Sokka had managed to bring Toph upwards and onto the platform alongside him, and they were surrounded by Firebenders. It was clear that they’d seen her when their mouthes gaped open, and a few of the soldiers began to retreat, much to the chagrin of their commanding officer. Y/N found herself ceasing her Firebending and falling towards the platform, she landed in a roll and rose on one knee before opening her mouth and allowing fire to pour outwards.

The Firebenders fell off the bridges beside them one by one, and those who didn’t retreated back inside along with the others at the sight of the Air Balloon that Suki had evidently comandeered.

Closing her mouth, Y/N’s chest heaved, and she felt Toph tackle her from behind, “you’re alive!” She exclaimed, punching Y/N’s arm roughly, “idiot.” She dug her head into Y/N’s shirt.

“Yeah, I am an idiot.” Y/N replied breathlessly, holding the girl tightly.

When Toph finally released her, she gave her a smug look, “I’ll give you and him a minute.” Though this was partially an excuse to head back inside and into the safety of the balloon, maybe even attack some of the remaining Firebenders, it was also because Toph could read the room.

And there stood Sokka, mouth gaping open, tears streaming down his smiling face as he looked at her, before lunging towards her similar to how Toph had. Except his hands came to her cheeks as he brought their lips together, effectively knocking the two onto the ground of the platform, be pulled apart from her with a smile on his face, “I love you too.”

Yeah, after was looking pretty good right about now.

A/N: i hope you guys liked this SUPER LONG THING WOW, that was an accident. i was super close to like breaking everyones hearts and killing Y/N but then i felt bad so be grateful i was nice ksaljdlahfkj

anyways take care of yourselves!

taglists:

atla: @bubblebars @jada-cleo @art-flirt @the-deli-meat

#sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #sokka atla #atla sokka #atla sokka x reader #sokka atla x reader #atla sokka x you #atla #avatar the last airbender #lok #legend of korra #sokka is a bottom change my mind #im sorry ignore this #i hope no one reads tags #anyways have a nice day #drink water

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

guilty | knj x reader | chapter two: incheon mall tube tops

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.5K

notes: i really hope you guys are enjoying namjoon’s story! i think there will only be one more chapter after this. and like a true unfocused writer i started daydreaming about a yoongi one-shot to go with it? gah, nevermind. i really hope you guys like this and i’d love to hear how you feel one way or another. a huge thanks to my amazing beta @hobi-gif who does a hell of a lot more than just find typos. and all of my love has to go out to @ladyartemesia @ppersonna @taetaewonderland because all three of you are so much more than tumblr friends.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

It didn’t matter how hard you tried to hide your sadness, Namjoon saw it.

It didn’t matter how many hushed calls you tried to sneak, or how many smiles you tried to force -- Namjoon saw right through your act from the very beginning. He’d seen enough to know that you were facing some kind of personal battle. He understood enough about you to know that you were far too private to bring it up or ask for help.

He should have asked.

The question sat heavy on the tip of his tongue for weeks. He should have asked on the days he would spot you at your desk, fingers pressed to your temples in frustration. Or on the days when he would catch you staring out the window, mind a million miles away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be driven to distraction by the way your blouses fit perfectly against the lines of your body. The way your pencil skirts hugged the curve of your hips. How soft your hair looked pulled into the low, loose knot you favored.

He found himself stumbling over his words when you’d quietly slip into meetings to deliver an urgent message or he’d drift off in the middle of conversations just because he’d caught sight of you outside his office door.

So it wasn’t long before what started as a preoccupation turned into a full-blown fixation.

You’d turn up at his request, poised and professional as always -- and he’d be lost in thought, defiling you a thousand different ways in his head. Fantasizing about getting his hands on you, his mouth on you, his teeth on you.

You didn’t deserve that.

That’s why Namjoon kept his mouth shut -- stuck in a maddening cycle of wanting to help you, wanting to know you, just wanting you.

All of it made him feel guilty as hell.

*********************

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

Namjoon has yet to figure out how she manages to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times and simultaneously nowhere to be found when she’s needed. She misplaces files and misses calls and forgets assigned tasks altogether. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s passed her desk to find her taking pictures of herself; lips pouted, angle skewed.

Two weeks ago, she was probably selling tube tops at Incheon Mall and now she’s playing gatekeeper to one of the most powerful men in Seoul. So it’s not her fault that she’s woefully unprepared for this job.

And it’s not her fault that she’s not you.

Namjoon has spent the better part of the morning debating the call he’s about to make, picking up the phone and setting it back down at least half a dozen times. But he’s at the end of his rope, running out of patience and options.

So he swallows his pride and picks up the phone just one more time.

You answer on the first ring.

“Mister Kim.”

God, he’s missed the sound of your voice.

“Good morning,” he starts carefully, clearing his throat. “I’m certain you have a lot on your plate but I was wondering if you could come sit with the new girl for a few minutes. She’s struggling a bit.”

The line is quiet for a moment and Namjoon can practically hear your thoughts on the other end of the line. The ones that say well that’s what you get for replacing your perfectly competent assistant with a child.

“I left notes,” is the quiet reply that comes instead.

“You did.”

“Detailed notes. Written, detailed notes.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees, rubbing his fingers across his mouth. “I’m certain they were quite detailed. It’s just that she’s having trouble following those notes because --”

“Because she can’t read?”

Namjoon cringes. Any small hope he had that you weren’t taking your reassignment personally dies with the abrupt delivery of that statement.

“Apparently not,” he admits lamely.

He hears the quiet sigh you take in before answering.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*************************

There’s a moment -- just after Seokjin has walked through his office door -- when Namjoon catches a glimpse of you.

You are leaned over the new girl’s desk, lips pursed, pointing something out on the computer screen. Namjoon freezes when you look up and lock eyes with him just as the door swings shut.

Christ, is he ever going to be able to look at you without feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him?

He turns to find Seokjin staring at him, one brow raised.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales, shoving a hand through his hair as he walks back to his desk. “I’m fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?”

“I do,” Seokjin starts, helping himself to a seat. “Two things, actually. Both pertaining to the amazing new assistant you so generously gifted me.”

Namjoon’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

“Go on.”

“Apparently she’s some kind of whiz with numbers,” Seokjin continues, unbothered by his strained response. “I gave her a few of the books to look over and she already found a couple of our guys in the Songpa district skimming off the top. I’ll bet there’s even more where that came from and she’ll find it. She’s got a good eye.”

Namjoon feels pride stir in his chest. Yet again, you exceed expectations.

“Send Yoongi and Hoseok to Songpa tonight,” he murmurs. “I’ll be curious to hear what kind of explanation our friends come up with for their lapses in accounting.”

Seokjin nods.

“Will do. So the other thing --” he pauses for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out how to carefully deliver what he has to say next. “I know you asked me to try and figure out what’s going on with her and I think I have. You’re right, she’s struggling with some personal issues.”

Namjoon leans forward in his chair, body rigid.

“Let me hear it.”

*************************

YOU

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

You have yet to figure out why she can’t work the printers or can’t read a simple spreadsheet when you know for fact she knows how to beam her selfies all the way to the goddamned moon.

It’s infuriating.

Just like it’s infuriating to see her seated at what should be your desk, doing what should be your job, working for the man who should be your boss.

Figure shit out, you’d love to tell her. Sink or swim, that’s how the real world works.

The idea of letting her fail so dismally that Namjoon has no choice but to beg for you back is tempting. But then he’d picked up the phone to personally ask you to help.

And apparently you are incapable of denying that man anything.

You’ve stayed late every day this week to review the spreadsheets Seokjin has given you to audit because of the extra time you’ve had to put aside to help the new girl navigate foreign concepts like filing and scheduling.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The rumors about Kim Namjoon’s skill as a businessman don’t give him enough credit. Money is pouring into the Gajog, hand over fist, from every major district in the city. Billions of won flow into the organization from legitimate and not as legitimate revenue streams alike. Combine the numbers and Kim Namjoon controls an empire worth trillions.

You stare at the sums and your mind flips back to your unexpected pay raise. It’s no wonder Namjoon can afford to be so generous.

It’s no wonder so many of the street-level men who work for him seem to be helping themselves to more than their fair share.

It took you a few days to identify the patterns, comparing the new intake sheets to the old ones, but once you did the missing money practically jumped off the page. Just a few audits in and you’d already been able to find at least 119 million won unaccounted for.

The Kim Namjoon you know is reserved and unflappable -- but this is information that’s bound to piss even him off.

What is a man like him like when he’s angry?

You shudder at the thought.

Before long, the night sky stares back at you from the window across from your desk and you decide it’s well past time you went home. You sort everything into neat piles and leave yourself organized notes before packing up to leave.

***************************

There’s no answer from your mother when you call to her from the hallway.

You frown as you make your way to her bedroom, worry melting away when you find her asleep in her chair. Her head is bent at a sharp angle, and you immediately move to help her prop her up.

Her eyes open to slits, unfocused from sleep and medication.

“Ttal,” she whispers, grimacing as she straightens out the crick in her neck.

“Eomma,” you whisper in a hushed rebuke. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t fall asleep in this chair, it’s terrible for you.”

She nods slowly, pointing to a glass of water on her nightstand. You hand it to her, but it wobbles in her weak grip and you take hold of it to help her drink before setting it aside.

“I’m hurting tonight,” she admits.

“I know,” you sigh, heart breaking. “Come, let me help you into bed.”

The process is painstaking. You help hoist her frail frame out of the chair and over to the side of the bed then work carefully to help her lie back. There’s no meat on her anymore, just skin and bones, so you tuck her blankets carefully around her legs and arms until you’re certain she’s not shivering anymore.

You know this isn’t working.

It doesn’t matter how many calls you make over the course of a day to check in, or how many well-meaning neighbors drop in to help, leaving your mother alone for hours in this state is a dangerous gamble.

You fight back tears of frustration. You grew up without siblings and your father has been gone for years. Being alone is something you’ve had a long time to get used to.

But you’ve still never felt as alone as you do right now.

You think in the quiet for a while, stroking your fingers across your mother’s upturned palm, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.

Unsure of what comes next.

“Kim Namjoon grew up to be such a handsome man,” your mother rasps.

The steady stroke of your fingers comes to an abrupt halt as the fine hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

Your mother doesn’t repeat herself.

“Eomma,” you urge, nudging her hand with yours. “What is this talk of Kim Namjoon?”

Her lips quirk when she closes her eyes like she’s recalling a pleasant memory.

“His mother was beautiful,” she breathes quietly. “God smiled on that boy. He looks nothing like his father.”

The dull panic that’s already started to pulse in your chest sharpens to a point.

She has to be hallucinating.

She has to be taking too much medicine because nothing she’s saying makes any sense. You fumble for the bottles on her nightstand, pulling off the caps and pouring the pills out onto the tabletop. You count them over and over until you’re satisfied your mother hasn’t taken a dangerous amount of drugs.

“Eomma, why are you talking about Kim Namjoon?” you plead. “Help me understand.”

But when you look back to your mother, you realize your words are already falling on deaf ears. She’s slipped back into a sleep state once again.

If only it were that easy for you.

When you finally get to crawl into bed a short while later, you toss and turn all night.

Somewhere in the haze between asleep and awake you dream of Kim Namjoon.

*************************

Your mother’s mental clarity is always better in the morning.

After she’s had a night of rest -- and whatever medicine she’s taken has had some time to wear off -- she’s much more alert, much more like her old self. But you still weren’t able to get anything by way of answers out of her as you made breakfast this morning.

You’d made her favorite cold cucumber soup before carefully broaching the subject of last night’s strange conversation. You’d waited patiently for some kind of explanation about why she mentioned a man she hasn’t spoken of in years.

It didn’t come.

There was something odd about the way your mother went completely quiet at your mention of Namjoon. Something odd about how adamant she was about not having any memory of the conversation at all.

That odd look on her face is the one thought on your mind as you make your way to work in a complete fog. You slip into an open elevator and hit the button for your floor on autopilot.

You don’t even realize that you’re not alone until a soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I remember you.”

Your eyes flick up from their unseeing stare at your shoes to a young woman standing against the elevator’s back wall.

“Miss Kim,” you breathe, brushing an errant hair out of your face. Your cheeks are still stinging from the cold. “Good morning.”

Namjoon’s sister is a beautiful woman, without a doubt — but until this moment, you hadn’t realized how much she resembles her brother. They have the same striking features, the same smooth skin and high cheekbones and full lips.

They share the same dark, kind eyes.

“I remember you now,” she repeats, mouth curving into a smile. “I knew I recognized you, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally connected the dots.”

“Well, I wasn’t around a lot when we were kids,” you admit shyly. “So that’s certainly understandable.”

“That’s true,” she agrees. “And I try not to think back to those times a lot but you made an impression on me. You were always so sweet.”

Your cold cheeks seem to warm at her compliment.

“Thank you.”

The elevator stops at her floor but she seems reluctant to end the conversation. She leans against the door to prop it open.

“My brother,” she asks carefully, “Is he treating you well? Is he a fair boss?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Well, he’s not my boss anymore,” you admit. “He replaced me not long ago. But yes, he was very fair when I worked for him.”

Her lips part in a soft gesture of surprise when you deliver that news.

She’s quiet until the elevator blares a loud reminder that it’s time to close the doors. She smiles at you on her way out the door, opting not to comment on the quality of her brother’s staffing decisions.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. “But I’m still really glad you’re here.”

****************************

An inviting scent is the first thing you notice when you get home that night.

The second thing you notice are the voices.

You make your way down the long hallway with careful steps, trying to place the sound of the voice coming from your mother’s bedroom. It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Sim -- in fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

You stop short at the sight that greets you when you round the corner.

A woman -- a complete stranger is in your mother’s room.

You stand frozen in shock as you watch the stranger read to your mother from her seated position in the chair next to the bed. She looks up from the page when she realizes you’re there, giving you a better look at her pleasant, aged face.

“Aish,” she startles, clapping a hand over her chest. “Here I was, worried about scaring you and instead you’re the one giving me a fright.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Forgive me,” you start weakly, “But who are you? And how did you get into this house?”

The woman stands to adjust the pillow under your mother’s head before meeting you in the doorway. “She’s resting now,” she says, nodding at your mother’s still form on the bed. “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

Should you be screaming right now? Calling the police?

There’s no good explanation for why you do neither and decide instead to follow this complete stranger into your kitchen instead. She walks to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in the pot.

“Get off those feet,” she admonishes kindly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Again you comply, inexplicably following orders.

“I made Budae Jjigae,” she explains, ladling some of the stew into a bowl. She sets it down in front of you, and you stare back at her like an idiot. The stew smells amazing, and you’re immediately hit with a well-timed hunger pang.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“My name is Jinjoo,” she replies sweetly, handing you a spoon. “And I work for you now.”

“You work for me,” you repeat slowly.

“I do,” Jinjoo nods. “Mister Kim hired me.”

The spoon clatters loudly against the lip of the bowl when you drop it. For a moment, it’s hard to breathe. You have to wait for the strange sensation that snakes up your spine to subside before you speak again.

“Mister Kim.” You echo her again, dumbly.

Jinjoo takes a seat next to you at the table, radiating a patient kindness that makes you want to give into the urge to trust her. She smiles reassuringly at you, voice soothing when she speaks again.

“Yes. He said you needed help with your mother, and I can understand why. I nursed in hospitals for decades, dear. I can see your mother is in a bad way.”

You blink back at Jinjoo in stunned silence.

“I assure you, I’ll give your mother the best quality care,” she vows, patting one of your hands with her own. “And Mister Kim has already paid me well in advance, so don’t even think about trying to get rid of me.”

That statement almost makes you laugh.

You don’t want to get rid of Jinjoo at all. Ten minutes ago you had no idea she existed and in the span of one conversation she’s become one of the most important people you know. Tears well in your eyes as you stare into your bowl of stew, at a total loss for words.

Jinjoo seems to sense how overwhelmed you are. She gives you some space to process what’s going on, stroking one soft hand over your shoulder when she stands to leave.

“Eat something, dear. I’m gonna go sit with your mother for a while.”

You look up at her with watery eyes and nod, reaching for the spoon.

“This smells really good,” you say softly.

“Well, I’m a great cook. You’ll see,” she promises.

“Jinjoo -- “ you call out after her as she walks away. “Thank you,” you manage, voice thick with emotion. “I can’t thank you enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when her mouth curves into a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

**********************

Jinjoo’s stew was delicious -- not that you had the chance to fully appreciate it.

You’d sat in that kitchen alone for some time, eating slowly while you tried to process yet another bombshell in what seemed to be a series of them. Everything that’s happened to you since Namjoon reassigned you has been a whirlwind; from the sudden pay raise to the sudden arrival of Jinjoo.

You eat the last of the stew with your stomach in knots.

Namjoon knows your mother is sick. And you don’t know how to feel about it.

A part of you feels exposed when you think about him uncovering the sad details of your mother’s health battle. But knowing that he stepped in to help you fight it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in years.

Cared for.

The sound of laughter from your mother’s bedroom echoes down the hall and you stand to follow it.

Her favorite variety show is playing on the small TV in front of her bed, and it appears Jinjoo is a fan, too. You lean in the doorway and watch the women giggle at the silly skit. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard the sound of your mother’s laugh.

It makes you smile.

“Jinjoo, could you give us a moment, please?”

You almost hate to interrupt the instant camaraderie between the two women but you recognize that your mother is in the midst of a rare moment of clarity. You have to strike while the iron is hot.

“Of course,” she agrees, standing.

You wait until the sound of her footsteps fades away before taking her place in the worn chair next to your mother’s bed. Your mother smiles at you, taking one of your hands into her own.

You squeeze her fingers gently.

“Eomma, no more secrets,” you murmur. “Tell me the truth. Did Kim Namjoon come here?”

Your mother swallows thickly before nodding.

“He asked me not to tell you,” she admits. “He said he didn’t want you to refuse his help.”

You shut your eyes and imagine Namjoon in your home, in this room. Speaking to your mother. Making plans to send Jinjoo. Your chest squeezes so tight that for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

“Okay,” you concede quietly. You maintain the appearance of careful calm because you don’t want to make your mother feel worse than she already does., “It’s alright Eomma, I’m not angry, I promise.”

A peculiar look passes over her face. Her eyes dart away from yours and that’s all it takes for you to know you don’t have the full story. You decide to toughen your stance.

“Look at me, Eomma,” you say firmly. “If there’s anything I don’t know, you need to tell me right now. I need to know all of it. Everything.”

“I -- “

“Just tell me what it is,” you repeat, patience hanging by a thread.

Your mother sighs, lifting one weak hand in the direction of her dresser. You turn to stare at the pile of papers stacked there, realization dawning in an instant. You move on unsteady legs to walk over and take hold of them.

Radiology, pulmonology, chemotherapy.

You know exactly how much is owed on each of those bills because the numbers are burned into your mind. Those numbers are the reason you leave your mother for hours on end every day to go to work. Those numbers are the reason why it’s so hard to sleep at night.

You don’t realize that your hands are shaking until you hear the papers rustling.

Every bill bears the same neat, handwritten marking.

paid -- knj

***************************

NAMJOON

Namjoon watched his sister leave early tonight with Hoseok. Seokjin is out to dinner with his wife. And Yoongi is off doing -- well, whatever the hell Yoongi does when he’s not around.

There’s no one here tonight to tell Namjoon to go home. No one to point out that he’s had too much to drink or that it’s happening far too often.

So he pours another scotch.

The glass sweats in his hand as he stands in front of his window, deep in thought.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about the way you struggled in silence, caring for your mother alone -- too proud to ask for help. The way you catered to Namjoon’s every need and whim without ever making mention of yours. The way he’d let it go on for far too long, selfishly wrapped up in the way you made him feel.

“That girl is going to get you killed.”

Namjoon tells himself the sound of your voice is a figment of his imagination, an entirely predictable side-effect of too much scotch. But it’s followed quickly by your soft footsteps against the plush carpet in his office and both sounds are too real to ignore.

He turns to assess you, quietly sipping his drink.

Fuck, you are beautiful.

You have no right turning up here tonight -- looking like that -- testing him when he is at his weakest. Your dark eyes flash with something like a challenge and Namjoon feels his blood warm.

“That girl is never at her desk and she has no idea who’s coming or going,” you accuse quietly. “She’s putting you at risk.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow half-smirk that teases the edge of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” he admits. “But there are different kinds of risk. Maybe you put me at risk, too.”

He shouldn’t take pleasure from the way your eyes go wide at that statement. Or from the way you overcompensate by standing taller, chin lifted high.

But he does.

“Mister Kim -- “ you start.

“ -- Namjoon,” he interrupts. “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Namjoon? Haven’t we known one another since we were kids?”

“Namjoon,” you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know about everything. Jinjoo, the bills, all of it.”

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, draining his glass before setting it down on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Why?” you ask quietly. “Why did you do this for me?”

Because I would do anything for you.

He doesn’t voice that thought out loud. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he also knows he shouldn’t be closing the distance between you right now, and he’s doing that anyway. He steps closer, quietly, and you swallow hard, thrown by his silence and his advance.

“That’s not -- that’s not something you do for an employee,” you protest, slowly backing away. You stop only when the ledge of his desk hits you on the backside.

“The late nights and the extra hours. Everything else you did,” Namjoon murmurs, stepping close, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. “Did you do that for your boss? Or did you do that for me?”

He leans closer, caging your body against his desk. Your lips part in surprise and Namjoon forces himself not to react when your tongue slips out to wet them.

“Namjoon, I -- ” your voice is barely above a whisper when you find it. “-- I don’t understand you right now.”

“How could I have every resource at my fingertips and not help you?” he asks, reaching one hand out to cup your face. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips and you shudder under his touch. “Why didn’t you come to me when you knew I could help?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes quietly. You lean into the touch of his hand. “I would have given you anything you asked for. Anything.”

“I understand that,” you say quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm. “Because I would give you anything you asked for, too.”

Something about the way you say that snaps Namjoon back to reality.

He looks down at you like he’s only just now realized that he’s loaded on scotch, leaning you over his desk -- and well on his way to taking advantage of this situation. He tenses, pulling away.

“This is -- this is not --” he sputters pathetically for a moment. “Go home,” he pleads. “Please.”

He’s never hated himself as much as he does right now -- when you’re looking up at him with hurt and confusion in those wide, dark eyes.

“Go home before I do something I can’t take back.”

************************

tag list!

@prettyguardiansailormin @barbikatherine @55west81st @laabellaavitaa21 @codeinebelle @jalexad @trynavibewhileicry @poohsaidhi @eltrain80 @bluewhale52 @sahmfanficbts @midnighttifa

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon mafia #bts mafia #ficswithluv #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub

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101flavoursofweird · 2 years

Note

Fandom: BBC Merlin, Ship: Glimadora, Character: Kipo, Crossover: Marvel x My Hero Academia, Top Five: Layton, Randall, Henry, Dimitri & Don Paolo?

001 | BBC Melin

Favorite character: He’s a royal pain in the arse, but I think it’s Arthur now. I wouldn’t like him as much on his own, but Merlin brings out a lot of the best qualities in him. One of the reasons I was so invested in the series was because I couldn’t wait to see him become king.

Least Favorite character: Arthur’s uncle… Agravaine de Bois. (I had to look up his name.) Uther was thick as mud sometimes and he could be cruel, but at least he was a complex antagonist. Agravaine was just the Obviously Evil Uncle and Morgana’s lackey. He really dragged down that part of the series for me.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Arthur/Merlin, Merlin/Lancelot, Merlin/Gwaine, Gwen/Morgana, Gwen/Lancelot. None of these ships end well.

Character I find most attractive: Gwen. Her actress is so naturally pretty! I love all her outfits too!

Character I would marry: Lancelot if he wasn’t… you know. He would have been a good husband to Merlin and/or Gwen ;_;

Character I would be best friends with: Any of the knights. What a bunch of lads.

a random thought: I’m sorry for what Uther did, Morgana, but please don’t blame Gwen. I get why you’re mad at Merlin after he tried to poison you, and I know Arthur is Uther’s son… but Gwen doesn’t deserve your hate.

An unpopular opinion: I swear I read somewhere that Melin/Morgana were meant to be endgame in another season that never happened? Maybe it’s just my dislike for Enemies To Lovers but I just can’t see that working, sorry. Those two have tried to kill each other too many times

my canon OTP: Gwen/Lancelot

Non-canon OTP: What do you mean Arthur/Merlin isn’t canon

most badass character: Merlin, even though he acts like an idiot, will not hesitate to explode enemies on the spot

pairing I am not a fan of: I’m not a super big fan of Arthur/Gwen… I like it in concept but not how it was written a lot of the time. Like in the episode when Lancelot returned for the dead and Gwen was so OBVIOUSLY put under a spell to ‘cheat’ on Arthur, so Arthur exiled her? Are you sure you don’t want to look into that, Arthur?

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Morgana… She was so much better written in the earlier seasons before she become a full-on villain.

favourite friendship: Merlin and Arthur!

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Gaius! Gaius is an amazing mentor and father figure to Merlin. He’s like… the complete antithesis to Severus Snape.

002 | Glimadora

when of if I started shipping it: A couple of episodes into Season 1. I think I really started shipping it during the Mystacor episode when Glimmer tries to help Adora relax. Glimmer’s just so patient and soft towards her.

my thoughts: I didn’t need them to be ENDGAME but I really didn’t need them to have that huge argument in Season 4. I feel like their relationship was never fully repaired— at least, not to the level they were at before, and that makes me sad.

What makes me happy about them: The episode after Princess Prom where Adora goes in save Glimmer, but then she gets caught by Shadow Weaver, who tries to wipe Adora’s mind, so Glimmer breaks free to save Adora :)

What makes me sad about them: I think the ‘break apart’ plot line really could have worked better if they focussed less on other arguments and more on Glimmer working with Shadow Weaver in secret. If they had gone with that scenario, I would completely understand why Adora would be angry at Glimmer, but also why Glimmer would want the help of a skilled sorcerer.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: I haven’t read that many She Ra fics, but anything that involved needlessly bashing Glimmer to prop up Catradora would annoy me. Or vice-versa with Glimadora and Catra

things I look for in fanfic: I did read an AU fic where Glimmer took the fail safe instead of Adora… Glimadora was endgame and it was GLORIOUS. But, at the same time, Catra had a really compelling arc too.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Catra/Adora is an obvious one (after Season 5), but there’s also Glimmer/Catra and Adora/Perfuma

My happily ever after for them: Season 4 rewrite

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Adora is the big spoon, Glimmer is the little spoon

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Sleepovers!

003 | Kipo

How I feel about this character: For the hundreds of angsty heroes ‘cursed’ with powers, Kipo is over here loving life with her mega jaguar abilities. She’s such an unashamedly joyful, good-hearted protagonist— Not a cynical bone in her body!— and we need more characters like her.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: I don’t really have a romantic ship for Kipo— Something I actually like!— but I’ve seen a lot of fans shipping her with Asher and I can definitely see that happening!

My non-romantic OTP for this character: There are too many… Kipo & Wolf. Their relationship gives me so much serotonin. My absolute favourite scene is where they exchange birthday gifts ;_; Also, Kipo & Benson, Kipo & Jamack and Kipo & Hugo

My unpopular opinion about this character: I doubt this is unpopular but again, I love how kind and hopeful Kipo is to everyone she meets. That said, she’s willing to go Full Mega Jaguar to protect those she loves!

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wanted to see her missing Wolf and reuniting with Wolf in the Wolf Movie! I know they’re reunited by the end of the series but I wanted the FEELS

my het ship: I don’t have one

my fem/slash ship: Kipo/Asher

my OTP: I guess it’s Kipo/Asher again

my OT3: I can give you a BrOTP? Kipo, Wolf & Benson (And Dave!)

a head cannon fact: Hugo was there for Kipo’s high school graduation :’)

004 | Marvel x My Hero Academia crossover OTP

Firstly— Thor/Any of the adult heroes because it’s Thor

Peter Parker can may as well join Class 1-A…

005 | Layton, Randall, Henry, Dimitri & Don Paolo

Henry, Randall, Don Paolo, Layton and Dimitri. (Randall moved up the list slightly since I just wrote a fic about him.)

#Answers #thanks

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extraordinarilyextreme · 4 years

Text

the twins (and Zhao Yunlan)

Warning: spoilers for the drama adaptation of Guardian (2018), some references to the novel, more mediocre translations between Chinese and English, some psychoanalysis, and more music analysis

first, props to the kings that are Zhu Yilong and Bai Yu for such astounding portrayals of their characters! the fact that Zhu Yilong has to shift between two characters—one of whom is in love with Yunlan and the other who thrives on hatred—is just... wow. and Bai Yu? like speaking from Yunlan’s perspective, imagine someone who wears the same face as your lover but holds all the wrong beliefs, all the contradicting beliefs, how heartbreaking that must be :(

the twins certainly break my heart (broke and continue to shatter relentlessly, which means i need to read more fix-it fics) because there’s just so much potential for them both??? this is why i’m such a sucker for fics where the twins work together (i.e., they share the burden of the Black Cloaked Envoy); they are equals, they should have been equals. they lost their parents at a young age; it was literally just the two of them against the world, and then the writers had the audacity to tear them apart and not just tear them apart, but make them enemies smh

(i just want me some brotherly teasing and shenanigans, is that so much to ask for? i want the twins to look out for each other but also irritate each other to no end, but they’d also never think twice about protecting each other)

anyway. right. equals. in the novel, these two are born as twin ghost kings with the same powers and same level in powers [if i’m not mistaken], but it was ultimately only Xiao Wei who caught the attention of the god Kun Lun. the drama mimics this as well with the powers the two Dixingren have: Shen Wei can learn other Dixingren’s powers, Ye Zun can consume other Dixingren and thus use their powers. their abilities are probably purposefully meant to be quite similar; this is just one of many instances where the twins, when stripped of all context, are virtually identical. but when you add in context, then the difference is of course that Ye Zun devours for himself whereas Shen Wei learns more in order to protect others.

let’s look at how the way they interact with others provides more insight into their fundamental motivations. Professor Shen is polite, gentle, kind; Shen Wei has a near-obsession with the way he looks after Yunlan and the rest of the kids at the SID. (think about how after Ye Zun “devoured” Shen Wei and Shen Wei was mortally wounded when he saw Lin Jing... and his first instinct was to smile to provide reassurance and say how happy Yunlan would be if he knew Lin Jing hadn’t died.) Shen Wei lives to give and provide; he shares his life force with Yunlan to heal his eyesight, he does everything in his power to maintain the peace between Dixing and Haixing, he wants to uphold this hard-won peace because he knows what it’s like to lose everything, and he knows the cost of this peace and the treaty in place. his self-esteem is shot to hell—look at how many damn times he tries to sacrifice himself because he thinks he’s dispensable, because he believes this is all he’s good for. Shen Wei believes he HAS to provide for the people around them in order for them to stay. after all... wasn’t it his own fault, because he was too powerless, because he couldn’t do more, because he couldn’t give more, that he lost his younger brother and he lost Kun Lun?

now let’s shift gears to Ye Zun. Ye Zun focuses a lot on the desires of others in order to manipulate them (i.e., he asks Chief Zhao what he wants in one of the latter episodes, so that they may work together instead and is infuriated by the idea of a man who does not want anything). first, why this tactic? Ye Zun was captured by the Rebel Chieftain; his powers hadn’t awoken yet, so the only way he could be useful, could stay alive, was by pleasing the Chieftain. Ye Zun similarly feels he has to provide and again, like his brother, lives to provide and deliver. see? stripped of all context, both twins believe they need to give the people around them what they want in order to have meaning/live. second, in addition, Ye Zun knows first-hand what it’s like to be controlled and manipulated by others; he knows precisely what it feels like to have his mind, his thoughts, his feelings violated by someone else. it helps (?) that he also freaking devoured the Chieftain so that Ye Zun can literally use that mind control ability. he focuses on desires because he understands, perhaps too much, just how effective this manipulation tactic is.

what about the way they talk? (another shoutout to Zhu Yilong for his phenomenal delivery of their lines again! i dont think i can credit a VA because, if i’m not misremembering, this show didn’t use much dubbing if at all, at least for two leads) Shen Wei is rather soft-spoken, patient, quiet and Ye Zun... Ye Zun is the same. Ye Zun usually does his whisper-rasp thing which 1) makes me incredibly anxious 2) might be because he’s been trapped in a pillar for 10 thousand years and hasn’t exactly had a corporeal body with tangible vocal cords to use 3) more importantly, sounds placating. Ye Zun speaks to tantalize because he seeks to manipulate. but why else would he want to placate? he grew up as a slave; it’s been ingrained in him that he shouldn’t raise his voice, it’s a survival tactic to not piss off his enemies/people with more power. Shen Wei also speaks to placate, but he speaks with no ulterior motive; if he approaches a spooked animal, he wants to help it. if Ye Zun approaches a spooked animal, he wants to ruin it.

but wait, neither of them are always so placid you say, and well, of course, and Ye Zun definitely isn’t always so calm. Ye Zun has outbursts of excitement, anger (and you’ll find that the pissed off Envoy sounds very similar...); despite the mask he wears, Ye Zun is very childish. he wears his heart on his sleeve so to speak; he smiles when he’s delighted, frowns when he’s disappointed. he’s often more expressive than his brother even though Ye Zun tends to be the one who wears the literal mask when they appear in the same scenes. he never really grew up “normally” so to speak, which is why he’s so fucking furious that Shen Wei shared his life force with Yunlan. yet another grievance from the older brother! “it’s too boring!” Ye Zun complains, now that his brother is weakened and they aren’t equals anymore; it’s too boring, this game is too boring. Ye Zun is a child.

let’s also consider Ye Zun’s obsession with power. he went from slave to leader of the Rebels in a blink of an eye; what kind of freaking backlash must that have had on his psychological state? he’s hungry for power because it’s all he knows. “i am the master, you are the slave,” he taunts Shen Wei. “where is home? i’ve had no home since the day you abandoned me,” he tells Shen Wei.

“i’m your older brother,” Shen Wei reminds Ye Zun. “i never abandoned you,” Shen Wei explains softly to Ye Zun. if all Ye Zun knows is power (think survival of the fittest), then Shen Wei falls back on family, on love. he lost his blood family young, but then Kun Lun fell into his life and lit up his entire world. the Envoy protects his own people and Haixingren best as he can. Professor Shen has his students to look after. Shen Wei has Yunlan and the family at SID. Shen Wei didn’t grow up “normally” either, but he certainly grew up in a kinder world, and he definitely at least grew up knowing what it felt like to be loved.

Ye Zun: “I want to reform this world [...] This world is filthy.”

Ye Zun wants to destroy the world and recreate it; the “system” failed him. Shen Wei wants to protect the world by improving it; he knows the “system” isn’t perfect, but he also knows there are people living in the status quo and he has no right to strip them of that. Ye Zun sees the way his brother abandoned him, the way he himself was forced to survive; Shen Wei sees all the people he loves and needs to continue to protect.

now let’s turn to the respective relationships of the twins with Zhao Yunlan. i think i’ve mentioned this in my previous Guardian analysis textpost but one of the best things about WeiLan imo is that they’re both so fundamentally good. their ideals to uphold the peace and protect not just the people they love, but all people in need of protecting, are perfectly aligned. (this is also why i like WangXian from mdzs/the untamed)

Ye Zun, interestingly, comments that he and Yunlan are the same kind of person—someone who would stop at nothing for their goals. if Yunlan and Shen Wei match, then the younger twin is right. think of the Envoy’s solemn declaration that even the mountains would not stand in the way of him upholding his promise. WeiLan literally lose their lives for their shared goals.

Ye Zun also mocks his brother that Shen Wei will be just like him, alone. but this condemnation doesn’t stem from the younger twin; the root of this lies with Kun Lun. i didn’t get why in the novel Kun Lun supposes it might have been better to kill Shen Wei at first... it’s because Kun Lun condemns him to thousands of years of loneliness both in drama and in novel. in the drama, when young Shen Wei brings up a what-if, Kun Lun (Yunlan) interrupts him and tells him that Shen Wei would still make this same choice, would still bear this same heavy burden. it is a condemnation, but it is also further proof of this understanding that ties WeiLan together. it is a condemnation, and yet it completes the string of fate and their infinite, cyclical love story.

Kun Lun (Yunlan) asks Shen Wei to forgive him if he has to disappear without warning one day. ten thousand years later, Shen Wei leads his little brother away, sparing just a few minutes to smile at Yunlan and return that lollipop wrapper to him. Shen Wei then walks away because he has complete faith that Yunlan will not blame him or curse him for it, no matter how heartbroken he will be. Shen Wei could forgive Kun Lun; Yunlan easily forgives Shen Wei.

(there’s also the parallel of betting between the twins. Ye Zun bets Yunlan on who will die first—the people Yunlan wants to protect, or Ye Zun. Shen Wei bets on whether or not he and Yunlan will find each other again. the younger twin bets with hatred and on death, the older bets with love and on life.)

i’ve said before that Yunlan brings out the human in Shen Wei. Yunlan brings out the human because they inspire love in each other; they are in love with each other. but Ye Zun, the dear little brother, also brings out the human in Shen Wei because this is truly the only blood family he has left.

the last time we see Shen Wei’s glasses is before Ye Zun tortures his older brother; Shen Wei from then on is simply Shen Wei, no Professor, no Envoy. when he stands before them all, he is Ye Zun’s older brother, and he is Zhao Yunlan’s lover. when he blocks the blow, his theme begins to play—melancholic, calm, steady. his choice to protect Yunlan is fundamentally Shen Wei. ten thousand years prior, when the Envoy breaks the mask of the new leader of the Rebels, Shen Wei’s theme also plays. his little brother has been returned to him; Shen Wei is complete. his theme plays a final time when Shen Wei explains he never abandoned Ye Zun because again, his twin Ye Zun—like his lover Zhao Yunlan—completes Shen Wei as a character. Shen Wei is a character built entirely from love, from family. when he appears as a spirit to bring Ye Zun home, to offer family, Shen Wei is wearing the Envoy’s outfit of ten thousand years ago. the twins also complete a circle; the story begins with their wrongful separation, the story ends with their bittersweet reunion.

let’s continue with this music analysis! the Black Cloaked Envoy’s theme is 《万年不负》or “Have Not Failed/Disappointed for Ten Thousand Years”. he upholds his promise to Kun Lun/Yunlan to protect the peace between Haixing and Dixing for ten thousand years in the drama and five thousand years in the novel (he also protects the Great Seal in the novel that Kun Lun protected). Ye Zun’s theme is 《染灵》or “Dyed/Tainted Spirit”. Think about how dirty he believes this world to be, and how he proclaims “10 thousand years have passed. I can finally wipe off my disgrace!” (also how he’s a ghost king/hungry ghost in the novel from the Unclean Realm/Hell).

Here’s a quote from the novel: “我连魂魄都是黑的，唯独心尖上一点干干净净地放着你，血还是红的，用它护着你，我愿意。”

[Even my soul is black, only my heart where I’ve placed you is clean; there my blood is red, I’m willing to use it to protect you.]

i dont really remember the context of this quote but i think it’s the novel equivalent of where Shen Wei cuts his wrist for Yunlan. anyway it parallels the drama quote where Shen Wei says something like “my eyes are black, my hair is black, even my soul is black... but my blood is red.” it’s just another callback to the novel i think, that the twins are in fact twin ghost kings from the Unclean Realm. (and Kun Lun is a god. thinking about Xiao Wei curbing his bloodlust to become worthy of a god’s love and attention always makes me sob)

both pieces are commanding, lots of brass, but the Envoy’s is a quiet kind of commanding. an unnoticed protector, hovering just out of focus; perhaps a touch unsettling that he’s always there, but also a relief that his presence is a reliable constant. (think of when the SID first summons the envoy and he kind of melts out of the smoke like an unobtrusive shadow) Ye Zun’s is much louder; you cannot miss him, you will witness his triumph. consider how Ye Zun wears a gold mask and a white outfit, as if he were in the spotlight; the Envoy wears all black with only hints of silver. (perhaps the younger twin desperately wanted out from his brother’s long shadow.)

the scene at the Dixing bar near the end when Yunlan retrieves the lantern. Ye Zun, dressed as the Envoy, enters and wow for a moment you can see all the hope and love in Yunlan’s face ;-; it’s Ye Zun’s theme that accompanies this false Envoy... and it almost lulls you into a false sense of victory. but it’s not the victory that Shen Wei has returned; it’s Ye Zun’s victory that he’s, in a sense, taken over/overpowered and “dethroned” his brother at last. (huge props to Bai Yu again; god i can’t even imagine... the love of your life dying to protect you but wait here he is but no it’s your worst enemy but they share the same face UGH)

the piece that plays when Kun Lun is sucked back by the wormhole is 《诀焰》or “Farewell Flame”. i think it also plays when he’s gonna sacrifice himself to light the Lantern. it sounds triumphant... but at what cost?

and the final piece i want to mention here is 《默守》or “Silently Guarding” and it’s kind of a rearrangement of WeiLan’s theme of 《时间飞行》or “Flying Across Time”. it plays when Shen Wei leaves his amber pendant behind for Yunlan to open. i always assumed this piece was from Shen Wei’s perspective but thinking again... this pendant, this lollipop wrapper, this memory of Kun Lun are what has kept Shen Wei going for so long. Zhao Yunlan is the one who has protected Shen Wei for so long. they will always protect each other. their love is a fated one.

anyway, listen to the soundtrack! rewatch and cry! if you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading~

#镇魂 guardian #guardian #zhenhun #cdrama ramblings

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inforapound · 4 years

Text

Just One

A couple of weeks ago, I asked everyone to send me their favourite tropes as I wanted to write a fic as a Christmas gift for an incredible writer. The holidays didn’t allow time so I wrote it as a Happy New Year piece and congratulations on your 5,000 followers. This is for you @waiting4inspiration .

Warnings: oral sex, finger play, historically inaccurate vocabulary (F word)

One-shot – 5k words (eye roll)

Characters – Ivar The Boneless, OFC, Oleg

“Who is there?”

Ivar’s voice called out from where he lay under the heavy fabrics of the soft bed. The room was dimly lit by a stand of candles flickering beside a tall bureau but he could still see the heavy door open and then close without anyone stepping in. Waiting, with his breath held, he listened for the sound of movement beyond in the corridor. Nothing... but the same chiming music that had floated through the city every evening since being dragged to the kingdom of the Kievan Rus.

Pushing his fists into the mattress, he rose to look beyond the foot of the bed. Flinching, he saw a dark form kneeling on the tile floor. His eyes shot wide and the sensation of cold pricked the skin of his cheeks. Instinctively, he flung his arm to the table beside the bed, his hand reaching for an ax that his startled mind forgot would not be there.

With movements like a strutting cat, the dark form slinked toward the bed on hands and knees. The outline of dark hair around a pale face was first to catch the light. Ivar’s thoughts raced, assessing the degree of threat. His eyes scanned the near empty room, searching for a makeshift weapon, quickly realizing strangulation was his only option.

As she crawled into the glow of thrown light, Ivar finally saw her. Scarcely clothed in a dark scant slip, the hanging neckline allowed a glimpse of dark nipples, muted in shadow, on small perfect breasts. She looked stunning, wickedly angelic like a demon might seconds before stealing your last breath. Long brown hair, falling in waves around a face of mostly cheekbones and lips. In the dim room, it was impossible to make out the colour of her almond-shaped eyes but nothing about her put him at ease.

“What do you want?” he demanded, his voiced sounding stressed. “Who are you?” he spoke again in a deeper voice.

“A gift, King Ivar, from the prince.”

Caught off guard for the second time, he frowned, hearing her speak his language with only the slightest accent.

“Go. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

He could tell by her coy smirk, sitting back tall on her knees, that she was unaccustomed to being refused.

“What would I be disturbing you from King Ivar? You hardly require beauty sleep.”

“I said go! I will not be touched by a slave.”

Tutting at him, she subtly shook her head. “Norway must be an opulent country if I am what the slaves of your kingdom look like.” Lifting her arms to either side, she put herself on display. “Do I look like a slave to you?”

Raising his chin, his eyes roamed her body; her breasts, still barely covered by the silk shift. Dropping his gaze lower when she placed her hands flat on the tops of her knees, sliding the hem up to show her parted thighs.

He snapped his eyes back to hers before he could make out the darkness between her legs. “Then who are you?”

“I am Oleg’s.”

“You address him as Oleg?”

“Why would I not?” she replied in a calm voice, eyeing him from under her brow.

“Who are you then? One of his concubines?”

“Ahna.” Undeterred by his stern face, she offered another crumb. “I am the only woman in his life. He shares me with no one. Men are not permitted to even look so I wonder if he will feel slighted by you turning me away?” Tilting her head, she squinted as if still spinning a thought. “For two months you have been the source of his every conversation.”

“I do not need you to pleasure me?”

“That is fine, you can pleasure me.”

Ivar’s head shot back, cracking into the headboard. Relieved the faint light would not reveal his reddening cheeks, he quietly cleared his throat.

“I will not.”

“Will not…. what?” she tipped her head forward as if straining to hear.

“Lie with you.” Ivar cleared his throat again. Fuck, he hated this. He was a king and now he lay, locked in a strange room, armed with only his spite. Who did these people think they were?

“Are you a virgin Ivar the Boneless?”

Scowling at that, he nearly growled.

“I am a cripple.” He motioned toward his lower half with the flip of his hand.

“But you talk?”

Jerking his head, a piece of his pulled back hair fell loose across his forehead. “And?” he snapped, smoothing his hair back with frustration.

“Your tongue works,” she smiled, falling forward onto her hands, smoothly crawling toward him.

Ivar’s eyes flashed wide as she made her way, slipping out of sight below the foot of the bed. Darting his head to either side, he tried to track her movements. Popping up on his right, she rose swiftly and turned to sit on the edge of the mattress; eyeing him for the first time without a smile. Still like stone, Ivar lay under her scrutiny. This woman had savvy, he thought, taking in the way, scarcely clothed, she sat on his bed as if it were her throne. She must have influence, he decided, as no simple woman could so easily own a room.

“Oleg will want to know how it felt being touched by a god. He was so..... what is the word… insistent that I thought he might join us.” Raising her brows, her full lips pulled into an easy smile. “I can call him if you would prefer a man.”

“No!” Ivar sat forward, clearing his throat for the third time. “That will not be necessary,” he paused for a split second trying to recall her name. “Ahna, is it?”

Nodding once, her eyes dropped from his face and scanned his covered body.

“I saw you with him. With Oleg. I watched the two of you outside the gates playing like silly boys. It has been a long time since I have seen him so enthused. I think he has grand plans for you.”

Working to keep his mind calm, Ivar listened.

“I think you are an exceptional man,” she simpered. “Well,” her posture softened. “I will retire then and let Oleg know I was not to your... liking.”

“Wait,” he leaned forward grabbing her wrist.

Glancing down at his hand, she looked back up, playfulness returning to her eyes.

“We could talk... for a while, yes?” Ivar asked hating the way his voice cracked.

“You will have to share your covers, I am sitting here,” she glanced down her front, “barely clothed.”

Slowly nodding, he shifted over, watching her move off the bed and turn to him. He held the blanket up for her to slide in.

The idea of having a conversation with her did not sit right. Feeling unprepared, he hated everything about the situation. Nearly everything; he was still a man who loved coveted things. He was not certain whether it was her confidence or beauty that had him invite her in or the fact that the prince had chosen to share. More likely, if he was honest with himself, he feared both losing face and offending Oleg. He was impulsive and dangerous and without him, Ivar knew he would be in the street no different than any other broken man.

Lying on his back with his hands resting on his chest, the smell of her skin sailed over to him. Without thinking, he inhaled loudly, causing her to smile as he chased her scent of muted spice and lavender. Gods, this world was different from home and he suspected that this woman could somehow sense his thoughts.

This was not his first experience with a woman in his bed. He could never forget his duplicitous wife. She had a sideways smile and had been betraying him all along. Over the year of their marriage, he had not truly been a husband though, never allowing her to lie with him skin to skin. As a young man, he had patched his pride with rage and made the decision avoiding affection was better than failing. Even declining the attractive thralls despite them being far more dispensable than his late queen. The truth was the interest was not there and how much satisfaction could pleasing a woman bring him. Gods this Ahna smelt good, he thought again, deciding her visit may be tolerable.

Sliding further down on his pillow, he chanced a glance noting how intriguing she was to look at. There was an atmosphere of wealth around her even while wearing a simple dress. Looking into her dark eyes, he could see that this woman was comfortable and obviously biding her time. Of course, she was beautiful, stunning in fact, but she must have intelligence to stay alive with the prince.

What is that slippery material she wears, he wondered, glancing back over to her? Remaining casually in place, she seemed to enjoy his curious eyes, sweeping across her chest.

What a fascinating shaped mouth, he thought, as his eyes mapped her face. Her lips were perfectly symmetrical and appeared frightfully soft. Maybe he would have a taste after all. She was already there and far from a worn-out thrall she was spectacular.

The room was beginning to feel hot. Grunting under his breath, he resisted throwing the covers off them.

“Ivar?”

King Ivar to you he wanted to bark, realizing his eyes had drifted back to the swell of her breasts.

“Ivar?”

“Hmm?” he looked up to her as she lay with her head propped on her hand. He wondered if she had to practice looking so captivating.

“If you do not speak, how is it that you have bewitched Oleg?”

Rude, he thought. “I have done nothing like that.”

“Really,” she smiled showing her white teeth.

“Ivar?”

“Stop calling me that?”

Lifting her brows, she was clearly amused by his outburst. This was a bad idea, he worried, sighing softly. These people were infuriating. They feared nothing.

“This is unfair,” she smiled, narrowing her eyes.

He looked over to her confused.

“Even when you are angry, you are pretty.”

“Pretty!” he rushed.

“Perhaps, this is not the right word,” she grinned, batting her eyes. “Handsome, striking, attractive, do I need to go on?”

Narrowing his own eyes at her, his expression simmered. “Yes,” he nodded, still wishing the covers did not feel so confining. “Continue.”

Laughing quietly, she leaned closer. “Alright,” her face now serious. “Powerful, brutal, ravishing.”

“Ravishing?” he asked unable to keep from cracking a smile.

Shifting her body on the bed, she lifted her knee, sliding her leg over his hips. Resting her free hand on his stomach, she appeared undeterred by his sharp intake of breath.

“Shall I go on?” she whispered, glancing down at his mouth.

“No, I am satisfied with what you have said.”

“That is a relief,” she giggled again.

Lifting his arm, he tucked it below her pillow. Shimmying closer, she settled her cheek onto the beige tunic he had worn to bed.

Even her hair smelt good, he noticed, dipping his nose down to the top of her head, his eyes not missing the muted light reflecting from it. These crafty women, he silently remarked, nearly scoffing to himself.

“Ivar?” her voice tickled his skin.

“Hmm.”

“Oleg is going to use the army to take back your kingdom.”

Hearing this admission, he tensed, thinking of how he might goad her to keep talking.

“I doubt you have the influence over Oleg for him to discuss such secrets.”

Lifting her head, she strained her eyes up to look at him. “It is no secret. He is going to attack your home. By sea and land. He was told that it rests on the bay between three hills and plans on having ships built that travel over the ground.”

Looking down at her skeptically, his brows spiked high.

“Yes,” she smiled, “the wicked man is having wheels placed on ships and will run them down the hills into the walls of the city.” Snickering softly, she shook her head before laying back down on his chest. “God, I wish I could come, I would love to see that. But,” she tipped her eyes back up to him, “what I want to see more is you sitting on your throne. Oleg will make you a king again, Ivar, but he wants control. Take great care that he never feels outdone by you.”

“Why would I need your advice?”

“There is no one in this kingdom, or any other, who knows him like I do.”

“How long have you known him?”

“All my life. We grew up together. I am telling you this because I care about him. He is easily misunderstood. And...,” she paused searching for the words, “I cannot escape the feeling that you will change our lives.”

“Whose?”

“Everyone’s.”

Silence settled over them as they lay with their own thoughts. Ivar pondering the meaning behind her words. The future feeling more unknown to him than before she entered his room.

“But,” snapping from her daze, she rolled onto her tummy, propping herself up on her elbows. “What do I know? I am a mere slave,” she grinned so wide, her eyes nearly closed.

Grunting in response, his gaze jumped between each of her eyes and without thinking, he pulled both arms free wrapping them around her. His palms settling at the curve of her lower back. Focussing his bright blue eyes, he studied her face, wondering how it would feel to press his mouth to hers. Her smile faded and her expression told him she knew what he was thinking.

“Just one,” he uttered quietly tipping his head toward her.

Their mouths met and their lips pressed softly together. With the slightest sigh, his body relaxed, and he gently pushed his tongue forward. Fuck, he thought, widening the kiss. Her scent and skin, her warm breath all felt so sweet, so much so, for the moment he chose to ignore the lie he suspected she had told him.

His curious mouth pushed the pace and he slid both hands over the round of her bottom. The sleek material of her dark slip made his touch heavy and eager. Breaking the kiss, they stared at each other before she pushed up and straddled him. Lowering her mouth back to his, their kissing resumed more urgently.

It would have been at this point, in a previous life that he would have pulled back and tapped her leg to climb off. Yet she had a way of looking at him, that made him want to run his mouth all over her.

“Take this off,” she muttered, tugging the neck of his tunic. His body froze and she pulled back, rubbing her nose to his. “Just your shirt.” Pressing her lips to his ear, she tugged his lobe with her teeth. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

Sitting up, she swept her dark brown hair over one shoulder, its long length cascading down one side. The thin strap of her shift slipped and the material caught just above her nipple. Never taking his eyes off hers, he sprung forward, pulling the shirt off his back, tossing it onto the tile floor. Sliding his hands under the silky material, his palms skimmed and rubbed circles up her thighs. At his touch, Ahna sighed, causing Ivar’s eyes to widen. Grinding her pelvis down gently, she spread her knees wider.

Everything about the sounds she was making told Ivar she was his to do with what he wanted. His eyes lit up and he withdrew his hands, bringing them to her chest, rubbing and squeezing both of her breasts. Tugging her nightgown down, his eyes nearly bulged seeing her perfect body. Even more beautiful than he first thought, he clutched one of her small breasts, pushing his other hand hastily back up her slip.

His fingers skimmed up to her core but feeling her velvety folds had him stop, pulling his mouth away. Utter bewilderment caused his face to twist and she had to bite her lip to stifle her laughter.

“It is the fashion here.”

“Huh?” his eyes dropped and he stared at the space between her legs. His fingers creeping over the area, unable to get their bearings.

“The hair is cut close to the skin,” she said, “like the sides of your head. I will show you.” Raising an arm, she swiftly whipped off her dress.

Dropping his gaze back down to her core, he was not entirely sure what he was feeling. Between her smooth thighs, he could see the details of her womanhood as if she was a young child. By the gods, he screamed inside his head, running his thumb across the curve of her shaved mound. They parted easily from her wetness and he knew there was a spot to find somewhere there. Fuck, he thought again, as he spread her lips wider. His mind racing, wondering what it might feel like to have his mouth on her. He knew his thumb and grazed that little point when she dropped her head back and whined. Immediately, he bucked his hips, surprising himself.

“Kiss me, Ivar.”

Collapsing forward, their mouths met with force. She whimpered from the feeling of her sensitive nipples rubbing against his chest. Spreading her thighs as wide as she could, she tipped her hips forward, grinding down onto his bulging grown. She gasped right into his mouth when he reached around her hip, touching her from behind.

Grabbing her head with his other hand, he pulled her back and snarled, “You are wet for me!”

Nodding, she rolled her hips causing Ivar to moan. The amount of her slick, made him grunt like an animal and he too started rocking his hips, his fingers working the notch of skin between her folds.

“You like that?” he tugged her hair, pressing his mouth against her jaw. “When I play with you?”

“Pleeeeease Ivar,” she whimpered.

A prickling heat pooled in his crotch causing him to hiss through his teeth. The tips of his two fingers slipped faster between her folds making her arch her back.

“God,” she cried and he stared in awe, amazed that he was the one causing her pleasure. Lifting his head, he claimed her mouth again, feeling as if he was on the verge of losing himself. His lips grew greedy and he grabbed her neck, shoving his tongue deep into her mouth.

“I want to taste your cunt,” he growled, barely letting her breathe, moving his tongue as if he was already between her legs. “You want my mouth on you, hmm? You want to get fucked by my tongue?”

Responding only with a breathy sound, Ivar grinned feeling her readiness through his pants. He had never had a woman trembling from his touch. Had never been desired by anyone so perfect. As his eyes drank in every detail of her form, he grabbed her hips, guiding her to crawl over his face. When she looked down and their eyes met again he knew by the way she smiled that he was failing at hiding his nervousness. Grabbing the headboard to steady herself, she moved her impeccable sex over him. Bright and round, his eyes stared at her, almost mesmerized.

Grabbing her ass and pulling her closer, he inhaled wanting more of her scent. Pressing kisses up the inside of her thighs, he paused before pushing his tongue inside her. The heat of her sex matched his own hot breath and her wetness and flavour made his own desire rush. Like a strike of need, he jerked his hips and began running his tongue along her silky slit. Reaching a hand forward, he used his fingers to spread her folds further apart.

Sucking and licking her smooth, slick cunt, he stared up watching her beautiful face flush. Ahna’s mouth fell open and her head dropped forward, her flawless breasts heaved with her breathing. Watching her mew from his hungry mouth he again found himself awestruck. Every part of his body felt awake and he never again wanted to think of any other woman.

His mouth became frenzied, sucking her frills, he shook his head side to side, hungry for her taste. Finding her clit, her entire body twitched, he laved it like a lion before flicking his tongue on her tiny nub.

Ahna gasped as she rushed out foreign words, Ivar recognized little of her language. Tightening her grip on the headboard, the muscles in her stomach and legs began shaking. Darting his tongue around her clit, he alternated suction and pulling her flesh.

“Yes!” he cried. “Just like….,” her voice faded into a whine.

Gods, he loved this power over her body, thinking it was almost worth suffocating. Growing bolder, he reached up and pushed a finger slowly inside.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, throwing back her head.

The sound of her moans unhinged Ivar’s need, his finger pushed deeper and his mouth and tongue worked faster.

“I can’t…” she whimpered trying to raise her hips but Ivar stopped her with his arm, bracing her in place. “Ivar!” she pleaded, whimpering.

Tensing, she lurched against his hold, squeezing her eyes closed. The volume of her cries dropped softer and he could feel her womb around his finger, pulse and tighten. Pulling his mouth away, he reached up and ran his hand across her breasts, stroking her smooth tummy before settling his palm on her hip.

Her sounds simmered and her breathing slowed. Ivar stayed in place wanting to catch every moment. It was the sound of nothing in the quiet room that brought his mind back to where they were.

“Fuck!” he growled looking at her pussy as she shimmied back down, collapsing onto his chest. So distracted by the feeling of her body that his hard straining cock did not catch his attention.

“Ahna.”

“Mmm,” was her only reply. She lay face down on his pillow, her forehead against his jaw.

The hardest word for him to say burst out before he could stop himself. “Stay.”

No sound came from her other than her steady breathing.

“Yes?” he prodded, running his hands up her slender back. “Will you stay with me?” he asked already upset that she was not his to keep.

“I must go,” she nuzzled her nose against his ear.

Staring at the ceiling, he could not help but feel rejected.

“I want to stay,” she slid further down his side, keeping one leg wrapped around him. He did not look over so she leaned close and kissed the side of his mouth.

“I need to wake in my own room. I will stay right here until you fall asleep. Yes?” she asked, trailing kisses over his cheek.

Dropping down, she planted one last kiss below his ear. Closing his eyes, he too felt tired but still, his mind was filled with a thousand revelations. With her scent and taste still raw in his mouth, he tightened his grip around her feeling, after all his suffering, she was what he deserved.

How could Oleg have shared such a woman, he asked himself, with no notion of the answer. Anger rushed through him, far from any feeling of appreciation. The realization struck him that he did not want to return her. In another life, another world, he wished they could have been important to each other. For now, he would enjoy just one last moment, lying with a goddess before she slipped back into the night.

---

“Sleep well? Oleg’s voice boomed through the dining room as he strode toward the seat at the head of the large table.

“Yes,” Ivar looked down with a waggish smile. “I believe I have you to thank….”

Raising his hand to silence Ivar, Oleg tilted his head in the direction of the heavy drapery blocking the entrance to the corridor.

“I hear her, my little cloud. She floats this way.”

Tipping his own ear, Ivar picked up the unmistakable cadence of her voice growing louder as she came toward the dining room.

Looking at Oleg, Ivar smiled with a wink, enjoying the camaraderie.

The curtain was pulled back by a servant and a radiant looking Ahna stepped in. Dressed in a fitted white gown, beaded with silver and pearls, her lips and cheeks were tinted with the faintest shade of pink. She looked like a goddess with her long wavy hair tied back loosely at the nape of her neck.

A brightness filled her eyes as she smiled at Ivar while stretching her arm out to Oleg. Up from his seat and moving toward her, he delicately took her hand in his, bowing as he kissed her knuckles. Raising their clasped hands, as if to present her, he turned back and looked to Ivar with pride.

“My baby sister, Ahna.”

Ivar’s eyes shot wide.

“I know!” Oleg remarked with excitement. “Does she not take your breath away?”

“She does.” Ivar swallowed with a nod. “Yes, she does.”

“She is the jewel of the Rus people. Full of surprises! With a brilliant mind and a bold heart. Her beauty, of course,” he lifted her hand higher, “greater than a stary night. But,” Oleg looked at Ivar, “do not let your gaze linger,” his smile faded.

“Or you will pay with your life,” Ahna added in a playful voice.

“Ahna!” Oleg scoffed, theatrically gaping his mouth. “You tell stories.”

“You killed Farshi and his only crime was watching me ride my new horse.”

Shaking his head, Oleg walked her to the table. Graciously, he pulled out a chair for her to sit across from Ivar.

“I simply removed his eyes, Ahna. It was the infection that took his life. Sister, you make me sound so…. cruel.”

The curtain opened again and Oleg’s swarthy looking general stepped in. A jerk of his head was his only message.

Slapping his hands together in a clap, Oleg, addressed them both. “There is a matter which requires my attention, please start without me. I will not be long. And Ahna,” he looked down at his sister. Do your best not to charm our guest.”

“I make no promises, Oleg,” she smiled at Ivar who was sitting with a tight face.

Softly touching the top of her shoulder, Oleg turned and walked with his man, disappearing as the curtain swung closed behind them. The footsteps of both men grew faint as they made their way down the long corridor.

“Ahna!” Ivar hissed.

“Oooh,” I like the way you say my name.”

“Stop it!” he spat.

“Or what?” she jabbed.

Picking up a table knife, he pointed it had her, leaning forward over his plate. “He never sent you to me, did he? Hmm?” Straining to keep his voice hushed, every feature in his face was pinched with anger.

“Of course he did not.” Her expression dropped.

Rolling his jaw, Ivar looked up to the ceiling.

“Ivar,” she whispered, leaning over her own plate.

“Do not call me that!”

“After everything we have shared?” The previous night’s look of mischief returned to her eyes.

“Are you trying to get my limbs ripped off?”

“I do not think it would be your limbs he would remove.” Straightening in her chair, she jerked her head at him. “Deep breaths Ivar, your behaviour is that of a puppet.”

Squinting his eyes, he pressed his lips together. “You are going to ruin my opportunities here.”

“Fear not, I have a plan.”

“You have a plan? You? No!” he snapped. “Oleg and I have plans. You and I have nothing.”

“That is what you think,” she replied casually. “Look,” picking up her cup, she took a sip before continuing. “Understand that I am twenty-two years old,” she articulated. “Oleg keeps me under his thumb and I am living out the world's longest death. I need to get out into the world. I must!” she exasperated. “You are my access. I decided after weeks of spying on you and my brother. You are intelligent, obviously powerful and have the face of an angel. And…. you will be a king.”

“I am a king,” he slapped the table with his hand, rattling the dishes.

“My apologies,” she acquiesced, glancing behind to the door. “My brother is not the only one with plans for Kattegat. You will need a queen once you take back the throne,” she paused watching Ivar’s reaction, “and Oleg is infatuated with you. He might, just might, allow us to marry solidifying our alliance. Kattegat could be my dowry. You have no notion of what it is like feeling all the things a woman feels with no man willing to cross my brother and ….,“ she raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows to insinuate her meaning.

“What!” he rushed. “You are a virgin?” Grabbing the biscuit from the edge of his plate, he threw it, pelting her arm.

“Oww,” she glared at him picking up her own. “Yes! Thanks to you!” Hucking hers, she hit his plate of food spilling egg onto the table.

With flared nostrils, he stared at her, slowly nodding his head. “Yes, yes, yes,“ he spoke more to himself. ”I am going to tell Oleg. I will explain everything.” He knew before the words had passed his lips that it would be suicide. A thought occurred, “Does Oleg…. touch you?”

“No…. Wait, what!” she spat, her face contorting. “That is sickening, of course not. You Vikings are heathens.”

“I am a heathen and everyone here is fucking insane!”

“That is true,” her face steadied before she started to laugh. “He will be back soon. We will talk more tonight.”

“No, we will not. There will be no tonight.”

“You do not want to see me again?” she asked in a whisper, her hazel eyes softening. “I, myself, cannot stop thinking of last night… us together.” Looking down, Ivar saw the slightest flash of shyness flicker through her. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she looked back up. “I cannot stop imaging it. Your mouth on mine. Your mouth everywhere. God,” she glanced away for an instant. “I did not even bathe this morning. I wanted to keep your scent on me.” Lowering her chin, she gazed straight at him. “You are the most handsome man I have ever seen and I am afraid I am smitten.” No longer able to hold his stare, she looked down at the table, adjusting the cutlery.

His eyes burned into her, skipping between the pink border of her lips and the hopefulness in her eyes. She sat perfectly still but her shoulders showed the weight of uncertainty.

Her words describing how he made her feel echoed in his ears along with the sound of her whimpering his name. The memory of her smooth thighs and small breasts and slender neck forced him to close his eyes for a moment. Gods, she made him feel like he had just won a war. Like a king again, a God even. The truth was she had stirred his most broken parts but he had not been prepared to attempt to make love. There was so much more to her that in any other setting, he would be desperate to learn.

Blinking, he could not stop the smile that touched his mouth the moment she lifted her head locking eyes with him again. Instantly he was hit with the understanding that he never wanted her taste to fade.

They held each other’s stare as lovers do spying each other from across a room. The sound of Oleg’s abrupt voice brought them back to where they were. Clearing his throat, Ivar composed reaching for something, anything, on the table to hold in his restless hand.

Adjusting in her seat, she turned, glancing toward the covered corridor before looking to him with questioning eyes.

“One more night?” she smiled, tilting her head.

Gods, she was graceful, perfect and adorable.

“Fine.” Nodding his concession, he pointed a finger at her. “Just one.”

Thanks for reading.

TROPES I tried to include:

Falling in love with your best friend’s sister

Forbidden love

Love at first sight

I am not who you think I am

Conspiring to marry

Someone suggested lovers shaving each other’s pubes – yeah, couldn’t really work that in, sorry.

MASTERLIST

@naaladareia @youbloodymadgenius @whenimaunicorn @lol-haha-joke @geekandbooknerd @waiting4inspiration @ivarsrideordie @ceridwenofwales @fangirl-nonsense @captstefanbrandt @fields-and-fields-of-poppies @flowers-in-your-hayr@funmadnessandbadassvikings @mdredwine @yourpurplequeen @londongal2810 @silly-bullshit-collector @readsalot73 @yanii-the-hippie

#ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #ivar and oleg #ivar and ofc #ivar smut #ivar falling in love #vikings smut #ivar one shot

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isaacmcadoo · 4 years

Text

I Know I Haven’t Been Perfect, But Give It Some Time (Not A Single Day Goes By Where You Don’t Cross My Mind)

A/N: I’ve been forgetting to post a lot of my recent fics here. But I genuinely haven’t been this pleased with one of my fics ever. This is brought to you thanks to @canary-warrior, who suggested I make a Cam/Yolanda friendship angst fic, and so this was born! Please ignore any mistakes, I’m not a great writer.

Yolanda Montez walked down the hallway arm in arm with her boyfriend, Henry King. She smiled kindly at everyone as she passed them, handing buttons to every one they walked passed. They finally stopped in front to talk to one of Henry’s football friends.

Yolanda’s smile dimmed slightly, as her boyfriend removed his arm as he began discussing their weekend plans. She let her eyes wander to the other side of the hallway, where she caught sight of Cameron Mahkent. Her wide smile returned and she gently tapped Henry’s shoulder to get his attention.

“I’ll be right back.” He nodded, kissing her quickly on the cheek as she made her way to the other side of the hall.

“Hey.” She let out a giggle as the brunette jumped, turning to look at her.

“You’re going to vote for me, right, lab partner?” She asked as she handed him one of her buttons. Cameron let out a small chuckle, reaching for it.

“Of course, lab partner,” He attached the pin to his shirt, beaming at her.

———

The first painting appeared in her locker the day after it happened. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a small square paper with a sunflower painted on it. She flipped it over to see if the artist had signed their work, they hadn’t.

Yolanda stared at the flower, slowly dragging her hand down it. She smiled. There was only one person she knew that could, or would, do something like this for her. Her eyes flickered to the opposite end of the hallway, where Cameron was in the middle of a very intense conversation with Joey Zarrick. At that moment, however, he looked up, and the pair made eye contact.

‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, clutching the painting to her heart. Cameron smiled widely, nodding. Yolanda slowly began the walk to her first class, the shame and hurt churning in her chest lessening slightly.

———

“Hey, Yolanda.” Cameron sat down next to the girl in chemistry. Yolanda looked up at him, confused.

“You know you don’t have to be my lab partner again this year? I can be the odd person out this year.” Cameron brushed her off.

“There is no way in hell. I NEED you as my lab partner, I will fail without you.”

Yolanda almost burst into tears. No one besides her brother had been so nice to her in the two and a half months since the incident.

“Oh, okay then,” Yolanda wiped her eyes quickly, praying Cameron hadn’t seen the tears.

“How was your summer?” He asked, turning to prop his head up on his fist and looking in her eyes. Yolanda looked as if she’d just sucked a whole bucket of lemons and shook her head.

“I haven’t been allowed to leave my room since it happened...” She fiddled with the end of her braid, not wanting to look him in the eye. What if he thought she was so lame for that?

“I’m sorry, your parents don’t let you leave your room?”

“Yeah, I’m allowed to go to school, and the dinner table, that’s it.”

“That’s fucked up.” Yolanda looked up at the young boy in shock.

“What did you just say?”

“I said that’s fucked up, you didn’t do anything wrong, why are you being punished?” When he looked her in the eye, she had to look away. She’d let enough people see her cry to last a lifetime. She rubbed her eyes, blinking back the tears.

“Try telling that to my parents.”

“They actually think you did something wrong?” Yolanda risked a glance at his face, he looked horrified. The thought that Cameron was upset over the way her parents were treating her made the awful feeling she’d been carrying around for months disappear, if only for a moment.

“I guess?” Yolanda shrugged.

“Mr. Mahkent, Ms. Montez,” Mr. Jones stuck his head between the pair, making Yolanda jump, “Socialize on your own time.” He scolded, looking back and forth between them, shooting daggers with his glare. Yolanda sucked her lips in as she nodded. She let out a long exhale, glancing over her shoulder at him as he walked away.

She made eye contact with Cameron after a moment, and the two began giggling.

———

On Yolanda’s 16th birthday, she opened her locker and this time, it wasn’t just a painting that fell out. She picked up the blue envelope, a small smile on her face. Her family hadn’t said anything to her that morning when she left for school. But Cameron has remembered. Cameron always remembered her.

She glanced to her left and right before pulling her nail across the top of the envelope, cutting it open. She pulled the card out reverently, tracing her fingers down the painting on the front. It was her. She marveled at the detail, he had really taken the time to get every detail just right.

For the first time in a very long time, Yolanda didn’t mind if someone saw her smile. This was the most loved she’d felt in a long time.

Finally, she gently folded the card open, scanning the neat cursive letters.

Yolanda,

I know we aren’t super close, but it would’ve felt wrong not to at least get you a card. I hope you don’t think the painting is creepy. I mean, I have sat next to you in science everyday since 7th grade, so I feel like it’s not completely weird... Anyway, I know these past few months have been hard for you, but I hope the paintings have helped, even just for a minute.

Anyway, I’m really happy we’re friends.

Happy 16th Birthday,

Cameron Mahkent

Yolanda felt the tears roll down her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. A good happy cry was exactly what she needed right now, screw the people that would make fun of her.

———

Yolanda was used to the teasing, she really was. But whenever the new girl tried to step in, it just made it so much worse. Didn’t she get that? So when the blonde tried to say something about the big white letters across her locker, Yolanda just got frustrated. Did she not understand that by speaking up she was only making things harder for the brunette? Speaking up only fueled her classmates rage. Yolanda sighed as she walked to chemistry. Cameron could make this all better. He always did.

But, when the bell finally rang, Cameron was nowhere in sight. What had happened, where was he?

Yolanda started panicking. Cameron was the person that helped make her feel normal, and if he wasn’t here, she didn’t think she could handle today. Not after that message on her locker. She put her head in her arms and tried not to let anyone see her cry.

After class, Yolanda was out of her seat in a flash. She jogged down the hall to her locker, to put her books away before lunch when she saw the words had been painted over. What had once been an ugly reminder of what she had done, was now a beautiful floral pattern, that Yolanda knew Cameron had spent a very long time on. She smiled to herself, running her fingers across the paint before slowly turning the lock. She swung the door open, and today, two paintings fell out. One of the tree on the hill from their elementary school, and the other was an artistic representation of the mess they had made in chemistry last week. Yolanda giggled, clutching the two paintings to her heart.

Cameron was so sweet. He was going to kill her with his kindness.

———

The whole school felt quiet the day of Joey Zarrick’s memorial. And Yolanda felt guilty. She loved the silence. It meant not a single person was making fun of her. Not one. And when she remembered why no one was paying any attention to her, she felt a wave of shame overtake her.

“Hey…” Cameron sat down next to Yolanda. She reached her hand up onto the table, squeezing his forearm.

“I’m so sorry.” Cameron gave her a sad smile.

“Thank you.”

———

Courtney Whitmore may have given Yolanda the means to take her life back when she asked her to be Wildcat, but Cameron’s kindness was the reason she was able to stand tall. She had needed both of them to be able to begin to heal. So when Courtney had texted her that Cameron had asked her to Homecoming, Yolanda let out a squeal of excitement.

They were going to make the cutest couple. She sank back onto her bed, opening a text for Cameron.

Cam, it’s Yolanda

You finally got your phone back!

I did!

Courtney told me you asked her to homecoming?

Yeah

She’s really nice

I kind of like her

Yolanda made a face at her phone. Of course he did. This boy was so sweet. He deserved someone as sweet as Courtney.

Yeah, she is pretty awesome.

Yolanda let her phone fall to her side as she stared up at the ceiling. She smiled. Cameron and Courtney. Her two favorite people were going to make each other so happy. She felt her phone buzzing in her hand. Was Cameron calling her? She brought the phone up to check the caller ID.

Pat Dugan flashed across the screen.

Yolanda shot up, sliding her finger across the phone to answer the call.

“What’s wrong?”

———

After Courtney got hurt, Yolanda felt a rift begin to form between her and Cameron. The fight against the ISA had gotten so serious. Henry joined them, and almost died. But then he didn’t. Then Courtney’s real father, Sam Curtis had shown up and even though Yolanda had been hurt by her actions, she had to be there for her friend.

When the ISA tried to kill Courtney and her family, they hid away in a cabin for a few hours. And then the fight had begun. So, by the time Yolanda could hang out with Cameron, she couldn’t bring herself to. After all, she had watched his father die and felt relief. How could she ever look at Cameron the same again?

The day Cameron finally returned to school after his father’s death, he dropped into the seat next to Yolanda, eyes red and puffy. He turned to her.

“Could you please come to the funeral?” Yolanda felt her heart beat increase. How could she tell him ‘No, I can’t’, when he looked like that? And he was asking so politely. Yolanda almost said yes. But then she remembered.

“Umm…” Yolanda nervously let her eyes flicker back and forth between her lab partner and the whiteboard. Somehow hoping that it would provide a way out. When it became clear she would have to get herself out of this mess she sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

“I’ll have to ask my parents. You know how they are…” Cameron nodded his head slowly, turning his body to face the front of the classroom. Yolanda’s heart broke as he took detailed notes. No doodling in the corner. No leaning over to ask her what he had missed. Cameron deserved better than this.

———

When Yolanda caught sight of her friend across the room, she stopped dead in her tracks to stare. Which had been a terrible idea. It gave Sportsmaster the perfect opportunity to land a perfect shot to the middle of her back. She let out a painful cry, jumping forward. She spun to face her opponent. Snarling, she leapt for the older man, who easily sidestepped, dodging her claws. She growled in frustration, watching over her shoulder as Courtney pounced on him.

Yolanda let her eyes make their way back to Cameron. She felt her heart break as her eyes reached him just in time to see him send a gust of freezing wind in Rick’s direction, shoving him to the ground. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself for what she was about to do.

Yolanda turned to the young boy and took a running start before leaping towards him. Her claws racked across his chest, tearing the dark material of his shirt and leaving deep gashes across his icy chest.

“What are you doing, Cameron?” She seethed. He let out an audible gasp, eyes going wide at the sound of her voice.

“Yolanda?” She scrunched her nose up in response.

How had she been stupid enough to believe Cameron was a good guy? He had been the rule this whole time, not the exception. She was starting to believe there were no exceptions. At that thought tears pricked the edges of her eyes.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know.” She snarled, baring her teeth, which made Cameron shrink back.

“I-I had no idea, Yolanda, I swear!” She almost believed him. Almost. But her hurt and anger prevented it.

“Sure you didn’t. I can’t believe I ever thought we were friends. She caught sight of a look of shock and hurt cross his face at her words, so she took the opportunity to flip over the boy, grabbing the collar of his jacket as she went, flinging him into the wall. He slid to the floor, motionless.

Yolanda turned, reaching out to pull Rick up.

“Are you okay?” She asked as she threw her arm around his waist. Rick nodded, wincing in pain.

“I’ll be okay.” Yolanda gave him a skeptical look.

“We should get you out of here.” She motioned for Courtney, who blasted Sportsmaster into the ceiling. The blonde hopped onto her staff before flying over to them. The cosmic staff scooped them up before quickly flying back to the garage.

———

“Yolanda, you don’t think I’m angry too?” Courtney attempted to put a comforting hand on her best friend’s shoulder, but Yolanda’s anger was so great, she just shrugged off the affection.

“You don’t understand,” The brunette spat, “Cameron was the only person who treated me normal. The ONLY one.” Rick looked down, sadly.

“I treated you normal...” Courtney once more reached for her friend.

“You weren’t there for it, Court. Cameron was. Cameron was there, and he didn’t let that stop us from being friends.

“He went out of his way to be kind to me, and now he...” Yolanda bit her lip. This was too much.

“I need to be alone.”

“Yolanda!” She heard both Rick and Courtney call out to her, but she didn’t let it stop her.

Yolanda walked home as quickly as she could. Slamming her door closed before falling to her bed. She let out a sob, clutching her pillow. Her hand brushed against something flat and smooth as she did. She pulled away from her pillow, gently bringing the item out. It was a notebook. It was THE notebook. She couldn’t believe she forgot about it.

Gingerly, she flipped open the cover.

The tears streamed silently down her face as she began scanning each of the paintings. Her fingers lightly grazed over each of them as she turned the pages. When she made it to the card from her birthday she brought her hand back to her chest, making a disgusted face.

The cool tears of sadness quickly became hot and angry at the sight. She snatched the thick paper tearing her face down the middle. She threw the halves away from herself, taking deep breaths, trying to slow her breathing. She closed her eyes, bringing her sleeve up to wipe away the tears.

Yolanda looked back down at the notebook. It had made her so happy for so long, now, looking down at it, all she wanted to do was scream. So she did. And she chucked the book as hard as she could against the wall. She watched as most of the tape was ripped from the pages, making the paintings fluttered out.

The one person who had been there for her, and he wound up joining the ISA. How had she been so stupid? She fell face first onto her bed once more. She screamed into her bedding until she felt her throat go horse.

Finally she settled in on her knees. The tears had subsided, but now there was a hot spike of anger pushing into her chest. She want to punch Cameron in his stupid face.

“Stupid Cameron, making me think he cared. That he was a nice guy. Ha.” She muttered, stepping down to her floor. She needed to get ready for bed. When she caught sight of her ripped face on the floor, she hesitated. The spike that had been digging into her chest softened for just a moment.

He had to at least have cared a little bit, right?

Wrong.

The spike was back with renewed force as she turned and walked into her bathroom.

———

When Cameron came to, his chest was wet and warm and his head hurt. He slowly opened his eyes. Ouch. Promptly, he shut them again.

“Get up, kid.” Cameron heard Larry, but it sounded as though he were speaking through water, garbled and unclear.

“What... What happened?” Cameron slowly began sitting up, reaching to clutch the back of his head. He kept his eyes shut tight. Not willing to open them just yet.

“We got our asses handed to us, is what happened!” Issac fumed, angrily brushing his hand through his hair. Cameron blinked rapidly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. He looked up at the pair standing over him. Sportsmaster’s right eye was swollen shut and he was riddled with cuts and bruises. Issac didn’t look much better. His lip was split and swollen where Hourman had punched him.

Wait, if Courtney was Stargirl, and Yolanda was Wildcat, did this mean Rick Tyler was Hourman? Cameron’s head spun at the realization, he squeezed his eyes shut once more, hoping that would stop the motion. He brought a hand up to hold his chest. At the feel of rough cloth he glanced down. So that’s why his chest was wet. The four slices Yolanda had cut into his chest were now wrapped in bandages, that was oozing blood. He let out a silent prayer of thanks that his teammates had thought to dress his wounds.

“What happened?” Issac crosses his arms across his chest angrily, “I saw you freeze up when Wildcat came at you.” Cameron attempted to stammer out an answer.

What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t tell them about Yolanda. He couldn’t. She might not think that they were friends after finding out he was a part of the ISA, but Yolanda had been his only real friend. He had to keep her safe.

“They just caught me off guard. I thought Larry was getting Wildcat.” Cameron hoped that was enough for them. He let his eyes flick back and forth between their unreadable faces.

“I can’t be everywhere at once, kid, you’ve gotta be prepared!” Larry joined Issac in crossing his arms.

“I know, I’m sorry, it was my first real battle with the JSA, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” Larry and Issac both turned heading toward the exit. Cameron let out a sigh of relief, lying back down. He stared up at the ceiling for a few silent moments.

“What happens now?”

———

Henry was the first to catch sight of Cameron when they stormed the ISA’s new base of operation. When he saw him, the redhead ran straight for him, shoving him up against the wall.

“How dare you!” He spoke through gritted teeth, looking up at the brunette. Cameron returned the look with a sneer.

“What do you mean, Henry?” Cameron’s voice had so much venom, Henry accidentally let him drop to the floor.

“I mean you broke Yolanda’s heart, and you’re going to pay for that.” Henry clenched his fists, preparing to send the boy flying to the ceiling. Hoping to put the powerful villain out of commission. But the other boy once again took him by surprise by laughing. It was a bitter laugh that stunned Henry to his core. What part of this did Cameron find amusing?

“You are one to talk about breaking Yolanda’s heart.” Henry growled. Why did Cameron have to bring that up?

“You destroyed her, I was the only person who would even look at her! I’ve been waiting to be able to do something to you for months because of what you did!” Cameron hit the boy with a handful of ice spikes, making him go flying.

As the ginger hit the opposite wall, Cameron surveyed the room. His eyes finally caught sight of Yolanda’s figure. Trying to slice Cindy in two. Cameron felt his heart stop as he watched Cindy duck behind her, twisting around to stab the girl in the back. Her cry of pain got his heart beating again and he rushed towards them. He sent a gust of frigid air in the direction of the two girls that sent them both flying backwards.

“Yolanda!” He heard Rick shout, as he slid over to her on his knees. He laid her across his legs, the deep wound Cindy had left facing the ceiling.

“Is she breathing?” Cameron stood over the pair, heart racing as he tried to get a glimpse of her face. Rick brought her up to a sitting position as he pulled her closer.

“Get the hell away.”

Cameron took a few steps back. Terrified of the look on Rick’s face.

Cameron let his eyes fall down to his friend’s back, red blood oozing from the deep gash. What had he done? This was his fault. He shouldn’t have continued to fight. Once he realized that these were his friends he should’ve stopped.

Cameron took a step back as Rick flipped the girl over, gingerly lifting her in his arms. He rushed toward the exit.

“Call a hospital!” Rick shouts at Beth as he passes by. She nodded, speaking to that invisible voice she had been the entire fight.

Cameron watched as Courtney managed to bash Tigress in the back of the head with her staff. She then grabbed Henry’s limp body lying on the floor, struggling to get him over her shoulder. Finally, she sat on the staff and it flew away, Beth grabbing it as it flew past her.

Cameron was left standing there, unsure of what to do.

“Cameron!” Cindy snarled, kicking herself up and brushing herself off, “What the hell was that?” Cameron turned to face her, then he turned to look at Tigress, Issac and Sportsmaster. He couldn’t do this anymore. What WAS he even doing?

Then it hit him. He was doing this for his dad. Because he thought that’s what he would’ve wanted him to do. But Cameron didn’t want to. Cameron wanted to paint and go to school. And hang out with Yolanda.

Yolanda.

“I’m done,” He glared between the two older ISA members, daring them to stop him.

“You can’t just leave!” Issac shouted.

“I can, and I am, do you really want to try to stop me?” Cameron began to re-freeze himself, a cold look passing over his eyes. Issac took a step back.

“That’s what I thought,” Cameron began to thaw once more.

He tried to keep up an air of confidence as he walked out. But deep down, he was terrified Sportsmaster or Tigress would kill him. It wasn’t until he opened his front door he felt at ease.

———

Six years later...

Cameron was sitting on the quad, sketching out the scene in front of him, when his pencil was knocked out of his hand by a frisbee.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Cameron looked up in confusion. He knew that voice.

“Yolanda?”

“Cameron?” Yolanda stopped short, hand outstretched towards the yellow disc.

“Holy shit, it is you! How have you been?” Yolanda tentatively straightened out, fiddling with her braid.

“Not too bad… You, um…” Yolanda glanced down at his sketch pad. An awkward silence passed over them for a few moments. Finally, she broke it, speaking softly.

“You never said goodbye.” Cameron’s face fell as he looked down, picking up his pencil.

“I...uh… I didn’t think you’d want to see me…” Cameron gestured up at her, “After all, I helped put you in the hospital.”

“I was going to the hospital before you blasted me anyway,” she brushed it off like it was no big deal. Even though it was. It was a huge deal, didn’t she know that?

“Yolanda…”

“Cameron…” she teased.

“One second.” She turned, throwing the frisbee towards her other friends, “I’ll be back in a minute!” She shouted before plopping onto the grass next to Cameron.

“What you did… Joining the ISA… It hurt. A lot at first.” She pulled at the grass.

“But after you left, I realized, you didn’t do it to hurt me.”

“How do you know that for certain?” Cameron bumped her shoulder, making her laugh.

“Because, I realized I knew you a lot better than I initially thought,” she stated matter of factly, “And I know that you were probably doing it through some sort of loyalty to your father. Who you didn’t owe anything to, by the way.” Cameron brought his eyes up to meet her’s.

“So…” he spoke after a few more moments of silence.

“So… Do you want to get coffee sometime?” Yolanda hugged her knees to her chest, “So we can really catch up?” Cameron offered her a wide grin.

“I would love that.”

#stargirl #stargirl fanfic #yolanda montez #cameron mahkent #friendship angst

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ohshcscenerios · 4 years

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“Ritsu x Haruhi, Lycanthropes (shape shifters), romance/smut, red eyes. I really like the idea of making Ritsu a kingly type while Haruhi is a lowly servant girl working in his castle. And can you make Ritsu a dragon.............and Haruhi is the last female dragon shape shifter.....and the way he finds out is from her eyes.......her red eyes...... Give me this fic daddy?”

I received this prompt request three days ago and I absolutely had to write it. I didn’t expect for it be take so long or for the story to be so long but as most writers know, sometimes stories demand to be written in a certain way. I hope you enjoy!

Golden sunlight filtered through an open window as a new day was born. Life beyond the castle’s stone walls was rising to greet the morning. Birds cheerfully chirped in the blooming sakura trees, families of rabbits emerged from their burrowed nests, and the fields of wild flowers cascading from the castle’s foundation opened their petals for the nourishing sunlight. Beyond the hills of wild tulips the townspeople began their busy daily routines in keeping their kingdom thriving, if not for themselves than to appease the king.

The king had earned his kingdom’s respect since the day of his noble birth for he stood as the last of his kind; a dragon shifter. His vivid red hair represented his strength as not only a dragon shifter but as a leader for the color red represented unmatchable power among his kind.

Or rather – among him.

King Ritsu Kasanoda groaned as blinding sunlight crashed against his tired eyes. He rolled over beneath his quilts and adjusted his feathered pillow before closing his eyes again, hoping he could steal a few more minutes of much needed sleep.

Last night his troubled mind wouldn’t grant him sleep. He tossed and turned but his mind wouldn’t surrender to his much needed rest. The haunting comments from yesterday’s council meeting plagued his mind, forcing him to live a nightmare until he could slip into his dreams.

He was forced to call a meeting among his most trusted advisors and councilmen to discuss the urgent matter of finding an heir to one day pass his throne to. He was unmarried and without children of his own which further complicated his situation.

The truth was, he could pass his throne down to anyone who he deemed fit. The next king wasn’t obligated to also be a dragon shifter. In terms of his kingdom’s success his throne was safe. It was the death of his own lineage that greatly troubled him.

His birth marked the beginning of a new era for it provided his parents hope for the continuation of their kind. However after his tenth birthday their future became drastically bleak. His parents were assassinated by a kingdom three days away who had been declaring war for the past three decades, wagering their land. They were poisoned by one of their maids who had betrayed them for money.

Since that dark day Ritsu wouldn’t dare eat anything unless one of his staff tasted the food first. Ten years later it had become a routine his maids were well accustomed to; all except for one.

A knock sounding on the wooden door immediately caught his attention. He groaned as he ran a heavy hand down his face, mourning his lost opportunity for more sleep.

“You may enter.” He called out.

A small maid slipped past the thick door with his breakfast on a metal tray; porridge with poached egg and fresh strawberries. She walk to his bedside and carefully placed the tray at the bed’s end.

Ritsu hadn’t seen this young maid before. Her appearance was almost uniformed to the rest of his maids; long dark hair, fair skin, and slim physique. However, when she turned to greet him he realized what set her apart. She had the most beautiful brown doe eyes.

“What is your name?” Ritsu asked.

The young maid corrected her posture and answered, “Haruhi. Haruhi Fujioka, your majesty.”

“I haven’t seen you before. Are you a new hire?” He sat up and propped himself against the headboard. His quilts fell into his lap, revealing his bare chest. Haruhi averted her eyes away for the sake of being modest.

“I’ve served in this castle for ten years. I was hired into the kitchen staff. I was asked to bring you your breakfast this morning after your personal maid fell ill.” She answered as she focused on the floor.

Ritsu nodded, her explanation having satisfied his curiosity, and waited for her to taste the porridge. Instead Haruhi curtsied and turned to leave.

Ritsu loudly cleared his throat, “Are you forgetting something?”

Haruhi stopped before she reached for the door and turned around to the scan the bedroom. Her eyes trailed her path, then the bed, then the king himself – instantly blushing upon seeing his nakedness.

“I was just told to deliver your breakfast, your majesty.” She responded, beginning to feel miffed.

She had been working in his castle for nearly ten years now and yet today was the first time she has properly met the king. She had to admit, he was quite handsome. His sharp features and toned chest made him appear very masculine and strong. She quickly dismissed her juvenile thoughts and quietly chastised her lapse in composure. She couldn’t allow herself to have such colluding thoughts about their honorable king.

Ritsu looked at the breakfast tray and cleared his throat again. Without moving, Haruhi followed his eyes and studied the food, wondering what it was she needed to consider. She remembered his silverware, a freshly ironed cloth napkin, and some mint leaves for afterwards.

Ritsu crossed his arms, “If it’s true that you’ve been working in my castle for a decade then you should know I need my food tasted before I can eat it.” He was beginning to sound angry which didn’t fair well with Haruhi. Her honest mistake didn’t deserve his darkening attitude.

She walked back to his bed with a frown, picked up the spoon, and brought a small dip of porridge past her lips. She used her apron to wipe the spoon clean after she swallowed.

“It appears to be fine.” She said, hoping to hide her rising agitation.

Ritsu waved her off, “Very well.”

He wanted to be left alone, to wallow in his frustration in privacy. He didn’t have much time before he needed to promise the throne to an heir and the crushing weight of his reality was slowly souring him.

Haruhi deepened her frown at his rudeness and turned away to leave however something caught his attention; something impossible. No quicker than a blink her eyes flashed a brilliant shade of red before returning to their subtle brown.

“Stop!” Ritsu yelled out as he threw his quilts to the side. He didn’t notice nor cared that his only clothing was slacks, he needed to make sure what he had just seen wasn’t an illusion of his plagued mind.

Just as he grabbed her arm he spun her around to face him and grabbed her shoulders.

“Your eyes… I saw them turn red…” He stammered, praying with as much faith as he could muster in that moment that he wasn’t hallucinating. “You’re a dragon shifter.”

Haruhi stilled in his grasp and stared at him in shock. She knew the king was a dragon shifter. She had known long before she began working in his castle. She didn’t realize he thought he was the only one.

“Yes, I am.” She said.

“You… Do you know what this means? Do you know what this means for our kind? My parents wasted years searching for another dragon shifter. I believed I was the only one…” Ritsu couldn’t control the words cascading off his tongue. The relief he momentarily felt gave way to a conflicting cocktail of emotions burden his chest. If she were truly a dragon shifter then what could that mean for him? Were there others like them who remained hidden throughout the world… or was fate cruel enough to have them stand as the last of their kind?

“Your parents… Where do your parents live?” Ritsu needed to see with his own eyes if there were more like him. It would make sense why Haruhi’s family was able to hide in the shadows for so long. His parents had sent a search party outside their kingdom but never thought to search within.

Haruhi’s irritated expression relaxed as she watched him carefully, “My parents have passed.”

Ritsu loosened his grip on her shoulders and let his hands fall to his side. Fate truly was cruel.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, ashamed of his abrasive behavior.

“They were killed by poachers for their scales. I came to this castle as an orphan. I was given a job and a bed and for that I’ll serve under you until my last breath. I’ve been given a new life, a safe life, and for that I’m grateful.”

Haruhi wasn’t sure why she felt the need to present her gratitude. Perhaps she wanted to offer her thanks while she could freely speak to him or perhaps his disheveled state of mind frightened her. Either way, it somehow succeeded in calming him down.

Ritsu nodded and took a step back, “I’m glad my people have been good to you. However, there is something we need to discuss.”

“We can’t be the last ones,” Haruhi said quietly, “we just can’t be.” She tried to digest what Ritsu had just told her but she didn’t want to accept the harsh truth. If what he said were true, that his men failed in finding another dragon shifter, then that meant their kind was on the brink of extinction… if not already.

“Unfortunately we are… which leads us to a difficult decision.” Ritsu said regretfully. Now that he had met the last female dragon shifter it would appear their solution was standing right in front of him. However he wasn’t confident if Haruhi would feel compelled to do him this service, even for the sake of their kind. Although he was the king he also knew he was a stranger in her eyes; a stranger who she had just met that morning.

Haruhi watched him carefully for a moment, almost skeptically, “Which decision is that?”

Ritsu took a deep breath and took a moment to mentally prepare himself for the difficult conversation.

“Haruhi, because you are the last female dragon shifter and I am the last male dragon shifter… it could only mean one thing for us. It’s our responsibility to continue our kind.”

“You mean it’s my responsibility to bear your children.” Haruhi said sullenly. She was beginning to understand their situation and what would need to be done for the sake of their kind but she a part of her selfishly wanted to walk away.

Before her parent’s untimely death they taught her to love her special gift and honor the blessing they had been born with however they discouraged her from shifting. They warned her of poachers who didn’t see their second form as a gift of nature but rather a pile of gold. Their scales could be formed into beautiful swords and jewelry which put a hefty price on their bodies. They lived secluded from the main villages to protect their family but unfortunately two poachers caught wind of their humble cottage hidden deep in the wood and they came by night with axes. Haruhi only survived because her mother forced her to hide beneath the floor boards.

She understood Ritsu’s proposal in saving their kind but she couldn’t help but consider if their kind should continue. If they were successful in having children, would she want to raise them in this world? In a world where they’d fear for their lives?

“I understand your proposal, your majesty, but I’m afraid I’m not sure if I should.” She confessed.

Ritsu narrowed his eyes, “You’re not sure you should? Of course you should. If you don’t agree to this our kind will die with us. Dragon shifters will forever be lost to the world.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Haruhi barked back, “This world is cruel and unforgiving. Perhaps there is no longer a place for dragon shifters.”

Ritsu stepped forward as anger quickly distorted his expression, “You will let our kind die? You extinguish our gift?” He couldn’t control his rising voice as unpleasant rage began to consume him.

Haruhi stepped forward defensively, feeding off his anger, “We need to think about this thoroughly-.”

“We don’t need to!” He interrupted, “We have been blessed with this opportunity but you’d rather see this as a curse.” His hands tightened into fists, his chest heaved with labored breaths, and his voice echoed off the stone walls as he spoke.

Haruhi felt herself being provoked to her edge as anger welled inside her, sparking a strange sensation to spread throughout her body. Her muscles tensed while a scolding heat rushed through her veins, making her feel light headed. She had felt this way once before when she was a child but her mother quickly calmed her down before she could shift.

Unfortunately, her mother was no longer here.

Haruhi felt a white heat consume her body before her vision blurred, completely blinding her. It happened so fast yet she felt every second clash against her like an explosion.

Her vision slowly returned, allowing her to first see bright lights cast along shadows before more details came into focus. The bedroom was suddenly smaller, almost cramp, and her view drastically shifted to a higher perspective. Beyond her physical changes she also felt a charged energy coursing through her, almost encouraging her to test her strength.

“You’re beautiful.”

Haruhi looked down and was surprised to see her king appear so small. He stared at her in awe, nearly slack jawed.

Haruhi dared a glance behind her and was shocked to see a slim long body decorated in white scales. The morning sunlight reflected off her scales, making them shimmer like brilliant diamonds. She couldn’t form a single coherent thought as she stared at her new body, completely amazed.

She was beautiful.

A rushing wind brought her attention back to her king except what she found wasn’t the king, per say. He also shifted into his dragon form and now stood before her as a radiant creature. He was larger than her but that was to be expected when comparing a male to a female. His red scales also caught the morning sunlight but their shine was different. They didn’t simply reflect the light but seemed to consume it and project it back with a red hue.

She knew red was a powerful color among their kind and the king displayed that power brilliantly. He radiated the glory of their kind and it encouraged tears to her eyes.

They were the last of a marvelous breed… and she couldn’t allow them to disappear. Now that she stood face to face with her kind she couldn’t allow their species to die in the shadows.

Haruhi knew what she needed to do.

She bowed her head as she lowered her front legs, kneeling before Ritsu. She then lifted her tail, silently inviting Ritsu to proceed.

He lowly growled as he stepped around her kneeling body, mindful of his steps. He didn’t want to crush his furniture below his paws. It was a shame that she shifted in his bedroom considering their limited space but it did provide their much needed privacy.

Ritsu mounted her from behind and carefully situated himself above her hips. He leaned forward and snaked his ling neck around Haruhi’s, pressing his reassurance and gratitude into his gentle touches.

He positioned himself at her entrance and pushed himself into her. Haruhi instantly reacted to the pain, struggling beneath his grasp. He rubbed his head against hers as he growled, begging her to calm down. He didn’t dare to move until Haruhi whimpered, granting him her permission.

Ritsu slowly pumped himself into her, careful not to hurt her again. He nuzzled his head along her neck as he moved, hoping his caresses helped her relax. He was rapidly nearing his peak and after a few more guttural thrusts he expelled his seed into her. Haruhi lifted her hips as he pressed her into the floor.

Haruhi didn’t know when she fell asleep. She didn’t know if her exhaustion could be blamed on her first shifting or her first intimate experience. Either way, she never expected to wake up in a comfortable bed wrapped in warm quilts.

She slowly opened her eyes to find herself staring at a wooden ceiling, a rather strange sight. If she were in her personal cot in the maid quarters she should have been in a tightly knit stone room with one lamp and one nightstand beside her. Instead, the room she was residing in large and well adorned with antiques and priceless collections.

The window along the far wall proved it was now the late evening.

“You’re awake.” A deep voice said beside her.

Haruhi jerked to her left to see the kind lying beside her – naked. She lifted the quilts that covered her to peak underneath, dreading to know the truth.

She was also naked.

The memories of what had happened that morning flooded into the forefront her mind as she remembered her conversation with the king, discovering they were the last two of their kind, and then…

“You and I… we…” she stammered, mortified. She didn’t want to know what her king thought of her now; a young woman who willingly gave herself away to a man she had just met. She was a rational person by nature and yet she easily offered her innocence to her king.

“Something troubles you.” He commented, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He saw the confliction in her eyes as she watched him.

Haruhi nodded, “I apologize, your majesty. I’ve shamed myself in front of you. Forgive me.”

Ritsu smiled and shook his head, “No Haruhi, you did the right thing. Because of you our species can live.” He propped himself onto his side and looked down to her, reaching for her hand to lock their fingers together, “Because of you I can pass my throne down to a worthy heir.”

Haruhi arched an eyebrow, “What if we don’t conceive a son?”

“Then we’ll keep trying until we do.” He replied before pulling her close.

#ritsu kasanoda #haruhi fujioka #kasaharu #dragon shifters #au smut and fluff

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mikaa-mina · 4 years

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At Garden’s Edge- Chapter 5: In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company

This is a very sweet and silly chapter, and also my longest chapter for this fic yet clocking in at just over 5k!

A small content warning, there are some descriptions of depression/feeling down and apathetic in this chapter. They are primarily right at the beginning and I promise there's a bunch of silly fun in this chapter and it ends on a happy note. (No seriously, these characters can be so silly sometimes!)

Nevertheless! Even though there is nothing heavy in this chapter, if you for any reason feel uncomfortable reading a chapter (any chapter in this fic) please don't hesitate to reach out to me. I will try to summarize the chapter without going into whatever the subject is that is an issue. <3

As always, this was beta'd by the lovely lovely Tarek_giverofcookies who has helped me multiple times when I was banging my head against writer's block.

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 5- In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company.

It had been a bad day. In fact, there had been rather more than seven of them so far. He hadn’t opened the shop in three of them and couldn’t honestly recall the last time he’d stepped out of the building at all. Living above the shop, or rather more in the antique armchair in the back room of the shop, tended to have it’s own perks and disadvantages. The perks being that he didn’t really have to leave home to work, was constantly surrounded by books, and he never had to leave the building unless he was out acquiring new books. Unfortunately, these same perks were also the disadvantages.

It made the days when the fog grew thick and oppressive that much more harder. It was difficult to convince oneself to leave the building when instead he could just stay in working on commissions. And what if he missed a customer while out and about?

When his head felt full of cotton, and fatigue lingered in all his limbs, the quiet thoughts would slip inside. What harm would it really do to close the shop early? For the day? Why move from this armchair at all, he deserved a day off. He’s in the middle of a chapter and it’s raining out, no sensible fool would bring an old antique book to be authenticated or repaired in the pouring rain.

Three days into this he realized he couldn’t recall what the last book he just finished reading had even been about at all. It was as if he was eating food and yet tasting none of it. Stale and unappealing. The horror that books had become that for him.

It was temporary, he knew. He had figured out with help how to help manage this, but knowing how to do so didn’t make the actual doing of it any easier. It took another day of bargaining with himself before he managed to call up a friend. Unfortunately she was out of town, but talking to her still helped. She stayed on the phone as long as she could and before ending the call she gently suggested taking a walk through town, just to be around other people without having to talk to anyone if he wasn’t up to that just yet.

“Or maybe dearie, you should go see that florist friend of yours,” Madame Tracey suggested with what was surely a twinkle in her eye.

Aziraphale himself didn’t really feel one way or the other about it, instead of insisting Crowley was just his florist and not his friend he just hummed non-noncommittally. (Who would want to be friends with a stuffy boring older man like him? He knew what he was like and was content with it but others hardly liked it.)

Failing to get the reaction she was hoping for made her stress again him getting out. Maybe visit that bakery he liked so much.

Instead he found himself wandering the city, and not too unsurprisingly, wandering into the flower shop and plant nursery, Garden’s Edge.

There was some sort of bee-bop playing in the shop, quietly at first and then increasing in volume as he wandered towards the back.

And then he heard it. Someone… singing. Not particularly badly but not especially well either. Though that may have been helped by the fact that the song they were singing to seemed to be more of a spoken song than the newer bee-bop Aziraphale’d heard in the shops downtown.

It got louder as he followed it all the way to the very back of the shop. When he reached the check out counter he could see the door to the back propped open as someone sang about… French novels and the absurd?

Aziraphale glanced around, but no one else was in the shop, so slowly he edged around the corner of the door to peek into the back room because surely the only person it could be was Crowley. As far as he was aware, Crowley was the only person who worked here. So it had to be him. But singing?

A quick glance in and all he saw was a flash of black and red. A pity he didn’t carry any mirrors on his person any more.

Steadying his breathing again he looked around the corner again through the door way. He had meant it to be a quick glance again but he found himself stopping at the sight he had caught. It was indeed Crowley. Crowley in his black leather jacket and absurd snake skin boots, eyes closed as he sang into the end of the broom in his hand. His hips were… doing something? Moving in some way, perhaps this was a new fangled form of dancing, and his arms were gesturing grandly as he sang and moved about the room.

“-And some kinds of love The possibilities are endless And for me to miss one Would seem to be groundle-EH?! Ah-AZIRAPHALE?!?”

Aziraphale startled, nearly fell from his precariously balanced position, but Crowley was worse, his eyes having opened as he turned about the back room mid spin, he faltered, eyes landing on Aziraphale and broom flinging from his hand. It crashed into a large iron shelving unit that rattled dangerously and sent Crowley lunging in that direction to catch some of the pots that had rattled right off the edge.

“Oh dear,” he rushed forward to give Crowley a hand, “terribly sorry to frighten you. What can I do to help?”

“Wah-gah- huh??”

Aziraphale bit back a smile, he was rather adorable when flustered. His face was turning red, his eyebrows high on his face in confusion and disbelief, his arms fluttering around in nervousness and nearly dropping the pots he had managed to catch.

“Here,” he dipped down and picked up some of the pots scattered on the ground. Thankfully most of the ones that fell seemed to be the cheaper plastic ones. Temporary pots for young plants or plastic pots made to look like stone.

Straightening back up, arms full of (thankfully clean) pots (just think of what would have happened to his coat) he smiled at Crowley. It was a bit more customer service polite smile than the genuine one he’d felt earlier as the fog settled back in, but he didn’t want Crowley to feel as if it was his fault. “Where shall I put them?”

After a string of unintelligible sounds, Crowley gestured towards a table slightly helplessly. He croaked out a thanks, plopped his own load down and stared at the table for a moment.

Just as Aziraphale was starting to sink back into that state where he felt rather detached from everything Crowley’s head snapped towards his.

“Uh… how.. how much of that did you hear?”

“I couldn’t really make it out until I got to the back somewhere around something to do with filthy french novels and the absurd?”

Crowley’s blush renewed itself, darkening in color and then spreading down his chest and up to his ears. It was adorable.

“Y-you can’t tell anyone!”

Aziraphale cocked a brow, slightly amused but mostly confused. Perhaps that was the fog again- maybe it had obscured something that would make this make sense.

“About what dear? You singing?”

“No! I mean yes, that too, but no the-uh...” Crowley gestured in an extremely un-illuminating way.

“...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

The strange half starts to words and sentences falling apart in Crowley’s throat sounded off again before he finally settled from his wild gesticulating to stare rather firmly at something on the other side of the room from him. “Can’t tell anyone I like that kind of stuff.”

Aziraphale was hopelessly lost. “...Singing?”

Crowley’s mouth twisted. “No-yes, well, I don’t care so much about that. It’s the...”

“...the?”

“thesingingaboutlovegunk.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“…. it’s the, whole, uh...” every word seemed to take effort, though for what reason Aziaphale had no idea, “it’s the love thing, okay?! I just- it doesn’t fit my image and people don’t need to know that I- that- people don’t need to know that!”

Oh.

A smile twitched at the edges of his lips again, not enough to force the smile through the fog, but enough to make him feel a bit warmer. He took in Crowley’s defensive posture, the hot blush upon his face and chest, his burning ears, and the steadfast way he wouldn’t look at Aziraphale.

A bit softer and sweeter than Aziraphale had originally pegged him as.

He turned the smile begging at his lips from something too soft and fond into something more benignly friendly. “Of course.”

A beat of silence and then Crowley finally turned his head back towards Aziraphale’s, shoulders hunched up by his red ears. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

There was a beat of silence before Aziraphale found his mouth speaking quite without his permission. “So. A secret romantic then?”

Crowley just groaned in dismay.

“Did you come here just to mock me?”

The smile slid off his face. He’d meant to reply with something funny, or a bit teasing, but now that he was reminded of the real reason he’d stumbled across this scene, things didn’t seem as funny as they were a moment ago. Still, he knew wallowing in it wouldn’t help matters, so he tried to marshal himself back up to that trusty customer service smile and said, “oh, I was just out.”

He didn’t even realize he was avoiding eye contact with Crowley until the man side stepped back into his vision, leaning down a bit to try and catch his eyes.

Crowley hummed, rocked back on his heels, bit his lip, seemed to cast around for some words and finally offered up a, “wanna talk about it or not talk about it?”

Aziraphale’s eyes rose to meet his. He hesitated.

Crowley gave him a wry sort of smile, dusted his hands on his jeans, then clapped them together to make a loud sound that startled Aziraphale. “Right! Let’s go then.”

Aziraphale blinked, watching Crowley sway right out the door and into the main shop. Following him a bit bewilderingly he echoed, “go?”

“Yup. Going!”

Crowley stopped by the front door, pulled Aziraphale’s still wet umbrella out of the stand, handed it to him, then fished out another umbrella from the stand for himself. It was still raining outside.

Crowley opened the door with a flourish, keys jangling from his pinky finger as he popped open the umbrella with his free hand and gestured to outside. “Out.”

Well. Alight then. ‘Out’ it was.

Aziraphale slid open his umbrella, stepped out, and watched in a sort of detached curiosity as Crowley flipped the sign to closed and locked up the shop. Then he turned with a grin and said, “not too far.”

Well. That explained one thing and nothing else. Still. Aziraphale followed him, noting distractedly that Crowley’s umbrella seemed to have ducks faintly patterned on it. The slick shine of rain highlighting the faded ink as the textures ran different than the rest of the unmarked umbrella.

A few blocks, some turns down some alleys, and they arrived at the shop front of a lovely little cafe bakery. Aziraphale stared at it before Crowley marched right up, ducks swimming in the rain above his head, and opened the door. He made a dramatic sweeping ‘after you’ gesture and Aziraphale was surprised by his own quiet snort of laughter.

Walking in, the air hit warm and dry against his face, and the light was brighter than outside’s overcast weather, but dimmer than some of the more mainstream restaurants liked to have. He shook off his umbrella and left it in the umbrella stand by the door and took his first good look around the place.

The best way to describe it was that it was charming.

It had the standard bakery wide windows in the front of the establishment but instead of just slatted blinds, there were also soft gauzy curtains pulled to the sides and secured with a soft tasseled rope. Aziraphale’s eyes gravitated to the back corner of the cafe where there were two bookcases set against each other creating a corner, filled with mismatched books, and sat in front of it was a squishy looking couch, armchair set, and low coffee table.

The shop had a few other tables set with soft seating of the like, while the rest scattered about the shop were the more standard fair cafe chairs and tables. There was music playing quietly in the background, the colors of the cafe were soft and easy on his eyes, and there was the biggest set of two bakery display cases he’d ever seen in a shop so small. He could hear Crowley’s quiet chuckle as he gravitated towards the counter.

How he’d missed this place he’d never know. (Spoiler: it’s because he never leaves his shop unless it’s to go to Crowley’s shop or to go buy new books)

He was looking down at the most scrumptious looking assortment of pastries when a young woman popped up from behind a strange chrome contraption that Aziraphale could only assume was used to make fancy coffees.

“Oh! Hi, welcome to Knead to Know, how can I- Oh AJ!”

Her eyes flickered between the two of them before a smile began to spread across her face wide enough to cause some alarm to Aziraphale. She propped an elbow up on the counter, set her chin in her hand, and grinned properly at Crowley. She had pink bangs.

“I assume you’re not here for your usual? Or are you and you just brought him with you today?”

Crowley, completely oblivious it seemed to the teasing just shook his head and said, “Nah, I’ll come tomorrow for the usual. Today’s different.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed, raised her eyebrows and flicked her eyes towards Aziraphale who was finally starting to feel a bit of nervousness or embarrassment filter through the fog. It was hard to tell which was which.

“Yup,” Completely Clueless said, “so I just want my usual drink but get whatever he wants.” He gestured to Aziraphale with a tilt of his head before turning to look at him proper. “From what I’ve heard, the Brittney things are good and anything chocolate’s pretty popular.”

Behind Crowley’s head the young cashier rolled her eyes dramatically, mouthed ‘totally clueless’, winked at Aziraphale and then said, “chocolate’s only the most popular because of who you bring them to.” She faced Aziraphale again, smiled, and said “The Cheese Brittney is good, and our baker has recently got on a kick of sponge cakes so personally I’d recommend the Tres Leche Cake.”

She pointed to each in turn. Both looked scrumptious but which would taste better right now? The moistness of the Tres Leche might be what he needed to chase his dry and crumbly feelings away but at the same time a Cheese Brittney with it’s flakey and crunchy pillow might be just the soft landing place he needs.

As he debated internally, he tried to shove away any distressing thoughts of if it would be as bland as his books have been, while Crowley chatted with the barista.

“Find anything your heart settled on? Or your taste-buds?”

At the barista’s question Aziraphale startled, he’d lost track of time while dawdling and had probably spent far too long trying to decide. “Oh! I, well, you see they both seem so scrumptious that it’s just so difficult to choose.”

Crowley hummed for a second then tipped his head to the side and asked, “why don’t you just get them both then?”

“Oh, oh wouldn’t that be too much?” Too greedy, too gluttonous, too excessive. How often had he been taught that pleasure had to be earned? What had he done to earn either of them, let alone two pastries? He’s only been stuck in his head, shop not even open, for days and-

Crowley shrugged, completely unbothered, and said “eh, one of life’s pleasures, issn’t?”

Aziraphale stared at him, derailed from his negative self-talk suddenly and jarred by it.

Crowley must have mistook it as an objection to what he had said because then he defended it with a “Wut? Don’t give me that look. Life’s about living for the good stuff, yeah? So get ‘em both. Enjoy them.”

A moment to process that and then Aziraphale gave a quiet acquiesce, “alright.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale mustered a small smile in return for Crowley’s crooked grin, “yes.” Turning to the barista, who suspiciously looked like she was trying to smother a too wide grin, he said “I’ll take them both, please.”

She let the grin out in full force, “yes sir, right away sir!”

“Ah... thank you. Er, how much will they be?”

“Oh, AJ already covered it,” she winked at him but he was too busy turning to Crowley and protesting to see it.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a sort of shrug with his shoulders, “eh, we’re friends, ‘s what friends do.”

There was a growing warmness in Aziraphale’s chest heating up, something fond and soft, starting to glow like a lighthouse in the sea fog. Friends. “Oh.”

Crowley flashed a small smile, a smile unlike the flashy smirks and cocky grins, before turning away towards the back of the shop. “C’mon, I know that book nook’s practically singing your name you big ol’ bookie.” And then he sauntered off, ears a bit pink at the vulnerability maybe, and Aziraphale was left, for just a moment, alone with that warm feeling. At being announced a friend where anyone could hear. Proudly, unashamed.

The warm feeling tentatively spread.

“I’ll bring y’all’s food and drinks in moment, go ahead and sit down.”

He startled a little, glanced at the barista to find her smiling and said, “thank you dear girl.”

She grinned a little then teased, “go on, he’s an impatient man if I’ve ever seen one though he doesn’t seem to mind waiting on you.”

Not quite sure what to make of that he made his way over to the table where Crowley seemed to have made lounging an art form. He was spilled all over the arm chair head turned to frown at the books on the shelves to his left.

Normally Aziraphale would be all over those books. Carefully going through the titles, trying to see what the people here liked. You could tell a lot about a person from the books they chose to keep. Though the rules tended to vary when it came to shops, you weren’t catering to just one person’s taste after all, but many. But even then, he found it an enjoyable little game to see if there were any hidden gems in restaurants like this. Sometimes places you didn’t expect to, would have a valuable or rare book without even realizing it. Even rarer still, they might have a book Aziraphale wanted to get his hands on.

But his stomach rolled a little when he glanced at the books, remembering the morning and his apathy for reading. He did not want to try again so soon. He didn’t want to pick up a book, expecting to enjoy it, or even hoping to enjoy it, and find it as bland and unenjoyable as before. No, it was simply best to wait. He didn’t want to be turned off of books for any longer than he probably already was going to be.

So he sat in the surprisingly comfy armchair, looked up at Crowley, and realized he had no idea what to say.

Thankfully, Crowley seemed quite reluctant to let an uncomfortable silence descend and instead jerked his head towards the bookcase and said, “would’ve thought you’d be all over these.”

Well. Not the conversation he wanted but, beggars and all that.

“Ah, perhaps later.” A thought hit him, “do you have a favorite?” even if he couldn’t get enjoyment from reading right now, perhaps he could still get some enjoyment from talking book tastes and just getting to learn more about Crowley. Crowley who abruptly closed up shop without warning in the middle of the work day and brought him here.

“Oh dear, was it really alright to close up shop? I hadn’t realized earlier...”

“Yeah. ‘S fine. Wanted to take you here.”

“But...”

“Eh, it’s raining. Had only one customer all day, so who cares if I take a long lunch break? Hell I could probably take the rest of the day off what with the downpour scheduled for all day. Was only cleaning when you came by.”

The warm feeling spread a bit. Heated up a bit more.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s quite true, dear.”

“What? No, you saw-”

A small smile bloomed on his lips, “I saw you dancing and-”

“Nrk- nuh, yuh- you said you wouldn’t!-”

Aziraphale chuckled lightly, feeling a bit lighter, a bit less bogged down, “and I shan’t. Alright, tell me about what you like to read.”

The barista came by, delivering a tall drink to Crowley, the pastries and a plastic cup of water to Aziraphale. She bid them a good meal and left, turning to reveal a pony tail that ended with pink tips to match her bangs.

Crowley took a long sip of his drink, leaned back, and announced, “don’t read.”

Aziraphale, about to take a bite of the Tres Leche Cake paused, fork hovering mid-air, and stared horrified at Crowley.

“Pardon, can you repeat that?”

“I don’t read.”

“Wh-How- How can you not read? No, that’s not true- I’ve seen you read the labels of the plants and soil bags!”

Crowley’s head tipped back with a loud guffaw.

“Crowley! Don’t laugh at me, you were the one trying to pass off that you’re illiterate.”

A grin spread like wildfire across Crowley’s face as he tilted it back towards Aziraphale. He shifted in the chair, flinging one leg over the arm of it in a truly improper way, and dangling the other off the side. Honestly it was like the man couldn’t sit proper in any chair. “Saying I don’t read doesn’t mean I’m illiterate Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, you sure took great pleasure in making me jump to that conclusion.”

“Naaah, honestly didn’t think you’d jump there. Just wanted to see what you’d do when I said I don’t read. And I don’t. Read, that is. I listen to audiobooks though.”

“Audiobooks?”

“Yeah. Letters can’t jump in front of each other in audiobooks.”

Ah. “Well, that’s still reading.”

“Is it? Could never tell. Everyone’s got a different answer.”

“Well, I consider it still reading. What’s your favorite book?”

Without hesitation, “the James Bond series.”

Aziraphale blinked, then a soft chuckle bloomed. “Yes, I can see that. Rather does fit you, doesn’t it? Flash, action packed, crafty, and full of gadgets.”

Crowley flashed him a grin, “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, not at all.”

“Alright. Your turn. What’s your favorite book?”

“Oh... Well... Hm...”

A few moments of thinking apparently gave Crowley his answer.

“Too many to choose from?”

“Rather. It’s like trying to pick a favorite food.” Aziraphale left enough time for Crowley to interrupt before saying, “I admit, I was expecting you to jump right in and announce your favorite food just to contradict me.”

A hand wave and a sip of his drink, “ehh, not so much a food person, me.”

“No?”

“Nah. Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh dear, well, if we’re talking desserts then it’s... hm, well, no, if we’re talking pastries then it’s- but wait, no... drat. Is it still considered a favorite if you have five favorites?”

Crowley chuckled. “Same problem as with your books.”

Aziraphale hummed an agreement, finally biting into his nearly forgotten Tres Leche Cake. The cake was as moist as he had hoped, melting almost against his tongue, softly sweet.

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until Crowley inquired about how it was.

“It’s good. Very good.”

And Crowley had smiled at that.

They talked quietly for a while after that. About light things, small things, interests and hobbies. Aziraphale found that Crowley liked to play online games with a friend called Anathema, that he enjoyed star gazing late at night (“gotta be out of the city though- too much light pollution here.”), and that as fond as he was of cats, that he was allergic to them.

“Been thinkin’ about getting a snake though.” He’d added as if that wasn’t one of the most unusual pet choices Aziraphale had ever heard of.

“A snake?”

“Yeah. They’re great animals really. Strong, elegant, some of them have the most brilliant color patterns too. I dunno, there’s just something about them that I really like.”

And after some thought on it, Aziraphale had smiled. “I think I might be able to see that. Perhaps if you do get one, you can introduce me.”

Crowley blinked at him, surprised as if he wasn’t expecting that and as if, maybe, he was a bit flattered and flustered by it. “Uh- okay.”

They talked about Aziraphale’s favorite plays, how he collects the playbills from them as his own sort of scrapbooking (“When I go back later and look at them, I can recall the play better, remember how it made me feel, reminisce... I’m sorry, that must sound terribly boring.” “No, not at all.”), and how he’s been searching to find another hobby to enjoy other than reading.

“Not that I’ll give it up at all! It’s just, I’d like another enjoyable activity to participate in, I think.”

“Makes sense to me. I’ve got plants and star gazing and video games.”

“It’s just, I haven’t been able to find one. I’ve tried pottery, which was far more messy than I anticipated, cooking, knitting, and bowling.”

“Bowling, really?”

At Crowley’s surprise he admitted, “a friend talked me into it. I wasn’t bad at it, it just wasn’t as... enjoyable as I had hoped. I’d have rather sat at home reading than gone bowling.”

“How long did you do it for?”

It was strange in a way, having someone be as curious about him and his hobbies as Crowley was. It was strange having what seemed to be a genuine friend. One who cared and was interested in him, one that had silly conversations over plays and quiet conversations in the back of a cafe over everything and anything.

“A season. She’d signed me up for the team and neglected to tell me until the first match. I didn’t want to leave them a person short so I finished the season with them while making sure they knew to find a replacement for the following season.”

Crowley tilted his head back with a thoughtful hum, the man was reclined the wrong way across the armchair. Head falling off of one arm, both his legs thrown over the other, cup held at a precarious angle.

“Maybe you could teach me some tricks for it.”

“For bowling?”

“Yeah.” Crowley scowled up at the ceiling, “don’t tell anyone but just about every damn time I go I land on my arse at least once.”

And now Aziraphale couldn’t help but picture it. And he was probably picturing it perfectly. Crowley was so tall and gangly and he didn’t seem to know how to use his hips or legs like everyone else so he could only see him going up to the line, trying to throw the ball while sweeping one leg behind the other like you always see the professionals or people in films do. And sweet Crowley with his swaying hips and long limbs, would probably overshoot and go sliding.

Aziraphale rose a hand to cover his grin. Yes, he could see how he’d go down.

“Oi. I can hear that.”

“Hear what dear boy? I haven’t said a word.”

“I can hear you grinning. Stoppit.”

Aziraphale nearly laughed. “You’re staring at the ceiling, and how would you ‘hear’ a grin anyhow?”

Crowley turned his head towards Aziraphale’s and brandished a bright grin. “Y’learn.”

The barista chose that moment to return with a refill for Aziraphale’s water and to ask if they needed anything else. After they declined she turned to go before stopping and turning back to Crowley.

“Are you still coming to pick up your order tomorrow?”

“It’s the 3rd Monday, ain’t it?”

“Just checking.”

Crowley pursed his lips, suspicious but unsure of why, “sure.”

After she had bounced off Aziraphale turned back to him and, because he was ever so lovely when flustered, teased “coming back tomorrow without me?”

Crowley blinked at him before spluttering, incoherent for a few moments before Aziraphale gave a small chuckle. “Relax, I’m just teasing.”

“Nuh-no, it’s- uh, guh...” He raked a hand through his hair, which was apparently a bad idea because he got it stuck in a knot halfway through and he started quietly cursing while trying to free his hand. Hand free and cheeks pink he crossed his arms with a huff and, not looking at Aziraphale, asked, “you doing anything tomorrow?”

Probably not. The fog was receding but he wasn’t sure he was up to customers just yet. “No, I don’t think so, why?”

“Uh, it’s, hm, easier to show you? Would you meet me here at 11 tomorrow?”

“Sure, but are we eating here for lunch or-”

“No. I mean, not that I’d say no to having lunch with you- just that- that’s not the purpose. Of tomorrow I mean. I- I get an order from here and take it to somewhere else.”

“Alright. And this somewhere else is...?”

Crowley had his head hanging off one arm of the chair and both legs slung over the other but just for this he twisted himself up, bracing his weight on one forearm planted in the seat to look straight at Aziraphale from behind those dark shades. And then he exaggerated the most dramatic wink Aziraphale had ever seen so that it was obvious even behind those dark sunglasses that he was winking. “It’s a secret.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “you wily thing. Alright, have it your way. We’ll meet here tomorrow at 11.”

Crowley smiled back. “Great.”

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fieldbears · 5 years

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Washed-Up Stucky MNF/Fic Writer Provides Endgame Opinions

I’m going to try to tackle this linearly, at least to begin with:

I am very much Team Bored With MCU Hawkeye, but I want to give sincere props for the cold open, which I think accomplished several things simultaneously: recapped the consequences of the last film (since, hey, it’s been a fuckin while), set the tone, and began Clint’s narrative arc.

That said, jesus, I’m still irritated by the shoe-horned family to begin with. First they were invented for convenience and narrative stakes, and then their final, ultimate reason for existence was to be temporarily fridged. Take a moment to imagine a world where Clint was the circus runaway loner he was supposed to be, who only had his coworkers as found family, who either responded to The Snap by throwing himself harder into his teamwork work OR went rogue because his sense of justice and agency was so fucking destroyed by what happened. He didn’t need a blood family to have the arc he had. And he didn’t even need the arc he had. But this is a bitchfest about a choice made many years ago, not made in this final movie.

The first third of that movie was rough. The whole thing had the narrative flow of “A Series of Related Short Stories Played One After the Other”, but the first third seems to be Failing To Establish the New World and then Clumsily Establishing The Emerging Situation.

The establishing shots and scenes to show the audience what The Snap’s consequences were worldwide were... lacking. It’s dark? No more baseball? People are relying on natural light instead of interior lighting, but this is also happening at Avengers HQ, where they clearly still have power and internet access to work their tech, so... was it just an aesthetic choice? I feel like the film tried to spend time showing us what the consequences were for the average New Yorker, but instead we get a weird Canonly Gay Russo Character who gave a good performance that tells us about the human loss but not about the mechanics of this new world. We get the ‘no baseball’ shot and all we get afterward are ‘people miss the missing people’. But restaurants still exist? Businesses are functioning? (Wouldn’t New York run kind of smoother if it wasn’t overpopulated?) I feel like we were invited to start thinking about how this dystopia works, but were never given answers. (There are so many interpretations of how things could go wrong if certain people just disappeared, and their knowledge/access were suddenly unavailable, and none of it was explored, even briefly, outside of establishing shots.)

The Garden Planet - it’s discovery, the traveling to it, the fight there - lacked emotional grounding in a way I find hard to explain. The audience was excited for Brie Larson being a fucking boss, and the quick execution of the grab-him-and-cut-his-arm-off plan was satisfying, but the twist and subsequent letdown was just a weird beat after a slog to get there, after waiting on a deep letdown beat from the last movie.

Last thing about flow and emotional beats, because I want to move on to character analysis, and this is a huge one for me: Clint’s fight in Tokyo and Steve’s fight with himself were some of the biggest missed opportunities in the entire film.

Not counting the football field brawl at the end, which I don’t count as a real fight scene, these are the two major fight scenes of the entire film and as far as I can tell, there was no effort made to make these showpieces. They went to the trouble of bringing Clint to Bladerunner Central, and pit him against the last bastion of aesthetic-obsessed mafia in the world. The panning camera in the interior as Hawkeye fought goons brushed past lazy fight scenes that only showed who was winning, not the brutality that Clint was supposedly falling into, not the grit of this new awful world, just... shapeless dark bodies getting thrown through windows? And on top of that, they could have made up (or picked from canon) any Big Bad to pit him against outside in the street, and we get an Orientalist sword fight that could have fit in nicely on a CW superhero show, and some of the most unnecessary exposition dialogue I have ever heard. Someone bothered to weave Clint’s arc in earlier, with Rhodey explaining to Natasha that Clint’s gone International and also Worryingly Dark. Why the fuck do we have the ‘I’ll give you anything you want’ line, on the rotten cherry on top of ‘stop being mean to the yakuza, we didn’t start it’? You already covered his motivations with the cold open.

And while Steve’s fight ended in a FABULOUSLY HEARTBREAKING WAY, the fight itself was nothing - you can pick little character details out like how they both ditched their shields almost immediately, and it was funny that Then-Steve mistook Now-Steve for Loki in the first place, but it was still a completely lost opportunity to get one true superhero battle in this three-hour slog. Both Steves could have gotten up and carried out the rest of the narrative after a decent brawl, but instead they fall a great distance after some blocked shots and it... was nothing? Missed opportunity for some cool shit.

Okay, skipping to character assessments now:

Clint’s character has been mishandled from the beginning and this seemed to be the “better late than never” eleventh hour arc. Except the end of the arc is unclear - it made sense for him to fall apart after losing his Shoehorn Family, but how did Natasha’s choice to fall do anything but fridge someone else, with more agency this time? It makes Natasha noble, which she already was, and it made her win against Clint, which I appreciate, but Natasha didn’t need salvation through death and Clint learns nothing by getting them back, just experiences relief.

Bruce. I want to say, first, that I love Hulk in a Cardigan. Cardihulk can stay. I want fanart, I want t-shirts, give me all of it. But Bruce’s explanation of “I scienced it so I could get the best of both worlds” only gives us half of the acceptance that Banner’s character is already working towards. As we saw most explicitly in Ragnarok, the Hulk isn’t just a physical form, he has his own separate consciousness, originally defined by rage but revealed to be more complicated. Bruce merging into Cardihulk seems to have... erased Hulk’s separate consciousness without merging it into himself? If there had been some acknowledgement of a second voice still within him that shot out opinions or demands for certain menu items in the diner, this would have been a much cleaner end to his arc, which has been equally messy between actor and narrative shifts.

Speaking of Ragnarok... it’s time! Are you ready? Have you read articles about the Gambit Gambit too? Are you fucking depressed that a fat suit was used for comedy gags in the year of our lord 2019? Because I was. The Russos seemed to... not struggle with what progress Ragnarok had put onto Bruce and Thor’s characters, but reject it. This movie’s Thor was anxious for laughs, was desperate for easy answers to a a feeling of lost heroism, and it didn’t feel like a familiar character. The time-travel scene with his mother wrapped it up very elegantly, and was well performed, but that scene didn’t need to follow a series of “chunky drunk in sweatpants” jokes to show us that Thor was struggling. Everyone in the film is fucking holding on by their fingernails, but only one is played for cheap laughs.

At least we get the bisexual Asgard lady king we deserved.

Tony got the right death. He got a hero’s death and Pepper’s last lines of “you can rest now” were exactly the right lines to wrap up an arc characterized by fear and a desire to protect and control at any cost. I knew the MCU was never going to really acknowledge that Tony’s The Problem, even with lines like ‘you should have let me do the fascist robot thing, that was gonna work fine’ thrown around pretty much as soon as he touches down on earth again.

I’m not sure if there’s much to say about Natasha. It was fitting that she was running HQ, that she was struggling, that she was rejecting emotional help from Steve but clearly still close with him. Seeing her break down after hearing the report on Clint felt right after, I think, being told by several directors (or making the personal acting choice? idk) to just be as flat and as decolletagey as possible. And again, while I feel like she would be self-sacrificing on that cliffisde if given the opportunity, and that she would win, the narrative choice to place her there and have that be her end didn’t really give her anything she didn’t already have. She had nothing to prove.

I have a hard time really laying out my thoughts on Steve without launching into the pregnant absence of Bucky, but I’m going to try. Chris Evans did a good job being the emotional heart of a really fractured story with a lot of conflicting pieces. Seeing him lead a talk therapy session after The Snap seemed very out of character for him until one realizes that Sam isn’t there to lead it himself. His scene offering help to Natasha was another good scene between them proving that not every m/f relationship has to be sexual to be interesting or add to the plot. His leadership speech during the Stupid Fucking Slow-Mo Heroes’ Walk to the platform was well done and makes me think of what could have been for the MCU, if they’d ever just let them be a cohesive found-family team for twenty minutes and let them fight some doom-bots or something. Fuck. Imagine.

Something weirdly satisfying about the deceitful ‘hail hydra’ line in the elevator. Yes? Yes.

The hammer scene was satisfying to me without being too gratuitous, but I’ll acknowledge that some people weren’t into it. Having paid more attention to Steve’s arc than most, I’ll argue that he earned it several times over.

His ending - that is, the secret life he alludes to but doesn’t explicitly reveal to Sam - is earned too. I’ve read at least one thing saying that Steve’s arc was all about him learning to let go, but that’s... never what Steve does. Not at the end of any arc, of any comic story, does Steve let go. Not of his principles, not of the people he loves, he is always “Thinking... Thinking About Bucky!” and getting in fights he can’t necessarily win. So I don’t think his final ending is ever Learning to Let Go. I think it’s fair that it’s Just Once, Just This One Time, Getting What You Want And Getting To Enjoy It.

And now I’m backtracking to Bucky. I’ve read one article already that theorizes that Steve’s arc, which was highly prioritized, included literally as little direct interaction with Bucky as possible because... the MCU? the Russos? Marvel?... is aware that Steve/Bucky is the most popular same-sex ship in the MCU. And that’s tiresome as fuck but I think there’s some truth to it. I wonder if, like in Civil War, we’ll hear later from the actors that a lot of contextual one-on-one scenes were shot and then mysteriously cut from the final edit.

I will say that in my head, Bucky is relaxed when Steve goes back in time for the final time, and lets Sam goes to talk with Steve one-on-one at the bench, because Bucky is not worried if Steve will come back, and does not feel a need to check on Steve on the bench. Because, like Peggy, Bucky has been getting secret visits too. Maybe as far back as during his time in Wakanda, but certainly since the final fight with Thanos. Bucky was calm because he already knew. He didn’t miss Steve because Steve hadn’t given him an opportunity to do so.

#mcu #endgame #endgame spoilers #mcu spoilers

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somuchanemoia · 6 years

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The Literal Big Dick Energy

Okay, before we start, let me explain myself. I’m taking Biology right now and I hate it, so we are studying aerobic respiration in cells. I had lecture last night and it fried my brain so on the way home, I was just giddily thinking about well...this and your welcome.

I’m not gonna lie this may be just crack at this point, but I love it and I hope you all do too. Enjoy some Felix the Science Guy fluff as you come to understand literal big dick energy.

For @delta-roseblr who miraculously likes my fics of her boys. Thank you for creating my two favorite bois.

“So, cells have dicks too...good to know.” Felix almost spat out the water in his mouth at Dean’s comment. He sputtered and managed to swallow down the liquid in his mouth before it was snorted out of his nose. He had no clue what his boyfriend was talking about but whatever it was, it sounded at least mildly entertaining.

“I’m sorry, but what the hell?” Felix snorted and gazed at the senior who was sitting on the floor across from him with a smile. Dean was looking at the large biology textbook with mild curiosity. It was the most interest Dean had actually shown in the thin pages of Brooker’s Biology 4th Edition all year, not that Felix really cared, even if he looked almost alluring while doing it.

Dean quirked an eyebrow and turned the thick book to face Felix, pointing at the picture of the page that they were on, “Man, You can’t tell me that ain’t a dick.” Dean chuckled, “See, it’s literally a dick.”

Felix felt himself smile and tried not to laugh too hard, “I know what a dick looks like, Dean.”

“Then you can’t deny that that, Felix, is a cell dick.”

Felix couldn’t help the laughter that came from between his lips, “Oh god, you’re hopeless. We’re studying metabolism.”

“Hey, fucking burns calories.” Dean grinned at him leaned closer to him over the coffee table that sat between them.

“True, but cells don’t fuck.”

“Obviously they do somewhat because we went at it this morning.”

“We’re made of cells, Stupid,” Felix reached out and flicked Dean’s nose lightly, “Cells themselves don’t fuck, remember? They go through mitosis.”

“Right, right,” Dean rolled his eyes playfully, “Why are we learning about cell dicks again?”

“Metabolism,” Felix pointed at the big bolded green letters stamped across the page, “More specifically, cellular respiration.”

“Sounds boring,” Dean’s blonde hair shifted over into his eyes for a brief moment as he leaned his head into his hand that was propped up on the table. He gave a small puff to move blonde curl out of his blue eyes and smiled lazily at Felix. Damn, Dean was hot.

“Boring, but important.”

“They always say that though,” Dean hummed, “Every teacher always says everything they are teaching you is important, what makes this any different?”

“Well, for starters, it allows you to survive. And play soccer. And read books. And write articles,” Felix grinned back at his boyfriend, “And it allows both of us to fuck, so I’d say it’s pretty substantial on the importance scale.”

Dean hummed once more and sat up, “Gods forbid we weren’t able to fuck, Felix.” He looked back down at the textbook again and his eyebrows scrunched together, “This still doesn't make any sense though.”

Felix shook his head a little and rolled his eyes, “Staring at a page isn’t gonna help you. That’s why you failed the first time around and why I’m here.” He chuckled and leaned over to point at the first picture in the series of the pictures on the page of text in front of Dean, “We start here with aerobic respiration. It’s the most common way that humans generate energy or…”

Dean blinked at him for a second before saying, “ATP?”

“That’s right! For humans to generate ATP from the food they consume.” Felix hummed, “This is how all of that happens.”

Dean nodded slowly and began twirling the pen he had been holding around his fingers, “Okay...what's with all the arrows?”

“We’ll get to that in a second,” Felix moved his finger over to the set chemical equation above the first picture, “You’ve taken chem before right?” He sure to God hoped Dean had. It’d make things ten times easier if he did.

“Yeah,” Dean smiled, “I recognize the equation. C2H12O6 + 6O2 → 6CO2 + 6H2O. That’s...a lot of Oxygen.”

Felix felt a small weight lift off his shoulders. Thank god he would not have to explain how chemistry worked on top of it to Dean. Dean was incredibly smart, but science seemed to fly right over his head half the time, “That’s what makes ATP.”

“Doesn’t seem to hard…” Dean cocked his head to the side, “But, it's harder than it looks, right?”

Felix shrugged, “Not hard, just complex...” He reached across Dean’s crappy coffee table and grabbed the notebook that was sitting in front of Dean and flipped to a blank page before tossing it sideways between them. He grabbed the black pen that Dean had been twirling in his fingers and wrote in big letters in the margin ‘AEROBIC RESPIRATION FOR SUCKAS’, “I hate the book's pictures anyways. Makes things more complicated.”

“Aerobic respiration for suckas?” Dean snorted, “Should I be offended?”

“You can if you want to, but let's be real, you are a sucka.” Felix quickly wrote out “Stage 1” in the left corner of the page, “You remember what the first stage is?”

Dean was quiet for a second before answering, “Glycogen? Glyco...something?”

“Close. It’s called Glycolysis,” Felix quickly scribbled that down before looking back up at Dean, “It’s called that because we start with glucose and then turn it into another thing.”

“Seems easy peasy to remember, that way.”

“Yep, glycolysis has 10 steps--”

“Fuck!”

“--but we just have to know the basic parts of it.” Felix smiled softly, “It takes place in the cytoplasm.”

“The green stuff!” Dean chimed in.

“The green stuff. We start with glucose,” Felix wrote on the page as he talked, “Which has 6 carbons.”

“And we have to make sure we have all our carbons by the end of it.” Dean took the pen from Felix’s hand and drew an arrow along the page and wrote a small ‘6C’ at the end of it.

“Right. So we do all these ten steps, and at the end, our glucose turns into…”

“Pyruvate, right?”

“Yep, but instead of just one pyruvate, it turns into two.”

Dean wrote it down and snorted, “Pyruvate...it's such a funny word. If you say it slow, it sounds even funnier. Pyyyruuuuvaaate. It's so funny but so eloquent. It's kind of intoxicating the more you say it you know.”

“Only you would say that.” Felix groaned halfheartedly.

“You’re dating a guy who wants to be a journalist...do you expect anything less?”

“We went from ‘cells have dicks’ to ‘eloquent and intoxicating’ within seconds.” Felix pointed out with a smirk.

“Writers...we go from 0 to 100 really fast,” Dean shrugged, “Just a fact. One minute we’re talking about breathtaking scenery, next thing you know we’re making dick jokes. Keeps the fun alive.”

Felix shook his head and rolled his eyes, but continued to smile, “It's a good thing you’re hot, you know that, right?”

“Has its perks,” Dean gave him the shit-eating grin that Felix couldn’t help but be a little turned on by. It was just that morning Dean had been wearing that expression as he hovered over Felix, his golden hair being rumpled from sleeping and his freckled skin shining like flecks of gold in the morning sunlight that poured in from Dean’s bedroom window. Even now, in the soft glow of the overhead light that Dean had flipped on when they had come into the living room after practice, Dean looked so perfect with his floppy blonde hair and big blue eyes and dashing smile. If Felix didn’t find Dean so damn beautiful, he’d almost be jealous of him.

“‘Another important thing to remember, “Felix said, stealing Dean’s pen back, “We have to talk about oxidation. It’s important later on.”

“Let me guess, it has to do with Oxygen?”

“Sorta, but not really,” Felix flipped a few pages back in the textbook and pointed at another weird looking diagram, “The important part to remember is that oxidation happens when one compound loses electrons and those electrons are picked up by another compound.”

“That sounds...intense…” Dean frowned a little as he looked at the picture.

“It’s the chemical equivalent of Zayn leaving One Direction, only to come back a few months later and do a track with Taylor Swift.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, “I don’t know what’s weirder, the fact that you used that example or the fact that you know a member of One Direction besides Harry Styles, who’s like the Justin Timberlake of the group.”

“You can thank my sister for that,” Felix looked up at Dean with a look that was almost pitying, “She’s obsessed with them...or at least she was.”

Dean smiled at him again, “Well, God bless.”

“Yeah, so you get the idea. Oxidation means one compound loses those electrons and reduction happens when those electrons are picked up. In this case, they’re being picked up by a compound called NAD+.”

“Which becomes NADH, when it's reduced.” Dean looked over at him unsurely.

“Yep.”

Dean let out a soft breath and nodded, “It’s starting to come back to me.”

“In glycolysis, that happens to two NAD+ molecules and those leave the equation and go off to the cell dick.”

Dean grinned, “You can’t stop thinking about that now, can you? Who has their head in the gutter now?”

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Felix flipped back to the page with the Glycolysis demonstration on it, “ The other two things you need to know about this is that it produced two sets of ATP and leaves us with two Pyruvate molecules.”

“All ten steps for two ATP?” Dean blinked at him, “That’s bullshit. I’m calling it out for our cells but what a rip-off.”

“Just wait till we get to the Krebs cycle.” Felix chuckled and then slid his finger down to the next picture, “We have to go through the Pyruvate breakdown cycle first.”

Dean glanced down at the picture before looking back up at Felix, “It looks too simple.”

“That’s because it is. One step, one enzyme, pretty straightforward. We generate two more NADHs and turn Pyruvate into Acetyl CoA but that's about it.”

“That’s underwhelming,” Dean hummed, “Like the Krist Novoselic of the cycle. The Jensen Ackles before Supernatural. The Peggy Schyluar of anything.”

Felix cocked an eyebrow at his boyfriend, “Hamilton? Really?”

“What?” Dean looked down, his freckled cheeks turning a little red, “It’s catchy.”

Felix rolled his eyes and nudged Dean’s foot with his own under the coffee table, “Yeah, its the Peggy of the cycle.”

“While it's sweet and important, like Peggy,” Dean hummed, “It definitely doesn’t have big dick energy either.”

Felix reached over and flicked Dean’s nose, “Dude, no. Just no. Don’t be one of those guys.”

“I’m not wrong though.”

“No, but...just no. After Pyruvate gets turned into Acetyl CoA,” Felix made a quick note on the paper of where they were, “We go into the Krebs cycle which is just as ridiculous if not more than Glycolysis.”

“Oh goody,” Dean pulled a face, “Just what we need.”

“Long story short, you have the Acetyl CoA get down and dirty with another compound, they have two NADH kids, two FADH2 kids and then pop out another set of ATP before the Acetyl CoA divorces the compound and has a midlife crisis where it becomes carbon dioxide.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a night.”

“Saying since the carbon dioxide is then breathed out through our lungs, I’d say so.”

“Still, all three cycles for just four ATP. What the fuck is wrong with us?” Dean groaned and flopped his head down to lay on top of Felix’s hand that was pointing at the complicated pictures their textbook was offering. He was happy that Felix was able to put up with him when it came to biology. He was a lot easier to follow than Will, who almost always got so excited he forgot that Dean had no clue what any of the things he rambled about meant. Felix always made studying more fun and didn’t seem to mind explaining things to him in ways that he could understand. Plus, it meant that he got to watch Felix teach, which he always looked incredibly sexy doing. The way his lips would curl into a gentle smile as he talked, the way his eyebrows would scrunch together in concentration and the teasing tone in his voice as he talked always made Dean pay attention better than he ever could to the witch that taught Biology to them at school.

“That’s where our cell dick comes into play.” Felix’s fingers played with Dean’s hair softly as his voice came out with amusement.

Dean peeked up at him through his bangs and couldn’t help but smile at him as he turned to place a kiss on Felix’s knuckles, “Now we’re getting to the interesting part. Cell fuckery.” He sat up and looked down at the picture of the last picture on the page where a giant ATP Synthase was pictured in all its cell dick glory.

Felix snorted, “I can’t believe you just said, cell fuckery.”

“Dude, we’ve been over this…” Dean grinned as he pointed at the picture and cocked an eyebrow, “It’s a cell dick. Look at it!”

“And now I’m gonna teach you how it works,”

Dean chuckled, “I’m pretty sure I know how a dick works, Felix.” Dean scoffed before blushing again, “I already got the speech with the cucumber demonstration, thanks.”

Felix let out a laugh, “Oh god. Dude, I don’t need the image of your Aunt doing anything phallic like with cucumbers.”

Dean went a deeper red, “Gross. I don’t need that image either.”

“Remember all those NADH and FADH2 we had to wander off?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, they’ve all come to worship the cell dick by giving it their electrons.”

Dean snorted, “Sounds like a party...like every single drunk groupie at any rock concert ever, but I mean, whatever floats their boat right?”

“The electrons go through a series of proteins called the Electron Transport chain and every other protein they go through lets out a set number of Hydrogen ions when they pass through. Once the electrons reach the end, they get picked up by Oxygen and Hydrogen and they all get married and make water.”

“At least they are happy... ”

Felix smiled, “And then, all those Hydrogen ions come back in through the ATP Synthase, aka the cell dick.”

Dean’s eyes went big, “Uhm...that doesn’t...I don’t care if they’re cells, they shouldn’t be putting anything through their dick period.”

Felix snorted and reached for his bottle of water, taking a swig, “Dude, think of it like incredibly quick foreplay. These cells are like virgins being turned on for the first time, the Hydrogen ions make it go quickly and then--”

“They spew…” Dean finished as he grabbed his own water and took a sip.

“The cell dick begins to spin,”

“Wait!,” Dean nearly spewed water across their books as he laughed, “Their equipment spins?!”

“Yeah. It spins and then cums ATP.” Felix chuckled, “Lots of ATP. Like 28 ATPs at once.”

“Damn,” Dean shook his head with a smile on his face, “That’s literal big dick energy.”

Incase yall needed a little big cell dick energy, here ya go.

As always, thank you to Delta for creating her boys and shout out to my bio prof who sorta inspirted this. If you hadn;t unknowingly drawn a giant dick on the board last night I wouldn’t be hysterically giddy at this point.

If your a Delix hoe like I am, you can check out my other Delix ficlets under my Delix tag.

#dean solace #felix jackson #delix #dear god delta pls save my soul #also i hope yall like it #it was supposed to be posted last night after lecture but i passed out when i got home sooooo....#theres so many dick jokes pls forgive me father for i have sinned #also pls enjoy this science lesson #porkcutletbowltrash fanfics

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years

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OUAT 2X10 - The Cricket Game

I’m loving this Season’s villains! I think they’re...CORA-upting me!!! XD

It’s okay, Reggie! You know I’m PUN-OMENAL at these!

If you want to read my actual thoughts on this episode (And BOY do I have some opinions), hit me up by going down below the cut!

Press Release Regina is accused of murdering one of the town’s most beloved fairytale characters – but only Emma senses that she may be innocent. Meanwhile, back in the fairytale land that was, after capturing the Evil Queen, Snow White and Prince Charming set about planning her public execution in order to rid the land of her murderous tyranny. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past The trapping Regina scene in the flashback captivates Snow’s character in essence. Snow is not a stupid woman. She knows from experience what Regina is capable of, so she took the precaution of bringing reinforcements. However, she still has the kindness and love that the world (Both in and out of universe) came to know and love her for by attempting for diplomacy with Regina and later mourning the fact that Regina didn’t take it after the fact.

Apart from that, this is honestly a very frustrating segment. That’s because from where I stand, Regina at this point in her life absolutely deserved to die, and it was moronic of Snow not to let that happen.

And I get that that’s the point of the segment. Snow learns what everyone else already knew: Regina can’t change. However, the problem comes where this episode tries to make Snow and Charming’s debate one of equal merit to try to play up to a level of ambiguity. The episode is trying so hard to convince me that Snow might be in the right for wanting to spare Regina from execution, but is actually giving the explanation and diligence of dialogue to Charming. Charming’s coming across as barely ruthless, and his words are those that make sense and are given truth by the fact that we have seen what Regina is capable of. Hell, Regina, in the moments before the execution says that she regrets not having caused more pain.

And if they’re not going for an ambiguous plot and Snow is unabashedly supposed to be wrong in this flashback, then it’s just an honestly boring flashback. The segment itself doesn’t explore anything or lead to any unique character moments. While it’s nice to see Regina and Henry Sr. talk again, their conversation is pointless and gives us nothing that we haven’t gotten before. It honestly shouldn’t have existed because it paints Snow and Charming’s rule, something that was supposed to be fair and strong, albeit stuck in a conflict with Regina’s kingdom, into a bit of a joke. Now, in relation to the present, is it better that Regina lives? Yes, but this flashback is so fresh off the boat of detailing all of the harm that she caused in Season 1 that it would’ve had more effectiveness had it aired in a later season where present Regina could’ve had a lot more goodness at her back and her past been more distanced. As it stands, it’s a flashback that works semi effectively for Regina, but at the cost of reinforcing Regina’s more evil qualities and making Snow seem like not only a detrimental pacifist (And to be frank, an idiot), but an unjust ruler to all of her friends who lost what and who they cared for at Regina’s hands. It was actually painful to watch the scene between Snow and Charming after the failed execution, and not in the good way (It’s made even worse by the fact that Snow is so much smarter in the present). Snow’s not presenting a good enough argument to spare Regina against someone who is framed semi-negatively who has every reasonable reason to want to kill her, and it’s even revealed during her conversation with Rumple (“I don’t even know if it’s possible.”) that she doesn’t even have complete confidence in her decision while it risks the safety of her entire kingdom. How am I supposed to retain my confidence that Snow has what it takes to rule when this is how she handles such a big decision? Present I love the story here. It feels like the logical continuation of the story for out mains: What do we do with Regina now? Emma feels mixed, but her love for Henry and after dealing with Cora for an extended amount of time paints her as more willing to at least hear Regina out going forward (Though with understandable limits) while Snow and Charming who have encountered Regina at her worst for far longer are far more reluctant, and that conflict of feelings is the driving point behind the story. Now, do I consider Emma a touch too forgiving? Somewhat, but I also feel like said experiences with Cora paired with an understanding of the path bad parenting can turn on onto and genuine gratefulness for her return home makes it work well enough, especially with their argument during the party!

If I had a complaint about this segment (And it’s honestly a nitpick), it would be at Emma trying to pretend that there’s this connection between her and Regina about trying to change. Now, it’s effective enough, showing how Emma wants to be a mother to Henry while Regina’s trying to change her life, but I feel like the balance of that comparison never quite felt as strong as it could’ve.

Also, let’s talk about the “my son” line. I take no issue with it and actually applaud the line. It’s appropriately framed as the moment where Emma’s gone too far when she says it, but because as far as she knows, Regina has just squandered her own redemption, something she was trying to do for Henry’s sake, and then had the nerve to lie about it. It’s supposed to be a frustrating yet understandable response and it annoys me how so many refuse to accept that there are layers to this line and conversation that are delivered through framing and think that this is some issue where sides need to be definitively taken on who was “right.” That’s not how this works. Also, it had an appropriate level of setup because Emma was definitely responsive to Regina’s snipe at her during the party as to her skills as a mother. We see that throughout the episode, Emma’s been taking more steps to take on a direct motherly role to Henry after that conversation at the party. It culminates so well so at the moment she’s lost faith in Regina’s innocence, she’s lost faith in her ability to be a mother too. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -The opening shot of this episode is the most underrated shot in the entire series. It’s cool, dark, and Killian’s standing in the moonlight like a badass. It’s the first frame we see without even a recap or intro, but it pulls me in like nothing else in the world! And as the moment intensifies and we here Killian’s theme as he looks upon an unsuspecting Storybrooke and later jumps off his ship, it only gets better. Gif makers, make more gifs of this because I don’t see these shota on my dash at all and that’s a fucking problem! Like, it’s badass Hook! How is this not the centerpiece art or inspiration for like a dozen fics, no matter what you ship?! Like, Killian could either be a good guy or a bad guy in that! So please, just use this gif more! -Cora and Killian have a great rapport. While Killian’s not dumb by any means, we see how his vengeance tends to blind him and how someone more reserved in her thinking like Cora (EFor as INCREDIBLY fucked up as she is) can keep his thoughts in check. -Cora! Don’t kill the nice tackle shop employee! Rude af, ya bitch! And thank you, Killian for at least having the decency not to kill him. -I talk a LOT more about the tacos scene in the “Flip My Ship” section of this reviews (Or should I say, I TACO bout it), but the aftermath with Henry and Emma is hysterical and it only gets better with time. The line that brings the joke home (“It’s impressive that we can still provide her with a few traumatic childhood memories at this stage of the game”) just cements it as one of OUAT’s eternal shining moments. -Why did we not see Snow and Charming take down King George? At risk of dipping my toe into the salt pool, I feel like King George was really done dirty in the name of getting more characters when he was dripping with nuance. I’m not mad, per se seeing as we got that great castle storming last season, but there were more than a couple of eyes rolled when that bit of exposition was delivered to Regina. -It is just too cute to see Snow and Emma walking into a party only to be cheered by all their friends. Like, that just warms my heart. -On a sadder note, I realized how Emma’s name on the sign is smaller and not of the same material, almost like an add on. I don’t know if that was supposed to be read as a subtle hint from the set designers that Emma doesn’t fully fit in yet or what, but that hurts so much! -”I cannot tell you the relief of cooking something that I didn’t have to kill first.” “Don’t I know it. Meat loaf back home? What a bitch.” Another great set of funny lines! -On another funny note, I’m just imagining somewhere in town, Killian and Cora are walking around with ALL of the modern world jokes happening in the background! Fic writers (Maybe just me): GET ON THIS! -Charming’s speech is just so great here! It’s funny (“Here’s to hopefully not having to look for a while), adorable, and creates this very at-home mood. -Leroy, way to rush for the knife! XD And “What’s the secret ingredient? Poison?” is just a riot! -Mad props to Regina for her respect for the new paradigm of her standings with Henry’s custody. Like, look at Season 1 Regina, and there’s this big change! BUT also, I like how the writing shows how she’s not suddenly a goody-two shoes. Regina has anger issues and that comes out in a nasty and petty way. This was a good decision, especially given how fast she realizes her mistake and apologizes! And that real sincere apology is accepted, but the nastiness and pettiness doesn’t fully go away either, as evidenced by her talk with Dr. Hopper shortly afterwards! The character work at here is just gorgeous! -Cora is terrifying. She knows from just one look at Regina how “broken” she is. (As a side not, I’m now thinking of the title of the Season 1 premiere, “Broken” and how it relates to Regina. -”Reminding them of my past?” Archie told Emma nothing about your past and even you know that! -”I fear the Queen will never change.” I like this line, not only because it contrasts between Jiminy’s resolve in the past and present towards Regina, but how it speaks to the impact that Henry has had on Regina, as he’s made her someone who he believes could be saved. -”We must dispense justice.” Jiminy, for once in your life, you are making sense! -LIsten to the fluffy baby! -”Corgina’s” outfit is just so cool! -I like how Emma, though knowing that Regina’s words were said out of anger, still takes an aspect of them to heart by trying to be a more involved mother. -”How can I blame the one I love most?” A more cynical side of me is saying that this line is purposely over the top, but the side of me seeing Regina and Henry Sr. having a moment is crying too hard at said moment to care! -Rumple shows up for the execution. I wonder, did he actually fear that Regina would die, and if so, was he coming just to see if it would happen, or was his motivation more out of concern. Also, love the pan to him when Regina says, “even caused death.” Twice! -”We let her go. Then, we find the truth.” YES! Give me “Emma Swan: Investigations” on the 3DS, please! -If I ever decide to make a drinking game out of this show, I need to make sure that I take a BIG gulp every time Rumple is interrupted while or right before eating. -Rumple cooing at Pongo turns out to be all I need. Best episode ever! -”Well a long time ago in another life, I got to know a sheepdog or two.” WHY. WAS. THIS. NEVER. SHOWN?! -”It won’t allow us to communicate [With Pongo].” If magic won’t let you communicate with animals, then what’s the fucking point of it? -”Couldn’t you just use magic to fool us?” Give it time, Emma. -I LOVE those looks Snow and Charming give when Rumple reveals that Emma has magic and the follow-up reluctance when Rumple goads her into using it. -Love the Neal hint with that dream catcher! Prop Department, you guys deserve a retroactive raise! XD -Why did Pongo’s dream catcher only start glowing around his back/stomach? XD -I like how Emma immediately adopts and understands the concept of “all magic comes with a price.” -”He’s not [your son]! He’s mine.” I love the buildup to this fight. Like a cup of tea, it was brewing to the point of a perfect outburst. That having been said, Emma’s dialogue gets a little...weird after Regina magically pushes her. It sounds like how Snow or Charming would talk, not her, and character voice is an important thing. And why did what Emma say during that bit of the fight change her attitude from fighting Emma to leaving? It’s not like Henry showed up and saw her attack. I guess it’s a matter of credibility? -How the hell did Cora and Killian travel through Storybrooke with any manner of subtlety?! They’re Mr. and Ms. Drama! -Killian says “mom” too! I know it’s stupid, but what was up with the weird colloquialism in the Enchanted Forest?! Like, 98% of the citizens use the “mother/father” designation, and these instances where they use “mom” really pop out! -”If that’s him, who did you kill?” “How should I know? It’s my first day in town!” The humor in this episode is just the best! XD Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Regina’s Redemption - Regina’s redemption is appropriately challenged here and instead of Henry doing the challenging, it’s Henry’s heroes, who are far less forgiving of Regina’s misgivings. Well, partially because of Emma. I said this before, but I think how they handled Regina in the present part of the story was just genius! She’s really trying to fit in, but no one forgives her barring Henry, Emma, and Archie. Understandable. But what makes this so good is that Regina’s doesn’t just flip characters into someone nice but unrecognizable. The nasty, petty, and savage side to her is still very much alive, suppressed until she gets angry. That goes such a long way to showing that this redemption is a fight within herself. It’s a show of how self aware she can be depending on if she can apologize or not and sticks with the other characters as they investigate Archie’s murder. Cora in Storybrooke - Cora’s here and she’s corrupting shit! Cora immediately starts acting like a heat-seeking missile. She gets basic intel about her situation and then set out about destroying Regina’s life. And just like said missile, she destroys it pretty much on sight. Killian’s Revenge/Redemption - We’re starting to get into the “how” of how Killian takes his revenge. And Killian saves a fish guy! Rumple’s Redemption - Granted while all but forced because of Belle’s presence, Rumple does help Emma and co. to the best of his abilities. Favorite Dynamic Emma and Regina - What I love about this dynamic here is just its sincerity. Emma is blatantly unsure of how much Regina has changed, but she knows that she wants to and is being supportive. And even though this builds to an unhappy ending between the two of them, that sticks with Emma the whole time. She gives Regina the benefit of the doubt because she both believes in Regina and she wants Henry to have her in his life until plausible deniability goes out the window (As far as she knows). Emma works herself to the bone trying to examine each and every possibility that could prove Regina’s innocence and I feel like she doesn’t get enough credit for that. Regina herself is also being sincere, both in her defense for herself in the murder mystery and with her emotions and wants. She’s very honest as to her opinions on why she’s innocent and she’s open about her hopes to spend more time with Henry. And you honestly feel her trying to be more self aware, especially with the apology at the party. Writer Goodman and Hull are back in this episode, and unfortunately, so is Goodman’s sanctimony. This episode is so annoyingly on the nose with its laurels and in the past, it has nothing to show for it. Additionally, there’s no sense of framing in the flashback. While Snow ultimately decides that trying to redeem Regina was wrong, the entire amount of buildup towards that conclusion gives all the good points to David while making Snow our focal character. In the present, things are much better, for the framing is dependent on the effective shows of work into her redemption that Regina’s gone through and the audience has the crucial point of reference that Cora is in town and she can transform herself. I feel like I need to attribute this to Hull. Rating 6/10. I’m so torn about this episode. The quality of the content in the present is out of this world. Half the lines had me in stitches because the comedy hit a bullseye each and every time. And story wise? What a great one! The conflicts between Emma and her parents, Emma and Regina, and Emma with herself are all delivered masterfully and they were written so intricately that no one is left without sympathy. On the other side of the coin though, the flashback is a profound waste of time. It serves to grant a single point of exposition, but unlike other episodes that try for the same thing, nothing of interest is even attempted barring a genuine though completely useless conversation between Regina and Henry Sr.. We know Regina wasn’t about to switch sides in this flashback, and without the attempt of pretense to entertain that, the writing ends up making Snow a complete idiot. Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Snowing - TACOSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! *ahem* That is all. Okay, I’ve got more to say because the taco scene is just adorable and sexy, and it’s rare that we get a scene like this without unfortunate implications behind it. The chemistry between Ginny and Josh is as hot as it’s ever been and it’s a perfect bout of payoff for their separation. Seeing Snow and Charming cradle each other and have such fluffy pillow talk that you’d think the scene happened in heaven itself is just flawless. Rumbelle - Seeing Belle coo over Rumple cooing at Pongo brings the biggest smile to my face on this Earth! ()()()()()()()()() Thank you all for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales! Next time, let’s examine one of our outsiders, okay? See you then!

Season 2 Tally (92/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (29/60) Jane Espenson (17/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (20/50) David Goodman (16/30) Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (7/30) Kalinda Vazquez (10/30) Daniel Thomsen (10/20)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x10 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #basically every character in this episode is discussed

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unavenged-robin · 6 years

Note

I wish you would write a fic where Robin!Dick is looking after Baby!Damian? Please?

I guess if you’re a batfam writer you’ll eventually end up writing the baby!Damian AU one way or the other, uh? Must be a law or something. Anyway, enjoy!

"I’d like to say that this is the strangest evening of my life”, he confides to the baby currently squirming in his arms. "But between me and you, for now it doesn’t even makes the top ten. Although I have the strong impression that this is only gonna get weirder and weirder from now on, yeah? What do you say?"

The baby blows bubbles at him and doesn’t say anything. To be fair, he’s not even one year old and too amazed by the wonderful discoveries of his own fingers to pay attention to Dick’s nervous rambling. Which is a good thing. In his fifteen years on this Earth, Dick has met and played with a lot of children, including many babies, but he suspects that bouncing them on his knees and making weird faces at them for five minutes doesn’t really qualify him as a good babysitter.

Plus, there’s still the little matter of the unconscious Batman currently laying on the couch of his living room.

Dick had to catch him from face planting on the floor as soon as he opened the door, and it’s still unclear to him how the hell he managed to hold both the baby that was shoved without a warning into his arms, and the two hundred pounds of Dark Knight that immediately followed without dropping either of them. And Bruce had not been helpful in the slightest, by the way. In his defense, he looked, and still looks, so badly beaten that Dick winces in pain by just looking at him - and Bruce being still knocked out twenty minutes later does say a lot about how bad this is. Which is like, really bad.

So yeah, if the baby starts to cry, Dick is gonna lose it. More than he’s already losing it. Lucky for him, this particular baby doesn’t seem to be much of a crier. More of a hitter, if anything, since he seems to enjoy slapping the chubby hand he’s not too busy sucking, all over Dick’s face. Dick doesn’t mind. Like he doesn't mind the drool on his favorite shirt. The blood stains on the couch, on the other hand... but no, that's a problem for another day.

He pushes the baby’s wet fingers out of his mouth and bounces him a little on his hip.

“Are you angry, kiddo?”, he asks, pacing around the living room to soothe himself more than the kid, who’s now just gurgling quietly at himself. Dick side-eyes Bruce’s still form again and sighs. “I don’t reckon we’ll find baby formula in his utility belt, uh? I mean, with him you can never be sure about anything, but-”

He’s my son, Bruce had muttered against Dick’s shoulder while he was dragging him across the room. He’d added something else, but Dick was not able to catch it, his brain already short-circuiting. Batman’s son. Bruce’s son. And Dick didn’t knew anything about it. He still doesn’t know anything about it. Where the kid was, who the mother is, how Bruce find out about him in the first place, when he got him, who attacked them and why. He doesn’t know anything because he wasn’t there, and he wasn’t there because he and Bruce had been in this stupid fight for weeks now, and Dick’s been staying with the Titans since then, away from home, away from Bruce’s life which, apparently, is even more full of surprises than Dick ever imagined.

And now Bruce won’t wake up to explain anything.

Dick swallows back the deadly mix of fear and guilt gripping his guts and tries to think. Prioritize. Be Robin.

He should call Alfred. Or Clark. Check the perimeter, make sure that Batman wasn’t followed, that they’re not going to be under attack any moment soon. Find something for the baby to eat. And a diaper, since he doesn’t seem to be wearing one under the blanket he's wrapped in. The diaper first, probably.

“I don’t even know what your name is”, Dick realizes, stopping his restless pacing to actually look at the kid for the first time tonight. The baby squeals in response and looks back at him with big, bright green eyes full of curiosity. “I hope you already have one, because I’m gonna tell you in all honesty that Bruce is really shitty at naming things. He’ll probably just call you Batson or Batbaby, you know?”

For some reason, the idea makes him laugh. Well, it’s more a bark than a laugh but still. It’s not even funny, but Dick’s nervous, and scared, and he needs an outlet. He also really, really needs to call Alfred.

“I’m Dick, by the way”, he continues, still giggling, a little bit hysterically at this point. The baby, at least, seems very fascinated with the sound and tries to push his fingers inside Dick's mouth again. “I’m your- well, I have no idea what I am to you. Your brother, maybe. But Bruce’s not my dad, you see, he’s my partner. What would you call your father’s partner? An uncle? I kinda feel like Clark is my uncle sometimes. You’ll meet Clark soon enough, I think. He’s Superman. Very cool guy. But I think I’m too young to be an uncle, you know? So let’s say that we’ll decide what I am to you later, okay?”

He’s rambling again. And he’s kinda crying. Maybe. Just a little bit.

Is Bruce even breathing? Dick can’t scrape up enough courage to get closer to him and check out, but he has to, right? Because Bruce can’t die angry with him. Or thinking that Dick is angry with him. And there’s… well, there’s Batbaby to take care of, now. The same Batbaby who’s starting to whimper, little fists balled up around Dick’s drool-soaked t-shirt.

“Shhh, no please, don’t cry”, Dick tries to shush him, rocking him up and down. “Please, please, don’t cry, Batbaby. That’s, like, the last thing I need right now.”

“Damian.”

Dick jumps. He shouldn’t, what with being Robin and all, but he does it anyway: he jumps. Later he’s going to justify himself by saying that Bruce’s voice was so roughed up that he could barely recognize it, and anyway let’s be real: his Batman’s voice could very well be a villain’s voice. It was studied to be so.

“Bruce?”, Dick all but runs to him, crouching in front of the couch to help him sitting up. “Bruce, are you okay? What the hell happened? Who’s this baby? Is he really-”

“Damian”, Bruce repeats with a grunt, propping himself up on his elbow and failing at hiding a wince at the motion. “His name’s Damian. Not Batbaby.”

He manages to sound so offended at the idea, and Dick can’t help but laugh again. This is one of the things he could never explain to anyone, not even his friends, because saying out loud “Batman makes me laugh” and meaning it, makes everyone look at you like you were some kind of a lunatic. But it’s true. Bruce manages to make him laugh more times than Dick cares to admit. And it’s a good thing. It’s nice, and familiar.

“Well, excuse me”, he snorts, already a little bit more relaxed because Bruce is fine - battered up, but fine - and if Bruce is fine then everything else is gonna be fine too. It’s how the world works. “You do have a tendency of naming everything as Bat-something. Like, if I hadn't chosen Robin as my name, can you honestly say that you wouldn't have called me Bat Kid or something on the line?”

Bruce blinks down at him.

“Dick…”

“Nevermind, I know I’m right”, Dick interrupts him. “Now, are you going to answer my other questions? Who’s Batba- who’s Damian?”

Bruce’s gaze shifts to the baby in Dick’s arms, and the wrinkles around his mouth soften up into the hint of a smile.

“My son”, he answers, reaching up to take him.

And it’s definitely not the first time Batman holds a baby to his chest, but this looks somehow different to Dick’s eyes. Something in the way Bruce touches the kid, maybe. Not only extra careful, but also a bit hesitant. Like Bruce himself is not entirely sure this is real.

“Your son”, Dick repeats, sitting back on his heels and waiting for Bruce to elaborate. “Okay. That was clear enough.”

Weird and unexpected, but yeah, clear enough.

Bruce pushes back his cowl, smiles down at Damian and caresses the baby's cheek with exceptionally gentle fingers. Damian squirms and kicks his feet, apparently very happy to be fussed over.

“Mine and Talia’s”, Bruce adds after a moment, readjusting the squirming baby on his lap. The blanket in which Damian's wrapped in slips away a little, revealing a small bare shoulder. And on the shoulder, clear as daylight, Dick sees the bloody handprint Bruce’s now also staring at.

“Talia Al Ghul? The daughter or Ra's Al Ghul?”

It's baffling to even think about it. The blood on Damian’s skin is dry, Dick notices. And the handprint is slim and elongated, but little, clearly belonging to a woman’s hand.

“Talia Al Ghul”, Bruce confirms with a sigh, avoiding Dick's eyes. “She didn’t- I don’t think she had any intention of telling me about him anytime soon. I had to fight my way into the League’s compound to get to him. And then to get him out.”

Well, shit, Dick thinks.

“Well, shit”, he repeats out loud, standing up only to plop down on the couch next to Bruce.

For a while they just look in silence at Damian, who’s now fussing very loudly, trying to put Bruce’s fingers into his mouth, armored gauntlet and all.

“He’s kinda cute”, Dick decides. “To be your son, I mean.”

“I know.”

There’s the hint of a smile in Bruce’s voice. Dick frowns, reaches out an hand and boops the baby on the nose, making him chuckling in delight.

“I would’ve helped even if I was - am - still angry at you”, he adds accusingly. “You only had to ask me, and I would've come with you.”

“I know.”

“You always know everything”, Dick scoffs, but Bruce’s admission is already a win on its own in his book. “And yet here we are.”

“Here we are”, Bruce repeats. He doesn't sound as exasperated as Dick feels, though.

Bruce sinks back a little into the cushions, head tilted to the side, one arm still wrapped around the baby, the other one on the back of the couch, almost around Dick’s shoulders. His ribs must be killing him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Truth to be told, underneath all the bruises, and the blood, and the dust, he looks kinda happy, which is always a good look on him, Dick believes.

He gently brushes a thumb over Damian’s shoulder, rubbing off the dry blood from the baby’s skin. He looks up at Bruce.

“I guess I’m coming back with you then, uh?”, he asks, hating the hesitation in his own voice. It’s not like Bruce would ever kick him out of the Manor, for god’s sake. And it’s only a flash, but Dick catches it anyway: the relief in Bruce’s eyes as he looks back at him.

“I…”, Bruce starts, voice unsure. Then he coughs and looks away. “That would be very thoughtful of you. Thank you, Dick.”

“Thoughtful”, Dick repeats with a dramatic sigh, resting his head on Bruce’s shoulder to get closer to Damian’s little, very chubby face. “Heard that, Batbaby? That’s an example of the shit you’re gonna get once you grow up, I hope you know that.”

“Language”, Bruce grumbles above them.

Dick ignores him altogether.

“Did you already call Alfred? Does he know yet?”

Bruce's face twists as if he had sucked on a lemon, which is enough of an answer for Dick.

“That’s gonna be so much fun”, he grins, leaning forwards to nuzzle his nose against Damian’s round one. “But only for me and Batbaby, of course.”

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #i'm writing too many au #but it's not my fault they're fun #Anonymous #asks #my fic #shari writes

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loveiscosmicsin · 6 years

Text

Home Cooking

To @dancingfox on Tumblr, as part of the IgNoct White Day Gift Exchange @ignoctgiftexchange, I offer you a fic (it was a struggle because I was debating with five ideas at once and suffering from writer’s block and then life got really crazy that I didn’t post until way past the dates). I’m not sure what you like since you gave me “Anything, truly :)”, but I can safely assure you that there’s nothing about non-cons or excessive violent themes in this, just lots of fluff and I hope that’s okay! Though this fic can be read on its own, it’s branched off an Fateswap AU where Noctis is the Oracle and Lunafreya is the King of Light and Ignis is her advisor titled “Radiance”. Happy White Day and Happy Gift Exchange, I hope you like this. Sorry for being super late to you and the mod behind the event. I feel massively guilty but I wasn’t going to abandon this. - Title: Home Cooking Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: Courtship is such an antiquated tradition to Noctis, but he’s willing to push the aversion aside and show how he cares with a thoughtful gesture while Ignis is staying in the Crown City. - “Well,” Luna began, crossing her ankles and folding her hands in her lap. Unbridled excitement coursed through her, almost similar to the feeling she relished harvesting raw elemental energy from touch alone, as the King of Light and her trustworthy retainer passed the first landmark. “Our second time in Insomnia swiftly approaches.” “Indeed.” Ignis replied, eyes closed in contentment as he sipped from a can of Ebony, flipping through the magazine, his steady gaze was fixated across the pages. “You must be absolutely delighted that we are to see dear Noctis once more. These last months must have been torturous for you.” “Of course, my lady.”

Luna let the next couple minutes of silence sink in, save for the sounds of the train in motion, before narrowing her eyes and a slight twitch at the corner of her frown took form. “So... pray tell what is so intriguing in this issue’s quarterly that you deign to provide me a proper answer?” “I’m rather absorbed in this soufflé recipe,” Ignis answered without looking up and nothing more. He raised the Ebony again as to solidify the answer he had chosen and end the discussion there. Dissatisfied with the poorly made apology and in one swift motion, Luna pressed her palm firmly on the can and snatched the magazine out of Ignis’ hands. “Why,” Luna’s blue eyes widened before she grinned knowingly as her suspicions were indeed correct. Her advisor had artfully concealed a magazine behind a cooking one. “Ignis, consider yourself caught in the act. You’re reading a fishing magazine!” The woman turned to the can in her hand and shook it. “And not once have you requested a replacement for your beverage. It is empty.” Ignis sighed, color high on his cheeks as he plucked magazine back and set it on the table between them. "I suppose saying merely looking at a recently discovered fish had my mind swimming with recipe ideas wouldn't suffice as an answer?" The advisor tried, Luna sent him a look and he grimaced before admitting, “Noctis informed me that he enjoys fishing..." Luna smiled. "It's his favorite past time, I'm told. You may find this hard to believe considering my brother’s animosity towards him, but Ravus taught him how.” "It seems very... time-consuming." He tried for a delicate term but the way Luna hid her mouth behind her hand told him he had failed. “He wished to take me fishing at one of his favorite places.” "He will be thrilled to know you've suddenly taken an interest in it." She laughed, earning her a tired stare. "Do not worry, Ignis, for when he sees you, fishing will be the furthest thing on his mind." To see Ignis and Noctis have gained such familiarity and fondness in such little time warmed the heiress’s heart in full. It was unexpected, certainly for her advisor who was quick to assume that the Oracle of Futurity was no more than a voracious beast. Fortunately, his opinion changed overnight when Noctis restored his vision and the two became well acquainted. Luna couldn’t help but feel wholly obligated to cheer and tease Ignis whenever she pleased, much to her advisor’s chagrin. Ignis nodded in appreciation for the reassurance, but the conversation wasn’t over. He gingerly caressed the worn and curling corners of the magazines, conflicted. “Actually, there’s something that I must address with you, Luna. It’s urgent, but we can discuss it later if you prefer.” Luna blinked, her mouth slightly agape. Ignis can be stern and alarmingly taciturn at times, even as a young child, he groomed himself this way so to prove himself worthy of Luna’s retainer despite the disability. He was looking at her now with the same intensity he did then, the scars from the burns could never smother the radiance from the soft sky blue and puffs of white. There was a storm cloud hovering above him. “Do not say that when I have not heard what it could be about first.” Luna regained her composure albeit she stammered when she said this, taking his hand in hers. “Let us discuss this now or I fear we could not enjoy the rest of our journey comfortably.” Ignis was inclined to agree. The lump in his throat bobbed slightly as he avoided looking directly at Luna’s worried expression. “If I could now, I would bend the knee for you, Lady Lunafreya. At your word, my counsel and my blades are yours, always. You will always be my princess and Tenebrae’s True Queen.“ “Ignis,” Luna pulled her hand away, feeling the blades of Ignis’ carefully placed words piercing her heart. “Are you... leaving me?” Her eyes stung, hurt, reminding herself that she was royalty and mustn’t cause a scene in public. If it was her closest friend’s requests, she must grant him leave in a dignified fashion. At that, the advisor’s eyebrows were raised as if offended, no, appalled by the inquiry. That reaction was unwarranted for the princess wanted to berate him for thinking that she would handle this delicately when he knew her much better than that. “No, I believe you’re mistaken by what I’m trying to get across,” Ignis reached out to loosen his collar and cleared his throat, embarrassed but the princess didn’t know by which, the misunderstanding or the topic on the tip of his tongue. “I merely wish... to ask for your permission to initiate a formal courtship with Noctis.” “Oh.” Luna’s cheeks glowed hot not long after the request was spoken. “Oh,” she repeated, pressing her mouth against her palm. “Then why must you waffle on when you could speak plainly? I... I thought you asking for a dismissal.” “My apologies,” Ignis amended, offering the woman a handkerchief. “I underestimated how quick you are in jumping to conclusions, Highness.” Luna sent him an icy glare to which Ignis added, “But I cannot fathom how you would be without your Hand.” Luna dabbed at her eyes. She cannot imagine herself without Ignis either and can undoubtedly forgive him here. “Now, does Noctis know of this? Is that why you’ve come to me?” “I have not consulted him on this, no.” The advisor paused, knowing that he had to explain himself. “It is customary for subjects to the Crown to ask his liege before pursuing a romantic partner.” “From an antiquated tradition that has not been in practice for years? On Eos?” Despite being two years his senior, it still came as a shock to Luna that Ignis was terribly old-fashioned and a secret romantic, Noctis was fortunate indeed. In all the time they had together and cherished, Luna never thought she would see the day when Ignis would consider dating. Her advisor was quite popular among the young ladies at balls and such though he didn’t seem to notice or care of their affections. Luna decided that she will continue to support the two in any way she can. - Noctis took a step back, wiping at his brow as he did so to admire his work. He consulted the cookbook propped on a stand before glancing at the final results. “Not bad after a couple tries,” Noctis commended himself, putting his hands at his hips. “Chef Noct’s got a nice ring to it. If I wanna have a career change.” He may have gone overboard with the quantity of the ingredients and he’s surrounded by an abundance of tofu cartons and potatoes than he ever had in his life, but a pat on the back was in order. The Oracle of Futurity and Crown Prince of Lucis may have been renowned for performing miracles before the age of twenty and now, he can cross off making his boyfriend lunch on the list. Though debatable of how high of an accomplishment this was, it was major. He wouldn’t cook for just anyone. He wouldn’t have asked Gentiana to gather texts of cookbooks or dragged Prompto along to the grocery store for the ingredients for just anyone. Baked tofu skewers and potato salad on a bed of sprouts, a common comfort dish in Tenebrae though the sprouts there served for bedding and to secure the food together in the plastic lunch box. A-not-so novel pairing, but the Prince Oracle thought a meal would ease whatever homesickness the Tenebraean Crown Advisor may experience and it was simple to make. He had let the thoughts ruminate constantly through extravagant recipes far beyond his skill level and wanted to present a meal in good faith while not wanting to show that he didn’t spend more time than necessary to prepare. And from what he glossed over, he found that he was really good at slicing and dicing. The Oracle turned his attention rectangular tin box emblazoned with Lucis’ allied province’s emblem featured by the male King of Light and female Oracle from the Cosmology watercolor illustrations he read as a child. The current bearer of the title and childhood friend, the King of Light, gave it to him. ‘Not yet,” Luna chided with a airy giggle when she stopped Noctis from opening it. ‘When you see Ignis, share these with him.’ Though it was a gentle smile, there was an underlying threat that if she did find out that Noctis didn’t abide with the instruction, he wouldn’t keep his hand. His phone alarm erupted with the iconic King’s Knight victory fanfare. Time to see Ignis. “Unescorted?” Ignis inquired, raising an eyebrow in amusement when Noctis waiting in the reception room alone. “My apologies. Were we to meet today?” One of the guidelines of courtship dictated that the two people involved must always be escorted by designated officers on dates. At times, even Luna joined them and others, Prompto and Gladiolus or Gentiana. For all his life, Noctis had the world’s eyes on him and for once, he would just like just Ignis’ when it was just the two of them. Noctis didn’t have knowledge of Ignis’ intentions to court him until the advisor was granted a private audience with King Regis. Apparently, everyone knew but Noctis. And something in him sang for his own validation, emboldening him. ‘Ask me,’ the Oracle challenged breathlessly when he pulled the advisor to the side, away from prying eyes. Despite wanting the whole world to recognize their relationship, something must be made clear now. ‘Not Luna. Not Dad. Me.’ Ignis won’t be dating the Crown or the Prince Oracle, not even the playboy persona he built up in their first meeting, but Noctis, as he is, no gimmicks. Noctis only wanted Ignis. To his defense, at the time, Noctis thought he and Ignis were dating already, sharing an interest in each other’s hobbies, exchanging letters when they were apart, all but without putting a label on it. He wanted to make it official then and still do. Ignis did ask and Noctis accepted without a moment’s hesitation. “Nope, but you got me anyway. No objections allowed.” Noctis braced himself for Ignis to protest, had a counter in mind that he can’t send him back because an attendant wasn’t in their company. Thankfully, there was none. “Your spontaneity never ceases to amaze me. I find that very refreshing about you.” Surprising him was a good call after all. “But I got something for you,” Noctis announced, holding out the stacked lunch boxes wrapped in a plaid cloth. “Hope you brought your appetite.” The two retired to the courtyard with the lovely view of the garden and greenhouse across from them. “Baked tofu and potato salad,” Ignis studied the dish, approving the vibrant colors. “You made this for me?” “With a dash of sagefire,” Noctis took an imaginary pitch of spice and with a flick of his wrist whisked it into an imaginary dish. “Bam.” As he said it, he felt a case of embarrassment overwhelm him. “How thoughtful,” Ignis reached over to give Noctis’ hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll savor every bite.” Ignis eagerly bit into one of the skewers and thoughtfully chewed. Enthusiasm and curiosity then turned to a furrowed brow and a slight grimace. It was gone as instantly as it appeared, but Noctis was attentive enough to not let it pass. “Does it taste bad?” Ignis shook his head, taking another bite. “It’s delicious. The... condiment has a distinctive taste.” Noctis frowned. It was just barbecue sauce. Couldn’t he tell? He snatched a free skewer and dug in before spitting the tofu block right back out. Salt. He mistook for what he thought was sugar for salt and Ignis was still eating it. “Uh, Ignis, you really don’t...” “I’m a man of my word, Noct.” After some time of verbal gymnastics and Noctis trying to retrieve the lunch box only to be thwarted at every turn, Ignis closed the box and sighed happily, “That was delicious.” Noctis completely doubted that, but the potato salad was the only thing that wasn’t ruined. He handed a can of Ebony to him. “Yeah, sure.” “I meant what I said,” Ignis sipped the can. “Because you made it for me. I look forward to the next lunch you’ll bring me.” Well, at least that wasn’t a complete failure. “Hey, Luna gave me this,” Noctis presented the decorated tin box. “Wouldn’t let me open it until I see you. Pretty serious about it, too. Dunno what that’s about.” “Oh?” Ignis tilted his head, quizzically. “Lunafreya’s hardly grave about—“ Cookies, shaped like the rare minted Oracle Ascension Coins commemorating every anointed savior in office, greeted the two men. Instead of edible replicas of the currency, they were edible versions of Noctis and Ignis’ faces with... a distinguished choice of design. No doubt that Luna was going for cute and it took her a great amount of time to design. “Ah, this is certainly her doing. No question about it.” Ignis sighed, picking up a cookie with his face on it. “She knows that I don’t fancy sweets.” He said, putting it close to his parted lips. “Wait!” Ignis looked at him. “Isn’t it...” Noctis averted his gaze. “Isn’t it weird that you going to eat your face?” Ignis smirked. “Would you prefer that I eat yours?” “I...” How was the Oracle supposed to answer that seeing the mischievous gleam in the advisor’s eyes? - Lunch passed by quickly, and Ignis offered to take Noctis back to the Citadel to which the latter accepted wholeheartedly. “May I, Your Highness?” Ignis held out his hand, and Noctis knew what it meant. “You may...” Ignis lowered his head, intending to brush the knuckles with a chaste kiss, the only permitted contact in formal courtship, but Noctis dove in first and met his lips with his own, sealing a first kiss. If there were any doubts that this Prince Oracle wasn’t proactive, those doubts should be dispelled at this point. The advisor was beside himself, his cheeks tinted red and stuttering as he adjusted his glasses. “N-Noct...” “So...” Noctis was grinning until his cheeks hurt, so over the moon that his tongue boldly ran wild with revelation and a growing desire to kiss Ignis again. “Was that your first or...?” “It certainly was not!” It was.

#ignoctgiftexchange #ignoct gift exchange #ignoct #White Day #IgNoct White Day #IgNoct White Day Gift Exchange 2018 #ignis scientia #lunafreya nox fleuret #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv #ff #ff15 #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy #Fateswap AU #Dancingfox

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